He spurred Hannibal forward and continued up the gentle rise to the pass where he could just make out the flicker of weapons and a handful of standards weaving above the grass crest of the slope. The Thracian squadrons had burst through the right of the enemy line and scattered the warriors. Glancing back over his shoulder, Cato was relieved to see that the formation was intact, though less clearly defined than it had been before the impact of the charge. There were no gaps and he could not see any men caught in a fight with the enemy infantry. He felt a surge of elation that they had broken through so easily, then he braced himself for the real fight that was to come.

The wedge pounded up into the pass and the bitter struggle ahead of them was revealed in all its desperate savagery. Thousands of enemy warriors surged around the beleaguered column. There was no sign of any survivors of the squadron that had made their folorn charge a short time before. On a small rise Caratacus and his retinue sat on their horses watching the fight. For an instant Cato was tempted by the idea of leading his men against the enemy general. If he could be killed then the heart, and brains, would be knocked out of the coalition of tribes still opposing Rome. Then, at last, there might be peace in the new province of Britannia. But before he could act on his impulse and issue the order, he saw Caratacus and his followers ride down to join the battle on the opposite side of the hard-pressed Roman perimeter.

Ahead of him the nearest of the enemy warriors had turned towards the sound of the approaching Thracians. The wild appearance that Quertus had encouraged and their reputation for savagery seemed to ride ahead of them and some of the tribesmen fled from their path, leaving only hardened warriors to stand their ground. Looking beyond them Cato saw a seething mass of the enemy he and his men would have to cut through to reach the column. And then what? Escape from the pass seemed impossible. He thrust the thought aside. For him there must only be the here and now. He must lead his men and fight on for as long as possible. If the gods favoured him, he might live through this yet. Otherwise he briefly prayed that his end would be swift and relatively painless.

Hannibal’s flanks heaved from the exertion of the charge but the horse gamely charged on, knocking aside two men before a third slashed a blade at the bronze chamfron guarding the horse’s forehead and eyes. Fortunately it was only a glancing blow but the ringing impact startled the horse into rearing up and lashing out with its hoofs. Cato threw his weight forward and struggled to regain control.