Cato kept his eyes on the track ahead. As they rounded the base of the cliff and the ground opened out he saw the enemy a few hundred paces away, surging towards the ditch surrounding the fort. Some hurled spears, others rocks, while the auxiliaries answered back with light javelins and slingshot. Already several of the enemy were down. But the party with the battering ram had reached the gate and a crash sounded as their weapon struck home against the timbers of the outpost.

‘Form line!’ Cato called out and the men behind him adjusted their pace so they caught up and moved out to the flanks until they were all in line, scarcely two hundred paces from the nearest of the native warriors. But already they had been seen. Faces turned towards them, and the triumphant shouts and taunts of a moment earlier turned to cries of alarm. The men with the battering ram stopped attacking the gate and lowered the ram and backed away from the fort uncertainly.

The moment of surprise was over. The leader of the enemy war band shouted orders to his men and they turned towards the oncoming Romans and began to form a line. Cato saw that the opportunity to crush the enemy in the first charge was slipping from his grasp. If they could form up in close ranks and present their spears then there was every chance that they would stand firm against the horsemen. Yet it was vital that Cato and his men charged at the same time to ensure the maximum impact. In less than two heartbeats he weighed up the options in his mind, calculating the remaining distance, the time needed to strike, and the likelihood of his men being dispersed as their mounts galloped at different speeds. Snatching a deep breath, Cato stabbed his short sword towards the tribesmen and bellowed the order, ‘Charge! Charge!’