The two cohorts had almost blocked the end of the vale before the alarm was raised. Cato saw the serpent standard bearer suddenly stand upright, then turn and shout a warning to his companions. Instantly the raiders sprang to their weapons and turned to face the Wolves and the Boars.

‘Won’t be much of a fight,’ Figulus muttered beside Cato. ‘We must outnumber them five or six to one. No contest.’

‘No.’

But still the Durotrigans prepared themselves to meet the enemy. Clustering together in a shallow crescent, they raised their shields and shook their spears. A movement, away to the right, drew Cato’s attention, and he saw Quintillus galloping his horse down the slope. He tore round the back of the advancing cohorts and took up a position just behind the centre of the line, drew his sword and shouted encouragement to the native troops.

‘Wasting his bloody breath,’ said Figulus. ‘They don’t understand much Latin.’

‘No, but it might make him feel good.’

The distance between the two forces closed quickly, then the Durotrigans began to give ground, moving back past the burned wagons towards the far end of the vale, where the gap between the steep sides of both hills was narrow and offered better defence than the open floor where the Atrebatans would easily overrun them through sheer weight of numbers.

‘That’s not going to do them much good, not when Macro’s lads come up on them.’

‘Figulus?’

‘Sir?’

‘Just shut up for the moment. I don’t need the running commentary.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The two cohorts continued to pursue the enemy up the vale and began to pass by the burned-out supply column. Cato spared the charred wagons a quick look, and frowned. There was something about them that did not look right. The axles were far too thin and the light wheels and wicker-frame sides bore little resemblance to the heavy transport carts of the legions. As he stepped over one of the bodies Cato was aware of a faint putrid smell and he saw the blotchy skin on the corpse. The man must have died some days ago. The next body he came across was the same. All at once a dreadful doubt chilled his blood and he glanced anxiously at the trees that sprawled down the slopes of the hills on either side. Cato looked towards the tribune, but Quintillus had his gaze fixed on the small band of raiders directly ahead and was still shouting his encouragement. Cato drew a deep breath and threw up his arm.

‘Cohort! Halt!’

The Wolves stumbled to a halt, some warriors not quite understanding the order, or not willing to obey it immediately. The result was a straggling line spread across the floor of the vale. After a moment’s hesitation Macro echoed the order to halt and started running across towards Cato.