The legionaries turned, mounted the side of the wagon and leaped clear of the flames into the street on the far side. Macro shifted to a spot where the flames were not so intense and took a quick look round to make sure the enemy could not follow them through the fire. Then he turned, threw his shield and sword into the street and dived after them. He crashed on to the ground and rolled awkwardly to one side, the breath driven from his body. For a moment he could not breathe and when he did gasp at the air the smoke made his chest seize up. As Macro retched, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He blinked to clear the tears from his eyes and saw Figulus.

‘Come on, sir!’

Macro’s sword and shield were pressed back into his hands and then Figulus pulled him away from the blazing wagon.

‘You’re supposed . . . to be with . . . your men,’ Macro wheezed.

‘They’re all right, sir. Sent them on ahead.’

‘Wait!’ Macro looked back towards the gate. The wagon was well ablaze and brilliant red torrents of flame crackled and roared upwards, firing the ramparts above. The centurion nodded his satisfaction. The gateway had been denied to the enemy, for now at least. But it would not take them long to scale the walls instead; Macro’s actions had only bought the defenders a brief interval. ‘Let’s go.’

As soon as Cato heard the battering ram crash through the gates he gave the order to fall back. Mandrax hoisted the standard above his head and slowly swung it from side to side. All along the ramparts the men of the Wolf Cohort fell back from the palisade and ran through the streets towards the depot. Taking one last glance to ensure that every man had seen and understood the signal, Cato beckoned to Mandrax and clambered down the reverse slope of the rampart into the ten-pace gap that ran round the inside of Calleva’s defences. They made for an opening between two clusters of native huts. A narrow winding street led them into the heart of the town. As they ran Cato noticed anxious faces peering at them from doorways as they pounded past. The people of Calleva would discover the worst soon enough, but there was nothing he could do for them now; nothing he could say that would be of the smallest comfort. And so he ignored them as he and Mandrax ran for the safety of the last line of defence against the Durotrigans. Once inside the depot, they would hold off the enemy for as long as possible and then die.