Here and there, a lucky spear thrust or sword blow found a gap in the shield wall and thudded home into the flesh of the man behind. Any legionary too badly wounded to continue marching fell to the ground and his place was quickly filled from the dwindling ranks of reserves to keep the shield wall intact. The wounded were left behind as the column passed on, and each man who marched by met the eyes of his wounded comrades and registered a last farewell. As the rearguard approached the injured covered their bodies with their shields and prepared to fight on as best they could before being killed. It was pitiless, thought Cato, quite pitiless. Yet he knew that if he fell he could not expect his men to risk their lives to save him, or any other injured man. That way all of them would die.

The rearguard steadily gave ground as the enemy pressed through the gateway and battered the end of the column, desperately trying to breach the line of shields and cut the small Roman force to pieces. Figulus, taller and broader than most legionaries, held his ground in the centre of the line and kept his men together with steady commands as he deflected blows off his shield and thrust his sword into the enemy massing behind the column.

Step by step the legionaries and the Wolves forced their way up the street towards the junction with the road that led from Calleva’s main gate to the royal enclosure. The hard earth beneath their boots quickly became slick and muddy with the gore of the dead and injured, and the cloying smell of blood mixed with the sharper smell of disturbed soil. From his position in the middle of the column, detached from the intensity of the hand-to-hand fighting, Cato could see that they had reached the broad street that cut through the centre of Calleva.

‘Cato! Cato!’ Macro’s voice rose above the din of battle.

‘Sir?’

‘Soon as we clear the junction take your men and clear the way towards the royal enclosure.’

‘Yes, sir!’

The legionaries slowly fought their way across the junction until the column had passed into the route leading up to the gates of the royal enclosure, cutting off a small group of the enemy.

‘Now, Cato!’ Macro shouted.

‘Follow me!’ Cato called to his men, and charged up the street.

A few of the Durotigans, those with cool heads, tried to stand their ground. But they were quickly overwhelmed and cut down. The rest broke and ran down the street to the right, ducking into the shelter of any side alleys, casting terrified looks back at their pursuers as the Wolves chased after them.