‘That’s right,’ Cato replied quietly. He turned back to his men. ‘Inside. Behind the gate, close formation.’

As the Wolves marched inside, Cato indicated the position for Mandrax, and the men formed up around their standard, facing back down the street towards the sounds of fighting. They did not have to wait long for the legionaries to appear. Macro’s men came into sight, falling back at a steady pace, keeping a tight formation across the street as they fended off the Durotrigan mass desperately trying to force a way through the shields.

‘Pass all the javelins to the front!’ Cato called out to his men, and the few remaining javelins were thrust forward into the hands of the men of the front rank, who quickly sheathed their swords.

‘You’ll be using them as spears,’ Cato said. ‘No throwing. Front rank, close up, overlapping shields! Two paces forward. Thrust over the rims.’

There was a clatter as the men aligned their shields and readied their javelins in a tight overhead grip. This way they would have a longer strike range, and present a more unnerving danger to the Durotrigans as the iron tips stabbed towards their eyes. Then they waited silently, watching through the gateway as their Roman allies retreated towards them. Cato went forward to join Cadminius and a small group of warriors standing ready to close the gate the moment the order was given.

From the Roman ranks Macro shouted an order for the rear two lines to break formation and man the palisade. The men trotted past the sides of the Wolves and hurried up on to the narrow sentry walk either side of the gate. The Roman line, thinner now, gave way more easily under the pressure of the Durotrigan horde, and Cato feared it might cave in before Macro and his men reached them. The enemy saw the opportunity as well, and threw themselves forward in a renewed frenzy of hacking and slashing blades. As the legionaries reached the enclosure they were no longer able to maintain formation and stumbled back from the screaming mob. Then they were passing through the gate, exhausted and gasping for breath, but aware enough to keep clear of Cato’s men. There was Macro, in a small knot of legionaries, cursing and shouting his defiance into the faces of his enemies as he thrust his blade at them, legs poised for balance as he carefully backed towards the safety of the enclosure.

With a quick rearward glance, Macro sized up the position and after a final savage roar at the Durotrigans he shouted to the last of his men, ‘Run for it!’

They turned and sprinted through the gate as Cato ordered his spearmen forward. At the sight of the wicked iron javelin points protruding over the wall of oval auxiliary shields the Durotrigans instinctively shrank back.