‘Close the gate!’ Cato shouted, throwing his shoulder to the timbers as Cadminius and his warriors quickly heaved the gate into place. Suddenly the gate shivered and started to swing back as the Durotrigans recovered and charged forwards again.

‘Help! Help here!’ Cato cried out, and the Wolves surged forward, adding their weight to those desperately trying to seal the entrance. For a moment the gate was still, caught between the two straining forces, then Cato felt his boots sliding backwards.

‘Heave! Come on, you bastards! Heave!’

More men joined them, Macro and his legionaries among them, and the gate was held still again, no more than a foot from the timber frame and locking bracket. Macro drew back and looked up to the men on the palisade.

‘Use your daggers! Hit ‘em with anything you’ve got. Throw your fucking swords at them, if you have to!’

As the men drew their daggers and hurled them down into the dense mass straining at the gate, the enemy’s attention was distracted for a crucial moment, and with one last effort the defenders closed the gate and slammed the locking bar home.

While some of the men slumped to the ground or bent double as they struggled to catch their breath Cato forced himself to stand upright. He picked up his shield, pushed his way through the men and climbed the short ladder up to the palisade. Keeping his shield raised he looked down and saw that the Durotrigans were already melting away from the enclosure, until only a small handful still hammered away at the timbers with their swords and spears.

‘Keep hitting ‘em,’ Cato shouted to the men beside him, then leaned back to the men inside the entrance. ‘Get every javelin up here, now!’

As soon as the iron-headed shafts began to strike down amongst them, even the most resolute of the Durotrigans recognised that their rage was useless, and they ran back from the gate, down the street and out of range. Cato nodded his satisfaction, and then dropped down into the enclosure to find Macro. His friend was sitting on the ground, bare-headed as he examined a dent on the top of his helmet. He ran his fingers tenderly across the scar on his scalp.

‘You all right, Macro?’

The centurion nodded, and blinked his eyes. ‘I’ll be fine. Just a bit dizzy. Some bastard whacked me right above that injury . . . Give us a hand.’

Cato grasped his arm and heaved the other man to his feet. He looked round the exhausted faces inside the gate. ‘Where’s Figulus?’

‘He was knocked over back there.’

‘Dead?’

‘I didn’t see.’

Cato nodded once, then turned towards the gate. ‘Our friends have gone, for the moment.’

Macro nodded, then looked up at the sky. It was near sunset, and a brilliant orange spread across the horizon.