The growing roar from down the street was all his men needed to hear, and they rushed the remaining distance up to the enclosure and through the gate, heedless of the added agony they caused the injured men they were dragging. Then it was just Cato left, running towards the safety of the gate, already being swung back into place by its defenders. Not again, he thought wryly. Cato glanced over his shoulder, just as the Durotrigans burst round the corner no more than twenty paces behind, shrieking for his blood. Weighed down by his armour Cato could not hope to outrun them, and threw down his shield as he pounded towards the narrowing gap. Above the gate Macro and the others leaned over, shouting desperate encouragement. Cato jumped over the prone forms of the prisoners who had died from their injuries, head ducked low, nailed boots pounding on the hard packed earth of the street. A dark shadow whipped past his head and a dozen feet ahead, a spear thudded into the ground.

‘Come on, Cato!’ bellowed Macro. ‘They’re right behind you!’

He looked up, saw the gate directly ahead of him, then sensed danger at his shoulder and dodged to one side. A sword blade swished through the air and bit down into the earth as the man who wielded it hissed a curse. Cato threw himself forward through the gap left for him and rolled over inside the gate. Immediately the legionaries heaved it into place, but caught, between the gate and the stout timber of the support post, the shoulder and head of the man who had tried to cut Cato down with his sword. With a dull crack the man’s skull was crushed, a legionary thrust the misshapen mass back through the gap and the gate was barred once more. The thud and clatter of the enemy on the far side testified to their rage and frustration as Cato strained to catch his breath on all fours.

‘Cato!’ Macro called down to him. ‘You all right?’

Cato waved a hand.

‘Good! Then you’d better get up here and deal with this bloody wasps’ nest you’ve gone and stirred up!’

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘Get the wounded into the hall!’ Cato ordered, heaving himself up the ladder to join Macro. Verica’s bodyguards thrust themselves in front of the king as Cadminius eased the old man back on to his litter.

‘What about him, sir?’ asked Mandrax, nodding towards the bloody and bruised Atrebatan prince groaning on the ground at the foot of the Wolf standard.

Cato glanced over his shoulder. ‘Take Tincommius into the hall. Make sure he’s tied up. He’s not to be harmed, understand?’

Mandrax, looking disappointed, prodded Tincommius with the end of the standard. ‘On your feet, you.’