As Cato hurried along the walkway he saw that most of the huts did not back directly on to the royal enclosure and left a gap of perhaps five or six paces between their daubed walls and the line of timbers stretching round the great hall. But, as with all things Celtic, after a while the rule was gradually ignored and newer buildings and extensions to old ones had encroached on the wall. The defensive ditch had long ago been filled in with rubbish, and bones and shards of pottery poked through the foul-smelling topsoil. Many of the huts were attached to small enclosures of their own, fenced in wicker, with empty pens in which animals had been kept before food ran short. It would not take the enemy long to cut a path through to the wall, and wherever they emerged, the defenders would be hard-pressed to meet the threat in time to prevent the Durotrigans scaling the low walls. If they managed to attack in several places at once there would be no stopping them, Cato realised. The Durotrigans would stream over the wall and flood across the enclosure before the defenders could react. The Romans and the Wolves would be cut to pieces, unless they managed to reach the redoubt at the entrance to the great hall. After that there was no further retreat, and there they would fight to the end.

Cato stepped aside as Mandrax trotted past with a small party of warriors. The standard bearer quickly posted a man and the remainder ran on. The centurion glanced round and saw that they could muster only a pitiful screen to keep out the enemy. Over at the gate Macro and his legionaries were holding their own for now. The Durotrigans had brought up ladders, and as he watched, Cato saw the parallel shafts swing forward against the wall, only to be desperately shoved back by the defenders.

‘Here they come!’

Cato turned and saw one of the Wolves close by, pointing over the palisade. Below him a mob of Durotrigans had burst through a pig sty and charged up to the wall. Already one man was being hoisted up by his comrades, and his hands were reaching for the top of the wall. Then, a short distance beyond, more of the enemy emerged from the huts and ran towards the wall.

‘Wolves! To me!’ Cato cried out, drawing his sword. ‘To me!’