Cato fixed his eyes on his new foe - a swarthy Celt, older and more wary than his blood-crazed companion. He approached the centurion with a measured stride and then lowered his lithe body into a crouch, poised on the balls of his feet, sword held up and to the side, ready for an overhead blow or a cut to the body. This man, Cato realised, was not going to fall for the same trick as his friend. When the centurion was no more than ten paces away he suddenly shouted with rage and charged home.

The warrior had been expecting a more subtle, calculated attack and the savage rush took the man by surprise. Cato’s heavy legionary shield drove into his foe and knocked him off his feet. Cato stamped down on his face as he ran across his enemy and jabbed his sword into the man’s chest. It was not a fatal blow, but one that might keep him out of the fight for a vital instant. The Durotrigan warrior grunted as the sword stuck in his ribs and winded him. Then he was gone, dropping behind Cato as the centurion turned on the next man to cross the wall. He was still stretching down for his spear when Cato attacked him and only had time to register a surprised expression before the tip of the short sword struck him in the eye and crunched through the skull into his brain. Cato whipped the blade back and, leaning forward, hacked at the next pair of arms reaching up for the top of the palisade. His sword bit deep into a shoulder and the man fell away. No one else moved forward to take his place and others further back raised javelins to throw at the centurion. Cato just managed to duck his head in time as the dark shafts arced over the wall.

Four of his men, bent double, came scuttling along the walkway behind Cato.

‘Finish that one off.’ Cato pointed to the older enemy, clutching at the wound in his chest. A sword flickered out and opened the man’s throat. He died with a gulping choking sound, slowly slumping to the ground where he struggled feebly to rise for a moment before the dregs of life flowed from him. Cato watched him die, forced to stay down as the enemy continued to throw missiles over the wall.

‘Sir!’

‘What?’ Cato started guiltily and looked up from the dead man. One of the native warriors was pointing over the centurion’s shoulder.

‘There, sir!’

Cato glanced round and saw a hand reach over the palisade twenty paces further along the wall. Having distracted Cato and his men with the barrage of missiles, the attackers had simply shifted their assault further along the wall.