‘Come on!’ said Cato, crouching low as he hurried to deal with the new threat. But it was already too late. Glancing ahead, Cato saw that a number of enemy warriors were already over the wall between himself and Mandrax’s party. Three men were on the walkway, and then they dropped down into the enclosure, and more streamed over the palisade. Cato saw that three ladders were leaning against the wall, all the time disgorging more men. The fight for the wall was over then. He stopped and turned back to his men, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest.

‘You! Get back to Macro. Tell him . . . Just show him where they’re crossing the wall. He’ll know what to do then.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The warrior brushed past his comrades and scurried back along the wall towards the gate.

‘Let’s go,’ Cato said to the others, and leaped down from the walkway. He ordered the Wolves to make for the redoubt, and as they dashed off across the enclosure towards the great hall Cato ran towards the Durotrigans gathering below the point where they crossed the wall. One of them saw the centurion and shouted a warning to his companions. Cato stopped and called out over their heads.

‘Mandrax! Mandrax!’

Beyond the Durotrigans Mandrax glanced round, and saw the danger.

‘Fall back!’ Cato shouted, and thrust his sword towards the great hall.

The warning given, the centurion turned and ran. He had not got far when the Durotrigans raised a deafening war cry and charged into the enclosure. Cato snatched a look over his shoulder and took in the whole terrible scene in an instant. The enemy were starting to come over the wall in ever more places, and all the survivors of the Wolf Cohort were fleeing towards the redoubt. In their midst, rising above the tide of heads and the points of spears, was the standard with the gold-painted wolf’s head. The Durotrigans had already run down some of the men slowed by their injuries, and now hacked at them as they fell to the ground. Away to the left, Macro had seen that the wall had fallen, even before Cato’s message could reach him, and the legionaries were abandoning the gate and dropping down into the enclosure.

Cato faced forward again, and ran for his life, instinctively dipping his head between the shoulder bands of his armour as the howls of the Durotrigans rose up a short distance behind him. Ahead lay the hurriedly prepared breastwork of the redoubt; the opening set to one side where a heavily laden cart had been drawn back to allow access. Men were already crowding through it, casting terrified looks at the enemy charging towards them. As Cato closed the gap between himself and the final line of defence he shouted at the men desperately trying to shove their way into the redoubt.

‘Wolves! Wolves! Turn and form by the standard! The standard!’