The Wolves piled into the enemy, shouting and screaming as they thrust and stabbed with their short swords. They carved a wedge into the Durotrigans, and before the enemy could respond the Atrebatans had cut their way through to Macro and the legionaries.

‘Close up!’ Cato called out. ‘Mandrax! To me!’

As the two units linked up Macro nodded a greeting to Cato, but the younger centurion knew there was too little time to waste.

‘Sir, we have to get back to the redoubt before they recover.’

‘Right.’ Macro turned to look back towards the gate. A dense mass of Durotrigan warriors was surging towards them. Macro turned to his men. ‘At the trot . . . advance!’

Cato relayed the order to his men and, with them at the front, the small column hurried towards the redoubt, making no attempt to stop and engage the shaken enemy, and only fending off the blows directed at them by the more intrepid spirits amongst the Durotrigans. But, behind them, the force that had torn through the gates was racing to catch up with the defenders. Their example was infectious and a renewed desire to close with and destroy the Romans and their allies rippled through the enemy warriors in the royal enclosure.

The men who had already reached the redoubt called out to their comrades from behind the makeshift breastwork, beckoning them on with desperate waves of their arms. Cato, at the front, was tempted to increase the pace, but knew that the moment they broke formation they would be cut to pieces as the enemy recovered their courage and set upon the defenders once again. Then the great hall was right in front of them and they made towards the narrow gap that led inside the redoubt.

‘Wolves!’ Cato called out, swerving to one side. ‘To me!’

His men formed up on their centurion, and the legionaries ran past, panting for breath as their heavy armour jingled rhythmically. Immediately behind the Romans came the first of the Durotrigans from the gate, thirsting for a chance to get at the men who had caused them such grievous losses from the shelter of the palisade above the street. The rearmost of Macro’s men had turned to face the threat and paced backwards as fast as they could, with no chance to check their footing as they warded off the enemies’ blows with their large shields. As soon as his men were in line Cato looked round and saw that most of the legionaries had passed through the entrance to the redoubt. Only the small knot of the rearguard were left, fighting their way step by step towards safety.

Cato cleared his throat. ‘Hold your ground! Wait until the last legionary has passed by.’