The iron heads of the javelins rippled forward to the men in the front rank. Cato snatched at one and lowered the point towards the swiftly approaching horsemen. On either side, his men thrust their points out between the shields. Cato hunched his neck down so that his face was protected by the rim of his shield, and stared into the oncoming charge. The Britons were screaming their war cries with maddened exultant expressions in the last instant before their mounts slammed into the Romans. There was a thud of bodies on shields, and the grunts of legionaries driven back. Cato felt his arm jerk as the flank of a horse thrust itself upon the iron head of his javelin. The animal reared, threatening to tear the weapon from his grasp, and Cato yanked it savagely, gouging a bloody hole in the animal’s sleek hide. Something flashed above his head and he just had time to duck down as a spear tip slashed forward, narrowly missing his head and glancing off the neck guard with a sharp clatter. Cato’s head snapped back painfully and he found himself staring up into the horseman’s face, frozen in a feral grin of stained teeth under a dark drooping moustache. Instinctively, Cato swung his javelin round and thrust at the man’s eyes. Before the thrust landed the rider yanked sharply on his reins and wheeled his horse away, knocking the tip of the javelin to one side.

For a moment Cato was not engaged, and he glanced round. A horse was down on its back, lashing the air with its hoofs as its screaming rider was crushed beneath it. Two more of the enemy were down on the track, mortally injured, one of them writhing as he clasped his hands over a terrible injury that had ripped open his stomach. But not one Roman had been cut down. After the impact, they had recovered and maintained the shield wall in good order, while above them spears and shields clattered uselessly against the large curved surfaces of the Roman shields.

The enemy horsemen kept the attack up for a while longer, then their leader bellowed an order and they abruptly disengaged and trotted back a short distance,just out of javelin range. Beyond them Cato glimpsed the head of the enemy column marching round the corner where the two Roman lookouts had been posted shortly before. It was time to start the withdrawal.

‘Fall back! Optio!’

‘Sir?’

‘Take half the men. Retire a hundred paces and form a new line. Leave a gap for us to pass through when we reach you.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Septimus gathered his men and they trotted up the track until they reached a point where the space either side of the track was again hemmed in by clumps of gorse. The optio halted the men and formed them up.