‘Rest?’ one of Cato’s men muttered. ‘Who’s he fucking kidding?’

Some of the other legionaries started grumbling and Septimus wheeled round on them. ‘Shut your mouths! Save it for the bloody natives!’

The grumbling stopped, but the air of sullen resentment hung over them like a shroud. As the men of the Fifth Century filed down from the rampart and passed Cato, he saw that many of them were wounded, some barely able to stay on their feet.

‘Bad up there?’ one of Cato’s men asked.

‘They’re bloody crazy,’ came the reply from the dazed optio of the Fifth Century. ‘Never seen anything like it. Just threw themselves at the wall like they wanted to die . . . bloody madmen.’

‘Optio!’ Cato beckoned him closer. ‘Where’s Centurion Antonius?’

‘Dead . . .’

‘Dead, sir!’ Cato snapped at him. ‘It’s “sir” when you’re addressing a superior officer!’

The optio stiffened to attention. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

Cato nodded, then leaned closer and continued softly,’You’re in command now, Optio. You set the standard. Don’t let your men down.’

‘No, sir.’

Cato stared at him for a moment, to make sure that his nerve had steadied. ‘Carry on.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Cato!’ Tullius bellowed. ‘What are you waiting for! Get your arse up here!’

‘At once, sir!’

The men of the Sixth Century hefted their shields and followed Cato up on to the rampart. He was not prepared for the sight that met his eyes when he looked over the palisade. The optio’s comment about the madness of the enemy was fully borne out. They lay heaped before the palisade. A great tangle of bloodied limbs, shields and weapons stretched from the rampart in a rough triangle, with its apex on the track that led into the marsh. Here and there the injured still moved. Cato watched a man with a javelin in his spine claw his way back to his comrades re-forming for the next assault a hundred paces down the track. He dragged his nerveless legs a short distance from the mound of bodies before his strength gave out and he collapsed on the hard earth of the track, his gleaming torso heaving from the effort.

‘A welcome sight.’

Cato tore his gaze away from the crippled enemy warrior. Tullius had thrust his way through the defenders and had observed the young centurion’s shock at the bloody vista before the defences.

Cato stared at him, and nodded dumbly. Tullius looked down the track and shook his head in wonder. ‘Looks like they’ll be having another go any moment now. You’d better get your men ready.’