‘I wouldn’t worry about that lot!’ He had to shout to be heard clearly above the rising roar of the enemy’s battle cries. ‘In a moment they’ll charge us. All we have to do is stand firm, give ‘em six inches of the short sword and they’ll break in no time. Most of us have been here before and know the form. For the rest of you, once it’s all over, you’ll wonder what you were ever worried about.’ Cato grinned.’Trust me, I’m a centurion!’

A few men laughed, and Cato was glad to see a release of the nervous tension he had marked in some of those faces an instant before.

‘You tell ‘em, boy!’ a voice cried out from somewhere amongst the rear ranks.

Figulus spun round. ‘Who said that? Who the fuck said that?’ The optio thrust his way through the front line. ‘Which one of you pricks just signed his own death warrant?’

‘Optio!’ Cato called out. ‘Get back to your post!’

‘Yes, sir!’ Figulus glowered at the men around him before shoving back through the broad shields to take his place alongside the century’s standard bearer. Cato met his eyes and gave him a slight nod of approval; the optio’s intervention had forestalled any wider breach of discipline. Very well, if some of the men didn’t want his encouragement they could wait for the charge in silence.

Fortunately patience was not numbered among the Celtic virtues, and with a sudden great roar the natives rippled forward and charged across the open ground towards the still, red line of Roman shields, above which polished helmets glinted in the harsh sunlight. Cato made himself turn round slowly to face the enemy. His keen eyesight took in the myriad details of lime-washed hair, tattoos and swirling patterns painted on to bare, glistening flesh, brilliant reflections shimmering off swords and helmets. Spears jabbed the air and every face amongst them was twisted and strained with savage expressions of rage and bloodlust that were the stuff of nightmares.

Cato was terrified, and for an instant the urge to turn and run seized his limbs. Then the horror of showing his fear in front of his men rescued him and he welcomed the cold chill of fright that pulsed through him and keyed up every muscle, and every one of his senses, in readiness for the imminent need to kill and to live. He made himself stand still a few heartbeats longer and face the howling mob racing across the grass towards the Roman line. Then he turned and walked towards the front rank of his century.

‘Standard to the rear!’ Cato thought he heard a tremor in his voice and concentrated on steadying it for the next order. ‘Keep your shields up!’