Looking down at the carpet of bodies strewn over the street leading up to the gate Macro estimated that almost a fifth of his men were dead, or badly wounded. He glanced up and caught the eye of young Cato, who instantly flashed his gaze over the wall with an expression of rapt attention.

‘Cato! Keep your fucking head down, unless you want some German to use it for target practice!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Come here. Job for you.’

Hunched down below the palisade, Macro removed his helmet and wiped his brow with his uninjured arm. As he prepared to give the details of the report to Cato, he ran a finger along a dent across the top of his helmet.

‘Wouldn’t know anything about that I suppose?’

Cato blushed silently.

‘I guessed not. But if anyone tries to spit me like that again I’ll have the bastard’s hide. Now then I want you to find the tribune. Find him as quick as you can and you tell him we’re holding this gate. Tell him I’ve got about seventy effectives left and then ask him for orders. Understand?’

Cato nodded.

‘Get going then!’ Macro slapped him on the helmet.

The centurion watched Cato run down the ramp to the street and quickly pick his way over the dead and wounded. As he replaced his helmet, Macro made a mental note to have a word with Bestia if they ever got out of this mess. That boy definitely needed some more javelin practice. He sighed and cautiously peered over the palisade to see how the Germans were progressing with the faggots.

===OO=OOO=OO===

Cato’s boots pounded down the street as he ran back the way the century had come only a little while earlier. Alone, he felt vulnerable and he glanced nervously from side to side as he hurried between the squalid ranks of German huts and buildings. But he saw no-one until he had almost reached the square at the heart of the village. There he ran into a Roman picket guarding the approach. The two legionaries hefted their javelins anxiously at his approach, looking beyond him, but were relieved when Cato drew up, breathing heavily.

‘Where’s the tribune?’

‘What’s happening, Optio?’

‘Nothing… need to find the tribune… message for him.’

One of the legionaries gestured over his shoulder. ‘Back there, by the chief’s hut. What gives at the other gate?’

‘It’s being held,’ Cato called over his shoulder as he ran past.

When he emerged from the narrow street into the square Cato halted in surprise. Hundreds of Germans of all ages were milling around in the centre. Then he saw that they were being herded together by scores of legionaries who pushed with their shields and prodded with javelins to steer their charges into a compact group for easy guarding. Some were still being driven in from the surrounding streets as Cato pushed his way through to the chief’s hut where Vitellius was giving orders to a centurion.

‘… and if they put up any struggle, or try anything on, kill them all.’