Under his wrecked shield Cato crouched as low as he could, wincing at the terrific din made by the barrage of missiles cracking and thudding against shields and bodies. He looked round and met Macro’s gaze under the shadow of his own shield.

‘It never rains but it pours!’ Macro smiled grimly.

‘Story of my life in the army so far, sir,’ Cato replied, attempting a grin to match his centurion’s apparent fearlessness.

‘Don’t worry, lad, I think it’s passing.’

But the fire suddenly renewed in intensity and Cato cringed into himself as he waited for the inevitable — the searing agony of a slingshot or arrow wound. Every moment he remained unscathed seemed nothing short of a miracle to him. Then, all at once, the barrage stopped. The air became strangely still. The enemy’s war horns sounded and Cato was aware of movement, but did not dare glance out in case yet more missiles came their way.

‘Get ready, lads!’ Hortensius croaked painfully from nearby. ‘There’ll be one last attempt to rush us. Any moment now. When I say, get back on your feet and prepare to receive the charge!’

There was no charge, just a jingling of equipment and clatter of spear butts as the Durotriges drew back from the ring of Roman shields and marched off in the opposite direction to the Second Legion’s camp. The enemy gradually picked up speed until they were quick-marching away. A thin screen of skirmishers formed up at the rear of the column and hurried along in its wake, casting frequent nervous looks behind them.

Macro cautiously rose to his feet and started after the retreating enemy. ‘Well, I’ll be…’ Quickly he sheathed his sword and cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Oi! Where are you wankers off to?’

Cato started in alarm. ‘Sir! What do you think you’re doing?’

Macro’s cries were taken up by the other legionaries and a chorus of jeers and catcalls pursued the Durotriges as they marched over the crest of the shallow ridge and into the vale beyond. The Roman taunts continued for a moment longer before turning to shouts of joy and triumph. Cato turned round and saw the front of the relief column rising up the track towards them. He felt sick as a wave of delirious happiness washed over him. Sinking down to the ground, he lowered his sword and shield and let his head rest heavily in his hands. Cato closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times before, with great effort, he opened them again and looked up. A figure detached itself from the head of the column and jogged up the track towards them. As the man approached, Cato recognised the craggy features of the camp prefect. When Sextus drew near to the survivors of the cohort, he slowed down and shook his head at the dreadful scene before him.