As they approached the ruined gateway, they could see a great dark mass of Durotrigan raiders surging around the ruins with little sense of order. Individual figures were scrambling along the remains of the earthen rampart, seeking a means of escape through the shattered wooden palisade and the iron cordon of the legionary skirmish line waiting beyond. A few of the raiders might escape, but only a few, Cato thought to himself with cold satisfaction.

‘Halt!’ Macro ordered. ‘There they are, lads, ripe for killing. Keep close and make sure you look before you thrust. There’s enough of ‘em to go round without you having to kill any of our lads! Form line!’

While the front rank of the column stood still, the following files took position on each side until the century formed a line two men deep, across the ruins. As Cato waited for his centurion to give the order to advance, he noticed a small knot of Durotrigans break away from their comrades and slip into the shadows of some ruined huts.

‘Sir!’

‘What is it?’

Cato thrust his sword arm out, pointing towards the huts with his blade. ‘Over there. Some of them are making a break for it.’

‘I see ‘em. We can’t have that,’ Macro decided. ‘You take half the men and see to them.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Cato, no heroics.’ Macro had noted the dark mood that had possessed his optio since the lad had witnessed the grim horror inside the well and wanted it known that he would not tolerate any foolishness. ‘Just hunt them down and then bring the men straight back.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll advance first. Once I’m clear, you can carry on.’

Cato nodded.

‘Squads to my left… advance!’

With Macro setting the pace, the first five sections stepped forward, shields facing the enemy, short swords at the ready. The dark mass of the Britons shrank back from the approaching shield wall, and their cries of despair and panic reached a new pitch of terror as the silent line of Romans closed on them. A few of the more stout-hearted among the Durotriges broke free of the mob and stood, weapons raised, prepared to go down fighting, true to their warrior code. But they were too few to make any difference and were quickly overwhelmed and cut down. Moments later came the dull crash of shields and the ringing of swords as Macro and his men carved their way into the heaving mob.

Cato turned away and drew a deep breath of the cold air. ‘The rest of you, follow me!’