‘It’s working!’ Cato shouted. ‘Keep at it.’
With Thraxis helping, the post moved again and then began to lean out. A final effort by the two auxiliaries brought it out of the ground, leaving a modest pile of soil behind. As the post slid down into the ditch, the Romans began work on those either side of the gap, and these began to move more easily. Then a shadow loomed above Cato and he glanced up to see a native leaning over the palisade, a long hunting spear in his hands, drawn back and ready to strike at them. As the broad leaf-shaped point stabbed down, Cato thrust his shield up and blocked the blow, deflecting the point back into the nearest timbers. At once he dropped his sword and grasped the spear shaft, wrenching it away from its owner with all his might. He gained a few feet before the warrior took hold again, and for a brief moment each strained to wrestle the weapon from the other. Then Cato swung the shaft out at an angle and thrust it back. The butt caught his opponent under the chin, snapping his jaw up and his head back, and he tumbled out of sight.
‘Nice one, sir!’ Thraxis laughed.
A second post began to shift and then broke free of the soil and snow, leaving a gap just wide enough for a man to squeeze through. Cato held his shield out and passed it between the posts on either side as he used his spare hand to clamber up the unstable slope of earth on to the rampart. He was on his knees when he reached the top and snatched out his sword as he was instantly spotted by the nearest enemy warriors. A large man in a fur cloak swung round to face him, raising his battleaxe over his head as he let out a roar and plunged towards the Roman officer. Cato just had time to brace his feet as the warrior swung his axe down.
Glimpsing the glint of the sharpened head of the weapon, he angled his shield to deflect the blow, but the impact was sudden and violent, the axe crashing against the iron boss, jolting his hand badly. The axe head skittered off the shield and the edge bit into the compressed snow and ice atop the rampart in a spray of white and dark soil. Powering off his back foot, Cato punched out with his shield and felt it connect solidly with the axeman, who stumbled back a pace as he struggled to retain his footing on the icy surface. Tearing his sword from its scabbard, Cato opened out his shield enough to permit a quick thrust, and the point stabbed home into the fur cloak belted around the enemy warrior. He felt the hide give way, and the blade plunged on into the man’s flesh. He twisted it one way, then the other, and wrenched it free as his opponent staggered back with an angry bellow and raised his axe to strike again.
This time Cato backed away quickly, out of reach, and glanced over his shoulder to see Thraxis emerging from the gap in the palisade. Beyond him, two warriors armed with kite shields and swords were rushing forward, eager to cut him down before he could gain the top of the rampart. Cato swung round, away from the wounded axeman, and charged past Thraxis, twisting his shield round so that it would present a broad target to his enemies. Neither side dared to stop too suddenly on the icy surface, and they came together in a loud clatter of shields and clash of blades before tumbling on to the rampart in a tangle of limbs. Cato landed heavily, and the impact drove the air from his lungs in a violent gasp. He lay half on top of one of the warriors, while the other sprawled across his legs. He had lost his shield, and although his sword was still in his hand, the first of his enemies was lying on it and he could not shift it. Instead he clenched his left hand and struck the man hard on the jaw, again and again, until the warrior managed to raise his arms to protect himself. The other warrior shook his head, and Cato, aware of a sharp pain in his knee, realised that the joint and the man’s head must have connected during the fall. As he regained his senses, the warrior roared at Cato and reached for the sword lying beside him.
There was nothing Cato could do to stop him retrieving his weapon, and he punched the closer man hard again before trying to wrench his trapped sword hand free. ‘Get off me, you barbarian bastard!’ He made one last effort, and the warrior rolled slightly on to his side, moving just enough for the Roman to rip his blade away.
Instantly he propped himself up, at the same time as the second warrior was starting to swing his sword round in an arc. At the last moment, Cato managed to sweep his short sword in between himself and the Celtic blade. There was a ringing clash and sparks flew before the longer blade forced Cato’s weapon aside and he felt the flat of the sword strike the crest of his helmet and glance overhead. He hacked at the warrior’s exposed forearm and struck a large silver torc, which stopped any injury but caused the man’s fingers to spasm and release his sword. Cato raised his own blade and drove the point deep into his enemy’s throat before ripping it to the side in a rush of pulsing blood. The warrior slumped back on to the rampart, trying to clamp both hands over the mortal wound.
Cato drew a deep breath of relief and quickly pulled himself free, retrieving his shield and standing up just in time to see Thraxis hack at the axeman’s arm, cutting skin and breaking bone so that the man cried out. He tried to draw his axe back for another blow, but howled with agony as the broken limb refused to bear the weight of the war axe. Thraxis followed up with a thrust of his shield and knocked the man to the ground at the edge of the rampart, where he rolled down the snowy bank.
Both Thraxis and Cato paused, hearts racing, eyes and ears alert for trouble, but none of the enemy threatened them as the Blood Crows’ standard-bearer climbed in through the breach, followed by the two large auxiliaries who had pulled the posts down. Below them, more men were crowding the gap, anxious to feed through into the fight. Looking around the redoubt, Cato could see that two more parties of his men had found their way on to the ramparts and were struggling to defend their footholds while others climbed up to join them. The interior of the redoubt was perhaps fifty paces across, and from where he stood, Cato could see the formidable line of stakes studding the flank leading down into the channel. In the other direction stretched the rampart that covered the narrow channel between the mainland and the Druids’ island.
Several hundred men were defending the rampart, and so far there was no sign that they had conceded any of the breaches that had been opened up by the legions’ ballista batteries. Given the greater weight of their armour, it was not surprising that the men of the Fourteenth were taking longer than the Blood Crows to get into action, Cato realised.
A chorus of battle cries drew his attention back to his immediate surroundings, and he saw a party of enemy warriors surging along the rampart towards him and the handful of men around the Blood Crows’ standard.
‘Steady, lads,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘They’re all mouth and no heart. Let’s show ’em why they are right to fear the Blood Crows!’
Thraxis and the others presented their shields and swords and braced their feet as they stood shoulder to shoulder, ready to hold their ground. Behind them the standard-bearer grounded the staff and held his sword ready. Cato took his place beside Thraxis, on the edge of the rampart, and gritted his teeth as he faced the enemy. They were already spilling out on to the reverse slope of the rampart, ready to envelop the small knot of Romans around the narrow breach. Those atop the rampart were moving fastest, and a moment later they crashed, shield to shield, into Thraxis and his two comrades. At once the auxiliaries thrust forward, using their nailed boots to advantage on the icy ground as they pressed the natives back against their companions following them up. Then they stabbed into the packed ranks before them, pushing their swords home, working the blades inside their enemies before tearing them free. The first of the warriors slumped to his knees and was ruthlessly thrust aside, sent sprawling down the inner slope by one of his companions anxious to throw himself into the fight.