'Form up across the street!' Macro bellowed from the front, waving his sword to hurry his men into position, so that a wall of shields extended across the gap between the huts on either side. Behind this barrier the head of the column trudged forward once again. Before the rearguard made it out of the depot the first of the Durotrigans slammed into them, slashing at the rectangular shields with their long swords. Both sides fought in silence; the Durotrigans, breathless from their run across the depot, the Romans from grim desperation. The clash of swords and thud of blades on shields sounded to Cato more like a weapons drill than the pitiless fury of battle. Only the cries of the wounded told of the deadly intent with which warrior and legionary fought. The rearguard knew their job well, and kept moving back, fending off blows and only striking when an enemy showed more recklessness than sense, and paid the price.
Ahead of Macro, the Durotrigans who had managed to climb the walls either side of the burning town gate spilled across the street, clashing their spears against their shields, and shouting out their war cries.
'Keep the formation tight!' Macro bellowed above the din, raising his shield so that he could just see above the rim. His sword rose to the horizontal, arm bent and braced to deliver the first thrust. The distance between the column and the howling mass of the Durotrigans narrowed at a measured pace. When there was no more than twenty feet between them, the nearest Durotrigan raised his spear and charged the shield wall. Immediately the rest roared out their battle cry and ran after their comrade.
'Don't stop!' Macro shouted as the man to his left faltered. 'Move forwards. Don't stop for anything.'
The column met the Durotrigans on a narrow front and there was no room for the enemy's weight of numbers to pin the legionaries down. Macro and the other men at the front slammed their shields forwards, thrust, recovered and advanced before repeating the sequence, an automatic rhythm they had practised hundreds of times. The Durotrigans attacked with ferocity and courage, but were no match for the Romans. They were forced back or cut down and then crushed by the column as it marched over them.
Here and there, a lucky spear thrust or sword blow found a gap in the shield wall and thudded home into the flesh of the man behind. Any legionary too badly wounded to continue marching fell to the ground and his place was quickly filled from the dwindling ranks of reserves to keep the shield wall intact. The wounded were left behind as the column passed on, and each man who marched by met the eyes of his wounded comrades and registered a last farewell. As the rearguard approached the injured covered their bodies with their shields and prepared to fight on as best they could before being killed. It was pitiless, thought Cato, quite pitiless. Yet he knew that if he fell he could not expect his men to risk their lives to save him, or any other injured man. That way all of them would die.
The rearguard steadily gave ground as the enemy pressed through the gateway and battered the end of the column, desperately trying to breach the line of shields and cut the small Roman force to pieces. Figulus, taller and broader than most legionaries, held his ground in the centre of the line and kept his men together with steady commands as he deflected blows off his shield and thrust his sword into the enemy massing behind the column.
Step by step the legionaries and the Wolves forced their way up the street towards the junction with the road that led from Calleva's main gate to the royal enclosure. The hard earth beneath their boots quickly became slick and muddy with the gore of the dead and injured, and the cloying smell of blood mixed with the sharper smell of disturbed soil. From his position in the middle of the column, detached from the intensity of the hand-to-hand fighting, Cato could see that they had reached the broad street that cut through the centre of Calleva.
'Cato! Cato!' Macro's voice rose above the din of battle.
'Sir?'
'Soon as we clear the junction take your men and clear the way towards the royal enclosure.'
'Yes, sir!'
The legionaries slowly fought their way across the junction until the column had passed into the route leading up to the gates of the royal enclosure, cutting off a small group of the enemy.
'Now, Cato!' Macro shouted.
'Follow me!' Cato called to his men, and charged up the street.
A few of the Durotigans, those with cool heads, tried to stand their ground. But they were quickly overwhelmed and cut down. The rest broke and ran down the street to the right, ducking into the shelter of any side alleys, casting terrified looks back at their pursuers as the Wolves chased after them.
Cato drew up and looked round, wide-eyed and breathing hard through clenched teeth. Mandrax was behind him, standard in one hand and blood-smeared sword in the other. The Atrebatan warrior grinned at the centurion, thrust his standard into the ground and snatched up the grey locks of a man Cato had knocked down. Mandrax yanked his head up and swept his sword back to cut the man's head off.
'No!' Cato shouted. 'Not now. Leave the heads till later. There's no time.'
With a look of disgust Mandrax released the man's hair and snatched up his standard. Then Cato saw that some of the rest of his cohort had already taken a few heads, and others were busy looking for more.
'Drop those!' Cato shouted in Celtic. 'Drop 'em, I said! Form up!'
Reluctantly, the men obeyed, hurriedly forming a solid block across the street that ran up to the gates of the royal enclosure. As soon as the Wolves were ready, Cato ordered them to move forward fifty paces, halt and wait for orders. Then he ran back to the junction. The legionaries were easily holding off the main body of the enemy that filled the street in the direction of Calleva's main gate for as far as Cato could see.
Macro suddenly appeared, shoving his way through the rear ranks of his men. He saw Cato and nodded grudgingly.
'Nice work… Take your men forward and make sure the route to the enclosure is kept open.'
'Right.'
'As my lot get close to the gate, you get yours inside. Be ready to close it the instant the last man passes through.'
Cato smiled faintly. 'That wouldn't be you, by any chance?'
'Get going.'
'Yes, sir.'
Cato trotted back to his men and ordered them forward. They met no further resistance from the Durotrigans who had been separated from the main body of the enemy, and the only ones they saw quickly ran off at the sight of Cato and his men. Then the street widened slightly as it turned a corner and there was the entrance to the royal enclosure. The gates were open and several of the king's bodyguard, fully armed, were standing along the palisade on either side. Cadminius stood in the entrance and beckoned to Cato and his men as they approached. Cato ran over to him.
'Macro and the last of our men are not far behind. We'll have to keep the gate open for them.'
'Keep it open?' Cadminius shook his head. 'Can't risk it. Get your men in and Macro'll have to take his chances.'
'No,' Cato said firmly. 'The gate stays open until I say.'
Cadminius opened his mouth to protest, but there was a ruthless gleam in Cato's eyes, and the Atrebatan looked away and nodded.
'All right… We'll need every man we can get to defend the enclosure.'
'That's right,' Cato replied quietly. He turned back to his men. 'Inside. Behind the gate, close formation.'
As the Wolves marched inside, Cato indicated the position for Mandrax, and the men formed up around their standard, facing back down the street towards the sounds of fighting. They did not have to wait long for the legionaries to appear. Macro's men came into sight, falling back at a steady pace, keeping a tight formation across the street as they fended off the Durotrigan mass desperately trying to force a way through the shields.