Cato faced forward again, and ran for his life, instinctively dipping his head between the shoulder bands of his armour as the howls of the Durotrigans rose up a short distance behind him. Ahead lay the hurriedly prepared breastwork of the redoubt; the opening set to one side where a heavily laden cart had been drawn back to allow access. Men were already crowding through it, casting terrified looks at the enemy charging towards them. As Cato closed the gap between himself and the final line of defence he shouted at the men desperately trying to shove their way into the redoubt.
'Wolves! Wolves! Turn and form by the standard! The standard!'
Some men heeded him and faced round, shields raised and short swords held ready. Others stared wide-eyed and too frightened to think of anything but flight from the enemy. Mandrax, long-limbed and fit, reached the redoubt well ahead of Cato and turned to face the enemy, planting his standard down defiantly. Men hurried into position on either side of the standard and closed ranks. By the time Cato reached them a small, solid line stood between the men pouring into the redoubt and the Durotrigans. Those who had not been able to reach safety before the Durotrigans overtook them either died as they tried to run away, or stopped and tried to defend themselves and were quickly cut down by the overwhelming odds. But they bought some time for their comrades and most of the defenders managed to reach the redoubt, rushing either side of Cato's small formation.
As the first Durotrigans came up against the unbroken line of shields they drew back, eyeing the Roman and his native troops warily, before turning aside in search of easier prey. Rising on his toes Cato craned his neck to try to see what had become of Macro and the legionaries. Then he saw them, a tight knot of men marching steadily towards the great hall with linked shields, Macro's crest bobbing and twisting at the front of the formation as he cut a path through the throng of Durotrigans, all the time shouting encouragement to his men and cursing the enemy. Suddenly, Cato was aware that the Durotrigans were massing in front of him, having dealt with all the Atrebatan stragglers. They stood twenty paces away, clattering their spears against the inside of their shields and chanting their war cries with faces distorted by the wild exultation of battle-rage. Cato sensed the men either side of him flinch back from the spectacle.
'Hold your ground!' Cato shouted, voice worn down to a grating croak by the strain of the last few days. 'Hold your ground!'
He glanced over towards the legionaries, cutting a path through the loose chaos that filled the enclosure. The Durotrigans were pouring in from all directions now, and some, with more presence of mind than most of their wild comrades, had thrown the locking bar to one side and opened the gate. Under the pressure of the massed warriors packed into the street on the far side the gate crashed inwards and, with a triumphant roar, the enemy swept inside. Unless Macro increased the pace they would catch the Romans before they could make the redoubt. Cato looked round at his men. 'Hold still! Just a little longer, lads.'
A spear flew out from the Durotrigans gathering on the ground in front of the great hall, and Cato jerked his shield up, just in time to block the iron tip. With a jarring crash the spearhead burst through the leather backing, just to the side of his helmet. A cheer went up from the Durotrigans for the warrior who had nearly speared himself a Roman centurion. At once the shield felt heavy and unwieldy and Cato cursed his luck. Once the enemy closed in, a shield was just as vital as a sword, but encumbered with the shaft of a javelin Cato would be at a serious disadvantage. He called out over his shoulder. 'Get me a shield!'
Those Durotrigans close enough to hear the order jeered him and those who fought with no armour brandished their bare chests in contempt. The incident had drawn together the spirit of the Durotrigans in that indefinable way that feeling flows through a mob, and it was clear that they would charge any moment now.
'Sir!' a voice called out behind him, and Cato looked over his shoulder. Mandrax held a shield out to him.
'Whose?'
'From one of our dead, sir.'
'All right, then…' Cato glanced quickly along the front of the enemy mob: they were all cheering, spears and swords thrusting up into the sky.
He threw his shield forward and turned and snatched the spare from Mandrax, quickly raising it in front of his body. Macro and his men still struggled towards the redoubt, hacked from all sides. A steady clatter and thud of blades and spear tips striking the legionary shields accompanied their progress. The men facing Cato turned towards the sound, and their shrill cries faded. Here was a chance, Cato decided, his heart racing.
'Make ready to charge,' he said, quietly enough for just the Wolves to hear. 'And make it loud!' He allowed a few breaths for the men to brace themselves up, then, 'Charge!'
Cato gave full voice to a wild animal roar, and the shrieks and cries of his men rang in his ears as the Wolves rushed forward. The Durotrigans turned back towards the small body of men they had been about to massacre, shock and surprise on their faces, and they had not moved when Cato and the Atrebatans slammed into them. Several were struck down before they could resist. Cato smashed his shield boss into the ribs of a thin man, who grunted explosively and collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Cato kicked his boot down on the man's face for good measure and stepped over him, thrusting his sword at the next enemy who came within reach. His sword was parried at the last moment, but the desperate swipe at the centurion's blade left the man's side exposed to the Atrebatan warrior beside Cato and his guts were ripped open by a slashing blow.
The Wolves piled into the enemy, shouting and screaming as they thrust and stabbed with their short swords. They carved a wedge into the Durotrigans, and before the enemy could respond the Atrebatans had cut their way through to Macro and the legionaries.
'Close up!' Cato called out. 'Mandrax! To me!'
As the two units linked up Macro nodded a greeting to Cato, but the younger centurion knew there was too little time to waste.
'Sir, we have to get back to the redoubt before they recover.'
'Right.' Macro turned to look back towards the gate. A dense mass of Durotrigan warriors was surging towards them. Macro turned to his men. 'At the trot… advance!'
Cato relayed the order to his men and, with them at the front, the small column hurried towards the redoubt, making no attempt to stop and engage the shaken enemy, and only fending off the blows directed at them by the more intrepid spirits amongst the Durotrigans. But, behind them, the force that had torn through the gates was racing to catch up with the defenders. Their example was infectious and a renewed desire to close with and destroy the Romans and their allies rippled through the enemy warriors in the royal enclosure.
The men who had already reached the redoubt called out to their comrades from behind the makeshift breastwork, beckoning them on with desperate waves of their arms. Cato, at the front, was tempted to increase the pace, but knew that the moment they broke formation they would be cut to pieces as the enemy recovered their courage and set upon the defenders once again. Then the great hall was right in front of them and they made towards the narrow gap that led inside the redoubt.