'That's it!' Cato called quietly to his men. 'They're breaking. Now's our time!'
He rose to his feet, beckoning to his men to follow him. Tribespeople were running across the plateau, away from the main gate and the legionaries. Many were women and children, fleeing the disaster about to befall their menfolk. They hoped to escape the hill fort by scaling the ramparts and disappearing into the surrounding countryside. The first of them had reached the pens not far from Cato when he decided to make his move.
With Prasutagus at his side and his woad-painted men grouped loosely behind him, Cato ran towards the enclosure entrance. The two guards had risen to their feet to watch the action at the main gate and spared the approaching tribesmen only a contemptuous glance. As Cato closed the distance, one of the guards jeered at him. Cato raised his cavalry sword.
'Get 'em!' he screamed to his men, and ran at the Druid. The surprise was total and before the shocked Druid could respond, Cato had smashed his spear to one side and swept his blade into the side of the man's head. Flesh split open, bone cracked and the Druid crumpled to the ground.
Prasutagus dealt with the other guard and then kicked open the gate. It was a thin affair, designed only to discourage access rather than resist a determined assault. The gate crashed inward and the handful of Druids still inside the enclosure turned at the noise, startled by the sudden invasion of their sacred soil by these painted men, their erstwhile allies. The momentary confusion had the effect Cato had hoped, and all his men were through the narrow gateway before the Druids began to respond. Snatching up spears, they made to defend themselves against the wild sword-wielding furies rushing down on them. Cato ignored the clash and clatter of weapons. He sprinted towards the cage. Ahead of him a Druid came out of a hut, spear in hand. He took one look at the melee and turned towards the cage, hefting his spear.
There was no mistaking his intent and Cato drove himself forward, running as fast as he could, teeth gritted with the effort. But the Druid was nearer, and Cato realised he was not going to make it. As the Druid reached the cage and drew back his spear to thrust, a shriek rose from inside.
'Hey!' Cato shouted, still twenty paces away.
The Druid glanced over his shoulder, and Cato threw his sword with all his might. As the blade spun through the air, the Druid whirled round and deflected it with the end of his spear. Cato ran on towards the cage. The Druid lowered the point, aiming it at Cato's stomach. At the last instant, almost on the point of the wickedly barbed tip of the spear, Cato threw himself down and rolled into the Druid's legs. Both men crashed against the wooden bars of the cage. The impact was worse for Cato than the Druid, and before he could catch his breath the man had jumped on his chest and clamped his hands round the optio's throat. The pain was immediate and intense. Cato snatched at the man's hands, straining to pull them away, but the Druid was big and powerfully built. He grinned through yellowed teeth as he squeezed the life out of his enemy. Black shadows smeared the edges of Cato's vision, and he lashed out with his knees, striking uselessly on the man's back.
A pair of slender hands reached out between the cage bars and clawed at the Druid's face, fingers working for the man's eyes. Instinctively, he threw his hands up to save his sight, howling in agony, and Cato drove his fist up into the man's chin, snapping his head back. Cato struck him again, then heaved him aside. While the Druid lay stunned on the ground, Cato scrambled up, retrieved his sword and thrust it into the Druid's throat.
He turned to the cage. 'Lady Pomponia!'
Holding the bars, her face squeezed against her hands; the general's wife looked at the painted figure uncertainly.
'I'm here to rescue you. Get to the back of the cage.'
'I know you! The one from the wagon!'
'Yes. Now get back!'
She turned and crawled to the rear of the cage, placing herself protectively in front of her son. Cato lifted his sword and began to hack at the ropes binding the barred door to the rest of the structure. Wood splintered and severed strands flew up from each blow, and then one side of the door came free. Cato lowered his sword and wrenched the bars aside.
'Out! Come on, let's go!'
She crawled out, dragging her son by one hand. His other hand was heavily bandaged. Aelius's eyes were wide with terror, and a faint keening noise came from his throat. Lady Pomponia had difficulty standing; after days of crouching in the confines of the cage, her legs were stiff and sore. Cato looked round the enclosure; it was littered with bodies. Most wore the black robes of the Druids, but half a dozen of his own men lay among them. The rest were gathering round Prasutagus, many bleeding from wounds.
'This way,' Cato said to Lady Pomponia, half dragging her towards his men. 'It's safe. They're with me.'
'I never thought I'd see you again,' she said in quiet wonder.
'I gave you my word.'
She smiled faintly. 'So you did.'
They joined the other men, and turned back towards the gateway.
'Now we just have to make our way over to the First Cohort,' said Cato, heart beating wildly in his chest, partly from his efforts, partly from the sheer excitement and pride of having succeeded. 'Come on!'
He took a step towards the gateway, and then stopped. Stepping through it was a tall figure, robed in black and carrying a shining sickle in one hand. The Chief Druid took in the scene in an instant and stepped to one side, shouting an order. The rest of his men came piling into the enclosure, eyes glinting and spears lowered towards Cato and his small band. Without waiting for an order Prasutagus roared his war cry and charged the Druids, followed at once by Cato and his men. Lady Pomponia turned her son's face into her tunic and crouched down with him, unable to watch the fight.
This time the contest between the Romans and Druids was more evenly matched. The Druids had not been surprised, and their fighting blood was already up after their experiences at the main gate. There was a loose melee, swords striking on spear shafts or clattering to one side in a desperate parry. Unable to stab effectively with their spears in the confined struggle, the Druids used them like quarter-staffs, swiping at the Romans and blocking their sword slashes. Cato found himself fighting a tall, thin Druid, with a dark beard. The man was no fool, and neatly parried Cato's first few thrusts, then feinted to the left before ramming home the tip of his spear. Cato jumped to one side, too late to avoid having his thigh slashed. As the man recovered his spear, Cato swept the shaft to one side with his free hand and flashed forward, burying the end of his blade in the man's guts. He jerked the blade free and turned, looking for the Chief Druid. He was standing by the gate, watching the fight with cold eyes.
He saw Cato coming and crouched low, sickle held up and to the side, ready to sweep forward and behead or dismember his attacker. Cato thrust his sword forward, keeping an eye on the glinting sickle. The Chief Druid lurched back against the gatepost with a jarring thud. Cato thrust again, and this time the sickle swung at him, slashing towards his neck. Cato threw himself forward, inside the reach of the weapon, and smashed the pommel of his sword into the Chief Druid's face as hard as he could. The man's head crashed back against the gatepost and he dropped, out cold, the sickle falling to the ground at his side.
As soon as they were aware that their leader was down, the other Druids dropped their weapons and surrendered. Some were not quick enough, and died before the legionaries were aware of their surrender.
'It's over!' Cato shouted to his men. 'They're finished!'
The men calmed their battle rage and stood over the Druids, painted chests rising and falling as they struggled to recover their breath. Cato waved Prasutagus over to him, and together they stood in the gateway, swords up, discouraging any of the fleeing Durotriges from trying to enter the enclosure in their desperate flight from the Romans. Over at the main gate, too, the fight was over, and the red shields of the legionaries were fanning out across the plateau, cutting down any who still dared to resist. Above the ruin of the gate stood the standard-bearer, the golden eagle glittering in the sunlight.