side the Thracians crashed into and through the enemy line. Cato saw one of his men turn and start to chase after a fleeing tribesman and bellowed, ‘Leave them! On! On!’
He spurred Hannibal forward and continued up the gentle rise to the pass where he could just make out the flicker of weapons and a handful of standards weaving above the grass crest of the slope. The Thracian squadrons had burst through the right of the enemy line and scattered the warriors. Glancing back over his shoulder, Cato was relieved to see that the formation was intact, though less clearly defined than it had been before the impact of the charge. There were no gaps and he could not see any men caught in a fight with the enemy infantry. He felt a surge of elation that they had broken through so easily, then he braced himself for the real fight that was to come.
The wedge pounded up into the pass and the bitter struggle ahead of them was revealed in all its desperate savagery. Thousands of enemy warriors surged around the beleaguered column. There was no sign of any survivors of the squadron that had made their folorn charge a short time before. On a small rise Caratacus and his retinue sat on their horses watching the fight. For an instant Cato was tempted by the idea of leading his men against the enemy general. If he could be killed then the heart, and brains, would be knocked out of the coalition of tribes still opposing Rome. Then, at last, there might be peace in the new province of Britannia. But before he could act on his impulse and issue the order, he saw Caratacus and his followers ride down to join the battle on the opposite side of the hard-pressed Roman perimeter.
Ahead of him the nearest of the enemy warriors had turned towards the sound of the approaching Thracians. The wild appearance that Quertus had encouraged and their reputation for savagery seemed to ride ahead of them and some of the tribesmen fled from their path, leaving only hardened warriors to stand their ground. Looking beyond them Cato saw a seething mass of the enemy he and his men would have to cut through to reach the column. And then what? Escape from the pass seemed impossible. He thrust the thought aside. For him there must only be the here and now. He must lead his men and fight on for as long as possible. If the gods favoured him, he might live through this yet. Otherwise he briefly prayed that his end would be swift and relatively painless.
Hannibal’s flanks heaved from the exertion of the charge but the horse gamely charged on, knocking aside two men before a third slashed a blade at the bronze chamfron guarding the horse’s forehead and eyes. Fortunately it was only a glancing blow but the ringing impact startled the horse into rearing up and lashing out with its hoofs. Cato threw his weight forward and struggled to regain control.
‘Easy, lad! Easy. .’ Cato spoke tenderly and Hannibal dropped forward and Cato urged him on. Around him the wedge formation had been blunted as the Thracians ploughed into the ranks of the enemy infantry, shouting their war cries as they stabbed left and right with their long spears, thrusting into the limbs and bodies of the Silurians. Cato looked round and saw that some of the saddles were empty, and close by, another man was surrounded by warriors stabbing at him as he attempted to keep moving and not present his foes with an easy target. But there were too many of them and as he raised his arm to strike with his spear an axe thudded into his back, not cutting through the chain-link armour but still shattering the bones beneath. The spear tumbled from his fingers and a moment later he was dragged from his saddle and out of Cato’s sight.
Centurion Stellanus’s voice carried above the fighting, raw and strained. ‘Keep on, boys! Keep going forward!’
Cato pressed on, his shield held high as he braced his spear arm. An older warrior, sinewy with matted grey hair, sprang out of the throng wielding an axe, his teeth bared in a savage snarl as he saw the Roman officer and charged. Cato leaned forward and thrust his spear. The point struck true, deep into the man’s groin. He doubled over and dropped his axe and slumped down on to his hands and knees, and then Cato had charged past him and was looking for his next foe. So intent was he on the fighting that he was almost upon the Roman line before he was aware of it. A gap opened between the Silurians and there stood men brandishing the heavy rectangular shields of the legions. Cato drew up sharply and called out, ‘Open ranks! Let us through!’
There was no reaction; the narrowed eyes of the legionaries peered suspiciously over the rim of their shields. To one side was the slender crest of an optio and Cato pointed his spear towards the man.
‘You! Tell your men to open ranks!’
The optio regarded him briefly and then bellowed the order to his men. To his relief Cato saw the shields part and he spurred Hannibal through the gap and into the space behind the backs of the Roman soldiers. At once he wheeled round and brandished his spear. ‘Blood Crows! Blood Crows! On me!’
More men surged through the gap, singly and in small groups as they fought their way free of the Silurians. Cato saw that most of the two squadrons had made it through. A handful of individuals had become separated from the formation and he saw the last of them, no more than thirty paces away, savagely hauled off his horse into a swirl of enemy warriors. Their bloodied weapons rose and fell before they turned back to renew their assault on the reinforcement column.
Cato holstered the butt of his spear and called out, ‘Centurion Stellanus! Decurion Kastos! On me!’
‘Here, sir!’ Stellanus thrust his horse through the riders milling in the gap between the legionaries and the wagons.
‘Where’s Kastos?’
‘He took a spear to the chest and went down back there.’
Cato nodded. ‘Then I’ll take direct command of his squadron.’
‘Who in Hades’ name are you?’ a voice interrupted them and Cato turned to see a tribune standing on one of the wagons close by. A tall, broad man, a few years older than himself. Cato turned his horse and edged towards the wagon.
‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, commander at Bruccium.’
The officer nodded a greeting. ‘Tribune Mancinus, sir. Of the Fourteenth. What are you doing here?’
Cato ignored the abrupt tone. ‘I had hoped to help you cut your way through to the fort. But it seems you are somewhat under strength for the job.’
Mancinus shook his head wryly. ‘My thoughts exactly. But the legate said the escort would be adequate. Not his wisest decision.’
‘I’ll say. What is your plan?’
‘Plan?’ The tribune gestured to the fight raging around the wagons. Wounded men were being dragged back from the fighting line and propped up against the wheels of the wagons. ‘What do you think?’ The tribune’s voice was strained. ‘We’re fighting for our lives.’
There was a brief hesitation before he conceded command. ‘What are your orders, sir?’
Cato looked round and saw that for the moment the Roman soldiers were holding their own. He turned back to Mancinus. ‘We have to fight our way out of this. We can’t go forward, there’s even more of the enemy in the direction of the fort. We’ll have to make for Gobannium.’
The tribune pursed his lips. ‘Might not be so easy, sir. We were being followed by a war band soon after we left Gobannium. They stayed with us until this morning and then vanished. Or so I thought.’
‘Well, that’s the only direction open to us now.’ Cato winced as an arrow glanced off his shield and deflected into the air over his helmet. ‘I’ll use my men to clear a path. Have the infantry close up and we’ll get moving. Empty three of the wagons for the wounded. The rest will have to be abandoned. The prospect of easy spoils will slow some of the enemy down.’
Mancinus nodded, and turned to shout orders to one of the sections waiting in his small reserve. The men laid down their shields and began to unload the last three wagons, dumping the spare kit and rations on the ground which was slick with churned mud from the heavy wheels, hoofs and boots of the column. The injured men were hauled up and roughly deposited on the bed of the first wagon. Cato knew that the wagon would soon be filled by more of the wounded, and the same would be true of the other vehicles.
While the legionaries prepared the wagons, Cato ordered Stellanus to form the Thracians across the track towards the rear of the perimeter.
The optio in charge of the reserve approached and saluted. ‘Sir, what about the draught animals? Do we take ’em with us or kill ’em?’
Cato glanced at the mules and oxen harnessed to the wagons that were being left behind. There was no sense in letting the enemy make use of them. It was standard practice to destroy them rather than let them be captured. Yet they might serve a useful purpose. He refined his plan a moment and then addressed the optio.
‘Have them taken out of harness and placed in front of the Thracians. You have feed nets?’
