comrades let out a groan of anxiety at the sight and fell back from the shields of the auxiliaries, long enough for a gap to open up between the two sides. There were far more Silurians lying on the ground than Romans and the sight of the wall of shields, and the lethal points of the swords pricking out between them, was enough to deter the enemy from renewing their attack. They contented themselves with jeering at the retreating Romans before one of their chiefs had the wit to bellow at his men to replant the stakes that had been torn up.
Cato led the men back out of slingshot range and then ordered them to form line to cover the rear of the rest of the column. By the time he could turn his attention to the fight across the main battle line, the enemy were already falling back. But they had exacted as heavy a price as they had paid and the line was no more than one deep across most of its length. The next attack would undoubtedly break it, Cato realised. He hurried across to Tribune Mancinus who was having a wound to his arm dressed by an orderly.
‘We can’t get through,’ Cato informed him.
‘I saw.’ Mancinus puffed his cheeks. ‘Can’t fight our way through to Bruccium. Can’t retreat to Gobannium. Not much of a choice left, sir.’
‘No.’ Cato pointed to a small knoll near the middle of the pass. ‘That’s the spot for us.’
The tribune considered the position and shrugged. ‘As good as any place for a last stand.’
‘We’d better take up position before Caratacus comes for us again.’
Mancinus nodded and waved the orderly away as soon as the dressing was tied off. The three wagons were driven up to the top of the knoll and the teams of beasts were led a short distance away before the drivers cut their throats. Cato ordered Stellanus to gather the Thracians, of whom twelve still lived, though they had saved three more of the mounts.
‘We’ll stay by the wagons and plug any gaps if the enemy cut through.’
Stellanus cocked an eyebrow. ‘If?’
Cato ignored the comment and watched the legionaries and auxiliaries begin to fall back around the hillock. The enemy knew that the end was near and began to edge forward as Caratacus beckoned to the men of his blocking force to join in the kill. The bloodied giant had recovered from the blow to his head and nimbly climbed over the barricades and threaded his way through the stakes to lead his party, somewhat larger in number than the surviving Romans, swinging his hammer as he came.
The last of the men trudged into place on the knoll and turned to face the enemy. Many were already wounded and had bloodied rags hastily tied about their limbs. Shields had been battered and some shield trims had split under the impact of swords and axes. Stellanus held Hannibal for him and Cato climbed into the saddle. From his vantage point he looked round the small ring of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder in silence as they waited. The injured in the wagons could only look on helplessly. Some held swords or daggers, though Cato was not sure if they meant to fight until the last breath or end their lives rather than face the possibility of torment from the Silurians. The standard-bearers of the two cohorts stood on the drivers’ benches of one of the wagons where the units’ colours would fly above the heads of the men until the end.
Mancinus made his way over to Cato and offered his hand. ‘It’s a shame that it has been such a short acquaintance, sir. A pity you didn’t remain in the fort.’
Cato sighed and gestured towards the reinforcement contingent. ‘They were to join my command. I couldn’t stand by and let them be cut down.’
Mancinus smiled. ‘You have a rather old-fashioned view of what the duty of a commander is.’
‘That may be, but rank comes with burdens as well as privileges.’ Cato cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘Lads! It’s too bad we’re here, but there’s one duty left to us now. Take as many of the bastards down with us as we can. Every one who dies by our hand is one less for Rome to deal with. We will be avenged. You can be sure of that. That’s work for our comrades. Let’s do ’em proud! As for the enemy, let’s show them how Romans die!’ He drew his sword and thrust it above his head. ‘For Rome, and for the Emperor!’
‘For Rome!’ Mancinus repeated, in part, and the cry spread around the knoll as the men prepared to sell their lives dearly.
Cato saw the enemy commander and his companions riding at the head of the oncoming ranks of the Silurians and he wondered if Caratacus might offer them a chance to surrender. If so, he knew he could not accept. After the cruel destruction that Quertus had visited on the kinfolk of the tribesmen, there would be no mercy shown to Roman prisoners, and they could only expect to live long enough to be given a pitiless and painful end. But Caratacus gave no sign that he intended to offer them terms. As he called out to his men, there was a distinct note of triumph in the words he spoke in his native tongue. The enemy warriors flowed round the knoll until they completely encircled it and only then began to close in. Their shouts were deafening and their faces etched with hate and triumph as they waved their fists and pumped their shields and weapons at the Romans. It was only at the last moment, when they were no more than a few paces away, that some instinct spread through the Silurian ranks and they charged home, slamming into the shields and desperately trying to work gaps between them to strike at the men behind.
For a while the line held and the Romans fought with a desperate savagery that matched that of their opponents. Bodies fell in front of the shields and the Silurians had to clamber over their comrades to get at the legionaries and auxiliaries. But one by one the defenders of the knoll began to fall, and with each casualty the ring closed tighter about the wagons and the handful of horsemen beside them. Cato resolved to lead them in one final dash towards Caratacus, hoping by some miracle to get close enough to make an attempt on the life of the enemy commander. But Caratacus held back, with his men, watching the destruction of the last of the relief column.
Cato snatched a brief moment to think about the manner of his death. It was true that it had been foolhardy to ride to the aid of the men around him, yet he could not have lived with himself if he had not. And there was the euphoria following his defeat of Quertus. It was not just the Thracian who had been defeated, but Cato’s fear of certain death. It had been liberating to trust his life to his courage and skill at arms. Perhaps it was that sense of triumph that had led him to this end. That, and the hope that his actions might help save these men. Now that they were doomed, he resolved that he would make his sacrifice of value to Macro at least. If they killed enough of the Silurians, that might undermine their will to continue attacking the fort. There was some comfort in the thought that his last service in life would be to help the truest friend he had ever known.
A short distance away the giant who had battered the tortoise formation apart thrust his way forward to take a swing at a legionary. The soldier raised his shield to block the blow and it shattered under the impact and drove him down on to his knees. The Silurian kicked out and sent his opponent sprawling. One more blow caved in his chest and he fell motionless on the bloodstained grass.
‘Stellanus!’ Cato called out. ‘Take that one down.’
The centurion nodded, lowered his spear and urged his mount forward. The Silurian looked up with a brutal snarl as he spied another victim and raised his hammer. It blurred through the air and struck the horse on the side of the head. At the same time Stellanus thrust his spear and the point pierced the giant’s thick neck and burst out above his shoulder blade. He let out a roar of pain and rage, cut off abruptly as blood filled his windpipe and mouth. The horse staggered to one side and fell, rolling over the centurion and into the backs of three more legionaries locked in combat. The animal’s legs kicked out, sweeping two more men down, and left an opening in the Roman line. At once the Silurians rushed forward, bursting in amongst the defenders of the knoll. The giant staggered over to the horse, still twitching, and bent down to grasp Stellanus by the neck. The centurion could only move one arm and he beat it against the giant’s jaw, but for all the effect it had he might have been patting a hound. A moment later, powerful hands gave his head a sharp twist, breaking his neck. Then, blood coursing from his mouth, the Silurian’s eyes rolled up and he collapsed over his victim.
More tribesmen scrambled over the bodies and poured up the slope, spreading out as they threw themselves at the Romans. With the perimeter collapsing, the soldiers fought individually. Others went back to back or formed small clusters and hacked ferociously at the warriors swirling round them.
‘The standards!’ Mancinus cried out as he backed up towards the wagons. He turned and looked at Cato. ‘Save the standards!’
Cato hesitated for an instant, torn between his duty to fight alongside his comrades and the shame that would befall them all if the standards were taken by the enemy. Then he turned to the standard-bearers on the wagon and sheathed his sword. ‘Give them to me!’
The two men handed them over and Cato passed the auxiliary standard to one of the Thracians and kept hold of the legionary standard, ramming the base down into his spear holster. A small group of Silurian warriors broke away from the fight below and began to sprint up the slope towards the wagons.
