'Shields up!'
The last of the laughter and light-hearted chatter died away as the legionaries braced themselves for the second assault. This time the enemy came on in a more determined manner. There was no wild charge, but a steady approach in tight columns. When the Britons were halfway up the slope, the war horns began to sound, and slowly the enemy found their voice, shouts and war cries swelling up in their throats as they closed in on the Romans. As they reached the point where their first attack had been broken the last few javelins were hurled down from above, but this time they were simply swallowed up in the mass of the enemy and made no perceptible impact on the Britons. When they had advanced a short distance inside javelin range, the war horns gave a shrill blaring chorus to signal the charge and a roar of rage and excitement blasted the ears of the Romans as the warriors hurtled up the slope.
All around Cato there was the thud and crack of weapons striking the broad surfaces of Roman shields, and the sharper clang and clatter of blade on blade. The tight formation of the cohorts, and the advantage of being uphill of their attackers allowed the Romans to hold their ground. Where both sides were most tightly packed together there was little chance to fight, and Briton and Roman alike rammed their boots into the churned earth and heaved their weight behind their shields. In other places there was enough freedom of movement for intense duels to take place between individual legionaries and warriors; feinting and thrusting as each sought for the chance to deliver a lethal blow.
For half an hour the two sides struggled against each other, the Britons aiming for a breakthrough that would shatter the Roman line and turn the fight into an open melee where numbers counted for more than battle-drill and discipline. At length, under such relentless pressure, the Roman line began to buckle and bulge, and the ring of defenders turned into an ellipse, and then gradually into the shapelessness of a casually discarded belt lying on the floor.
When the enemy breakthrough came it was sudden and shocking.
'Centurion!' Mandrax called out, and Cato spun round towards the standard-bearer. Mandrax was jabbing his sword towards a section of the line behind the wagons. As Cato watched, the rearmost men were pushed bodily aside and the Britons burst through the Roman line. These were heavily armed warriors, bearing shields and helmets and many wore chain mail. As they found themselves opposite the wagons they gave a savage roar of triumph and surged forwards.
'Wolves!' Cato cried, snatching up his shield. He drew his sword and ran over to Mandrax, standing in front of the king's wagon with Cadminius at his side. 'On me!'
His men just had time to brace themselves for the impact before the enemy slammed into them. Cato was knocked back against the side of the wagon, the breath driven from him in an explosive gasp. A muscular warrior with a gallic helmet snarled at the centurion, spraying Cato's face with spittle. His arm rose high above and he slashed down at Cato's head. Cato cringed, waiting for his skull to be shattered, but there was only a deep thud as the end of the blade bit deep into the side of the wagon above him. The warrior looked at his sword and then glanced down at Cato, and both broke out in hysterical laughter. Cato recovered first, and kicked his boot into the man's groin. The mad laughter abruptly turned into a groan, and the warrior doubled up and vomited on to the grass. Cato punched the pommel of his sword on to the back of the man's neck and he went out like a lamp. On either side the Wolves were locked in a desperate struggle with the enemy, and a quick glance towards the legate revealed that Vespasian had seen the danger and was anxiously rounding up a small party of officers and men pulled from the rear of one of the cohorts to plug the gap. Cato knew he and his men must hold the enemy back for a few moments yet, if the battle was not to be lost.
Stepping over the body of the man he had knocked out Cato saw an exposed armpit and instinctively drove the tip of his short sword into the man's chest, yanked it back and looked for the next target. Mandrax had lost his sword and was using the Wolf standard like a cross-staff, thrusting with the ends and knocking men down with vicious swipes from the side. Cato kept his distance and turned just in time to see a man rushing at him with a levelled spear. The Centurion threw his shield up and the blade struck the curved surface of the boss and glanced off to the side. Without any warning the warrior let go of the spear and grabbed the rim of Cato's shield, wrenching it from the Roman's grip. Before Cato could react the man's hands were at his throat and the impetus of the warrior's attack drove Cato on to the ground. He felt rough hands tightening their grip, thumbs pressing hard on his windpipe. Cato's right arm was pinned down under his back, the left was too weak to shift the man on its own, and Cato could only flail at his back, grabbing the man's hair and trying to yank his head back.
Suddenly the man lunged forward, teeth bared, as though he were trying to bite Cato on the nose. The centurion yanked his head to one side and caught the man with the edge of his cheek guard. For an instant the grip on his throat relaxed and Cato smashed his helmet up, crushing his enemy's nose with the solid metal brim. The warrior howled, and instinctively reached for his face. As soon as he was free of the stranglehold Cato grabbed the handle of his dagger and ripped the short broad blade from his scabbard. Raising it behind the man's back he thrust the tip into the base of the Briton's skull.
The man stiffened, muscles suddenly rigid, then he started trembling. Cato let go of the dagger handle and heaved the body to one side as he scrambled back to his feet.
He snatched up his sword and saw that several of the enemy were surrounding the end of Verica's wagon. The royal bodyguard had died defending their king and now only Cadminius remained on his feet, his kite shield held out in front of him as he dared his foes to attack, sword held to the side ready to swing at the first man foolhardy enough to challenge him. Even as Cato watched, an enemy warrior howled and threw himself forward. But the captain of the king's bodyguard had won his position because he could best any other fighter in the Atrebatan nation, and the sword blade flickered round to meet the attack faster than Cato would have believed possible. The point went right through the stomach of the enemy warrior and burst out of his back. At once Cadminius jerked the blade free and with a snarl of contempt shouted a challenge to the rest of the men ringed about him.
But the odds facing him were just too great, and as one man feinted, Cadminius turned to meet the threat before he realised it was a trick. The blade of a spear thudded into his shoulder, causing him to drop his shield as his fingers spasmed. Then they rushed him. With a howl of rage Cadminius slashed his sword through the air and the blade struck off a man's head, the blow sending it leaping into the air. Then Cadminius was thrown back against Verica's wagon, swords and spears plunged deep into his chest and stomach. He made one last wild effort to wrench himself free, but he was pinned to the timbers behind and screamed in frustration, blood and spittle spraying from his lips.
He half turned his head and cried out, 'My lord! Flee!' Then slid to the ground, his head lolling on to his broad chest.
All this Cato saw in the briefest of moments, as the centurion grabbed his shield and raced the short distance to the rear of Verica's wagon. A tangle of white hair rose up from the wagon, and Verica peered down at his attackers with alarm. Then he recovered his poise and his expression fixed in contempt for his enemies. The first of the warriors reached a hand up and began to pull himself towards the Atrebatan king.