The men piled their pitchforks to one side of the tower and joined Cato as he grunted under the weight of a large stone and staggered to the battlements.With a strained grunt he heaved it up on to the wall and risked a glance directly down at the ram housing.The long leather mantle stretched out from the gate, and as a drum beat the time there was a crash below and again the impact was felt through the gate tower. Cato could see that the only serious damage caused by the faggots was a small scorch-fringed hole close to the head of the ram housing. The glistening torsos of the rebels swinging the ram could just be glimpsed. Cato waited a moment until some more of his men stood either side of him, ready to shove their crude missiles over the parapet.
'Now!'
With a scraping of stone on stone the Romans pushed and the lumps of masonry tumbled off the wall and plummeted towards the roof of the ram housing. The rocks crashed straight through, tearing gaping holes in the leather padding and the wooden planks beneath. Those rebels directly below were crushed by the impact.
'Keep it up!' Cato ordered, and then turned to the men with the cauldron of oil. Smoke and steam wisped up from the blackened iron sides of the vessel and the air was filled with the thick odour. 'Bring it over here!'
As the auxiliaries at the parapet continued to rain stones down on the ram housing, Cato helped the others manoeuvre the cauldron towards the battlements, directly above the ram. Once it was in place Cato called more men to brace themselves under the far stave and slowly the cauldron began to tilt towards the enemy. A plume of steam rose up as the liquid began to stream down, splashing over the shattered roof above the ram and through the gaps on to the men beneath. At once their agonised screams cut through the air and they abandoned their positions and scrambled away, stumbling from the rear of the ram housing. Balthus' men turned their attention on the fleeing rebels and arrows arced across at an angle, cutting down several of them as they ran for the safety of their own archers' shelters. Their comrades did their best to force Balthus' men to keep their heads down as a furious exchange of arrows ensued.
While the enemy's attention was drawn from the gates' defences Cato took the chance to examine the damage below and saw that the heated oil had done its work. The ram was on fire and the flames were quickly spreading along the damaged wooden framework. The enemy's water-carriers were fleeing along with the warriors and no one remained to fight the blaze. A hard smile of satisfaction flickered over his lips before he felt the first wash of heat strike his face. Then Cato felt his guts clench in a moment of anxiety at the memory of the fortified gate of a German village he had defended alongside Macro years before. He hurried across the tower and shouted down to the legionaries below. 'Sir! The ram's on fire!'
Macro's face split into a wide smile as he stared up at Cato. 'Good!'
Cato shook his head desperately. 'It's directly under the gate.'
Macro's smile faded. 'Oh, shit. Shit! What's the situation to your front?'
'Enemy's pulled back, sir. For now!'
'Right then. Only one thing for it.' Macro filled his lungs. 'Open the gates!'
The leading century trotted forward to raise the locking bar and take up the heavy lengths of chain that drew the doors inwards. With a grating rumble from the hinges the great slabs of studded timber slowly swung apart. Smoke billowed through the opening and Macro glimpsed the flames licking across the wooden frame of the ram housing. The leather hides had already burned away leaving the skeleton of the structure beneath, and the iron-tipped ram itself, still suspended even though the support ropes were alight.
Macro sheathed his sword and strode forward through the smoke, blinking as his eyes began to smart. 'Follow me!'
The fire had engulfed the siege weapon and the heat struck Macro like a blow. He raised his shield and pressed it up against one of the stout corner posts and nodded to the men of the first century. 'Like this! Use your shields and push. We must get this pile of shit away from the gates!'
His men, wincing at the heat of the flames, pressed forward, slammed their shields up against the ram housing and heaved with all their strength.With painful slowness the siege weapon moved away from the gates, and as more men piled in, adding their weight, the huge wheels ground backward across the flagstones.
'That's it, lads!' Macro called out, and his lungs filled with smoke that made him cough painfully as if his chest was filled with broken glass. As the fire consumed the ram the heat swelled in intensity and there was a sudden sharp smell as the crest of his helmet smouldered and began to burn. Every instinct told Macro to draw back, away from the flames that were searing his face, but he could see that the ram was not yet far enough from the gates to be certain that the flames would not spread to them. 'Keep going!' he rasped. 'Heave, you bastards!'
Something clattered on the ground close to his feet and glancing down Macro saw an arrow shaft. Then another skittered over the flagstones. He looked round the side of his shield with narrowed eyes and saw that the enemy archers had turned their attention away from Balthus and his men and were now shooting at the Romans struggling to get the ram clear of the citadel's gates. Beyond the archers a large body of rebel soldiers had formed up and begun to quick-march across the agora. Macro looked over his shoulder and saw that they had pushed the flaming structure back perhaps twenty feet from the gates.
'Just a bit further,' he muttered through clenched teeth.
There was a dull thud that Macro felt almost as much as he heard as the ropes supporting the end of the ram gave way and the huge shaft of timber hit the ground. The siege weapon lurched to a halt.
'That's it then!' Macro called to his men.'Get back! Back inside the citadel!'
They broke away from the ram and retreated, keeping their shields to the enemy as more arrows flitted over and through the flames now licking high into the air. As soon as the rebels realised that the legionaries were pulling back, their commander bellowed an order and they charged towards the gate with a full-throated roar. The moment the rain of arrows began to slacken Macro turned round and shouted, 'Run!'
The legionaries pounded through the gate, the harsh thud of their nailed boots echoing off the curved stonework of the gateway. Macro was the last through, and he turned, drawing his sword as he faced the enemy.
'Close the gates!' he bellowed. 'Smartly does it!'
The first of the enemy soldiers was racing up alongside the burning ram, desperate to reach the gates before the Romans could get them closed. Once more the iron hinges groaned as the doors were pushed forward.The gap between them narrowed and Macro grinned when he saw that the rebels would not reach them in time.
'Hah! Too late, you bastards!'
The doors came together with a boom and immediately the legionaries dropped the locking bar into place. Almost at once there was a muffled cry of anger from the far side, and a dull thud as one of the rebels struck the outside of the gate in frustration.
Macro sheathed his sword and turned away. 'Well done, lads!'
The men of the first century acknowledged his praise with nervous smiles as they stood breathing heavily. A handful had been injured by arrows that had struck their unprotected arms and legs, and strained to stop themselves from crying out in pain. Macro gestured to the nearest section of the next century.
'You there! Help these men to the hospital.'
'Are you all right, sir?'
Macro looked up as Cato came hurrying down the last flight of steps towards him. 'I'm fine.'
Cato looked him over and shook his head. 'You look pretty cooked to me. Especially the helmet crest.' He grinned.
Macro lowered his shield and untied his chin straps. Lifting the helmet from his head he saw that the fine red crest had been burned black and the ends crumbled as he ran his fingers over them.