As if in answer to his concerns, Cato heard the tramp of boots on the floorboards beside him and a hand shook his shoulder. He hesitated just long enough to give the impression that he was being roused from a deep sleep and then blinked his eyes open and looked up at the dark shape of the duty optio looming over him, barely visible in the wan loom of the single oil lamp burning inside the guardroom.
‘What is it?’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but one of the lads says he’s heard something in front of the gate.’
Cato gestured across the room to the bulky form of Macro, snorting and rumbling in his slumber. ‘He heard anything above that? Amazing. . I’ll come.’
Cato rose stiffly and picked up his helmet. As he tied the straps he strode over to Macro and prodded him in the side with the tip of his boot.
Macro groaned and recoiled with a smack of his lips and a sleepy, ‘Arrrrr.’ Then his eyes opened and he sat up, rubbing his thick curls vigorously. ‘What’s up?’
‘Seems the enemy are on the move.’
‘Right,’ Macro muttered decisively. He picked up his helmet and stood up. ‘Let’s have a look then.’
Up on the platform the section commanded by the optio was staring down the slope. The optio indicated a tall figure in the corner. ‘That man, sir.’
A light drizzle was falling, just enough to impart the faintest of hisses as it fell on the timbers and turf of the fort. There was no sign of any stars, just a barely discernible mass of dark cloud weighing down the sky. The two officers approached the sentry quietly and took up position at his side.
‘All right, lad,’ Macro said softly. ‘What’s happening?’
The legionary replied without looking round. ‘I heard a clatter a moment back. Like a spearshaft catching on the trim of a shield, sir.’
‘That’s a pretty precise description. You sure about it?’
‘I’ve heard the sound enough to know, sir. I’m sure.’
‘All right.’ Macro nodded, then leaned forward to peer into the gloom alongside Cato. For a moment both men were still, then Macro eased himself back and shook his head. ‘Whatever it was, there’s nothing there now.’
Cato did not move. Even as he was listening his tired mind would not rest. He calculated that there was no more than an hour left before dawn. The light would begin to return to the world long before then. It was the best time to attack. The defenders of the fort were sure to have had a sleepless night for the most part. They would be weary and on edge so that the slightest thing would further shake their nerves and undermine morale.
‘I said, there’s nothing there,’ Macro repeated patiently.
Cato turned towards him with an irritable expression. ‘I heard you, Centurion. And I’ll be obliged if you kept your opinions to yourself until I ask for them.’
Macro breathed in deeply and bowed his head. ‘As you command, sir.’
‘That’s right.’ Cato took one last look down the slope to satisfy himself that the fort was safe for the moment. Then he turned back to Macro. ‘I want Maridius up here on the tower at first light so I can show him to Caratacus. Have him chained in one of the nearest stables so we can get him quickly, if need be.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Macro saluted and made his way towards the optio who was waiting by the top of the ladder leading down into the guardroom. Cato watched his retreating back with regret. He had not meant to snap at his friend. His temper was not improved by being awake all night, ears and eyes straining to detect the slightest sign of danger. He was about to call Macro back on some pretext so that he might apologise when he heard a faint whirling noise from the direction of the parade ground. At once the sound grew in volume and seemed to come from a broad area directly in front of the fort. Other men heard it and craned their necks towards it. A word of command was barked from somewhere in the darkness and the noise intensified for an instant before ceasing, to the accompaniment of a swift ripple of grunts. Cato recognised the sound and immediately grasped the danger.
‘Down!’ He cupped his hands to his mouth and called to both sides of the gatehouse. ‘Get down!’
An instant later the air was filled with the sharp crack of stone missiles striking the wooden stakes and boards of the parapet along the wall and atop the gatehouse. The terrible crack and rattle of shot striking home all but drowned out the zip of overshoots passing harmlessly over the wall and on into the camp. There was a handful of sharper sounding impacts and a few cries of agony as the more exposed of the sentries were struck by the slingshot.
Out in the darkness another order was shouted, and Cato recognised the voice at once — Caratacus. A great roar erupted and then the ground in front of the fort seemed to come alive as thousands of figures rose up from the knee-length grass and charged towards the ditch beyond the walls
‘Sound the alarm!’ Cato cried out as loudly as he could, his throat straining. ‘Man the wall!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
More slingshot rattled off the wooden palisades with a deafening clatter, drowning out the shrill sound of the long brass trumpet that blasted out across the fort, calling the men to arms. The shouting of the enemy had swiftly subsided as they charged up the slope towards the outer ditch. Only a few voices bellowed out of the darkness, urging their men on and no doubt heaping curses on the Roman defenders. Cato glanced round the tower and saw that one man was down. Macro was leaning over him, grasping the legionary by the armour on his shoulders.
‘You all right, soldier?’
Cato crossed over to him, crouching low as the air was filled with the soft whip of shot flying overhead. A keening rattle was coming from the soldier’s throat. Cato could just make out a shadow on the man’s helmet and reached out to touch it. Sure enough, there was a shallow indentation, the depth of a spoon, where the helmet had taken the full impact of a slingshot. Even if the man’s skull had not been shattered by the blow, the force would have rendered him senseless.
‘Get him to the rear of the tower!’ he ordered one of the legionaries crouching nearby, and then scurried to the back of the gatehouse and glanced down into the fort. The fires in the braziers had been stoked up to ensure that they weren’t extinguished by the drizzle and by their flames he could see men streaming up the wooden steps set into the turf ramparts, before spreading out along the rampart. Their centurions and officers shouted at them to move quickly and keep their heads down as they took up their positions, on one knee behind their shields. The legionaries held the wall either side of the main gate, with the Thracians on each flank. Satisfied that the garrison had responded quickly, Cato turned to beckon to Macro and made his way to the front of the tower. The sound of shot still cracked against the timbers but Cato knew that he must observe the enemy’s progress. Steeling himself, he rose up behind one of the boarded crenellations and looked down at an angle towards the ditch.
The dark slope seethed with shapes and the first of the enemy had already reached the edge of the ditch and were scrambling down towards the shadows that filled the bottom. At once there was the clatter of shards of broken pottery, which were commonly planted in the ditches of forts across the empire, along with other obstacles, to slow attackers down. Cries of pain told of those who had cut their feet or hands on sharp edges. Abruptly the slingshot ceased as the enemy feared hitting their comrades closing in on the defences.
Macro stood up and cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed along the wall.
‘Prepare the faggots!’
Several men heaved the bundles on to the rampart while others held torches to the braziers, and the moment they were alight their bearers hurried up to join their comrades.