‘Light ’em up!’ Macro ordered. ‘Then over the wall!’
Despite the flammable combination of kindling and pitch, the drizzle made it difficult to set fire to some of them but a handful caught quickly, crackling furiously. The moment they were well ablaze two soldiers holding a long pitchfork between them pierced the bundles and swung them back, took up the strain and then on a grunted signal heaved them in an arc over the rampart. The flames roared ferociously as they plummeted down through the darkness, struck the ground in a fiery explosion of sparks and rolled on a short distance before coming to rest, casting a wavering red loom across the surrounding area. Some fell short and rolled back into the ditch amongst the attackers picking their way across to the scarp, causing some to cry out in panic as they thrust themselves out of the path of the blazing faggots. Some were not so lucky and were seared by the flames and howled in agony. By the glow of the faggots Cato could see small groups of men glistening in the drizzle as they struggled up the slope with crudely made assault ladders.
He filled his lungs and shouted, ‘Loose javelins!’
The legionaries and Thracians stood up against the palisade and readied their throwing arms. The range was short and the iron points of the weapons angled down towards the wave of native warriors surging up the slope towards the fort. There was no need to aim and each man hurled his weapon forward with an explosive grunt. The lethal shafts, momentarily picked out by the fires below, flew through the air and plunged down amid the heaving mass of the enemy. Cato saw a man struck as he stood on the edge of the ditch to the right of the gatehouse, pierced through the stomach by the iron shaft at the head of the weapon. He doubled up, dropping his axe, and fell back, hands clutching the shaft.
More of the attackers went down. It was difficult to miss them as they clawed their way up towards the foot of the wall. Then the first of the ladder parties reached the ditch and carried their awkward burden down, across and up the other side. They planted the base on the sodden ground and swung the top of the ladder up against the palisade, close by the gatehouse. At once warriors swarmed up the rungs, urged on by a nobleman in a chain-mail vest, who was striking his sword and shield together in frenzied excitement. Cato turned to Macro and pointed down.
‘See him?’
Macro nodded.
‘Take him!’ Cato ordered, trusting to his friend’s far better talent with the javelin. For himself, he had never quite got over the danger he posed to his own side after once nearly impaling Macro with a javelin during his first combat on the Rhine frontier.
Macro snatched up one of the weapons stacked to the rear of the tower and stepped up to the parapet. He aimed with his left arm as he drew his right back, bicep powerfully bunched in readiness. Macro’s eyes narrowed fractionally, and then he hurled his throwing arm forward with an animal grunt of effort. The javelin flew down in a flat trajectory, and passed harmlessly by the native leader who had just taken a step to one side to shout encouragement to his warriors, wholly oblivious to the weapon that slashed through the space where he had been standing an instant before.
‘Bastard!’ Macro yelled in frustration. ‘Wait. I’ll have you. .’
He turned away to fetch another weapon but Cato caught his arm. ‘Too late for that. Look!’
The first of the enemy warriors had reached the top of the ladder and was battling with a pair of legionaries blocking his way. The native carried a long-handled axe in his right hand which he swung wildly as he edged himself up another step. The heavy blade of the axe battered the shield of one of the defenders, splintering the surface and driving the man back. His comrade instinctively retreated a step at the sight of the fierce weapon slicing through the chilly air. At once the warrior threw a leg over the palisade and nimbly dropped on to the walkway. He slashed right and left with his axe, the head crashing off the heavy shields of the legionaries, holding them off, while a second man clambered to the top of the ladder. Further along the wall more ladders were being raised and the defenders were fully committed as they struggled to thrust the ladders back, and if that failed, desperately striking at the heads and shoulders of the men scaling the ladders. Cato saw Quertus, fifty paces away, hacking the arm off an enemy trying to clamber over the palisade. The Thracian let out a triumphant roar as the warrior fell off the ladder, and then he turned to look for another opponent.
Cato swallowed nervously and drew out his sword. ‘Macro, on me! We’re needed on the wall.’
He climbed down the ladder into the gatehouse, dropping the last few feet, and rushed towards the doorway giving out on to the wall. No more than ten feet away the comrade of the axeman dropped down into a crouch and turned to face Cato as he burst out of the gatehouse, sword held out to the side, ready to strike. Light from a brazier directly below cast a vivid glow on the near side of the man’s face, revealing a wiry beard and wet locks of hair, beneath which his eyes blazed as he weighed up his Roman opponent. Then, with a snarl, he charged Cato, a long sword raised above his head, ready to slash down and cleave his opponent’s skull. Cato was raising his sword ready to parry the blow when Macro barged out of the gatehouse behind him and knocked him towards his opponent. Half stumbling, half falling, he instinctively knew that he must use his forward momentum if he was to survive the next instant. Already the warrior’s sword was sweeping round, glinting like molten bronze as it reflected the bright glow from the brazier.
‘Shit!’ Macro hissed as he leaped to the side.
Cato threw his weight forward, tumbled under the warrior’s outstretched arm and crashed into the man’s chest. An acrid sweaty odour filled Cato’s nostrils. The impact drove the man back a step before his heel caught on the edge of a rough-hewn plank and he tripped and fell. Cato thrust out his leading foot and locked the knee to break his momentum and stumbled to a halt over his opponent. The Silurian was still holding his sword and he desperately swung it in an arc at Cato’s shin. It would have been a crippling blow had the tip not struck the inside of the parapet with a thud. Both men exchanged a brief look before the native tried to snatch his sword back. But it was too late for him. Cato leaned forward and punched his short sword into the man’s ribs, felt the impact ripple down his arm before a bone cracked and the blade sliced into his resisting flesh. Cato gave the sword a violent twist, just as he had been trained to do as a recruit. He placed his boot on his victim’s chest and wrenched his sword out of the wound with a wet sucking noise. The Silurian gasped and slumped back, mouth agape.
Ahead of Cato was the ladder and the axeman a short distance further on. A hand appeared on top of the parapet and an instant later a head and shoulders and the tip of a sword. The man saw Cato at the same time and let out a cry of alarm. Cato grabbed the top of the ladder and tried to thrust it to the side, but the weight of the men on the rungs was too great. The Silurian, fearful of toppling, had clamped his sword hand to the ladder shaft to steady himself, but now saw that he was safe and grinned as he drew his sword back to thrust at Cato.
There was a blur of motion at the periphery of Cato’s vision as Macro’s sword punched forward into the man’s face, shattering his cheekbone and knocking his head back. He cried out and snatched his hand away from the ladder to clutch at the wound and lost his balance, falling from the ladder into the unlit shadows below the wall. His cry alerted the axeman who glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide with rage as he saw the two Roman officers.
‘Take the ladder!’ Macro snarled. ‘He’s mine!’
There was no time for Cato to respond as his friend thrust past him, lowering himself into a crouch as he sized up the tall, broad Silurian who was twirling his axe shaft as he turned, showing off his slick skills with the weapon.