‘Tell Bolanus well done, and to keep me informed!’ Ferox called, and in a moment the cavalryman galloped back the way he had come.
There was some puffing and Sabinus appeared through the trapdoor. ‘Phew, what a climb. Must be getting old, eh, Julius,’ he said to one of the veterans from his legion who was on the platform.
‘I’ve got a son as old as you, sir,’ Julius replied with only a little exaggeration.
‘Tell him not to join the army,’ the centurion said, ‘it’s too much like hard work.’
‘Too late for that, sir. Hear he’s building some great bridge.’
‘That’s what I said, hard work.’ Sabinus came across to join Ferox.
‘You heard the report?’ Ferox asked.
‘Yes. You were right then – about the attack.’
‘We’ll see. It’s not a real attack yet.’
‘Dacians shot at them, sir?’
‘Yes, although I doubt that they saw any of them well enough to know who they were. Might have been naked nymphs and cupids for all they could tell in this damned mist.’
‘Think the lads would notice nymphs, sir,’ Julius asserted from a few paces away.
The light was growing. Ferox could see almost all of the closest building in the canabae and the dim shape of the inn beyond it stood out in the white fog. He felt a breath of breeze on his face and wisps of the mist swirled across the grass in front of him. Then the wind died and the movement faded, but not before he saw something low scuttling between the buildings.
‘Bring in the picket,’ Ferox said. ‘Quietly though. Send someone out to bring them in.’
‘Sir?’ Sabinus was dubious, and Ferox had no energy to explain that he thought or sensed that he had seen someone in the canabae.
‘Now. And send men along the walls to get the scorpiones ready.’ During the night artillery was of little use because it was so hard to aim and there was no sense wasting bolts. Better to keep the engines covered up to protect them from the damp, but if an attack came now, it was clear enough to make a difference, and at least worth using the smaller machines. ‘Tell the men they’ll be coming soon – and send a runner to each of the other gates to alert them as well.’
‘Sir?’
‘Just do it, centurion.’
Sabinus went off. The fog seemed to glow brighter without making it any easier to see. Ferox squinted, out of habit rather than expecting it to make any difference. He saw the soldier walk out and call to the picket that they were relieved. That was good, for there was no sense in telling any enemies that they were waiting and ready. After the horn and trumpet calls, anyone with sense would know that the Romans were not asleep, but they would not be able to tell just how alert and prepared the defenders were.
The picket turned, each of them stiff as decayed old men from standing nearly still for so long, until the senior soldier remembered that so many eyes were watching and barked at them to look smart. They started to march back up the path.
Ox horns blasted, close and oddly loud as if echoing in the mist. There was a great shout, splitting into many individual cries as hundreds of dark figures came streaming up the slope towards the fort.
‘Oh shit!’ Julius gasped.
‘Run!’ Ferox shouted down at the picket. ‘Inside now!’ The soldiers stumbled into a lurching run, one at the rear dropping a spear. ‘Leave it! Get inside, now!’ The men broke into a sprint. Just one of the gates was open a few feet, with a team ready to close it the moment they were through.
‘Wait for the order!’ Ferox shouted, arm raised to signal even if few would be able to see it. The dark shadows of the enemy were becoming clearer, faint glints coming from spear points and the bosses of shields. Most were oval, not at all unlike the ones used by the auxilia and he could see plenty of men with helmets and probably armour. A dense knot of fifty or more were pelting up the road, closing with the picket and the open gate. Ferox never quite understood how time seemed to go fast or slow in a battle, but found himself imagining being put on trial for misconduct, with a stony-faced accuser throwing question after question. So when the enemy attacked you gave the order to run away? The order to leave a weapon behind? And it was you who had left the gate open so that the enemy could just run in?
He laughed at the absurdity of the thought.
‘Sir?’ Julius asked.
‘Silures are all mad,’ Vepoc said. ‘Every one of them.’
‘Wait, lads!’ Ferox shouted.
Warriors were at the edge of the obstacles and some started running onwards. Ferox heard the first scream as a man crashed through the thin layer of sticks covering one lillia and the stake drove into his thigh. Other men stopped where they were, raising their bows. Arrows hissed as they flew, arching high over the attackers towards the ramparts and towers. One struck the parapet just below Ferox with a dull thunk. He heard a hiss of pain, probably from someone on the floor below them.
‘Arrows and javelins, wait for the command. Aim for the ones on the road!’ Ferox shouted. There were barely a dozen archers on the walls in this sector and as always he wished he had far more, but he wanted them to wait until they were very close so that the volley would be strengthened by the thrown javelins.
The picket was almost in, with the first man already through the gate, but twenty paces behind them the dense mass of warriors was coming on and another band of much the same size was not far behind. A few men were at the outer ditch, scattered and going carefully as they tried to thread their way through the pits, stakes and caltrops. More arrows came from the archers, one whipping past not far over Ferox’s head.
‘Loose!’ Ferox bellowed.
It was hard to run fast and keep a shield upright, let alone present a wall of shields to the enemy. The knot of men staggered, seeming almost to jump back as arrows struck, closely followed by twice as many javelins. Half a dozen of the Dacians were down, others screaming in pain.
‘Scorpiones!’ Ferox called. His orders for the engines was to wait for his command for the first shot, but after that to use their own discretion.
No shield would stop the bolt of even a light engine like the scorpio, least of all at this range. There were two on the lower floor of the tower, one more up here on the top platform and a couple in each of the neighbouring towers. All of these crews could see the attackers in front of the gate without any trouble and at this range it would be hard to miss.
Ferox saw a man flung bodily by the strike of a bolt to knock down two of his comrades, and another whose head snapped back with the impact.
‘Got the bastard!’ Julius said with deep satisfaction as he began to crank the slider of the scorpio back for the next shot.
Ferox heard the gate slam shut beneath him. Of the leading group of Dacians, almost a half were down, whether moaning or quite still, and the rest fled.
‘Stones!’ he shouted. ‘Pick your targets! Make each one count and kill them! Kill them!’
Men were in the outer ditch, a few spilling over the top and charging at the next one, and far more working their way through the obstacles to get to it, and some of these were carrying ladders. On the road the second band was pushing on steadily, shields up and locked together. Ferox saw a flicker of movement and one of the shields shake as an arrow struck it and stuck fast. Then a scorpio stung, its bolt driving clean through to pin the shield to the man holding it. He fell and the wall of shields quivered, but the gap was there for just an instant before another took the dying man’s place.
The air seemed full of arrows. Ferox leaned to one side to see down and felt the air snap as one flicked by where he had been a moment before. Another buried itself deep into the rail of the parapet, flinging up a big splinter. It was shorter than most, and he remembered facing such bows before. They were almost like little ballistae, from some old design he had heard was Greek, making it possible for one man to carry and shoot, but delivering more force over a short range than any ordinary bow.