Caratacus, brothers in arms regardless of the causes for which they fought. They had certain attributes of valour, integrity and honesty of feeling that Cato felt he could only aspire to and never achieve. He was too questioning of things to allow himself the pleasure of such certainties. His heart ached as he felt a keen sense of loss over knowing that he could never share the sureness of sentiment enjoyed by Macro.
Macro looked outraged. ‘Me? Share anything with that bastard? Never! Bollocks to that.’ He reached for the latch. ‘The very fucking idea. . I have to get back to the wall.’
Before Cato could say another word his friend had strode out of the room, muttering darkly to himself.
‘So much for the notion of the universal bond of the warrior.’ Cato shrugged and set off after his friend.
Throughout the night the garrison of Bruccium kept watch over the approaches to the fort. Stocks of javelins were brought from the stores and stacked at the foot of the rampart, along with bundles of kindling, tightly bound and liberally doused with pitch so that they would readily catch fire when the time came to bundle them over the wall and illuminate the enemy. Flames flickered in a handful of small braziers spread around the inside of the ramparts and some of the soldiers were warming themselves by the meagre blazes, their faces washed in a ruddy hue. The watches changed as a horn sounded from headquarters, blowing a brief series of notes over the camp. The haystacks had burned fiercely for a while, bathing the ground and the enemy warriors below the fort in a lurid red. The flames died down after midnight and only pinpricks of red still glowed in the darkness.
Cato and Macro based themselves in the gatehouse, taking turns to walk the defences and ensure that the men were alert. Every so often Cato would pause and stare down into the night, straining his eyes and ears to detect any sign of enemy movement. But there was nothing save the occasional muted order or brief exchange of words from the direction of the parade ground. There was no sign of any activity beyond the other walls of the fort where, in any case, the rush of the river over the rocks made it impossible to pick out any faint sounds. On his return to the gatehouse, Cato laid his helmet to one side and sat against the side of the guardroom. He pulled his cloak tightly about him and closed his eyes. Opposite, Macro snored deeply, until he was roused at the appointed hour to take his turn around the defences. Cato could not sleep, but wanted to show the sentries in the gatehouse that he was confident enough to slumber in the presence of his enemies. It would create a good impression on the men, he knew, and word would quickly spread about the cool-mindedness of the fort’s commander.
But although his head tilted in repose and his chest rose and fell with an easy rhythm, his mind was seething as he went over the layout of the fort and the ground upon which it stood. Then he tried to place himself in the mind of Caratacus and assess the weak points in the defences, and where and how he might assault the fort. For each possibility Cato considered his response and how he might deploy his meagre numbers to hold off the enemy horde. The greatest danger would be if Caratacus unleashed a rolling assault along two or three sides of the fort. That would soon force Cato to commit his reserves and inevitably leave some section of the wall vulnerable. There was one other issue to plague his thoughts. Caratacus would be determined to deal with the fort and its defenders as swiftly as possible, before Ostorius got wind of his location. The garrison could expect an assault at any moment.
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
