Romans were kept occupied along the wall the ram would batter the gate before the defenders realised Caratacus’s intentions. It was a good plan, Cato conceded, except the Romans were ready and waiting.
The first men had reached the end of the causeway and Cato filled his lungs, swept his arm forward and roared, ‘Loose javelins!’
There was a chorus of grunts as the legionaries hurled their weapons down from the tower, over the causeway to where the bunched ranks of the enemy formed an easy target. The iron-tipped javelins punched through flesh and bone with soft thuds and an instant later the cries and groans of the injured cut through darkness. The party stopped abruptly, the ram dropped to the ground and those with shields swung them up to cover themselves.
‘Again!’ Cato ordered his men. ‘Pour it on, lads!’
The legionaries snatched up more weapons, took aim and hurled the javelins. More of the enemy went down, including those with shields — the wood and leather they were made of provided poor protection against the impact of the deadly iron points. Macro was shouting with glee as he threw one weapon after another and urged the legionaries on. Beyond the tangle of dead and wounded the survivors were breaking and running back down the track. Cato heard the enemy leader shouting angrily at them, and then breaking off to call out an order. A moment later more slingshot whirred out of the darkness, smashing into and splintering the hoardings, with a few shots cracking off the shields of the legionaries. One of the deflections caught Cato on his cheekguard with a loud ring. He felt the blow but luckily the small missile had lost most of its energy and did not injure him.
‘Take cover!’ he ordered as the sharp rattle of shot intensified, and another legionary was hit, the blow spinning him round. A further shot struck him in the face, pulverising his nose and eye socket in a spray of blood. He collapsed like a sack filled with stones and thudded on to the wooden boards, his shield clattering beside him. The other legionaries ducked down behind the parapet, their heavy rectangular shields adding further protection as the barrage of slingshot rattled against the tower. Cato took an anxious breath during a brief lull and glanced over the wall. The enemy had taken up the ram once more and were making their way across the causeway. A loud crack on the wood beside him sent splinters flying and he felt a hot stab in his cheek and ducked back down.
‘Shit. .’ He reached a hand up and felt the blood pouring down his face, and then touched something hard protruding from his flesh. Gritting his teeth he pinched the end tightly and pulled it out and flung it away. The sharp, stinging pain intensified but Cato ignored it.
Macro crouched down beside him, breathing hard. ‘The bastards have got us pinned down, sir.’
A voice shouted in front of the gate and a moment later began a short rhythmic chant. At the third beat there was a crash of wood on wood and Cato and Macro felt the tower tremble beneath them. The timbers of the gate were sturdy, as were the fastenings, hinges and the locking bar, but Cato knew that there was a limit to the punishment they could take.
‘We have to hold them up as much as possible. I’ll stay here and have the men continue with the javelins.’
‘That’ll be hot work.’
‘Can’t help that. We have to whittle them down and try to save the gate. If the outer gate goes, there’s only the inner gate. If we lose that we’re as good as dead.’
Macro nodded.
‘I want you to take command of the reserve. Form up behind the gatehouse and open the inner gate. If they break the other one down, then you go in hard. Drive them out and take their ram. They’ll produce another soon enough, but it’ll buy us some time. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then go.’
As Macro clambered down the ladder, Cato turned to the men crouching behind the hoardings. He raised his voice so that he would be heard above the clash of weapons, the cries of men and the steady pounding of the enemy’s ram. ‘Lads, we have to keep up the pace with the javelins. Use ’em quickly and don’t fuck about or you’ll make yourself an easy target. Get to it.’ Cato knew the danger of exposing himself to slingshot, but equally he knew that he had to lead these men by example. He took a light javelin from the stack at the rear of the tower, deliberately making sure that he did not look at the two casualties that had been dragged to the rear. Then, bracing himself behind a hoarding, he readied the weapon, clamped his jaw tightly and sprang up, leaned forward and hurled the javelin down on the glistening backs of the men clasping the ram, their hair and clothes slick in the rain. He saw it strike a warrior between the shoulders before he dropped back down. A moment later two missiles struck the tower where he had been standing. He felt a rush of elation sweep through his body and he offered a triumphant thumbs-up to the men. ‘One more barbarian sent to his gods!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Macro hefted his shield as he emerged from the gatehouse, striding over to the half century formed up a short distance away. At his approach Centurion Severus stopped pacing and turned towards him expectantly.
‘Stand to!’ Macro ordered and the legionaries hurriedly raised their shields and presented their javelins in a neat action, just as if they were on the drill ground. He nodded with approval before turning to their commander. He noted the nervous expression on the other man’s face. Just then the ram crashed into the outer gate once again, causing Severus to flinch as his gaze shot towards the sound.
‘They’ll be through that soon,’ he said anxiously, ‘then the inner gate, and we won’t be able to stop them.’
‘Oh, I doubt that!’ Macro said loudly enough for the other men to hear. ‘Because we’re the men who are going to give those barbarian cunts a good kicking. Now, you two.’ He indicated the legionaries at the left end of the small formation. ‘Get the inner gate open. Smartly does it.’
Severus’s mouth gaped. ‘Open the gate? What the. .?’
Macro made himself smile and continued evenly, ‘Come now, those bastards are ruining one of the gates. Damned if I’m going to let them put a scratch on the other.’
Severus stared at Macro as if he were mad, but Macro gave him no chance to speak. He drew his sword and turned to the legionaries. ‘Lay down the javelins. This is a job for swords, lads.’
They set their weapons down and stood ready, hands resting on the pommels of their short swords as they waited for his orders.
‘Form column of fours! Close up and shields to the front!’
The rain had formed puddles on the ground and the men’s boots splashed through them as they took up their positions. The two legionaries sent to open the gate had lifted the locking beam out of its brackets and were hauling the heavy timbers inwards. The wooden peg hinges groaned as the gate opened to reveal the dark maw of the short passage leading to the outer gate. Their work done they joined their comrades and Macro took his place at the head of the tight formation, gesturing to Severus to join him.
‘Let’s give ’em the wedge. You and I are taking point.’ Macro grinned and muttered the centurion’s credo, ‘First into the fight, and last out!’
Severus nodded and smiled weakly. ‘First in. Last out.’
Macro’s expression hardened as he drew his sword and raised it into the damp air. ‘First Century, Fourth Cohort draw your swords! We fight for the glory of the Fourteenth Legion!’
The legionaries thrust their blades up and let out a cheer. Up on the wall on either side, the men who were not engaged with the enemy glanced round at the noise and Macro’s heart was warmed as he saw the men from the Blood Crows join in, echoing the cry from one end of the wall to the other. He lowered his sword and pointed the tip towards the passage. There was a sharp crack from the darkness as the ram shattered one of the timbers of the outer gate.
‘At the slow step. . advance!’
The legionaries paced towards the opening, shields raised to the front, covering all but the eyes of the men. As they entered the passage, the ram struck home again, smashing through the ruined timber and dislodging another length. As the ram was drawn back, Macro could make out the dim shapes of men through the jagged
