Centurion

Last of all emerged a number of men carrying large stout shelters. With them trotted the archers, clutching spare bundles of arrows under their arms. The shelters were hurriedly set up as the artillery crews sighted their weapons and began to crank back the torsion cords. There was a shouted command to Cato's left and the first of Balthus' archers began to loose their arrows. Dark shafts darted down towards the rebels, clattering off the flagstones, occasionally thudding into the shelters that had been set up. The rebels paid them due respect and took cover as they arranged their arrows and lit the first of them, ready to shoot up at the battlements.

'Watch out!' Cato shouted. 'Incoming fire arrows!'

The auxiliaries crouched down behind the rims of their shields or ducked behind the hard cover of the stone battlements. A moment later a glittering arrow whipped over the wall, trailing a fine line of smoke, before it reached the top of its trajectory and curved down towards the palatial buildings of the royal accommodation. The arrow shattered as it struck a roof tile and the flaming fragments exploded in all directions. More arrows followed. Most struck the roof or walls, or fell harmlessly to the ground, but a handful lodged in the timber of doorways or window frames and the fire parties pounced on them immediately to beat the flames out.

'Sir?'

Cato turned and saw Centurion Aquila coming towards him, crouching low. Now that his horses were gone, Aquila and his men fought as infantry and Cato had chosen Aquila to act as his second-in-command in the defence of the gate.

'What is it?'

'Shall I give the order for our slingers to shoot back? And the bolt-throwers on the towers?'

Cato shook his head.'No sense in exposing our men just yet. Let the rebels waste their ammunition; they're not doing us any harm. We'll hold back until the ram is within range. Then the slingers can target those archers.'

'Yes, sir.' A look of disappointment flickered across Aquila's face. 'Very good.'

'Don't worry, Aquila. The men will get their chance to carve 'em up soon enough.'

'I can hardly wait,' Aquila muttered grimly as he risked a quick glimpse over the wall.'Time to pay them back for the horses.'

'The horses?' Cato wondered, and then shook his head. His cavalry commander was clearly one of those men who cared deeply for his mounts. Still, if he blamed the rebels for the mass slaughter of the previous day, so much the better.

'Centurion Aquila, when this is all over, I promise to let you have the pick of the enemy's horses.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you.' Aquila gri

There was a dull whack from below in the agora and a moment later a flaming bundle of rags tied tightly round a rock blazed over the battlement. The missile dropped down towards the part of the citadel being used for the hospital and crashed through the tiles and vanished from sight. Cato felt his throat tighten with anxiety for Julia's safety, but he was powerless to do anything to protect her, or even find out if she was safe, while the enemy attack was under way. He tried to push all thought of her from his mind as he took a breath and rose up to check on the progress of the battering ram.

The rebels had got it a third of the way across the agora. Prince Balthus and his archers were keeping up a steady barrage of fire arrows, which formed a sparse stubble across the leather roof of the ram housing.The arrows smouldered in the damp leather but before they could catch the boys would dart forward and hurl fresh water over the roof. The groan from the axles of the large wheels carried up to the battlements even above the din of the iron rims grinding across the flagstones. The drums continued to beat a steady rhythm to the men straining inside the housing as they pressed forward.

'Man the bolt-throwers!' Cato commanded. 'Load incendiaries!'

The crew of the ballista in the left tower jumped up on to the firing platform and began to crank the arms back. Another man held the tip of a three-foot-long heavy bolt in the flames of the brazier at the rear of the platform.The oil-soaked rags wrapped round the shaft just behind the iron head quickly caught alight and the auxiliary hurriedly carried it across to the bolt-thrower. He carefully placed the bolt in the cha

'Get some water on that!' shouted the optio and then turned his attention back to the weapon. As soon as he was satisfied with the laying he straightened up and reached for the release lever.

'Stand clear!'

The crew stepped away and an instant later the arms snapped forward and smacked against the padded restraints. The flaming bolt shot out of the weapon in an almost flat trajectory, lancing across the agora. It struck the leather covers of the ram housing, burst through and disappeared inside.The crewmen punched their fists into the air, but the optio turned on them angrily.

'What in Hades are you doing? You're not paid by the day. Reload the weapon, and you, put that fucking fire out!'

Cato had watched the fall of the shot and nodded with satisfaction. 'Keep it up, Optio. Fast as you can shoot. Won't take the rebels long to move the ram so close to the wall that we can't depress the bolt-throwers enough.'

'Yes, sir,' the optio replied. 'We'll do the best we can.'

Just then, the man who had been standing at the front of the platform extinguishing the burning arrow with his canteen let out an explosive gasp. He dropped the canteen and staggered backwards, arms scrabbling for the shaft sticking out of his back, just below the shoulder blade.

'Watch it!' Cato shouted. 'Stop him!'

But it was too late. The auxiliary's calves struck the rim of the battlement and he tumbled backwards, arms flailing, then was gone. His scream was mercifully short, but they all heard the heavy thud as he landed at the foot of the tower. The optio gritted his teeth, strode to the front of the bolt-thrower, plucked the burning arrow out and threw it back towards the enemy before striding back to the rear of the weapon and snarling at his men, 'Next cunt who lets that happen to him is on a charge. Remember, keep your bloody heads down!'

There was a distant crack and Cato turned to see that the other bolt-thrower was also targeting the ram. As the rebels slowly angled in towards the gate several more shots struck the housing, passing straight through the leather and tearing into the packed ranks of the men inside, or lodging in the stout timbers of the framework, burning there until one of the rebel water-carriers managed to extinguish it. Behind the ram housing a wake of blood smears and the bodies of dead and injured told of the destruction being wrought by the citadel's bolt-throwers.

The one-sided barrage from the towers could not last for ever, and just as the ram housing reached the point at which the auxiliary crews could not depress their weapons any further, one of the enemy bolt-throwers mounted in the carts down in the agora scored a lucky hit. The heavy iron tip of the bolt smashed into the throwing arm of the weapon on the left tower. With a splintering crack the torsion arm snapped and under the immense strain of the thick cord of the bowstring the arm slashed round in an arc, crushing the head of the nearest man and shattering the arm of the next as splinters exploded in all directions, showering the soldiers closest to the weapon. Three more men were injured, one of them screaming in agony as he raised a hand to pluck a long sliver of wood from his eye.

'Get the wounded away!' Cato yelled. 'Down to the hospital. Optio!'