Centurion

'Yes, sir?' The optio was wincing as he removed a large splinter from his forearm.

'Pull the weapon back and get that throwing arm repaired.'

'Repaired, sir?' The optio glanced at the bolt-thrower. The splintered stump of the throwing arm protruded a short distance from the torsion coils. 'It's fucked.'

'I don't care. Get it out of sight of the enemy and get it fixed. We'll need it.'

The optio stiffened up and nodded. 'Yes, sir. Right, lads! You heard the prefect. Let's get to it.'

Cato stepped away as the surviving members of the crew clambered round the broken weapon and heaved it away from the battlements. Around him some of the auxiliaries were helping the wounded men over to the stairs and down into the courtyard. Cato raised his shield and went forward again to check on the progress of the ram. The rebels had managed to heave it close enough to the wall to take it out of the line of fire of the citadel's bolt-throwers, and yet not so close as to be vulnerable to falling rocks or flammables. All the time the archers and the bolt-throwers down in the agora kept up a steady barrage of missiles aimed at the battlements, while catapults continued to lob the occasional blazing bundle in a high arc over the wall to crash down on the buildings and people inside the citadel.

Even though the ram was safe from the defenders for the moment, the rebels would have to run it up to the gate soon and there it would be directly exposed to the men immediately above. Prince Artaxes had anticipated the danger and already many of the archers and bolt-throwers were being repositioned to cover the ram. Cato ran down the stairs to the wide walkway directly above the gate. He leaned over and called down into the courtyard.

'Get the heated oil up here! Now!'

Cato turned to the men with pitchforks standing beside the braziers a short distance from the bound bundles of kindling and rags soaked in pitch, then gave the order to stoke the flames up and be ready to set fire to the faggots. While some of his men thrust their pitchforks into the bundles and heaved them over towards the battlement, others used bellows to heat the braziers to a brilliant golden glow and sent sparks whirling into the air.

'Light 'em up!' Cato shouted, and an optio grabbed a torch, held it in the fire until it was well alight and then ran across to the faggots and touched it to each one until the flames caught and smoke swirled round the battlements as the kindling crackled. 'Over the wall!'

At the prefect's order the men with the pitchforks heaved them up and over and shook them out to dislodge their blazing burdens. One by one the bundles roared down from the battlements. Below, the water boys glanced up in terror and turned to run for their lives as the faggots crashed on to the roof of the ram housing and burst apart, showering the surrounding area with burning debris.

'Keep them coming!' Cato ordered.

As the faggots tumbled down from the gate tower most hit the ram housing, but some missed and burst on the flagstones of the agora. Cato glanced down just as one knocked a water boy to the ground. He rolled to one side, covered in flaming material. A shrill scream pierced the air, and went on and on as the boy writhed on the ground. His comrades who had run from the bombardment were now beaten back towards the ram housing by soldiers with whips. They darted round the leather-covered structure dashing water on to the flames and fleeing whenever they saw a burning faggot plummeting towards them, only to be forced back by the whips. And through it all the men, invisible beneath the roof of the housing, strained as they heaved the ram on towards the gate.

The last of the faggots went over the wall and Cato ran to see what had become of the heated oil. The carriers were still struggling up the last flight of stairs to the top of the gate tower: four men gripping two long wooden staves that passed through iron rings on each side of the cauldron.

'Hurry it up! Move yourselves!'

As they reached the platform, a tremor ran through the tower as the first blow of the ram thudded into the gate.

'Cato!' Macro's voice called up, and Cato leaned over the wall,

'Sir?'

'Get that oil on to the ram, and the rocks, whatever you can!'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato turned to the auxiliaries in the tower and drew a breath as he pointed to the pile of odd-sized chunks of masonry piled behind the battlements. 'Get the rocks over the wall.'

The men piled their pitchforks to one side of the tower and joined Cato as he grunted under the weight of a large stone and staggered to the battlements.With a strained grunt he heaved it up on to the wall and risked a glance directly down at the ram housing.The long leather mantle stretched out from the gate, and as a drum beat the time there was a crash below and again the impact was felt through the gate tower. Cato could see that the only serious damage caused by the faggots was a small scorch-fringed hole close to the head of the ram housing. The glistening torsos of the rebels swinging the ram could just be glimpsed. Cato waited a moment until some more of his men stood either side of him, ready to shove their crude missiles over the parapet.

'Now!'

With a scraping of stone on stone the Romans pushed and the lumps of masonry tumbled off the wall and plummeted towards the roof of the ram housing. The rocks crashed straight through, tearing gaping holes in the leather padding and the wooden planks beneath. Those rebels directly below were crushed by the impact.

'Keep it up!' Cato ordered, and then turned to the men with the cauldron of oil. Smoke and steam wisped up from the blackened iron sides of the vessel and the air was filled with the thick odour. 'Bring it over here!'

As the auxiliaries at the parapet continued to rain stones down on the ram housing, Cato helped the others manoeuvre the cauldron towards the battlements, directly above the ram. Once it was in place Cato called more men to brace themselves under the far stave and slowly the cauldron began to tilt towards the enemy. A plume of steam rose up as the liquid began to stream down, splashing over the shattered roof above the ram and through the gaps on to the men beneath. At once their agonised screams cut through the air and they abandoned their positions and scrambled away, stumbling from the rear of the ram housing. Balthus' men turned their attention on the fleeing rebels and arrows arced across at an angle, cutting down several of them as they ran for the safety of their own archers' shelters. Their comrades did their best to force Balthus' men to keep their heads down as a furious exchange of arrows ensued.

While the enemy's attention was drawn from the gates' defences Cato took the chance to examine the damage below and saw that the heated oil had done its work. The ram was on fire and the flames were quickly spreading along the damaged wooden framework. The enemy's water-carriers were fleeing along with the warriors and no one remained to fight the blaze. A hard smile of satisfaction flickered over his lips before he felt the first wash of heat strike his face. Then Cato felt his guts clench in a moment of anxiety at the memory of the fortified gate of a German village he had defended alongside Macro years before. He hurried across the tower and shouted down to the legionaries below. 'Sir! The ram's on fire!'

Macro's face split into a wide smile as he stared up at Cato. 'Good!'

Cato shook his head desperately. 'It's directly under the gate.'

Macro's smile faded. 'Oh, shit. Shit! What's the situation to your front?'

'Enemy's pulled back, sir. For now!'

'Right then. Only one thing for it.' Macro filled his lungs. 'Open the gates!'

The leading century trotted forward to raise the locking bar and take up the heavy lengths of chain that drew the doors inwards. With a grating rumble from the hinges the great slabs of studded timber slowly swung apart. Smoke billowed through the opening and Macro glimpsed the flames licking across the wooden frame of the ram housing. The leather hides had already burned away leaving the skeleton of the structure beneath, and the iron-tipped ram itself, still suspended even though the support ropes were alight.