Centurion

Macro sheathed his sword and strode forward through the smoke, blinking as his eyes began to smart. 'Follow me!'

The fire had engulfed the siege weapon and the heat struck Macro like a blow. He raised his shield and pressed it up against one of the stout corner posts and nodded to the men of the first century. 'Like this! Use your shields and push. We must get this pile of shit away from the gates!'

His men, wincing at the heat of the flames, pressed forward, slammed their shields up against the ram housing and heaved with all their strength.With painful slowness the siege weapon moved away from the gates, and as more men piled in, adding their weight, the huge wheels ground backward across the flagstones.

'That's it, lads!' Macro called out, and his lungs filled with smoke that made him cough painfully as if his chest was filled with broken glass. As the fire consumed the ram the heat swelled in intensity and there was a sudden sharp smell as the crest of his helmet smouldered and began to burn. Every instinct told Macro to draw back, away from the flames that were searing his face, but he could see that the ram was not yet far enough from the gates to be certain that the flames would not spread to them. 'Keep going!' he rasped. 'Heave, you bastards!'

Something clattered on the ground close to his feet and glancing down Macro saw an arrow shaft. Then another skittered over the flagstones. He looked round the side of his shield with narrowed eyes and saw that the enemy archers had turned their attention away from Balthus and his men and were now shooting at the Romans struggling to get the ram clear of the citadel's gates. Beyond the archers a large body of rebel soldiers had formed up and begun to quick-march across the agora. Macro looked over his shoulder and saw that they had pushed the flaming structure back perhaps twenty feet from the gates.

'Just a bit further,' he muttered through clenched teeth.

There was a dull thud that Macro felt almost as much as he heard as the ropes supporting the end of the ram gave way and the huge shaft of timber hit the ground. The siege weapon lurched to a halt.

'That's it then!' Macro called to his men.'Get back! Back inside the citadel!'

They broke away from the ram and retreated, keeping their shields to the enemy as more arrows flitted over and through the flames now licking high into the air. As soon as the rebels realised that the legionaries were pulling back, their commander bellowed an order and they charged towards the gate with a full-throated roar. The moment the rain of arrows began to slacken Macro turned round and shouted, 'Run!'

The legionaries pounded through the gate, the harsh thud of their nailed boots echoing off the curved stonework of the gateway. Macro was the last through, and he turned, drawing his sword as he faced the enemy.

'Close the gates!' he bellowed. 'Smartly does it!'

The first of the enemy soldiers was racing up alongside the burning ram, desperate to reach the gates before the Romans could get them closed. Once more the iron hinges groaned as the doors were pushed forward.The gap between them narrowed and Macro gri

'Hah! Too late, you bastards!'

The doors came together with a boom and immediately the legionaries dropped the locking bar into place. Almost at once there was a muffled cry of anger from the far side, and a dull thud as one of the rebels struck the outside of the gate in frustration.

Macro sheathed his sword and turned away. 'Well done, lads!'

The men of the first century acknowledged his praise with nervous smiles as they stood breathing heavily. A handful had been injured by arrows that had struck their unprotected arms and legs, and strained to stop themselves from crying out in pain. Macro gestured to the nearest section of the next century.

'You there! Help these men to the hospital.'

'Are you all right, sir?'

Macro looked up as Cato came hurrying down the last flight of steps towards him. 'I'm fine.'

Cato looked him over and shook his head. 'You look pretty cooked to me. Especially the helmet crest.' He gri

Macro lowered his shield and untied his chin straps. Lifting the helmet from his head he saw that the fine red crest had been burned black and the ends crumbled as he ran his fingers over them.

'Bloody thing cost me a fortune back in Antioch,' he growled.'Fine piece of kit, that. Or it was.Those bastards out there are going to suffer for it.'

'Sir.' Cato pointed to Macro's arms, and for the first time Macro was aware of blisters and livid red patches of red where his skin had scorched, and then the raw stinging sensation hit home. Cato nodded towards the wounded men being helped towards the hospital. 'Better go and get those burns seen to.'

'In a moment. Just tell me, is the ram far enough from the gates?'

'Yes, sir. There's no danger of its spreading. And it'll make a nice obstacle to get round if they make another attempt.'

'And the rest of them?'

'They've pulled back. Archers, infantry and artillery.' Cato indicated the parties putting out the last of the fires started by the rebels' incendiaries. 'Damage is light and we've not suffered many casualties. We've beaten them, this time.'

'This time.' Macro nodded. 'But they have the luxury of another attempt. We get beaten once, and it's all over. One thing is certain: they'll try again, just as soon they can.'

08 Centurion

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

'Ah, the other hard case.' Julia shook her head as Macro eased himself down on to a stool beside her table. 'Tell me, are you two accident prone, or is it just that you happen to be in the thick of the fighting all the time?'

Macro shrugged. 'Goes with the rank, miss. Don't suppose we get injured more than any other officers.' He paused and thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. 'No. That's not true. The lad and I seem to have found ourselves in quite a few scrapes since we ran into each other.'

Julia bent her head over his outstretched arms, examining the burns. 'Oh? How long ago was that, then?'

'Five years. I was serving with the Second Legion on the Rhine when Cato joined up.' Macro smiled as he recalled the rainswept winter's evening when the convoy of fresh recruits trundled in through the fortress gate. 'He was just a ski

'You can lower your arms,' Julia said as she straightened up and reached for a pot of fat on the table. 'The burns will need to be protected for a few days. Those arms are going to smart for a while, but I dare say you will pretend not to notice it.'

Macro laughed. 'It seems you have the measure of me.'

'No. Not you, just soldiers in general. Most of you seem to think you're as hard as the Spartans.'

'Spartans?' Macro snorted his derision. 'Bunch of tunic-lifters, that lot. Wouldn't last quarter of an hour up against the legions.'

'If you say so.' Julia dipped her hand in the pot and cupped a dollop of the fat in her palm. 'Hold still.'

Macro clamped his lips together as she applied the unguent and started to smooth it out across the raw red burns on his arms. It hurt, as she had said it would, but Macro was damned if he would show it. He forced himself to speak in a relaxed conversational tone. 'So, how long have you been a surgeon?'