Centurion

Cato smiled at the memory of that encounter, and some of the more intimate encounters that had taken place since.

'What are you gri

'What?' Cato stirred guiltily, shaking off the memory of Julia's slender figure as they had sat in the moonlight the night before, watching silver clouds drift across the stars.'I'm sorry, I wasn't concentrating.'

Macro stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. 'Just what I need, a love-struck puppy for my second-in-command. Come on, Cato. Keep your mind on the job, and off her arse. We've got problems enough as it is. Look there.'

Cato followed the direction Macro indicated and saw a stout timber frame rising up behind the wall of the merchants' yards. Then he recognised what he was seeing.

'An onager.'

'Yes. And there will be more of them. The rebels have gone and built themselves an artillery platform behind that wall. Very clever. There's no way we can assault them and they're well in range of the gates and the buildings beyond.' Macro scratched the bristles on his chin. 'Better tell Balthus to get his archers up here. And have the ballista crews do what they can to disrupt the rebels. See to it.'

By the time the defenders began to loose a steady barrage of missiles on the enemy the rebels had brought up eight large catapults, only the tops of which could be seen protruding above the wall of the merchants' yards. They continued their preparations unhindered, and as evening approached the first wisps of smoke curled into the air above the rebel position.

'Great,' Macro muttered. 'They're going to hit us with incendiaries.'

Cato nodded and hurried over to the far side of the gatehouse to call down to Centurion Metellus, who had taken charge of the fire parties.'Incoming incendiaries. Have your men ready.'

'Yes, sir.' Metellus saluted and turned away to call his motley collection of wounded soldiers and civilians to form up. They rose wearily from whatever shade they had found and hurried to their positions by the tubs of water spread out along the inside of the wall. Some carried buckets, others rolls of matting to smother the flames. Around them the civilian refugees snatched up their possessions and gathered up their children before making for the nearest shelter, packing into the doorways and entrances of the main building. Despite the danger to his subjects, King Vabathus had forbidden them entry to the royal quarters. After the murder of his son he had doubled the guard surrounding him and rarely emerged from his suite of rooms, such was his fear of assassination. Since all the other buildings had been allocated to the nobles and Roman officials, and the stables served as the barracks for the defending soldiers, the civilians had been forced to stay out in the open. Keeping to the shadows by day and shivering in family huddles at night, they eked out the siege on the meagre rations of water, horsemeat and grain distributed each day by the king's guards.

Cato could see over the wall of the royal courtyard and saw that the small funeral procession was emerging from the king's private quarters. Behind the priests, who were tearing their clothes and crying out their grief, came several more bearing the bier on which lay the body of Amethus, bound in scented cloth. The king, in a plain black robe, followed solemnly behind.

'Not the best of timing,' Cato muttered to himself.

But for the recent atmosphere of distrust and dislike, Prince Balthus would have walked behind his father. Glancing towards the tower to his right Cato saw Balthus directing his archers, seemingly unaware that the ceremony had begun. Or was it that the prince could not face witnessing the funeral of the brother whose death he had caused, Cato wondered briefly. Then he dismissed the thought. Balthus did not strike Cato as the kind of man who might be consumed by remorse. Cato turned away and returned to Macro's side. Macro was adjusting his chin straps to make sure that his helmet was on as securely as possible. Seeing Cato, he smiled wearily.

'It's about to get hot around here.'

Just then both men's attention was drawn to the rebel position by a dull thwack. Cato saw that the throwing arm of one of the onagers was pressed against the cross bar. A flaming bundle was arcing up into the late afternoon sky, trailing an oily black plume. The defenders on the wall could hear the roar of the flames clearly as it passed over their heads and then plummeted down into the heart of the citadel. Before it landed, more thwacks sounded from the rebel position and several more incendiary missiles rose into the sky, briefly scoring the air with smoke that marked their passage, before dissipating. The tightly bound, pitch-soaked bundles blazed down and burst as they struck roof tiles and paving stones, or rebounded off walls in a sudden intense flare caused by the impact. The bombardment continued, and soon the uneven rate at which the crews worked their weapons meant that there was an almost continuous rain of flaming missiles.

Macro and Cato moved to the rear of the gatehouse and looked down on the citadel to gauge the effect of the incendiary barrage. Several fires had already taken and the fire teams were crowding round the flames, beating at them frantically and dowsing them with water. But even as one fire was controlled, and then extinguished, another missile would land and start a new blaze somewhere else. One of the onagers, with greater torsion power than the rest, was shooting its incendiaries further into the citadel and as the two Roman officers watched one shot fell over the wall of the royal courtyard and scored a direct hit on the funeral pyre.The priests who were in the middle of raising the bier up on to the top of the pyre nearly dropped their burden in their surprise and fright. Just in time they steadied themselves and hurriedly placed the body in position as the flames from the incendiary bundle spread through the pyre. Then they scurried back to their place behind the king.

'Saved someone a job,' said Macro.'At least that's one fire no one will need to put out.'

'Just as well. Metellus and his men are going to be hard pressed.'

Macro glanced over the interior of the citadel, weighing up the situation. 'He's not going to cope. I want you down there now. Organise your cohort into fire-fighting teams and put those fires out.We can't afford to let any of them get out of control or the rebels will burn us out of here.'

'But sir, what if they attack? My men are needed on the wall.'

'I can manage with my cohort, and Balthus and his boys,' Macro decided. 'Now go!'

Cato ran along the rampart tower left of the gate and waved to Centurion Parmenion. 'Tell the men to down shields and spears and get down off the wall. We're to get those fires out. Pass the word to the other centurions!'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato called on the nearest auxiliaries to follow him and hurried down the steps from the wall. As soon as they reached the paved area behind the gates he led them to the nearest water butt and the pile of mats and buckets beside it. 'Pick 'em up! Get water in buckets and form up over there!'

As soon as the men were ready Cato ordered them to work in sections, one to each incendiary as it landed. They were to return to the butt the moment the fire was extinguished and wait for the next strike. Not that they would be waiting long, Cato mused. The rebels were working their weapons with furious determination and it seemed that the fresh fires were breaking out all the time. Even so, Macro's decision to send Cato's men to join the fire parties meant that the defenders were able to keep on top of any blazes, and put them out before they had a chance to spread. Around them the afternoon gave way to evening as the bombardment continued. Only a handful of fires posed any serious threat, where the incendiary had managed to strike places that could not easily be reached by the fire-fighting teams.