Cato looked back from the inner wall as flames engulfed the end of one of the nearby barrack blocks. He climbed down and strode over to Centurion Parmenion at the head of the troops held in reserve. Most of the soldiers were crouching nervously, waiting for the next incendiary missile to come over the wall, as Cato approached.

'We have to deal with those fires before they get out of control. Take two centuries from the reserve, form them into fire parties and set them to it.'

'Yes sir.'

As Parmenion sent his men off to fight the fires, Macro came up to check on Cato's situation. He nodded towards the flames with a grim expression. 'Reminds me of that fight we had with the Germans in that village close to the Rhine.'

'I remember it well, sir.That was the first time I faced an enemy. I was an optio then.'

'So you were.' Macro reflected. 'That was over three years ago. Seems longer. Much longer. Although it was you who set fire to the defences last time.'

'And here we are, about to be burned out of our shelter once again.'

'We'll have to see about that.' Macro nodded towards the inner wall. 'How has it been? I saw the start of their attack from one of the towers.'

Cato recalled the earlier slaughter with a strained expression. 'They got caught in front of the wall, as we'd hoped.'

'Gave them a good hiding, then?'

'Yes.'

'And our side? Many casualties?'

'Only a few.'

'Good,' Macro said with satisfaction. 'I'm sure they'll be back. Not quite so cocky next time, so you'll have a fight on your hands.'

'I imagine so. Have they tried any attacks on other walls?'

They were interrupted as a highly angled fire arrow clattered off the ground close by and shattered in a spray of brilliant sparks. Both officers instinctively flinched away, and then continued their conversation. Macro jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

'There was a feint towards the east wall. Nothing serious, just an attempt to draw off men from this position.'

'Here they come!' a voice cried from the main wall.

Cato swung round, cupping a hand to his mouth. 'To arms! Get on the wall! Fire parties, carry on!'

The auxiliaries on the fighting platform raised their shields, and held their javelins ready as they stared out at the dark mass of the gatehouse ruins.

'I'll join you,' Macro muttered to Cato. 'This is where the fight will be decided.'

'We could certainly use you here, sir.'

Macro clapped him on the shoulder, and then bellowed to the auxiliaries around him. 'Right! Let's make 'em regret that they ever decided to mix it with the Second Illyrian!'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

The two centurions picked up spare shields that had been stacked near the javelins and made their way up on to the fighting platform. Behind the inner wall the fires in the fort still blazed despite Centurion Parmenion's attempts to bring them under control. Cato knew that they would be clearly silhouetted for the enemy slingers and archers, but at least the flames provided some illumination of the pile of rubble stretching up before the inner wall. The archers on the wall were already loosing arrows on to the approaching enemy as swiftly as possible. Slingshot whipped back at them from the darkness, and the steady barrage of fire arrows and incendiary missiles hurled by the onager continued arcing over the wall and flaring down on to the buildings behind.

The Judaeans came up the rubble slope as before, but this time they stopped just beyond the crest, beyond the range of the javelins, and began whirring slings over their heads.

'Slingshot!' Cato cried out in warning to his men. 'Keep those shields up!'

Then the air was filled with the whip-whup of shots, moments before they struck the face of the wall and the auxiliaries' shields in a cacophony of sharp raps. The Judaeans made no attempt to advance any further, but continued to keep up a heavy bombardment of those manning the wall, while others concentrated their shots on the archers on the walls to either side of the ruined gatehouse. It did not take long to clear the archers away as they were cut down by the lethal slingshot, or were forced back to take cover further along the wall. Once they had been dealt with the slingers turned their attention to the inner wall. Every so often a shot found its way past one of the shields and struck home with bone-shattering force.

Macro risked a quick glance over the rim of his shield. Satisfied that the enemy were still halted on the other side of the rubble, he ducked back down and drew a deep breath so that he could be heard above the din of the slingshot strikes.

'Second Illyrian! Take cover behind the wall!'

The men needed no encouragement to duck down out of sight of the slingers and they squatted behind the breastwork, lowering their shields to rest beside them. Macro turned and met Cato's eyes.

'Seems that they've learned their lesson well. No more frontal assaults until we've been softened up.'

Cato was taking a last glance at the enemy from beneath the shelter of his shield. A stone glanced off the central boss with a shattering ring. He felt the impact through his shield arm and winced as he dropped down. 'Softened up? More like tenderised.'

Macro laughed. 'Let 'em try. As long as this wall's between us there's not much they can do to cut down our numbers.'

'Maybe,' Cato replied quietly. 'But they must know that too.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that there must be a reason for them to want us to keep our heads down.'

Macro lowered his shield on to the fighting platform. 'They're up to something. I'll be back in a moment.'

He slid off the fighting platform and ran along behind it until he reached the ladder leading up to the main wall. There would be a nasty instant when he emerged in full view of the slingers in the breach, and, bracing himself, he launched himself up the rungs.There was a shout and two slingshots whipped close by, then Macro threw his body up on to the rampart and rolled out of sight. One of the men immediately scurried over and protected him with his shield. Catching his breath Macro nodded his gratitude and then went over to the wall. Making sure that he was sheltered behind one of the crenellations, he peered over the top.

Behind the screen of slingers in the breach there was the pile of bodies from the first assault and beyond that the silent mass of Judaean rebels waiting to attack. As Macro watched them by the wavering orange glow of the torches that ringed the onager, he noticed them pull aside as something passed through the crowd. As yet he could not make out what it was. Then one of the enemy, sharper-eyed than his comrades, spied the prefect's head and loosed a shot at the ramparts. It struck the masonry above Macro's head and chips of stone burst from the wall, several striking Macro in the face, one laying open the flesh at the corner of his left eye.

'Shit!' He recoiled backwards, clutching at his face. 'Shit. Bastard.'

His fingers came away coated in blood and Macro hurriedly undid his neckcloth and mopped the wound. His left eye still had vision, but it was badly blurred and the pain in the socket was searing.

'Sir?' The auxiliary who had protected him with his shield loomed in front of Macro. 'Shall I send for the surgeon?'

'No!' Macro winced. 'I've had worse. I'll be fine.'

The auxiliary looked at him doubtfully and then shuffled away. Macro tried to staunch the flow of blood before he tried again to see what the enemy was bringing forward. The front ranks split open and gave way to a score of men carrying an iron-tipped beam of wood. So that was it, Macro realised. A battering ram. He slithered back to the edge of the rampart and this time he decided not to risk the ladder but lowered himself over the side of the wall a bit further along, and dropped heavily to the ground below. He hurried back to Cato. His friend winced as he saw the wound on Macro's face.