‘Fast reflexes,’ Macro complimented him in an undertone. Then he stepped forward to make a genuine attack, thrusting at the man’s guts. The Silurian knocked the blade aside with a sneer and then blocked the next thrust at his face and let his right hand slip smoothly down the axe shaft as he made a diagonal cut towards Macro’s shoulder. It was done so swiftly that Macro only just had time to leap to the side; the blade of the axe missed him by less than a finger’s breadth. He fell against the palisade, a short distance in front of Cato, knocking the breath from his lungs. The axeman stepped forward and thrust the butt of his weapon into Macro’s chest, striking one of the silver medallions on his harness and knocking him back a step. He made to punch the heavy shaft again but Cato leaped past his friend and thrust his sword into the warrior’s chest. It was a blow struck at full stretch and resulted in a shallow flesh wound, but it halted the axeman in his tracks and he hurriedly faced the new threat. Macro snatched a breath and took his place at Cato’s side.

‘This one’s beginning to annoy me.’

Cato nodded, teeth gritted, his eyes fixed on the axeman. Then he lunged again, his height and reach superior to Macro’s, and he forced the axeman to give ground. Macro let out a roar and charged forward, and Cato followed suit. The sudden movement of the two officers caught the enemy warrior by surprise and he hesitated for less than a heartbeat, and that was the death of him. Macro struck first, stabbing into his right shoulder, jerking the man’s hand from his weapon so that the axe dropped to the walkway. Cato followed up with a thrust just below his throat, shattering the collarbone and driving six inches through his windpipe. The axeman staggered back defenceless and then jerked to a stop, head thrown back as the tip of a pilum burst through his side. Behind him a legionary wrenched the point free and kicked him down the turf slope of the rampart where he rolled to a stop, hands clamped to his throat as he spluttered and bled out.

‘Good work, soldier!’ Macro grinned. ‘Spitted him like a pig!’

The man smiled at the praise and turned back to face the parapet, bloodied javelin tip raised, ready to strike at the next man rash enough to attempt to scale the wall. Cato sheathed his blade, heedless of the blood that still stained it, and looked along the wall. A handful of duels were being fought at the top of the ladders but no more of the enemy had gained the walkway behind the parapet. He nodded with satisfaction.

‘All well so far. Come on. Back to the tower.’