They climbed to the top where they could gain a clear overview of the attack. The men to the left of the gate were also holding their own against the natives swarming in front of the fort, lit from behind by the faggots blazing on the ground. As he watched, Cato could see that the flames were starting to die down earlier than he had expected and he glanced up at the heavy loom of the night sky; the rain was falling harder, pinging off the curve of his helmet and providing a light background hiss to the sounds of battle. In the open ground behind the main gate the men of the reserve stood waiting with spears and shields grounded. In front of them Cato could easily pick out Severus, pacing up and down, tapping his sword against his greave. He could practically smell the man’s anxiety and despite himself Cato offered a brief prayer to the gods that the centurion would lead his men well if they were called upon to plug any gap in the line. Looking to his right, he saw Quertus shouting encouragement to his men. Every so often he would stand up, in full view of the enemy, and roar his defiance. Just the example the men needed at such a moment, Cato conceded with a touch of admiration.

He turned to Macro. ‘This rain won’t serve us well.’

‘It’s as bad for the enemy as us. Worse. At least we have shelter.’

Cato shook his head. ‘You’re missing the point. It’s starting to put the faggots out. If it carries on like this we won’t be able to light the signal beacon come the morning. Even if we could I’ll wager the clouds will swallow up any smoke we make.’

Macro stared up at the sky, blinking away the raindrops. ‘Is there nothing in this bloody land that isn’t against us?’

Before Cato could reply, his attention was caught by a movement on the slope in front of the gatehouse. As he strained his eyes he could just make out a large party of men stealing up the track out of the gloom. He leaned forward in an effort to see better.

‘Careful, sir!’ Macro warned. ‘You want to make an easy target for those bastard slingers?’

As if to underline his words, Cato heard a faint whup as a shot passed close overhead. He started guiltily and eased himself back behind the protective hoarding and watched from there. As the men approached, there was something about the way they clustered together that sent a ripple of anxiety through Cato’s guts. Then he realised what it was.

‘They’ve got a ram . . . Macro! Look there!’ He pointed out the men climbing the track and making directly for the narrow causeway across the ditch.

Macro squinted through the dull shimmer of the rain and frowned. ‘That’s all we need.’