Ahead of them the men clustered about the ram looked up, straining their eyes into the darkness. They were clearly outlined against the red hue of the faggots still burning outside. Before they could react, Macro and his legionaries thrust their way out of the passage. Macro punched his shield into the nearest man, knocking him back into his comrades, and followed up with a savage thrust of his short sword into the Silurian’s chest. At his side, Severus slashed at a shoulder and opened up a deep cut down the length of the arm, before he pushed his shield forward and stepped in behind it. The legionaries following the officers pressed forward on each side, stabbing at their enemies. The Silurians had not expected to be counter-attacked at the moment of their triumph and those holding the ram released their grip and let it drop on to the causeway as they backed away from the danger, leaving their armed comrades to take up the fight. Some reacted quickly, raising their round shields and charging the Romans emerging through the broken gate.

This was the close-quarters fighting that the legions trained for and at which they excelled, and in the dense press of bodies covering the causeway the lethal points of their short swords flickered out from between their large curved shields, stabbing deeply into limbs and torsos before being ripped free, causing terrible, crippling injuries that bled freely. Macro grinned fiercely as he battered his way forward with his shield, thrusting his sword again and again. Sometimes his blows did not land. Sometimes they were parried aside, but most struck home and he felt the warm flow of blood trickle over the guard and on to his hand as he pressed on, leading his men step by step across the causeway. To his left he glimpsed the ditch, the slopes and bottom littered with the dead and dying of the enemy. More were crowded in the narrow strip of ground between the scarp and the wall, eager to climb ladders and hurl themselves at the defenders.

‘Down your javelins!’ he heard Cato shout from above. ‘Those are our men!’

Macro had given no thought to the danger of being struck down by his comrades and mentally thanked his friend as he thrust his sword again, only for his opponent to desperately throw up his shield and deflect the blow. Suddenly there was a surge through the ranks of the Silurians and a large warrior, dressed in furs, thrust his way to the front, a huge war axe clasped in his powerful hands. His comrades glanced at him in awe and hurried out of reach as the axe swung round in a vicious arc over his head. With a savage roar the giant fixed his attention on the crested helmet of Severus, determined to slaughter the Roman officers and break the will of the men following them.