Casting his eyes over the terrain surrounding the fort, Cato could see small parties of men camped on the far bank of the river that curled around the high ground on which the fort was constructed. There would be no escape in that direction. It would take a courageous man to swim the fast-flowing river, dodging the rocks around which the water swirled. Even if it was possible to swim the river, there was the enemy to evade before any attempt could be made to escape from the valley and reach the nearest Roman outpost and raise the alarm. It would be a suicide mission, he decided. But it might yet be necessary to send a man, if the overcast did not lift. The heavy clouds hung low in the sky, obscuring the tops of the hills that lined the valley, thicker since dawn had broken and visibility seemed to be steadily reducing. It would be pointless to light the signal beacon. There was no chance of the smoke being sighted from Gobannium, or any other outpost. For the present the garrison was on its own.

Cato stifled a yawn, determined not to show that he was tired, and turned to the nearest sentry. ‘Let me know the moment the enemy makes a move.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The legionary saluted and turned his attention to Caratacus’s army as the fort’s commander descended the ladder into the gatehouse. At the bottom he saw that Macro was overseeing the blocking up of the passage between the smashed outer gate and the inner gate. The end of the nearest barrack block was being demolished and men were carrying the rubble across to the passage in wicker baskets and piling it up inside.

Macro nodded a greeting. ‘Soon be finished here. They’ll not get through that lot.’

‘Very good,’ Cato responded with satisfaction. That was one less weak point in the defences to worry about.

Macro lowered his voice as he continued, ‘Do you know the butcher’s bill yet?’

Cato sighed. A clerk had brought the report to him at the end of the first hour of the day. ‘Twelve dead, eighteen injured. Most of them downed by slingshot. We’re going to have to be careful not to expose ourselves on the wall unnecessarily from now on. It’s too much of a risk.’

‘What isn’t in this situation?’

‘True enough.’ Cato rubbed his brow and then saw Decimus, still in legionary kit, limping from the direction of headquarters, carrying a mess tin and a cup, stepping carefully around the puddles and mud. As the servant looked up and saw his commander, he hurried over.

‘Brought you something to eat, sir. Need to keep your strength up, so here’s stew and some posca.’

Cato took the mess tin gratefully, realising just how hungry he was after the night’s action. The stew was warmed through rather than hot and he spooned it down hurriedly.