‘Pity we haven’t got a bow,’ Vindex whispered, as if reading his mind. ‘Or even a javelin.’

The legionaries were across the ditch and they had two ladders with them, high enough to make it easy to climb out. The centurion led them.

‘We’re going then,’ Vindex said as Ferox watched. It was not a question.

‘You don’t have to come.’ Ferox drew his gladius. They would need to find shields when they reached the top, but there were bound to be plenty.

‘One day we won’t,’ Bran shouted, for the noise meant that it was the only way they could hear.

The centurion – Sentius, that was it, Sentius – had forty or so men with him, so most of his centuria, and they were nearly all up. Ferox and the Brigantes rushed over, for the legionaries had turned and were hauling one of the ladders up after them.

‘Wait, lads!’ Ferox shouted. The soldier gaped, but did as he was told, before pitching down and almost knocking Ferox aside. He glanced down, and Vindex shook his head. There was the shaft of a ballista bolt in the legionary’s back. Ferox went up the ladder as fast as he could. The rest of the legionaries had gone forward, apart from one who sobbed as he clutched at his leg, which was nothing but a bloodied stump below the knee. Ferox took the man’s shield, and held it to protect the others as they climbed. ‘The ladder!’ he called back. ‘Bring it with us!’

The ground was littered with bodies, worse even than those spots on a battlefield where a cohort broke and the enemy slaughtered them as they fled. By now a crowd of men was trying to climb the spoil heap of the breach. There did not seem to be any more oil, but the flames still burned and there was the ghastly smell of roasting meat to add to the stench of blood and entrails.

‘That way!’ Ferox shouted, now that they had the ladder up. He pointed to the left, nearer to the edge of the breach, because so many men were being drawn into the centre. ‘Get shields.’ More men were streaming across the ramp, tall men from the first cohort, who piled in behind the rest, going slowly once they reached the spoil because that was the only way a man could go and keep on his feet, and they were shouting, a great surge of rage without any words. Arrows, spears and stones drove into the press, and men dropped to be trampled underfoot.

Ferox and his men ran to the foot of the wall, as he looked for the best spot. There were legionaries there, Sentius’ men, and someone grabbed Ferox on the shoulder.

‘Centurion!’ It was Caecilius. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he screamed in Ferox’s ear. ‘Would be. Now get men up there. Up the wall and inside! Understand?’

‘Yes.’ Ferox could see the jagged edge of the breach sloping upwards and the hollow space where one of the artillery chambers had been. Perhaps there was a way into the city through there. He gestured to the others and began to climb. The broken outer wall was a few feet thick, but crumbling, with the big stone blocks loose or missing altogether. He started to climb, dropping the shield because he needed both hands to pull himself up where there were four great blocks still in place on top of each other and the slope vertical. An arrow whipped past, but whether it was aimed or a wild shot into the darkness no more followed. He glanced back, saw Vindex hauling Bran up behind him, and beyond them the surge of legionaries climbing the breach and getting no further. The defender’s wall was little more than eight feet high, but it was complete and lined with men throwing down javelins and stones. Fire flared up once more, as oil was set alight and the awful screams of the men caught by it carried even over the noise of battle.