Philo did not really need to translate her last words, because they saw the diminutive figure turn on her heels and stride back into the musculus.

Hadrian rubbed his eyes with both hands. ‘Not quite what I expected. Still, if she hasn’t frightened them, she’s certainly given me a scare. Let’s hope it works.’

An hour passed and no surrender came.

‘Pity, but let’s push them before they draw breath. We still have ladders. Let us storm the rampart and be done with it. Assemble two cohorts – and a dozen volunteers to lead the way. I’ll speak to them first, get them going. We go at the seventh hour.’

Crispinus half expected a great oration from Hadrian, as the men paraded before moving up towards the ramp.

‘Those bastards up there have killed our commilitones and are laughing at us!’ Hadrian growled at them. ‘They’re cowards and scum. They’ve got a city behind them full of the prettiest women east of the Euphrates and more gems and gold than you can carry.’ He stared at the ranks of soldiers. ‘So go and take them!’

They cheered, although there was something odd about the sound. It was loud enough, but to Crispinus felt more like surprise than martial rage. As orders were shouted and the formations turned and marched up to their assault positions, the legionaries moved jerkily, like puppets. Only the twelve men chosen to lead the attack went with real enthusiasm. Three were the men who had been caught using a whore while on duty on the night Azátē came over to them, and the rest were also offenders of one sort or another.

There had not been much time for preparation. The new artillery platforms were ready, although they were still hauling the ballistae into place. Crispinus had all the artillery that could bear shooting, along with as many archers as they could get into place, making the best of what cover was available. More missiles went in than came back, which might only mean that the defenders were waiting. Most of the men on the rampart ducked down to avoid the barrage.

Trumpets sounded and the attack began, the dozen leaders dashing ahead, shaking themselves out into a thin line. The first fell to the bolt from a light ballista before the main column had started to come out from the sheds. Two more went down to arrows as defenders bobbed up all along the rampart, and a fourth had his kneecap shattered by a sling stone. A dozen large pots were flung from behind the rampart and shattered as they landed, thick liquid spraying up. The three men from the night picket, Secundus, Priscus and young Felix, kept together, and were still going forward. The boy slipped and fell, not on a body, but on the stones which were wet from the contents of the pots. Another dozen flew over the rampart and broke noisily

The head of the column quivered.

‘Oil!’ someone shouted. ‘Bastards have oil!’