They reached the rampart, men clustering as they headed for the spots where it had collapsed and was easy to climb.

‘Help me up!’ Crispinus shouted to his escort, because he did not want to wait. They used a shield, just as Priscus and the others had done, and he struggled to believe that that hopeless attack had been only a few days ago. He clambered onto the shield, let them heave him up and still could barely reach the top of the parapet, so leaped and almost fell over onto the walkway, dropping his sword. The legatus fumbled to find the weapon, pushed himself up and stared in horror.

Ahead of him were hundreds and hundreds of his men, with more joining them as the auxiliaries got through and over the rampart. They were trapped, fenced in by a line with walls joining the houses. There were men on all their roofs, more on the new walls, and they were shooting arrows and bolts, or hurling rocks and javelins into the press. The Romans were shouting, but there did not seem to be any real order, and they were pushing uselessly forward. Men fell, and in places they died, but the press of bodies was so tight that they stayed upright. Crispinus heard the whip-crack of a ballista and saw a stone graze along the top of the crowd smashing heads to ruin. He pushed himself up and shouted back over the parapet.

‘Petronius!’

‘Sir.’ The centurion was a short, active man, always eager to do well.

‘Get archers. All you can find. I want them up on this rampart.’ They were within range of the house tops and higher up, so that ought to give them an advantage.

Petronius ran off, and Crispinus turned to the other centurion. ‘Ladders, Decrius. Get men to bring all the ones they have dropped and any you can find. Then get them to the front. You two men!’ He pointed to some of his escort. ‘Get that one and bring it to me.’ He was not sure whether the ladders would be high enough to reach the house tops, but it was worth a try.

A stone slammed into the walkway, so close that he was knocked over and covered in dirt. Crispinus spat to clear his mouth and pushed himself up.

‘You all right, sir,’ one of his cavalrymen said, his face worried.

‘I could do with a bath,’ Crispinus shouted, and let the man help him up. The pair with the ladder dragged it over the top, and the legatus beckoned to them to follow him. ‘Come on!’

There was a whirring and the cavalryman’s head burst like overripe fruit as it was hit by a stone, spraying them all with blood.

‘Liber Pater, save me now!’ one of the others said, aghast at the sight.

‘Go!’ Crispinus shouted, and jumped down, running forward. ‘To me! To me!’

‘Follow the legatus!’ one of the men carrying the ladder called out. ‘Hispana, follow your legatus!’