Trotting up on to the parapet, Cato sought out Macro. The walkway over the gate was blocked by men preparing to heave over the next faggot. While four of them held the tight bundle of kindling wood up in the air on the end of pitchforks, a fifth man thrust a torch up into the bundle from beneath. The kindling caught fire quickly, cracking and sparking amid the licking flames. When it was well alight the order was given and the bundle was swung out over the rampart with as much force as possible. It thudded down beyond the rampart and rolled a short distance further, revealing a handful of the enemy bowmen.

‘There they are!’ one of the Atrebatans shouted, and a mixed volley of arrows, slingshots and javelins lashed down on the enemy, knocking several men to the ground, where they writhed and screamed in the orange glow of the burning faggot.

‘Good work!’ shouted Macro, reinforcing his praise to the natives with a thumbs-up. He caught sight of Cato and beckoned to him. ‘You tell ‘em next time! It’ll sound better in Celtic.’

‘I’m sure they got the message,’ Cato smiled. ‘What’s our situation?’

‘All right for now. I’ve got men posted all the way round in case they try to surprise us somewhere else, but they’ve not made any attempt to rush the ramparts. They’ve even stopped lobbing those fire arrows over the walls. Fuck knows why - they had us running around all over the place trying to put ‘em out.’

‘Has anyone seen the tribune?’ asked Cato.

‘Oh yes!’ Macro laughed bitterly. ‘He stopped by the gateway before he rode away. Stopped just long enough to shout something about going for help. Then he bolted. Silva told me.’

‘Think he’s really going to look for help?’

‘Well, he’s certainly going to look for somewhere safer than here.’

‘Not difficult.’

‘No.’

‘Think we’ll keep them out?’ Cato asked quietly.

Macro thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. We have to count on them getting in at some point. There’s not enough of us to hold the entire wall. And I don’t think we can rely on any of the townsfolk coming to our aid - they’re in no fit state to fight.’

‘In that case . . .’ Cato cast a map of Calleva into his mind’s eye. ‘In that case, we’ll have to fall back on the depot when the time comes. The depot, or the royal enclosure.’

‘Not the enclosure,’ said Macro. ‘Too close to the rest of the town. We’d never see them coming until the last instant. Besides, there’s plenty of supplies we can draw on in the depot. It’s our best chance.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Cato! Macro!’ a voice called out from the darkness beyond the wall. The two centurions looked warily over the palisade.

‘Cato! Macro!’