‘You’re done in, lad. Best go and get some rest.’

‘I’ll wait a while, sir. In case Sycorax makes it back.’

‘I’ll look out for him,’ Macro said gently. ‘You get some rest, Centurion. That’s an order.’

Cato looked up and met his friend’s eyes. He thought about protesting, then knew that Macro was right. There was nothing to be gained by tiring them both out.

‘Very well, sir. Thank you.’

Cato took one last look at the burning onager and hoped that he had bought his comrades enough time to justify the sacrifice of Glabarus, Sycorax and the others. He’d know soon enough, when the next day dawned.

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As soon as the flames on the surviving onager had been extinguished the Parthian engineers started making repairs, and the sounds of their labours could be heard through the rest of the night. At first light Macro and Cato climbed the corner tower to survey the results of the previous night’s raid. The first onager was little more than a black, charred skeleton. A short distance away the other onager almost looked undamaged as the enemy swarmed round it. Fresh torsion cords had been fitted and they were busy tightening them with long levers, several men to each, straining every muscle to wring the very last measure of power from the weapon’s throwing arm.

‘Won’t be long before that’s back in action,’ Cato muttered. ‘They’ve been busy.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Macro replied, and gestured towards the ground in front of the fort. ‘Shortly after you returned, they began removing the traps. We tried throwing torches out for the archers to see their targets, but the enemy had screens, and just ducked behind them the moment the first arrows began to fly.They only stopped at daybreak.’

Cato looked down and saw that a large swath of the defences had been cleared, the pits filled in and the caltrops removed. Bannus and his men could now approach almost as far as the ditch on the side of the fort where the ruined gatehouse stood. When the time came for the enemy to make their attack, little would stand in the way between them and the men of the cohort. Cato glanced at the gatehouse. Some attempt had been made to prepare a breastwork out of the rubble. It continued the line of the wall and Macro had posted enough men behind it to convince the enemy that the Romans would not easily surrender the gatehouse. A shallow bluff, Cato realised. The moment the repaired onager was ready to recommence the bombardment, it would batter down the breastwork and send the Romans scurrying for the shelter of the inner wall.

‘No sign of Sycorax and the others?’

‘Not yet,’ Macro replied quietly. ‘I don’t expect we’ll be seeing them again.’