The two centurions picked up spare shields that had been stacked near the javelins and made their way up on to the fighting platform. Behind the inner wall the fires in the fort still blazed despite Centurion Parmenion’s attempts to bring them under control. Cato knew that they would be clearly silhouetted for the enemy slingers and archers, but at least the flames provided some illumination of the pile of rubble stretching up before the inner wall. The archers on the wall were already loosing arrows on to the approaching enemy as swiftly as possible. Slingshot whipped back at them from the darkness, and the steady barrage of fire arrows and incendiary missiles hurled by the onager continued arcing over the wall and flaring down on to the buildings behind.

The Judaeans came up the rubble slope as before, but this time they stopped just beyond the crest, beyond the range of the javelins, and began whirring slings over their heads.

‘Slingshot!’ Cato cried out in warning to his men. ‘Keep those shields up!’

Then the air was filled with the whip-whup of shots, moments before they struck the face of the wall and the auxiliaries’ shields in a cacophony of sharp raps. The Judaeans made no attempt to advance any further, but continued to keep up a heavy bombardment of those manning the wall, while others concentrated their shots on the archers on the walls to either side of the ruined gatehouse. It did not take long to clear the archers away as they were cut down by the lethal slingshot, or were forced back to take cover further along the wall. Once they had been dealt with the slingers turned their attention to the inner wall. Every so often a shot found its way past one of the shields and struck home with bone-shattering force.

Macro risked a quick glance over the rim of his shield. Satisfied that the enemy were still halted on the other side of the rubble, he ducked back down and drew a deep breath so that he could be heard above the din of the slingshot strikes.

‘Second Illyrian! Take cover behind the wall!’

The men needed no encouragement to duck down out of sight of the slingers and they squatted behind the breastwork, lowering their shields to rest beside them. Macro turned and met Cato’s eyes.

‘Seems that they’ve learned their lesson well. No more frontal assaults until we’ve been softened up.’

Cato was taking a last glance at the enemy from beneath the shelter of his shield. A stone glanced off the central boss with a shattering ring. He felt the impact through his shield arm and winced as he dropped down. ‘Softened up? More like tenderised.’

Macro laughed. ‘Let ‘em try. As long as this wall’s between us there’s not much they can do to cut down our numbers.’

‘Maybe,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘But they must know that too.’

‘Meaning?’