‘Meaning that there must be a reason for them to want us to keep our heads down.’

Macro lowered his shield on to the fighting platform. ‘They’re up to something. I’ll be back in a moment.’

He slid off the fighting platform and ran along behind it until he reached the ladder leading up to the main wall. There would be a nasty instant when he emerged in full view of the slingers in the breach, and, bracing himself, he launched himself up the rungs.There was a shout and two slingshots whipped close by, then Macro threw his body up on to the rampart and rolled out of sight. One of the men immediately scurried over and protected him with his shield. Catching his breath Macro nodded his gratitude and then went over to the wall. Making sure that he was sheltered behind one of the crenellations, he peered over the top.

Behind the screen of slingers in the breach there was the pile of bodies from the first assault and beyond that the silent mass of Judaean rebels waiting to attack. As Macro watched them by the wavering orange glow of the torches that ringed the onager, he noticed them pull aside as something passed through the crowd. As yet he could not make out what it was. Then one of the enemy, sharper-eyed than his comrades, spied the prefect’s head and loosed a shot at the ramparts. It struck the masonry above Macro’s head and chips of stone burst from the wall, several striking Macro in the face, one laying open the flesh at the corner of his left eye.

‘Shit!’ He recoiled backwards, clutching at his face. ‘Shit. Bastard.’

His fingers came away coated in blood and Macro hurriedly undid his neckcloth and mopped the wound. His left eye still had vision, but it was badly blurred and the pain in the socket was searing.

‘Sir?’ The auxiliary who had protected him with his shield loomed in front of Macro. ‘Shall I send for the surgeon?’

‘No!’ Macro winced. ‘I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine.’

The auxiliary looked at him doubtfully and then shuffled away. Macro tried to staunch the flow of blood before he tried again to see what the enemy was bringing forward. The front ranks split open and gave way to a score of men carrying an iron-tipped beam of wood. So that was it, Macro realised. A battering ram. He slithered back to the edge of the rampart and this time he decided not to risk the ladder but lowered himself over the side of the wall a bit further along, and dropped heavily to the ground below. He hurried back to Cato. His friend winced as he saw the wound on Macro’s face.

‘Sir, you’d better get that seen to.’