Cato led them over the loose earth to the cart, then pressed his shield against the side of the cart and leaned into it. Men followed suit on either side, and when the surface was covered, the rest pushed up against the backs of their comrades. The hacking sounds from the far side abruptly ceased and a rising roar of cheers filled Cato’s ears.

‘Brace yourselves!’ he called out, and gritted his teeth.

The next moment there was a massive crash from the far side of the gate and Cato reeled back from it as if he had been kicked by a maddened mule. As soon as he recovered his balance he threw his weight forwards again, and felt the reasurring pressure from behind as his men struggled back into position.

‘Here it comes again!’ someone shouted, and again the men of the Sixth Century were hurled back. But the gate still held.

Overhead Cato heard Tullius bellowing above the din,’Use everything you’ve got! Hit them! Kill the bastards!’

The ram struck the gate five more times, and on the last blow Cato saw a timber splintered inwards. One of his men screamed as a long splinter shot into his cheek, just below the eye and tore open the flesh. The legionary reached for the splinter and tugged it out, gritting his teeth. Blood gushed down his face and spattered across his armour, and he threw himself back against the gate. Brave, thought Cato, wondering for an instant how he would have reacted to such an injury. Then he focused on the gate and realised, with a sinking feeling of horror, that it would withstand only a few more blows from the battering ram before it burst apart.

Another blow came, further splintering the damaged timber, but Cato sensed that the blow had not been as forceful. Then he thought that the enemy cheers from the track had died down, though it was hard to be sure since his heart pounded in his chest and his head rang with the heavy throb of the blood pulsing through him. There was more cheering now, and it took Cato a moment to realise that those were Roman cheers. Cheers, catcalls and shouts of contempt.

‘They must have pulled back!’ one of Cato’s men shouted.

‘Quiet there!’ Septimus shouted. ‘Stay in position!’

The cheering continued, and there were no more blows from the battering ram. Cato waited a moment longer until he was satisfied that it was safe, then ordered his men to fall back to their reserve position. They stood panting and tired, but desperately relieved that the defences held, and that they themselves were still alive.

‘Centurion Cato!’ Tullius called down from the rampart.

Cato took a quick breath and forced himself to stand erect before he replied. ‘Sir?’

‘Your men have had their rest. You’re relieving Antonius. Get your men up here as soon as the Fifth Century get off the wall.’

‘Yes, sir.’