If bolt or stone from an engine struck a defender then the man had little chance, even if he did not die instantly. Arrows flew with less force, but because his soldiers stood behind a parapet, the odds were high that whenever they were hit it would be in the head or chest. A lot of the wounds were bad, and as the morning wore on dozens were carried down from the walls. The centurion Dionysius had been hit in the eye, fortunately by an arrow that was almost spent, and he was not the only one. Helmets gave decent protection, but always left the face and ears vulnerable, for the army wanted its soldiers to be able to see what was going on and listen for orders. There were few orders to give at the moment, only encouragement, so Ferox toured the walls, smiling, praising and sharing the danger. He began to wonder whether he ought to relieve the men on the walls with some of the ones sitting in groups down in the intervallum and streets. It was a risk, because he wanted and needed reserves who were fresh to take any breakthrough head on and drive the Dacians back. On the other hand, it would not do to have all the men on the ramparts exhausted before the attack came. Ferox spotted Sabinus, walking up and down in front of one party of reserves and saw him look up expectantly.

‘Another hour, maybe less!’ Ferox shouted down loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. ‘They’ll come by then and then we’ll slaughter them like sheep!’

Sabinus did not look convinced, and was obviously eager to do something, and at least to see more of what was happening. It was tough for the reserves to watch men being flung from the ramparts by the missiles from ballistae or be carried down wounded. Waiting was harder on the mind than doing, but that was just as true for the enemy as well. So far the Dacians were doing what he would have done in their place, wearing the defenders down, weakening them, always knowing that they could send plenty of fresh men forward whenever they wanted. It was about a half hour to noon, and Ferox knew that the enemy would be nervous. Attacking a rampart, any rampart, even one like this built by an army who always expected to fight on the fields outside, was hard. No doubt there were warriors waiting away from the fighting, ready to come up and launch the attack. You could not stop them thinking and worrying, and there was the danger that they would drink too much or just lose the edge to their courage as the hours passed.

Ferox was approaching the east gate when he heard the singing.

‘Oh the raven, oh the wolf, come to me and I will give you flesh.’

Ferox smiled. It was the old war song of the Brigantes and it was good to hear the verses rising as more and more men took them up and the singing spread along the ramparts. Well done, Petrullus, he thought, for it was a good way to lift spirits.