‘Lady.’ Ferox bowed his head. ‘It is time. I ask you to return to your men and wait. If you see the men bringing the waggons then tell them to hurry.’

For once she did not say anything, and just inclined her head slightly.

‘Petrullus, they will come soon. First they will blow all their horns and trumpets and raise a great shout. The gate still holds, but they may have a ram. Get your men to carry up the oil and he ready to use it.’ Several small cauldrons and buckets were boiling over a fire down below them. ‘Watch out for ladders as well. I shall be at the porta praetoria, so send word if you need anything. The supports know what to do.’

The men in the tower were a mixture of warriors loyal to the queen and those who had fought for her brother. Ferox tried to think of anything he might say to make them all trust him and trust that they would live through this and win. A true Roman would no doubt have made a great speech and perhaps the honeyed words would have moved spirits.

‘Good fortune. For Brigantia, for the queen, for our oaths.’ He feared this was too much and might seem false. ‘Let’s make some food for the ravens!’

Petrullus raised his arm in salute. The rest grunted. As Ferox went down through the trapdoor he just caught another inspiring cry. ‘For the tits!’

A lot of Brigantes were like Vindex, for they were still cheering and laughing as he made his way along the intervallum, warning the commander of each group of reserves that the attack was coming soon. There was no way of controlling them, so he patted each one on the shoulder.

‘Use your judgement, and when you hit, hit ’em hard.’ Half the reserves were veterani because they were the best suited to heavy fighting, and ought to be confident. Bronzed and lined faces, beards flecked with grey, they waited, making the most of rest as old soldiers could. They would be nervous like everyone else, some because they had done this many times before and knew what was coming, and a fair few because in decades of service they had never gone toe to toe with an enemy.

As Ferox reached the porta praetoria, he heard men up on the wall talking and realised that there was an uncanny silence, with no more arrows hissing through the air. Then the trumpets and horns blared out, far more of them than the enemy had sounded before, and the Dacians raised a great cheer. He dashed up the stairs onto the rampart and headed for the tower.

‘They’re coming, boys. Time to butcher them all!’ Men were following him, carrying boiling oil with great care and buckets of the heated sand almost as warily.

Sabinus was at the top of the tower, waiting for him. ‘It’s a ram,’ he said, pointing at a wheeled shed being pushed up the track towards them. ‘Just as you said.’ He jumped back to dodge an arrow that flew between them. In moments the air was filled with clouds of missiles.