Ferox went to the back of the tower. There was no sign of a big attack at either the back gate or the west, but he could see men all along the ramparts by the east gate as they hurled missiles at the attackers. In front of the principia the cavalrymen stood beside their horses, and as far as Ferox could see none of the other reserves had so far committed themselves. Enica was the only one mounted, and he could see her and her grey quite distinctly, her standard-bearer beside her along with Bran and Minura.

‘Sir!’ Sabinus called. ‘The ram!’

Ferox dashed over to the front, first picking up an oval shield like the ones the auxiliaries used. As he reached the parapet he raised it to block an arrow, then angled it so that he could see out. The roof of the shed, a patchwork of soaked hides, was beneath them.

‘Oil!’ Ferox shouted to the men on the level below. ‘And bring the torches!’

The ram swung and struck the timber gate with a great boom. Ladders were being raised all along the wall. A chieftain in gilded helmet and bright bronze scales climbed one of the first, shield held up. On the wall a little to the side, a veteran raised a pilum muralis – one of the siege spears made by twisting back the stem of a broken pilum and sharpening it into a point. It was clumsy and heavy, but he timed it well and struck the chief in the side, and whether or not it broke through the scales of his armour he was knocked from the ladder onto the men clustered below. He screamed as he was impaled on their spears. The veteran lingered too long to watch his success, and his head snapped to the side as the bolt from one of the belly-bows drove through the cheek piece on his helmet. He staggered and fell, rolling down the grassy slope into the intervallum.

The ram struck again and a third time. Amphorae full of olive oil were flung down to shatter on the roof of the shed, spreading the thick liquid. An auxiliary was raising another one to throw when the bolt from a ballista drove into his chest, easily snapping the rings of his mail. He was flung back, dropping the little amphorae which broke and seeped onto the boards. Three soldiers appeared carrying burning torches.

‘Stop!’ Ferox shouted, but the one in the lead had already slipped on the oil and was falling. One torch went out as it dropped, but the other landed in the pool and surged into a great yellow flame. Some of the oil was on the man’s arm and he screamed as it burned. Ferox dropped his shield and bounded over, ripping free the brooch holding his cloak to beat with it at the flames. ‘Sabinus, help this man! You and you, over there!’ He pointed to the front of the tower.