Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

'Yes sir,' Parmenion replied. 'After what they did to Sycorax we'll show them that two can play games with morale.'

Cato clapped him on the shoulder. 'That's the idea. Get our men to work.'

While Parmenion bellowed his orders Cato returned to the main wall to keep watch on the enemy. The Judaeans had fallen back some distance and their leaders were doing their best to rally them for another attempt. Already, some fires were being lit in the Judaean camp and torches were held high, illuminating men at work rolling bundles of sticks towards the fort. At the same time, soldiers with the conical helmets of Parthians were straining to wheel the surviving onager closer to the target. Cato glanced down and saw that Parmenion and his men had lowered ladders over the inner wall and were already busy lifting the bodies under their shoulders and dragging them up the mound of rubble, down the far side and on to a growing pile just in front of the breach. Some of the enemy were still living, and the auxiliaries despatched them with quick thrusts to the heart, or cut their throats, before dragging them away.

As darkness closed in over the desert, and the first stars twinkled coldly in the ink-black sky, the enemy came on again.There was a warning shout and a moment later the men who had been tasked with clearing the bodies away began to scramble back over the inner wall, pulling the ladders up behind them.

This time there was no arrogant roar of triumph, no rousing rattle of sword and spear against shield rim, just a silent approach of a dark mass of men, stealing towards the fort. They stopped just outside arrow range and waited as the onager was brought forward.A flickering torch filtered through the mass and then a fire flared up in a brazier, close by the onager, revealing the mass of men huddled round the huge weapon.

It did not take long to see what they were waiting for. A faggot was placed in the cup of the onager and quickly set on fire before the throwing arm was released with a metallic clank and an instant later the thud of the restraining bar. The faggot blazed up into the night sky, trailing flickering tongues of flame, sailing towards the fort until it struck the top of the rampart in a brilliant shower of sparks and bounced over the wall and crashed down into the street beside a stable block. A moment later the first fire arrow followed, then more, until a regular bombardment of fire arrows fell on the fort, interspersed with large flammable bundles of kindling wood, doused with oil, bursting on to the buildings inside the walls. The lack of rain had made the timbers of the fort dry and combustible and soon several fires had broken out beyond the breach.

Cato looked back from the inner wall as flames engulfed the end of one of the nearby barrack blocks. He climbed down and strode over to Centurion Parmenion at the head of the troops held in reserve. Most of the soldiers were crouching nervously, waiting for the next incendiary missile to come over the wall, as Cato approached.

'We have to deal with those fires before they get out of control. Take two centuries from the reserve, form them into fire parties and set them to it.'

'Yes sir.'

As Parmenion sent his men off to fight the fires, Macro came up to check on Cato's situation. He nodded towards the flames with a grim expression. 'Reminds me of that fight we had with the Germans in that village close to the Rhine.'

'I remember it well, sir.That was the first time I faced an enemy. I was an optio then.'

'So you were.' Macro reflected. 'That was over three years ago. Seems longer. Much longer. Although it was you who set fire to the defences last time.'

'And here we are, about to be burned out of our shelter once again.'

'We'll have to see about that.' Macro nodded towards the inner wall. 'How has it been? I saw the start of their attack from one of the towers.'

Cato recalled the earlier slaughter with a strained expression. 'They got caught in front of the wall, as we'd hoped.'

'Gave them a good hiding, then?'

'Yes.'

'And our side? Many casualties?'

'Only a few.'

'Good,' Macro said with satisfaction. 'I'm sure they'll be back. Not quite so cocky next time, so you'll have a fight on your hands.'

'I imagine so. Have they tried any attacks on other walls?'

They were interrupted as a highly angled fire arrow clattered off the ground close by and shattered in a spray of brilliant sparks. Both officers instinctively flinched away, and then continued their conversation. Macro jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

'There was a feint towards the east wall. Nothing serious, just an attempt to draw off men from this position.'

'Here they come!' a voice cried from the main wall.

Cato swung round, cupping a hand to his mouth. 'To arms! Get on the wall! Fire parties, carry on!'

The auxiliaries on the fighting platform raised their shields, and held their javelins ready as they stared out at the dark mass of the gatehouse ruins.

'I'll join you,' Macro muttered to Cato. 'This is where the fight will be decided.'

'We could certainly use you here, sir.'

Macro clapped him on the shoulder, and then bellowed to the auxiliaries around him. 'Right! Let's make 'em regret that they ever decided to mix it with the Second Illyrian!'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

The two centurions picked up spare shields that had been stacked near the javelins and made their way up on to the fighting platform. Behind the inner wall the fires in the fort still blazed despite Centurion Parmenion's attempts to bring them under control. Cato knew that they would be clearly silhouetted for the enemy slingers and archers, but at least the flames provided some illumination of the pile of rubble stretching up before the inner wall. The archers on the wall were already loosing arrows on to the approaching enemy as swiftly as possible. Slingshot whipped back at them from the darkness, and the steady barrage of fire arrows and incendiary missiles hurled by the onager continued arcing over the wall and flaring down on to the buildings behind.

The Judaeans came up the rubble slope as before, but this time they stopped just beyond the crest, beyond the range of the javelins, and began whirring slings over their heads.

'Slingshot!' Cato cried out in warning to his men. 'Keep those shields up!'

Then the air was filled with the whip-whup of shots, moments before they struck the face of the wall and the auxiliaries' shields in a cacophony of sharp raps. The Judaeans made no attempt to advance any further, but continued to keep up a heavy bombardment of those manning the wall, while others concentrated their shots on the archers on the walls to either side of the ruined gatehouse. It did not take long to clear the archers away as they were cut down by the lethal slingshot, or were forced back to take cover further along the wall. Once they had been dealt with the slingers turned their attention to the inner wall. Every so often a shot found its way past one of the shields and struck home with bone-shattering force.

Macro risked a quick glance over the rim of his shield. Satisfied that the enemy were still halted on the other side of the rubble, he ducked back down and drew a deep breath so that he could be heard above the din of the slingshot strikes.

'Second Illyrian! Take cover behind the wall!'

The men needed no encouragement to duck down out of sight of the slingers and they squatted behind the breastwork, lowering their shields to rest beside them. Macro turned and met Cato's eyes.

'Seems that they've learned their lesson well. No more frontal assaults until we've been softened up.'

Cato was taking a last glance at the enemy from beneath the shelter of his shield. A stone glanced off the central boss with a shattering ring. He felt the impact through his shield arm and winced as he dropped down. 'Softened up? More like tenderised.'