'Raise shields!' Cato ordered, and the men hefted them up to cover their bodies as a steady shower of missiles struck at the defenders on the rampart, or zipped past them, occasionally clattering off the shields of the survivors of the Sixth Century. Cato continued to scan the ramparts, noting the enemy must have quickly scaled the ditch and mounted the far slope, since he could see men clearly engaged with the enemy on the far side of the palisade. The defenders were holding their own for the moment. Not one enemy head could be seen struggling to climb over the palisade. But the fight was not entirely one-sided. Already at least a dozen Roman bodies were scattered across the slope leading down from the rampart. There were more along the palisade itself. Those who were wounded tried to struggle clear of the melee to avoid any further injury, as well as not hindering their comrades still locked in combat with the enemy.
In front of Cato the men he had assigned to bolster the gate had succeeded in overturning the cart and shoving it tight against the loose timbers. Now they were at work breaking up the hard ground a short distance back from the cart and shovelling the spoil against the cart. The gate shimmered under the impact of swords and axes thudding into the far side. Already, small splinters were flying through the air this side of the gate.
Cato was racked with frustration at having to remain behind the rampart, unable to see how the fight was progressing. It seemed to him that unless the enemy broke off soon they must surely overwhelm the men on the palisade.
The fight went on and on. Up in the flanking redoubts the legionaries had expended their remaining javelins. The men who had been issued with slings were whirling the leather thongs about their heads before releasing the deadly missiles into the dense ranks massed before the defences. The rest of the legionaries were hurling rocks and larger stones in a desperate bid to break the resolve of Caratacus and his men. Cato saw Macro bend, snatch up a rock from the dwindling stockpile and turn to hurl it with all his strength across the palisade. Macro watched the fall of the shot, and then thrust his fist into the air in a gesture of triumph. The next instant he threw himself flat as an arrow slashed through the space he had been standing in just before.
'Cato!' Tullius shouted from the palisade,just above the gate. 'Battering ram coming up! Get your men up against the gate. Bolster it up!'
'Yes, sir! Sixth Century, sheathe swords! Follow me!'
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.'
'Rest?' one of Cato's men muttered. 'Who's he fucking kidding?'
Some of the other legionaries started grumbling and Septimus wheeled round on them. 'Shut your mouths! Save it for the bloody natives!'
The grumbling stopped, but the air of sullen resentment hung over them like a shroud. As the men of the Fifth Century filed down from the rampart and passed Cato, he saw that many of them were wounded, some barely able to stay on their feet.
'Bad up there?' one of Cato's men asked.
'They're bloody crazy,' came the reply from the dazed optio of the Fifth Century. 'Never seen anything like it. Just threw themselves at the wall like they wanted to die… bloody madmen.'
'Optio!' Cato beckoned him closer. 'Where's Centurion Antonius?'
'Dead…'
'Dead, sir!' Cato snapped at him. 'It's "sir" when you're addressing a superior officer!'
The optio stiffened to attention. 'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.'
Cato nodded, then leaned closer and continued softly,'You're in command now, Optio. You set the standard. Don't let your men down.'
'No, sir.'
Cato stared at him for a moment, to make sure that his nerve had steadied. 'Carry on.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Cato!' Tullius bellowed. 'What are you waiting for! Get your arse up here!'
'At once, sir!'
The men of the Sixth Century hefted their shields and followed Cato up on to the rampart. He was not prepared for the sight that met his eyes when he looked over the palisade. The optio's comment about the madness of the enemy was fully borne out. They lay heaped before the palisade. A great tangle of bloodied limbs, shields and weapons stretched from the rampart in a rough triangle, with its apex on the track that led into the marsh. Here and there the injured still moved. Cato watched a man with a javelin in his spine claw his way back to his comrades re-forming for the next assault a hundred paces down the track. He dragged his nerveless legs a short distance from the mound of bodies before his strength gave out and he collapsed on the hard earth of the track, his gleaming torso heaving from the effort.
'A welcome sight.'
Cato tore his gaze away from the crippled enemy warrior. Tullius had thrust his way through the defenders and had observed the young centurion's shock at the bloody vista before the defences.