'Stand back!' he roared out so that all his men would hear him above the raging crack and roar of the flames. 'Off the wall!'
He waited until the last man had descended the gate ramps and then he took a final look towards the palisade, where sharpened stakes of wood hissed and steamed in the withering heat. Beyond the wall, the front ranks of the Germans were illuminated brilliantly and their triumphant faces wavered and shimmered through the heat-distorted air. Then he ran down to his men and formed the main body up in the street inside the gate, with two smaller sections fronting the stretches of wall ignited by the Germans.
'What do we do now, sir?' Cato asked.
'We have to wait – and pray that the fire lasts.'
Chapter Ten
The fire not only lasted, it raged, sending swirling streams of sparks high up into the night sky where they mingled and melted the falling snowflakes. Most of the sparks slowly glowered into nothingness, but some fell back to earth – landing on the angled thatch roofs of the village. Even as Macro was cursing himself for deciding to burn the ram, and thereby the gate he was intending to save from the ram, Cato drew his attention to the nearest huts. Smoke curled up from the roofs, and here and mere an orange twinkle gleamed, then rippled into flames. Macro glanced round anxiously and saw that the huts as far back as fifty paces from the wall were catching fire. Unless they moved they would soon be trapped right in the centre of the blazing inferno to come. A sudden crashing sound drew his gaze to the front, where the entire gateway was collapsing into the roaring flames.
Beyond they could hear the Germans shouting triumphantly. They would be edging towards the blaze, itching for the moment when the fires had subsided enough to allow them to stream into the village and slaughter the cohort. But for now the flames showed no signs of subsiding, indeed the fire was growing ever more intense as it spread amongst the huts. The heat in the street was already intolerable and Cato found himself squinting to protect his eyes, buffeted by the wavering, stinging air. The centurion knew the time had come to retreat, a bitter truth to swallow – but a necessary one.
'All troops to me! All troops to me! Back down the street!'
The legionaries turned and quick-marched until they reached the limit of the fire where Macro ordered them to halt and close up once again. The men looked back in relief, glad to be out of immediate danger. The position they had occupied moments earlier erupted in a shower of sparks as a building collapsed across the street where they had been standing.
'Close one, sir,' muttered one of the men.
'We're not out of it yet,' Macro replied sourly. 'Fire's spreading fast. We'll fall back with it. If we're lucky, we can keep the fire between us and Herman.'
'Until we run out of village,' Cato said softly.
Macro turned quickly, on the point of shouting out some abuse, but the boy was right. 'Until we run out of village,' he agreed. 'Or Vespasian reaches us.'
The fire, let loose like an uncaged beast at some amphitheatre, raged across the village, hungrily devouring all in the path of its blazing jaws. Above it, the sky glowed orange and the snow falling from the sky melted into rain. Little by little the legionaries gave ground and, as they did so, Macro became aware that the blaze at the gateway was dying down far more quickly than it should. He frowned, uncomprehending. Then he saw Germans beyond the falling flames, throwing buckets of water on the ruins of the gate where smoke and steam mingled. As he watched, the men around him became aware of what was happening and a low murmur of despair trickled through the Sixth century. The Germans were clearly not content to leave the Romans to the eventual wrath of the fire, they wanted blood, and the street leading up to the gate was nearly clear of flames due to its relative breadth.
'Silence!' Macro shouted. 'We're not done for yet. Not as long as we can keep the fire between us and them. First two squads with me. Castor!' Macro yelled to the century's veteran. 'See to it that the rest tear down buildings along the street – anything that helps the fire line spread. Got that?'
'Yes, sir.'
'But you keep the line open for us. When you're done you call us back. We'll fall back through you.' Macro turned to the front two squads. 'All right, lads, listen. If Herman gets down the street we have to hold him back long enough for the others to do their work. Then we run like hell. Come on then.'
With Macro and Cato at their head, the two squads marched down the street and stopped as close to the ruins of the gate as the heat permitted. There Macro formed them into an unbroken shield wall and they waited. But not for long. The fire at the gate was quickly extinguished leaving a smouldering heap of ruined timber. The Germans stumbled across it, heedless of the residual heat, and resumed their chain of water jars where the burning building had fallen into the street. As the enemy laboured the Romans waited silently and Cato, in the second rank, held the shaft of the standard tightly to stop himself shaking too obviously. He glanced sidelong at the men around him, silent and still, eyes grimly watching the Germans working towards them.
Suddenly the Germans downed their jars and scrambled over the last blackened ruins between them and the Romans, voices raised in hysterical war-cries.
'Steady, boys!' Macro growled. 'Hold your line. We fight in formation.'
Cato could see over Macro's shoulder the first of the Germans, long hair streaming, running straight at them. Without slowing for a moment, he crashed into the wall of shields and was despatched by a quick thrust. With a gasp he fell dead on the street. But more followed, thudding against the shields, desperately trying to force an opening into which they could thrust their short spears. As the weight piled up, the legionaries gave ground. The first of their number fell, wounded in the side by a spear thrust. Streaming blood, he went down – his place instantly taken by the man behind – and his comrades were powerless to help as they gave ground and left him exposed to the Germans. With a savage cry, the man's throat was ripped open by a spear and the gushing crimson splashed up the shield wall.
Cato ducked as a spear-thrust was aimed at his own head and the standard dipped forward. The Germans eagerly lunged for it and one secured a grip on the banner.
'Hands off, Herman!' Macro shouted, thrusting his sword into the chest the German had foolishly exposed. Abruptly his grip was released and Cato snatched the standard back to the vertical, horrified by the shame of what had nearly happened.
For a second, Macro was able to glance back down the street and saw that the rest of the century had pulled down several buildings, piling the rubble and burning thatch across the street. It was almost time.
'Rear section! Fall back now'
The men needed no urging and turned to sprint down the street towards the small opening left for them where Castor had some men poised with ropes to pull a wall down across the street. As soon as the Germans saw the rearmost men run back to safety they shouted their contempt and flew at the thin shield wall with renewed fury. Even Cato could see that the last section would be in perilous danger the moment it tried to disengage. But Macro was ready for the moment and, without warning, bellowed an order, 'Break and charge!'
With a shout, the legionaries pushed their shields out and hacked into the Germans before them. The unexpectedness of the move momentarily caught the Germans off guard and they checked and recoiled.