'Thank you, sir.' Macro brought his hand to his chest in salute and then watched as the tribune and his bodyguard picked their way over to where the century's standard drooped above the wall.

'Wanker!' he cursed softly. 'I'm counting on you' – as if Macro didn't know his duty.

He cast a quick glance round to ensure the indiscretion had not been overheard. The stiff pose of the boy gazing fixedly over the walls was distinctly unnatural.

'Cato!'

'Sir?' The voice sounded aggrieved.

'Any sign of movement?'

'No.'

'Well, keep your eyes peeled.'

'Yes, sir.'

The tribune and his small squad walked back to the gate along the wall, the standard bearer in tow. Vitellius nodded curtly at Macro as he and his men passed.

'Take care, sir,' said the standard bearer.

'You too.' Macro smiled. 'We'll look after the standard while you're gone, Porcius.'

For a moment the standard bearer paused and looked longingly at the Sixth's standard, then with as little show of reluctance as he could muster he thrust the wooden shaft at Macro. 'Here.'

Then they were gone, disappearing into the cold darkness between the dingy German huts, leaving Macro holding the standard with its weighted banner hanging down from the horizontal cross-piece. For a moment Macro felt a strange twinge of excitement as the familiar awkwardness of the standard brought back the memories of his own year served as a standard bearer. He turned the shaft fondly and smiled at the reawakened sensibilities of a far younger man, tantalisingly visceral, then he was aware of Cato again.

'Boy!' he called out softly. 'Come here.'

Cato dutifully came to attention in front of his superior, face hardened with suppressed emotions.

'Relax, son. You've got a new duty. I want you to look after this.'

'Sir?'

'You heard what the tribune said?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And I trust that's all you heard. Now we've lost Porcius I need a good man to take charge of the standard for a while. Are you up to it?'

It was more of an order than a question, however gently said, and Cato felt elated as the bitter shame of a moment before was washed away. Without waiting to reply, he downed his shield and took a firm grasp on the standard with his left hand.

'It's a big responsibility,' Macro said. 'You know that.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll guard it with my life.'

'You'd better. If Porcius finds so much as a scratch on it when he takes it back, he'll have your balls hanging from the tip the next time we go into action. Got that?'

Cato nodded solemnly.

'Stick close to me and, whatever happens, you hold on to that standard and you keep it high. Up where the men can see it at all times. Understand?… Now then, what's up?'

A sudden flow of movement through the men on the wall had caught his eye. All the legionaries were on their feet, shields and swords at the ready. Cato lifted the standard and followed Macro up to the palisade. Beyond the walls, the Germans had risen from their fires and were now moving in a black mass towards the gate. Irregular shapes in the crowd showed where men struggled with the faggots. Some carried torches that lit the faces of the nearest men in a flickering yellow-orange glare.

'Now, remember, lads,' Macro called out as he drew his sword, 'if they get in here then the whole cohort is finished. So give it your all.'

A loud shout rippled along the approaching German horde and quickly grew into a roaring cheer of anger and arrogance. Some of the legionaries shouted back their defiance.

'Steady!' Macro called out above the din. 'They're just wasting their breath! And we've got nothing to prove!'

Beside him, Cato stood rooted to the ground, transfixed by the approaching menace. For some reason, this mass advancing with fierce determination seemed far more threatening in the darkness. His imagination was busy amplifying every noise and every shape. Unlike that afternoon's mad charge through the village, the imminence of desperate conflict gave men space to consider their own courage, their own willingness to fight, and to vividly imagine the worst consequences of what might befall them. Cato shuddered and instantly cursed himself, quickly glancing round at the others on the wall.

'You afraid, lad?' Macro asked quietly.

'Yes, a bit.'

Macro smiled. 'Of course you are. So are the rest of us. But we're here now and there's nothing we can do about it.'

'I know that, sir. But it doesn't make it any easier.'

'Just keep a tight hold on the standard.'

The Germans held a steady pace until they were close to the wall. Then a war horn cried out from somewhere in the night and from all round the village came more horns, and wild warrior roars crashed like a wave against the thin Roman line manning the flimsy palisade. In front of the gate, the dark forms swarmed up to the ditch and hurled the faggots into the deep shadows while others rained down a shower of arrows, spears and rocks on the defenders. With a shield raised over his head, Macro looked up to see that the pile of faggots was filling the ditch in two positions, one on either side of the gate. In a little while the ditch would be filled to a width that would allow the Germans to throw a stream of ladder-bearing men directly up against the wall. Worse still, heaving its way through the horde came the battering ram – the biggest threat to their position.

As long as the legionaries kept their heads, scaling ladders could be dislodged and pushed back, but a ram would inevitably break through the rough-hewn village gate. Then Macro and his men would have no defences to shelter behind and the Germans would overwhelm them by sheer weight of numbers. With reckless bravery, the Germans had quickly filled the ditch and, rather than making a direct assault, Macro was surprised to see them ramping the faggots up against the wall. Those Germans that fell were simply tossed on to the growing pile.

All at once the enemy horde parted in front of the gate and the battering ram, a stout pine trunk with branch stumps for handles, was carried up to the gate by a score of burly men. As the ram crashed against the gate timbers, the impact was felt by all those on the wall above. Macro peered down behind the gate as the second blow thudded home and he saw the crossbar nearly leap from its brace, only just held in place by the frantic efforts of the men he had left on guard. Several pegs were already starting from their sockets.

'This isn't good,' Macro muttered and turned back to look over the wall. Even as the defenders hurled stones down each casualty was instantly replaced and the rhythm maintained. 'This isn't good at all.'

'Isn't there something we can do, sir?' asked Cato.

'Oh yes! If we had Greek fire, we'd fry 'em up nicely.'

Cato dimly recalled what little he had read of the experimental weapon and found it hard to believe that the element burned with a national accent. But from the gleam of longing in Macro's eyes it would appear that the Greek variety was something quite special.

'Would German fire do, sir?'

'What?'

'German fire, sir.'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'Well, sir, it's just that there were some large ovens still alight in one of the huts over there. Must be a bakery of some kind. No bread though. I suppose they must have been preparing the ovens.'

Macro stared at him for a moment. 'And you didn't think to inform me?'

'No, sir. You just ordered me to find provisions.'

'Right then, we need fire now, so see to it.' Macro replied, trying hard to hide his exasperation. 'Find the men who went looking for food with you and order them to bring coals up to the walls on their shields. Then get back here.'

Once Cato had gone Macro examined the inside of the gate from ground level. The pounding was already opening gaps in the heavy wooden beams through which he could glimpse the Germans beyond. Each new blow dislodged a shower of dust and debris from the wall above and Macro had to blink several times to clear his eyes. Hurrying back up to the wall, he detailed several men to use pitchforks to take straw from nearby huts and pile it on the walkway above the gate. It was not until the first detail returned, shields piled high with red glowing embers, that Cato realised what the centurion's intentions were.