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set along their line. With the massed thrumming of bows and the staccato thwacking of high-torsion engines releasing, hundreds of burning projectiles soared through the air leaving trails of black smoke in their wake, like plough-furrows in the sky.
    The assault had begun.
    The first volley tore over the palisade to punch into the wattle and daub walls and thatched roofs of the many round huts behind it; shrieks of the wounded indicated that it was not just the buildings that suffered. As the Hamians released a secondvolley from their powerful re-curved composite bows of wood and horn, Vespasian saw, with satisfaction, the first few thin tendrils of white smoke rise from within the fort. The Hamians managed six more volleys before the bolt-shooters released again; above, the smoke trails had smudged together into a thin grey pall that arced over the field to merge with the thickening fumes emitting from the fires feeding on thatch. Flames now licked up, under-lighting the denser clouds of smoke with a deep orange hue as the conflagration grew; here and there billows of steam added to the thickening atmosphere attesting to the fire-fighting efforts of those trapped within the fort. Their disembodied shouts floated down over the II Augusta as the hail of slingshot from the warriors on the wall, as yet untroubled by the arrows passing over their heads, continued to beat into the shields of the Gallic cohorts – with little effect.
    A young tribune galloped down the slope towards him.
    â€˜Are the Gauls ready, Vibius?’ Vespasian asked as the lad pulled up his mount and saluted.
    â€˜Yes, sir. The two support cohorts have been issued with scaling ladders as you ordered.’
    â€˜And Valens’ diversionary attacks?’
    â€˜Yes, sir; he has enough planking to span the first ditch.’
    â€˜Ride back down to him and tell him not to wait for the Gallic auxiliaries to make it to the gate. I want him to go immediately to keep as many Britons as possible occupied away from fighting the fires. Is that clear?’
    â€˜Yes, sir!’ With a perfunctory salute Vibius turned his horse and galloped away under another flaming volley.
    Vespasian glanced at Maximus, seated on a horse next to him, and allowed himself a grin of enjoyment. ‘Time to clear the walls for our gallant Gauls.’ He nodded at the cornicen. ‘Second target.’
    This time the man blew two shorter notes; the effect was immediate: the Hamians lowered their trajectory, sending shaft after shaft at the warriors manning the palisade whilst the ballista crews adjusted their sights to the same effect. By the time the first bolts pounded into the smoke-wreathed palisade it was clear of the enemy, who had hunkered down, unwilling to risk their livesuntil the situation made it necessary; they were all well aware that that moment would come soon.
    The clearing of the wall was the signal that had been prearranged with the prefects of the Gallic auxiliary cohorts and for the first time that day a shout erupted from the Roman lines. The lead cohort moved forward up the steep hill towards the gap in the foremost ditch, its first century pushing and pulling the ram in its midst; the lucky few toiling safely within the structure and the rest hauling on the two ropes to the front or the bars ranged down the side or pushing from behind. The second century led the way to provide some cover to the front whilst other auxiliaries crowded around their comrades heaving at the great engine of war, sheltering them with their shields to the sides; but no shots came from above as the Hamians continued their strafing of the wall. The two support cohorts raced ahead from either side, quickly passing over the crossing points in the nearer ditch and then fanning out along the rim between it and the last ditch, left and right to either side of the gate. Crouching down under their shields, scaling ladders laid on the ground before them, they waited for their