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amid the carnage. ‘Cut the ram free and pass it up to those men in the gap.’ He pointed to the third century now forming a testudo, holding their oval auxiliary shields over their heads and to their front and sides creating a reasonably safe leather and wood box around themselves. ‘Forget about the wounded for the moment; we need to open that gate before the assault falters.’
    The prefect acknowledged the order and bellowed at his men to start cutting the ropes that suspended the ram from its housing.
    Vespasian turned to two of his escort crouched behind him. ‘Run to the support cohorts on either side of the wall and tell them to start scaling the palisade as soon as they see the ram lifted out of the ditch.’
    With a salute to their commander and a nervous glance between them the two men scampered off. Down in the ditch much of the protective leather had been stripped away from the wooden frame and the ram was clearly visible; the last few ropes were being cut and the prefect had gathered all his able-bodied men along its length ready to lift the great trunk – almost two feet in diameter – either by the hooks to which the ropes had been fastened or by cradling it underneath. The final rope was left attached to the ram but unknotted from the housing; an auxiliary hurled the loose end of it up to the centurion of the third century, who fed it into his men’s formation.
    â€˜Lift, you whoresons!’ the prefect roared at his men.
    Vespasian made a mental note to mention the prefect in his report to Plautius.
    The ram rose from the ground. Javelins hurtled down from above in increasing numbers as the defenders realised what was being attempted; the second century’s shields vibrated with their impacts.
    The ram was brought up to shoulder level and the slack was taken out of the rope as the men within the midst of the testudo lowered their shields and made ready to take the strain.Vespasian glanced around his shield, up at the top of the palisade; men were still braving the Hamian and artillery volleys in order to disrupt the operation that, if it was successful, would spell their deaths as surely as an arrow in the eye. As he looked, two Britons were punched back by feathered shafts; two more immediately took their places, such was the defenders’ desperation to halt the progress of the ram.
    The auxiliaries raised the ram above their heads and began to feed it, foot by foot, up into the heart of the testudo as the javelin storm increased, felling three of the work-party; the prefect rushed to add his support to the weight, bellowing at his men to go faster. Vespasian held his breath, knowing that he was powerless to speed things up; the men were working as fast as possible and his shouting at them as well would make no difference. He steeled himself for what he knew he must do as soon as the ram was back up, knowing that the chances of success would be greatly increased if he fought in the front rank, sharing the danger with his men. How he wished that his old friend, Magnus, always so useful in a fight, was with him to guard his right shoulder and not a thousand miles away in Rome.
    The ram juddered and a shriek pierced through the tumult.
    â€˜Get that fucking thing out of his hand!’ the prefect roared.
    Without any ceremony the javelin skewering an auxiliary’s hand to the ram was yanked out; the man fell to his knees nursing the bloody wound as his comrades toiled on, heaving the ram the last few feet up out of the ditch and into the testudo. The Britons now concentrated their efforts on the partially shielded formation as the ram was passed through its middle.
    Vespasian ran to the front of the century and took up position next to the centurion at the head of the ram, grasping a hook whilst keeping his shield above his head. ‘Get them turned to face the gate!’
    The centurion screamed the order; the century rotated ninety degrees as javelins pounded