Oh, but I groaned when his pen
marked off detachment after detachment of our best - of
our least worthless men! He took two towers of our
Scythians, two of our North British auxiliaries, two
Numidian cohorts, the Dacians all, and half the Belgians.
It was like an eagle pecking a carcass.
"'And now, how many catapults have you?" He
turned up a new list, but Pertinax laid his open hand there.
"'No, Caesar," said he. "Do not tempt the Gods too
far. Take men, or engines, but not both; else we refuse."'
'Engines?' said Una.
'The catapults of the Wall - huge things forty feet high
to the head - firing nets of raw stone or forged bolts.
Nothing can stand against them. He left us our catapults
at last, but he took a Caesar's half of our men
without pity. We were a shell when he rolled up the lists!
"'Hail, Caesar! We, about to die, salute you!" said
Pertinax, laughing. "If any enemy even leans against the
Wall now, it will tumble."
"'Give me the three years Allo spoke of," he
answered, "and you shall have twenty thousand men of
your own choosing up here. But now it is a gamble - a
game played against the Gods, and the stakes are Britain,
Gaul, and perhaps Rome.
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