At the front of the charge the men armed with slings and bows stopped to loose their missiles before charging on. Marcus turned at the sound of a dull crack and saw one of the legionaries fall, his face a bloody mask. He thudded into the snow and kicked out for a moment before losing consciousness. More shot and arrows rattled off the heavy oval shields as the legionaries raised them up. There was a shrill braying as the mules fell victim to the barrage and some of the mule teams began to panic and drag their vehicles out of line. Marcus saw one team veer to the side, thrusting through the legionaries. One man was knocked down, his legs crushed as the cart wheel ran over them. The mule team broke into a trot, careering across the snowy field into the rebel ranks.

‘Ready javelins!’ barked the senior centurion.

The gap between the two sides had narrowed to no more than thirty paces. Waiting for the centurion’s order, the legionaries hefted their javelins and drew their arms back. Marcus saw the centurion narrow his eyes as he timed the moment, his sword held high. With a dull gleam, the blade swept down and he bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘Loose!’

The dark shafts of the javelins arced through the snowflakes before striking the figures swarming towards the Roman line. Marcus saw scores of men collapse as the sharp iron heads tore through them. But the attackers did not waver and charged straight into the cohort’s shield wall. Sitting in his saddle, Marcus’s ears filled with the crash of shields and scrape and ringing of clashing blades, and the grunts of men locked in battle. This was unlike any fight he had ever seen. Worse even than the riots he’d witnessed from the street gangs at the Forum in Rome. And more frightening than the gladiator bouts he had been forced to endure. Those had involved a test of skill, each fighter with only one opponent to concentrate on as they duelled to the death. What was happening now seemed a bloody chaos of hacking, slashing and stabbing along the ragged battle-line.

At his side Tribune Quintus held his sword up and out as he shouted encouragement to the men under his command. ‘Hold fast! Drive the slave scum back!’