He recognized the voice well enough. A moment later Decimus and a handful of his men, breathing hard and holding bloodied swords, stumbled between the shields and stood panting beside Quintus, Marcus and the standard bearer. Behind them the soldiers quickly closed ranks as the rebels continued to harry them. It was impossible to break through the wall of shields and the vicious points of the legionaries’ swords, and most of the rebels moved on, looking for easier prey.

‘We’re almost at the edge of the lake,’ the centurion announced as he craned his neck to peer over the helmets of his comrades. ‘We’ll hold our ground there for as long as possible while I get rid of the standard.’

Decimus rounded on the officer. ‘And then what? Where do we go?’

‘Go?’ The centurion smiled grimly. ‘Straight to Hades, that’s where.’

‘That’s your plan?’ Decimus laughed. ‘Not me. I’m getting out of here. I’ll swim for it.’

‘In that water? You’d freeze before you reached the far side. You can drown like a rat or die like a man with a sword in your hand.’

Decimus shook his head as he looked round the small formation. ‘You’re mad.’

Then he saw Marcus for the first time and stared at him with a puzzled expression before his eyes widened. ‘I know you! You ... You’re that brat son of Titus.’

For an instant Marcus forgot the battle raging around him. He forgot the imminence of his own death at the hands of the rebels. All he saw was the face of the man who had tormented him and his mother as they stood in a slave pen waiting to be auctioned off. With a feral snarl, he raised his sword and thrust it wildly at Decimus.

‘Watch it, lad!’ the centurion snapped as he thrust his shield between Marcus and Decimus. The blade cracked harmlessly against the edge of the armour. ‘He’s one of ours, you fool!’ he snapped. ‘Watch what you do with that blade!’

Marcus let out a cry of frustration as he saw Decimus move back, two of his men blocking Marcus’s way.

The centurion thrust Marcus towards Quintus. ‘Keep this hothead under control. He’s more danger to our side than theirs.’

But the moment had passed and now an aching despair filled Marcus’s heart. If he and Decimus were to fall here, then all was lost. He would die knowing that his mother was doomed to slavery, worked to death on Decimus’s farming estate in Greece. He’d also die without having avenged Titus and the others murdered by Decimus’s henchmen.

There was a loud crack and then an oath as one of the legionary’s boots went through the ice.

‘Hold your ground!’ ordered the centurion. ‘We make our stand here!’