Ferox saw or sensed movement to his left, and spun the shield, catching a javelin which crunched into the dome-like boss, denting it, and making his hand numb where it held the grip. His right hand grabbed the handle of his sword and the long, beautifully balanced gladius slid free. He was shouting, yelling at the archer and two more men who had appeared around him, and he heard Vindex’s bellow as well. The bowman fumbled as he tried to nock the next arrow, and should have run, but these were not experienced men. One of the javelinmen came at him, jabbing it as if it was a spear, and Ferox pushed it aside with his shield, stamped forward and thrust, so that the long, triangular tip of his gladius went past his opponent’s buckler and into his throat. Blood seeped out, then turned into a fountain as Ferox twisted the blade and dragged it free. The javelinman dropped to his knees, trying desperately to stem the flow with his hands, as Ferox went past, and only now did the archer drop the arrow and turn to run. The other skirmisher shrieked as Vindex cut under the man’s little shield and almost carved right through his thigh. Ferox caught up with the archer and slashed down from behind at the man’s neck. The Nicopolitan staggered, Ferox struck again and the man was down. A javelin came at him from the side, and he only just deflected it at the last instant by bringing up the rim of his shield. The rest of the enemy had drawn back a little, but he could see one haranguing a knot of six or seven and knew that they would soon charge.

‘Back!’ he shouted to Vindex, who had finished off the man he had wounded. Over on the left a man had come forward to meet Bran’s challenge and now his headless corpse lay stretched in the dust as the young warrior waved his trophy at the enemy.

‘What did himself say about prisoners?’ Vindex asked, taking in the four dead enemies.

‘Let him take ’em himself. Now get back.’ The one who had been yelling at the others had only persuaded them to come forward half a dozen paces before they hesitated and threw a couple of javelins at far too long a range. The leader, or would-be leader, decided to set an example and with a shout came running forward. He was young, with a wispy beard just visible between the cheek pieces of his bronze helmet, and with a well-polished scale cuirass. He had an oval shield and a curved sword. ‘Go!’ Ferox yelled to Vindex and walked towards the boy.

‘You don’t have to do this, lad!’ he called in Greek, which prompted only a hissed obscenity in reply. Ferox stopped, shook his shield without managing to make the arrow fall out and braced himself. The lad kept on charging, trying to shout, although his voice cracked and it came out as more of a screech. Ferox waited, judging the moment and then stepped to the side an instant before the youngster tried to slam his shield forward and knock over the centurion. The boy kept going and Ferox thrust his foot out to send him sprawling, letting go of both shield and sword.