‘Second rank!’ Six more pila came at the phalanx. One hit a pikeman in the chest, another punched through a shield and miraculously did not strike the man’s arm or body, and simply stuck there, weighing the shield down. The others bounced off sarissa shafts, apart from one that did not even land on the bridge.

‘No more! Keep going, keep going,’ the princeps posterior screamed at his men. There was always a tendency to slow, even stop when each rank threw its pila in turn and he did not want to lose momentum. ‘Just kill the bastards!’ he bellowed and then just shouted, urging them all on.

The first cohort obeyed, running forward towards the bridge and the serried pike-heads. They stopped just before they would drive themselves onto the points, for the phalanx had not moved. Some of the men behind did not see and barged into the ones in front. A legionary in the front rank screamed as he was driven forward and the sarissa punched through his shield and armour. On the flank, the centurion slashed with his gladius just behind the head of one of the pikes, throwing off a big splinter, then parried with his shield as the pikeman tried to jab at him.

At that moment the pikeman on the right of the front rank shook as a bolt struck the side of his helmet. It dented the bronze, without penetrating, and made the man sway. The one standing behind him turned to see and another bolt sprouted from his right eye.

‘That’s it!’ Ferox said encouragingly, as the legionaries cranked their weapons.

‘Third rank, pila!’ the princeps posterior yelled, but the head of the column was too tightly packed for anyone to have room to raise and throw a pilum. Other men were doing their best to chop at the shafts of the enemy’s pikes. One slashed right through, breaking off the head, then slammed his shield to push the shaft aside and step forward. The head of a sarissa from the second rank thrust at him and he only just managed to parry.

Ferox’s men shot for the second time, but only one struck home, killing a man at the rear of the phalanx. ‘Take your time, boys,’ he said. ‘Don’t waste them.’ The one hit on the helmet suddenly dropped his pike, swayed, and fell over the side of the bridge to land with a thump on the floor of the ditch. He did not move.

The nervous legionary chuckled, then gasped as an arrow went through one of the plates of his cuirass.

‘You shoot, I’ll load,’ Ferox said to the man’s comrade, who was staring wide eyed as the wounded man clutched at the shaft of the arrow. ‘Now!’

‘Sir!’ The soldier passed him the bag and picked up the fallen ballista and began to crank back the arms. Ferox felt for a bolt. Another arrow flicked past far too close for comfort and then another, until the air was filled by a volley of missiles coming from the Roman side of the ditch.