‘Come on!’ Crispinus knew that his duty was to go back and make sure that his men were forming up and then direct them to fight in an organised manner. Yet every moment he waited, more would burn, and besides he did not want to wait. He sprinted up behind the picket, saw Sentius, a centurion in the third cohort, standing stolidly beside his men.

‘Caius, I’m glad it is you,’ Crispinus told him, ignoring the officer’s surprise at seeing a barefoot and unbelted legatus. In truth he was pleased. Sentius was an unimaginative fellow, lacking in initiative, but he had a doglike stubbornness and loyalty about him.

‘They’re holding back for the moment, sir,’ Sentius reported.

‘Then let’s drive them off.’

Sentius blinked, then obeyed. ‘Prepare to advance. Hey there! Silence in the ranks!’ he bawled as men muttered in surprise.

‘Come on, boys!’ Crispinus called out. ‘These cheeky buggers are burning what we have made. Let’s show them that they don’t mess with Hispana!’

They cheered. Crispinus could not really believe it, but they cheered him.

‘Forward march!’ Sentius called, and they went, almost as neatly as on parade, four ranks each of ten men walking towards two or three times their number – it was hard to tell in the gloom, but there were at least that many dark shapes against the flamelight behind them.

‘Steady there!’ Sentius told his men. ‘Watch the dressing.’

One of the warriors ran forward a few yards and threw a javelin, which dropped short. No one followed him and after a moment he drifted back to join the rest.

‘Pila!’ Sentius shouted. The legionaries got ready to throw.

‘No, keep going!’ Crispinus called and was not quite sure why. ‘On to them.’

Sentius realised that the legatus was next to him, as he stood just to the side of the right-hand corner of the formation. He blinked once again, and again obeyed.

‘Ready to charge.’ The legionaries shifted their grip slightly to wield the pila as spears instead of throwing them as missiles.

‘Charge!’ Crispinus yelled, raising his sword high as he ran, his loose tunic billowing like a woman’s dress with the motion.

‘Kill the bastards!’ Sentius screamed as the legionaries charged, shouting defiance at the enemy, most of whom faded into the night. A few raised shields, and one flung a javelin which bounced off the boss on a legionary’s scutum. At the last moment they turned to escape. One was knocked over as a shield slammed into his back, and the pila jabbed forward, the little pyramid-shaped heads driving deep through armour and clothes and into flesh. The man on the ground screamed as he was stabbed again and again.

‘Keep going!’ Crispinus shouted, for the legionaries had halted as they finished the men off.

‘Stand fast!’ Sentius yelled. ‘Look!’ A row of men were coming towards them, weapons glinting. Arrows came, clattering against shields or clanging off helmets. ‘Steady there! Front rank, pila!’ Men shuffled back into formation, and changed their grip. ‘Now!’ Ten men flung the heavy javelins into the night. The enemy stopped, and there were grunts and cries of pain as a couple fell. Slim javelins hissed as they came back, banging louder into shields than the arrows.