‘Get behind me!’ Sentius shoved the legatus back so that he could protect them both with his own scutum. ‘Second rank, now!’ An arrow hit the centurion’s shield, the head just breaking through. ‘Third and fourth ranks, now!’ A couple of the pila clattered together and fell harmlessly, but most kept going. ‘Follow me!’ Sentius called. ‘Charge!’

A legionary was struck in the face by a javelin as he ran and his head snapped back, before he fell, tripping the man behind. Some of the Nicopolitans came on to meet them as both formations broke apart. A stocky, bearded man deflected the thrust of a heavy scutum on his shield, and managed to slip his own blade low, past the Roman’s defence and drive it into his groin, making the man squeal in sheer agony. Sentius saw a tall warrior, punched with all his weight behind the boss of his shield, driving the man back without knocking him over. Behind him, Crispinus dodged a cut, counter attacked, taking a lump of bronze edging from his opponent’s shield, then jumped back to avoid another slash. There seemed to be more and more enemies coming out of the shadows and closing on the legionaries. Sentius rammed the point of his gladius through his opponent’s teeth, then slammed his shield forward to push the corpse free from his blade. The one facing Crispinus saw a chance, slashing hard to the side, slicing through the centurion’s crest and denting his helmet, before the legatus cut with all his strength and sheared off the man’s arm. Blood pumped, and the warrior stared disbelievingly at the stump, until Crispinus drove his blade into the man’s throat.

The legionaries were holding on, but only just and half a dozen were down, two more felled by the stocky bearded man, who was yelling in a language that was not Greek. Still more enemy were coming. Crispinus heard horses’ hoofs pounding on the ground, and saw the tall shapes of cavalrymen coming from the right, but could not tell whose they were. Sentius was staggering, his helmet knocked askew by the blow and blood pouring from his forehead into his eyes. A warrior appeared, spear ready to throw. Somehow Crispinus just managed to swing his blade to deflect the missile, but a horseman was galloping towards them, then he was past, his long spatha sweeping in an awkward cross-bodied arc, but the rider must have had great strength and the blade a keen edge because the blow beheaded the warrior facing him. Crispinus just had time to see the wreath shield blazon of ala Britannica before the rider was past, hacking down to the right. More troopers followed, among them a decurion with a high plume to his helmet, and the enemy fled once again. Trumpets were sounding behind them, which hopefully meant that men were coming from the camp.

Sentius had ripped off his helmet and was scrabbling at his eyes. ‘I can’t see!’ Crispinus leaned down, yanking the cloak from one of the corpses and spat onto the edge of it before wiping the centurion’s eyes. As he did he noticed that a Roman corpse was just a few yards away. It was one of the centurions who had followed him from the camp, the one who had thanked Isis, and now the man was dead, lying over the corpse of a warrior. Presumably he had killed the man, and then someone else killed him, but although it had gone on so close to him, Crispinus had not realised that the centurion was there, let alone what he was doing.