The men on the wings looked towards him, understanding. One fool quickly rose up to have a last shot at the enemy slingers and was instantly struck in the face. His head snapped back and blood sprayed into the air, splattering his comrades on either side. The man collapsed in an inert bundle on the ground. Macro ground his teeth in anger. He had few enough men already, without anyone throwing his life away in such a careless fashion. A soldier’s first duty was to his comrades, and he served them best by staying alive and fighting at their side. Such reckless acts of courage or battle rage were criminally selfish, in his view, and he cursed the man. But he was not the first to die. Already there were three other Roman dead: one sprawled on the ground inside the barricade, the others hanging over the tangle of branches, blood pouring from their wounds on to the muddy river bank below.

‘Look at that!’ a legionary called out nearby, and Macro followed the direction of the man’s gaze across the ford. As the slingshot from the Roman flanks lashed into the sides of the enemy column an older warrior was bellowing out orders. The men around him steadily closed up and offered their shields up in an unbroken line to either side and overhead. Macro was astonished by the manoeuvre, which the enemy had clearly adapted from the example of the legions. Now the shot was rattling harmlessly off the shields, protecting the men within.

‘Bugger me,’ Macro said softly. ‘The Britons can be taught.’

A cry of alarm instantly drew his attention back to the struggle along the barricade. At the centre of the line the enemy had succeeded in taking hold of one of the rough-hewn stakes that Macro’s men had driven in to hold it all together. Several hands grasped the stake, working it furiously to pull it free, and even as Macro glanced in their direction, the stake lurched a small way towards the enemy, dragging a section of the barricade with it.

‘Shit!’ Macro hissed, thrusting his way through his men towards the threatened area. ‘Stop them! Get those bastards now!’

The legionaries turned their attention on the men grasping the stake, desperately thrusting at their exposed arms. The warriors charged with defending these men were equally determined and shoved forward into the barricade, stabbing the broad iron spearheads at the defenders. The intensity of the struggle was such that both sides fought in teeth-gritting silence, straining with the effort to push the enemy back. Suddenly there came the sharp cracking of wood and with a lurch the stake came free, sending half a dozen of the warriors flying back into the ford. Around them the Britons roared with triumph and pressed forward into the gap.

‘Hold them back!’ Macro cried out, hurriedly throwing his javelin into the enemy ranks. ‘Hold them back!’