Macro ignored them as he stared across the ford to see what the enemy would try next. Most likely they would simply regroup and attempt to force the gap in the barricade in a more ordered fashion. A movement at his feet drew Macro’s eyes and he saw an enemy warrior trying to rise up from the river bank. All along the edge of the ford the enemy dead and injured were piled on the churned-up shore and in the pebbled shallows. With hardly a thought Macro leaned down to the man and thrust the point of his sword into the warrior’s neck. With a gasp the Briton slumped back down amongst the bodies of his comrades, blood pumping from the wound. His eyes fixed on Macro, wild and desperate. Then they glazed over and he was dead. Macro shook his head and looked up. One down, another twenty-nine thousand to go.

On the far side of the ford the chieftain in charge of the diminished assault group was re-forming his men into a crude testudo, a bristling hedge of spears to the front. As soon as he was satisfied with the formation he shouted an order and the warriors splashed back into the ford.

‘I thought we’d taught the bastards a lesson,’ muttered a soldier close to Macro.

The centurion made a wry smile. ‘I think we’ve taught them one lesson too many.’

This time the enemy had a clear route to the Roman defenders. The testudo would rise up from the river, push through the gap in the barricade and crush the men behind. This was the moment of decision, Macro realised. He strode back up the small hump of the island and looked toward the south bank of the river, searching for sign of Maximius. Nothing. Then he saw a flash, and another, half a mile away, downriver. Macro squinted and made out a tiny silvered mass, like a slender centipede, crawling towards him. For an instant his heart lifted. Then he realised they were still too far off to render any help in time. The decision remained. He could obey his orders and stay and fight, even though there was no hope of keeping the enemy at bay, or he would have to stomach the order to withdraw and try to save his men, even at the cost of his reputation.

Macro turned round and looked towards the enemy shield wall, already a third of the way across the ford, and they were still retaining the formation. It was obvious what he must do. There was simply nothing else for it now and he walked briskly back to his exhausted men leaning on their shields.

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER TWELVE