Ferox sighed. ‘At least let me face you,’ he said. ‘We let your king die as a warrior.’ He stepped away from the decurion, who let him go. Ferox turned very deliberately, and his voice was resigned. ‘And I’ll make it easy.’ He unfastened the knot holding together the cheek pieces of his helmet. ‘Sabinus, you will obey my orders. When all is done let these men go.’

‘My lord?’

‘And tell your men to do the same.’ Ferox lifted his helmet off his head, taking the woolly hat he wore inside with it. He held the iron helmet in both hands, twisting it round. ‘Only just bought this,’ he said ruefully and grinned at the decurion facing him. ‘Waste of money, eh?’

Sabinus felt the sword pulled away from him and let out a long breath. No one protested when he edged away, and he saw that Molacus was watching Ferox, his sword held in a low guard.

‘Can I help, my lord?’ The sentry called, closer to them now. Vindex had started running, and was clumsily drawing his sword as he tried not to slip. Behind him the riders were closing, one ahead of the others.

‘I’d rather not kneel,’ Ferox told them. ‘And I’d be obliged if you do a neat job. Just like I’ve trained you.’

The one facing him licked his lips as he pulled his arm back, sword out straight, ready to lunge at Ferox’s face.

‘My lord? Shall I give the alarm?’ The auxiliary on picket duty had stopped, his voice more than ever uncertain. Sabinus saw the leading horseman was just a few paces behind Vindex, his horse in a clumsy canter. The fugitive swerved away from the track and it was a moment before the rider dragged his horse round to follow.

Molacus looked at Sabinus. ‘Tell your man to stay at his post.’

Vindex had turned, pulling his cloak off and waving it with his left arm in the hope of frightening the horse. He had a long cavalry sword in his right hand and they could hear him taunting his attacker. The animal flinched, pulling away, and the rider fought the beast, forcing him on at a walk. It gave time for the other two to close.

‘Give the alarm!’ Sabinus shouted, amazed that the words came out and were so loud.

‘Bastard!’ Molacus spat the word and slashed wildly at him. Sabinus felt the wind of the blade, stepped back and his boots slipped under him and he fell on his bottom.

Ferox went half a pace forward, his helmet held firmly in both hands, and slammed the edge of the neck guard into the decurion’s throat, driving into the little gap between his cheek pieces and scarf. The man gasped, head snapping back, eyes wide, and Ferox spun to the left, helmet in one hand and struck at Molacus, a glancing blow on the side of the face as he dodged. The Briton went back, raising his sword high, but Ferox was quicker and swung the helmet again, breaking Molacus’ nose so that blood jetted down his face. The man staggered and Ferox struck again, using all his strength and worrying less about aim. There was a dull ringing sound as his iron helm hit the front of the decurion’s helmet, twisting it to cut the forehead. Molacus went back again, and the next blow produced a crack as a hinge snapped and a cheek piece of Ferox’s helmet flew off. The decurion sank to his knees.