The plan had failed in spite of all he had done, so Brasus ran.

XXI

Piroboridava

Later the same day

FLAVIUS FEROX ACHED and was so tired that he knew that if he sat, let alone lay down, he would be asleep in moments. There was too much to be done while they had the chance and not enough time or pairs of hands to do it. Everyone was exhausted, so he had divided the fit men into four groups, and each would get two hours’ rest while the others worked. It was not much, and might even mean that they woke even more weary than before, but it was the best he could manage for the moment. He had to order the officers to try to sleep when their turn came, because as soon as they realised that he planned to keep going they were eager to do the same.

‘We did it, sir, we did it!’ Sabinus’ exhaustion manifested itself in an unceasing flow of chatter. This was the first time that he had been in any sort of serious fight, and all the fear and exhilaration combined with the sheer relief at still being alive left him elated. Ferox had allocated the centurion to sleep with the last group, the men he judged to be freshest because he doubted that the man would be able to sleep at the moment. So together they toured the fort, smiling, encouraging whenever they could, telling the men that they had fought well, and sometimes also yelling at them to work harder and faster.

‘We’ve won, sir!’ Sabinus repeated. ‘Well done, boys, well done!’ he added as they passed a group of soldiers carrying baskets full of stones picked up from outside the walls. They were one of several teams scouring the ditches and ground in front of the rampart, recovering any missile that could be used again.

‘We have won for the moment,’ Ferox said after the men had gone on back into the fort. ‘They’ll be back.’

‘Won’t be so keen next time though, will they, sir?’ Sabinus spread his arms to indicate the enemy dead. ‘Over two hundred of the beggars – apart from the ones we caught inside. Make ’em think twice, won’t it?’

Ferox reckoned that something like a thousand enemies had attacked them, which meant that, with the fifty-one corpses that had been picked up inside the walls and then carried out to where they would be burned, around a quarter of the Dacians were dead. That was a heavy price for a failed attack, but it had not been easy. The ones charged by Maximus and his cavalry died quickly even though they fought hard. One, a stocky bare-chested warrior with a falx, had sliced away the front legs of Ferox’s horse, as he was bearing down on him, pitching the centurion far and high and giving him his worst bruises of the night, He was lucky that nothing was broken, and luckier still that Maximus had appeared and hacked down before the staggering warrior recovered himself and came for Ferox.