Thirty more men had got inside the fort and they had died hard, fighting until each one had to be killed. They were Bastarnae, that odd, half-German, half-the-gods-knew-what race, with their hair tied into knots at the side of the heads, and their fondness for falxes and long spears. Ferox had almost forgotten the ferocity with which they fought, as they charged like wild animals. Dacians, especially the aristocrats following the code of their stern religion, fought as if they despised life and willingly sacrificed it, but they also fought with skill and cunning. Bastarnae fought as if violence itself was a joy to them and there was no tomorrow, no gods judging the deeds of men.

When Sabinus had seen what the thirty Bastarnae had done in the hospital he had vomited again and again until there was nothing left to come out. Plenty of others had done the same, for the warriors had not simply killed, but mutilated everyone they found. There had been thirty-seven patients in the rooms, a couple of them men just brought in from the ramparts. One had survived by hiding in a big box used to store blankets, but all of the others were dead, hacked into pieces where they lay, hands and arms severed as they tried to protect their heads. Most of the staff were dead as well, along with some slaves and two wives who had been visiting sick husbands. The women’s bodies were barely recognisable, just like the men’s, left in pools of their own blood with more spattered up on the walls.

‘I wonder if they…’ Sabinus could not finish the sentence as he started to gag.

‘There was no time,’ Ferox told him. He had not been sick, even when he saw this and the reek filled his nostrils, and wondered what this said about him, but was too tired to think and too frightened of what he might learn. Perhaps it was the nightmare thoughts of what could have happened if the Bastarnae had broken into the praetorium instead of the hospital and he had found Lepidina like this, or her son, or Philo and his wife or any of the others.

A thousand had attacked and a quarter died, with more wounded who had been able to walk or had been carried away. There were no prisoners, wounded or whole. Ferox had been stunned by his fall and it took a while for his wits to recover. By then word of what had happened in the hospital had spread and no one was in the mood to take captives. He did not blame his men for sparing not a single Dacian and finishing off even the direly wounded with a quick thrust. There did not seem to have been any other Bastarnae in the attacking force, but to most of his men all the attackers were simply a murderous enemy to be killed like a mad dog. Ferox might even have given the order to execute any prisoners they had taken and kill all the wounded because such men would be a burden, needing to be guarded and fed. Still, it would have been useful to interrogate a few beforehand.