‘We’ll deal with that when what we have runs out. If we have to slaughter them then may as well have the meat as fresh as possible.’

‘Eat horse?’ The queen’s face was screwed up in distaste.

‘It’s not bad,’ Ferox said. ‘If you get it tender and cook it well.’

‘Barbarian.’ Claudia Enica shook her head. ‘But then we all knew that already.’

‘Is there enough salt?’ Ferox asked Dionysius.

‘Plenty.’

‘Well, commilitones,’ Ferox began, only to be interrupted by a cough from Claudia Enica, ‘and honoured royal leaders who like dressing up as men.’ That got a laugh, especially when she cuffed his head. ‘Do you want to be on a charge, girl?’ The queen held up her hands as if pleading for mercy, which made them laugh all the more.

‘Well, as I said, yesterday we upset the enemy’s plans.’ There were more grins. The Dacians had rested on the night of their arrival, the ox carts only arriving slowly. They camped in front of the fort, filling much of the valley with camp fires and songs. Ferox had wished that he had a few score of his fellow tribesmen to prowl the night and slit throats, but did not trust any of the still weary garrison to do such things. At dawn the enemy camp had stirred, and he had let several thousand warriors march across the bridge unmolested. Hundreds more, mainly archers, stood just out of range on all sides of the fort, but it was clear that the Dacian leaders planned to screen the garrison and march on with the bulk of their army.

When the first cart was nearing the bridge, Ferox signalled for the monâkon to be made ready. Ephippus was with them, the machine aligned by marks painted on the timber rampart that they had built in front of it. Neither he nor his crew could see the bridge, but they all knew just how to tighten the washers and crank the tension on the springs.

‘Now!’ Ferox shouted as the leading yoke of oxen plodded onto the timber of the bridge. He watched as Ephippus made a sign to ward off the evil eye, shut his eyes and then pulled the cable to release the catch. The arm slammed forward and the stone flew high. Ferox was sure that he could hear the enemy gasp, but knew it must be his imagination. He followed the arc of the pale grey stone as it went higher, seemed to slow and then was going down, faster and faster until it struck the leading ox on the head, smashing it into bloody ruin, and took the front legs off the animal alongside it.

‘Beautiful!’ he had shouted down. ‘Another one!’

The second hit the rail of the bridge, breaking the wood apart and sent big splinters slashing into the men trying to cut the dead ox and its mutilated companion free from the yoke. Ten more shots followed, and a couple splashed into the river, but the rest slammed onto the bridge itself, shattering the cart and killing men. After that they stopped shooting.