‘We’ve made them angry, so it’s just a question of when they attack,’ he told them. ‘They’ll want to get on and not waste time here. In the bigger scheme of things, we don’t matter, but we are stopping them and the longer we can do that the more secure Dobreta becomes and the more chance there is that they will gather a relief force. The noble Hadrian promised to do everything in his power – and he is a capable and influential man.

‘So that means we have to hold and keep on holding until help comes. The more they hurry the more likely they are to make a mistake. I’d love them to attack today, but I don’t think they are that stupid. Instead they’ll start digging and building cover, so that they can bring up their own engines and maybe build some more. All the while they use their archers to nibble at us, but we must not waste all our arrows and bolts chasing them away. Unless they are covering an assault party or workers doing something we don’t like, then ignore them. Tell the men to keep their heads down and let the fools waste their arrows – which we can collect and shoot back at them when it matters. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

As predicted, the Dacians sent several hundred archers, some on each side of the fort, but at first they did not shoot. At noon trumpets blared and three horsemen rode slowly up the track to the porta praetoria. One carried a vexillum, with an image of a galloping horseman on it barely visible because it was draped in ivy. Beside him was a man with an ox horn trumpet and in the lead a young warrior, wearing a scale cuirass, but with a high red cap instead of a helmet, marking him out as a nobleman.

‘They want to talk,’ Ferox said, waving down the crew itching to shoot the scorpio. ‘No shooting!’ he shouted. If the enemy wanted to waste time, then that was no concern of his. ‘No shooting! Let them come on.’

‘I suppose they’re giving in,’ Claudia Enica said quietly as she stood beside him. For some reason she had one of the Brigantes carrying their vexillum standing behind her.

‘Bet the goddess has ’em terrified,’ Ferox whispered.

‘Pig.’

The Dacian nobleman was either new to his horse or not the best of riders, for the animal shied, turned half sideways and took the last few steps crabwise. Then it tried to turn away and he had to drag it back with the reins. Ferox watched, not wanting to interrupt.

‘In the name of Decebalus, King of Dacia, Lord of these lands, the god’s prophet on this earth and master of the pure.’ The nobleman managed well, speaking decent Latin, until the horse spun around so he was facing away from them.

Claudia Enica laughed, an oddly light and feminine sound in such a place. Finally, with brutal use of the animal’s bit, the Dacian brought himself and his horse back around. Even at this distance Ferox saw the man’s eyes widen when he saw a woman standing above the gateway, her polished armour glinting in the sun. Then his gaze went higher and his mouth fell open when he saw the flag, with its bare-breasted goddess. He stared, as if mesmerised.