The bar snapped as the other gates pushed inwards and open, and with a yell king’s men came pouring through the gap. They ran forward, and the optio shouted to his men so that the front rank of three hurled their pila into the mass. The heavy javelins punched through shields as if they were glass, the slim shank sliding on to drive their pyramid-shaped heads through mail, bone and flesh. Half a dozen men were down, and more fell as the second rank threw their javelins. There was a stutter, but so many men were pressing from behind that the leaders could not retreat and found themselves almost pushed forwards.

The optio and his men charged, drawing their swords, and the Dacians ran to meet them until both sides stopped barely a pace apart. They hesitated, arms raised, swords or spears ready, until one or two went that last pace and struck at the enemy. There were some sixty or seventy Dacians to thirty legionaries and in time they would realise this and start to spread out around their flanks, but for the moment the rough lines faced each other, men probing and jabbing from behind their shields as they searched for openings. Ferox’s job was to make sure that no more of the enemy came in. There was the sound of roaring flames and he guessed that the ram and its shed were truly ablaze, for he could feel the heat even from where he was. That ought to make it harder for the enemy to flood into the fort.

Ferox gestured with his sword and walked towards the open gateway. Another dozen Dacians ran through and turned to the left, away from the fight, but someone else would have to deal with them. A man who looked like a leader was standing with his back to Ferox yelling to the men outside. Another was beside him, and he gaped when he saw the centurion and his men creeping out of the shadows. Ferox took another step and then stamped forward, lunging with his gladius beneath the neck guard of the leader and into his spine. An auxiliary came past and hacked at the other man, who parried with his shield high and Ferox had just enough time to rip his own blade free and stab underneath the shield into the warrior’s thigh. He fell, blood pulsing from the wound.

A man appeared, his clothes and body aflame from oil, and he staggered through the gateway. As Ferox stepped into the opening the heat was appalling and it was amazing how much the fire had spread. More men were screaming as they burned, some rolling on the ground trying to beat out the flames. A bare-chested warrior came at him, falx held high and two-handed, and there was barely time to raise his shield before the weapon sliced down, breaking the bronze trim on the top edge of his shield and cutting down three inches into the wood. Ferox was swinging away and used the motion to stab forward into the warrior’s belly. He glanced back over his shoulder.