‘The gates! We need to close the gates.’ He took a step back, struggling to free his scutum from the falx as the warrior doubled over, clutching his stomach and trying to hold in his innards.

Another step back and Ferox was between the gates. The falx at last dropped away and he had time to lift the shield which shook as a spear struck it. A warrior came at him, sword drawn, and this was one of the king’s men, but as he charged he ran into a spray of sand poured from above and yelped with surprise. Ferox stepped back one more time, trusting that his soldiers were covering his retreat and he hoped that no more sand would come in case it helped to put out the flames.

Screaming, whether in rage or pain, the king’s man came on again, slamming the boss of his shield against Ferox’s scutum. The centurion staggered, but saw the man’s arm raised for a downward cut and jabbed forward at eye level. The Dacian went back, still screaming, and tripped over the legs of the warrior wounded in the belly.

‘Out the way, sir!’ a soldier yelled and Ferox moved to let them close the gates behind him.

‘The bar, quick!’ One of the others called as Ferox and the first man put their weight on the gates to hold them closed. Something struck the outside and Ferox jerked back, almost losing his balance, but his feet got a grip again and he leaned with all his weight. The other two had the longer section of the bar and lifted it towards the brackets.

‘Push, lad! Push!’ Ferox called as much to himself as the other man, and he turned his back against the wooden gate, feeling every muscle strain. The bar came down into one bracket, then the other and the pressure was gone.

‘Shields!’ he shouted, for the men with the bar had dropped theirs. ‘Get behind us!’ He and the other man went forward, for Dacians were turning, realising what had happened. Above the helmets and clashing weapons of the two lines, cavalrymen were walking their horses, lobbing javelins over the heads of the legionaries.

Dacians were turning to face him, and one or two were coming towards him, until a deep voice shouted out a command. The enemy bunched together forming a rough circle. Maximus and five of his men came trotting up from the right, kicking their horses into a canter, and the circle was not yet ready and some of the king’s men flinched as the cavalry bore down. The Dacians opened up gaps wide enough to let them through, or were barged out of the way if they did not move fast enough. Maximus ran a man through with his spear, let the weapon fall with the dying warrior, and had time to draw his sword and hack down into a neck before he was through and out the other side. Another cavalryman darted his spear back and forth in quick, well-judged attacks, wounding three as he passed. The last horse in the group balked as a warrior stood firm. It reared, front hoofs kicking the Dacian and knocking him down, but the rider lost his seat and fell, screaming briefly as swords cut down.