The Dacians stepped away from the legionaries, who let them go and panted as they struggled for breath. The deep voice was shouting again, and the warriors made a circle of shields facing outwards, two or three ranks deep. For the first time Ferox noticed that they carried a draco standard, like the ones some of the Roman cavalry had copied. Its bronze head was shaped like the gaping maw of a dragon and behind it hung a long red sock that would hiss and ripple in the wind when they ran. Now, it hung limp, but the leader was urging his men on and the shields were level and steady.

Reserves were coming up on either side, and Ferox had to hope that there was no danger to the ramparts.

‘Come on!’ he shouted. ‘Let’s kill these bastards!’

XXIV

Piroboridava

Fourth day before the Kalends of June

PISO STILL HAD a bandage around his head, but otherwise appeared unscathed. Ferox had watched the tribune ride slowly towards the fort, a warrior on either side of him and standard-bearer and man sounding an ox horn behind them. The young aristocrat kept his hands together close behind his horse’s neck, suggesting that they were tied.

Sabinus was nervous. ‘It is not unknown for besiegers to execute or torture a captive in sight of the walls to persuade the defenders to surrender.’

Ferox did not need to be told that, for he had seen Roman armies do the same thing more than once. He had not particularly liked Piso, and doubted that anyone would wish to give in merely to save the tribune from torment, but hoped that they would not have to watch. Sosius had hinted that there were doubts over the aristocrat’s loyalty and Lepidina told him the story of the father’s incompetent plot and exile. The family sounded more like a poor joke than a real threat to the emperor.

‘I do not like it,’ Claudia said. ‘And see the rider on the left?’

Ferox had already recognised Ivonercus. ‘If they are talking, then they are not attacking,’ he said. It was four days after the big assault and during those days the archers and engines had continued to nibble away at the defenders. Twenty-three men had died during the assault, almost half in killing the Dacians surrounded and shut inside the fort when Ferox and the others had closed the gates. Half a dozen more had been killed by missiles or succumbed to their wounds in the last few days. Four times as many were wounded, not counting the flesh wounds and scratches that many more had taken. Sulpicia Lepidina had run out of bandages and begun cutting up spare clothes, including some of her own.

‘If it was good enough for the Lord Trajan, then it is good enough for me,’ she said, referring to a much trumpeted incident in the first war when the emperor had given spare cloaks and tunics to the surgeons to help them cope with a deluge of wounded. The Dacian skill with bows, and their fondness for cutting swords like the sica and the great falx always meant that there were plenty of wounded. As usual the lady had made no fuss, but simply got on with the task at hand, but the story had spread nevertheless. Ferox heard men joking that they should all stick their legs up over the parapet and take wounds, because that way Lepidina, Claudia and all the other women might end up naked.