The time for fancy footwork and swordplay was over, Macro realised. This was about to become a contest of brute strength, and Ajax and his men were as powerful and tough as they came.

‘Legionaries, on me!’ Macro called out, grabbing a shield. ‘Quickly, damn it!’

His men scrambled to his side, forming up, shield to shield and swords held level, as they were trained to do for close combat.

‘Ready!’ Macro barked the order and then called the time as he stepped towards the door. ‘One . . . two . . .’

The two sides crunched together just inside the door frame and Macro threw his weight behind his shield as he braced his boots against the grain sacks that had collapsed on the floor. His men pressed in close behind him and Macro could hear the strained breath and grunts of effort all around him as the Romans and the renegades heaved against each other. Those in the front were trapped between the shields and those pushing them from behind. Macro knew that it was a contest between the raw strength of the renegades and the technique of the legions. For a moment both sides pushed with all their strength, and then Macro felt the sacking beneath his right boot begin to give. He tried to adjust his foot, but the sack had split and the loose grain gave little traction. Slowly he was eased back from the door and a gap opened between his shield and that of the man to his left. At once the tip of a sword blade thrust through the gap, mercifully striking nothing but air before it was snatched back.

‘Watch it!’ Macro warned the others. ‘Close up.’

The legionaries heaved forward and pressed the enemy back.

‘Come on!’ Ajax yelled. ‘Push! Sweep them aside, lads. Then kill ’em all.’

Once again the bodies were tightly wedged against each other in the narrow doorway. Macro turned towards one of the men still standing to one side.

‘You! Go for their legs, man! Hack ’em!’

The legionary nodded and edged his way round the side of the struggle, then, taking careful aim, he waited until there was a gap and stabbed the point of his sword home, into a calf. The renegade bellowed in pain and instinctively edged back, creating a gap in the shield wall presented to the Romans. Macro pushed forward, driving between two of his enemies and thrusting his own blade out, at an angle, into the side of the man to his right. It was not a lethal blow, just breaking through the skin and catching in the ribs, but the man fell away with a grunt.

Just as the Romans drove the last of their enemies away from the door, there was a shout from down the track.

‘General! General Ajax!’

Ajax, in the third rank of his men, glanced back and saw the figure running down the track towards the skirmish. ‘Here!’