Karim nodded and trotted away to the right, calling on his men to follow him. Ajax briefly imagined the situation that would confront Karim. The Romans had blundered into the sharpened stakes and several of them were wounded, from the sound of it. As they tried to extricate themselves they would be struck by arrows. If they panicked they were likely to run into another stake. If they held their nerve and groped their way free of the obstacles, they would still make an easy target for the archers. Either way, they were going to pay dearly. He smiled with satisfaction as he strode forward to join his men preparing to take on the Romans still advancing up the street.

‘Your shield, General.’ One of his bodyguards held it out to Ajax and he slipped his hand through the guard, adjusted his grip, and edged through to the front rank.

‘Let’s teach these Roman bastards a lesson!’ Ajax thrust his sword arm aloft in the salute he had been taught in the gladiator school at Capua. ‘Fight or die!’

‘Fight or die!’ his chosen men chorused, before they settled into a crouch and sized up their enemy as the line of legionaries, boots tramping in unison, came on.

Ajax felt the familiar surge of excitement grip his body, and yet his mind was cool and calculating as he focused his attention on the leader of the small formation, the man who had caused him so much pain in the years since they had fought their first encounter at sea off the coast of Illyria.

He charged, his men surging forward on each side, roaring their battle cry as their faces twisted into feral masks of rage and hatred. Years of hard training had turned Ajax’s body into a powerful machine and he threw his weight in behind his shield as it smashed into that of the prefect. He saw Cato’s plumed helmet jerk back as the Roman line was driven in. Ajax kept his shield in contact with his opponent and thrust forward, sensing the resistance increase as the other man’s boots scrambled for purchase on the hard ground. He could hear him grunt with the effort of holding his position. Ajax braced his shoulder and gave a powerful heave, breaking contact as he turned to bring his sword up and forward, pointing the tip towards his foe. The dying flames still provided enough illumination to light the conflict, and Ajax could see the thin face of the prefect, his expression taut and eyes wide as they fixed on him.