The respite was temporary. Two riders surged at Valens. The leading one thrust from Valens’s left with a javelin. Valens deflected it with his shield. The second swung a long cavalry blade at his right leg. Somehow Valens got his own sword in the way. The screech of steel sliding down steel. Training took over, and Valens rolled his wrist, forcing the attacker’s weapon wide.

The assailants backed their horses. Fierce, bearded faces above stained tunics. The wicked glint of sunlight on the weapons in their hands. One had a number tattooed on his arm.

Wild eyed, the raiders looked at each other, communicating without words. Next time they would attack together.

Valens was not going to wait passively, like some sacrificial animal. He kicked his heels into the ribs of his mount. The chestnut was no trained warhorse. It shied and crabbed sideways as it leapt forward. Off balance, Valens braced himself against the horns of his saddle. Again the javelin jabbed from his left. He ducked forward, nose down in the mane of his horse. His assailant’s momentum pressed them close together. Valens punched upwards with his shield. He did not make contact, but the man jerked back. A half-seen movement to the right. Valens dragged his sword up to block the attack. Too slow, the blade was within his guard. Valens winced from the impending impact, but the blow never landed. Instead, the raider reeled in the saddle. From the ground Severus struck again, a controlled slash that cut the man’s thigh open to the bone.

Valens hauled himself upright. There was no chance to thank Severus. The javelin man stabbed at his face. This time Valens leant back. The tip of the javelin sliced by in front of his nose. Again they were wedged together, too close for Valens to use his sword. He swung wildly with the edge of his shield. The wooden boards smacked into the man’s temple. Dazed, he swayed, almost losing his seat.

A grunt of pain from the right. Valens twisted around. Instead of a threat, he saw Severus. The officer was staggering, blood dark on the back of his tunic.

A pounding of hooves. Two more riders were coming to support the man on Valens’s nearside.

Getting the chestnut balanced, Valens prepared to face them. Odds of three to one. It could only end one way. To Hades with dulce et decorum est. Valens prepared to sell his life dearly.

As if summoned by a god, the bald, domed head of Iudex appeared next to him, the lined face of Clemens on the other side.

‘Ferrata!’ Clemens shouted. Ironclad, the war cry of his old legion.

At the sound, the raiders seemed to lose heart. A slight hesitation, then they spun their mounts and raced away.

Valens drooped in the saddle. He was panting, running with sweat. His limbs felt like lead.

‘The commander is down!’