slowly encircled the column. At first they tried to draw the soldiers

out of the solid lines by sending a few men up close who shouted strange

words and made threatening gestures. But their heavily outnumbered foe

did not panic and run as expected.

Centurion Severus was too much a veteran to feel fear. He stepped ahead

of his front line and surveyed the terrain crawling with barbarians.

He waved derisively at them. This was not the first time he had faced

overwhelming odds in a fight. Severus had volunteered for the legion

when he was sixteen. He advanced from common soldier, winning several

decorations for distinguished bravery in battles against the Goths along

the Danube and the Franks at the Rhine. After his retirement, he had

become a mercenary, hiring out to the highest bidder, in this case

Junius Venator.

Severus had unswerving confidence in his legionaries. The sun gilded

their helmets and unsheathed swords. They were strong fighters and

battle-hardened men who knew victory without ever enduring defeat.

Most of the livestock, including his horse, had died on the grueling

voyage from Egypt, so he walked at the head of the square, turning every

few steps so as to keep a constant, wary eye on the enemy.

With a roar that rose and broke like crashing surf, the barbarians

rushed down the sun-baked incline and fell on the Romans. The first

wave was decimated, pierced by the long throwing spears of the soldiers

and the arrows from the Syrian archers. The second wave burst forward,

crashed into the thin ranks, and were cut down like wheat before a

scythe. The gleaming swords dulled and turned red with barbarian blood.

Driven by a stream of salty oaths, and threatened by the scourging lash

of Latinius Macer, the slaves gave a good account of themselves and

stood firm.

The formation moved forward at a crawl as the barbarians pressed from

all sides, fed by continuous reserves. Great red stains fanned on the

dirt of the and slope. More and more naked bodies dropped and crumpled

lifeless. Those who surged from behind fought on their comrades'

corpses, slicing bare feet on shattered weapons, throwing flesh against

the terrible shafts of iron that thrust into breasts and stomachs, then

falling on the death heap. At close quarters they were no match for

Roman discipline.

The battle now took a different Turn. Realizing they could make no

headway against the swords and spears of the foreigners, the barbarians

pulled back and regrouped. Then they began shooting flights of arrows

and throwing their crude spears while their women hurled rocks.

The Romans closed shields over their heads like large tortoise shells

and stoutly maintained their march for the river and the safety of their

ships. Only the Syrian archers were able to cause casualties among the

barbarians. There were not enough shields to go around for the slaves,

and they fought open and unprotected from the hail of missiles. They

were weakened from the long, tiring voyage and the exhausting excavation