‘Run!’ Ferox shouted. The gate was close and it was better to dash back to the protection of the ramparts rather than try to block missiles coming from all around. He ran to the fallen man, grabbing his arm and dragging him across the grass. Someone else took the legionary’s other arm and to his surprise he saw Titus Annius, sword back in its sheath and trying to use his shield to protect them all. The cohort commander grinned.

‘Nearly there,’ Annius said, and then a stone grazed the bridge of his nose and slammed into his right eye, turning it into bloody pulp. He staggered, letting go of the man’s arm and raising his hand to his face.

Ferox dragged the legionary another pace, to where one of his comrades was waiting. The two Tungrians escorting the cohort commander were at his side, one leading him away and the other doing his best to cover them. More legionaries came out of the gate to help.

A long ululating scream and a naked warrior came bounding towards them, spear in one hand and a little axe in the other. He was covered in tattoos and for the first time today Ferox saw the mark of the horse on his forehead. The warrior threw his spear at the Tungrian auxiliary who caught it on his shield, the point bursting through a couple of inches, but not enough to reach him. A pilum would have pierced the wood and slid through to hit the man behind. The auxiliary swayed back from the blow and the warrior ran past him, ducking the thrust spear and raising his axe to cut down at Ferox, who caught the man by his wrist and stabbed him in the throat. No more warriors followed him and instead they hung back, content for the moment to lob missiles.

‘Come on!’ he said to the Tungrian, turning to run. A sling stone brushed the doubled-up mail armour on his shoulder, stinging a little, but doing no damage. They were through the gate, the last to retreat, and Rufus shouted at his men to re-form in the gap. Titus Annius was sitting propped up against the wall of the collapsed hut beside the gate. His helmet was off and his escort and another Tungrian were cleaning and bandaging the wound as best they could. It looked bad, an eye destroyed at least, and the centurion was clearly in no state to command.

Ferox strode over to Rufus. ‘I am Flavius Ferox, centurio regionarius, and I am senior here.’ That was probably true and he hoped that the man would accept it without debate. ‘I’m also from the Second, albeit on detached service.’

‘Oh,’ Rufus said in surprise. ‘That Ferox.’ Ferox thought he caught a low ‘omnes ad stercus’ from one of the soldiers nearby. He guessed that they had heard about the disasters on the Danube, and maybe they thought him unlucky to be around.