The Selgovae were closer now, more and more missiles thumping into the Tungrians’ shields. One of the soldiers was hit square in the face with such force that his helmeted head snapped back as he was flung to the ground. Ferox looked down the slope and saw Rufus and his men running downhill, charging back to protect the wounded against the new threat, but more and more warriors streamed over the spur. They must have gathered there out of sight, waiting for the moment. The Romans charged in a loose swarm, all order gone, and he saw the young centurion at their head, but doubted that they could break through against such numbers. Well, there was nothing he could do to help and each group must fight its own little battle and see who lasted the longest.

Ferox pushed his way into the middle of the front rank, in time to feel his borrowed shield shudder with the strike of a javelin. ‘Right, lads. Let’s show ‘em how the best soldiers in the world fight,’ he called. ‘The poor bastards don’t know who they’re facing yet!’

‘Poor buggers,’ someone said.

‘Don’t feel sorry for them, just kill ‘em,’ he told the auxiliaries.

The Selgovae charged. They threw more javelins first, and Ferox felt his shield rock with another blow. The man next to him folded as a heavier spear smashed through the layers of wood and stuck fast in his belt. He was pulled back and another soldier stepped into his place just in time to meet the warriors.

Ferox’s world became small, for there were no more orders to give and all that mattered were the men standing alongside him and the wild-eyed men coming at him. The first was young, only a boy and eager to prove himself in battle, rushing at the enemy, his terror turning to rage. He flung himself forward, shield thrust out as Ferox raised the boss of his own big legionary scutum and put his weight behind it. A bigger man might have knocked him over, but Ferox was solid, heavy in all his armour, and he was just pushed back, boots sliding a foot down the gentle slope. He saw the boy raising his long sword to slash down and jabbed forward with his gladius, the long triangular point sliding into his armpit. The boy’s mouth opened wide although Ferox did not hear any cry amid the shouting and clash of arms, and he turned the blade to help free it as he pulled back and jabbed again, straight into the throat. Blood jetted over his shield and sprayed on to his face and he had to blink to see, but already his gladius, was back, poised to strike again.