Venutius came forward, dancing as much as walking, his legs bent. He thrust with his sword and Ferox blocked it, but his own swift jab forward went over the man’s shield and broke the skin in a slash across the chieftain’s shoulder. Venutius punched with his shield, but was too close for it to have much force, and Ferox swerved out of the way, making the man turn so that now they were on the same level. The chieftain jumped back again.

Ferox made sure that his breathing was even more laboured than it needed to be. It was unnerving having his right side to rows of enemies just a few paces away, but he had to ignore them and fix his mind and spirit on his opponent.

The chieftain came on again, his sword raised high this time, ready for a great downward slash. It was the way the Britons fought, and always a risk for it left much of his body unprotected by shield. Ferox had his sword high, ready to stab at eye level, but he guessed that Venutius’ guard was a feint and so was his. The Briton wanted to draw his eyes up to the sword.

Venutius twitched his right hand as if to hack down, but checked it as the centurion raised his own blade high to parry, and instead put his weight behind his shield and punched it forward. Ferox stepped into the blow, weight behind his own scutum, feeling the terrible slam that knocked the breath from both men. It brought him close to the chieftain and he kept his gladius up, but slammed the carved wooden pommel into the man’s face. It was shaped like a globe and had a small bronze nipple on the end.

The chieftain reeled from the unexpected blow, and Ferox followed it with a second, even harder, and felt the man’s nose break. He struck again and again, aiming at the forehead, and Venutius swayed, face bloodied and cold eyes suddenly empty. Then he sank to his knees. Ferox jumped back and let the man fall.

The young warrior in the striped cloak yelled, a sound without words, and rushed at him, sword high. Ferox barely had time to raise his shield before the blade carved through the air. It hit the top of his scutum, widening the great rent torn in it by Venutius, and Ferox let it drop to the ground, because the boy’s sword was stuck in the wood. He darted his gladius at the boy, the point going between the top of his mail and the cheek pieces of his bronze helmet, the crest a raven hinged so that the wings flapped.