He began to walk backwards, ready to call the Batavians to follow. He could no longer see the pair who had charged the horsemen, but so far none of those barbarians had spilled over the bank. On the other side the lone cavalryman still held most of the barbarians back, wary of his deadly spear and the thrashing hoofs of his horse. Two warriors had slipped past now that there was no one left to guard the bottom of the gully. They came on in a crouch, warily, until one saw him.

The centurion kept going back, waiting for the right moment to stop. The two Britons were barefoot and bare-chested, and had their hair washed with lime to make it stiff and white so that it stood out like a wild halo. There was something dark on the foreheads, but otherwise no sign of the painted symbols worn by many tribes. Each had a small square shield with a central dome-like boss. The first had a knife at his belt and hefted a spear. The other had a long-bladed sword, without a point, but made heavy to add weight to the edge.

The two men split, so that they could take him from two sides. Ferox kept going back. The spearman was to his left and the swordsman to his right. They came slowly at first, watching him, until without visible signal both men yelled and ran at him.

Ferox charged, going to the left. He dodged when the warrior tried to punch at him with his little shield, took hold of the spear shaft with his left hand, pushing it aside, and raked the long triangular point of his gladius across the man’s stomach, letting the shape of the blade slide in and pull free easily. Just inches away, he saw the man’s snarl of anger and fear turn into one of agony, noticed that he had the lines of a horse tattooed on his forehead, and then he was past.

The swordsman came at him, blade held high ready to chop down. Ferox had no shield to block the blow, so he waited until the last moment and then dived to the side, rolling, and stabbed up into the Briton’s groin, twisting the blade free. The warrior was shrieking, a high-pitched wail, doubling up with pain as Ferox pushed himself up and used the motion to thrust again, this time into the man’s throat. Blood gushed out as the scream ceased and the man died. This one had the same tattoo.