'None at all,' Halt agreed mildly.

Moving smoothly and without any undue haste, the three companies trotted into position, three ranks deep and thirty-three wide. The ranks were separated from each other by about a metre and a half.

The enemy force halted their advance some sixty metres from the rigid lines of legionnaires.

The wild-looking enemy tribesmen brandished their weapons and, at a shouted command, those among them with bows stepped forward, arrows ready on the string. The observers heard the faint sound of fifty arrows rasping against the bows as they were drawn back to the fullest extent. At the same time, the centurion called his counter order.

'Tartaruga! Pronto!'

Ninety-nine man-high, curved shields came round to the front, with a rattle of equipment.

'Tartaruga means "tortoise",' Sapristi explained. 'Pronto means "ready".'

The enemy commander shouted an order and the archers released a ragged volley. As the first arrow sped away, the Toscan centurion bellowed:

'Azione!'

'Action,' translated Sapristi.

Instantly, the soldiers reacted. The front rank crouched slightly, so that their shields covered them completely. The second and third rank stepped close. The second rank raised their shields to head height, interlocking them with those of the front rank. The third rank did likewise. The hundred men of the century were now sheltered by a barricade of shields to the front and a roof of shields overhead.

Seconds later, the volley of arrows clattered against them, bouncing off harmlessly.

'Just like a tortoise,' Will observed. 'Who are the enemy?'

'They're all warriors from neighbouring countries and provinces who have elected to join our empire,' Sapristi replied smoothly.

Halt regarded him for a moment. 'Did they elect to join?' he asked. 'Or was the decision made for them?'