‘Halt here,’ Crispinus told Arrian. ‘And then we can start.’

Arrian gestured to the cornicines standing behind him and, once they had sounded the three rising notes to warn of an order, he bawled out the command. ‘Halt!’ As soon as the signal had been given, men from the work party marked out the lines of three redoubts and the rest began to dig, piling up the spoil to make ramparts and raised platforms for the artillery.

A handful of enemy skirmishers were about two hundred paces away, including the bowman who sent another missile to land close to the Roman officers. More men waited a little further back.

‘Wait for the order,’ Arrian shouted to his own archers. ‘Front ranks, testudo!’ The legionaries in the first rank knelt behind their big rectangular shields. The ones behind held their own shields at an angle to cover themselves and the first rank’s heads. It was not a formal testudo, but was a good protection for the legionaries and the archers behind. ‘Wonder if they’ll think we’re frightened?’ Arrian asked cheerily.

‘That’s the idea, tribune,’ Crispinus told him. ‘And Ferox, time for you to earn your pay.’

‘Technically, my lord, I’m still under arrest so not receiving any pay.’

‘Good, I hate to see the res publica waste its money. Now get on with it.’

‘Sir.’

‘And remember, captives if you can, corpses if you can’t.’

‘Vindex frowned. ‘Is that what Romans call poetry?’ he asked in the language of the tribes. ‘Don’t think much of it.’

‘Then compose your own,’ Bran suggested. ‘There must be plenty of words that rhyme with tits.’

‘Brigantes!’ Ferox shouted. ‘Follow me!’ He jogged forward, weaving through a gap in the second and then the first line. There was no sense going too fast as this was likely to be a long day as well as a hot one. He had wondered whether to order his men to dispense with armour, before deciding against it. Bran and a few other younger ones had laid aside cuirasses and would rely on just shield and helmet. Ferox suspected that the rest felt that a true warrior fought with the best available weapons and armour. They were also nervous of the enemy’s arrows, not that any of them would admit it.

Bran ran to the left and Vindex to the right, taking the warriors assigned to them, all of them shaking out into a loose swarm. Behind Ferox, half a dozen warriors formed a line of shields to protect the legionaries with the light ballistae until the time was right. Shouts came from the enemy ahead, and a few dozen advanced a little way towards the Brigantes. An arrow flicked the crest of Ferox’s helmet.

‘I think you’ve upset them!’ Vindex shouted at him.

‘Then let’s really upset them.’

‘I’d rather keep my trousers on!’ Vindex yelled. Ferox ignored him and jogged forward on his own. An arrow came, straighter now as he was getting closer to the bowman, barely one hundred paces, and he caught it on his oval shield, one of the light ones usually issued to cavalry. The head thunked against the board before dropping away, lacking the power to break through even the fairly thin layers of wood. Ferox could hear Vindex’s rather flat-footed run and though he could not hear Bran knew that the lad was also going forward on his other side. He kept his eyes to the front, watching the bowman as the man fumbled his next arrow. This was no warrior or soldier, but a townsman or farmer having a go with a light and rarely used bow. A couple of others were coming forward past the man, each carrying a bundle of javelins and a small round buckler. Another arrow flicked past him.