Ferox watched to see whether anyone else was following, but no one was close. An arrow whipped through the air and he parried it with his shield. The boy was pushing himself up, so Ferox stepped up beside him and raised his sword, then slammed down with the globe-shaped wooden weight beneath the handle. There was clang as it struck the bronze helmet, and the young warrior dropped flat on his face. Keeping an eye out for threats, Ferox wiped his blade on his trousers and thrust it back into the scabbard. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder, felt dead weight when he started to lift him, and began to drag him back. Vindex appeared and took the lad’s other arm.

‘Captive,’ Ferox said to him.

‘Himself will be pleased.’

*

The morning wore on, and over time more and more of the defenders ventured across the ditch to confront the Romans. Some of the ones already there drifted back because they were tired or thirsty or had run out of missiles. Crispinus did not send more men to reinforce the Brigantes and the auxiliaries ordered to skirmish, but even so, they all got the chance to drop back a little, nearer the formed centuriae and rest. Slaves carried skins of water to relieve parched throats. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of javelins were thrown and arrows shot. Many of the light spears were flung more than once, back and forth between the two sides. There were a few more duels or little combats among the enthusiasts. Having set an example, Ferox was not inclined to push his luck any further, and Vindex was the same. Bran issued several more challenges, without finding any enemies willing to meet him. Later he dashed forward and flung a spear that spitted an enemy skirmisher who was distracted by another threat. That was one of the few men to die. More were injured and carried back by their comrades to safety. The Romans lost no dead and fewer injured than the enemy, because they had armour, apart from a few of the Brigantes who had laid it aside. More auxiliaries were hit than Brigantes, and Ferox felt that the regulars moved more clumsily than his men and were less skilled at watching out for each other.

Crispinus all the while restrained his archers and artillery from shooting, wanting to lure as many of the enemy forward as he could. A little before noon, he decided that the time was right, and rode up to Arrian.

‘If you would be so good, tribune.’

‘My lord.’ Arrian, who as Ferox had predicted had spent much of the time waxing lyrical over the similarity to the Iliad, licked his lips and gestured to the cornicines. ‘Sound the recall!’

‘That’s us,’ Ferox croaked to Vindex. ‘Time to go back. Come on, lads, back we go!’

‘Such a fuss,’ Vindex muttered. ‘Wish we had just got drunk and charged.’

Auxiliaries and Brigantes jogged stiffly back through the gaps in the line. A cheer went up from the Nicopolitans. Behind the cloud of skirmishers there were several dense blocks of fifty or so men.