The cornu horns sounded the three notes again. ‘Prepare to advance!’ Arrian called, his voice cracking. He coughed and spat. ‘Archers, three shots if you please.’ The men in the fourth rank flexed their arms, then lifted their bows and reached for an arrow. ‘In your own time!’ The men nocked. ‘Loose!’ Almost all the archers released at the same moment, so that hundreds of arrows flew into the air at the same time with a sound like a strong wind whipping through a field of wheat. The cheering stuttered, men looking up. Already the second arrows were following the first as men shot at their own pace. Most had sent the third before the first volley struck. It was not aimed, other than to guess range, but some of the skirmishers panicked and ran in any direction. Dodging one missile at a time was easy for an alert, moderately agile man, as long as he kept his head. The cloud of arrows was a shock, and some found a mark. Arrian saw a man who happened to raise his empty right hand and took an arrow through the palm, then gaped at it, more baffled than anything else, until another shot drove into his eye. Perhaps half a dozen fell, with more nicked and able to hobble away.

‘Forward!’ Arrian shouted. A good few of the legionaries in the front rank had sat down during the long wait and were eager to do something.

‘Stay in line!’ a centurion shouted. ‘Keep formation!’ The advance was a little ragged after spending so long as observers. ‘Straighten the ranks! Watch your dressing there!’

Stunned by the arrows, the Nicopolitans were silent, each man wondering what to do. An arrow went through the centurion’s mouth just as he opened it to shout again. He made a choking sound, his shield clattered as it fell and he sank to his knees. The line wobbled and bent as men stepped around him.

‘Leave him! The optio yelled, barging his way through to the front rank.

Suddenly, sooner than Crispinus would have liked, trumpets sounded and turmae of ala III Thracum raced around the flanks of the line, eager to ride down the scattered and wavering enemy. Ferox saw one tall decurion riding a big black horse leading the men to the left.

The Nicopolitans broke, dashing back to the ditch because on the bridge the pikemen who had been resting for so long, once again took formation and lowered their sarissae.

‘Come on!’ a legionary yelled and ran ahead of the men on either side. They hesitated for only a moment before surging after him and then the entire centuria was haring after the fleeing enemy. The rest of the line followed, leaving some of the archers and all the scorpiones behind. Formations fell apart as one crowd chased another looser crowd.

‘Form up, lads!’ Ferox shouted at his tired Brigantes. Most obeyed, although a few had gone off with the soldiers. Others were back looking for food or helping the wounded. He reckoned he had some forty still with him. ‘You too, lads,’ he said to the legionaries with the hand-held ballistae. ‘All of you, come with me.’