‘Here!’ Bran called. He had Ferox’s mare by the reins, and the centurion ran alongside and jumped into the saddle. That was one technique even the Romans had sense enough to practise and easy enough with a small pony like this.

‘Come on!’ Ferox called. His men were not in ranks, for this was not that sort of a fight, and went as a swarm, almost like geese flying, with Bran just behind and the others spreading back on either side as soon he was at the head. He took them towards the wood. Bran gave him a questioning look, but there was not time to explain that the trees would shield them from the band of archers he knew was surging out of the front of the wood. Others were bound to see them, but not in time to send a warning.

One of the auxiliaries was down, horse and rider both peppered with arrows. His comrade and the rest rode back, turning in the saddle so that they could hold a shield to cover the horse’s back and be ready to throw a lancea if they got a chance. Steering the horses with knees and seat and with reins looped over their arm, they fled, for the enemy had numbers as they charged, shooting ahead. A horse was hit in the rump, for the shield could not give full protection, and the beast staggered, the rider almost falling, before it lurched back into a canter and kept going. Ahead, a cornu was blowing, some of the infantry were forming up in a dense block, while a couple of smaller carts clattered off from the main column, drivers whipping their mules.

Ferox led his men around the wood, for going through would take too long. Apart from Bran he had thirty-four men. Vindex had about forty, and he hoped they would be getting ready behind them, using the far side of the ridge to keep out of sight. Coming round the trees, Ferox saw the first of the enemy, a fellow riding a sand-coloured pony with dark legs, and wearing a fur cap and drab tunic and trousers. His bow was in his hand and an arrow ready, but it tended to be the less enthusiastic who hung back and made noise and a great show of eagerness without taking too many risks. The rider had not seen them, but that could not last.

The Roman screen was back, galloping behind the block of infantry for shelter, but the foot soldiers had spears rather than bows and the horse archers rushed towards them. Arrows rattled against the large oval shields as the auxiliaries clustered together. The two mule-drawn carts slewed to a halt and men yanked the covers off the carroballistae in them.

Ferox could see the rest of the horse archers now, some sixty or seventy in a swarm. The one in the drab clothes heard the noise, glanced back over his shoulder and his jaw dropped.

‘Charge!’ Ferox screamed and kicked his pony on. The Brigantes whooped as they followed.