‘Rally on me!’ Ferox shouted at the top of his voice. It was a big mistake to chase horsemen like this too far, because once they felt safer they were apt to turn around, especially as there was the other band close by.

Ox-horn trumpets blared, the tone more rasping than any army trumpet, and he hoped that meant Vindex was playing his part. Ferox searched behind him, and saw a puff of dust on a ridge that must be behind the other band of archers. A few of the Brigantes appeared. Hopefully more would bob up at other points, enough to make the enemy fear that there were several bands of riders out hunting them. Again it was the sort of trick the peoples of the Steppes would see through, but might work here.

‘Rally!’ he called. An auxiliary tubicen began to blow the recall signal and, with some reluctance, troopers and his own men slowed, then stopped. He could hear the closest Brigantes chattering in excitement.

‘Get one?’

‘Nah, bastards were too quick.’

‘Must have smelled you coming.’

‘This one won’t be smelling much,’ another said. He was on foot, holding up a head he had just taken from one of the corpses. Ferox sometimes wondered what it would take to stop Brigantes from talking.

Three of the horse archers were dead, with four or five more bleeding out their lifeblood on the grass. Two of the prisoners were hurt, but would live, and a third – the man whose horse had been shot by the carroballista – had broken his nose in the fall without taking any more serious injury. At least a couple of the ones who had escaped were wounded, perhaps badly. None of the Brigantes were hurt, although a couple of horses had taken arrow wounds.

‘It was well done,’ Bran decided.

‘We’ll see,’ Ferox told him. ‘They might come back.’

They did not, or at least did not again press close. Vindex and his men made several appearances, always pulling out of sight before the enemy dared to investigate, and brought all his men back to the main column after a couple of hours.

‘Hot work,’ he said.

‘Is that all of you? Exoratus asked, running his eyes along the little band of Brigantes. He had been drinking from a skin and handed it over to Vindex. He and all his men were covered in dust so pale that it almost looked like flour.

‘Every single one,’ Vindex said, before taking a long swig from the wineskin. ‘Ah, that’s good.’

The convoy kept going, the oxen trudging along as they always did, until the drivers declared that they could go no further today just as they always did. Exoratus ordered his men to camp for the night. The enemy had shadowed them, keeping well outside bow range, presumably guessing that the carroballistae could shoot much further. Just before sunset, two hundred men from the ala III Thracum arrived to escort them on the last, short stage of the journey in the morning.