They pushed on, letting the ponies go when they reached the stream, for the tents were beyond it and it would look odd if horses were loose among them. A man saw them as they splashed through the water, and raised a hand to wave. The camp seemed almost unnaturally still, as if this was a trap and they were walking right into it, and it took an effort to stroll through it all as if they had every right to be there. Weaving past clusters of sleeping men, piled saddles and equipment, and then between a few of the tents, they kept going, for time was pressing and they needed to get to the big tent before the alarm was given. A man stirred in his sleep, stared up at Ferox, smiled vaguely and rolled over, pulling his cloak about him more tightly.

Ferox led, and as he turned the corner of a tent, a man appeared, scratching his bare chest. The centurion punched with the dagger, driving into the warrior’s throat, who gulped noisily as dark blood sprayed onto his chest. Ferox’s hand slipped as he tried to lower the dead man gently to the ground and someone asked a question from within the tent.

‘Go!’ Ferox pointed at the big pavilion just ahead of them. There were two spearmen standing guard outside. ‘Easy though.’

Vindex began to whistle through his teeth, and staggered slightly as he and the others walked towards the men. A Brigantian laughed drunkenly as one of the guards lowered his spear and rather than give a challenge told the men to clear off. There was no need to understand the language to judge his meaning. From inside the tent, the voice called, more urgently now. Ferox ignored it, and crouched, hoping that the tall Brigantes would shield him, as he switched his pugio to his left hand and drew his gladius.

The second challenge was formal. Vindex stopped, raised one hand apologetically, just as a trumpet sounded.

‘Now!’ Ferox shouted as he sprinted forward, pushing through the Brigantes. He had hoped for a little more time, but there was none, and the trumpet sounded again, joined by another, and that meant both of the attacks were coming in, and that at least was good.

One spearman shouted something, sounding confused, but the other had his spear up, and Ferox managed to push it aside with his dagger and thrust the long point of the sword straight at the man’s eyes. The guard retreated, only to trip and fall. Ferox left him to the Brigantes and jumped high over him, pushing through the loose flap of the tent. A woman screamed, but she was the only person in the outer chamber and he kept running, for filmy curtains showed that the main room was beyond and had a large bed.

A big man was in front of him, perhaps one of the Dahae for he had their narrow face, a conical helmet trimmed with fur, and a long, straight blade. Sparks flew as Ferox parried the man’s attack on his own blade, but both weapons survived the impact and did not snap. He thrust with his dagger and hit only the little round shield the man had in his left hand. Another woman screamed, sitting up in bed, her chest naked, and a man was with her, but he simply stared in wide-eyed horror.