The vanguard cohort pulled up and the order was swiftly conveyed down the column. Each century stopped marching and the wagons grumbled to a standstill, then nothing moved on the track. The legate was already assessing the surrounding landscape, and fixed his gaze on the small hillock to their right. He had already decided that the column’s best chance of survival was a static defence. If they tried to continue they would be worn down and cut to pieces long before they came in sight of the rest of the legion. If they could inflict enough damage on their enemies they might just demoralise them enough to withdraw so that the column might still reach the legion’s fortified camp . . . Fat chance of that happening, he mused.

Vespasian drew a breath before he gave the order that would commit him and his men to action.

‘Column . . . deploy to the right!’

‘Sir?’ Quintillus urged his horse alongside Vespasian’s. ‘What are you doing?’

‘We’re making a stand, Tribune. What else can we do?’

‘Making a stand?’ Quintillus raised his finely plucked brows. ‘That’s madness. They’ll kill us all.’

‘Very likely.’

‘But, sir! There must be something else we can do . . . Anything?’

‘What do you suggest? You can’t ride for help this time, Quintillus. Not unless you want to chance your arm with that lot ahead of us and make a break for it.’

The tribune blushed at the barely concealed charge of cowardice, and shook his head slowly. ‘I’m staying.’

‘Good man. Now make yourself useful. Ride to the top of that hill and keep watch for Caratacus. Also . . .’ Vespasian wondered how far he should trust to luck after the fates had led him into this trap. ‘Also, keep an eye out for that other force the scouts reported. They might be ours.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Quintillus turned his horse up the slope and galloped towards the brow of the hill.

The First Cohort, twice the size of the legion’s other cohorts, was marching past Vespasian, following the colour party up the grassy slope. Behind them the rest of the column rippled forward. Century by century they moved along the track until they reached the legate’s position, and then turned abruptly to their right. Vespasian was watching Caratacus’s blocking force for any sign of movement, but the enemy was content simply to deny the Romans passage along the vale, and sat on their chariots and horses watching the Romans climb up the hill. A more enterprising commander, Vespasian reflected, would have tried to occupy the hill ahead of the Romans, but the Britons’ lack of self-control was a defining feature of the way they waged war, and the British commander was probably wise to have his men stand their ground.