‘Daci,’ Ferox had said when Sabinus managed to ask about the man who had lost his eye. The head was bearded and had shaggy, but quite short fair hair. ‘Getae,’ Ferox had told him, lifting another with longer hair and a network of tiny dots tattooed on his forehead. ‘Probably Piephigi as they are face painters.’

‘What about him?’ Sabinus asked. The third head was older, thickly bearded and with long black hair.

Ferox shrugged. ‘One of ours, once. Who knows? Maybe a Gaul or a German. Probably had a Dacian wife and children by now, and his own few fields to till.’

‘Poor fellow.’

‘Depends on your point of view,’ Ferox said. ‘But these were no bandits or even the warriors of a local chief – they were king’s men and that can only mean trouble for us.’

‘What about the tribune?’

‘What indeed? We could not catch him even if we wanted.’

They saw no enemy for the first few hours, until Vindex and another of the Carvetii who had been riding as rearguard came up to join them.

‘I’ve seen them,’ Ferox said. ‘Three horsemen, sometimes a mile back, sometimes a little further.’

‘Shall we scrag ’em?’

‘Wouldn’t get close in the open. No, they’re showing themselves to us.’

‘Why?’ Sabinus asked. ‘Up to now they have been careful.’

‘They want us to believe that they are not afraid of us,’ Ferox spoke loudly.

‘And they are?’ Vindex sounded dubious.

‘Of course, we are Brigantes. If they do not fear that name now then they soon will,’ Ferox said and hoped that he could make it come true.

That had been six days ago and ever since then he had worked them even harder than before. More obstacles were dug in front of the ditches, and under Ephippus’ supervision they added to the ramparts and towers, mounting as many more ballistae as could be made to work, and protecting the positions around them. A high timber wall was made in front of the monâkon, so that it could lob missiles over, but would be hard for the enemy to hit. Ephippus experimented, painting markers to allow the engine to shoot without seeing the target as long as someone called orders down from the tower.

The fort was stronger that it had been, and with more men to defend the long walls they had a better chance of holding on for a while. Yet unless Hadrian or someone else sent a big column, marching hard and quickly as soon as news reached the Danube of any attack, then it would not matter in the long run.

Desertions, which had sunk to a trickle since Enica arrived, died away altogether in the days after they came back from escorting the tribune.

‘They like the tits on the flag,’ Vindex claimed. ‘And on the…’ He gave a big and obvious wink. ‘Never mind.’

Ferox had to admit that through magic or charm the queen had changed the spirit of the Brigantes and even the other soldiers. Bran and Minura were her shadows, following her everywhere, their swords ready, and that gave him comfort. They both stood, with helmets and armour of polished scales, at the parade to wreath the standards. Claudia Enica for once was not armed, but while she wore the dress of a fine Roman lady she had her long hair unbound and falling around her shoulders. Ferox had to admit that it suited her. Seeing him staring at the vexillum with its bare-breasted goddess, she had for a moment glared in feigned disapproval.