‘Before I do this, I must ask whether the king died well.’

‘He did,’ Ferox shouted. ‘Aviragus fought like a prince and a man, and it was a fair fight for he had more warriors on his side than we did.’

‘So be it.’ Ivonercus drew blood and joined it to the centurion’s cut. ‘The old oath is no more, and a new one binds us to you and you to us. It is done.’

Drenched to the skin, the three men stood, arms pressed together until the two Brigantes, as if on a signal, stepped back.

‘Remember this, Roman or Silure or whatever you call yourself. This is a bond of warriors, a pledge always to fight at the other’s side whatever the cost.’

‘I understand.’

‘Then we should go,’ Ivonercus said. ‘If we run across Dacians I shall talk. If they are Romans, then it is up to you.’

‘Fine,’ Ferox agreed. ‘But one last time I beg you to stay here and wait for me. There is no need for you to take this risk, so I beg you as brothers to wait. If the Romans come this way and you have not heard from me then ride to them and tell your story if you wish, but let me try on my own first.’

Vepoc put his hand on Ferox’s shoulder. ‘We will come with you, whatever you say.’

‘The Brigantes are a stubborn people.’

‘And the Silures rarely give their word, but when they do, they keep it, is that not so?’ Vepoc said.

It was strange to hear the same proverb twice within a few days.

‘Then if we fall, it will not be your fault,’ Ivonercus told him. ‘Nor will we live and wonder whether we might have saved you had we not stayed behind.’

‘We’re coming, brother, whether you like it or not,’ Vepoc said, and his tone reminded Ferox of Vindex and made him wonder once again whether the scout and all the others were still alive.

‘Let’s go then,’ Ferox said.

The fort at Piroboridava

The next day a little before noon

THE STORM left the air far clearer, and during the morning the clouds fled to leave a sky that was a brilliant deep blue and a sun that blazed down. Brasus sensed that the end was close and felt nothing, neither joy nor fear. Diegis was beaten, the army shattered in spirit and with a quarter of its warriors dead, captured or left on the field wounded and at the enemy’s mercy. The commander had ridden hard in flight, reaching the bridge many hours before the other fugitives, accompanied by only a few dozen warriors as escort. His temper was poor, as he roundly blamed everyone but himself for the disaster and bawled at Brasus for not yet having overrun the entire fort as he had been told.

‘You had five hundred men and a simple task to complete and you have failed,’ Diegis had almost screamed the words at him. Brasus sat cross-legged on the ground while the commander had a stool. He wondered whether the king would chide the defeated commander as bluntly. Diegis had lost battles before, if never one as big and important. Afterwards he also wondered whether he should have argued and whether that might have made a difference. He doubted it. Diegis was lashing out, giving way to rage and bitterness without regard to the truth in a way that was shameful for a man supposed to be one of the pure and honoured as such. Brasus listened in silence, disgusted by the whole display, even when Diegis took this as insolence and threatened to have him flogged.