The Batavian infantry formed up in four ranks, the three centuries abreast with only a slight gap between them. That gave a frontage of fifty men, with the vexillum carried proudly in the centre of the formation, their green shields uncovered because they were to fight. Cerialis put the cavalry on the right in a block eight men wide and eight deep. Covering their flank, Titus Annius placed his Tungrians with their yellow shields, one century behind the other, each drawn up in six ranks, apart from twenty men who carried leather slings as well as their normal weapons who formed a thin line of skirmishers.

A bowshot behind the front line the Vardulli were stationed in a dense column, with the turmae of ala Petriana to their rear.

‘Some archers really would be nice,’ Crispinus said to Aelius Brocchus, as the prefect arrived to inform him that everyone was ready. ‘Soften them up a bit before we go in.’

‘Yes, and some scorpions.’ Light bolt-shooters or scorpiones were often taken by the legions on campaign and had the ability to pick off enemies at a range far beyond a sling or bow, but auxiliaries were rarely given them in the field.

‘Ah well, no use lamenting what we do not have. We shall just have to do it at close quarters.’ Crispinus was deliberately ignoring Flaccus, who kept making hints that time was passing. It had taken a good half-hour to get the units into position. Men had taken last gulps of posca, or something stronger if they had it, as the clouds blew away and a bright sun beamed down on them. Now, stripped down to their fighting gear, they carried no canteens, although some of the galearii were posted behind each formation with waterskins.

‘With your permission, sir,’ Ferox asked. Seeing the nod, he waved to Vindex who raised aloft a long spear topped with the head of the priest. The pair of them cantered up behind the Batavians and then walked their horses along in front of the Roman line, giving the tribesmen a good look.

There was a roar from up the slope, turning into shouts of anger and promises of vengeance. The warriors jeered and taunted, although he was not sure whether anyone recognised the man or they simply guessed that he was one of their own. When they came in front of the fort, Vindex dipped the spear and Ferox pulled the head free. He waved it around up in the air and then flung it forward. Warriors howled at him from the fort, and he heard them assure him that soon his own head would roll in the grass and get pissed on by their women.

‘Time to go,’ he told Vindex. ‘You had better join the scouts with the rearguard.’

‘And miss the fun?’