There was a cheer as the Tungrians charged up the slope towards the old fort, their slingers tagging along with the main column. Its defenders were running like the other warriors, but going out through another entrance and fleeing along the heights.

Crispinus appeared back on top of the crest, beckoning to them.

Up close Ferox saw that the young aristocrat was flushed with excitement and finding it hard to keep still, so that he kept waving his sword and twitching on the reins with his other hand. His horse fidgeted almost as much as his rider. Down in the big valley there were farms burning and strong formations of Roman soldiers advancing. Ahead of them thousands of warriors retreated, most seeking the safety of the heights, and keeping well ahead of their pursuers. There were a couple of dead warriors lying on the grass around them, men who had stumbled as they tried to escape. ‘We need Brocchus and his cavalry!’ Crispinus was shouting in his enthusiasm. ‘If he moves quickly then we will have them.’

The side of the valley was steep, rocky and broken by plenty of little rivulets and gullies. This was the Selgovae’s own land, and the lightly clad unarmoured warriors bounded across it at great speed and were gaining ground quickly. The Batavians were already flagging, weighed down by their armour and equipment, and by that strange feeling of emptiness when a man had geared himself up to fight only to find that there was no battle. Some of the keenest were still running as fast as they could after the fleeing enemy. More were slackening pace and giving up. There was no trace of formation, just a couple of hundred panting men scattered across a hillside.

Ferox was just about to suggest sounding the recall when Cerialis found a cornicen and ordered the man to blow the signal on his trumpet. Crispinus started in surprise, frightening his horse, so that the animal bucked and kicked out violently. The tribune’s face was angry until he mastered himself.

‘Yes, of course. Order is vital,’ he said, more to himself than those around him. The same sapping disappointment mingled with relief began to do its work and his shoulders sagged. He took a deep breath. ‘Ferox. Ride to my Lord Brocchus and tell him to pursue the enemy as well as he is able, but to make sure that he does it in good order and takes no risks.’

The ala Petriana was already climbing towards the saddle, each turma in column one behind the other, so it did not take long to deliver the order.