‘Sound the charge!’ he shouted at the cornicen. ‘Now!’ The man was standing next to the dense column of Tungrians, with the signifer carrying the vexillum. Both had bearskins over their helmets, the paws crossed and pinned into place on their chests. The cornicen licked his lips and played the three rising notes of the charge, the last one drawn out.

‘Go!’ Ferox yelled.

‘Charge!’ That was the optio at the head of the century. The Tungrians guarding the gate dashed forward and down the slope towards the Selgovae. The warriors skirmishing scampered away, not sure how far the Romans were going. Behind the optio and his men, the main column jogged out of the gate, shields and equipment thumping, and then wheeled to head up to the saddle. Ferox panted as he ran to catch up, for he needed to be there if he was to make this work. Behind the Tungrians came the wounded and the legionaries’ mules, with Rufus and his fourteen men and Gambax’s party at the rear.

The Selgovae were chanting war cries, blowing their tall trumpets, the noise growing louder all the time, but were still unsure what was happening. It would not last. The optio halted his men. Ferox was near the top of the pass and yelled at the Tungrians to split into two halves. The front of the column kept going, vanishing over the crest, while the others turned about as the wounded were carried or limped past them.

Ferox stopped on the crest beside the waiting auxiliaries. He looked down into the valley and saw the front half of the column going rapidly downhill. For a moment he worried that they were panicking and had forgotten their orders, but then they halted and faced about. A bigger worry was that there was no sign of any troops from the main force coming back for them. For over a mile the valley side was empty. Back nearer the fort there was only flames and masses of dense smoke, which should at least make it harder for the Selgovae to follow them that way. A great howl of rage and excitement surged up as the tribesmen realised that their enemy was not only in the open but running.

Rufus and the rearguard struggled up to the crest, the legionaries burdened with their bulky red shields, the Tungrians loping up the slope with more ease. ‘Stop fifty paces down the slope,’ Ferox told him, pointing down towards the main valley.