Moving gave force to a thrown spear, but these men had all trained to throw from the halt as well and the slope was in their favour. Eleven broad-shafted spears spun through the air, leaf-shaped heads glinting. One lucky throw hit a charging warrior squarely in the chest and burst out through the man’s back, flinging him over. Two more warriors were hit and the rest ran back a short way.

‘Back! Back!’ Ferox yelled. The Tungrians needed no urging and turned and fled, equipment banging as they jogged up the slope, barging into each other. Ferox followed. There were fresh shouts of triumph from the Selgovae and the trumpets blared again.

‘Keep going!’ The Tungrians spilled over the crest and Ferox saw that the other half-century was waiting there, with the legionaries formed up alongside them. Rufus was in front, his white crest standing out, his sword raised high. That was not the order he had given, but perhaps the man was right to reinforce this first surprise for the enemy. Ferox glanced back over his shoulder, saw a sea of tribesmen rushing up the hill, the nearest no more than twenty paces behind. He felt the draught as a javelin hissed through the air just beside him, then was running down the far side of the crest and safe for at least a few moments.

‘Form up there! Form up down the slope!’ he yelled at the Tungrians, trying to make sure that they remembered his orders. Each group was to do a bound of one hundred paces and then turn about to face the enemy and protect the other units as they went back. He was about to join the covering party when Rufus grinned and gestured with his sword down the hillside.

‘We’ll be fine!’ he called. ‘You’re needed there.’

Ferox smiled back and kept going, his back slick with sweat from the weight of his armour and from all this running.

‘Halt!’ he yelled at the Tungrians. ‘About turn!’ The auxiliaries obeyed, even though they did not know him. For the moment it was working, but it would not take much for panic to break out and then there would just be a stream of fugitives running down the valley side, and the slow, the weak, the clumsy and the unlucky would die. Perhaps none of them would get away, for he still saw no sign of supports coming to aid them. He wondered whether Vindex had found someone senior yet, and whether they would have the sense to take the word of a Briton even though he was one of their scouts.