Ferox envied the animals their stamina and their lack of care, when he just wanted to lie down for a hundred years. His head throbbed, his belly churned and he could not rid his mouth of the taste of vomit. He worried that he might throw up again, as he had when they started to trot for the first time. He had not fallen off, but when he had tried to mount up back at Syracuse he had not been able to make his limbs work. Ferox had grabbed the horns on his saddle, ready to jump up, but could not. Instead he had just stood there, staring dumbly as the gelding turned its head and stared back. His legs had felt like lead – heavy, ready to bend or crack as soon as he put weight on them. He had bounced slightly, unable to do more. It was a sign of how bad he felt that the snort of laughter from one of his men and the contemptuous sniffs of the Brigantes had not cut deeper. They had to help him on, one of the soldiers cupping his hands and bracing them against his knee so that Ferox could step on it, while another man lifted and shoved him from behind.

Vindex was already on his own horse and had looked at him with a pity in his eyes that cut deeper than the laughter and contempt. Then his bony face became hard.

‘She is gone,’ the Brigantian had whispered. ‘She’s not coming back.’

It was like being thrust into the cold and dirty water of the horse trough again, and for a moment the old pain burned bright and fierce. Ferox hated the scout, hated himself for what he had become, hated the whole world and the gods who had brought him to this place and the great emptiness inside him. Rage and pain filled him with strength.

‘Let’s go,’ he had said, and urged the gelding towards the gate. Once he was outside the ramparts he had given a gentle nudge and the animal willingly trotted – the whole move only spoiled when the nausea took over and he vomited. It left him empty and weak once again as he led the straggling column south. Vindex had left the trail of the men who had killed the old man to come to Syracuse, and rather than retrace his path they hoped to find it again further on. It was a gamble, but time was precious. The scouts had lost half the night coming to fetch him, and it had taken a good half-hour before they were ready to leave the outpost.