Late in the day they realised that they were being followed. There was a lone rider on a shaggy pony, tailing them about half a mile behind. He was bareheaded and wore a drab cloak, but did not come close enough to be seen properly. They changed horses and cantered, flying over the spongy turf, and their lead grew.

‘He might just have been going our way,’ Vindex suggested when they slowed. Frost and Snow were panting, a foam of sweat making them look even whiter than usual.

‘He might.’

An hour before sunset five horsemen appeared on the crest of a hill ahead of them and to the right.

‘Must have had friends,’ Vindex said. Their mounts were too tired to try to outrun them, so they veered a little to the left and pressed on. The riders kept their distance, watching them.

‘Waiting for darkness,’ the Brigantian suggested.

‘That is what I would do.’

It was another clear night, frost adding to the silver light of star and moon. They lit a fire, and tethered the horses to some low birch trees. For a while they talked, knowing that the sound would carry a long way. There was not a farm or village in sight, for this was one of the barren patches used mainly as summer pasture and it was not where anyone chose to live.

As Vindex moved around and stood warming his hands on the fire, Ferox slipped away into the night. He left his mail behind, but kept sword and dagger because he was sure that there was killing to be done. With his face smeared with mud and the heavy hooded cloak around him, he should not be easy to see even on so bright a night. He went away from the camp for some distance, before looping around. They had chosen a site overlooked by a craggy hill because he reckoned that no attacker would ignore such a well-sheltered approach. Slowly and carefully, stopping again and again to lie still, watch and listen, he made his way to a steep-banked little gully on the far side of the hill. At the bottom was a brook, bloated with rain and running along noisily. All the while he could hear Vindex humming. ‘I see a sweet country; I’ll rest my weapon there.’ The tune had become a great favourite with the Brigantian.