The army had made good progress, covering fifteen miles on the first day, helped by the frost-hardened ground and the restless energy of a provincial legate who rode up and down the columns, joking, encouraging and chivvying the men along. Nearly half the force were legionaries, and that was an unusual thing so far north. Marcellus had instructed both II Augusta and XX Valeria Victrix to provide a cohort each, led by their best centurions and reinforced with the fittest and ablest men so that each numbered over six hundred and fifty: VIIII Hispana contributed two cohorts who had spent the last year up on the frontier, but were reduced by sickness and other losses to some six hundred men between them. Marcellus told them to show the other legions what real veterans looked like, then he told the men of II Augusta that they were the emperor’s own, named by the divine Augustus, and must live up to their reputation as the finest legion anywhere, and afterwards he reminded the Victrix that they were ones who had beaten Boudicca all those years ago, and said that he expected them to win more glory in the next weeks.

Flavius Cerialis had three centuries of infantry, the same ones that had gone on the punitive expedition, but, in spite of the losses they had suffered, the rush of volunteers to avenge the attacks on the commander and his wife had boosted their numbers to some two hundred and fifty men – more than their proper compliment. Sulpicia Lepidina and the children had travelled by carriage with them as far as Coria. Ferox had not cared for the idea, but they would probably be safer there than anywhere else for the moment. There had been no chance to speak, but he had glimpsed her several times, because the legate believed it was important for her to be visible as proof of the failure of the attack. The Batavians cheered whenever they saw her, and several times he had only known she was about when he heard the great roar.