‘You have to admire brave idiots,’ Vindex said, and then repeated the joke in their own language to his scouts.

‘Why?’ one of them said.

With a low cheer, the horsemen opposite the Romans began to advance to meet them. Two tight groups of fifty or sixty trotted ahead, and as many more galloped forward as a loose swarm. Ferox did not hear the order, but the leading turma split into two lines of horsemen who cantered straight at the oncoming Britons.

‘Neat, very neat.’ The comment came from one of the troopers behind Ferox, and he had to concur. The men leading each line of horsemen suddenly swung away, rode parallel for long enough to throw a javelin and then turned back towards their supports. Each man did the same, so that a stream of missiles struck the leading enemy, dropping several horses and men. By the time the last man in each file had thrown the leader had turned again and swung back towards the Britons to repeat the drill. More warriors were hit, and so far all of the javelins flung back had missed or struck harmlessly against shields.

The next time the turma went forward the Britons galloped away to safety, apart from the two denser knots of men that shook themselves into rough columns and pressed on.

‘Look.’ Vindex was pointing to the enemy right, where the horsemen were also beginning to advance. It would take them a long time to move around behind the Romans, but the threat should persuade the tribune to retreat before too long.

Trumpets sounded, clear across the valley, and then the notes became ragged as Crispinus led the two formed turmae forward into a trot, then a canter, heading straight for the closest mass of enemy. Watching a cavalry battle from a distance always struck Ferox like watching flocks of birds wheeling, diving and circling. When the auxiliaries went into a gallop the Britons started to rush at them, but then slowed and the whole group seemed to quiver. Crispinus was ahead of his men by two horses’ lengths, plume streaming from his helmet, polished armour gleaming, and his sword held high. Before he reached the Britons they scattered like frightened sheep. One was too slow and fell as the tribune came past and slashed across his body. Another was hit in the back by a thrown spear, but the rest got away.