Ferox had hoped to shadow the retreat from the hills on one side, looking for an opportunity to watch the two tribunes and see whether there was anything more than folly behind this morning’s rashness, but the two men never left the main group. He and Vindex soon attracted attention from the warriors, several of whom swerved towards them.

‘Better shift,’ the Brigantian said, but Ferox was not really listening.

‘Look familiar?’ he asked, pointing some way to the rear, where an ordered group of warriors came on at a gentle trot. They were half a mile away at least and he shaded his eyes as he strained to see. The leader was a big man with a red shield.

‘Gannascus?’

‘Reckon so.’

‘Be a shame to kill him,’ Vindex said. ‘I liked that big lump.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Does it mean we’re humped?’

Ferox did not answer, but if the high king had come with any great number of his warriors then the odds shifted even more in favour of the enemy. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Nothing more for us to do out here.’

It was a mile back to the rest of the mounted vanguard and the fleeing horsemen crossed the rolling moorland quickly. The head of the main column was already visible, resting for one of the short breaks given every hour. It took longer for Ferox and Vindex to get back, and by that time the provincial legate had issued the order to retreat. The instruction was easier to issue than perform, for the unit commanders were taken by surprise. Once they were convinced that this was truly what they were being told to do, it was simple enough to about face so that each detachment was still in a great rectangle, but now facing back the way they had come. It was harder to turn around the carts and strings of pack ponies and mules and, as always with the baggage train, nothing could be done without much shouting and beating the animals with sticks.

Just before noon the army began its retreat. Ferox rode with the legate, watching as he urged the men onwards. The soldiers were not as willing as they had been even when the weather was bad. To advance was one thing, for it held the prospect of meeting and smashing the enemy, which would bring glory, rest, and hopefully plenty of hot food. No soldier liked to retreat, and what made it worse was the feeling that it was unnecessary.