‘So the cavalry got beaten?’ Ferox heard a legionary of VIIII Hispana complain as soon as the governor was out of earshot. ‘So what? Cavalry, I’ve shit ’em.’ One of his comrades nudged him to warn him that an officer was listening, but the man was unimpressed by a centurion he did not recognise. ‘Let’s push on. We’ll soon cut this daft druid down. See how brave he is when he sees his mentula on the end of a sword.’

‘Hope it’s bigger that yours or we’ll never find it!’ another man shouted.

‘They’re not happy.’ Flaccus had appeared beside him. He looked flushed, but otherwise unscathed.

‘Soldiers never are, sir,’ he said. ‘Or at least they’re never happy unless they’re bitching about something.’

‘They do not like to run away.’ The junior tribune’s horse stirred and he made this an excuse to lean against its neck and pat the beast. Ferox could see that he was embarrassed by that morning’s rout. ‘It was not my fault,’ he began, and the centurion let him talk at his own pace. After all, there was no reason for him to explain himself to a mere centurion. ‘It all happened so quickly. We were ready to charge in support, the Tribune Crispinus and his men were coming back towards us, and then suddenly a voice shouted out, “Retreat! Retreat!” The men were turning before I could say anything.’

The legionaries had marched on and there was a gap before the next cohort would come alongside them. Flaccus fussed with his horse, avoiding the centurion’s gaze. His voice was low. ‘I may be mistaken, but I believe it was Crispinus who shouted. I fear that he panicked.’

A summoning call from the legate forced Ferox to canter away, but he sensed that the tribune had said what he wanted to say. The man had done his best to look embarrassed, but could not hide his delight in the failure of a superior.

Ferox saw them before he caught up with the governor – little clusters of horsemen over to the right. The valley was wide here, and the warriors almost a mile away, so that he could just tell that the bigger group that appeared a moment later were on foot.

Marcellus gave him a curt nod. ‘It seems that you were right. They are following like hounds on a scent. It does not look as if they fear us, so we must make sure that they keep believing we fear them.’