A great shout went up from the enemy line and trumpets blared.

‘Must have upset ’em.’ Vindex had to shout the words.

The enemy surged forward a good hundred paces, before their spirit sagged and they slowed and then stopped. Chariots and a few horsemen went closer, the warriors screaming abuse at the Roman line, but the soldiers remained silent. It was never easy to make men charge at a waiting enemy, and Ferox had seen plenty of battles that started as gradually as this. The bands of Britons started chanting again and the trumpets still sounded, the deeper note of cow horns alongside the harsh blare of carnyxes.

Flaccus was in command of the cavalry on the Roman right, and ordered the exploratores to form up next to the cohort of II Augusta. Ferox had half his men, including all the Brigantes, back as a second line fifty paces behind the first. On his right, the decurion Masclus had two turmae of Batavians from cohors VIIII, supported by another from cohors III Batavorum in reserve. The legionary horsemen were in a third line.

For the moment most of the enemy were content to hurl defiance at the Romans. A few horsemen cantered closer to them, well within long bowshot, but for the moment the legate ordered all his men including the archers to wait. He wanted the enemy confident, wanted them to come on.

Opposite Ferox and the cavalry on the right wing were a few chariots, and some of them began to come forward as well. One, its car painted a bright green, rushed ahead of the rest, heading for the Romans, before it swerved and ran along in front of the massed warriors. The driver was small and hunched as he worked his team of a grey and a black – a combination Ferox’s people always said was unlucky. He hoped they were right, for the warrior in the back was tall and stark naked apart from a torc at his throat. His skin was covered in tattoos and he waved a stag’s head, complete with antlers, in his hand. It was the Stallion, and Ferox wished that there was time to pass the word so that one of the scorpiones could drive a bolt through the man while he was in range. The chariot drove on, sending up a spray of mud as the wheels hit a puddle, but none of the engines or archers shot and the priest drove past unscathed and was soon out of range. His followers shouted even louder, and they broke ranks and flooded forward another hundred paces before staggering to a halt again.