The Romans waited. Ferox could see the men of II Augusta as they stood in formation, shields on the ground resting against their legs, and pila held upright, butts on the ground. They had left their cloaks with the baggage, and even with breeches, tunics and padded jerkins he knew that they would be cold, for no armour, not even the banded cuirass that only legionaries wore, was ever any good at keeping out the cold. He did not know these men, for this cohort had not served in the punitive expedition, but their faces looked familiar, like so many other soldiers he had known. Today those faces were taut, for no one liked waiting, and all of them could count. He wondered how many had never fought in a battle before, and guessed that that was most of them, even among the few older faces creased by weather and suffering. One man had taken off his helmet to adjust the woollen hat he wore underneath. He had a thick beard, the dark brown mottled with grey. An optio pacing up and down behind the line bellowed at him for being improperly dressed, and the soldier glanced at him and hesitated just long enough to make a point and not quite long enough for it to be insubordination before he put his helmet back on and retied the cheek pieces.

The Britons had stopped again, no more than two hundred paces away. Ferox saw much shouting and jostling as they were pushed back into an ordered rank. Here and there were groups of true warriors, as obvious from the way they stood and their bearing as their better equipment. These men had oval shields, a spear and often a javelin or two, all backed by a sword. Quite a few had helmets and some even armour. Yet most of the front rank was made up of simply dressed men carrying every sort of weapon – proper spears and sharpened sticks, axes, hammers or long knives, with just a few swords. They were the sort of men usually found at the back of a warband when an entire tribe went to battle, and they came because their chieftains demanded it, but they were of little account. Today they looked different, filled with the passion of their leader and all his hatred for Rome.

Ferox walked his horse a few lengths ahead of his men so that he could see better and looked to the north.