Three great volleys, each of more than two hundred pila, hummed as they flew through the air and then slammed into the charging Britons and it was as if they were hit by a gale blowing hard off the sea. Their small shields were little protection and men were flung back as the heavy missiles drove deep into their flesh. Ferox saw one warrior manage to catch a pilum on his shield, and watched the man stagger as the point burst through the wood, pierced his arm and stuck out for a good six inches. Then a second heavy javelin hit him in the side of the head, sticking fast even when he was pitched on to the ground.

The Britons’ wild charge had broken open their formation, and plenty of the missiles missed the mark and stuck into the grass, but dozens of men were dead, scores crippled, others wounded and all stunned. The chanting had stopped and there was no noise apart from screams of pain and moans of suffering. The charge had been broken, and the Britons reeled as they tried to recover their balance. In the centre the two Batavian cohorts had gone from a gentle jog into a flat run and hit the wavering enemy, punching with the bosses of their shields and stabbing at their opponents.

‘Swords!’ The legionaries of II Augusta reached down with their right hands, grabbed the hilts of their short swords and pushed down, sliding the blades free of their scabbards.

‘Follow me!’ The centurion started to run. ‘Charge!’ The order turned into a yell of rage and the legionaries joined in, so that they roared at the enemy as they went forward.

The Britons did not run. Many men, staggered by the volleys of pila and then faced by a rush of metal-clad, screaming soldiers, would have broken and fled. The boldest were down, for none of the men at the front remained on their feet, but the others were either too stunned or too stubborn to give way. They bunched together, a rough line forming quickly, and men raised their weapons. A few of them flung javelins and one of the legionaries was hit in the face and fell in a clatter of armour and equipment. The Romans ran at the enemy, but when they realised that the Britons were standing and waiting the legionaries slowed. Only a fool or a man too drunk to care rushed full tilt into an opposing battle line, for that was a good way to fall and a man on the ground was finished in this sort of fight. The Romans jogged into contact, although even this produced a crash like falling masonry as shield thumped into shield and blade met blade.