‘We go now.’ Ferox patted Masclus on the shoulder. ‘Straight at them and hope they break. Flaccus will follow if we win and cover us if we don’t.’ He hoped that was true, but there was no time to make sure, otherwise the warriors facing them might get some of their confidence back.

Ferox drew his sword and hefted the flat round shield he had borrowed from one of Vindex’s men. ‘Right, boys. We’re going straight at those mongrels and we’re not stopping. Advance at the walk!’

His horse responded readily, and he had to restrain her from rushing with a gentle tug on the reins. To the left II Augusta were still fighting and so far no one had given ground. The noise was slackening as men grew tired.

‘Trot!’ Ferox wished that he had a trumpeter to repeat each order, but none had been allocated to the exploratores.

The waiting Britons were close now, huddled together so tightly that they looked like a wall. They must have used up all their missiles against Masclus’ skirmishers because nothing was flung at Ferox and the others as they approached, by now no more than thirty paces away. Neither were the warriors shouting, and that was a mistake, because horses did not like too much noise even when they were trained to battle.

‘Charge!’ Ferox yelled and was pleased when a trumpet sounded from one of the Batavian turmae. The snow was still falling and flakes struck his face as the horse leaped forward, at last free from restraint. The auxiliaries yelled and from behind he could hear the high-pitched yip-yip-yip war cry of the Carvetii as Vindex and his men followed. He heard the heavy feet of the horses pounding on the springy turf as they closed those last few yards. The enemy were still quiet, crouching, waiting, and it could all go wrong at this moment because if the warriors held their ground then no horse would ride into what seemed like a solid block. The horses would stop short, a length or more away, the riders almost bobbing in the saddle as they tried to kick the beasts on.