The mare jerked into a canter, stumbled, recovered and found new strength to go faster. The Britons were close, and among them were corpses, the snow settling quicker on them than it did on the damp ground so that they looked like little white mounds. Some of the Britons stood back to back, weapons ready, but Ferox ignored them and rode into the spaces where men fled from their path. The back of a warband was where the cautious and timid lurked, so there were few bold spirits and many more without the sense to realise that running was the most dangerous thing they could do. Ferox cut a man down and made for the next one, only to see the Briton fling himself flat so that he could not reach him. He hoped that someone behind him had a spear to finish the rogue off, but there was no time to worry and it was better to keep moving.

The Romans drove into the loose crowd of warriors, stabbing and hacking, pressing on wherever there was a space or one opened up ahead of them. They wounded and killed, but there was not the same surprise and momentum as the first charge and more of the enemy fought back. A Batavian took one man in the throat with his heavy spear, while another reeled back when his horse bit the warrior’s face, leaving it a bloody ruin. Another Briton drove a sharpened stake into the animal’s belly, and it screamed as it fell, throwing its rider who hit the ground hard and was hacked to pieces in moments.

Ferox pushed on, lunging to pierce a man’s skull just where he bore the tattoo of the horse, but another man, more of a warrior this time, was on his left, and two great blows shattered the centurion’s shield and left it weak and broken. He was about to turn and face him when another wild-eyed, tattooed man charged at him, his open mouth frothing, and it took all Ferox’s strength to block the furious blow of an axe held two-handed.

Vindex saved him. The Brigantian came up from nowhere, and there were sparks and a sharp ring as his long sword met the warrior’s blade and both came to a juddering halt. Ferox parried another wild sweep from the axeman, and had time to flick his blade up and jab into the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound, but the tattooed man used his last strength to raise the axe again, slicing its blade across the shoulder of the centurion’s horse.

Ferox turned to see Vindex beating the warrior down, wounding him on the shoulder so that the strength left his sword arm and then hacking again and again at the man’s head. When he had finished the blade of his sword had even more notches and was bent back at a weird angle.