Ferox looked around for a horse, knowing that he must chase and finish the priest off while they had the chance. He saw one, the same one he had ridden to join the cohort, and it was standing amid the corpses, cropping at a tussock of grass.

Ferox tried to run and could not. He walked a few steps, but could not keep in a straight line. His eyes were heavy, wanting to close. He lurched a few more paces until the darkness came and he fell.

XXX

THE TRAIL WAS faint, sometimes vanishing among so many other tracks of men fleeing from the defeated army, but the direction was clear and each time they lost it, Ferox was able to pick it up again. On the first day he suspected their purpose. By the second day he was sure. He had been unconscious for only a short time, before waking with a fierce headache. The medicus ordinarius, the doctor in charge of all the medical orderlies, had given him something to drink and he had slept through the night, until the legate’s men roused him before dawn.

Neratius Marcellus was pleased with his victory, and was sensible enough to know how close they had come to disaster, and shrewd enough to write a report that would show how everything had gone to plan. They were saved by the high king, and the other princes and chieftains who had sent men to answer the Stallion’s call to arms even though they did not go in person. All of those contingents were with the northern force, and they had not hurried to join the battle, but let the Stallion and his main force win or lose on their own. Even when they came in sight of the fighting, they had tarried, and their influence made many other warriors cautious. Only the most fervent, led by the tattooed fanatics, had pressed on in spite of this. Perhaps twelve or fifteen hundred Britons had attacked the improvised Roman line, and VIIII Hispana and the others in that hasty line facing north had fought these to a standstill and were starting to drive them back when the panic spread from the rest of the army and they broke. Tincommius’ men and the other real warriors had watched from a distance.

‘Our embassy to Tincommius has borne splendid fruit,’ Crispinus told Ferox as they rode out on the morning after the battle. ‘The high king proved true to his pledges.’