Ferox laughed like a madman, revelling in the warrior’s death.
‘Come on, you mongrels!’ If he was about to journey to the Otherworld then he would not go alone.
Again the horns called, and this time Roman trumpets answered, blaring out their own challenge.
Ferox let the body fall and swept the aquila at his enemies. They stepped back, so he turned the standard around again and went for them. He no longer felt tired and the pain did not seem to matter. With all his strength he carved the air, the bird pounding against the warriors’ shields, and still they gave way.
‘Bastards! Fight me!’ he begged, but the men took another step back.
Someone was shouting, their voice clear and high. Ferox ignored them. He swung the eagle again, sweeping it higher than before, and was rewarded because one of the warriors had turned to look behind him, so the bird slammed into his head and knocked him to the ground.
‘Stop!’ The voice was still shouting, and it was an odd sound for a battlefield, but he did not care. His enemies were running now, fleeing from him, and he hated them for their cowardice. He went to the one he had knocked down, turned the standard again and drove the spike through the warrior’s belly and into the ground. The man was pinned, badly hurt, but not dead and Ferox watched the terror and agony in his face and rejoiced in it.
‘It is over!’ The enemy had gone, at least from this part of the field. One of the signifers came up to him, and the man’s face was pale with fear.
‘Stop! It is over!’ Ahead of him, beyond the gully, was a chariot, the car painted white and the team a grey and a dark bay, both in bright red harness. A man squatted at the reins, and behind him stood a woman in gleaming white, save for the scale armour of alternate gilded and silvered plates. She carried a spear and a blue shield and had long red hair down her back.
Was this how it ended? Gannascus had once told him that goddesses came to lead the soul of a great warrior into the Otherworld.
‘Husband, it is over!’
Thought came slowly and with effort. Strength had left his limbs and he felt weary and battered. Even breathing was hard work.
‘Ferox, you fool, it is over! We have won!’ The words were in Latin.
That was Enica, and she was alive. Ferox sank to his knees beside the man pinned to the ground. Someone touched his shoulder lightly, and he saw it was the signifer, who looked as if he was afraid the centurion might attack him.
‘I’d better take this, sir.’ The standard-bearer reached for the eagle and yanked it free. The warrior clutched at his intestines as they spilled from the gaping wound in his belly.
Ferox put his hands over his face. He was alive. He did not know whether this was good or bad.
XXX
‘TODAY FOR VENGEANCE, tomorrow for mourning,’ Vindex said firmly, and drew his sword. His spear was buried in the royal guard and the shaft had broken when he tried to pull it free. The scout smiled. ‘As long as you think this is a good idea!’
Sepenestus had killed the other two, and his arrows came out much more easily. He wiped the heads on the hem of his tunic and put the arrows back in his bag.
‘There are nine left and the prisoner,’ Ferox said. ‘You’ve already done enough and don’t have to come.’
The archer sniffed at that and patted his sword, an army-pattern spatha. Gannascus nodded approvingly. ‘We cannot wait for more of them to arrive, so it will just have to be unfair,’ the big man rumbled, saying almost as much as he had done in the three days of pursuit.
As Enica had shouted out, the battle had been won, and a lot of the credit went to her. Cerialis had taken the old fort after a bitter struggle. The stocky little Vardulli were saying that they had rescued the Batavians and the big men from the Rhineland were denying that they needed any help. Both prefects had been wounded, but managed to stay on their feet until it was done. On the left Brocchus and the cavalry had fought a long, whirling fight, charging, driving the enemy back, before being chased in turn. Numbers were with the Brigantes, and they were on the higher ground, so that they did not break easily. Gradually, the auxiliaries made headway, until their main lines were on top of the hill. Next to them the royal cohort had met the Gauls, who had fought for a long time before weight of numbers drove them back. Somehow, Neratius Marcellus had got an order to the reserve cohort of Legio XX and the Victrix had plugged the hole in the line. Beyond the rampart, men had fought and died where they stood, and it was only Ferox and the men around him who had begun forcing that vast crowd of enemies back. Soon, someone’s will would have broken. It only took a few to turn and run and others would follow. It might have been the Romans, especially at the rampart, for there it was hard for the Britons to give way with so many men pressing behind them.
Then the horns sounded. Enica brought no more than five hundred warriors to the fight. Quite a few were Carvetii, led by Vindex’s half-brother, who was on his way to seek vengeance even before the high queen sent out her call. A lot of men were sympathetic or simply hated her brother for what he had done, but some were afraid, and there was simply not time to gather the rest. Enica needed men with horses, and gratefully took the chariot and team from a chieftain too old to walk, let alone fight. She also wanted horns or trumpets, and took any she could find. Vindex had told her the story of when they had caught Rufus and the others, and she had liked the idea. Nearly seventy of her riders carried something to blow, so that when she reached the battlefield, horses foamy with sweat and too weary to do more than trot, it had sounded like a vast host ready to fight.
The deception worked. The Brigantes were fighting hard, but had not yet won and were growing tired. When a host of their kin appeared behind them, lining the crest of the next row of hills, they doubted. When Enica rode among them, calling out for all of her people to follow her and she would ensure they were free to go, all but a few grasped at the chance of life. Arviragus escaped. None of his people would hinder him, and probably some of Enica’s men felt the same, not wanting royal blood on their hands. No more than twenty or so men went with him. Many of the guards fought until Enica implored them to lay down their arms if they wished to carry them in her service. Here and there across the field little groups fought to the last, but the result was no longer in doubt.
Philo was delighted when Ferox told him about the ploy. The young slave was almost as delighted, and a good deal more scared, when his master told him that he would have his freedom as soon as the documents could be prepared. There had not been time in the two hours Ferox was given to get ready for the pursuit. To his surprise, Enica did not want to come.
‘A sister should not shed a brother’s blood, even after he has tried to kill me. It is better this way.’ She stood tall and proud, every inch a queen, and he found it hard to believe that they had any future. Still, perhaps the gods still meant him to pay for her life with his own, and it was with that gloomy thought he rode off, taking the others with him as well as five Carvetii scouts.
Arviragus headed north, and as they followed Ferox began to recognise more and more of the country. He wondered whether the prince hoped to reach the tribes beyond the province, trusting them to give him shelter. Gannascus was dismissive when he suggested this.
‘Tincommius will not want to provoke the Romans.’
The fugitives did their best to confuse the pursuit they must have known was following, and snow might have saved them, but the brooding skies gave only drizzle hour after hour, so that their horses left prints that were easy for Ferox to track. Most of the men rode cavalry mounts, but there were several ponies and two very big horses, one of which surely carried the prince.