The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  “Stop them, stop the bastards!” he was howling, but his auxilia, after shooting some arrows our way, cantered deep to the castra.

  I beat down a mule with my sword, then a Parthian from his saddle and guided the horse to the prefect.

  He struck me with a wine stick, used to disciple troops.

  I stabbed the heavy weapon to his throat. He fell to mud.

  We trampled through the last of the enemy, more and more of my men streaming through the gate, into the clear area between tents, supplies, and the battlements, and I watched the tents and the supplies that were being hauled all over to pre-ordained places. There were men who didn’t realize what was happening.

  I turned and saw Gray Wolf and his men coming fast, torches flaring.

  “Burn! Burn!” I called out, and the Tencteri whooped and rushed to the castra's streets lined with contrabentium tents, leathery tents meant for a squad, and here and there, they caught fire as the Tencteri passed. Some Sarmatians were riding into the castra, too excited to stop, and many of the men we had picked up were not heeding my commands. I was left with a hundred Sarmatians. The fleet Tencteri, happy to avenge their losses, were doing their jobs with gusto, and I turned my horse around and rode up for the embankment, wide enough for few horses. I was followed by thirty Sarmatians, most holding swords now, their lances abandoned in the ruins of the gate area. The rest of my men were chasing surviving Romans out of the gate area and the northern ramparts.

  I growled, barked, and cursed as I guided the beast up the slope for the south embankment to find the camp prefect, and there, javelins were tossed at us by legionnaires rushing from the south to retake the gate. They took down men, left and right, and riders died in mud, struggling with the terrible weapons in their flesh. All across the camp, men were screaming warnings, and there would be hundreds of heavily armored and armored legionnaires walking through the tents from elsewhere on the walls, and we would be suffering fast. More and more of our men were rushing forth to burn as much as possible, holding torches, Tencteri in groups of twenty, but I spotted the camp prefect, who was collecting men in the wall ahead of me, not far, screaming for some of his men to turn, to form ranks around him. Many did. Many rushed to a century standard held near the prefect.

  Amid those men, I charged.

  My horse passed legionnaire, my sword missed one, and then I crashed in to a group of five, hastily forming around the camp prefect, and one held a century standard. I saw them turning, shields up, their swords stabbing, and felt my horse shuddering. I kicked out of the saddle and landed amongst the enemy, heaving about, roaring in battle rage. I saw Borena, Gunda, and Gervas nearby, Gochan rallying men. Gervas killed a man behind me, I saw one dying to a spear tossed by Borena, and then felt a sword scraping my back as I slashed back. I felt impact as someone’s helmet was split and pushed my shield to a young optio’s, who was trying to stab at me from the side.

  I laughed and mocked them crudely. I felt Woden’s power and speed and walked forward.

  I was a king of the killing field, the lord in a bronze helmet, the god of slaughter, and I did just that. I slaughtered the confused enemy.

  What remained took steps back. I was panting and looking at them, and I cast a look over the battle.

  The best cohort of the XX legion was surprised, the wolf was inside the stable, and all over, Sarmatians were riding down any attempt to create a rank. Men we had gathered were trampling tents, and the praetorium was flaming as Gray Wolf’s men were burning. On the southern wall, men were hesitating at Adalwulf’s threat, horrified by the butchery on the port, and I saw many men rushing along the walls to find more men.

  I stared at a brave signifier, shadowed by few men now.

  “Come then,” I said. “Who is next?”

  A young legionnaire came for me.

  I killed the young man and pushed him to the fossa. Others charged us, some I had not seen. Gervas, near me, pushed a spear into an optio’s body. Borena stabbed at a man who rushed from the side, confused and lost.

  Another man rushed me, a veteran with a scarred face. I pushed my shield to his, we both tried to push the shield up to stab from below, but I reversed the strike and hacked him down from high. I heaved and hacked until he moved no more, other than his lips, begging for mercy.

  I stepped on him, I heard Gochan screaming orders, saw fires reaching high all over the castra now, and I knew it would not take long for Germanicus to see us. Trumpets were blaring on the other side of the castra, and soon, they would be organized.

  We had little time left.

  I walked forward, flanked by Gervas and our men, and saw pila tossed. None hit me. Men lifted shields to stop me, and I let my shield absorb the chaos and my sword to part it. Flesh was shattered, bone split, and I saw the standard-bearer very near, the first century of the first cohort of the XX, and the camp prefect was there, sword in his hands, mumbling curses, looking behind him for more men.

  None were there.

  Sarmatians were riding behind him now, on the walls, scattering the few men who rushed to aid them, breaking stakes under the hoof, and I walked inexorably for the old man.

  My sword up, shield out, I slammed down a burly legionnaire who fell on the feet of the standard bearer. I lifted my sword again, the camp prefect’s eyes glinted.

  “Hraban, whom I fought with for Drusus. Alas,” he said, and I knew he was one of those who had been elevated through the ranks and had been transferred to another.

  I smiled as I smote down at him. His sword was high, but he had been wounded in some battle, and there was no strength in his arm. The Red Wolf cut down through his blade, to his neck, and the man fell. I saw Gochan hacking down at the standard bearer, and then an optio, and then the few remaining Romans ran.

  Deep in the camp, I heard many men calling out, centurions and optiones, and I heard the screams of panic as Tencteri and those we had gathered had met with a steady line of enemy.

  It would not take long until we would have to flee.

  I grinned at Gervas, looked around and saw Gunda near the gate, Borena running in the mud for the gate, and couldn’t see Alde.

  I found a Roman horse, nervously licking at bloody grass, and pulled myself on it. I saw the standard being carried out of the legion camp and then saw the cohort standard, not far, coming through the tents.

  A horde of Tencteri and others were rushing out of the camp, many wounded, and Gray Wolf was with them. He was screaming at me, and I couldn’t make out his words.

  The message was clear enough.

  We had to go.

  I nodded and turned my horse and found Gochan looking at the same thing. I pulled at his arm. “Call them outside. We have done well and cannot do better. Not today. Call them off, and we meet in the woods.”

  He snarled, thought of fighting the order, spoiling for further fight, and then turned his horse.

  “One by one, boys, we go back out!” he called. “Get out and regroup.”

  He turned, and his eyes went large with horror. I turned and saw a centurion with a pilum. He tossed it. I knew where it would land. The javelin was sailing through the air.

  For Gervas.

  He was mounting a horse.

  The weapon smashed to his back, and he howled and fell on the horse’s neck. Sarmatians reached for his bridle, and I tried to reach him. I saw Borena there, pulling at his horse. Then I saw Alde, hesitating, licking her lips, spear in her hands.

  She smiled at me.

  “Gods, no,” I begged.

  I rode my horse along the wall, and then she moved so very fast. She tossed the spear. I saw the spear quivering next to my thigh, the shaft deep in the side of the horse.

  The beast rolled over the stakes and down to the muddy ditch, and there, it trapped me by my leg in mud. The fossa was filled with bodies, thrashing wounded, and hiding slaves, and I barely held my weapon in my hand. I looked up at the wall, and there, a shadow moved, and tossed something down.

  Spear
fell down for me, and it splashed under my armpit and tore flesh from my side. I howled, thrashed, and fell on my back, as a man fell over my horse from top, a dead Sarmatian.

  I heard Alde laughing wildly and dancing above me. “For broken love, Hraban! Die in mud!”

  I saw the shadow disappear.

  Then I was pushed under muddy water by the Sarmatian wounded and spat water as I struggled.

  I couldn’t move. I was drowning.

  I felt someone close and looked up to see Gunda, cowled, bloodied, and afraid. She pushed at the body and managed to move it. Then, she began pulling at me and then dug at the mud around my thigh.

  Then, legionnaires appeared on top, peering left and right.

  I heard Adalwulf yelling, Gochan calling out for me, and a stream of bloodied Tencteri and Sarmatians leaving the camp in panic.

  We were trapped.

  Gervas was in trouble, if not dead.

  Alde had tricked us all.

  CHAPTER 10

  We lay in the ditch, in mud, and it began raining.

  We were still, as the bodies moved next to us, wounded whispering to each other, and Gunda was shaking with fear. She was digging softly, with a broken sword, as I tried to free my leg. I held onto my sword, the Red Wolf, and stared at the activity just above.

  “Did you see Gervas?” I asked. “Alde tried to kill me.”

  Was he dead?

  Woden, no.

  “Shh,” she said. “I saw Borena pulling him out. He was, I think, alive.”

  She wasn’t looking into my eyes. She was not hopeful.

  I wept silently, she worked, and I listened to the sounds around me. “Ourbazo said he didn’t know who the Cherusci who hired them was. I think he wasn’t lying. If that is true, then Borena lied. But why would they lie? Why not let Ourbazo take us?”

  She grunted as she struggled. “Either they were trying to get inside our hall with lies to capture us more easily, or they were going to take us to Maroboodus, after all.”

  I closed my eyes. “She is made of honor, she said. She intended to keep her word, while Ourbazo tried to profit. She is still working for my father. She lied.”

  She shook her head. “Not about everything. She loves Gervas. But she is also sticking to her duty. Alde? She hates us. She tried to kill you rather than take you anywhere. Gervas is safe, for now. Shh!”

  I tried to be silent. It was hard.

  The Romans had no time to worry about the wounded.

  Their supplies were on fire, and the cohorts and the auxilia who were present would be moving everything they could out or to the corners of the castra where fire might not reach them. Amphorae, sacks of grain, personal effects of the legionnaires. I saw men rushing through the gates, men from the praetorium and its occupants, scribes and civilians.

  It was pandemonium.

  It was terrifying.

  I saw many a wounded Sarmatian killed and tossed down on us. Tencteri had his arms chopped off, not far on the embankment as the vengeful legionnaires killed him. Some few Parthians thundered over the bridge, trying to find my men, and I shook my head in horror.

  “Do you still think,” I whispered at Gunda, “that it was a good idea to come here with me? To risk all?”

  She dug and shook her head. “I pissed myself,” she whispered. “I pissed my tunic, and I think I might shit myself.” She looked at the enemy walking above and around us. “Maybe they won’t rape me then.”

  I snarled and shook my head, but she shook her head back at me as she dug under me, lying next to me as if one of the dead and wounded. “Goddess help us.”

  “If they catch you,” I whispered, “do not tell anyone you know me. Tell them you are relative to the Chatti king, and they might spare you.”

  “They’ll take me to Rome, and they’ll parade me in chains,” she whispered. “I rather die here.”

  She dug, and I could move my leg a bit.

  We struggled, and then a legionnaire jumped to the ditch.

  We went still. He was poking around with a Germani spear and trying to keep his balance. He was looking at the wounded, nodding at those who were alive and looting those who were not. He was close, his breath steaming, and he froze like we did, when men were riding on the gate just to the north of us. He was cursing softly.

  “Maggot-arse,” he whispered. “Shit of a centurion.”

  I let go of the Red Wolf and pulled Nightbright very slowly.

  He was sneaking closer, and closer, and Gunda was laying half on top of me.

  He grunted, came to her, and pulled her around.

  Her red hair spilled out, and the light of Mani lit her face. The brutal man above him gasped and then leered, his hand coming for her.

  I reached out, grasped his helmet’s strap, and pulled him to my sword. He whimpered, clawed at the blade, and bled. I twisted the short sword, and Gunda used the broken gladius to saw at his neck. We panted and looked around, and then, I pulled her under me and pulled the man on top.

  On the gate area, there sat Germanicus on horse, just outside the castra.

  I watched the hateful, thin face and curly brown hair above me. I trembled with desire to move and found my leg slipped out from under the horse. I closed my eyes and heard Gunda soothing me with spell-like whispered words. I spat and cursed and then listened, as Germanicus was speaking.

  “Legate,” he was asking softly, as silk rubbing on silk, “how is it there is a gate that was lost? They are supposed to be guarded. Caecina?”

  A silver haired, middle-aged man was sitting on a horse next to him. Both wore sculpted cuirass and red tunics beneath and sat under legion standards. They watched the carnage of the burning camp. They were wondering at the dead, hundreds of them scattered around.

  Caecina grunted. “The camp prefect Lucius is dead. His face is split and skull as well. He is not here to tell me.”

  “They burned our supplies,” Germanicus said. “Granted, there were not many, since we moved out so fast, but they burned it, and my tent as well. We are lucky Publius wasn’t here. They burned the principals, the praetorium, and there is a corpse of a hairy Tencteri on my scorched bed, Caecina. Imagine, friend, if I had been sleeping on the bed before he found it. Can you imagine how upsetting that might have been?”

  Caecina didn’t look upset at the prospect. He shrugged. “It is unfortunate, but they drove the enemy out. They meant to do a stinging attack, but they got lucky, and—”

  “They stung? They swiped a pair of claws across our faces, legate,” he said. “It will be a lean few days back home. We must hasten away. Three galleys?”

  “Two burned, one is holed,” he agreed. “They are harassing the road on the Luppia River. I hear men are gathering on the roadsides. We should march due west over the land, perhaps.”

  He nodded. “We shall do just that. We’ll burn their villages while they skulk on the roadside. Who led this attack?” he asked. He leaned down. “They are Sarmatians. No? See.”

  He nodded as he looked at one corpse. “They look like it. Tencteri said the prisoners.”

  “Hraban’s boys,” he mused. “Did they see him? He shouldn’t be out riding, should he? He should be my guest by now.”

  Caecina shrugged. “I’ve not had the time to ask. There were some hard-fighting men here. Very tough.”

  “No women?” he asked.

  “I have not yet asked,” Caecina answered as Germanicus rode around, staring at the walls littered with corpses.

  He turned to look at the hill beyond. “How many did we kill?”

  Caecina rubbed his face. “Lord, it has been an hour. All the men have not even returned to us. Auxilia are pursuing them and trying to find someone who might know about the eagle…Mallovendus wasn’t on the hill.”

  He spat. “Too bad. Women, and children, mostly.”

  “There were nearly five thousand of them there," Caecina said. “Most of their warriors were not there, but hundreds were, and all were drunk. We shall count them, but ther
e was no eagle in the shrine.”

  “Burn it all,” he snarled. “Burn it and hack down the trees. Kill the captives.”

  Caecina blinked.

  Germanicus shook his head. “Loot, we take and let XX carry it, the mutinous shits. The slavers lost their wagons anyway, and many their lives. Kill the captives. I rather like the idea. I think I shall do that from now on in this war. It is my signature, so to speak. Kill the lot, hang them, if we have time, and if not, sword.”

  “But to kill them—”

  “Julius Caesar killed captives,” he said coldly. “Pompeius did. My father did, Tiberius has been brutal in war, and Augustus even burned Roman towns to the ground. What is this in comparison? I will not win their hearts, Caecina, unless I carve them out of their chests. We are revenged on the Marsi, and soon, the rest. I will find out what happened to Hraban. I worry for Publius.”

  Caecina rubbed his face. “Your obsession, lord, for a single Germani is dangerous. I know it is not my place—”

  “It is not,” Germanicus said. “It is my hobby. Look around you. That hobby provided us with a way to surprise them. That Sarmatian gave us nearly two days of surprise.”

  “But I shall, nonetheless, say my piece,” Caecina said stubbornly. “No matter if it costs me your favor. Have him killed. Just pay enough to as many men as you can. You have made it too hard for men to fulfill your wish. Him, the boy, and a wife? One he didn’t even have before last year. Pay many killers for his hide. Forget his wife. The boy will die in war.”

  We were still, frozen, and terrified.

  Germanicus laughed. “He humiliated me once, Caecina, did you know? Now you do, if you didn’t? You didn’t? See. He humiliated me once and plotted to harm me, and I shall not be harmed or hunted by a dog like this. Nay, Caecina, trust me. I want my vengeance fully served, and if he is not in Xanten with his family, as he should be, then I shall have to re-plan. I shall want to see Hraban scream for mercy as we punish his wife and boy. It is my reward. Now, I have my first victory, and it is a triumph not only for me, but for my spies and my traitors. Gods are on my side. Be quiet. Your words mean no more than the buzz of a fly in my ear.”