‘I’m not to march with the army!’ he ranted. ‘I’m to stay here, and watch women and children instead of killing Romans! You had something to do with this, didn’t you?’
I did not deny it. I had asked Vuk to have Thumper left behind with the men who would protect the camp. I did not want to see one of my only friends fall in battle.
‘My life is my own!’ Thumper yelled at me. ‘My own! Fuck yours up as much as you like, but don’t you dare ever come between me and my duty to my sons, and to Pannonia! Do you understand me, Corvus? Don’t you ever dare!’
His thick face had been red with blood. I expected him to hit me. Instead he walked away.
That was worse.
I had been glum as we had ridden from the mountain, and in the direction of Sirmium. More than fifty thousand men were leaving Mons Alma, and I rode towards the head of that snaking column close to Vuk, and the king – the man who held the rebellion together. The man I must die for, should it come to that. I knew this wasn’t a battle Pinnes wanted to fight, but he could not let the five legions of Severus join Tiberius at Siscia. Not even the mountains could protect the rebels from such a force.
‘You look glum, Corvus. I know this must be difficult for you. Facing the legions.’
‘Difficult for any soldier, lord King,’ I said, trying to end the conversation.
‘Fear is natural, but that’s not what ails you, is it?’
It was not. Not fear of battle at least, nor fear of bloodshed. It was the fear of failure. The fear of exile. The fear of dying alone.
‘Cheer up, Corvus. We will ride through the night, and in the morning we shall join Bato and his men, and fall on the Romans as they’re still wiping the sleep from their eyes.’ He was smiling. He was beginning to believe that he would win. ‘It will be a glorious victory.’
‘I’m sure, lord.’
He heard the dryness of my tone. ‘Speak plainly, Corvus.’ He did not fear us being overheard. Quiet words would be buried beneath the sound of an army on the march, but I said nothing.
‘Corvus, I am asking you as a friend who is about to go into battle. Speak plainly.’
‘Very well,’ I said grudgingly. ‘You speak of glory in battle. The Romans do the same. That is what’s brought them here, to Pannonia. These armies are two sides of the same coin.’
And that coin is glory.
Pinnes shook his head. ‘Not so, Corvus. Not so. Rome’s is a false glory. They believe that grinding others beneath their heel is the path to honour. We are fighting to resist enslavement. We are not the same.’
‘And if the tables were turned?’ I asked. ‘Would you march on Rome? Would you sack it? Would you have its people in chains?’ My words were harsher than they should have been. The anger that had built inside myself was seeping out, but Pinnes did not rise to it. He was calm, and gently shook his head.
‘All I ever wanted, Corvus, was to watch over my tribe, and see them fed and happy. I did not dream of battle as a child. I certainly did not think of conquest as a young man. All of my life I have grown up under the shadow of Rome. In my dreams, that shadow moves away as a cloud, peacefully, and without storm. That is what I wanted.’ He looked back at his army. At the faces of men marching to death. ‘If I could do this in any other way that would spare them, do you not believe that I would?’
The eyes never lie. In his I saw the pain of a man who knew that he was about to make widows and orphans.
‘My men will die,’ Pinnes spoke evenly, ‘and the Romans? The men we kill on the battlefield are not our true enemy. They are not the ones who grow fat and rich off the Empire. Those soldiers who fall tomorrow, they will not die for the glory of Rome. They will die for the vainglory of senators and an emperor who knows nothing other than conquest.’
‘It is man’s way,’ I said, not because I wanted to believe it, but because I had seen too much.
‘Men can change.’
I said nothing. The king was thinking.
‘I have to believe there will be glory on the battlefield,’ he confided in me. ‘How can I lead these men if I do not?’
I said nothing. He was right.
‘Isn’t it a glorious thing that a man would die for his brother?’ their leader went on. ‘A stranger, even? What of the physical feats? The mountains crossed? Heat, winter, a soldier fights through it all. Isn’t his resolve glorious? His physical achievement? And do not tell me, Corvus, that you never felt your heart stir to see thousands of men arranged in ranks, armed and armoured. How did it feel in that moment? Be honest. Tell me.’
‘Glorious,’ I admitted.
‘So there is glory in war.’
He was right. ‘And that is one reason we will never be rid of it.’
Our conversation died. There was only the tramp of hooves and boots, and the muttered conversation of men on the move.
It was glory.
It was tragedy.
In the morning we would kill and die.
Chapter 38
We arrived at the Volcae Marshes, a floodplain on the Sava to the west of Sirmium.
I could see none of it. We were deep in the night. A silver moon stood as a silent sentinel above our force. I could see it reflected on men’s armour, and in the whites of their eyes.
We were an army holding its breath. An army saying its prayers.
Because there was no sign of Bato.
We were at the place where the two armies should meet. Ziva should have fetched the Dalmatian rebels here, but there was no sign of them. King Pinnes worried that they had rushed into battle without him, but his scouts told him that the Roman camp was calm and peaceful. There had been no bloodshed, nor did the Romans expect it. The Pannonian cavalry had shielded the army and kept Roman eyes away from the mountain, as they had done since summer. They had no idea that we were within striking distance.
But it was a strike Pinnes could not make without Bato. Now that we had been joined by raiding parties, the Pannonian force gathered there was sixty thousand. Night is no ally for an army so large. If we attacked in the dark, it would descend into nothing but a confused, uncontrolled brawl, and the legion’s discipline would overcome whatever initial advantage we gained from shock.
The Roman force was estimated to be almost the same size as ours, including five full legions. Attacking an entrenched enemy requires numbers of at least two to one. To do so without superior numbers, and against the finest infantry in the world, would be suicide.
And yet that is exactly what Pinnes was considering…
‘Corvus,’ he said quietly to me, ‘I cannot lead my army away from here without a battle. Not now that we’ve committed.’
I said nothing.
‘You’ve seen the army,’ the king went on. ‘The men are tired and hungry. They put their faith in me for the hope that we could strike against Rome. Now I’ve taken them out, I don’t dare put them away unbloodied.’
I could understand why. The reason was simple. King Pinnes presided over an alliance of tribes. He’d convinced them to go to war against Rome, and that is what they’d agreed to. No one had agreed to starving to death slowly in the mountains. Without battle – without victory – Pinnes’s carefully woven alliance would tear apart. Some tribes would look for another leader to continue the fight. Others might give fealty to Rome. Whatever different courses the tribes took, it would mean a disintegration of the rebellion, and inevitable doom for those who continued to try and fight it.
The night had been long. I decided that I should speak, and did so quietly. ‘If you’re going to go back to the mountain, lord, it should be now. Otherwise we risk being caught on the plain in daylight, and having to fight on their terms.’
Pinnes’s words fell sharply on my suggestion.
‘There will be no retreat, Corvus. We’re here. We fight.’
‘With half an army?’
‘We fight.’
So be it. We would all be dead or enslaved before sundown.
Was I comforte
d by that thought? I was not distressed by it, that is the truth. Hope rode with Bato. There was no sign of either. At least now the decision to confront Marcus had been taken from my hands. It was cowardice to choose death over truth, I knew that. I couldn’t fall on my own sword, but it seemed as though I was ready to fall on another’s.
I was ready to die if I must. No more mistakes. No more pain. No more dreams.
‘I am ready to die,’ I told the king.
At that he laughed. ‘Well, I am not.’
We waited for Bato.
* * *
We waited for our ally. We waited for hope.
Dawn came instead.
‘We should advance before it gets light,’ I told the king. The far sky was greying. ‘Maybe they’ll sleep late.’
Pinnes smiled at my effort. ‘Vuk,’ he said. ‘Pass the word. We move.’
‘Yes, lord King.’ There was no hesitation in him. He knew there was no sight of Bato. He knew we would die.
Behind us, I heard the sound of an army stirring as they were roused to their feet: chatter, the patter of piss. I rubbed Ahren’s neck. He deserved a better end than this.
And then we were moving, lurching, towards the battlefield. The sun would rise on our right. It would have been better to attack from that direction to blind the Romans to our advance and numbers, but it would have meant putting ourselves between the Roman camp and the garrisoned town. Instead we would come from the south-west, and pin our left flank against the river. If they got behind us, it was over.
I laughed at myself. It was over regardless. Our numbers were even, but our men were not. We were half-starved rebels. They were Roman legionaries – Rome’s blade – the greatest infantry that ever lived.
‘What’s funny, Corvus?’
‘Life,’ I told the king.
Once I had run to the legions to live.
Now, I rode to them to die.
Chapter 39
In the moments before dawn, before battle, I thought.
I thought of Beatha, and how I mourned her. I thought of Cynbel, and how I missed him. I thought of my brothers in arms, and my father, and hoped that they forgave me. I thought of Thumper, Miran and even Borna, and how I would like to see them again. I thought of Marcus, and then I tried not to think at all.
I was on the right flank of the army. There was an embankment here to mark territory – nothing more than a bump on the landscape – but it was at least something of a platform for King Pinnes. His troops were hidden from sight by the night, deployed in battle line in the same order that they marched. Infantry held down the left flank against the river. Infantry made up the centre. Infantry and cavalry made up the right. There was no reserve save the king’s bodyguard. Pinnes was putting everything he had forwards. If his infantry could fix the Romans in position, perhaps his cavalry could fall on their flank or rear.
The king’s battle plan depended on two things.
The first was that the Romans would leave the palisades of their camp to face us, and then advance upon us. A rational man would ask why a soldier would leave his defences to confront his enemy, but the answer was simple.
For the glory of Rome.
Governor Severus was noble-born. He was of Rome. Though he could gain victory by allowing us to die in the ditches of his marching camp, he would win no honour that way. He would win no glory. A win by itself was not enough for a Roman general. He required prestige. He dreamed of a triumph. I had no doubt that when he saw our battle lines drawn up outside his camp, Governor Severus would march his legions out, and into battle.
Into glory.
I had less faith in the second part of King Pinnes’s plan, which boded badly, because this entire part of his strategy relied on just such a thing.
‘We need a stroke of luck,’ the king confided in me.
‘That’s it? Luck? That’s the plan?’
‘Fortune favours the brave, Corvus,’ Pinnes smiled, enjoying the thought of using the Romans’ own wisdom against them.
The proverb did not convince me. ‘There are a lot of dead men who said the same.’
The king shrugged. ‘It is defeat I fear, not death.’
In that moment Cynbel’s words came back to me. ‘A soldier fears death,’ he had said. ‘A warrior fears failure. Never forget that.’
I had not. I looked at the splendid man beside me. The strength of his character outshone his polished armour. He was a king. He was a warrior.
I was proud to ride beside him.
Pinnes looked to the east. There was a band of gold on the horizon.
‘Shouldn’t be long now,’ he said. ‘Do you pray, Corvus?’
‘Nobody listens when I do.’
‘Then I shall pray for us.’
He prayed. I thought. Of those I had known. Of those I had lost. Of those who waited on Mons Alma for news of our victory, or defeat.
A shimmering red disc appeared on the eastern horizon. The sky was cast in reds and gold. Dawn is a time of beauty. Dawn is a time of death. Birds of the floodplain began to dart in the sky, taking insects. Fish in the river began to jump. Life was struggle. Life was battle. Insect, animal and man: we would all fight our wars that day.
The sun was climbing. Steam rose from the marshes. In halcyon light I saw the outline of the enemy ramparts, dug as a marching camp before the legions slept. I looked left along our own lines, and saw the ten-deep ranks of men who stood as a dark shadow across the plain.
‘Corvus,’ the king said quietly, his eyes fixed straight ahead, ‘would you…’
I knew what he was asking. For me to look behind us for any sign of Bato and his army. It would not do to have the king show concern over it.
I looked.
An empty valley greeted my eyes.
‘We have enough men, lord King.’
‘You’re a terrible liar,’ Pinnes smiled. ‘Bato will join us, I have no doubt. We just have to hold, and stop Severus from leaving. Look,’ he said then.
I heard the bark of orders carry across the plains. The tramp of feet. Streams of light were pouring forth from the camps like liquid gold into a cast, the sun reflecting from the shining arms and armour of fifty thousand men.
‘Here they come,’ the warrior king smiled.
The legions were coming out to kill us.
Chapter 40
Beneath the rising face of Sol they came, five legions of Rome, and as many men again in auxiliaries. Fifty thousand. They spilled out onto the plain. Resplendent. Beautiful. They would kill me and yet…
They were glorious.
King Pinnes took his eyes from them and surveyed the valley that would be our graveyard. The winding river was slow and silent. The hills were cloaked in deep green woods.
‘This valley is the homeland of my tribe,’ he smiled at me. ‘There is no better place to die.’
From our position on the berm I was able to see the legions as I had never seen them before. As a soldier in the rank and file of the Eighth I saw my mates to my left and right, my front and back. Now, as one drawn up to face them, I saw the legions in all their majesty. They were an unbreaking rank of shimmering steel, eagles and standards stark against the sky. The sight of them made my knees weak and my heart sick.
How Pinnes’s army stood I did not know. What manner of men were they that could stare down five legions without a backward step? What spirit of martial soul held them to this field?
The king’s face was golden with pride. ‘Glorious, aren’t they?’
Yes. Yes, they were glorious.
Why must it be like this? Why, to see the greatness of men’s spirit and men’s genius, must we come to a battlefield? Why must this moment of majesty be followed with spilled guts, howls of pain, and the calls for distant mothers?
But I knew the answer.
For the glory of Rome, of course.
For the glory of men.
I spat. The Roman battle line was drawing up in the distance. The sound of centurions barking carried a
cross the plain. Our own army was silent. Waiting, and silent.
The sound of fifty thousand men tramping and wheeling into position rolled through the valley like low thunder. I looked to the sky, and saw the carrion birds already circling. They had come to know what it meant when men faced one another in steady ranks.
Pinnes had waited as long as he could. The lines had been drawn now. Battle was inevitable, and there was no sign of Bato.
‘I will talk to my men.’
The words were loud enough for his bodyguard to understand – the king would ride out alone.
He did so with speed. He did so with confidence. He did so with the energy of a man who seemed certain of victory.
As Pinnes rode the line, a cheer erupted from the right flank of his troop and rippled through the ranks.
‘Hail the king!’ I could hear. ‘Long live King Pinnes!’
The Pannonians loved this man. I loved this man. From all that I had seen he was fair. From all that I knew he loved those that he presided over. I would never be a king, but I understood his loneliness, and he understood mine. Pinnes had tried to give me a new home. A new sense of belonging. The fact that I would die for him meant that he had succeeded in doing so.
‘For the king!’ I shouted. ‘For the king!’
Once Pinnes had ridden the length of his army he came back to the centre and halted his stamping horse. His men knew what was to come now, and fell silent. The voice that rolled across them was as strong as steel. ‘Men of Pannonia!’
They cheered. How could they not?
He let them roar for a moment, and then the king held his hand up for silence. It slowly passed through the ranks as those out of sight of their leader were told to shut up by those who had eyes on him. I was some distance from the man, but I had no trouble marking his words. They tumbled with the power of rocks from the mountains.
‘This is the greatest moment of our lives!’ the king declared. ‘In a thousand years, people will talk of what we do here today! They will say that we were the sons of freedom! That we were the champions of free men! That we were the warriors who defied an empire!’
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