Scaurus nodded, returning his First Spear’s hard grin with a wistful smile, and Julius gestured up the track towards the bowl’s rim.
‘Let’s keep them thinking we’re about to move on and make things easier for them. And you, Tribune, can accompany me back to the protection of the first century. I’ll feel a lot happier when we’re both behind friendly shields.’
The two men walked easily down the path, and Julius’s standard bearer and trumpeter got to their feet in readiness for the resumption of the march.
‘Sound the stand-to!’
The notes of the command to take position for the march rang out in the forest’s silence, and the air was abruptly filled by the sounds of hundreds of soldiers rising and readying themselves to continue up the path. Julius watched them grumbling as they prepared to march again, their preoccupation with the minutiae of their daily lives shining through from every innocent gesture, and prayed that none of the Venicones would be rash enough to betray their ambush prematurely and ruin the plan he had discussed with his centurions less than an hour before. He leaned in close to the trumpeter, shouting in the man’s ear.
‘Sound it again, and then go straight into the call to form battle line!’
He used the moment while the musician was repeating the first call as an opportunity to tighten the thick leather cord that pulled his helmet’s cheek pieces close to his face, then raised his vine stick as the first trumpet call suddenly broke into the urgent notes of the command to form line, already agreed with his officers as the order for them to galvanise their men into action.
‘Form line, shields to both sides! Ready spears!’
All along the four-man-wide column shields were being raised, the men closest to the path’s edges lifting their boards to either side against the threat of enemy warriors bounding in to attack them with spear and sword, while the men behind them hoisted their shields over their heads to protect themselves and the outermost soldiers against the volley of arrows that was expected to be the first signal of an ambush. Centurions were bellowing at their men, encouraging their centuries to join up into an unbroken line rather than leave gaps that would enable each of them to be isolated and destroyed piecemeal. In the forest around them Julius could hear shouted commands, and he pulled the tribune deeper into the cover of the shield walls to either side.
‘Here it comes!’
The first volley of arrows hammered against the raised boards, some of the missiles rattling off the heavy iron bosses and rims while more thumped into the defence’s layered wood and linen to protrude like the spines of a hedgehog. A second volley sighed in the air for an instant before punching into the hastily formed line, the man beside Scaurus stiffening as if a snake had bitten him before slumping to the path with an arrow, which had managed to flit through a narrow gap in the wall of shields, buried deep in his neck.
Julius ripped off the dying man’s helmet, tossing it to Scaurus along with the padded liner.
‘Put that on! You’re going to need it!’
He snatched up the man’s shield, putting it back into the hole left by its absence before the gap could become a target for the next volley.
‘Pugio!’
His shout brought his deputy running up the line in the narrow space between the two banks of raised shields.
‘If he’s not already dead then put this poor bastard out of his misery! We’ll be on the move soon, and any man that can’t stay the pace either dies at our hands or theirs!’
The third volley hammered home, but as far as Julius could see the cohort’s line was holding firm. With every second that passed without a fourth cascade of arrows he knew the odds increased that the enemy warriors were already on the move. Dropping the shield he raised his head and bellowed the order that would either save them from the ambush or consign them to the horrific death he intended to mete out to their attackers.
‘Now Qadir! Now!’
From behind the shields that had protected the Hamian’s waiting archers a return volley of arrows flicked out into the forest, but as they flew high into the trees it was immediately evident that they were not intended to find human targets. Each of the arrows trailed a thin ribbon of greasy smoke, their iron heads adorned with blazing lumps of wool that had been cut from the archers’ cloaks and dipped in oil, ready to be lit from the torch that Qadir’s optio had carried from their last rest halt. Each arrow found a mark within fifty paces of the path, slapping into the upper reaches of the fir trees that marched away into the distance to either side in their confused ranks. Within seconds their bright flames had spread into the tree’s highly combustible needles, and as the Venicone warriors sprinted from the forest’s cover towards the waiting Roman line, their voices raised in a chorus of blood-curdling screams, the trees above them caught fire with a sudden crackle and fizz of burning pine needles. Julius watched with grim satisfaction as his officers bellowed the orders for their men to prepare for the Venicone charge, their soldiers levelling a bristling hedge of spearheads at the oncoming wave of barbarians.
As the warriors charged into the double wall of shields, struggling through the forest’s undergrowth onto the cohort’s waiting spears, the forest above them bloomed with the light and heat of a rapidly increasing number of burning trees, as the flames that were consuming the archers’ original targets quickly spread through the canopy. For a few brief moments the Venicones continued their assault, although more and more of them were looking over their shoulders at the roof of flame that was spreading across the trees behind them, feeling the inferno’s searing heat starting to become intolerable. Even behind the protection of a wall of shields Julius could feel the heat increasing by the moment, and he watched in grim fascination as smoke began to rise from the men at the rear of the attacking mob.
With a sudden howl of agony one of the warriors caught light, his clothes and hair flaring up and sending him screaming away from the battle in search of some escape from the intolerable pain, only to run deeper into the seemingly impenetrable wall of flame that was gathering strength about the Tungrians and their attackers. He vanished into the blaze, his screams rising to a crescendo before they were abruptly silenced, and for an instant the tribesmen dithered, staring at each other in consternation as the terrible nature of the trap their would-be victims had sprung on them became clear. With a sudden, apparently collective decision they broke and scattered, each man looking for his own escape as they ran in all directions seeking to get out from beneath the flames that were now licking through the trees above the soldiers. Even with his helmet to protect him Julius could feel the heat of the forest’s destruction becoming intolerable, and he realised that if his men didn’t move quickly they would share the tribesmen’s uncertain fate. Shaking his mesmerised trumpeter by the shoulder, he shouted into the young soldier’s face.
‘The retreat! Blow the fucking retreat and start running!’
As the first notes of the new signal blasted out over the fire’s swelling roar the Tungrians stirred from their momentary fixation with the blaze’s rippling tendrils of flame, their ranks turning away from the terrified enemy warriors to face back down the path into the heart of the forest.
‘Too slow!’
Julius stepped out of his men’s protection, putting both hands around his mouth and bellowing a single word down the length of his command.
‘Run!’
The cohort’s column lurched into motion, the soldiers obeying long-ingrained conditioning in the absence of rationality that had fled in the face of the monstrous blaze roaring around them. Goaded and beaten by their officers and chosen men, the rearmost centuries stumbled back down the path up which they had marched moments before. Grateful for his helmet and armour’s protection against the fire’s heat Julius looked about him as his men started to move, realising that the barbarian war band which had been poised to roll over them in an unstoppable wave had shattered in the face of the fire’s awful power. The Venicone tribesmen were still running in all di
rections in the hope of escaping the conflagration, and as he watched in amazement a tall, heavily built man still holding the axe that he would have been wielding against the Tungrian line sprinted out of the blazing trees with his hair and beard alight, bellowing out his pain and fear. A heavy branch fell from the canopy as the tree above him cracked explosively, the thigh-thick bough smashing the burning man to the ground in a shower of sparks. Julius winced, bellowing a command down the column of men in front of him.
‘Run! Run for your fucking lives!’
Led once more by Arabus, the remnant of the raiding party stumbled out of the Dirty River’s swamp and onto the firmer ground of a gravelled path more by luck than judgement. Arabus knelt to touch the packed stone surface as if to give thanks to the divine providence that had led them onto its firm footing.
‘This is the way we came the night before last. The road that leads back to Lazy Hill is half a mile or so to the south, and Gateway Fort is a mile or so further on down the road.’
In the thinning mist behind them the calls of their hunters sounded closer than before, the baying of their dogs echoing across the silent landscape in a chorus of eager howls and yelps. The tracker looked up at his comrades and shook his head.
‘The hunters have crossed the river. They’re close now, too close for us to outrun the dogs.’
Lugos clenched a fist, raising his hammer defiantly.
‘Then we fight!’
Marcus shook his head.
‘There must be twenty of them, or more. If we make a stand here they’ll attack us from all sides and drag us down with the weight of their numbers. The only place we stand any chance of defending against that many people is with walls around us.’ He pointed down the gravel track’s grey ribbon. ‘There’s no choice. We either get to Gateway Fort before them or we die here, and everything we’ve gained is handed back to the Venicones.’
Arminius and Lugos shared a momentary glance and then nodded together, the German holding out a hand to the Roman.
‘Very well, we run, but when we reach the fort we find a strong place and make a stand. Now give me the cloak. You’ve carried that weight for long enough.’
Marcus shrugged, turning to the path.
‘I’ll carry it a while further yet. My birth father’s head and a legion’s standard are no burden, and I’d rather have you and Lugos with your hands free to fight.’ The long, baying howl of a dog sounded again, closer than before as the animal threaded its way through the marsh’s paths on the trail of their bloody scent, and the four men set off into the encircling mist at a loping trot.
Knowing instinctively that his place was at the front of the fleeing cohort, Julius tossed aside the shield he’d taken up a moment before and shouldered past the men to his right, bursting through the ranks of his century into the straggling knee-high vegetation between the path and the encroaching forest, moisture steaming out of the greenery as the fire’s blazing heat grew. Freed of the obstruction of his men he ran down the length of the Tungrian column with the scrubby bushes and trailing brambles tugging at his legs, his lungs labouring as the blaze raging about them greedily sucked at the forest’s air to feed its swelling conflagration. The Tungrians’ rear had escaped from the worst of the inferno for the time being, but the first spear realised with a sinking feeling that their progress was slowing, the soldiers bunching up as their pace reduced from a run to little more than a walk. Catching the leading century he quickly realised the reason for their slow progress, the men behind struggling one at a time to a confused halt as they ran into the rear of the Tenth Century’s pioneers, who were battling to fight their way through several dozen Venicone warriors. The enemy fighters had clearly been told to close the path to any Roman attempt to retreat, and they were fighting a stubborn action against the Tungrian column’s leading ranks despite the desperate situation unfolding about them. The Tenth’s hulking axe men were tearing into the enemy with their fearsome blades, but the forest looming to either side was restricting their frontage to no more than half a dozen men, and the Venicones’ stubborn defence was holding firm in the face of their assailants’ otherwise overwhelming strength. Behind the line of struggling, screaming combatants the pioneers were hacking at the tangled undergrowth to either side of the path in a bid to outflank the outnumbered barbarians and bring the fight to a swift conclusion, but the impenetrable thickets of thick, springy brambles were soaking up their assaults with little visible sign of progress.
The pioneers’ centurion Titus stepped forward to meet Julius as the first spear stopped in momentary calculation, his double-bladed axe held in one hand, and his deep, rumbling voice was barely audible over the blaze’s growing roar as he bent close to the other man’s ear.
‘We will all die here in the fire, unless we can break this resistance very quickly now!’
Julius nodded, his face hardening into a snarl as he felt the familiar, irresistible surge of battle rage whiten his knuckles on the hilt of his sword and raise the hairs on the back of his neck. When he replied his voice was thick, and his nostrils flared.
‘You’re right, Bear, it’s time to earn our vine sticks and show these fucking ink monkeys who the real animals in this fight are!’
Titus nodded, gesturing to a pair of his men and growling a response, smashing a fist against his chest.
‘Four of us will be enough to unlock this cage. If you three open the door for me then I will paint this forest red with the blood of these sheep fuckers!’
He took a second axe from one of his soldiers while the two men he had beckoned stepped out of the packed ranks stalled behind the desperate fight with expressions of pride and resolve, both of them putting aside their shields and hefting an axe in both hands in the manner of their tribal ancestors, the heavy iron axe heads twice the size of those usually carried by legion pioneers. In a century of men selected for their physical prowess both stood half a head above their peers and almost as tall as Titus himself, their shoulders bulky with the muscle required to swing their heavy weapons in combat. Julius grinned at Titus and his men and then turned wordlessly to face the enemy, pulling off his helmet and tossing it aside along with his vine stick in readiness for the melee before sheathing his sword and stooping to pick up a shield and an axe dropped by a wounded man, screaming a challenge at the enemy warriors barely a dozen paces distant.
‘Tungria! Tungria and Cocidius!’
Planting his feet ready to charge, his gaze locked on the short enemy line, he felt the bulk of big men on either side as Titus’s selected soldiers settled themselves at his shoulders while their monstrous centurion stepped close in behind the first spear. Their voices echoed his bellowed challenge loudly enough for the enemy warriors to look past their assailants at the small knot of men.
‘TUNGRIA!’
Baring his teeth in an uncontrollable snarl Julius raised the axe in his clenched right fist and pointed its blade at a face chosen at random from the line of warriors, selecting a man with a long white scar down one side of his jaw and deciding without any conscious thought that the Venicone would be the first victim of his burning need to kill. The tribesman shouted a challenge back at him and raised his spear, his defiance wrenching an involuntary barking laugh from the Tungrian as he lowered the axe and readied himself to attack, sucking in one last deep breath. Raising his shoulders like a sprinter readying himself for the burst of effort required to take him to the winning post, the first spear took one last look at the man he had made his target, then bobbed down into a slight crouch, feeling his thighs tense in readiness before springing forward in an explosion of effort, his scream of unleashed fury piercing the fire’s incessant roar and turning all heads towards the charging knot of men. The pioneers in their path stepped hurriedly back to clear a way for them, their eyes hardening at the sight of their first spear and centurion rampaging forward at the enemy, ready to throw themselves back into the fight at their officers’ backs.
Bounding towards the man he had selected
as his target, and watching as the Venicone stepped back a pace in preparation for the impact, Julius retained sufficient calculation in the last moment before colliding with the warrior’s raised shield to sidestep the man’s spear thrust, marvelling for a brief instant at the fleet-footed skill with which the big man to his left matched his movement. Without time to consider his next move the Tungrian dipped his shoulder and smashed his shield hard against his enemy’s, bursting through the line of tribesmen with a triumphant roar and scattering the warriors to either side in momentary confusion. Knowing that Titus would be a half-pace behind him he spun to the left while the Venicone was still reeling off balance from the impact, allowing the axe’s handle to slide through his hand until he held the fearsome weapon by the last few inches of the stave’s length. Judging the blade’s arc to perfection, Julius buried the brutally sharp blade deeply into the hollow just above his victim’s buttocks, snapping the Venicone’s head back with the agony of the cold iron’s brutal intrusion even as his spine was severed, and wrenching an involuntary wide-eyed howl of triumph from the first spear as his victim arched back over the axe’s head before sagging limply to the ground.
Stamping down on the paralysed warrior’s spine for leverage, Julius wrenched the weapon free with a fierce pull and then turned in search of another target, swinging the axe high over his head and slamming it down into the head of another Venicone who was in the process of raising his sword to strike at Titus, as the massive centurion carved a path into the warriors around him with both of his axes flying in sprays of blood. The heavy blade carved through the warrior’s iron dog cap and hacked deeply into his skull, lodging so firmly that just the feel of the handle told Julius that it would take too long to free from the dying man’s body in the chaos of the fight. He released the weapon, allowing the Venicone to stagger away with a long groan, his eyes rolling up as the weight of the axe dragged his head backwards. He tottered for a moment as the first spear watched, then fell headlong with the axe handle pointing incongruously at the forest’s canopy, holding the Tungrian’s fascinated gaze even as one of Titus’s men screamed a warning at him.
The Eagle's Vengeance Page 24