Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5)

by William Kelso

  ‘Alright,’ Hadrian growled looking displeased. ‘Adalwolf will take over as guide, he knows these lands just as well as Gaiseric. We will keep heading on the same course as before. Nothing has changed. The treaty of alliance between us and the Vandals remains. The alliance will hold so long as Ballomar remains the tribal leader. Gaiseric would have to kill Ballomar to change that and if he does it will cause a civil war.’

  At his side Titus nodded in agreement.

  ‘Sir,’ Fergus suddenly interrupted, his cheeks suddenly blushing. ‘When we were on the river I shared a raft with Gaiseric and his men.’ Fergus took a deep breath as he turned to look straight at Adalwolf. ‘Gaiseric told me that you were not to be trusted. He said that you murdered your brother because it was you who did not want peace with Rome. Gaiseric said that you were going to betray us and lead us to our doom. If that is so,’ Fergus said turning sharply to face Titus. ‘Is it wise to allow Adalwolf to be our guide? He could lead us straight into a trap.’

  A stunned silence followed.

  ‘They are lies Fergus,’ Adalwolf said in a calm voice. ‘Gaiseric has filled your head with lies. If I had wanted to sabotage this expedition I could have done it a long time ago. The treaty has been made. We have completed our mission successfully and we are going home.’

  ‘Still, do we trust this man?’ Fergus snapped, pointing at Adalwolf.

  ‘I do,’ Hadrian replied sharply, ‘and that will be enough from you Tesserarius,’ the Legate snapped glaring angrily at Fergus. ‘I have known Adalwolf for much longer than you have. I trust him. He is my man.’

  ‘I agree,’ Titus growled. ‘We have no choice. He is the only one who knows this land. The only one who knows the way home.’

  Defeated, Fergus lowered his eyes to the ground.

  ‘It’s alright young man,’ Adalwolf said gazing at Fergus in a conciliatory manner. ‘Gaiseric had us all fooled. I suspect he was planning to desert all along. The question is what will he do now?’ Calmly Adalwolf turned to Hadrian. ‘I would advise you Sir to take precautions. Bring the men in closer together, have the Batavian horsemen screen our flanks and rear. And I would also suggest that we build some rudimentary sledges. The mules can drag them along through the snow and if we lose the mules the men will be able to haul our food supplies along on them.’

  The officer’s around Hadrian nodded in agreement.

  ‘Alright make it happen, Titus,’ Hadrian growled turning to give Fergus a sour look.

  ***

  It was around noon the following day when in between the trees Fergus caught sight of the large frozen lake. The expedition had been heading on a south-easterly course since leaving Mount Sleza and beyond the lake and forest, the heavily- forested slopes and crags of the Sudeten mountains were just about visible on the horizon. The snow-covered ice twisted away into the distance and across the lake he could make out the forest on the far side, some four hundred yards away. Ahead of Fergus, along the path, the ten surviving mules were plodding along, heavily laden with the company’s supplies. It was bitterly cold, cold like Fergus had never experienced before and the snow crunched under his boots as he strode along. At his side Titula was keeping pace, her hands buried within her cloak to keep them warm, her breath visible in the crisp, freezing air. The snow that had started to fall from the sky in the morning was beginning to thicken and to the east, dark grey clouds announced an approaching storm.

  From the forest to his right, the peace of the afternoon was suddenly shattered by cries and the thud of galloping hooves. Startled, Fergus and the men around him turned to stare in the direction of the noise. Then abruptly a party of Batavian horsemen burst from the trees.

  ‘Gaiseric Sir,’ the Batavian Decurion in command of the horsemen yelled as he caught sight of Titus hastening towards him. ‘Gaiseric and his men are massing in the forest. We saw him. It’s him! They are going to attack. They are right behind us.’

  For a moment, the Centurion stood staring at the Decurion in stunned indecision. Wildly, Fergus turned to stare into the forest, as from within its depth he suddenly heard wild cries and yells. The noise was rapidly drawing closer.

  ‘How many?’ Titus roared.

  ‘Around two or three hundred men,’ the Decurion yelled, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder into the forest.

  In the forest the screams, wild cries, yells and the sound of running feet were rapidly approaching.

  ‘Fall back onto the lake,’ Titus screamed. ‘Fall back onto the lake. Fergus get those mules across and onto the far side. Decurion, form your horsemen up on the ice and prepare to charge the enemy when they are exposed and out in the open. The rest of you fall back to the lake. Move, move, move!’

  There was no more time. In the forest Fergus suddenly caught sight of armed men running and crashing towards them through the undergrowth. Along the path the Roman column exploded into action as the men bolted through the forest towards the white snow covered and ice bound lake. Instantly all became chaos. Fergus heard himself screaming at the slaves and the mules. Terrified and panic stricken the beats lumbered through the forest bashing into each other and the trees in their haste to get away. Then abruptly they were onto the ice. Fergus slipped and went crashing headlong into the snow dropping his personal equipment. Around him the slaves, mules and Legionaries were spilling out of the forest and onto the open, ice bound lake in a confused fleeing mass.

  “Get those beasts across the lake, move, move,” Fergus roared as he scrambled to his feet.

  There was no time to see whether the slaves were obeying his orders. Dimly Fergus was aware of the Batavian horsemen forming up on the ice, some distance away. Then his attention was drawn to the lake-shore. The forest erupted in a rolling howl and screams as the Germans burst out onto the ice slashing, hacking and stabbing at the fleeing Romans. Wildly Fergus drew his sword and stormed forwards to a knot of Romans around Titus and Furius who were desperately trying to fend off the swarming German attackers. A screaming warrior came at Fergus, wildly swinging his axe in the air, which thudded straight into Fergus’s shield. With a vicious cry, Fergus stabbed the warrior with his sword and kicked him to the ground. On the shore of the lake the small group of legionaries around Titus and Furius seemed to be in desperate straits, nearly surrounded by their attackers. Fergus caught a glimpse of Titus’s plumed helmet amongst the yelling, screaming, brawling mass of bodies. All along the lake-shore the Germans were bursting out onto the ice, their dark fur clothes out of place on the pristine, white-snow and ice. But there was no time to take it all in. Two yelling warriors came at Fergus, armed with spears, driving him back and away from the shore. Across the ice all around him the legionaries were scattered and fleeing towards the far shore. There was no question of forming any defence. It was every man for himself. Fergus roared in frustration as the warriors steadily drove him away from where Titus and Furius were fighting for their lives, trapped along the lake shore. He couldn’t reach them.

  Then the ice under his feet began to tremble and he heard a faint cracking noise. To his right and from across the snow-covered ice, the thirty mounted Batavian horsemen suddenly came charging into the Germans, slashing and stabbing at them with their long cavalry swords and spears.

  ‘Thunder and lashing rain, so Wodan commeth. Thunder and lashing rain, so Wodan commeth.’

  The furious cry rose above the tumult, as the Batavians crashed headlong into the enemy. And their magnificent cavalry charge had a devastating impact. In the path of the tight V shaped charge, the Germans everywhere went tumbling to the ground and their shrieks and panicked cries rent the noon air. Nothing could stop the horses’ momentum and like a scythe through corn, the Batavian charge cut a bloody path straight through the exposed German ranks sending the survivors fleeing in terror for the safety and cover of the forest. Alarmed the two warriors in front of Fergus turned to see what was going on and instantly Fergus sprang forwards and buried his sword in one of the men’s neck. The other warrior stagger
ed backwards as a fountain of blood went shooting into the air. Then he turned and fled towards the forested shore. Fergus wrenched his sword free and pushed the dying man to the ground with his shield. Then he was bounding across the blood-smeared and corpse-strewn ice towards the small huddle of Roman bodies lying close together on the lakeshore. As he ran forwards across the snow-covered ice, two Roman legionaries came staggering towards him dragging a body behind them through the snow. The soldier’s faces were covered in sweat and one of the men was bleeding from a cut to his leg. Fergus’s eyes widened in horror, as he saw that the wounded man they were dragging through the snow was Furius. The Optio’s eyes were closed and his head lolled from side to side. He’d lost his fur Vandal hat and blood was seeping out from an ugly wound to stomach and leg.

  ‘Titus,’ Fergus roared. ‘Where is the Centurion?’

  ‘Dead,’ one of the legionaries shouted. ‘He’s dead. You are now in command, Sir.’

  Horrified Fergus turned to stare at the mass of dead and dying bodies clustered around the shore of the lake and suddenly, amongst the corpses lying half on-land and half on the ice he recognised Titus’s fine red plumed helmet. There was nothing more he could do. Across the ice in the swirling falling snow-flakes, the last of the Roman survivors were racing across the lake towards the far shore. The Batavian charge may have temporarily sent Gaiseric and his men fleeing back into the forest but it would not be long before they regrouped and came back.

  ‘You are in command now, Sir. What should we do Sir?’ one of the legionaries dragging Furius across the ice shouted at Fergus.

  Fergus stood rooted to the snow, covered ice, unable to take his eyes off the bloody mass of corpses that lay scattered and heaped up around Titus’s last stand. Then with a groan, he wrenched his eyes away from the carnage and stooping to grab his equipment pole he hastened after the two men who were dragging Furius across the ice.

  ‘Get your men across the lake and into the forest,’ Fergus roared as the Batavian riders came galloping back towards him. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

  ***

  The howling, groaning wind blew through the forest, whipping up the snow and moving and swaying the branches of the trees, reducing visibility to a dozen or so yards. From the darkening sky, a blanket of thick snowflakes came tumbling to the ground, coating the men’s cloaks, beards and arms. It was nearly dusk and the light was fading rapidly. Stoically, Fergus lowered his head into the blizzard as he tramped stubbornly on through the snow. Behind him the column of plodding, weary, dispirited and silent men came on, winding their way through the forest. Upon reaching the far side of the lake he’d managed to gather the survivors of the attack together, and without delay they had set off into the forest, desperate to put some distance between them and Gaiseric’s war band. Ninety-eight men in all had survived and that number included the remaining slaves, civilians, legionaries and Batavians. Nearly a quarter of the men had been lost in the fight on the frozen lake. Tensely Fergus wiped the snow from his face and peered into the forest ahead. There was no path. He was just aimlessly leading his men through the forest without knowing in which direction he was going. There had been no time to think of a plan. But at least the blizzard would help cover their tracks and slow any pursuit. The shock of realising that he was now the most senior remaining officer and in command, had still not fully sunk in. Out of the ninety-eight men now under his command, eighteen were wounded, seven of which seriously and one of the mules had vanished in the confusion. Some of the men had lost their shields and spears and Aledus was missing presumed dead. Furius was still unconscious and Hadrian too had been badly wounded by a spear and was incapable of walking and delirious with fever. Fergus had ordered the seriously wounded to be lashed to the sledges and now the men were taking it in turn to drag the sledges through the thick and deep snow.

  ‘Sir,’ a young frightened looking legionary came hastening through the snow towards Fergus. ‘Sir, the Optio is conscious, he is asking for you, Sir.’

  Fergus nodded, and turning to the soldier behind him, he gestured for the man to keep heading straight ahead through the forest. Then quickly he began to move down the side of the column of men and plodding mules towards the sledge upon which Furius lay. The Optio looked in a bad way as Fergus reached him and started to walk alongside the men pulling the sledge through the snow.

  ‘It’s alright,’ Fergus said trying to smile at Furius. ‘We have managed to get away for now. You are going to live.’

  Upon the crude wooden sledge, nothing more than a few, smooth tree-trunks nailed and bound together with rope, Furius groaned as he turned to stare at Fergus. The Optio’s hands were pressed to the wound in his stomach, over which someone had wrapped a white bandage. From his jolting, moving sledge Furius grimaced in sudden pain.

  ‘Titus,’ Furius said so softly that Fergus had to lean closer. ‘Titus’s last instructions to me before they killed him was to make sure that his boys got back home.’ Furius groaned and he opened his mouth in sudden agony as he looked up at Fergus. ‘He ordered me to get the men safely back home,’ Furius whispered. ‘Do you understand? Do you understand your orders, Fergus?’

  Solemnly Fergus nodded as he reached down and grasped hold of the Optio’s hand. ‘I will make sure we all get back home,’ he said in a determined voice. ‘Titus shall rest easy with the Gods and one day we shall salute him again.’

  But Furius had already closed his eyes and seemed to be no longer listening. With a weary sigh Fergus patted the wounded man on his shoulder and stomped off back along the line of slow moving men. As he reached the front of the column, Titula came plodding out of the forest and at her side was Adalwolf. Fergus gave both a tense, guarded look, as they fell in beside him.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Adalwolf asked quietly, as Fergus led the column on through the snow-covered trees. ‘We need a plan, Fergus.’

  Fergus sighed as he trudged along through the thick snow.

  ‘We need to put as much distance between us and Gaiseric,’ he muttered. ‘And we are going home. It’s just in this blizzard it is impossible to see where we are.’

  ‘Gaiseric will not give up,’ Adalwolf snapped. ‘He may have received a bloody nose down on the ice but he will regroup and come after us. I reckon he may only be half a day to a day behind us. If he has hunting dog’s, they will pick up our trail and hunt us down. He has the advantage in numbers and he knows this land like the back of his hand. It’s only a matter of time. He is going to catch up with us sooner or later. I don’t think we can outrun him.’

  ‘Then what would you have me do,’ Fergus snapped rounding sharply on the German merchant. ‘The men are hardly in any state to put up a fight.’

  ‘I am sorry, I don’t know,’ Adalwolf said looking away.

  Annoyed Fergus shook his head. ‘We keep going,’ he growled. ‘I am not going to give up. We are not going to die out here. Sooner or later this blizzard will pass and then we will able to make a judgement in which way we should head.’

  Adalwolf nodded as he kept pace with Fergus as they trudged on through the forest and into the swirling, howling storm.

  ‘If Gaiseric has been planning this for some time,’ Adalwolf said in a thoughtful voice, ‘he will be anticipating that we are heading towards the Moravian Gates. He may even have placed his scouts in the pass. Remember he was there when we discussed the route back home. He may have another force waiting there to ambush us when we enter the pass.’

  Grimly Fergus nodded as he weighed up what Adalwolf had just said. Then slowly he turned to gaze into the forest and the flurry of whirling snowflakes.

  ‘Maybe we should change course,’ he growled. ‘Maybe we should do something that Gaiseric is not expecting. Maybe we should turn and head due south into the mountains. Maybe we can lose him in the Sudeten.’

  ‘Into the mountains, in this weather,’ Adalwolf exclaimed opening his mouth. ‘I am not sure.’ The amber merchant faltered as he seemed to consider it. Then
he frowned and shook his head. ‘That would be a gamble, Fergus. There will be little if any food up there and the terrain will be difficult as hell. Our progress will slow and it’s a lot colder up there than down here. I am not sure that would be a good idea.’

  ‘And yet that is what we are going to do,’ Fergus snapped in a sudden savage voice. ‘You asked about a plan. Well our plan is to head into the mountains and try and lose Gaiseric up there. I can’t think of anything better, so that is what we are going to do.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four – Survival

  The large fire crackled and flickered in the entrance to the shallow, forest cave. It was night and the men were packed, crowding around the warmth of the fire, desperately trying to warm their hands, feet and faces. Around them the snow continued to fall. The fierce blizzard had gone on for two days now without respite, and in its wintery grip visibility was severely reduced. Fergus had never experienced anything like it and during the night, the temperature had continued to drop and drop. In the deep snow-drifts and dark, alien, trackless-forest and frozen swamps, the progress of the ragged Roman column had slowed, and despite Fergus’s decision to head for the mountains the storm meant he still didn’t have a clue if he was heading in the right direction. During the first night after the attack, they had camped out in the forest and he had forbidden the men from starting camp-fires for fear that it would give away their position. The lack of warmth and the chance to prepare a hot meal had weighed heavily on the men’s morale and by morning two men had died, one of the wounded succumbing to his wounds and the other had simply frozen to death. There had been no time to bury them in the rock-solid earth and they have been left behind after a brief religious ceremony in which the signifer had said a few words.

  But now at least they had found some shelter from the icy wind. The cave was shallow but it’s secluded position meant that they could risk a fire. Fergus sat on a rock, a little way off from the fire, his legs drawn up under him, as he huddled under his thick white winter-cloak, his hood drawn over his head. In the forest, a few yards away he could see the sentries moving about trying to keep themselves warm. If Gaiseric were to attack them at this moment, he doubted that many of his men would be able to put up much resistance. The strain of the long journey, their wounds, the lack of a proper rest and the freezing cold were slowly sapping their will to resist. Grimly, Fergus stared into night where the swirling snowflakes kept falling. The only thing he knew for certain was what he didn’t want to do. He was not going to give up. He was not going to let his men die out here. Shivering from the cold, he glanced up at the dark night sky. Corbulo would not have given up. His grandfather would have found a way to get his men back to the Danube. But how? He was stranded here, hundreds of miles beyond the frontier about to head into the mountains in the freezing cold with a determined enemy on his tail. How was he going to get himself out of this mess? How would Corbulo have handled that?