‘But what’s our next move, sir?’ Felix interjected.
Gallus hesitated, scanning the Hun horde — they had formed into a crescent shape, curling around the valley’s end like pincers, their front ranks boasting huge packs of cavalry punctuated with small units of spearmen like the teeth of a predator. The horde crept forward towards the Roman line — less than two thousand strong now. At last, the primus pilus responded. ‘Horsa, Chersonesos — how far?’
‘Through the next pass and downhill. Too far, for sure.’
‘It’ll have to do,’ Gallus snapped. ‘Legion, prepare for a fighting retreat’
‘Sir,’ Felix cut in, ‘We’ve got no clear reconnaissance on that place. The city is probably packed with Huns.’
‘Horsa?’ Gallus asked.
‘It’s as your optio says, sir, we never even sighted the place.’
Pavo’s breath shortened as the Huns tightened around them like a hungry snake. The need to act overcame his fear and he spoke out; ‘Is there anything else defensible nearby? A natural choke point…or something we could use to at least cover our flanks?’
Gallus, Horsa and Felix turned, faces wrinkled in frustration. Gallus relaxed his expression first. ‘Amalric, you know this land — is there anywhere we can retreat to?’
The Gothic prince was pale and streaked with dirt and sweat as he watched the murderers of his people encircle them.
‘Amalric!’ Gallus persisted.
He jumped to attention. ‘Near Chersonesos?’ His eyes flickered and he turned to survey the hills, pinpointing his location mentally. ‘Yes! There is a small fort — Greek mercenaries built it during our civil war. It’s on the hilltop, overlooking the coast.’ He pointed up to the next valley. ‘It was used as a watch station for the shipping lanes off the coast.’
‘How far?’
‘About half that to Chersonesos, but it’s a whole lot rougher. There’s a steep rocky path we’d have to climb to get there.’
Gallus eyed the Goth — the look of despair wringing his features said it all. The question hung in his throat — what if the Huns were already there too? But the men needed to believe, and the Hun horde was now only a handful of paces from missile range. Another arrow storm would wreck the legion. ‘Fine, beats this hands down,’ Gallus snapped. ‘You lead the retreat from the rear — we’ll cut these whoresons down if they dare to come any closer.’
‘Sir!’ a voice piped up from the rear of the formation, ‘We’ve been saved!’
Gallus spun round in disbelief, together with every head in the legion.
Pavo blinked. Surely, some kind of dream lay behind them; a shimmering patchwork of iron squares crunched up over the southern horizon. A legion — a full and fresh legion of some three thousand men; scale armoured legionaries, archers, auxiliaries and a fresh cavalry vexillatio.
‘Comitatenses!’ One legionary roared. Gallus pushed his way through the ranks to face the new arrivals.
‘It’s the I Dacia!’ another added.
Gallus frowned. He had sent for the I Dacia, hundreds of miles away, only a short time ago. An impossibly short time.
Tribunus Wulfric grinned at the head of the legion.
‘
Ave!
’ Wulfric called.
‘
Ave…
’ replied Gallus. The Gothic tribunus simply stared at him, while the air hung silent bar the fluttering of banners; the torn and soiled ruby bull of the XI Claudia and the pristine emerald boar of the I Dacia. Even the Huns were stilled. ‘From whom did you receive the call to come here?’ He ventured.
‘What kind of way is that to address your relief force?’ Wulfric chuckled. ‘These men have sailed the Pontus Euxinus and marched from the neck of this peninsula at full speed to save you — and from certain death. Pull back, Centurion, fall behind our lines and we will see you safely to our fleet.’
Gallus eyed Wulfric carefully, ‘When did you arrive, and I ask again, by whose orders?’
‘Compliance is not optional. Fall back, Centurion.’
Gallus glanced over their ranks; Mainly Goths clad in legionary armour, but there were also Romans, surely eager to pitch in and help their brothers. He grimaced; what choice did he have in any case? ‘Stand down, men. Fall back behind the I Dacia lines.’
The Huns, momentarily halted by the appearance of the legion, now waited on the order from their leader. Gallus noticed how the Hun leader remained silent and motionless. As the XI Claudia rumbled backwards towards the I Dacia, he turned back to lead the retreat, when something caught his eye. A small thing that meant everything: dangling from the neck of Wulfric was a small, gold, Chi-Rho cross.
Time seemed to slow as he looked up and locked onto Wulfric’s eyes. As he did so, the Goth grew a terrible grin, and all around him, the I Dacia lifted their plumbatae as Wulfric raised his arm. The unknowing troops of the XI Claudia were marching backwards right into the range of the darts.
‘Treachery!’ Gallus roared. ‘Back ranks, about face!’
Confusion reigned as the ranks stumbled to a halt, some turning, and some continuing their backwards march. As the plumbata hail was loosed, Gallus cried out again; ‘Shields!’ The thick and heavy iron rain smashed into the crippled legion, catching hundreds of legionaries unawares, and then the I Dacia armed with the next volley.
‘Come on then, you dogs!’ Gallus spat.
Then he heard a jagged cry from what was now the rear of his army. The earth began to shake. The Huns were advancing; the noose was snapping shut.
The world shook. Pavo lifted his shield to add to the Roman wall as they instinctively bunched together. Chaos reigned; cries of saviour had rang out at first but had been quickly cut off with a hail of I Dacia plumbatae from behind, now the Huns thundered for them on their confused front. Now the XI Claudia stood like a lame gazelle in the centre of a pack of ravenous lions.
‘Hold the line!’ Felix boomed, barely audible over the thundering of hooves. ‘Hold it or we’re done for!’ With that, iron armour screeched and wooden shields groaned even tighter as the Hun mass raced to within paces of them. ‘Here they come!’
A strange calm touched Pavo. When only one outcome was possible, what was there to fear? He envisioned his father standing beside him, resplendent in his old legionary armour. Then it happened; all around, the tsunami of spear tips and swords bit into the Romans like a thick noose snapping tight on a neck. The head of the Hun infantry battered into the Roman front line, spears jabbing past his face and snarling Huns inches from him. Pavo felt his feet lifting from the earth as the full weight of their number told. His chest felt like a grape in a press as from behind, the I Dacia smashed into the unprepared Roman rear. Pavo wondered just how long it would be before Spurius and Festus fought their way through to him, and even if he could cling onto life long enough for that to happen.
He wrenched at his sword arm, wedged between his side and that of Sura. A spear tip flashed forward at his face, but he could not even lift his shield in defence. Dipping his head to one side, the spear smashed into the face of the legionary behind him with a crunch of bone and an animal scream. The Hun pulled his blood and gristle coated spear back, and with a vicious snarl, he thrust it forward again, this time at Pavo’s neck. Pure instinct kicked in, and Pavo used the surge of strength to rip his sword arm clear, and grunted as the blade parried the spear thrust. Then, with a swift jerk of his arm, he pulled the blade over his shield and ripped it through the throat of the Hun, who collapsed under the push of his comrades. Another stepped forward from the endless sea, ramming his spear forward before the first had even hit the ground. Then the sky darkened. The arrow storm had returned.
His shield was compressed against his body, and he could only tilt his head forward in hope — a handful of arrows danced off the iron intercisa but behind him, screams rang out in their hundreds, as the crushed legionaries fell like defenceless flies to the arrow storm. Glancing up, he saw the massive swell of Hun riders taking aim again as they moved to add to the push on the Claudia. His heart thundered as he lost sight of the end of their lines, such was their number.
‘We’re dead!’ He grunted.
‘Maybe so, but I’m not going out without at least a hundred of these buggers coming with me!’ Zosimus snarled.
‘Been good knowing you, Pavo,’ Sura stammered, the battle fury racing through him, ‘now let’s end this like soldiers!’
Pavo gritted his teeth, ramming his sword point forward again and again, in between ducking and parrying. Dealing out death like Hades, his face ran with warm blood and gristle, his mind hot with fury and flashes of his father, of Brutus. From the side of his eye, he saw his brothers fall. Only a precious few moments remained. Would this be a proud end? But then, who would there be to grieve for him as he had done for Father?
Then, from the rear of the Hun ranks, a terrible moan rose as something ripped right through them like an invisible serpent, throwing men up into the air like toys and sending jets of blood skywards. Then again and again. Pavo felt the pressure on his chest drop and he gasped for air as the Hun numbers fell back in confusion. Then he heard it; the twang of ballistae.
Up in the valley, the four ballistae snapped one after the other. The twenty or so auxiliaries operating them looked like gods.
Gallus
, Pavo thought, remembering the four fingered hand signal — the centurion had pulled a masterstroke, having the pack mule train assemble artillery and follow up the legion a good mile behind. Although not in the line of sight of the ballistae, the I Dacia had fallen back just a little in confusion at the twist, and the XI Claudia had their precious and fragile window of opportunity.
‘Pull back, to the hills!’ Gallus’ voice rattled over the eerie lull in battle. Like a wounded animal, the legion scrambled to life and moved as one, still bearing a shield wall, pushing through the join in the encircling noose between the I Dacia and the Huns. The ballistae fired another volley before the Hun leader roared and with a sweep of his hand, sent a block of some five hundred riders off to despatch the artillery.
‘Move fast, men. We can’t get encircled again or we’re dead!’ Gallus cried as they rumbled up the hillside. The I Dacia rallied their number and the Hun riders rallied likewise. As they tumbled up to the top of the hillside, a taller hill became visible, its sides strewn with rocky passes and sheer cliffs, presenting a snaking canyon in between, rising to the summit. But at the top, salvation presented itself — the tip of a stone wall. ‘To the fort!’ The centurion roared. ‘Get into that canyon — we can defend the mouth!’
The straggle of exhausted legionaries, smeared crimson and silver, hobbled for the narrow gap. The Hun riders hared in on one flank of the legion, and the I Dacia on the other just as the XI Claudia spilled into the pass. Their flanks secured, all the legionaries turned to face front and the wave of Huns and I Dacia smashed against their lines.
Pavo felt the breath rattle through him and realised he was shaking violently. Life had been snatched from the jaws of death, but for how long? Now at least he could fight without restriction, he thought, as the legion formed up with a thin front to fill the neck of the pass. He thought of the heroics of the Spartans at the hot gates; he had read of it in the library, now he was to live it and probably die for the experience. His blood pumped even harder.
‘Come on!’ Zosimus spat, smashing his gore splashed sword against his shield boss.
‘Fire plumbatae at will. Archers, fire at will!’ Gallus roared.
The legionaries launched their darts with relish, each man holding three of the deadly missiles, and the front lines of the fast approaching Hun and I Dacia army crumbled.
‘See how you like it, eh?’ Avitus growled, wiping at the bloody gash on his arm after releasing the last of his darts. ‘Get the archers firing!’ He yelled to the auxiliary units.
Overhead a thin cloud of arrows arched up and dropped onto the heads of the enemy. The I Dacia lines were well drilled and lifted their shields to deflect the danger, but the Huns, clearly unused to pitched battles and close formations, soaked up almost every arrow, swathes of them dropping with a scream, but still barely a drop in the ocean compared with their overall number.
Over in the valley, the ballista twang ceased as the artillery division were crushed under the five hundred riders sent to despatch them. Now the I Dacia and the Huns advanced on the rocky pass at full speed. Gallus forced his way into the centre of the front line.
‘We’re not beaten yet, men. Let’s make every sword count.’
Chapter 56
‘The right is about to collapse!’
The front line of the first century looked up to see the legionary standing on top of the left-hand cliff of the rocky pass, waving his banner. ‘Strengthen the right or they’ll break us!’ He repeated before the thud of an arrow punching into his throat and a gurgle signalled his end and he toppled into the sea of Huns. Below, the distinctive caps and black locks of the Huns jostled well within what should have been the retreating line of the Claudia.
‘If they break we’re all buggered,’ growled Zosimus as he butted out his shield and slipped his spatha forward to skewer a I Dacia legionary.
‘Agreed,’ Gallus bellowed to Zosimus, pointing further up the pass where pile of heavy rockfall lay. ‘You and Pavo get yourselves up to that pass, it’s our only chance.’
‘Do what now?’ Zosimus replied, dropping back from the front line as Quadratus took his place. He squinted up at the rock pile and then grinned. ‘Ah, I’m with you, sir.’
A Hun raised his spear to strike at Sura and Pavo swished his spatha into the exposed flank. The Hun’s ribs shattered and he crumpled to the ground. Pavo turned to face his next foe in the tide, only to be wrenched back from the front line by his collar.
‘You’re needed,’ Zosimus yelled.
Righting himself, Pavo followed Zosimus’ gore spattered boots as he hopped up the scree-strewn climb. His own boots slipped in the dust and at the steepness of the path — close to vertical at points, and his quivering limbs begged for an end to this relentless torment. At last, Zosimus came to a halt by a pile of rockfall. Three other legionaries stood there, eyeing the veteran expectantly.