All thought of the battle had been driven from me. I couldn’t in any case have checked the horse; it was as much as I could do to keep my seat. I lay along its neck, gripping convulsively with my thighs. The hooves thundered on the close-packed soil of the forest floor; branches swooped decapitatingly and fell behind. I was conscious of yelling and confusion as my men swept in pursuit; then daylight gleamed ahead. Next instant I had burst from the forest edge; behind me the column, all semblance of order gone, swept into the open air.
For several seconds I was unable to take in the scene in front of me. To my right, close now, loomed the nearer wall of the fortress, its top alive with leaping figures. Beyond, glimpsed dimly through the driving rain, was the road; on it horsemen, strung out like beads on a necklace, were galloping frantically to the south. Between road and fortress, all across the tapering wedge of lower ground, a furious battle was raging. Swaying knots of men thrust and hacked at each other; horses screamed, the din of battle horns seemed to tear the air. I saw the standard of Vidimerius bobbing and waving over the turmoil; then I was carried, still at headlong pace, into the middle of the fight.
Seen in retrospect, the sequence of events is plain enough. For once the Duke, that cautious and crafty man, had fallen into the fatal error of underestimating his enemy; and in so doing had ridden straight into a trap. Now the true purpose of those night diversions was made clear. The Alamanni keeping up a running fire from the fortress were a holding garrison only; under cover of darkness the raiders had committed almost their entire strength to an ambush in the broken ground below the walls. I learned later the scouts had in fact reported enemy concentrations some two hundred paces in front of the ramparts; Vidimerius had discounted the intelligence, relying on the pace and strength of his column to break through what he considered to be detachments of skirmishers. To make the surprise complete, the Galicians had been allowed to pass unmolested; then warriors rose from the ground at the feet of the Duke and his men, cutting them off both from the infantry screen and our reserve of cavalry. The column was broken instantly in four or five places, the heaviest fighting developing round Vidimerius and his mounted bodyguard. The Germans, temporarily outnumbered, fought like demons, but to no avail; in that tight press there was no room even for a battleaxe to swing. Saddles began to empty and when I made my untimely appearance the whole outcome of the engagement hung in balance.
To an unmounted enemy there is fortunately little difference of aspect between a death-defying charge and a panic-stricken rout. The speed and weight of a hundred horsemen, striking the thickest part of the battle, blasted a path to Vidimerius. Men tumbled in all directions. I had a glimpse of a yelling face; I was unaware of the stroke I aimed, but the face split in two, becoming not human. The air seemed full of noise and the stink of blood; the horse stumbled, leaped and plunged on again. Something rang on my shield; I parried automatically, swung my sword. The blade wedged in bone, I wrenched it free, a flung spear grazed my thigh; then I was clear, and the Alamanni, confused by the irruption of horsemen from the least expected direction, were scattering across the grass. I hauled the horse round by brute force. No time for thought; I saw a man running, hewed down at him, saw him stumble, swung in my tracks again. A score of separate combats were raging round about, but the general trend of the fighting was already clear. The biggest group of Arcadians, heartened by the enemy’s indecision, had burst the ring containing them; a desperate retreat had begun, across the grass to the ramparts of the fortress. None of the invaders reached it. They were caught in their own trap, for between them and safety now stood the cohort of Galicians. The little hillmen, unused to close-quarters work, hewed and thrust in sheer desperation; Franks and Alamanni, caught between two fires, wavered uncertainly. The twin impacts of the Hispanians and the Arcadian reserve turned withdrawal to a rout. The Cantabrians never engaged; the barbarians, outnumbered in their turn, fought and were felled where they stood. The fortress garrison, preferring, it seemed, death to dishonour, plunged into the melee from the rear, with little or no effect; within minutes it was over and there rose from the grass that dreadful after-math of battle, the thin susurration of wounded and dying men.
I rode slowly to where Vidimerius still sat his horse, surrounded by the remnant of his bodyguard. He was a fearsome sight. A spearpoint, glancing between shield edge and helmet, had laid his scalp open to the bone. The flap of skin hung forward above one eye; he was shaking his head, like a horse in a cloud of flies, sending gobs of blood flying in all directions. When he recognised me he gave a frantic roar. ‘You,’ he bellowed. ‘Where in all the Hells did you come from?’ Tonantius, dismounted at his side, reached to steady him, but he shoved him away. ‘It takes more than a scratch from an Alaman to damage a Burgundian,’ he said, swearing. ‘Get a message to Merobaudes. Tell him ... tell him the column ...’ He faltered suddenly, swaying in the saddle; then lost his balance and slid in an undignified manner to the ground. The bodyguard watched down impassively; Tonantius leaned over him, working at the strap that held his helmet closed.
I looked down. I still gripped my sword, but now the blade was red to the hilt. Abruptly, I started to shake. The field round me flickered; a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I dismounted, staggered for the nearest bushes. I was going to vomit; and I wanted to do it in private.
The tent was illuminated brightly by a collection of lanterns and tapers. Across one end of it a couch had been placed; next to it an improvised table was loaded with food. Vidimerius, paler than usual and with a mass of bandages covering his head and one eye, lay reclining on his elbow. His appetite at least seemed unimpaired. Between us stood a plate of oysters; he lifted the biggest of the shells, tilted, and sucked its contents down with every appearance of relish. I followed suit, flinching. I loathe all shellfish; always have, and always will. The Duke’s one serviceable eye watched balefully while I swallowed and gulped. My stomach revolted; somehow I kept the thing down. Vidimerius took a swig of wine, and belched roundly. ‘I don’t mind admitting,’ he said, ‘I thought for a few minutes I’d be supping at Ziu’s table tonight; and I didn’t find the prospect entertaining, I can tell you. Swallow it, man, don’t play with it,’ he interjected irritably. ‘It won’t bite you ...’
I sighed, wiping my mouth. Camp had been pitched within the ramparts of the fort, guarded now by Galician and Cantabrian sentries. From where I lay I could see through the open flap of the tent, down past the massive shoulders of the earthworks, blue now with the coming night. The sky had cleared, towards evening; the first stars twinkled in the deepening turquoise. Beyond the ramparts, in the lower ground, a wavering glow showed where a great fire still burned; it had roared all day, consuming the bodies of the slain. Nearer at hand, voices and laughter echoed; the Arcadians, drunk to a man, were noisily celebrating their success. The booty had been considerable. A dozen waggons had been taken, heaped with spoils; grain and money, weapons, armour, bolts of cloth. As Vidimerius had prophesied, the raiders had been fat; he had presided in person over the distribution of the treasure, a measurable proportion of which was now stacked within his own tent. To round off the triumph our baggage train, admittedly minus the onager, had finally put in an appearance at base camp. A hastily detached party of cavalry had returned escorting a waggon loaded in part with brine barrels; hence the oysters. The Duke could have asked for nothing more.
He skimmed a shell through the tent flap and belched again. ‘Just what happened to you, anyway?’ he said abruptly. ‘Why did you turn? Did you hear us engage?’
I set my mouth. This was the moment I’d been dreading. I considered once more, swilling the wine round in my cup; but an answer had to be made. I could have lied; but he’d hear the truth, or a suspicion of it, from his own people fast enough. I embarked, hesitantly, on an account of what had transpired. I expected a bellow of rage; instead he heard me out. Then he shook his head. ‘It’s clear enough to me,’ he said. ‘You met a forest demon; I’ve known such things before.’ He shuddered briskly, and made a sign with his fingers.
It was about the last thing I expected from such a professional unbeliever as Vidimerius. He caught my look, interpreted it correctly, and laughed. ‘I know I haven’t got much time for Gods,’ he said. ‘The more chanting and branch-waving that goes on, the less effective they seem to be. But demons are a different thing again. Show me the man who’s never met a demon and I’ll show you a bloody fool.’ He took a gulp of wine. ‘There was a demon in Burgundia when I was a child,’ he said. ‘One of my father’s men spent the night in the forest, to prove his manhood. They found him later, wandering with great marks on his body. All he could tell them was, it was strong, and cold, and headless. He died just after.’ He shivered again, brooding in his turn. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s beside the point anyway. I’ll admit I had my doubts about you when you first turned up, but this morning changed all that as far as I’m concerned. There isn’t the slightest question that you saved my life, and you’ll find a German isn’t ungrateful.’ He rose, awkwardly. In a comer of the tent reposed a heavy metal-bound chest; he unlocked it, and opened the lid. ‘I saw you took nothing in the share-out this afternoon,’ he said. ‘You’ll take this now, from me....’
I know my jaw dropped. He held out, silently, a thick torque of soft, pure gold; the sort of gift he’d told me once a German chieftain might bestow on a favoured friend or follower. I had enough sense left not to argue; I took the thing carefully, slipped it on my arm. Vidimerius subsided, puffing, on to the couch. ‘Look after it,’ he said. ‘If at a need you ever come to Burgundia, show it at any chieftain’s hall and use my name: Vidimer, son of Gundobad, son of Gundieve. You’ll be received as the brother of a King.’
I lowered my eyes, too confused for thought.
‘For the present,’ the Duke went on, ‘I’m making you my second-in-command, answerable only to me. You’re a good officer as far as administration’s concerned; if you can fight as well, so much the better. You’ll find the ring’ll put you on a different footing with my people. I expect you’ll be unpopular with the Latin-speaking staff as a result, but you’ll have to put up with that. I think you can take care of yourself, anyway, if you have to. Now pour yourself some wine; and for Ziu’s sake take that addled look off your face. I didn’t ask you here to sit and stare like a stranded fish....’
I made the rounds of the sentries that night, my mind in an odd turmoil. Now, with terror and confusion behind me, I at last had time for thought. The moon, high and aloof, cast my velvet shadow at my feet; below me the remnants of that terrible fire still glowed and pulsed. As I watched, a log collapsed, sending up a quick cloud of sparks. They swirled into the dark, transient as the souls of men. A bird called, in the wood; the nearest trees hung still, black fringes to the glittering sky. I was oppressed by a vague, vast sadness. Already it seemed the battle, in which so many folk had died, was a thing of the remote past, smothered in the forest, by the amassed weight of centuries. One day, inevitably, the grass would stir above my own grave; and the sun would roll, the moon float in the sky, as if I too had never been.
I pulled my cloak round me, drew myself erect. My fingers moved up to touch the rough circlet on my arm. Barbaric the thing might be, but the man who had given it was a man I had grown, however grudgingly, to respect. What had happened in the wood I didn’t pretend to understand. Had events turned out differently I might have been proved a coward or a fool, but the Gods had been kind. It came to me that for the first time, perhaps, I had achieved something in which there was no shame.
We campaigned in Gaul and Belgica for the rest of the season. Autumn saw us close to Germania; in early October I had my first sight of the Rhine. We rode north-west, following the course of the great river. I had heard a good deal about the fortifications that guarded it; none the less I was still amazed at their scale. Mile on mile they stretched, fronting the endless pine forests of the north; towers and walls, ramparts and ditches, frowning gatehouses and barbicans. We rested finally for two nights at Colonia Trajana, guests of the Roman garrison commander. Vidimerius, Tonantius and I, with a few of the more favoured and presentable of the Arcadians, attended a banquet he gave; the following morning the Praefectus accompanied us personally on a tour of the town’s defences, the most massive I had seen. I remember him standing brooding down at the river flowing broad and silent below the walls. It was a still, warm day; the far bank stood out clear and sharp, the ranks of trees motionless in the sun haze. It seemed impossible that that silent, beautiful land could house nation after nation of implacable enemies; but our host shook his head. ‘Make no mistake, gentlemen,’ he said quietly. ‘Here, where we stand, are the true walls of Rome....’
We took our leave later that day; Vidimerius was afraid that too protracted a glimpse of their homeland might stir queer thoughts in the minds of the Arcadians. But the German foederati seemed in the best of humours. They clattered south in fine style, pennants flying, freshly greased hair glinting in the sunlight. Not a man there but was better dressed than when we had set out from Burdigala. Gold gleamed on armbands and necklaces; richly decorated capes flew in the breeze; some of the cavalry had even possessed themselves of sets of harness replete with silver and precious stones. It all made an impressive if sharply un-Roman display. The Arcadians themselves were well aware of the effect they created. In village after village peasants crowded the doorways of their hovels, knuckles to their mouths; the towns along the route, or such of them as retained a little wealth, wined and dined us royally. At Parisi we rejoined our previous road; three days’ march to the south we came on the onager, weathered and gaunt, still stuck forlornly in a bog. Vidimerius, in a last lingering fit of pique, set fire to it.