I said to Quintus, “Don’t charge home into a mass that size. It’s like trying to drive your fist through a barrel of glue. Ride round them and cut them down on the perimeter.”
He wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought it was worth a try.” He hammered the pommel of his sword angrily. “With only two more alae I could have broken them into pieces.”
I said patiently, “If we go on like this, it is we who will break into pieces.”
There was a long lull in the fighting, while the wounded went to the rear, and the men’s wounds stiffened in the cold. I issued a ration of biscuit and vinegar to all ranks, and two hours later we tried again. I pulled Fredegar’s Franks back into line with the left wing of the archers, split my reserves into two halves and pushed them out towards the wings, and then ordered the whole line to move forward until contact was established with the cavalry. In this way we gained about four hundred yards of ground, while the enemy watched us from a distance and made no move. Then I ran the carroballistae forward and they opened fire at two hundred yards, supported by a screen of bowmen who had instructions to fire into the air, so as to drop their arrows into the enemy centre. As the nine inch bolts tore through men’s stomachs, and smashed ribs and backbones at a single blow, the Vandals fell back sullenly. I ordered the advance, and the cohorts’ first waves moved out at a trot. The two lines met, wavered and again held. The enemy cavalry waited on the flanks, watching our horse, while we goaded them with arrow fire from the wings. I sounded the trumpet, and Fredegar and Scudilio moved out to take the enemy on the flanks. More men were pouring out of their camp now and forming up on the rear of their centre. The carroballistae on my wings now opened fire and an enemy horseman went down at every shot. Angered into action they moved outwards to where my cavalry stood waiting patiently for my order. I waited till they were well clear of their main body, and then ordered the trumpet to be sounded. Our cavalry charged, and within three minutes it was all over. Half the Vandals were unhorsed and dead, the other half was in flight back to the camp. With no horse to oppose them, the two alae, led by Quintus and Fabianus, fell upon the enemy’s flanks and began to ride round the Vandals, working their way in, closer and closer to the centre. Slowly my front line began to move forward again. Still more men came streaming across the plain to help the enemy host. They were principally bowmen, and, from their position at the rear, they began to fire inwards, regardless of whether they struck our horse, or their own foot. Our men, who had fought all day in grim silence, now began to shout, as though they sensed that victory was within their grasp.
“Now,” I said to Aquila, and the two reserves on the flanks moved into action. At the same time, Flavius broke from the copse and led his men straight through Scudilio’s and into the weakening left flank of the Quadi, who began to give ground rapidly. I blew the “Advance” and ordered my bodyguard to mount. “They’ll break,” I cried to Agilio excitedly. “Any moment now and they will break.”
At that moment there came a sudden wailing cry, which even I could hear above the shouting and the dreadful, familiar clatter of iron upon iron. Our cavalry checked—it was an appalling sight—and began to break backwards, as though overtaken by panic and fear. This feeling spread to the infantry and they hesitated, and then began to give ground. Through a gap in a flurry of horsemen, I saw a figure in a red cloak, lying across its horse’s neck, and being cantered back under escort. I tried desperately to rally the infantry, but they were giving way now steadily, each rank retiring, in turn, through the next. “Come on,” I shouted to Agilio. We cantered through our own men—I heard our foot shout, “Ware horse”—and saw their startled faces drop away from me. Then we were moving at a fast gallop into the midst of a horde of yelling, excited Vandals. The weight of our charge, its very unexpectedness, carried us through and out the other side, leaving a swathe of dying and broken bodies behind us. We turned quickly, in the midst of their startled archers at the rear, cutting down every man we could reach; and then reformed and charged back. There is nothing quite so demoralising as being attacked from the rear. To this the Vandals and their allies were no exception. They broke away from us, their advance crumbled uncertainly into isolated fragments of ragged, exhausted and defiant men, so that, when we had ridden clear, and the cohorts had reformed, they turned and withdrew slowly towards their camp, collecting their wounded as they did so. A few minutes later I gave the signal to retreat, and the tired centuries plodded back across the blooded snow to the safety of the ditches, the palisade and the camp.
I gave my horse to my orderly and walked to the signal tower. Every man I passed gave me a salute or a grin, or a greeting of some kind; and every man seemed to be wounded. I felt exhausted and sick. We had so nearly succeeded; we had so nearly failed.
A voice shouted my name, and Fabianus rode his horse towards me, picking his way carefully between the crowds of men making for their tents. “They are coming,” he cried. “The reinforcements are on the way.”
I shook my head. “You must be mad.”
He said, excitedly, “No. There is a column of infantry a good half mile down the Treverorum road.”
I walked out with him, and I could feel the excitement spread around me, as the word was passed from one tired and wounded man to another. Marius joined me, wiping his sword on a piece of rag. Aquila came up, limping from a cut across the thigh. Scudilio was there, too; and Fredegar was with him, his terrible battle axe resting across his shoulders.
The dark column, heads bent against the driving lash of the wind, moved towards us at a slow pace. At their head was a man on horseback. Two cohort commanders walked slowly to join us, one of them half carried by the other. The wounded man was Flavius, his left arm wrapped in dirty bandages. We stood there, smiling stupidly, and waiting. We could be sure of victory now. I was so relieved I felt almost happy. “Mithras,” I said aloud. “My prayers have been answered.” I turned my head and saw Flavius watching me, a startled and disbelieving look upon his white face. He said, “It—it cannot be the—I can see the rear of the column from here.”
I said cheerfully, “It is the advance guard then. That is good enough for me. Let us go and greet them. They have come in good time.”
We met their leader on the road behind the camp, and he dismounted, in advance, when he saw us coming.
“Artorius,” I said.
The Curator of Treverorum flushed at my tone, and then drew himself up and saluted awkwardly. He wore a leather tunic, leather breeches, and a leather helmet. Strapped to his waist was a long sword. His eyes flickered from face to face, and then he looked at me steadily. “I have come to put my sword at your service,” he said. He spoke rather fast, like a man who has been practising what to say. He spoke defiantly, too, as though he thought I might laugh at him. His men had come to a ragged halt behind. They were similarly equipped; not one man wore armour, but each had either a spear or a sword.
“What of the Army of Gaul?” I said harshly.
“It—it is on its way.”
“I don’t believe it. Chariobaudes wrote—”
“He changed his orders,” said Artorius quickly. His eyes flickered and then he stared defiantly, for a moment, at the wounded Flavius. “They are marching to Treverorum, to our— to your aid.”
“You have come on ahead?” I was too tired to cope with the problem of Chariobaudes and his shifting mind.
“Yes.” He looked, with frightened curiosity, around him. He was used to the bustle of a forum; not the squalid muddle of a battlefield. “I know I am breaking the law. I have no authority to bear arms, since I am only a civilian. I don’t know what the Praefectus Praetorio will say.” He paused, and I remained silent. “I wish to help,” he added in a low voice.