Gritting his teeth, the commander spotted a gap in the fighting and drove his horse down the slope toward a man in a mail vest with a splintered shield and a spear whose tip ran with crimson.
“Taranis, my arm is your thunderbolt!”
With a quick glance skyward, Galronus raised the spear above his shoulder and charged.
The moments that followed went by in a blur of confusion. Suddenly there was bucking, screaming, a jolting sensation, and he was free of the saddle, thundering through the air.
A lucky blow from one of the enemy horsemen had taken his steed in the neck, just above the shoulder and in shock and pain the horse had stumbled to a halt before rearing. The sudden stop, however, had dislodged the commander from his saddle mid-charge.
His mind whirling, the action around him a smudged mess, Galronus reacted the only way he could. To fall to the floor here, amid a cavalry battle, was to be trampled to death for certain. As his horse reared and collapsed behind him, Galronus let go of both spear and shield and grabbed for the first thing he could reach.
The enemy warrior gasped in surprise. He’d barely noticed the Roman horsemen as he turned to attack and had instantly pushed him from his thoughts as the man’s horse was stuck with a passing spear, but it appeared that the man was far from done.
Galronus clung desperately to the horse’s bridle with his left hand, gripping the saddle horn with his right as his legs dangled, his feet brushing the ground and bouncing painfully along.
In an urgent reaction, the Sotiate warrior brought his shield arm down, the edge of the heavy wood smashing into Galronus’ shoulder in an attempt to dislodge him. The man was trying to manoeuvre his spear over the top so that he could jab down at the burden that clung to his horse’s flank.
Gritting his teeth, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder and the turf tugging at his feet, the Remi commander tightened his grip on the bridle, letting go with his right hand and swinging loose, bringing up his legs so that he hung by one hand from the horse’s neck, knees bent and facing the man whose spear was slowly passing over the top in an arc.
In a fluid move, he drew the broad-bladed Roman dagger from his belt and hooked it beneath the strap that passed from the saddle around the horse’s girth. Two sharp tugs was all the sharpened blade needed, and the leather snapped with the tremendous strain put on it from above.
The rider, his spear ready to plunge down at his unwanted passenger, squawked in shock as he plummeted from the side of the horse, knees still gripping the suddenly detached saddle.
Galronus watched as the man fell away, disappearing with a shriek beneath the hooves of two other struggling horses.
Changing his grip on the bridle, the commander vaulted up and onto the bare back of the horse, grasping the reins. The priority now was to removing himself from danger. With no saddle, he would find it difficult to manoeuvre without being unhorsed and, with only a dagger to hand, he was of precious little use in the current melee.
Wheeling the beast, he rode for the clear ground to the rear, turning once he was safely free of the fight.
The battle was all but over. Trapped between the steel wall of the Seventh legion and the vicious and well-trained auxiliary cavalry, the Sotiates had lost many of their men and had already pulled away toward the front of the column.
Even as he watched, the last few struggles ended as the enemy warriors fell or retreated, the entire remaining force disengaging and racing along the Roman lines, down the gentle slope into the valley.
The Remi officer heaved a sigh of relief and reached up to his tender shoulder. The chain armour had been torn apart by the blow as though it were merely old wool. The tunic beneath was torn and blood soaked the material. At least nothing appeared to have been broken, but for the next few days any movement of the arm would bring exquisite agony.
Wincing, he withdrew his hand and trotted forward, watching the fleeing enemy. His officers looked at him expectantly and he shook his head, smiling at the looks of disappointment from those men whose blood was already up.
Riding on past, he reached the vanguard to find the officers in deep discussion.
“And that’s where their chief settlement should be?”
A tribune nodded.
“We believe it lies where this river meets the main water of Aquitania, legate.”
“Then we will bring our forces to bear on them before they can prepare.”
He noted Galronus and barely gave a glance to the state of the man and his new steed.
“Good. Have your cavalry form up and chase down those horsemen. I don’t want them to reach their city and give warning of our imminent arrival. Make sure you get rid of them all, though.”
Galronus blinked.
“Legate, that is foolhardy at best. We should be moving slowly and carefully, given what just happened, not splitting the force up and riding into unknown territory.”
Crassus sneered at him.
“Coward! It was your cavalry and your scouts that gave them this chance. My legion took it away from them again. Now get out there and put down that cavalry.”
Galronus shook his head.
“Impossible, sir. They know the terrain and have a considerable start on us. We’ll never stop them all. Besides, they likely had a reserve of scouts watching that are already busy reporting to their leaders. Whatever we do now, they will already be prepared.”
Crassus issued a low growl.
“If you will not lead your men down there, I will select someone who will.”
The Remi officer smiled.
“Good luck, then.”
Ignoring the crimson face and the spluttering of the legate, Galronus wheeled his horse and rode back along the line to the cavalry.
Tribune Tertullus sighed.
“I warned you.”
Galronus nodded gently and drew a sharp breath as the capsarius put the final stitch in his shoulder wound.
“It is his loss now. He can remove me from command, but under the terms of our agreement with Caesar, he can do nothing more to me without the general’s authorisation. I’m quite safe. Safer than ever now, in fact, since I’m not down there on a lunatic errand.”
Tertullus turned and glanced down the slope.
The cavalry had been placed under the command of one of the other junior tribunes and had ridden off ahead to chase down the Sotiates on Crassus’ order. The legion, however, was moving at triple time, close behind them.
Back here, among the baggage train among the few wounded, Galronus and Tertullus sat on a gently-bouncing wagon as it descended the slope, bringing up the rear of the Roman column. It was a rather impressive vantage point, allowing them an unrivalled view of the entire column stretching out ahead and the valley beyond with its steep slopes.
“Still,” the tribune said, scratching his greying scalp, “it might have been better if you’d stayed with your men. With Sextius commanding them, they’re probably more of a danger to each other than the enemy.”
Galronus grinned.
“You’re assuming they’ll do as he says. Most of those men and their commanders are as loyal to me and to Varus as the legions are to Caesar. They are well aware of what my refusal means and they will not put themselves in unnecessary danger. Your Sextius might find he has bitten off a little more than he can chew trying to command a large force of Gauls.”