‘Dress your lines!’
Centurions and their chosen men moved swiftly to push and pull their men into position, quickly transforming the serried ranks into two curving lines that met to form a rough circle.
‘Close it up!’
Pulling their men back, the officers shrank the circle until each front ranker was shoulder to shoulder with the men to either side. Scaurus nodded to Julius and Tertius with a look of respect.
‘Excellent drill, First Spears!’
He pushed into the circle with the two men following, and Julius shouted one last command.
‘Face inwards!’
With a rattle of equipment the Tungrians reversed their facing, forming an unbroken ring of faces around the tribune. Scaurus strode into the middle and then turned a full circle with an appraising stare.
‘You see the value of all that mindless drilling?’ He smiled wolfishly at the men encircling him, working hard to exude a confidence he was a long way from feeling. ‘Just a moment ago you were standing watching those horsemen over there tear a legion cohort apart, wondering whether we’ll fight or flee and expecting to die whichever we chose. Now you stand in a tight formation that will enable us to face down those murderous bastards and beat them!’
He paused again, finding the looks of incredulity and disbelief he’d been expecting on many of the faces around him.The remaining legionnaires were in full, desperate flight now, running for their lives in all directions, and whooping riders were hunting them down as they frantically sought to escape by climbing the valley’s side, those men with bows using them to bring down men who succeeded in reaching parts of the slope impassable to the horsemen.
‘They can fight alright, and on the right ground that many of them are pretty much unbeatable for two cohorts of infantry, no matter how good we are. Out here on the ice, however, it’s a different story! On the ice, gentlemen, victory goes to the man with the best footing! A horse can walk on this surface, and even trot, but there’s more to cavalry fighting than simply charging at an enemy!’ He lowered his voice slightly, forcing the soldiers to lean in and listen intently. ‘A horse, gentlemen, will not charge into a line of soldiers. A bold enough rider might jump that line, except here on the ice there’s no footing for the beast to make the jump from. It might be persuaded to back into the line, although the prospect of you ugly characters poking it with sharp iron will doubtless be enough to put most animals off.’
He waited long enough for a few tight smiles to appear in the Tungrian ranks before continuing.
‘Make no mistake, gentlemen, they will come across this ice at us very soon now!’ The horsemen were milling about on the lake’s bank, some dismounting to strip their victims of their weapons and whatever valuables they happened to be carrying. ‘Their spears will be red with the blood of five hundred legionnaires. .’
‘And one fucking idiot.’
The men standing beside Scarface nodded their agreement with the muttered sentiment, quickly turning their attention back to their tribune.
‘. . but you men and I know full well that such displays mean nothing. Besting a few hundred untried boys caught unawares in open order is one thing! Defeating two full cohorts of the best infantrymen in the empire who are formed and ready to meet them is entirely another! They will come charging across the ice at us, but at the last moment, when they know that their horses are likely to shy away rather than collide with our line, they will pull their beasts up, looking to use the length of their lances to pick holes in our line from a safe distance. And on this smooth surface those animals will slide, gentlemen, they will fail to stop soon enough and they will present themselves at the end of your spears. And when that happens we must take the opportunity they offer us and do to them what they’ve done to those legionaries.’
He lowered his voice again, and spoke into the hush in a tone that told his men he knew something they did not.
‘You see, gentlemen, the man that leads them has made one dreadful mistake. Had he attacked us first, while we were strung out along the road on the march, then he would most likely have been successful. The legion cohort would almost certainly have run for their lives and presented him with an easy kill to finish the day. But as it is he’s chosen to start his dinner with the easy meat. We’re going to show him that we’re built from bone and gristle! We’re going to stick in his bloody throat and choke him to death!’
He nodded to Julius, ushering his first spear forward. The big man scowled around the circle, knowing that for all of the tribune’s reassurance what his men needed most now was the harsh voice of command to which they had been brutally conditioned to answer with instant obedience.
‘No more speeches, Tungrians. You either fight and win here or you’ll break and die here. And I’m not planning on dying here. Front rankers!’
Scarface and Sanga exchanged a glance, the latter muttering a comment to his mate that had heads around them nodding again.
‘Here it fuckin’ comes.’
‘On the command “Prepare to fight”, you will do this!’ Julius drew his sword and took up a shield from the ice next to him. Hacking at the ice with measured blows, he swiftly dug out a hole like the one that Dubnus had carved before dropping the shield onto it.
‘You see? Give your spear to the man behind you, use your sword to chop out a hole for the boss to sit in, then put the shield down with the boss in the hole you’ve made and your foot on the shield to give you some footing. Then you sheathe your sword, take your spear back from the man behind you, and his shield, and prepare to fight! Rear rankers! On the command “Prepare to fight”, start working yourselves up to taking on a horseman at close quarters. When those barbarians come skating up to the line fighting for control of their horses, you’re going to dive out and grab their reins and drag them in close for the front rank men to kill. If you can’t manage that, then you pull down the rider and do for him with your sword or your dagger! If you go down with him, remember that the ice is slippery. Get your feet in his body and push him away, so you’ve got time to get back on your feet and get your iron into him!’
The Sarmatae were forming up on the lakeside, their leader shouting curses and imprecations as the last of his men remounted their horses. Some of the enemy riders were laden with booty stripped from the slaughtered legionaries, wearing captured Roman helmets and weapons.
‘All ranks, about-face! Front ranks, get those shields down!’
Scarface and Sanga grimaced, drawing their swords and chopping at the ice alongside each other. The scarred soldier dropped his shield experimentally onto the frozen surface, sliding it around until the boss dropped neatly into the hole he’d made a moment before.
‘Fuck me, it actually works. Who said all senior officers were full of shit?’
Sanga spat on the ice, putting a foot on his own shield.
‘As I recall it was you, you stupid bastard. Here, you,’ — he put a hand out to the man behind him — ‘give me my spear, and I’ll have that shield. .’
His eyes met those of the rear ranker, and narrowed in calculation as he realised it was one of the Sarmatae foot soldiers who had been given to the Romans to plug the gaps in their ranks.
‘Oi, Saratos, or whatever your name is. Am I going to let you finger your blade behind me while your mates do their best to put their iron through me? Not likely!’
He grabbed the man’s mail shirt at the collar and dragged him forward, pushing the man to his right backwards into his vacated place in the circle’s rear rank. Switching places with the hapless Sarmatae so that he was sandwiched between the two veterans, he patted his spear with a meaningful glance.