Silus saluted.
‘As you wish, Tribune. Do I have time to share these tidings with our cohort’s doctor? She was a good friend of one of the centurions.’
The senior officer waved a dismissive hand.
‘Do what you need to do, Decurion, and then come back here to collect my first message. We need reinforcement as quickly as possible if we’re to prevent these Sarmatae maniacs from getting past us and into the province. Oh, and send a scout party back down the valley, will you? I want a little more notice as to exactly what’s coming up the road at us before the blighters knock on the gates and tell us they’ve come to repossess the place.’
Silus saluted again and left the room, detailing five of his men to carry out the prefect’s instructions and ride back down the valley road. He hurried to the fort’s hospital where he found Felicia and Annia in the middle of an inventory of the drug stocks.
‘Precious little dried poppy sap, no Mandrake, enough Knitbone for half a dozen patients. .’ Felicia shook her head unhappily at her assistant. ‘Any man that stops a blade is going to have to take his treatment without the benefit of medication. At least we have a good supply of bandages and honey.’ Her eyes flicked up to see Silus standing in the doorway with an unhappy expression, and her eyes narrowed. ‘Decurion, can I help you? This isn’t good news, is it?’
He shook his head sadly, recounting the disaster which had overtaken Belletor’s cohort.
‘The tribune ordered me to ride back here before the barbarians finished tearing the legionaries to pieces. If he hadn’t then the thirty of us would be dead now, regardless of whether the poor bloody infantry won, lost or drew. So I’m grateful to him for my life. .’
Felicia tipped her head to one side, her eyes shining with barely contained tears.
‘But you wish you’d stayed to fight with them, don’t you?’
The cavalryman took her hand and held it in his own.
‘No true soldier ever wants to run away from a fight, Doctor, no matter all the jokes we make about the best defence against enemy iron being twenty miles of road between them and us. And your husband and his comrades were my friends.’
Annia shrugged and turned back to the medical supplies.
‘A little more faith is called for, Decurion, in both our gods and our men. Neither this woman’s husband nor my own big stupid oaf of a man will have rolled over and died as easily as you seem to imagine.’
Silus smiled and bowed.
‘I hope and pray that you’re right, madam. And now if you’ll excuse me?’
‘Second Cohort!’ The waiting centurions braced themselves for the command as Tertius’s voice rang out over the battle’s din. ‘Attack!’
The rearmost cohort’s line split in the middle to form two wings, both rotating on the pivot points where it joined with the First’s with the two central centuries running as fast as they could on the slippery ice to swing the leading edges of the formation out from behind the embattled line. In the space of a dozen heartbeats, and before the Sarmatae leader had time to realise that he had fallen for the tribe’s own tactic of the feigned retreat, the two wings slammed into his warband’s unprotected flanks in a furious assault. Stabbing with their spears at the horses’ vulnerable sides, half a dozen men swarmed each of the riders exposed on either flank, dragging their riders down and bludgeoning them to death with their hobnailed boots and the brass-bound edges of their shields. As the horses either collapsed from their grievous wounds or were simply pulled from the fight by their reins, the cordon to either side of the Sarmatae closed tighter, and their leader looked about him in growing horror as he realised that his warriors must either escape or die where they stood. Waving his arms frantically, he attempted to turn his mount about to lead his men in a bid to escape, but only succeeded in providing Qadir with the target for which he had been waiting with his customary patience. A feathered arrow shaft sprouted from his side, and the barbarian chieftain stared down at it in terror before subsiding onto the rider alongside him, insensible with the wound’s pain. Julius turned back to the centurion of his reserve century, standing behind him at the head of his men with both hands resting on the well-worn handle of his axe.
‘Your time has come, Bear! Take your men around the right flank and close off the bag we have them in!’
The big man nodded his understanding, growling a command to his men and lumbering away at their head with a purposeful look, winking at Marcus as he passed the rear of the Fifth Century.
‘Hold them a while longer, little brother!’
The first spear looked up and down the length of his cohort, recognising the signs of desperate exhaustion in his men as the battle’s focus switched away from their line and the Sarmatae pressure on them relented.
‘First Cohort!’ The centurions looked at him from either side, wearily waiting for his command with the expressionless faces of men ready to carry out whatever order their leader ordered. ‘Straighten the line and hold!’
Marcus nodded, gesturing Qadir to help him push his surviving men forward alongside the centuries to either side, straightening the cohort’s formation until, while still ragged from the centuries’ losses and exhaustion, it had taken on at least some semblance of a straight line of defence.
‘They have little fight left in them, I fear.’
The Roman nodded, surveying his men with a grim but professional expertise, taking in the way that many of them had slumped onto their shields the instant that the line was straight, while others were leaning against their fellows.
‘True. But we’re not done yet.’ He raised his voice in a bark of command to be heard above the battle, smiling inwardly as backs stiffened and heads lifted at the harsh tone in his voice. ‘Soldiers, this fight is not yet over! When the Tenth Century attacks the enemy rear, and with no escape route left to them, these barbarians will attempt to flee in panic. And their horses are facing us! You must make one last effort if we are to avoid this victory turning to disaster. .’ He looked up and down the cohort’s line to find his fellow officers bellowing similar instructions at their equally weary soldiers. ‘One last effort, gentlemen, but then it’s hardly a fair fight, is it? On this side we are unbroken, experienced soldiers with more battle experience than most legions, whereas they are surrounded and in terror, their only motivation to escape from this circle of spears! Very soon now, when their last desperate attack fails, these bloodied warriors before us will be begging for mercy! And I say we should give it to them in the only way their treachery has earned. I say we give them the mercy of a quick death! No prisoners!’
‘No prisoners!’
The soldiers took up the cry, bellowing it at the tops of their voices at the horsemen milling about before them, and the centuries to either side took it up until the entire cohort was bellowing the sentiment in unison.
‘You really are a bloodthirsty little beast, beneath all that civilised veneer, aren’t you?’
Marcus shrugged at Julius, who had walked across to stand alongside him.
‘Aren’t we all, when the spears fly and the smell of blood is thick in the air? And besides, you know what’s going to happen when-’