Harry Sidebottom - Iron and Rust

‘Father, why-’

‘He has my build. You do not.’

‘But-’

Maximinus silenced his son with a fierce glare. The imperial entourage was twittering like a flock of disturbed birds.

‘Anullinus, take command. If Vopiscus’ men fall back, throw in the Praetorians.’

The Prefect saluted.

‘Silence, the rest of you! Stay here. Micca with me.’

Maximinus clattered down the steps of the tribunal, his bodyguard at his back. At the bottom he took the reins of a messenger’s horse. Micca gave him a leg up, then vaulted on to his own animal.

The Praetorians opened ranks to let them pass. They rode along the front of the cavalry, past the Equites Singulares, until they reached where Macedo had his station at the head of the Osrhoene horse archers.

‘Take your men to the left flank. Support Catius Clemens, if he is still alive. If not, take command there. Do not let the barbarians disengage, give them no time to think.’

‘We will do what is ordered …’

Maximinus kicked on across to the right of the lines, to find the commander of the heavy horse.

‘Modestus, follow me. Draw your men up in three groups at the bottom of the ramps. When you see a signal, lead your cataphracts to the top.’

‘What signal?’

Maximinus thought the promotion of Modestus might have been a mistake. ‘Give me your cloak.’

The officer handed it over. It was a showy thing, saffron with fringes and embroidery. Maximinus put it on. ‘When you see me on the crest holding this above my head, bring your troopers.’

‘Lord.’ Modestus grinned, embarrassed, but eager to please. ‘What do we do when we get to the top?’

By the Rider, this Modestus was slow. It was hard to believe he was related to Timesitheus. ‘When you see the signal, the infantry will have forced a gap in the enemy line. You go through it, down the reverse slope, turn to the east — that is your left — and take the barbarian centre in the rear.’

‘We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.’

‘Repeat your orders.’

‘Follow you, wait at the ramps, see the signal, ride up the slope, through the gap, down the other side, turn left, and charge the enemy.’

‘The enemy centre.’

‘We will do-’

‘Get your men ready. Follow in good order.’

Without waiting, Maximinus gestured to Micca and pushed his horse straight into a gallop. Two streams lay across their path. They jumped the first and splashed through the other in a maelstrom of spray.

By all the gods, let this work. The barbarians would see equal numbers of cavalry going to each flank. With luck, they would still see a big figure wearing the purple on the tribunal, and not realize the Emperor was joining the assault in the west. If they did not send reinforcements, he would turn this right flank, even if he had to cut his way through on his own.

Maximinus ignored the nearest landslip and put his mount at the second, towards the heart of the fight. The ascent was steep, and then he felt the horse go lame. It might have shed one of its hipposandals, but he did not spare it. Leaning forward, right over its neck, he drove it up the slope. The Osrhoene bowmen scattered out of their way. Obscene curses turned to cheers as they recognized him.

Coming up on the rear ranks of legionaries, Maximinus jumped to the ground. Micca was next to him. The horses stood, heads down, blowing hard.

‘With me! With your Emperor!’ Maximinus unsheathed his sword.

‘ Io, Imperator! ’ The men beamed. Even the wounded pulled themselves up straighter. The news of his arrival rippled through the ranks. ‘ Io, Imperator! ’

Maximinus picked up a discarded shield and pushed into the tree line towards the front. Micca and others pressed after him. The combatants had pulled a few paces apart, both sides getting their breath, trying to raise the courage to cross that small space of beaten ground, back into mortal danger.

Maximinus took his place in the front rank. He towered over the men around him.

The barbarians were perhaps ten paces away, shaded by the foliage. Round shields, brightly painted, some in the insignia of Roman units. Pale eyes above, blond hair, not many helmets, the glitter of spearheads, a few swords. Maximinus could see only two warriors wearing mail; standing together, a little off to his right. They were chieftains, the leaders, but this was not a hearth troop around them. This was a levy: herdsmen brought from their animals, farmers dragged from the plough. There would be bands of better warriors on this ridge, men used to swordplay, sworn to die if their lord fell. But not here. Jupiter and the Rider God had led him to a weak point in their array. Kill the two leaders, and the rest here would run.

Raising his sword to the heavens, Maximinus bellowed a war cry. The time for subterfuge was past. Let them all know he was here. Let those two chiefs and their peasants from the forests feel fear.

‘Are you ready for war?’ Maximinus’ voice boomed over everything.

‘Ready!’ The legionaries roared back.

Three times, the call and response. The 2nd Legion was in good heart.

At the last shout, Maximinus hurled himself forward, angling towards the men in mail. He did not reach them. A spear jutting down over a shield at him. Not breaking stride, bringing his sword up, he deflected it past his shoulder. Full tilt, turning his shoulder into the impact, he rammed his shield into that of the spearman. The German staggered back. Maximinus stepped into his space in their line. A backhanded cut bit into the skull of the man on his right. Twisting the other way, he sheered away half the jaw of a warrior in the second rank. A sickening pain in his ribs. A spear point gouging through the armour on his exposed right. Doubling over, Maximinus felt a blow to the back of his head. No helmet, blood hot down his neck. If he went down, he was dead.

Maximinus bent his knees, covered himself with his shield. Thrust blind from beneath it. His blade meeting resistance. Someone howling. Steel on steel. Steel on wood, sickeningly into flesh. Men grunting with effort and terror. All momentum gone.

Gathering all his strength, Maximinus drove forwards up behind his shield. Two Germans knocked off balance, floundering. He cut one down. Micca took the other.

A blur of motion, and from nowhere a spear embedded itself in Micca’s back. The bodyguard fell, his armour clattering.

No time to mourn.

‘Kill the men in mail!’ Half aware he was shouting, Maximinus cut the legs out from behind a barbarian warrior all unsuspecting on his right.

The nearer of the enemy chiefs started to turn. Too late; he could not get his shield around to face the unexpected attack from the side. With his weight behind the thrust, the point of Maximinus’ sword snapped through the cunningly wrought rings of metal, through the leather underneath and deep into the flesh they had failed to protect.

‘Kill the other chief!’ Maximinus pushed the corpse away. ‘The other chief!’

‘Emperor.’ A legionary held a severed head by its long hair.

‘Your name?’

‘Javolenus, 2nd Century, 1st Cohort, Imperator .’

‘If we are not in Hades by tonight, I will remember.’

‘Thank you, Emperor.’

The press of men had thinned. Their leaders dead, the enemy were running. Maximinus hunted for an officer. ‘You, Centurion, lead your men to the left. Drive the barbarians from the ridge.’

The man saluted, and was gone. A horse picked its way through the dead and dying. ‘Julius Capitolinus, take men to the right. Keep the gap in their line open.’

The commander wheeled his mount, shouting for soldiers to follow him.

All that remained was to send the cavalry through. Maximinus ran back the way he had come. Emerging from the trees, he sheathed his sword and yanked off the gaudy cloak. Modestus and his men were dismounted at the foot of the slope. The yellow cloak was ripped, stained with blood. He waved it above his head. Down below, troopers pointed. Modestus gazed up, scanning along the ridgeline. Gods below, surely the fool could see his own cloak? A little blood had not changed it out of all recognition. Maximinus watched a trooper take Modestus by the arm, point in the right direction. The officer started shouting, gesturing for the groups at the bottom of the other two ramps of fallen earth to join him. A soldier helped him into the saddle. The men scrambled to horse.