Ben Kane: Eagles at War

He was pleased to be mistaken. A mile marker passed, and then another. By the third, he fell back from his position to confer with Caedicius. ‘Do you think they’re looting the camp, sir?’

‘A shrewd guess. Preferable to chasing after a thousand legionaries in the dark, eh? There’s plenty in Aliso to keep them busy. Wine, food, weapons. Soldiers’ savings, if they think to rip up the floorboards in the barracks.’

‘Gods, let them drink themselves stupid,’ said Tullus, thinking of the enormous barrels he’d seen in one of the storehouses, vessels bound with iron rings, almost as tall as two men, and as broad.

‘Some of them will do their best. What man wouldn’t, if he got the chance?’ Caedicius let out a wicked chuckle.

Their hopes were borne out in the hours that followed, as they marched five miles, and then seven, from Aliso. Tullus’ men, even the injured, managed to keep up with the rest. Dawn arrived, and a watery sun emerged from behind the clouds, lifting the general mood. The soldiers broke out whatever food they had, and shared it out. Sodden or not, the bread that Tullus was handed tasted divine. He washed it down with the neat wine that Fenestela had managed to procure.

HUUUUMMMMMMMM! HUUUUMMMMMMMM!

The outbreak of the barritus was far to their rear, yet it set Tullus’ skin to tingling. His men’s faces changed too. ‘Ignore it, my brothers,’ he cried. ‘Five miles or so, and we’ll reach the next camp. Reinforcements will be on their way from Vetera as soon as the cavalry get there. All we’ll have to do is hold on!’

‘ROMA!’ a man – Piso? – yelled. His call was like the spark that falls into dry summer undergrowth and starts a wild fire. ‘ROMA! ROMA! ROMA!’ Tullus’ soldiers roared. Their chant was taken up by Caedicius’ legionaries, drowning out the barritus.

Tullus’ ploy to rally his men’s spirits had worked, but it would only be a temporary measure. The enemy would catch them before the next camp. He had no idea when their small group of cavalry would reach Vetera – Caedicius had ordered that they ride off at daybreak – and how long after that a force would be despatched to their rescue. Even if they reached the marching camp, would they be able to defend it successfully? When Degmar asked if he should drop off the road and spy on the men following, Tullus agreed with alacrity. Knowing the enemy’s disposition might prove useful.

Next he went to talk to Caedicius, his worries gnawing at his guts like a dog at a juicy bone.

‘Six of my riders remain at the front of the column,’ Caedicius told him, grinning like a madman. ‘They have trumpets.’

Tullus shook his head, confused, a little frustrated. ‘What use are musical instruments, sir?’

Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm ! The sound was audible again, even though the legionaries were still chanting. Tullus glanced back along the road, and saw the first figures – berserkers, no doubt – loping ahead of a massed body of warriors. They were perhaps three-quarters of a mile away. Tullus felt more bitter than he had in the midst of the ambush, when his death had seemed inevitable. It had begun to seem possible that he might survive, that one day he might retrieve his legion’s eagle. That Arminius might come under his blade.

Vetera was perhaps thirty-five miles away, but it might as well have been Rome.

Stay calm, Tullus thought. He focused again on Caedicius, wondering how in Hades he managed it.

‘I’m holding back a rider until the enemy are nice and close,’ said Caedicius, indicating the two horsemen alongside their position. ‘When he reaches the trumpeters, they will sound’ – he winked, and added – ‘an advance, at double speed.’

‘Ha!’ cried Tullus with delight. ‘The Germans will think that it is troops marching from Vetera to our rescue.’

‘That’s what I am hoping. It’s a gamble, of course. If there are a few level-headed men among the enemy, who can steady their fellows, we’re done for,’ said Caedicius, looking sombre. ‘On the other hand, most of them could be pissed, thanks to the wine they found inside Aliso.’

Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm !

The legionaries’ singing faltered, and died away.

‘Keep marching, brothers,’ shouted Caedicius. ‘I won’t let them hit us from behind. Pass it on.’

The order went rolling up the column, and the soldiers maintained their steady pace.

By rights, Tullus was supposed to be with his men, further up the line, but his pride wouldn’t let him move. If there was to be a fight, he wanted to be part of it. All he’d done for the last seven days and more was run. Even if it meant his death, he was going to face the enemy.

It was as if Caedicius knew – he didn’t say a word.

Huuuummmmmmmm! Huuuummmmmmmm !

Tullus took a look. The berserkers were about half a mile back, and a good distance ahead of their comrades.

Caedicius barked an order at his last rider, who urged his horse forward.

Soon after, Degmar appeared out of the bushes to the side of the road, his chest heaving from the run. Several thousand warriors were following them, he reported, but a sizeable number did appear to be drunk. Clapping Degmar on the shoulder, Tullus relayed the good news to Caedicius, who halted the cohort at once.

‘About turn,’ Caedicius shouted. ‘Rear ten ranks, spread out, twenty wide, three deep. Off the road, if you have to. READY JAVELINS!’

Tullus counted the berserkers. There were a dozen, and his gut twisted. That many naked madmen would smash their formation like hammers striking a pane of glass. Their volley was vital, therefore. ‘ Pilum ,’ he ordered, raising his hand, and one was handed forward from a man in the rank behind.

Caedicius was busy too. He couldn’t have stood in the front line of a battle for years, yet he hadn’t forgotten the little details that stiffen men’s spines. Tullus felt his own resolve firm as Caedicius stalked up and down, telling his soldiers that they were the pride of Rome, the best legionaries in the empire. They would fight for each other, and to avenge their comrades, who had been so foully murdered by the whoresons coming down that road. No quarter was to be given, Caedicius roared, not even if an enemy was crying for mercy. ‘I want you to cover your blades in blood. I want you to kill every fucking savage that comes near you! Do you hear me?’

‘YES, SIR!’

Caedicius began to clash the head of his javelin off the iron rim of his shield.

Every man joined in.

They kept it up until the berserkers were a hundred paces away. The rest of the warriors were at least three times that distance further behind. Caedicius raised his pilum high, and a gradual silence fell.

‘Front two ranks, ready javelins!’ called Caedicius. ‘On my command, ranks three and four will pass their pila forward.’

Tullus tried not to think about the gaps in their far from ideal formation. On the road, they were only six men wide. Seven soldiers were standing a little lower down to either side, in the ditches that ran alongside, and on the rough, grassy ground that extended beyond that. He took a tighter grip on his pilum shaft, thinking that it would have to do.

Caedicius continued encouraging his men until the berserkers were fifty paces away. They were a fearsome sight, their bodies streaked with white pigment, spears ready, mad war cries leaving their throats. ‘Front two ranks, take aim,’ he yelled. ‘Pick your target. On my order.’

Tullus concentrated on a wiry berserker who was taller than any of his companions.

‘READY,’ cried Caedicius. ‘LOOSE!’

Tullus drew back, and threw.

Caedicius was shouting before the shoal of missiles had even reached the top of their arc. ‘RANKS THREE AND FOUR, PASS YOUR JAVELINS FORWARD. QUICKLY!’