Адриан Голдсуорти - The Encircling Sea

A man flung himself down in front of Ferox, spear held ready to thrust up into the horse or ram between its legs to trip it. Snow was galloping too fast to stop or avoid him, so he copied the other officers and gripped the mare’s mane, urging her into the jump. He felt that wonderful power as the horse leaped, heard a dull thump as one of her feet struck something and then she was over, running on, uninjured as far as he could tell, and there was a scream as Vindex came on slowly and speared the man as he lay stunned.

The three uninjured Batavians had all sprung down from their horses, which ran away from the noise and the fighting. They stood protectively round the blinded man, keeping the warriors at bay for the moment, until one wearing mail and a bronze helmet jumped forward, pushed a spear aside with his shield and thrust with his sword into a trooper’s face. Other warriors were scrambling up the rampart and climbing over the parapet. Someone was shouting, the words lost amid the chaos of men and horses.

Two warriors were in Ferox’s path, their stout spears levelled, and Frost would not face them but skidded to a stop. Vindex arrived, making the men flinch, and Ferox was able to urge the mare past the tip of one man’s spear and cut down hard, missing his head but biting into the warrior’s bare shoulder. The warrior cursed and thrust at him one-handed, the spearhead hitting him in the side without breaking through his mail. He slashed down again, the blade slicing across the man’s face, so that his nose and a flap of skin from his cheek hung down. The warrior swung his spear like a staff, hitting the Roman across the belly, and Frost was startled, pulling away, so that Ferox lost his balance and fell, slamming hard into the ground.

For a moment, the horse was between them, but the grey leaped away and the warrior came at him, his face a ruin, shoulder bleeding, and spear held firmly in both hands. Ferox rolled, the spearhead sinking into the turf where he had lain, and then rolled again, as the man yanked it free and stabbed again. The centurion was on his front and somehow he still held the bone grip of his gladius so he flailed with the sword, hitting the man above the ankle, shearing through muscle and bone to cut through the leg. Vindex was leaning down from the saddle, reaching to help haul Ferox to his feet, his own opponent lying sobbing on his back, clutching at the great gash in his stomach.

Ferox saw that Snow was too far away to catch and ran alongside the Brigantian’s horse as he headed for the tower. Most of the warriors were still clustered around the Batavians. One threw a spear at Vindex, hitting his horse on the shoulder, and the animal quivered, sinking down on its front knees. The scout jumped down, but the warrior fled as Ferox charged towards him.

Outside the entrance another Batavian was down, jabbed in the belly by the mail-clad warrior. The legionary in command of the outpost appeared, which meant that they had pushed the spiked barricade open to create a gap. The man punched a warrior with the boss of his heavy shield, making him rock back, so that a thrust took him in the throat. The gladius stuck, and a moment later the tribesman in mail cut with all his strength, slicing through the legionary’s wrist so that his hand was left clutching the blade as the stump pumped blood across the warrior.

The last of the Batavians hustled his wounded comrades in through the entrance, Claudius Super shouting that he would protect them. The senior regional centurion went for the mail-clad warrior, jabbing low and making the man jump back. Ferox saw that Vindex was with him and pushed forward, grabbing the shaft of a spear to push it aside and rolling his wrist to thrust over a warrior’s little shield into his chest. The wound was not deep, but the man gave back, gasping for breath and letting go of his spear.

Claudius Super tried to grab the mail-clad leader’s arm with his left hand and punch at his face with his sword, but the Novantian was too strong and fast for him. He slammed his small round shield into the Roman’s face, breaking his nose, and then brought it down and then up under his chin. The centurion fell, and the warrior steadied himself and then raised his sword to jab down.

Ferox charged at the man, screaming, and the noise made the leader turn before he struck. The Roman cut down, because there was not time for a properly aimed thrust and he felt his arm jar as the blade hit the man’s shield. Vindex was beside him, facing another man with a long sword and a heavy silver torc around his neck.

The man in mail stepped back, so that the stunned Claudius Super was just behind him, and levelled his shield. His sword was an army issue spatha , the long blades used mainly by the cavalry, and he knew how to use it. Ferox knew that it was only a matter of moments before other warriors closed around him and it would be hard to beat a man with the longer reach, so he jumped, hurling himself at the tribesman just as his mare had cleared the warrior on the ground. It took the man by surprise and he cut down too late because Ferox was already past the main force of the blow, his whole weight slamming into the Novantian’s body. His feet were against the downed Claudius Super, and the man was pitched over, Ferox on top of him, pounding at his head with the pommel of his gladius.

Distracted for a moment, Vindex’s opponent gave him an opening and the Brigantian cut down, his sword ringing where it hit the man’s torc, but knocking him down with the sheer force of the blow.

‘Come on!’ Crispinus had appeared, a long spear in his hands. Ferox hit the warrior in the face once more and pushed himself up. The downed man was not moving, and the centurion grabbed the shoulder doubling of Claudius Super’s mail cuirass and started dragging him into the shelter of the rampart. Vindex faced the other warriors, who for the moment were hanging back and he taunted them, begging them to come and be killed. None of them did.

‘Come on, you fool!’ Ferox screamed at his friend and pulled the unconscious Super through the slim gap into the enclosure. There were two dead Novantae inside, and another bleeding out his life from cuts to the body and legs, as well as the tribune’s black horse lying on its side, a broken spear deep in its belly. Cerialis stood, wild-eyed, his cuirass and face stained red and the blade of his sword dirty. For the moment, the other warriors had retreated to the far side of the parapet. A stone rattled against the side of the tower next to the prefect and he jeered at the man who had thrown it. The legionary was being helped inside the tower itself.

‘Stop pissing about!’ Ferox yelled. ‘Get inside, you pillock!’

Vindex spat and then strolled through the entrance. Ferox watched to see that no one came at him from behind, but for the moment the enemy seemed cowed. He guessed that the man in mail was the main leader, and saw that another man was kneeling beside him, helping him to sit up.

A stone struck his side, at the same spot where he had been grazed the previous month and Ferox knew that it would be sore tomorrow. He helped the last of the wounded men into the tower. Vindex followed, and they dropped the heavy bar to hold it shut and followed the others up the ladder to the next storey, the fit struggling to lift the injured. Once they were there the room was crowded, but they managed to pull the ladder up after them.

‘That should hold them,’ Crispinus said, his attempt to sound calm ruined when his voice cracked into a squeak. ‘I mean that should hold them,’ he said in a deep bass and smiled.

Ferox pushed through the crowd to the other ladder, which led up to the top. There was an auxiliary up there, lurking in the doorway so that he could see out but was not exposed on the veranda.