The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  I jumped on my horse and guided it to Gochan. We rode with Armin’s men to the left of the valley, hidden in woods, ever deeper to the woods, and came upon scouts and guards, and watched them nod us forward. We reached the south edge of the valley, just when the first fleeing Tencteri, like a squall in the sea, like birds fleeing a storm, emerged.

  “You really pissed off the man,” Gochan said. “We are in a shit terrible place. All four legions are coming down that path,” he said. “And they have six thousand auxilia cavalry. Tencteri had three. I hope they didn’t lose too many.”

  “As long as the enemy loses six, we can lose few thousand,” I said. “We can afford it. They cannot.”

  “We…the Germani cannot afford it,” he said sullenly. “But they will lose some tribes, I suppose.”

  “Here are dreams made, brother,” I said. “Amid water, tears, and flowing guts.”

  He laughed and rode forward. “You gave him oaths and you will break the lot. I hope you keep yours to me. We kill my father only when we have thrown dice.”

  I lifted a tessera, a dice. I tossed it on my other hand and came up with four. I lifted an eyebrow. “I doubt we will live to kill Maroboodus but might as well decide it now.”

  He picked it up from my palm. He tossed it.

  It came up with four.

  He pocketed it and smiled. “I have no sight like the women claim to have, but that means we shall not die today, eh? Surely, they would let us decide, the gods.”

  “I suppose.”

  We turned to watch the fleeing men.

  Out of the woods, the great mass of Tencteri came to sight.

  They were losing men to sword-wielding Gauls and Thracians, at least four cohorts’ worth in their midst, sitting on powerful Gaul horses.

  The Tencteri chief, son of Gray Wolf, Randar, was under his standard of a horse and sun and screaming orders, but then, clan by clan, the Tencteri fled for the other end of the valley, past us.

  A great yell of triumph rose from the throats of the Gauls as they spurred after the Tencteri, a horde of them.

  I sensed something.

  I looked behind me and saw a mass of shadows moving far beyond us. I turned in alarm, but Adalwulf and Gochan shook their heads.

  “Ours,” Gochan said.

  They were with us? Who were they?

  We had no more time to contemplate as the enemy chased after the Tencteri, all recently bored with the war season, finally sensing a chance to break the enemy. They were coming in droves of steel and swords, spears and bows, a mass of thousands chasing frightened Germani. They pushed in the middle of the fleeing men, and many a Tencteri disappeared, hacked or stabbed down by sword and spear, but the mass of them got to the woods.

  A great soldier, a Roman prefect in red and white cape, his helmet’s crest splendid with white feathers, his scale armor blood spattered, and his best men, duplicarii, signiferii, and even the decurion around him, was leading the enemy. He was a Roman knight in the cusp of victory and he was howling as he held up a head of some Tencteri chief he had killed from behind and whom his men had decapitated.

  A legion surged through the woods after the cavalry.

  It was a sight to see.

  We heard the sound of armor jingling, we felt the ground shaking and saw bushes, if not trees, yielding to hobnailed sandals in their hundreds. It was like a silvery snake with red dotted scales had burst through the greenery, stomping muddy puddles dry as they ran. The men were led by the first cohort and followed by second, and the legate was in between the two, old and grizzly, with legion cavalry of some fifty men around him.

  It was the I Germanica.

  And then, Armin’s horn blared.

  It was thick sound filled with hope and anger, like a riled beast a dog had bitten, and heralded a change in any battle field. It was not a change Rome would enjoy.

  Adalwulf closed his eyes, and I nodded, and men finished their prayers.

  The tribes attacked.

  I saw the cavalry, enemy thousands taken from the front and sides by showers of javelins. The Tencteri were revenged in the first few moments as hundreds of the enemy fell with their horses deep in the woods and just out of it, dying like vermin. Out of the woods rushed tribes of Germani warriors to slash and pull down the cavalry, to herd them to the enemy cohort, and then, it was our turn.

  Wings of cavalry rushed from the two sides of the valley, and we, the left wing, sped forward to utterly surprise the enemy. The legionnaires were looking at the sudden onslaught of tens of thousands of Germani before them.

  Most didn’t see us, our horses splashing through mud and water. Some did, and they screamed warnings. A unit of tardy speculatores were staring at us with shock, but none could reach us before we crashed behind the first cohort. Usipetes, thousands of them, a wing from the right side, along with us, tore to the legion’s middle, for its heart.

  The Roman cavalry scattered and got trampled. The legate and the standard bearer were thrown aside, and tribunes from their saddles, and splashed to the mud. We hacked many down, and we swarmed around the first cohort, pushing the eagle and the legate to the ranks of the last centuries of the first cohort, many of whom were still staring wide-eyed at the charging ranks of Armin’s men.

  Adalwulf was near the Aquila. He was howling and cajoling his men forward as the last centuries of the first cohort were slowly around, bewildered.

  Adalwulf slashed to the throng of legionnaires, their standards, their riders and spears, and jumped off his horse, his sword cutting down with such speed and rage, the blade seemed to sing. He wanted redemption, to perform a deed so great, the gods would forgive him. His men were trying to save his life, pushing to and past Roman shields, losing many to gladii. They were bleeding and killing, and the great legion eagle, bronze and silver, was heaving before them, mesmerizing, so close, men were trying to pull the legate and the eagle to the reeling ranks of the first cohort.

  The first cohort had enough to worry about. Armin’s army came heaving out of the woods, scattering some thousand remaining Gauls and Thracians to all the corners of the field, and beyond.

  Armin’s Usipetes, a thousand strong, were thronging to push in the middle of it. Adalwulf’s men were trying to take the eagle and the legate.

  The second cohort, staggering to a stop at the awesome sight of tens of thousands of hungry, lean Germani, hesitated.

  I turned to Gochan, and he nodded, cursing softly. We turned our horses around, lances gleaming bloodily, as we rode straight at the second cohort.

  They staggered forward, some stopped on their feet, and then we were at them; the lances thrust, and horses whinnied. Ten Sarmatians were de-horsed amid the enemy immediately. Few died to javelins, and many to swords.

  The rest crashed to the second cohort, smashing through a veteran century, and we killed twenty, wounded thirty as the horses pushed the mighty Romans into red ruin. We scattered another, losing our momentum, men pulling swords. Century after century took steps back at the sight of odd devils who feared not death, and when the three centurions died nearly at the same time, two to Gochan’s sword, the man’s horse dancing around them, half the cohort ran.

  They rushed away in panic.

  Behind us, the first cohort had been pushed into such disarray, it seemed ready to break. I watched an old man, the Primus Pilus of I Germanica, charging Adalwulf, and two young thin-stripe tribunes went with him. Adalwulf’s sword cut the old man down, he pushed forward with a sword in his chain, legionnaires trying to stab up at him, and the champion, in battle rage, slashed the two young tribunes from their horses.

  Then, I saw Armin’s men amid the cohort. The legate was wounded, howling on his horse, and the rest of them fled.

  The most elite men of I Germanica pushed away, pressed bodily thorough the men of Usipetes.

  I whistled, nodded at Gochan, who was howling his men to get back to us, and then he turned our men back, and we rode at clumps of such men.

  I saw Ada
lwulf again.

  The fool was still going for the eagle.

  He and his men were all de-horsed now and stood amid a horde of fleeing legionnaires, and like swimmers struggling upstream on a deadly current, their shields and axes cut a red harvest around them, while just barely keeping their cohesion. He wanted the eagle that was near the wounded legate, and some centuries were pushing away from the tide of Armin’s men and towards Adalwulf and us.

  They hung on ferociously to the eagle.

  To lose it, would leave a black smudge on the legion that could never be washed away.

  Adalwulf and his men were looking at the legate, at two centurions, the man, at the brave trumpeters, and the screaming standard bearer very close.

  Adalwulf was so in his battle rage, he didn’t even notice an arrow in his shoulder.

  He was pushing and fighting the fleeing, panicked legionnaires, all white faced with fear as Armin’s tens of thousands pushed after them. He pushed to a clump of such Romans, and they fell, one by one, and then he went through the remains of the clump, and every Germani who could see him were following.

  Then his shield, red with gore, reached the legate.

  A burly legionnaire crashed into him and pushed him back. His sword hacked down, and again, and then, I led my men to him.

  Ninety horses of Sarmatians rode in thick column, and I settled behind Gochan. He growled orders in his language, and the mass began moving faster, killing fleeing enemy with each stride—ten, twenty, the horses and riders one, and their swords eating lives. We trampled many legionnaires and pushed over a decimated century of Romans, leaving their centurion dead, and standard trampled in the mud. We crashed into a heavy mass of Romans to the left of Armin, one which had just pushed through the Usipetes, and I heard a great yell of triumph, glimpsing Adalwulf, holding the standard, the eagle bright, and that is when disaster struck.

  From behind us, legions marched out of the woods in battle order. On the sides, cavalry spread out, fresh auxilia from Ubii and Batavi.

  I glanced behind and saw Germanicus at the head of three legions, and javelins were being tossed.

  They landed like gods’ bolts on the advancing Germani masses, and all around us they fell, indiscriminately slaying Roman and Germani alike.

  And Sarmatian.

  Gochan fell before me from his pierced horse. I crashed over him so fast, I had no chance to dodge. Ten others around us simply disappeared so fast, as pila killed them. I found myself over my brother, panted with fear and pain, pulling the shield over me and Gochan, and felt new missiles striking the ground around us. I saw Usipetes fleeing, many of them wounded and dead on their horses, and then I saw and felt legionnaire ranks running close.

  The second cohort of I Germanica was hurtling past us, gladii high.

  I moved and tried to sit up.

  I saw a sword’s hilt coming for my face, felt the impact on my helmet, and saw darkness for a moment, falling down. I felt a blade visiting my side, my chain ripped, and I held onto my sword and shield, guarding Gochan. We were amid the charging enemy, kicking and running over us. I saw legionnaire faces above me, and I clung to my place, over Gochan, who was getting back to his feet.

  I cursed and spat, sawed my sword on a thick ankle, and stabbed at an arse.

  Someone kicked me down, and I stayed down. I was trampled down to mud and wept with the pain.

  I heard the noise of horrible battle, knew Armin was being pushed back, and back, and waited, not daring to look up.

  When there were no more men running over me but the last of their accursed blocks of men in the triplex acies formation of I Germanica advanced before us, I looked below my broken shield’s rip, and I saw glimpses of massed ranks of Germani shields, thousands of them beyond great ranks of Romans pushing at them over the wet field back to the woods. The battle was an open one, and though initially surprised, Germanicus had the men to rout the Germani.

  The triplex acies formation Romans so favored was a shoddy affair in that field. In half the cases, the blocks of legionnaires were standing in neat three ranks of cohorts but were pushing forward to the first ranks, made it a huge milling mass of chaos. Hungry for battle, the cohorts were pushing forward and forward, men being replaced when they died, in a gigantic, messy pushing match that stretched over great many miles.

  Armin’s one, huge, thick line held the Romans back in many places, their long spears pushing at Romans with swords, over the shoulders of the first rankers and their shield wall. Rome bravely thrust forward, past those spears, centurions pushing the men to excel.

  I saw the bastard.

  I saw him, not far at all. Germanicus.

  He was sitting on a mud-spattered horse, he himself smeared by blood, his chin white, and he was screaming at his trumpeters to sound advance, advance. His standard bearer was with him, the imaginifier holding Tiberius’s likeness up next to him, and cornicen by the dozens taking orders from officers around him. His auxilia were probing to get around Armin, and it might have looked bad, not only for us, the fallen in the field, but the entire command.

  There, the future of Germania might be decided.

  The battle pushed forward to the woods, making it even more chaotic affair, and around us were the ruins of battle. Men were dead, in heaps and lines. Men were wounded and weeping, sure to die later. Men were crawling away, and horses were thrashing in wide swaths of flesh on the field.

  I got up and watched Germanicus, twenty feet away. I wiped blood from my face and mud from my armor. Gochan was trying to pull me down, but he was too weak.

  Germanicus was howling happily, he was full of joy now, his eagles high before him.

  Yes, even the one Adalwulf had taken.

  It was held by a ragged centurion in I Germanica, and I feared for my friend.

  At least he had died doing what he had to do.

  I would too.

  I walked forth until I was near Germanicus. Men were shouting, others screaming warnings, but they were too far, and Germanicus didn’t hear a thing. I stabbed my sword on the ground and pulled out unspent pila, the awkward, crude construction that was so deadly and effective, and then I watched the man.

  I saw him, not far, and then I ran and tossed the javelin as well as I could.

  It flew and shook in the air. It spun and made a tiny, mesmerizing sound. It flew straight for our enemy, and at the last moment, some mischievous vaettir played dice against me, for he kicked his horse’s sides, and the pila tore along his armored back and disappeared into his cloak. He screamed in anger, in pain, and slumped on his horse, trying to grasp his back. Men were around him, and the men were turning, and a trumpeter spotted me.

  He was yelling, pointing his finger my way.

  The men saw mud-covered man in bronze helmet, swathed in war-lord’s armor. I went back and pulled my sword, knowing I would die. Other men were turning in the I Germanica, legionnaires late to battle were looking at me from the forest’s edge, and two men charged me from the century just to my right.

  I let Woden’s rage take me. He danced in the fog, in the dust. I gave my life to his hands and took his speed and ferocity.

  I jumped away from one man and snapped my sword to his shield so hard, the leather broke, the arm fell off, and he fell on his side, spitting and howling. The other one got to me, pushed me back, his sword stabbing, and Woden’s rage or not, I slipped.

  I fell on my arse and then my back.

  The legionnaire, licking his lips, jumped up.

  Then he had a sword in his throat, and he fell.

  Gochan stood there, barely coherent, and slipped his cursed sword between the man’s legs for good measure and sliced up. The man howled in the mud.

  I turned to see Germanicus screaming. His eyes were pools of black hate, and I spat at him.

  “Where is Ulrich?” I called out.

  “Where are your wives?” he roared and laughed. “And your boy? Him I still want! I can have him raped too!”

  I cursed
him and walked for him.

  He pointed his sword at me. “Take him! Alive! Kill the other one!”

  The enemy, more legionnaires breaking off from the ranks, turned and smiled as they saw two war-lords separated from their men and kin.

  “Shit,” said Gochan. “The dice lied.”

  The massive battle was brewing on the other side of a walls of legions, and we were utterly fucked.

  Then, Armin’s surprise was revealed.

  He had lost the Chauci.

  His loss of Thusnelda had forced his family to support him.

  First, hundreds of auxilia were fleeing east just behind us, through the woods, in utter panic.

  Then, a mass of men, six, seven thousand strong, charged out of the flanks and tore to the I Germanica legion’s side, and past it, through the cohorts and between them, like a wave of spears, engulfing the legion, and they were sweeping for us.

  A legate was pulling at Germanicus, centuries were breaking off from the battle lines, and the din of battle and the shouts of enraged men filled the air. It was so loud, our ears ached.

  Suddenly, we were overlapped by men and saved by Inguiomerus the Gaunt. I saw the old man on a horse, not far, sitting under a black standard of furs, scalps, and bones. The man’s armor was scaled, his ax-hilt made of steel and silver, and he held a long spear in his hand, his hair black, matted with sweat and blood. He was howling his men forward, and the legions, over the next hour, made a fighting retreat that cost them hundreds of men, as well as much of their supplies and gear.

  Later, I found Adalwulf sitting with fifty remaining men of his, a gash above his eye, celebrated a hero, and I saw Armin pushing his troops forward.

  It was raining, and the gods of war were laughing, and gentle ones weeping, for neither side had won, and the battle would go on.

  CHAPTER 21

  I watched Armin. He was tired and hurt, a wound from pila bleeding from his chest and down his leg. It seemed he was genuinely happy to bleed. His handsome, dirty face was staring at the remains of Varus's legions, and the bones that had been buried by Rome were being dug up again by locals and thrown around the field.