Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5)

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘This army has been divided enough by intrigue and stupidity, Gallus. By rights you should face punishment for what you’ve done, and your family would suffer the shame of your treachery. But we are deep, deep in the shit right now, Gallus, and it’s about to get worse. I know you for a competent officer even if your choices thus far have been unbelievably poor, and I hate to waste men when we’re already undermanned. But most of all, if this gets out, the legion’s morale will collapse and they will lose all respect for the officers. Our authority will disappear.’

  Gallus nodded. That last was clear, no matter what else might happen.

  ‘The plan is already in motion, Convocus.’

  ‘Then help me stop it. I am the ranking officer here, appointed on the emperor’s authority. I am assuming command of the legion. My slipping into the role will be so much easier if I have the support of my fellow officers. Support me and I will say nothing of your part in all this. Clean slate. We move on as proper imperial officers.’

  ‘But what of the Ibelli? They’re already moving.’

  ‘We say nothing of your plan or motives. We cannot lie about the general’s death, though – the truth about such things inevitably gets out. But as for the Ibelli and their allies? Well, as far as the army is concerned, they betrayed us and the general, keeping us sweet and sedate even as they sent an army against our sister legion in the north. Today I uncovered the evidence of their treachery. Do you understand?’

  Gallus nodded. ‘There are others. Just a few.’

  ‘Speak to them. Explain to them the situation. We cannot afford to be divided.’ He turned to the cavalryman. ‘Can you clear all this up? Find some sheets or something and cover them.’ As the man nodded, Convocus gestured to Gallus and then the door. ‘Come on. We need to get everything under control and get moving. We have to stop that army before they can attack the Hawk Legion. Now that no one’s career is at stake we can afford to work together like professionals.’

  Chapter 11

  The Raven Legion stood in serried rows in the open centre of the town, filling the space and even the near edge of the camp with their numbers. Convocus looked up and down the lines and nodded with satisfaction. Whatever the officers had been up to, the rank and file were clearly solid imperial military men.

  He glanced for a moment at Tribune Gallus, who stood to one side, hands clasped behind him in a traditional officer’s pose. He could almost pick out the men who’d had a hand in all this from the look in their eyes – a combination of defeat and suspicion. He turned back to the army and cleared his throat.

  ‘Men of the Raven Legion, I regret having to call you to attention and away from your peaceful camp life. However, two momentous events have somewhat changed our current situation. Firstly,’ he said, taking a deep breath and pausing for a moment, ‘General Crito is dead.’

  There was an odd silence as nine men in every ten took in the news in stunned disbelief, while the rest nodded to one another as they confirmed the truth of a rumour clearly already doing the rounds. He waited long enough for acceptance to sink in.

  ‘A traitorous soul from the ranks of the Vulture Legion murdered our noble general this very day.’

  That was clearly news to everyone at this point, from the shock and horror plastered across the faces of the men.

  ‘We have no reason to believe there is any further threat from our sister legion,’ he lied smoothly, hoping against hope that Bellacon had the situation in the west under control.

  ‘We cannot hold the legion or its commander liable for what was probably the work of a lone malcontent. However, we are left without a general. As the ranking officer here, I am assuming command of the Raven Legion, with the assent of the other officers, barring our cavalry tribune, who is in the south securing the supply lines. Other than the name on your pay receipts, for you little will change. I expect the same high standards from you as General Crito did. More so, even, for our recreation time is now done with. We are going to war, gentlemen.’

  Again he paused, letting this information seep into the crowd. ‘The second piece of news I have for you is how the general and all of us have been deceived and betrayed by the Ibelli. While we have rested here at their behest, they have been gathering their forces, arming for war, and set off this morning northwards to tackle General Quietus and his Hawk Legion.’

  There was an air of confusion.

  ‘I understand your concerns, men. Why are we alive and untouched, while the Ibelli move on our brothers? I believe that the Ibelli prince, who is a cousin of our departed general, has directed his people’s hatred against our sister legions, diverting the bloodshed for the time being from his own kin. What is intended for us in the long run remains to be seen. However, now that the general is no longer with us, I cannot see familial connections shielding us further. I am reliably informed that the natives move very fast on campaign. They do not bother with supply trains, for they can rely upon allies or forage, and they have no artillery to slow them. They move at the pace of light infantry, and they have half a day’s lead on us. We are going to have to move fast indeed to catch them. We will have to leave behind the wagons and the artillery if we hope to match their pace. We shall leave a small garrison here in Venta to impose control on the region and to arrange the forwarding of supplies to the north when the cavalry tribune returns. The bulk of the legion, however, will be gone. I intend to manage twelve miles today before dark. We will forego the usual fortified camps to enable us to move faster and hopefully catch up with our prey.’

  Again there was a long silence.

  ‘It is a bleak and sad day, but we cannot afford to devote our time and energy to mourning the general right now. If we wish to save our sister legion from a brutal surprise attack by these treacherous natives, we must move, and fast. Get your tents packed up immediately and take only light campaign gear. Leave everything else. Captain Stilicho will remain here with his men to scuttle the pirate fleet and coordinate everything else. Now disperse and…’

  His voice tailed off as his eyes caught movement beyond the gathered ranks. One of the bruised cavalrymen he had inevitably come to see as his most trustworthy men was cantering back into the square from one of the radiating roads.

  Convocus frowned. He’d sent four men out on the causeways to see if they could find signs of the enemy force to gauge their lead, but the Ibelli had to be miles away by now, so he’d not expected the riders to return until the legion was already on the march. The horseman raced around the edge of the square, soldiers shying out of the way, then pulled on his reins and clattered to a halt in front of the officers, who stood on a hastily arranged platform of boards resting on barrels.

  ‘Sir, we’ve got trouble.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know what they’d planned but while the main army’s long gone, there’s another, smaller, local force out there on the northern causeway. They were hidden in bushes and scrub on a large island just over half a mile from here. They jumped us, and only I managed to get away.’

  ‘How many would you say?’

  ‘A few hundred, at a guess, sir. Not enough to face a legion under normal circumstances, but it’s a narrow route on these causeways. If they know what they’re doing they could hold it against us for hours.’

  ‘And delay us long enough to destroy the Hawk Legion. Damn it.’ He pondered the problem for a moment and cast a look at Tribune Gallus, who shrugged.

  ‘Stars for blankets and forage for food, and we go now?’ the man said quietly.

  Convocus nodded and turned to address the crowd once more.

  ‘Change of plan, men. The Ibelli are arrayed on the north causeway to stop us running to the aid of our fellow soldiers. Forget the business of decamping. We have to go now. It’ll be a difficult journey without anything but our war gear, but our sister legion is depending on our speed for their very survival. Officers to your men. Deploy by unit, with the veterans to the fore and missile troops at the rear. Cavalry at the
back of the whole army, since the terrain will render them largely ineffective.’

  ‘What’s your plan?’ asked Gallus as the officers began to bellow orders and the deserted town filled with the din of a legion standing to.

  ‘I don’t have the luxury of planning,’ replied Convocus, irritably. The idea of moving without a plan was anathema to him, but time and circumstances were now dictating their strategy, not him.

  ‘Then we’ll probably be fighting right through to dark,’ Gallus grunted, ‘and they’ll win a long lead. We have to take them quickly.’

  The two tribunes fell quiet in deep thought as the legion moved around them.

  ‘These are Ibelli, you say?’ Convocus asked the horseman.

  ‘I believe so, sir.’

  Convocus nodded. ‘They will be. Only the Ibelli will know the local land enough to try and face us here. Their allies will be marching north to face the army in less marshy territory. If these are Ibelli, they’re probably the ones from Venta. Assuming that, they must know about the general and his deal with the prince. Will they know you, Gallus?’

  The other tribune frowned. ‘They may do. Probably, in fact. I’ve been in all the meetings between the two leaders. It depends on who’s at the causeway, I suppose. If there’s one of the Ibelli nobles who’ve been in the meetings, then yes.’

  ‘It’s all reliant on a few too many ifs, but it might be that you could trick them, Gallus.’

  ‘Me?’

  Convocus nodded. Cantex would approve of such a gamble, though it made Convocus twitch even to consider it. But they were left with little choice now. ‘Take a small unit of your closest men and ride north. Demand to pass them. Tell them the general is dead and you have to speak to Prince Doribunus. If we’re right, they might let you past. Ride on for a short while, then dismount and creep back. Once we move up and engage, you can hit them from behind.’

  ‘A single squad? Against hundreds of them, Convocus? We’ll be butchered.’

  ‘I’m hoping you’ll just distract them enough – cause enough chaos – that the main force can break them. Then we’ll come to your aid.’

  ‘You ask too much, Convocus.’

  ‘Chance to be a hero, Gallus. Chance to do what’s right.’

  The tribune fixed Convocus with an unhappy look and sagged. ‘Alright. Give me half an hour’s head start, then come on making as much noise as you can.’

  * * *

  The legion, even missing one tenth its number under Stilicho, stretched out like a silver centipede along the causeway. Like its southern counterpart, this track was wide enough for two carts by necessity, the Ibelli surviving on the produce brought to their great markets in such vehicles. This meant that, risking occasional falls to either side, eight men could march abreast, though the legion had settled on six to prevent such accidents.

  The steady thump of feet marching mostly in time was accompanied by occasional blasts on the horns, and the ever-present marching songs of the men, most of which were lewd, crude and thoroughly reprehensible.

  The legion had, during that first half mile, passed two islands spanning the causeway and splaying out to either side, and each time Convocus had found himself peering ahead, nervously, trying to spot figures in the undergrowth and between the trees. There was nothing there, of course, and he’d known in truth that neither had been large enough to house a force like the one the cavalryman had described. Now, though, the island ahead had to be the one. Large enough to support in excess of five hundred men, it was also thick with vegetation than could easily conceal a force.

  ‘This is it,’ he said to the captain at his back.

  ‘Time for you to drop back, then, sir.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Captain.’

  ‘Sir, the legion has already lost its general. We can’t afford to lose you too. You need to be back and out of danger.’

  Convocus mused for a moment. He’d been planning to appear completely surprised by the enemy to lull them into a false sense of security, but they must have known a rider had escaped and taken news of the ambush to the town. The captain spoke sense.

  ‘Alright, but only a few rows back. I need to be where I can give orders and see what’s going on.’

  ‘Tyron? You and your mates have shield duty. You look after the tribune here and don’t let him get stuck, got it?’ The men nearby nodded and adjusted the positioning of their armour and the grips on their shields.

  ‘Movement,’ the captain said, pointing at the island. Even as Convocus turned back and peered at the island, he saw figures emerging into the open and hurrying to the place where the causeway met the land.

  ‘Shields,’ bellowed the captain as Convocus found himself being gently guided back between the figures to where Tyron and his friends formed their own shield wall around him. The tribune was forced to push two of his protective shields apart slightly so that he could see enough of what was going on ahead. More and more men poured out of the bushes until what looked like two hundred figures were drawn up awaiting them ahead. Further movement in the undergrowth suggested the presence of archers on the flanks.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Will a wedge drive through that lot?’

  The captain shielded his eyes and peered ahead. ‘Might do, sir. Touch and go, though.’

  ‘But if it did, we could open the fight up a bit. What’s more, I think they have archers on the island and if we break through the middle, we’ll be partially protected from arrows by their own men to either side.’

  The captain nodded and turned. ‘Where’s Ox?’ he shouted. A ripple in the column behind was caused by a man shoving his way forward. Convocus blinked as a soldier the size of a carthorse appeared and saluted. ‘Ox, we need to break their lines with a wedge. Feel up to it?’

  The huge man grinned, showing all five teeth below a nose that had been broken so often it was more of a faint lump in the face than a true protuberance.

  ‘I’ll do ’em, sir.’

  ‘Good man. Alright. Front ranks form up for a five-man wedge with Ox at the centre. Biggest to the front. Shields up. Men on the right flank in the first ten files, swap your shield arms. We’re going to hit them hard and drive them apart.’ He turned to Convocus. ‘Care to be further back, sir?’

  ‘I can’t think of anywhere safer than behind my own little shield wall at the centre of the formation, Captain.’

  The officer nodded as his men moved into position, forming an arrow head aimed at the enemy, the tip consisting of Ox behind his large body shield. Convocus smiled to see everything fall into place like the best imperial units. Large men moved into the centre behind Ox, gripping their shields with one hand, the other grasping the huge man’s baldric to keep the formation tight. A third row did the same to them, and then a fourth. Then came the captain, and then Convocus with his personal shield wall.

  ‘Distance?’ the captain called.

  ‘Forty paces, sir.’

  ‘Charge at twenty five.’

  There was a tense moment or two of silence, broken only by the thudding of booted feet, and then Ox’s deep voice. ‘Three. Two. One. On me!’

  The column broke into a run. The wedge formation relied purely on speed and hitting power. It was not a thing with a regulated pace like the march or many other battle formations. The men ran as fast as they could, as long as they could hold tight together, and Convocus was swept along with the rest. The legion roared as it ran, and the tribune could only imagine what the natives thought. Arrows thudded into the column, very few making it past the shields, which sprouted feathered shafts repeatedly. Then, chaos was born.

  Ox hit the enemy like a bull at an old, rotten gate, and like such a gate the enemy line exploded. Men were knocked back, knocked aside, knocked down and trampled in the push. Resistance began to be felt by the time the tip of the formation had passed three of four rough lines of natives, and yet still they heaved on, Ox’s own immense strength supported by those behind who added
their weight and muscle, heaving on into the press. The arrows stopped as the archers turned their attention to the visible sections of the column further along, where they stood less chance of hitting their own.

  Then the wedge finally ground to a halt and faltered. With a bovine roar, Ox disappeared in the press of men. Convocus saw an axe rise, then fall, then come up again coated red. Ox was down and the wedge could progress no further. They had achieved half their goal. The front lines were now protected from arrow fire by the enemy all around, but they also stood little chance of breaking through, and would slowly be whittled down and crushed in the press.

  ‘Deploy along the island edge,’ the captain bellowed from somewhere nearby. ‘We can…’

  His voice faltered into silence, and Convocus could guess why. No man was safe now in this press, even with a personal shield wall. The enemy were starting to push them back, and the killing had begun in earnest. Tyron and his friends pulled tighter around the tribune and started to ease him backwards.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Got to pull back, sir. Get you to safety.’

  ‘You take one more step backwards and I’ll knock you down myself. Break up this shield circle and add your strength to the formation.’

  ‘Sir…’

  ‘Do it!’

  His personal wall shattered, the shields moving outwards to join the press of men, trying to maintain the advance they had achieved and not be pushed back to the causeway.

  Convocus saw gaps starting to open up as men fell, and drew his blade, previously kept sheathed due to the closeness of bodies. Any time he saw native flesh or cloth through the gaps in his men he stabbed out, almost always biting into flesh, though with little appreciable result. His world gradually closed in as the legion was pushed tighter and tighter together and began to retreat even against their will, forced back by sheer weight of numbers.

  Few times in his life had he found himself in such a press of combat. This was Bellacon’s forte, or perhaps even Cantex’s. His was to use his wits to avoid such a thing coming to pass. And yet there was something curiously freeing about reacting on instinct and not having to think about every move you made.