‘Sacred goose shit,’ Cantex breathed. ‘That’s just changed things a little, then.’
‘They themselves are a strong tribe,’ the witch continued, ‘controlling a federation of smaller tribes. But they are often divided. They have been known to suffer civil wars that have lasted two or three generations. It is unusual for the entire tribe to be combined and focused as one, which is the main reason they do not already control the entire island. And while they are an enormous tribe, if they are not prepared for you, then you might stand a chance, for they are habitually spread over a vast region, which extends from the east coast to the west and from the northern mountains down to lands even south of here. You are, in fact, in Albante lands right now. Steinvic, which is the fortress of which you all speak, is said to be impregnable. I saw it when Volentius was here as a tribune all those years ago. It is a huge settlement in a flat area. It has thick, strong stone walls and no obvious weakness. Legend has it that the walls were built by giants and imbued with the powers of the local gods and cannot be breached.’
‘Stone walls,’ Cantex mused unhappily. ‘Bellacon, I take it from the speed of your arrival you have left your artillery and siege machines far behind.’
‘We needed the speed,’ the Vulture Legion commander replied with a nod.
‘And we did much the same. We will all be low on supplies, reliant on the Hawk Legion’s wagons, which are still days behind us, and our entire siege machine complement is far south of here, leaving us with just a few small bolt throwers. And we don’t know even how many men we face.’
‘Steinvic is large enough to accommodate all three of your legions, and possibly more,’ Lissa replied.
‘You’re painting us a bleak picture,’ Convocus breathed.
‘I am preparing you for the truth. Steinvic will be the most difficult fight you have ever undertaken, any of you. And the Albantes are a warlike people by nature. You think the tribes you have encountered so far are barbaric? The tribes in the south of this island are civilised. They have traded with the empire for a long time and have become soft and cultured. The Albantes vary greatly. Some of their people are similar, since their lands extend some way south. But others are like men made of stone and snow with only war in their hearts. Among the federated tribes are those from the cold highlands who would trap you in a wooden cage and burn you for the edification of their gods, or drag out your organs while you watch and pin them to a sacred tree. You cannot be too prepared for this.’
‘Are you sure she’s not just trying to scare us off?’ Convocus said quietly, casting a suspicious eye at her, but addressing his words to Bellacon. ‘She is a native. She has no reason to aid us, surely?’
‘You’re not thinking tribally, Convocus. She is no more Albante than she is Pelasian. These northern madmen are as much of a threat to her people in the south as they are to us.’
‘Make no mistake,’ the woman said, her voice sending chills up the spines of the three men, ‘if you march on north, you are marching into death and disaster. But my wyrd sight never lies. Imperial flags will fly above Steinvic at the end of it. The decision is yours.’
‘What decision?’ Bellacon said with an air of finality. ‘We abandon the campaign and return to Velutio, and Senator Rufus will almost certainly see us all ruined, if our failure doesn’t do it for us. We return to the south and try to work our way through the lesser tribes to a level of control we can call a success? That’s what Rufus tried twenty years ago, and look how he fared. The generals might have been fractious and treacherous, but they all recognised this Steinvic as the key to Alba. We can’t waste that. There’s no decision to be made.’
Cantex sighed deeply. ‘He’s right, Convocus. North is our only choice.’
There was a long pause, and the tall tribune with the greying gold hair finally nodded. ‘North it is.’
Chapter 17
The three tribunes sat astride their horses on a strangely-shaped and weathered chalky outcropping at the edge of a huge, shallow valley. They had delayed a further three days before travelling north, settled in the camp and allowing the newly-arrived Vulture Legion to recover from their fast march across the country.
Headcounts had been carried out, and the result had been better than they’d expected, although not by a great deal. The entire army now consisted of just short of twenty thousand men. Eleven thousand of those were heavy infantry of the legions, the rest being assorted auxiliary cavalry, archers, native spear units and scouts. It was a sizeable force, but even forgetting the five thousand or so spread across the country, moving slowly north with the wagon trains or based in depots on the routes, that meant they had lost around ten thousand men since they landed on the south coast.
These were, of course, all estimates. But close enough to count.
And now twenty thousand men marched along the wide valley. The estimated distance to the impregnable Albante fortress was still five days’ travel, now that they were moving at a steady, normal pace, the need for sudden speed having vanished with the combining of the armies. The legions moved comfortably, in concert.
The relief every man had felt at the union of the army was tangible, and even the dreadful certainty of their destination, which had now been revealed at a great assembly in the camp, could not drown out the improvement in the general mood.
‘Five days,’ Bellacon said quietly.
‘Might be more,’ noted Convocus. ‘Even your witch doesn’t know what lies between here and there.’
‘I wish you’d stop calling her that. Her name is Lissa.’
Convocus grunted, still unconvinced. The woman was handsome enough, and seemed to be remarkably intelligent, but she had clearly ensnared Bellacon.
‘If only there wasn’t all this forest,’ Cantex harrumphed. ‘The hills are quite low and gentle, and most of the land’s flat. If it wasn’t for all the trees, visibility would be excellent all the way from the east hills to the west ones.’
‘Lissa says the forest covers much of the north lands, except where the hills become bare and barren.’
Convocus raised an eyebrow at his friend. ‘Can someone remind me why in the gods’ names we’d want to conquer this island?’
His question went unanswered as they all heard the blast of the legions’ musicians. Their gaze drew back from the rolling forested northern landscape, to the army just ahead of them. They had reached a river. Not a wide one, but deep enough and fast flowing enough to present an obstacle.
Fortunately, the natives had long since bridged the torrent with a good dry-stone arch that was wide enough for a man and a cart to pass one another. The army was busy crossing the bridge at the moment, quite efficiently and quickly. At first glance nothing untoward appeared to be happening, but it took only moments to pick out the reason for the alarm.
Perhaps fifteen hundred to two thousand men had already crossed the bridge and were gathered on the far side, resting while the rest funnelled through. But ahead of that force, figures were pouring from the treelines and emerging from the shallow wooded valleys. Not just a few, but many hundreds. Thousands. Like ants descending upon a sweet delicacy they swarmed from the landscape north of the bridge, from each side and ahead, moving to annihilate the army at the north bank.
‘Shit.’
The three men were urging their horses down from the rocky outcrop a heartbeat later, cantering down the incline towards the army. The legions had reacted well. There was no chaos as there had been when the camp had been attacked. Instead, the officers on the far bank were forming up their men to receive the charging enemy while those on the near were urging their men across as fast as they could, trying to organise bringing forward the pitiful artillery and the archers.
‘Why did we have no warning?’ Convocus snapped as they rode. ‘We’ve got plenty of scouts out there.’
All the Hawk Legion’s remaining scouts had been stripped of weapons and put to wagon escort duties due to the fact they could not be trusted, but the scouts from
the other two legions had taken on the task of keeping the army aware of what was happening ahead.
‘Perhaps the senator had a hand in all our legions,’ Bellacon suggested, ‘and not just yours. Can we trust any of them? Or maybe the scouts are just dead, taken by the enemy in the trees. Or maybe even the native scouts have decided they have more in common with the Albantes than us and switched sides. Any way, it seems we can no longer rely on scouts. We’re blind.’
‘And armpit deep in the shit,’ Cantex added.
A brief ride at full pelt down the slope and across to the gathered legions, and the three men took in the updated situation.
The enemy were almost upon the bridge head now. The legions were funnelling men through to them as quickly as they could, but it was still painfully slow. Archers were beginning to take position on the river’s south bank, but they would have to be very careful if they wanted to avoid imperial casualties from their own missiles. It was perilously close to being a disaster.
‘They’re going to get massacred,’ Bellacon said, throwing out a finger to the men ahead.
‘Should have seen this coming,’ Convocus grumbled. ‘We had something similar on a smaller scale back at the southern river. How do we get enough men over to hold the far side?’
‘You can’t,’ Cantex said, flatly. Unless we turn around and pull them back, every man on the far bank is dead, and we can’t afford to lose two thousand men at this point.’
Bellacon shifted in his saddle. ‘You two get the legions in position back here, make sure the archers and artillery are effective and prepare to defend a retreat. I’m going across to try and start a withdrawal.’
The other two tribunes both opened their mouths to argue, but Bellacon, ever impetuous, was already off, riding for the bridge and yelling for men to move out of the way. Convocus and Cantex shared a look, then scoured the mass. Convocus turned to his friend. ‘You find the artillery and get them in position. I’ll try and clear the bridge and stop them moving forward.’
Cantex nodded and rode off south, looking for the artillery, who would now be hurrying forward with their burdens, from where they moved at the rear with the few pack animals and carts the army still had.
Convocus urged his steed forward in the wake of Bellacon, yelling for those same soldiers to get out of the way of another hurried tribune. After a slow, troubled push through the mass of men, he reached the edge of the bridge, where a wild-eyed captain was trying to keep the men in order as they filtered onto the crossing.
‘Pull them back, Captain.’
The officer looked up. ‘Sir?’
‘Back. Get them off the bridge and forming on the south side. We’ll never get enough across to hold in time. Any soldier you send over at this point will just be another man fighting for his life on the far side.’
Ignoring the disbelieving look in the man’s eyes, Convocus took control personally, rising as high as he could in the saddle. ‘Halt!’ he bellowed as loud as he could, and was swiftly rewarded as the innumerable men pouring onto and across the bridge stopped suddenly in surprise. The sudden absence of murmuring and clattering of weapons, armour and shields, as well as the absence of heavy, booted footsteps, threw the area into an odd comparative quiet.
‘Withdraw from the bridge,’ he shouted, then gestured to a musician nearby. ‘Sound the order to fall back.’
Across the bridge, things were less simple. The Raven Legion had taken the fore of the column, and Bellacon was unfamiliar with their calls and officers. He spotted a man in a captain’s uniform frantically waving his arms, trying to deploy men in a crowded host that barely allowed for movement at all.
The tribune peered across the heads of the men to the front, where the men had formed a shield wall and were being battered by the enemy, unable as yet to pull back because of the sheer press of men behind them. Even as he watched, he saw them falling. The enemy were like a flood of colour, pouring across the landscape, outnumbering this small bridgehead by a vast margin.
Unless something changed, and quickly, these men would fall.
‘Captain,’ he yelled, waving at the officer.
‘Sir?’
‘The bridge is beginning to clear. Get over there and start sending the men back across as fast as you can.’
‘Sir?’
‘Just do it, man. Every moment we argue, more men die.’
Leaving the captain to do his job, Bellacon peered ahead again. A sling stone clanged off the shoulder plate of his armour and reminded him of how conspicuous he must be in an officer’s uniform and on horseback amid infantry. A moment later he was out of the saddle and dropping to the ground. He handed the reins of his horse to the nearest man.
‘Get her back to the bridge and across.’
Without waiting for a reply, he pushed forward.
‘Maintain the shield wall. Fill the spaces. We are about to retreat in an orderly manner across the bridge as soon as the crowd has cleared sufficiently.’
He could feel the pressure beginning to clear behind as men filtered onto the bridge and began to pull back across the river under the instruction of the captain there, but it would be some time before there was room for the shield wall facing the enemy to take a step back.
‘Fill in the ranks as best you can. Three deep. If they get through anywhere on the line then everyone on this bank is dead.’
For a moment, he struggled to reach his belt. Then, as the press cleared just enough, he drew his blade and peered through the yelling, sweating, desperate crowd. The enemy were not just fighting, stabbing out with blades and swinging axes like enraged woodsmen, they were physically hurling themselves at the shield wall, trying to break through with sheer force.
Even as he tried to gauge how well the men were holding up, there was a tremendous crash and a scream and an entire section of the wall fell outwards, pulled from position by howling natives. Despite their instant death as the nearest imperial soldiers drove their blades into any unprotected flesh, those barbarians who had cast aside their weapons and used their hands and muscle to pull the wall apart had rent a big enough gap to ruin the imperial defence.
Bellacon’s heart rose into his throat, the thumping in his ears drowning out all sound. He was on the verge of watching over a thousand men being butchered, including very likely himself, and with them would go the best chance of taking this island.
He had no plan and had not even realised what he was doing until he’d roared out a defiant cry and thrown himself forward into the gap. There had been just a tiny moment of leeway when the enemy failed to capitalise on the hole they had made in the shield wall.
They had clearly not expected it to succeed and so, in surprise, they dithered, allowing just enough time for Bellacon and two or three other quick-thinking men to leap from behind into the gap and start savaging anyone they found like angry wolverines. Then the enemy recognised the chance before them, as well as the fact that they were on the cusp of losing that chance, and hammered forward into the fray.
Bellacon fought like a Gota berserker, stabbing, slashing, hacking and head-butting anything that came near enough. At one point he and the man next to him actually drew blood from each other in a mutual blow before they recognised one another as allies.
Warm sprays of blood flew, and fragments of hacked-off bone, gristle and unmentionable ichor slapped across him, bouncing off his flesh and armour. He killed as he had never killed before, mechanically, desperate not to let the enemy exploit the gap in the wall. He felt a white line of fiery pain across his arm, and his cheek, his neck, his leg.
He saw an explosion of metal shards and leather scraps burst out from his own armour at a sword strike from a man he didn’t even see, and half expected it to be a death blow, though all he felt was a heavy thump, as though he’d been punched in the side with a leather gauntlet.
A man rose in front of him, an axe swinging. He disappeared again, leaving half his jaw and a fine pink mist as Bellacon’s sword came back and up,
stabbing out at the next man, who was trying in the press to bring a spear to bear. A sword. A spear. A man lacking all weapons, but flailing with bare, muscular hands, trying to grasp at him.
Bellacon noted in shock that the man’s mouth and chin were soaked with crimson and that when he snarled there were fragments of someone’s flesh trapped in his teeth. The memory of Lissa’s description of these savage northern tribes rose once more, and he hammered at that leering head with his blade until the teeth were gone along with most of the face.
As the unarmed man fell away and Bellacon’s revolted rage drove him into the next man, he almost died, a spear thrust, which would have gone straight through his throat had a strong hand not pulled him back out of the way, raking along his jawline.
‘Thank you, sir. We’ve got it from here,’ said a voice.
Bellacon, shaking from the ordeal, found that he was being gently but firmly manhandled back out of the press as the gap was sealed once more by good men. A moment later it looked as it had before. How had they managed to pull such a great hole in the shield wall in the first place? If they’d done it once, they could do it again, and then…
‘Hold steady,’ he bellowed, the answer coming to him. ‘If they manage to get a grip on your shield, don’t fight them. Let them take it and swap places with the man behind you. Better to lose your shield than the whole formation.’
He stopped, shivering, and looked down at himself. He was barely recognisable as a human being. Hardly an inch of him was clear of blood, gore and brain matter. He was warm and steaming gently, his clothes were heavy and clung wetly to him and he could feel the blood already drying, becoming tacky and adhesive. He couldn’t imagine any bath in the world getting all this off him.
Behind him, he heard the captain shouting, and, pulling himself out of his dazed disbelief, he focused. All was in good order. The men were now filing back rapidly across the bridge, and there was space behind the beleaguered shield wall.
Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5) Page 20
