Beside them, still driving the wagon, the Donan driver, Kuno, watched all of this with growing apprehension. “Stay steady!” Marcus informed him. “This may just prove to be a dust storm, but if it isn’t, I’ll have the legionnaires ready and we’ll give the savages a reception they can’t be expecting.”
“You’re armed?” Severus asked the practical question after Marcus’ little speech.
The driver reached under the seat and pulled out a hatchet. “I’ve got my axe.”
“You’ll do fine,” the Black Vigil told him but the man’s eyes still darted back and forth as if he expected a savage to pop out and attack him at any time.
Marcus had no more time for him. Together with Severus and Calidus, he jogged up the wagon train at a pace slightly faster than the traditional double-time. His sense of urgency grew with the prickling of his skin—so much so that he didn’t care about the stares and the shouted questions they received from the merchants as they passed. The only man he took note of was Lord Evorik, the Gota from Topacio, who had twenty horsemen under his command. The man was mounted as he always seemed to be, but rode easily beside the wagon with his two wives. Marcus slowed their pace to match that of his horse.
“Is there trouble, Tribune?”
“I don’t like this storm,” Marcus told him.
“You’re thinking of the other Tribune’s tales, aren’t you?” the Gota teased. “A little dust and the savages must be attacking.”
“It looks like a good time to drill the men.”
Evorik laughed outright. “Maybe you’re right. At the very least it will be more interesting than watching my wagons’ wheels go around.”
He turned toward his wives. “Hildurara, Riciberga, keep your knives handy. Fulgus may be smiling upon us and giving us a little excitement to break up this journey.”
Both women reached into their dresses and pulled out sharp, dangerous-looking, little blades.
Evorik laughed again. “I’ll round up my men and meet you by your legionnaires.”
Without another word, he kicked his horse and raced up the line.
Marcus and his companions immediately increased their pace to reach the legionnaires whom Burkhard had begun placing near the front of the caravan, even as Marcus and his wagon had been assigned an extra dusty place in the rear. They found them walking in clumps in a stretched-out line reminiscent of how they’d marched before Severus had gotten his hands on them.
The older man ground his teeth but said nothing at the sight, but Calidus was not as circumspect. “I guess this proves that breeding is not enough to make a good officer.”
“Is young Phanes that high born?” Marcus asked.
“His father is a cousin of Urbanus Kimon,” Calidus explained naming an influential senator who was an on-again, off-again, ally of Marcus’ father. A very pragmatic man, Urbanus liked to keep his options open and had supported the call to exile Marcus while the events in the Fire Islands were investigated, rather than let him be recalled for a show trial and executed for other men’s crimes.
“And you’re only now sharing this with me why?” Marcus asked. Much as he hated to admit it, he probably owed the Green Vigil something to repay Urbanus back for his mild support.
Calidus winked and grinned. “I figure a boy with those connections wouldn’t be out here on the edge of nowhere for his first assignment if he wasn’t a fuck up. Therefore you were already paying back Urbanus by trying to knock some sense into his thick head.”
They were close enough now that Marcus could see that Phanes had ignored his suggestion and gone back to letting his legionnaires march without wearing their armor and weapons. Beside him, Severus ground his teeth even harder.
“Tribune?” he asked as the three men stopped beside the rear legion supply wagon.
“Go get them, Black Vigil!”
The older man almost smiled, before bellowing loudly enough to be heard from one end of the caravan to the other. “All legionnaires assemble for inspection! I want you standing here in front of the Tribune ready for war in two minutes and Sol Invictus help the man among you who dares to disappoint me!”
For a moment every one of the green legionnaires froze in place and then chaos erupted among them as they sprinted for the wagons which held their equipment.
Marcus watched with a small measure of amusement. “Not bad, Black Vigil, one afternoon under your gentle command and you have them jumping like seasoned troops.”
“They’re not a bad lot,” Severus whispered. “Just need someone who knows what he’s doing to tell them what’s what.”
“Speaking of not knowing what he’s doing,” Calidus said.
Green Vigil Phanes Kimon charged up to them, his face red with rage. “This is too much, Tribune Marcus! These men are under my command. You cannot—”
“Effective immediately,” Marcus called out in his best parade voice, “I am taking command of this hand for the duration of the emergency.”
“Taking command?” the younger officer repeated. “No you are—”
“Calidus!”
Without further instruction, Marcus’ adjutant stepped beside the Green Vigil and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t make me relieve you!” Marcus snapped in a quieter voice. “You can’t be so blind as to not realize what’s happening here. The plains are alive with unrest and this storm fits the pattern of savage attacks perfectly.”
“What savages?” Phanes demanded. “They were all killed. You can’t—”
“What the hell is going on here?” Gernot, the caravan master’s son shouted as he raced up to them on horseback. “You’ve stopped the caravan. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Marcus looked around and saw that the young man was correct. Many of the wagons had stopped and drivers and merchants were coming toward them to learn what was going on.”
“I asked you a question!” Gernot screamed as he reached out and tried to grab hold of Marcus.
Calidus stepped away from Phanes, caught hold of one of Gernot’s legs and pulled him off his horse. “You stay there and be quiet! The Tribune does not have time for your childishness right now.”
Marcus needed to finish taking control of the situation. “You merchants and drivers, listen up!” His voice boomed out across the plain. “I need you to get back in your wagons and start them moving again. The legion is deploying in case the savages use this storm to cover an attack.”
“The Gota too!” Lord Evorik announced as he rode up with his twenty men.
Fear and uncertainty were the predominant expressions on the faces of the merchants and Marcus had no time for them. “Move!” he commanded.
“What is going on here?” Caravan Master Burkhard demanded.
The last thing Marcus needed was another delay but Burkhard also commanded twenty guards on horseback. “We’re preparing to fight off an attack by the savages. The storm—”
“What attack? Didn’t you hear what Tribune Lucanus said? The Great Tribune in charge of Fort Segundus defeated the savages. They’re broken. We have nothing to fear from them!”
“That is not what he said!” Lord Evorik insisted.
The damn prickling on Marcus’s flesh was maddeningly strong. The wind roared and the dust was so thick they could only see twenty or thirty feet ahead. “We don’t have time for this,” Marcus told them. “Severus, form the men three deep. First rank has shield and sword. Second and third has shield and pilum. First rank blocks arrows; second and third will throw on my command.”
“Which side do you think they’ll come from,” Evorik asked.
“They’re already dead!” Burkhard insisted.
“The wind was coming from the north and switched to blowing directly into our faces from the northeast. I think that if they were coming from the north, they wouldn’t have changed the wind.”
“Changed the wind? Are you mad?”
“So you think they’ll come from the south?” a merchant asked, clea
rly confused by what he was hearing.
“That’s not how you would do it, is it?” Marcus asked the Gota lord.
Evorik considered for a moment. “No, I’d come in from there.” He pointed to a spot a little bit further east than the direction the caravan was traveling. “I’d hit the first wagons to block the trail then ride down both sides of the wagons killing horses and men to cause maximum chaos.”
“Then we’ll gamble that that’s the way they’ll come in.” He raised his voice. “The legion will advance double-time. Green Vigil, join the first rank. Calidus, take the second. Severus, take the third!”
Despite expressions demonstrating their uncertainty, the legionnaires scrambled to do as they were told.
“I hate being the reserve!” Evorik grumbled.
“You’re men are the only ones with the speed to react if we guess wrong on this. And I’m counting on you to know when to hit their flanks if we succeed in stopping them.”
The Gota lord hefted his spear meaningfully. “We’ll be there!”
Marcus saluted the foreign lord—an uncommon courtesy, but if he was right and the savages really were coming, the survival of the caravan might well depend on Evorik and his warriors. Then he ran to catch up with his men. They continued to look left and right at each other as if they couldn’t quite believe this was happening. A few of the braver ones twisted about to look at Marcus striding behind them. It was happening too fast and he had to do something to bolster their confidence or he’d lose them when—if he reminded himself because he really didn’t know for certain that they were coming—the savages attacked.
“I see you looking behind you and I know what you’re thinking!” His voice boomed against the wind to reach all of his men. “There’s supposed to be a red band and a black band behind us.”
Men nodded, proving that a great deal of their uncertainty derived from the lack of support if things went badly. “Well green is all we have for infantry, but that doesn’t worry me. You know why?”
None of the greens answered him, but dependable Severus and Calidus shouted out: “Why Tribune?”
“Because I know something about the red and the black that you have all forgotten.” He only paused for effect, but Calidus broke the silence by shouting: “What is that, Tribune?”
“They were all green once. Every man of the red and the black has stood where you are now, nervous before his first battle, wondering if he has what it takes to stand his ground. And they did stand, because like you they had their training and they had capable, experienced officers to tell them what to do. And what’s more because they knew deep in their hearts that legionnaires of Aquila do not run. For hundreds of years we have stood our ground and broken our enemies. And you men, still green today, will do the same. You will stand your lines. You will throw your pilum on command and then you will charge in and slay are startled enemies in the finest traditions of beloved Aquila. And when we march in to Fort Segundus, you will hold your heads high knowing you are blooded legionnaires of the Republic.”
A spontaneous cheer rose up from a dozen voices and was quickly joined by the rest of the men.
Marcus waited for it to die down before shouting. “The legion will now march!”
Immediately the green soldiers reduced their speed to the traditional walking pace of the legion.
“Black Vigil, align the hand for pilum throwing at no more than thirty feet.” If he expected to launch his barrage at one hundred feet, he wouldn’t have had to adjust his men’s positions. The second and third ranks could have simply thrown their missiles above the heads of those in front of them. But at thirty feet they would be effectively throwing the pilum on a straight line and that meant they needed a space between the shields.
“The hand will spread out to arm length!” Severus bellowed.
The men did as they were commanded—a little bit sloppily but quickly enough.
“All pilum throwers move one pace to the right!” Severus ordered.
This happened more readily.
And now we wait, Marcus thought to himself. It was the hardest time in any military action, made doubly so by the fact he didn’t know if he’d guessed right. His gut told him the change in the wind had to preface an attack, but honestly, the wind does change direction on occasion and he didn’t like the thought of having to face the gleeful scorn of Burkhard and Gernot if he proved to be wrong.
But he wasn’t wrong! The change was too rapid. The circumstances too perfect for a surprise attack. The—
Shapes appeared out of the dust cutting in toward the front of the caravan just as Evorik had predicted.
“Second rank, ready pilum!” Marcus shouted.
Both the second and third ranks immediately lifted their weapons, worrying Marcus that his third rank might be about to accidentally cut down his second.
“Second rank, throw!”
Twenty-seven pilum flashed out into the emerging line of horsemen, striking perhaps four of the animals and one man.
The savages shrieked in shock, pain and rage and a dozen arrows darted from their tiny bows only to glance harmlessly off the first rank’s raised shields.
“Second rank one step to the left!” Marcus ordered and since the third rank already had their weapons ready, he followed up with the command, “Third rank, throw!”
Twenty-seven more pilum flashed out into the much closer raiders. What was more, these men had had two critical seconds longer to pick their targets out of the dust. Ten horses and riders tumbled to the ground and Marcus wasted no time in shouting his next instructions. “Now we kill them, boys! Charge! Charge! Kill them all!”
With a great shout, Marcus’ under-strength hand drew their swords and charged into their first battle, screaming as much from fear as from rage and excitement. The savages were still completely surprised by the unexpected readiness of the defense. They continued to ride closer on their ponies, a few shooting arrows with incredible rapidity from their small bows, and then Marcus’ legionnaires were among them, hacking at the legs of men and horse alike while the savages tried to retreat and regroup. They couldn’t ride closer to the wagons, there was no room to maneuver there, so they tried to turn east and ran smack into Lord Evorik’s twenty cavalry men, legs wrapped tightly around their horses’ stomachs while they jabbed expertly with their long spears.
Adding to the confusion, more savages continued to ride in, not able to see the disaster striking their brothers because of the very same cloud of dust that had shielded them from view as they approached. Marcus’ green legionnaires met and killed them, while others turned into the jumble of pony riders being slaughtered by Evorik’s men.
The screams of pain and the sounds of swords hacking bodies combined to make the terror almost a palpable thing. And then suddenly the savages were gone, Evorik’s men were riding in pursuit and Marcus’ young legionnaires were cheering their very first victory.
****
“To victory!” Marcus toasted Lord Evorik and his men and with a mighty cheer they downed their cups of wine.
Immediately after order had been restored to the caravan and the Gota leader had returned to announce that the savages would not be returning tonight, Marcus had broken out two amphorae of his wine, giving one to the green band legionnaires to be enjoyed under the watchful eyes of Severus and Calidus, and making a present of the other to Lord Evorik in recognition of the role he and his men had played in the battle. In addition to boosting the general morale, it made Marcus feel better about transporting the wine in the first place. He wasn’t some lowly merchant. He was a military commander carting supplies critical to the well-being of his army.
Lord Evorik wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “This is good! Not like that shit you Aquilans served me in Dona. This drink has bite!”
Actually, Marcus was willing to bet it was roughly the same vintage, but apparently no one had ever told the Gota you were supposed to dilute the product of the grape with water before serving it. That meant the be
verage they were drinking was roughly twice as strong as what Aquilan society deemed proper, but Marcus was a legionnaire and had cheated and drank the stronger stuff more than a time or two. “I’m glad you like it, Lord Evorik,” he assured him.
Instead of answering, the Gota refilled his cup and lifted it high over his head. “Death to the savages with their piss-ant little bows!”
“Death! Death!” his men shouted.
Everyone drank another round then cycled past the amphora to refill his cup of wine. At this rate, it was likely that they would finish the vessel before the night was over Marcus decided that it was not in the interests of the caravan to get these warriors too drunk. He would not offer a second amphora this evening.
Evidently Evorik was thinking along the same lines. “That shithead, Burkhard, should be bringing us wine and begging our pardons. We saved his entire caravan. He didn’t even throw his twenty guards into the fight. And yet he hides like a coward from the men who saved his ass.”
That was an unusually long speech for Evorik and evidence that he was truly angry with the Caravan Master. “He’s hiding because we embarrassed him in front of the whole caravan.”
“He’s hiding because he’s a coward!” Evorik growled.
“Well, maybe, but think of it this way. Both he and his son tried to stop us from taking actions that broke a savage attack into pieces before it wounded a single one of the men in his care or damaged a single wagon. That has to hurt. He looks like a fool—”
“He is a fool!” Evorik insisted.
“But he’s also the man who knows the trails from here to Topacio—your home in the Jeweled Hills.”
“He’s not the only one,” Evorik said. Marcus expected the lord to point out that he had already traveled this route once when he came south on his diplomatic mission, but he didn’t. “Burkhard relies on a half-breed scout called Mataskah to help him choose the trail. I’ll bet we could buy him if we needed to. Burkhard’s not the sort of man who inspires loyalty.”
The Sea of Grass Page 6
