Karus let slip a slight smile of satisfaction.
The trooper pulled up hard, jerking on the reins before Karus. The horse whinnied loudly, blowing great puffs of breath as it slowed to a halt.
“Thank you, sir,” the trooper said, breathing heavily. He spared a relieved glance behind him. The two downed enemy writhed in the mud. They were going nowhere fast. The horse that had been pierced by the javelin lay still, while the riderless mount slowly cantered back the way it had come.
“Report,” Karus ordered.
“The Fourth and Sixth will be around shortly,” the man said, pointing behind him. “Tribune Saturninus is leading the men. He wants to make sure you are ready, sir.”
“We are,” Karus said, surprised that Saturninus was leading. “What of the legate?”
“I am sorry to report he fell in battle, sir.” The trooper glanced down for a moment as his horse whinnied again, her breathing slowing. He absently patted her neck. “They were unable to recover his body.”
Despite his dislike for the man, Karus felt a heavy hand grip his heart. Julionus had been a fool, but he had still been the legion’s legate. The feeling lasted only a moment, quickly turning instead to a simmering rage. Julionus had found death not just for himself, but perhaps for the legion as well.
“Shit,” Karus spat in the mud. He rubbed his jaw for a moment, and then looked up. “What is your name, son?”
“Sextus, sir.”
“Good job,” Karus said. “The cavalry wing is just behind the main line. Go and rest your horse.”
“Yes, sir.” The trooper looked relieved at not being ordered to return to Saturninus. They exchanged salutes before the trooper nudged his horse forward and carefully picked his way through the ranks.
The sound of the fighting abruptly surged. Karus looked in the direction Fourth and Sixth Cohorts would be coming. He saw no sign of them, but then movement caught his eye. A barbarian appeared from around the bend, and then another, perhaps forty feet away, wearing long gray cloaks and holding swords with large elongated shields. Suddenly a great group of them emerged into view. Their attention was clearly fixed away from Karus and his legionaries, focused on whatever was back around the other side of the hill.
Karus studied his enemy carefully. Most carried the straight long sword, known as a spatha. It was a good weapon, perfectly suited for the Celtic style of warfare, where individual courage was valued over group formation fighting. A few clutched spears or the dreaded war axe, which, when wielded correctly, could easily carve a good shield to shreds.
Though the enemy all had a varied assortment of helmets and shields, some were better armored than others, wearing chainmail shirts. Those who could afford the armor had some, and those who could not did without. Incredibly, a few of the enemy went bare-chested, proudly displaying their tattoos or war paint despite the frigid conditions. All of them, however, wore varying patterned wool pants with boots. On cold miserable days like this one, Karus envied the pants and boots.
“Ready shields,” Karus shouted. The shields came up from the ground. “Ready javelins.”
A few of the enemy turned, having heard the shout. At the sight of the armored wall awaiting them, they nudged or called on those nearest. Most, Karus realized, were oblivious to his presence. Then he saw the first of the imperial standards and legion’s Eagle as the defensive square pushed around the corner and came into sight.
Karus’s heart filled with a fierce sense of protection as he took in the Eagle. The legion’s standard represented their honor. Karus considered marching to meet them, but Saturninus was steadily moving in his direction. A veritable horde of Celtic warriors swarmed against the defensive square’s shield wall, bashing with their own shields and swords, attempting to hack their way through it or create an opening that could be exploited.
It was a shocking sight.
The sound of the fight was near deafening as sword and spear struck against shield and armor. The shields locked together, parting periodically for a jab at an exposed enemy. Occasionally, an agonized scream rang out from the cacophony.
A defensive square movement against tremendous pressure by the enemy was incredibly difficult to pull off. It was an impressive feat of leadership on Saturninus’s part, and Karus could not help but feel impressed.
As the square moved, it seemed to physically shove a great group of the enemy before it in Karus’s direction. He glanced to his left, and then right. The first rank was ready with their javelins, prepared to throw. Karus simply waited, allowing the square to come closer, one steady foot after another.
As he had with the horsemen, Karus remained calm, biding his time. There was no sense in becoming agitated or anxious. He would only serve the enemy’s needs should he do so, since such behavior might unsettle his men. This, the battlefield, was his element. So Karus simply stood there, a rock facing the chaos of a bitter fight.
The square pushed closer, with the mass of Celts swarming around it like an angry cloud of bees around a bear that had robbed the hive. Still, Karus held his ground. He eyed the two downed enemy horsemen. The one with the javelin in his shoulder was attempting, one-handed and with little success, to draw out the long metal shaft. The other was struggling frantically to drag himself out of the way of the fight bearing directly down upon him. It was apparent he would not be successful. Moments later the fight spilled over them, and both were trampled and lost from view.
“Release!”
Hundreds of javelins arced upward as one. They seemed to hang suspended in the air for a long second before crashing back down to the earth with shattering effect, bringing a great number of the enemy down. It was an exceptionally good toss, and for a moment, the fighting seemed to still with the shock of the throw, then quickly resumed.
Karus’s eyes narrowed. A large number of enemy warriors were between him and the defensive square, which, with each step, was carrying itself closer. There was an opportunity here, he realized.
“Draw swords,” Karus shouted to the left, and then to the right. The fighting was so close it was hard to be heard. He shouted again. “Draw swords!”
Those nearest heard the call and drew. The rest followed suit. Karus pulled his own sword out and raised it high, so all could see.
“ADVAAAANCE!” Karus pointed at the enemy before him and let his sword fall.
“HAAAAH!” The men shouted in unison. So loud was the shout that it drowned out the sound of the fighting to his front. The men seemed to put all the frustration and rage of the last few weeks into their battle cry. “HAAAAH!”
The wet, muddy ground seemed to vibrate as his line moved forward, feet coming down in unison as nearly a thousand men advanced.
The enemy between the legionary square and Karus’s line hesitated, unsure at first just what to do. Heads swung from his line back to the defensive square. There seemed no central coordination or command of their effort to assail the legionary square. Rock-solid discipline, and good soldiers, won battles. That, and body-breaking training, which could only be differentiated from real battles by the effusion of blood. It was something these Celtic warriors had yet to figure out, and Karus aimed to show them the errors of their ways.
Someone in the defensive square saw the opportunity Karus had created. The side of the square facing Karus’s line surged forward, shields bashing out. The legionaries pushed hard into the enemy at their front, who, just moments before, had been harrying them. The legionaries in the square gave a great shout and pushed again, shoving the enemy before them right into Karus’s way.
Karus’s line came on relentlessly, and for a few steps he marched with them as they closed on the enemy. Then he allowed the front ranks to pass him by. Karus’s job was to command, not to fight in the line. The distance closed rapidly, then there was a titanic crash as the front rank met the enemy.
Shields hammered forward, bashing, before the deadly legionary short swords punched out again and again, seeking the soft flesh of the enemy. The en
emy warriors were caught in a veritable meat grinder. After just a few moments of pressure, they began to panic, and that was when the real killing began. Those who could, fled, escaping to the flanks by climbing the slopes to either side of the road. Only a few won free. The rest were cut down, and almost as suddenly as it had begun, legionary met legionary, with much cheering.
Shortly after the two lines came together, a foreign horn sounded, and the din of fighting coming from the other sides of the defensive square suddenly dimmed. The horn called out again, and the fight slacked even further, as those enemy who were in contact with the other sides of the legionary square pulled back and out of direct contact. It became clear the enemy was being called off. Once they regrouped, Karus understood they would be back.
A number of catcalls were sent the enemy’s way as they withdrew.
Karus called a halt and snapped an order to allow the men of the square to pass through. There were walking wounded, but he could see no seriously injured being carried or helped along by their comrades. It meant that either the two cohorts had been exceptionally lucky or the badly wounded had been finished off before being left behind. With an uncomfortable feeling in his throat, Karus suspected the latter. It would have been the reasonable thing to do.
Once the legionaries of the square had passed safely through, the line closed back up, and he stepped back to the front rank. Karus’s eyes widened as he took in the size of the enemy host, which seemed to swarm up over the top of the hill to the front and out across the road just thirty yards away. There were tens of thousands of them.
The enemy milled about, silently watching Karus’s men. There were no ordered ranks amongst them, just a wall of enemy warriors, all armed and armored as they wished. Unlike a legion, no thought had been given to uniformity.
Taking in the sheer size of the enemy army, Karus understood heavy fighting lay ahead. He gave the order to fall back and brought his line back to the position they had started from just moments before.
The enemy made no move to advance or follow, just stood silently watching the legionaries. Karus found it a little unnerving. It was only a matter of time until they struck, and for a moment he wondered what they were waiting for. Then he decided it did not matter. All that mattered was that he was ready when they made their move.
Karus glanced at the ground they had just fought over. Hundreds of the enemy lay where they had fallen, many still moving. Scattered amongst the bodies were a few legionaries. He turned and made his way back through the ranks in search of Saturninus.
He found the tribune with the legion’s Eagle, and Felix by his side. A legionary stood next to the tribune, holding the reins of his horse. Karus eyed the legion’s standard a moment. The sight of it never failed to inspire him.
“Karus,” Saturninus said. The tribune’s face looked drawn, and his eyes darted around to Felix before fixating on Karus. “You know, you really are my favorite centurion.”
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am you were here,” Felix said with an exhausted look. “They were really pressing us something hard.”
Karus noted that both men were splattered with blood, none of it their own, thankfully.
“Very,” Saturninus said with a glance around the lines Karus had set. A legionary horn sounded in the distance to the rear. The tribune frowned, head turning in that direction. The call repeated itself.
It was the call to fall back.
“I take it the enemy has hit us there as well?” Saturninus looked to Karus, who filled the tribune in on what he knew and most of what he had done so far, including his intention to bring the entire legion up into the valley.
“So,” Saturninus said, glancing down the road, “the enemy has yet to close the ring completely around us?”
“It seems so,” Karus said. “But we don’t know for sure. All the same, I’ve ordered our flanks secured.” Karus pointed to the slopes, where the First and Second stood ready. “The ground up there is rocky and difficult. It lends itself naturally to defense. I have also ordered the securing of these two hills, sir. If the enemy wants them badly enough, they will have to fight for them.”
“How long do you think before the enemy closes the ring around us?”
“There is no telling,” Karus said. “If it were me, I would do it as rapidly as possible. That said, this is good ground, sir. We can hold here.”
“They may already have closed the ring around us,” Felix said, and Karus noticed Saturninus glance sharply at the other centurion.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Karus said, to which Felix gave a grudging nod.
“What do you think our chances are?” Saturninus tore his gaze from Felix to sweep it over the craggy slopes.
“Of holding?”
The tribune nodded, looking over at Karus.
“I have no doubt about our holding,” Karus said. “Fighting our way back to Eboracum, however, is a different matter.”
The tribune was silent as he absorbed this. He licked his lips, which had been cracked by the cold, before taking a deep breath. Karus thought he detected a slight shudder in the man, but chalked it up to the aftermath of the fight. Karus himself had had the shakes after his first fight. It was only natural.
“Sounds like you have things well in hand,” the tribune announced in a confident manner. “I will ride to the rear and take command. You, Karus, will command here. Once we have control of both flanks, we can decide what to do next.”
Though Saturninus had very little military experience, Karus was relieved by the suggestion. Under heavy pressure, the man had successfully commanded the retreat of the two cohorts just a short while before, leading nearly eight hundred men to safety. He clearly had some worth as a military man.
“Yes, sir,” Karus said, and noticed Felix frown at the tribune.
Saturninus took the reins of his horse, mounted up, and rode over to where Valens’s cavalry waited.
“One squadron with me,” he ordered loudly in the same confident voice and waited for them to mount up. With a glance over at Karus, followed by a curt nod, Saturninus nudged his horse forward and down the muddy road.
“You know,” Felix said quietly to Karus as the two of them watched the tribune ride away, “I had to keep him from losing his head entirely.”
“What?” Karus asked.
“He was ready to run, and nearly shat himself with fear,” Felix said with a shrug. “I had to literally slap our valiant tribune to keep him from falling apart. And then, it was a struggle. Had it not been for his rank and station, I might have cut him down myself to keep order, as he was beginning to unsettle the men.”
“Are you joking?” Karus looked hard at his friend. It was certainly a poor time for a jest.
“I wish I were.” Felix shook his head. “It was me that did all the hard work after the legate was killed. And now you have handed the command of the rearguard to a spineless coward.”
“Shit,” Karus spat on the ground. The tribune had ridden too far to call him back. He turned to Felix, thought for a moment, and then made a decision. “Grab a horse from one of Valens’s troopers and go after him. You are in command. Don’t let him override what you think is good common sense. Make sure the rearguard and camp followers get up here safely. Under no circumstances is that fop to command so much as a section of men. Got me?”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Karus punched out with his sword and felt the resistance as the blade slid into his opponent’s belly. This was followed by a grating of steel on bone as the sword tip scraped against the inside of the left hip bone. In the gathering darkness, Karus read the surprise etched in the Celtic warrior’s eyes. The man’s mouth opened, and he expelled a hot breath upon Karus’s face that smelled strongly of onions.
In that moment, time seemed to have slowed, if not stopped altogether. The desperate cacophony of the fight around them ceased as their eyes met. It was an intimate moment, for one filled with the horror of impend
ing death and the other triumph.
Karus gave a savage twist of the sword and slammed his shield into the other’s body, pushing him violently back and off the steel of the sword, completely tearing open the belly in the process. The warrior collapsed to the ground, dropping both sword and shield. He writhed in agony, his entrails having spilt out around him, landing amidst the dirt and rocks of the steep slope.
The sound of the battle abruptly crashed back home. Swords clashing, shields bashing, men screaming in rage, fear, and agony. The sound of it all was nearly overpowering. Karus looked down and saw that the tribune whom he had left the protection of Second Cohort’s line to rescue was still alive, though clearly dazed. The boy was one of the more junior of the legate’s aides, fresh to service and barely fifteen years of age.
“Get to your feet, sir.” Kraus, unwilling to set his shield down or sheath his sword to help the youngster up, instead settled for a light kick against the boy’s leg.
The tribune’s head snapped up to look. There was a good-sized dent in his finely crafted helmet, where Karus’s recent victim had struck the boy a vicious blow. Karus read the fear and confusion in the tribune’s eyes.
“Get up,” Karus snapped. Farther down the steep and craggy slope, a large, heavily muscled and tattooed, bare-chested Celt roared his rage and rushed the two of them, axe raised. Karus stepped over the tribune to place himself in the path of the warrior and brought his shield up, gritting his teeth in preparation for receiving the attack.
The blow struck down savagely against the shield. Karus turned his head away as the war axe bit deeply just above his arm and shattered the top of his shield, showering his face with a spray of splinters. Karus screamed incoherently in reply as the force of the strike radiated up his arm and he was nearly pushed to the ground.
Karus was yanked forward a step as the warrior attempted to pull his axe free. The weapon was stuck fast, the sharpened edge only an inch or so from his arm behind the shield. Karus hauled back, pulling his enemy forward and off balance. He jabbed outward with his short sword, reaching around his shield and aiming at the warrior’s left shoulder. Karus felt the tip of his sword find purchase. A warm gush of blood spurted out as the point of Karus’s blade nicked the artery and ran down the sword to his hand. Karus blinked as blood sprayed into his eyes.
Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga Page 11
