Soldier of Rome: The Centurion (The Artorian Chronicles) (28 page)

A cry like a host of screaming Medusas filled the air. Amke pointed her axe towards a cohort of legionaries that were bearing down on them. At last it was time; time for her to unleash all the pent up hurt, frustration, and fury that had been building up inside ever since the arrival of that abominable creature, Olennius. She cursed that he was not there to suffer what was coming to him; but then
, soft magistrates hid behind the walls of the iron men that faced her now. She gave another cry and rushed towards her foe.

“Holy shit, they’ve got girls fighting for them!” a legionary shouted as he hefted his javelin to throwing position. These men were of the Fifth Legion’s Sixth Cohort, and they had yet to engage the enemy.

“A woman with an axe can kill you just as effectively as a man,” his Decanus warned him. “Stand ready to skewer these harlots!”

“Javelins ready!”
the Centurion Pilus Prior shouted. The young soldier did not like the idea of killing women, but the faces of the howling mob racing towards him with weapons ready to strike unnerved him, enough that his morals would have to understand as he focused on a rather fetching young woman. The veins in her neck pulsed, her eyes filled with hatred.

S
o young, so beautiful
, the soldier thought to himself.
Such a waste!

“Front rank…throw!”

A terrible storm of javelins slammed into the ranks of Amke’s warriors. Girls and young women fell screaming in pain as their guts were torn through. She held her shield up high to deflect a javelin, only to have it puncture through. The weight knocked her shield into her face, the javelin stabbing her in the upper arm. She dropped her now useless shield and clutched her arm. The puncture was painful but not serious. Next to her, one of her sister’s head snapped back as a javelin ruptured her throat and tore out the back of her neck. Amke fought back a sob as the girl thrashed on the ground, clutching at her throat. Feeling terribly guilty, but knowing ther
e was nothing else she could do; she reached down and wrenched the dying warrior’s shield from her twitching fingers.

“Forgive me
, sister,” she pleaded quietly as she turned and faced her enemy once more, “but the living need the protection more than the dead.”

Volleys
of javelins tore into her sisters as they continued to rush towards the Roman shield wall. Though less than a minute had passed since she first gave the order to charge, it felt like ages.
The Daughters of Freyja
were earning their place, though at a terrible price. Amke moved at a controlled jog, no longer running blindly.

“Rah!”

The battle cry shouted by the Romans as they unsheathed their gladii caused Amke to gulp. She now understood why
King Adel had sued for peace against Drusus Nero! Sadly, her generation did not have the luxury of dealing with an amicable Roman at the head of this metal juggernaut. When she was but ten feet away, she hunkered down behind her shield and ran full tilt into the Roman line.

The legionary whose shield she collided with was
much larger and stronger than she. Though he gave a short step back as they hit, Amke was knocked back several feet by the shock. Her warriors on either side were also trying to smash through the Roman shield wall. Most bounced harmlessly off, the shock and casualties they had suffered under the javelin storm had thinned their ranks and left them temporarily unable to mass their numbers against the Roman line. She swung her axe in frustration, banging against the bright red and yellow shield, whose metal boss was constantly punched in her face. Her attack was doing little more than aggravate the legionary she faced, still she tried to find an opening. Unawares, she was being forced back, as were her fellow warrior maidens. One lost her footing and fell onto her back. With lightening speed a legionary lunged down and stabbed her beneath the heart.

Her sorrow turning to rage, Amke lunged forward again, ramming her shield and shoulder into the legionary she sparred with. A gladius was thrust at her face, and it was only at the last second that she managed to avoid taking a sword through the eye. She stepped back and swung her axe again,
where it deflected off the brass strip on the side. As she glanced behind her to make sure of her footing, she saw a knot in the ground, jutting up about two feet. A grin came to her face as she bounced back onto it. The legionaries then stopped, and the front rank suddenly tilted their shields parallel to their bodies and stepped back past the rank behind them. These men rushed forward, taking their place. A Roman cohort executing a passage-of-lines was an awesome, and yet terrible, sight. The legionaries they now faced were completely fresh.

Amke growled
, and as the Romans continued their advance she gave a cry of rage and leapt high into the air, coming down on the inside edge of a legionary’s shield. The soldier was taken by surprise long enough for Amke to follow through with a hard downward smash of her axe. It was the perfect strike, placed right where the shoulder muscles ran into the neck. To Amke’s surprise, her ever-sharp axe simply bounced off the segmentata plates that protected his shoulders. The soldier then shoved her back with his shield, smashing her in the face with the metal boss. Her vision clouded, and she did not even feel the stabbing of his sword as it punctured her hip, gouging the muscles and bone.

She fell onto her side, her face half buried in the muck. Advancing legionaries stepped on or over her, their hobnailed caligae tearing into her flesh in places they stomped. She was unaware of the last legionary to step over her. He was the first one she had faced
, and he noticed she was still alive. She never knew that he raised his gladius to finish her, only to shake his head and continue his march without driving his weapon home.

As the Daughters of Freyja fought valiantly in a battle they now knew they could not win, King Dibbald watched in sorrow. He could not see his niece amongst the fray and feared she had already fallen. Lourens scanned the battlefield for her as well, but now was seeing nothing but Roman shields and the few survivors of Amke’s regiment breaking and running with the rest of the Frisian army.

“My
King, you must vacate the field,” Lourens advised the King. “I will take half of the household cavalry and counterattack the Romans. At least then we can ensure your safety.” He then turned and addressed horsemen behind him. “Half the men will escort the King to safety; the rest will fall in on me.” The warrior turned his horse about when he was stopped by the words of his King.

“No,” Dibbald spoke deliberately
, and yet seemingly calm. “If I do not make my stand here, then I am no King worthy of the Segon line. The entire regiment will fall in on
me
. Lourens, you and I will lead the charge together. My son is gone, our line broken. If I am to follow him this day, then at least we will make a stand that will ensure our immortality!”

The warrior nodded with deep sadness in his eyes.
“We will follow you to the halls of our valiant ancestors, sire.”As the finest horsemen in all of Frisia formed up around their King, Dibbald caught sight of the Roman cavalry. One of their regiments had wheeled around behind his army and was now bearing down on them. He recognized the standards of the elite
Indus’ Horse
.

“At least I will die at the hands of brave men,” he said quietly before nodding to one of his men, who raised his horn and sounded the charge.

Cursor and his group of picked cavalrymen were sweeping around the Frisian flank in an attempt to get behind the mob. The warriors, who had been to their left, once they charged into the fray, had been mostly killed or fled from the battle. His horse suddenly reared up in the face of a Frisian spear, only to have the warrior wielding it, cut down by a Roman lance. Cursor kept control of his mount and continued to move, hoping to find the rear flank of the enemy. At last, they turned the corner of the formation and pressed forward so they could get directly behind their enemy. Through the thinning mist he saw Indus’ Horse charging at a full gallop to their left. Meeting them, also at a full charge, was the Frisian cavalry. The sounds of men, horses, shields, and spears crashing together were muffled by the clinging fog. Though a brave and worthy foe, Cursor knew the outcome of this engagement before the first blow was struck. Julius Indus commanded the finest cavalry regiment in the whole of the Empire. The Tribune then realized why he had not been able to find Indus and rally his men. They were perhaps the only ones in their entire force who had not been lost and had, in fact, been right where they were supposed to be! In the absence of orders, he had taken it upon himself to go after the Frisian King.

“Sir, the enemy is reforming!” a trooper shouted while pointing to their front.

Cursor swore under his breath as the enemy, who moments before looked as if they were fleeing, was quickly reforming their ranks.

His feelings of euphoria at the sight of the Frisian King’s bodyguard cavalry being mauled by Indus’ Horse was short
lived, for it looked like his ten thousand had expended their charge. Auxiliary infantry units were withdrawing as the Frisians counterattacked the flanking force. The bulk of his cavalry was completely spent as well, with men and horses now falling to Frisian spears.

“Damn it!” he swore as he and
Centurion Rodolfo apprised their, now desperate, situation. “Even if Indus does kill the Frisian King, we are fucked!”

“No,” Rodolfo replied, pointing over the Tribune’s shoulder. “Look, the Fifth Legion has crossed
over the bridge!”

Cursor’s face broke into a wide grin as he saw the standards of the Fifth gleaming through the fast thinning fog.

“Thank the gods,” the Tribune said, closing his eyes for a second. “Five thousand legionaries…and they are fresh, too.”

“What say we finish this then?” Rodolfo said, nodding with his head towards the rear of the Frisian army.

Cursor nodded slowly, his face contorting into a determined scowl.

“Form it up, online!”
he shouted as the hundred or so horsemen he had with him fell into a long, thin line parallel to the Frisian army.

Cohorts of t
he Fifth Legion had unleashed a torrent of javelins into the enemy, who were now wavering in the renewed Roman onslaught. Cursor hoped that by hitting them directly from behind, he would break them. His men were beyond exhausted, and he knew they could only carry their assault so far before extreme fatigue brought on by forty miles of hard marching, combined with little food and no sleep over the past two days would become too much for them. Their tasking suddenly changed as Frisian war horns sounded in desperation, and the entire mass of warriors suddenly turned and began to flee in all directions.

Cursor grinned sinisterly as he shouted his next order.
“Charge!”

The Frisians were now scattered and leaderless, the will to
fight taken from them as the Tribune led the remnants of his cavalry into their fleeing ranks. He swung his sword in an underhand motion, catching a warrior underneath the chin. His spatha was almost wrenched from his hand as the weapon caught in the man’s neck while blood gushed onto the blade. Cursor jerked his weapon free, wrenching his shoulder. The enemy was escaping, some even jumping into the river in order to save themselves.

The Frisian flank had collapsed under the onslaught of the Fifth Legion
and Cursor’s ten thousand. The Master Centurion rammed his shield into a warrior, knocking the man onto his back. He then brought the bottom edge of his shield down in a horrific smash onto his neck. The Frisian thrashed around violently, grasping at his crushed windpipe as he fought in vain for breath. The Master Centurion brought his shield down again, breaking the man’s skull with a loud crack. As they drew closer to the left flank of the Twentieth Legion, the Frisian army turned about and was now on the run. The trees were thick, and Alessio could just make out the end of the line of legionaries. He took a deep breath and slowly walked towards their position. As he did so, a Centurion from the Twentieth approached him. Alessio recognized the man, though could not remember his name.