The Eagle's Vengeance (31 page)

Knowing instinctively that his place was at the front of the fleeing cohort, Julius tossed aside the shield he’d taken up a moment before and shouldered past the men to his right, bursting through the ranks of his century into the straggling knee-high vegetation between the path and the encroaching forest, moisture steaming out of the greenery as the fire’s blazing heat grew. Freed of the obstruction of his men he ran down the length of the Tungrian column with the scrubby bushes and trailing brambles tugging at his legs, his lungs labouring as the blaze raging about them greedily sucked at the forest’s air to feed its swelling conflagration. The Tungrians’ rear had escaped from the worst of the inferno for the time being, but the first spear realised with a sinking feeling that their progress was slowing, the soldiers bunching up as their pace reduced from a run to little more than a walk. Catching the leading century he quickly realised the reason for their slow progress, the men behind struggling one at a time to a confused halt as they ran into the rear of the Tenth Century’s pioneers, who were battling to fight their way through several dozen Venicone warriors. The enemy fighters had clearly been told to close the path to any Roman attempt to retreat, and they were fighting a stubborn action against the Tungrian column’s leading ranks despite the desperate situation unfolding about them. The Tenth’s hulking axe men were tearing into the enemy with their fearsome blades, but the forest looming to either side was restricting their frontage to no more than half a dozen men, and the Venicones’ stubborn defence was holding firm in the face of their assailants’ otherwise overwhelming strength. Behind the line of struggling, screaming combatants the pioneers were hacking at the tangled undergrowth to either side of the path in a bid to outflank the outnumbered barbarians and bring the fight to a swift conclusion, but the impenetrable thickets of thick, springy brambles were soaking up their assaults with little visible sign of progress.

The pioneers’ centurion Titus stepped forward to meet Julius as the first spear stopped in momentary calculation, his double-bladed axe held in one hand, and his deep, rumbling voice was barely audible over the blaze’s growing roar as he bent close to the other man’s ear.

‘We will all die here in the fire, unless we can break this resistance very quickly now!’

Julius nodded, his face hardening into a snarl as he felt the familiar, irresistible surge of battle rage whiten his knuckles on the hilt of his sword and raise the hairs on the back of his neck. When he replied his voice was thick, and his nostrils flared.

‘You’re right, Bear, it’s time to earn our vine sticks and show these fucking ink monkeys who the real animals in this fight are!’

Titus nodded, gesturing to a pair of his men and growling a response, smashing a fist against his chest.

‘Four of us will be enough to unlock this cage. If you three open the door for me then I will paint this forest red with the blood of these sheep fuckers!’

He took a second axe from one of his soldiers while the two men he had beckoned stepped out of the packed ranks stalled behind the desperate fight with expressions of pride and resolve, both of them putting aside their shields and hefting an axe in both hands in the manner of their tribal ancestors, the heavy iron axe heads twice the size of those usually carried by legion pioneers. In a century of men selected for their physical prowess both stood half a head above their peers and almost as tall as Titus himself, their shoulders bulky with the muscle required to swing their heavy weapons in combat. Julius grinned at Titus and his men and then turned wordlessly to face the enemy, pulling off his helmet and tossing it aside along with his vine stick in readiness for the melee before sheathing his sword and stooping to pick up a shield and an axe dropped by a wounded man, screaming a challenge at the enemy warriors barely a dozen paces distant.

‘Tungria! Tungria and Cocidius!’

Planting his feet ready to charge, his gaze locked on the short enemy line, he felt the bulk of big men on either side as Titus’s selected soldiers settled themselves at his shoulders while their monstrous centurion stepped close in behind the first spear. Their voices echoed his bellowed challenge loudly enough for the enemy warriors to look past their assailants at the small knot of men.

‘TUNGRIA!’

Baring his teeth in an uncontrollable snarl Julius raised the axe in his clenched right fist and pointed its blade at a face chosen at random from the line of warriors, selecting a man with a long white scar down one side of his jaw and deciding without any conscious thought that the Venicone would be the first victim of his burning need to kill. The tribesman shouted a challenge back at him and raised his spear, his defiance wrenching an involuntary barking laugh from the Tungrian as he lowered the axe and readied himself to attack, sucking in one last deep breath. Raising his shoulders like a sprinter readying himself for the burst of effort required to take him to the winning post, the first spear took one last look at the man he had made his target, then bobbed down into a slight crouch, feeling his thighs tense in readiness before springing forward in an explosion of effort, his scream of unleashed fury piercing the fire’s incessant roar and turning all heads towards the charging knot of men. The pioneers in their path stepped hurriedly back to clear a way for them, their eyes hardening at the sight of their first spear and centurion rampaging forward at the enemy, ready to throw themselves back into the fight at their officers’ backs.

Bounding towards the man he had selected as his target, and watching as the Venicone stepped back a pace in preparation for the impact, Julius retained sufficient calculation in the last moment before colliding with the warrior’s raised shield to sidestep the man’s spear thrust, marvelling for a brief instant at the fleet-footed skill with which the big man to his left matched his movement. Without time to consider his next move the Tungrian dipped his shoulder and smashed his shield hard against his enemy’s, bursting through the line of tribesmen with a triumphant roar and scattering the warriors to either side in momentary confusion. Knowing that Titus would be a half-pace behind him he spun to the left while the Venicone was still reeling off balance from the impact, allowing the axe’s handle to slide through his hand until he held the fearsome weapon by the last few inches of the stave’s length. Judging the blade’s arc to perfection, Julius buried the brutally sharp blade deeply into the hollow just above his victim’s buttocks, snapping the Venicone’s head back with the agony of the cold iron’s brutal intrusion even as his spine was severed, and wrenching an involuntary wide-eyed howl of triumph from the first spear as his victim arched back over the axe’s head before sagging limply to the ground.

Stamping down on the paralysed warrior’s spine for leverage, Julius wrenched the weapon free with a fierce pull and then turned in search of another target, swinging the axe high over his head and slamming it down into the head of another Venicone who was in the process of raising his sword to strike at Titus, as the massive centurion carved a path into the warriors around him with both of his axes flying in sprays of blood. The heavy blade carved through the warrior’s iron dog cap and hacked deeply into his skull, lodging so firmly that just the feel of the handle told Julius that it would take too long to free from the dying man’s body in the chaos of the fight. He released the weapon, allowing the Venicone to stagger away with a long groan, his eyes rolling up as the weight of the axe dragged his head backwards. He tottered for a moment as the first spear watched, then fell headlong with the axe handle pointing incongruously at the forest’s canopy, holding the Tungrian’s fascinated gaze even as one of Titus’s men screamed a warning at him.

‘Look out!’

Julius barely had time to realise he was under attack before the shield boss hit him hard enough to rattle his teeth, a punching blow to his shoulder that rocked him back on his feet followed by a spear thrust that slithered across his mailed chest rather than punching through it purely by dint of the step back that he had taken to keep his balance. Tearing his sword from its scabbard in the knowledge that he had to step forward and counter-attack rather than wait for the barbarian’s next move, he found the Venicone ready and waiting for him with his feet set and shield raised, calm eyes in a hard face watching the Tungrian from behind a levelled spear. Julius’s sword thrust was delivered with more speed than finesse, and the enemy warrior easily batted the blade aside in a defensive move designed to leave his opponent wide open for the spear that the warrior held ready for the kill. Julius knew only too well what was coming, as the Venicone raised his front foot to stamp forward and bury the spear’s glinting iron head in his throat.

As the long blade thrust towards him the Tungrian desperately sidestepped to his left and swayed away from the attack, allowing the spear to slash past his face only to find himself on his back with the wind driven abruptly out of his lungs as the warrior expertly hooked his leg and upended him, raising his weapon again to drive its iron head down into his helpless enemy. With the polished blade poised momentarily above him, and as the Venicone pivoted forward on his right foot to deliver the killing thrust, the enemy warrior’s body suddenly shuddered, his eyes jerking wide open with shock as an axe hammered into his back. The soldier who had charged into the battle on Julius’s right tore his blade free from the gaping wound in the reeling barbarian’s torso and dropped him to the ground with a vicious kick to his knee, swinging his other axe in a flashing arc to behead the stricken warrior.

The soldier stood over Julius, his chest heaving from the effort of the brief fight as his first spear climbed back to his feet, his armour already running with the blood of the men who had died on the blades of his axes. A growling roar caught both men’s attention, and Julius’s anger was instantly rekindled at the sight of Titus embattled in the middle of half a dozen enemy warriors, the bodies of several more men at his feet as he fought furiously with his twin axes, the blades’ whirring arcs of silver flashing red in the light of the fire. As they watched he hammered one of his weapons down into a hapless warrior’s shoulder, cleaving the man’s chest down to his right nipple, staggering as another of the men around him slashed at him from behind with a long sword. Both men sprang forward towards their embattled comrade, Julius realising that the Venicone line was crumbling under the renewed attack from the Tenth Century’s enraged soldiers who were clearly desperate to rescue their officer from the enemy warriors swarming around him. Before they could reach the surrounded centurion, first one and then another of Titus’s assailants sank their iron deep into his unprotected back, his mail’s iron rings no defence against the swords’ sharp points. He sank to his knees with his face distorted into an animal snarl by the wounds’ pain, and with a roar of anger at the sight of their centurion being felled the Tungrians burst forward in a wave of berserk fury to send the remaining Venicones fleeing down the path before them. Julius caught the arm of the century’s chosen man as he made to pursue them, pulling him close and shouting in his ear over the combined din of fire and fight.

‘The Bear’s out of the fight, which means that you’re in command! Either carry your wounded or give them the mercy stroke, but get your fucking century moving down that path at the run! Pull yourself together and
do it
!’

The chosen man took a moment to gather his wits before nodding and turning away to shout instructions at the men following up behind those already pursuing the tribesmen away down the path. Julius sheathed his sword and took a deep breath before forcing himself to turn back to the stricken centurion lying motionless beside the path with his two comrades kneeling to either side. The man who had rescued Julius a moment before looked up at the first spear with a look of despair at his centurion’s plight.

‘I saw that.’ The big man’s voice was thin and strained, and a trickle of blood ran from his lips as he spoke, his words barely audible. Julius bent over him, putting his ear close to the wounded centurion’s mouth. ‘I felt the iron in my back, and I can feel it still. Not long left for me, is there Julius? Don’t you lie to me, boy …’

The first spear shook his head, feeling a presence at his side.

‘Lying down on the job
again
, eh Titus?’

A smile cracked their comrade’s face as he looked over Julius’s shoulder.

‘Just too late for the fight
again
, eh Dubnus?’ He raised a trembling hand, reaching out to grasp his brother officer’s shoulder. ‘You missed a good one, little brother, there were enough of the tattoo boys for all of us. Our first spear here fought like a barbarian …’

Julius smiled gently.

‘And our colleague here fought like a warrior king.’ He gestured to the grievously wounded centurion. ‘Cocidius himself would have been envious.’

Titus coughed, more blood seeping from between his lips, his voice almost inaudible.

‘He’ll have the chance to tell me so soon enough. Now, get me standing up. I’ll not die here on my arse.’

Julius and Dubnus nodded to each other, gently lifting the man to his feet and then allowing the two men who had accompanied centurion and first spear into battle to take their officer’s arms and hold him upright, tears streaking the drying blood that masked both men’s faces. The centurion’s back was sodden with blood from his wounds, and Dubnus realised that there were half a dozen rents in his armour, wounds inflicted from behind as he had laid about him with his axes. A tear ran down his face as he stared at the ruin of his brother officer’s body.

‘You threw yourself into them like a bear into a pack of dogs, didn’t you?’

Titus stared down at him with eyes struggling to focus, swaying on his feet and only kept upright by the support of his men to either side.

‘No man lives forever, Julius.’ He coughed again, and this time a gout of blood fell onto his mailed chest. ‘Time for us all to be leaving, I’d say. You have to go that way …’