The Wolf's Gold (32 page)

‘Buggered if I know what we’re doing out here on the bloody ice!’

Sanga turned to the soldier Scarface with an irritated expression.

‘What we’re doing out here, you idiot, is following Two Knives around like a pair of three-year-olds hanging off their mummy’s skirts as per usual. As to what he’s doing out here, did you not hear about the bet?’

He raised his eyebrows in amazement at his mate’s uncomprehending expression.

‘You really do go around with your head up your own arse, don’t you? The
bet
?’ Scarface shook his head and shrugged, and Sanga waved a hand at the lake’s frozen surface. ‘Seems the tribune was telling some of the lads about a battle that was fought on a frozen river round here a few years ago. He said that some of our lads were attacked by Sarmatae horsemen like those pricks over there, but they stood their ground and ended up winning the fight. I don’t know how that would work, but the officer seemed very sure about it. Anyway, seems Morban quacked on about what a load of bullshit it was and how he’d give ten to one that it was all bollocks, so
your
centurion slapped down a gold aurei and took him up on it.’

Scarface looked about him with new interest, peering hard at the nervous-looking standard bearer before raising his voice in an amused chortle.

‘Well he’s not looking quite so fuckin’ brave about it now, is he? Ten in gold, eh Morban? That’s the best part of six months’ takings for you, I wouldn’t wonder.’

‘Well that’s one part of the story proven.’ Marcus stood on the frozen surface with his arms open wide. ‘It’s perfectly possible to stand on this stuff, as long as you dig the hobnails in hard enough. It would be murder on the feet without these skins wrapped around my feet though. Now, pass me that shield please.’ One of the soldiers surrendered his board, and Marcus experimentally rested it on the frozen surface. ‘Hmmm. I can’t see how that’s going to be sufficiently stable to put a boot on.’

‘Here, I’ve an idea how it might work.’ Dubnus took it from him, drawing his sword and swiftly chopping a rough circular hole the depth and width of the shield’s heavy brass boss into the thick ice before dropping the board face down onto the ice, guiding the hemispherical protrusion into the hole he’d created, much to the disgust of the soldier in question. ‘And you can stop pulling faces, it’s a piece of fighting equipment, not a piece of the family silver. There . . .’

He gestured to the shield, then put a booted foot onto its wooden surface.

‘See, you can stand on this ice a lot easier with one foot on the wood. Give me that spear.’

He clicked his fingers, and the now resigned soldier, whose shield was held firm to the ice by Dubnus’s foot, handed over his spear. The big centurion adjusted his footing, then posed for Marcus with one foot on the shield while he essayed a series of swift stabbing blows with the spear.

‘Very warlike. You might even pass muster as a soldier, if we didn’t know you better.’

Dubnus turned to face the approaching Julius. Scaurus was walking a few paces behind him, and both men were gazing at the spectacle with open curiosity. Dubnus took his foot off the shield, gesturing for his man to pick it up.

‘Centurion Corvus entered a considerable wager with the obvious person as to whether the battle on the ice could really have happened. And as you can see, your story was clearly well founded, Tribune.’

Marcus stroked his chin in amusement, looking at Morban.

‘Well now, Standard Bearer, it
can
be done. How much is it that you owe me?’

The older man raised a pitying eyebrow.

‘You should know better than that, Centurion. The bet I took was that you couldn’t prove it was possible to fight off a screaming horde of Sarmatae horsemen like that, not that you could persuade Dubnus to stand on a shield and wave a spear about. I thought you’d have realised by now sir, it’s all about how the bet is stated.’ Growing in confidence that he would once again be on the winning side of the wager, he winked at the big Briton. ‘And very fetching you look too, if I might make so bold, Dubnus.’

Marcus turned back to his friend with a smile but found the big man’s attention locked on the other side of the valley, where the river’s meandering course bent around to the east and took the road down its banks out of view.

‘Here come the scouts that Belletor sent out, back already. I wonder what they’ve seen?’

They watched as the scouting party rode around the river bend and up the valley toward the waiting legionaries, but Dubnus was pointing to a spot behind the horsemen.

‘Look! Smoke!’

A line of smoke was rising into the cold, still air further down the valley, and Julius frowned, looking across the lake at the Sarmatae scouts with a look of disquiet.

‘Whatever’s burning may be out of sight from here, but it won’t have been from where they were and yet they’re acting as if nothing’s amiss. Something isn’t right here . . .’

Scaurus stepped forward.

‘I warned the idiot!’ He cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting across the lake’s frozen surface. ‘Belletor!
Tribune Belletor
!’

Clearly visible mounting his horse, Tribune Belletor turned his head to the source of the sound. Scaurus waved, then pointed at the smoke, now strengthened to form a thick, greasy column. Belletor looked about him, then waved back to the small group before spurring his horse forward towards the returning scouts. Scaurus’s expression hardened.

‘Blessed Mithras, the bloody fool’s not listening! He can’t see the smoke for the hill beside them.
Belletor! The scouts are . . .
’

He fell silent as his colleague’s imperious tones reached them, audible across the open ice even if the exact words were lost on the slight breeze, and the tribune raised his fist in salute. The leading rider approached the Roman, his long lance couched to point at the ground.

‘That’s their leader, isn’t it?’

Qadir squinted into the ice’s harsh glare.

‘Yes, that helmet he wears is quite unmistak—’

He gasped involuntarily as the Sarmatae leader raised his kontos, stabbing the blade forward and ramming it into Belletor’s throat. Ripping the bloodied iron free, as the tribune tottered in his saddle, he raised his arms and bellowed a command at his followers. With a chorus of answering yells the Sarmatae flooded forward and past him, their weapons flashing in the clear winter air as they fell on the unsuspecting and unprepared Roman infantry. The men to the rear of the cohort, who had quietly mounted their horses while the legionaries’ attention had been elsewhere, took their cue and launched themselves at the resting soldiers with their lances glinting evilly in the winter sunlight. Qadir turned to Marcus in horror.

‘Deasura, it’ll be a massacre!’

Julius shook his head in disbelief as the first screams of dying men reached them. The soldiers closest to the attacking Sarmatae were mounting a desperate, unprepared defence, fighting without organisation or control, and the enemy horsemen, pressing in on them from front and rear, were reaping a bloody harvest with the long spears that allowed them to out-reach the legionaries.

‘And we’ll be next!’ He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Rejoin your centuries!’

‘Wait!’

He frowned disbelievingly as Scaurus put a hand up.

‘Tribune?’

‘I’ve seen these people fight from horseback before. Even if we form a disciplined line, and stand ready to meet their attack with our spears, they’ll just stand off for a while and pepper us with arrows from all directions, retreating whenever we try to get to grips with them, and then when we start to weaken, from the cold and our losses, they’ll make a full-blooded charge and scatter us across the valley. If we stand and fight on dry ground we’ll lose, I guarantee you that!’

Julius shook his head brusquely.

‘But if we run they’ll harry us to destruction just like they’re doing to the First Minervia. We
have
to fight!’

Scaurus nodded.

‘I know. But not up there . . .’ He pointed to the lakeside. ‘We need to fight
here
, on the ice.’

Julius stepped forward, his face, only inches from his tribune’s, set in deadly earnest.

‘It’s one thing to pull off a trick like that when you’ve been practising for days, Tribune, and quite another when it’s no more than a story in one of the histories that was more than likely dreamed up by the writer to make some bloody senior officer look good! You do realise this is likely to end in disaster?’

The tribune pointed hollow-eyed at the scene of horror playing out before them. Individual soldiers were running now, while Sarmatae horsemen spurred their horses in pursuit, some spearing their victims with swift brutality while others cantered after the fleeing soldiers at a more leisurely pace, giving them time to realise that a grim death was upon them before striking. As they watched, a group of fifty or so soldiers leapt onto the ice and ran towards the Tungrians, shouting desperately for help. A score of the horsemen followed them out onto the frozen surface, cantering on either side with their lances raised to strike. Marcus pointed at them as the first men fell under the riders’ blades to leave a trail of bloodied corpses in the runners’ wake.

‘That’s Tribune Sigilis leading them, isn’t it?’

Scaurus looked at the beleaguered runners for a moment before nodding sadly.

‘Yes, it is.’ The Sarmatae horsemen closed in around the helpless soldiers, their lances stabbing out at the Romans from beyond the reach of their spears, and Marcus turned away as his friend was spitted by first one and then two of the long spears, his spasming body held upright for a moment before falling to the ice as the blades were wrenched loose. When he looked back none of the men who had run were still standing, and the mounted tribesmen ironically saluted the watching Tungrians as they turned away.

‘Exactly. We’re next. They’re toying with those boys, First Spear, and I doubt dying out here on the ice will be any worse. Besides, I’m not of a mind to meet my ancestors without at least having some pride in the manner of my death.’

He nodded decisively, turning to the two senior centurions.

‘I’m making a commander’s decision. Get your men onto the lake and into two battle lines, back to back and ready to form a circle.
Do it!
’

While the Tungrians flooded onto the ice without question, the First Cohort were running to a point indicated by Julius and quickly forming a line, while the Second pressed in behind them.The tribune stalked through them to find Silus and his mounted squadron waiting at the lakeside. Silus saluted, looking down at his commander with a solemn expression.

‘What are your orders, Tribune?’

Scaurus pointed back up the valley.

‘Get out of here while you still can, Decurion. Take word of this treachery to Tribune Leontius, and to him alone. There’d be little point in throwing your lives away alongside ours, if what I have in mind fails to work.’

Silus nodded grimly and saluted again.

‘As you command, Tribune. Good luck.’

He wheeled his horse and led his men away up the lakeside as the Tungrians swiftly formed up into two lines, the discipline of a thousand drills taking over from conscious thought. Scaurus nodded to Julius, who bellowed a fresh command at the waiting soldiers.

‘Second Cohort, about turn! First and Second Cohorts,
Form! Circle!
’

The centuries at the centre of the two cohorts’ lines marched forward a smart thirty paces out of formation, the soldiers cursing as they slipped on the ice’s slick surface. Each century to their left and right stopped a successive five paces short of their comrades, until both lines were arrayed in an arrowhead formation with one point facing toward the enemy horsemen and the line behind facing away.

‘Dress your lines!’

Centurions and their chosen men moved swiftly to push and pull their men into position, quickly transforming the serried ranks into two curving lines that met to form a rough circle.

‘Close it up!’

Pulling their men back, the officers shrank the circle until each front ranker was shoulder to shoulder with the men to either side. Scaurus nodded to Julius and Tertius with a look of respect.

‘Excellent drill, First Spears!’

He pushed into the circle with the two men following, and Julius shouted one last command.

‘Face inwards!’

With a rattle of equipment the Tungrians reversed their facing, forming an unbroken ring of faces around the tribune. Scaurus strode into the middle and then turned a full circle with an appraising stare.

‘You see the value of all that mindless drilling?’ He smiled wolfishly at the men encircling him, working hard to exude a confidence he was a long way from feeling. ‘Just a moment ago you were standing watching those horsemen over there tear a legion cohort apart, wondering whether we’ll fight or flee and expecting to die whichever we chose. Now you stand in a tight formation that will enable us to face down those murderous bastards and beat them!’

He paused again, finding the looks of incredulity and disbelief he’d been expecting on many of the faces around him.The remaining legionnaires were in full, desperate flight now, running for their lives in all directions, and whooping riders were hunting them down as they frantically sought to escape by climbing the valley’s side, those men with bows using them to bring down men who succeeded in reaching parts of the slope impassable to the horsemen.

‘They can fight alright, and on the right ground that many of them are pretty much unbeatable for two cohorts of infantry, no matter how good we are. Out here on the ice, however, it’s a different story! On the ice, gentlemen, victory goes to the man with the best footing! A horse can walk on this surface, and even trot, but there’s more to cavalry fighting than simply charging at an enemy!’ He lowered his voice slightly, forcing the soldiers to lean in and listen intently. ‘A horse, gentlemen, will not charge into a line of soldiers. A bold enough rider might jump that line, except here on the ice there’s no footing for the beast to make the jump from. It might be persuaded to back into the line, although the prospect of you ugly characters poking it with sharp iron will doubtless be enough to put most animals off.’