Legionary

Chapter 64

Dawn shot its orangey tendrils out over the rugged landscape of Bosporus, grasping at the penumbra enveloping the hilltop fort. Gallus rested a leg on the crenellated battlements that now bristled with iron intent. His breath clouded in the dewy morning freshness and his stomach swirled as he observed the shadowed horde in the valley below. For now they were growing, rising like a flood towards the fort, causing the earth to shake. He glanced along the wall at the thin but determined line of legionaries.

At the crack of dawn they had been woken not by the legion buccina, but by the awful moan of the horns carried by the Huns — thousands of them at once wailed out, filling the land below, to be accompanied by a guttural roaring and gnashing like that from a pack of preying wolves. The wailing had tailed off only as the terrible rumble of thousands of hooves and boots packed the air. The ground trembled, even up on the hilltop, and a thick shroud of dust rose up to encircle them.

‘So the scouts got it right,’ Avitus observed in resignation. ‘They know there is the slightest chance of a Roman relief force, so they are ending it, snuffing us out.’

Gallus nodded and sighed. The sea of Huns disappeared below the lip of the upper plateau upon which the fort was situated, and their terrible cacophony dulled too. In moments, they would reappear over the lip to fall upon the fort.

‘You reckon they actually did it though, sir…made it to Constantinople?’ Avitus’ words were laced thick with doubt.

Gallus knew the answer. Getting to the capital was the first towering hurdle of many. And they could not hope to beat time itself. He studied the look on Avitus’ face; defeat was swallowing the tinge of hope on the little legionary’s features. ‘Avitus,’ the centurion started. The men did not need to know that they had no chance of salvation.

‘Yes, sir?’ Avitus queried at his centurion’s hesitation.

‘You make sure every man knows he’s fighting for survival,’ Gallus grinned. ‘Let’s make sure Felix, Pavo and Sura’s efforts are not in vein, eh?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Avitus grinned, then turned to pass on the news.

Cries broke out all along the walls, piercing the rumble of the Hun advance. ‘For Felix and the lads!’

Then they fell silent as the plateau flooded with a dark mass. The Huns poured onto the hilltop, their cries bursting out like a wall of noise as they thundered across the short stretch between the lip and the fort wall. The infantry led the charge, swathes of them lifting hastily hewn timber ladders, lassos and all with their trademark bows. Behind them, the shimmering pack of the I Dacia filled the hilltop, buccinas keening out in a spine-chilling discord with the Hun horns.

He gripped the hilt of his sword and swept it above him. The ground seemed to be shaking so violently that his vision blurred, but he filled his lungs. This would be the last line he could deliver before the two sides clashed. His eyes widened as he saw the spit frothing from the mouths of the front line Hun spear infantry — inebriated on the promise of blood.

‘XI Claudia! You are the proud survivors of devious treachery. Our numbers may be thin, but our hearts burst with the fullness of our honour. All of you, each and every one of you, are now part of the first cohort. Fight like lions, men, let’s show them what a mistake they have made in coming at us!’

He smashed his sword hilt on his shield and roared. The legionaries lining the wall, faces wrinkled in bitter determination — some tear-streaked and snarling — all cried out in reply. Then they bristled, ready for the Hun tide.

The ladders were now being passed forward as the tide of Hun infantry closed in on the wall. Gallus felt the coldness descend on him. That’s right, he growled, just a little closer. Then the first of the Huns tumbled through the earth — a square black hole opening below him. His screams were not heard and only a jet of red told of his fate in the spike pit below. All across their front line holes crumbled below them and the charge faltered as the following ranks continued to charge full pelt. Chaos ensued across their lines as they tangled, fell and fought each other to avoid being barged into the deadly pits. The charge had slowed almost to a standstill. Gallus’ face curled into a determined grimace.

‘Ballistae — let them have it, everything we’ve got!’

The array of some twenty ballistae, waiting on tenterhooks on the walls of the fort, finally spat forth iron in a crushing hail. The bolts ripped through the densely packed Hun ranks, skewering and snapping handfuls of men with each strike. Gallus felt his spine tingle as the XI Claudia roared above the sudden lull in the Hun war cry.

‘Archers, loose!’ He bellowed next. The platform in the centre of the courtyard bristled like a porcupine as the remaining ninety Cretan archer auxiliaries presented their bows and with a whoosh, their hail scattered over the confusion outside.

‘Mithras! This feels good, sir,’ Zosimus grinned with an insane sparkle in his eyes.

‘You’re telling me,’ Gallus growled. He turned back to the carnage. The Hun infantry were being shepherded back into order by a contingent of their cavalry. And thin bands were being ushered carefully forward through the thin lanes between the pits, despite the ballistae rain.

‘Take them down!’ Gallus roared. The archers picked off a few men at a time, but their paltry number could not halt the tide. Soon the Huns were flooding past the pits and the charge was on once more. Thousands were barely twenty paces from the wall now, while those to the rear had been ordered to tip earth into the pits.

Gallus felt the joy at his booby-trap evaporate. He handled his spatha firmly and braced as he watched the Huns nearest to him race forward with their ladders. ‘Ballistae, fire off every last bolt before they reach the walls! Men, brace yourselves and stay strong — this is going to get bloody ugly!’