Legionary

Chapter 68

Gallus spat a curdled lump of blood and phlegm into the gore-coated battlement. His lungs rattled as he clasped his hands to his knees and sank back against the wall as thick, black smoke snaked across his face from the smouldering remains of the catapults in the courtyard, below. The Huns had withdrawn with the sun, leaving behind a shattered trickle of legionaries still standing amongst a carpet of dead. Less than two hundred men remained; not nearly enough to man the walls against the next wave of attack. Outside the fort, Horsa led a detachment of legionaries through the field of corpses — four deep in places, warrior and horse limbs entangled like weeds — in the grizzly task of collecting spears and arrows to bolster their own scant supply. Throughout the day the Huns had swamped the battlements twice; somehow, Gallus thought, somehow his men had dug in and managed to repel them. But to what end? The fort had been stripped back to what it was when the XI Claudia had found it — all traps used and all heavy weaponry shattered. The Hun retreat for the night served as little more than a taunt.

‘They should’ve just come and bloody well finished us,’ Zosimus growled, smashing his shield boss into a crippled ballista. The soldier’s face was black with dirt and smoke.

‘Easy, soldier. They’ll not get our blood cheaply tomorrow — they’ll have to die in their thousands to see a drop of it.’ Gallus slapped his flayed and stinging hand on Zosimus’ shoulder.

‘Don’t worry, sir, they’ll be feeling my sword all right,’ Zosimus nodded firmly.

Avitus and Quadratus hobbled over to stand beside them. These men were his limbs in the legion. They had stepped in strongly where Felix had served. It meant that those left alive had the benefit of facing an organised end the following day.

The bobbing torches down on the valley floor, below, still stretched impossibly like an infinite colony of fireflies. They had taken down maybe six thousand of their number, more than ten for every one of the XI Claudia fallen. Commendable but meaningless at the same time. The treacherous I Dacia had taken their share of the damage too, Wulfric barking them forward throughout the day while remaining back out of catapult range. Gallus balled his fists and gritted his teeth; if the man was as bold as he made out back in Durostorum, then he would be on the front line, dying with his men. But no, the I Dacia, while backed with the resources only afforded to a comitatenses legion, lacked the cohesion and spirit of the long-standing XI Claudia. He shook his head — pride was of little value now.

He turned, startled, as the tap-tapping of hammers on wood rang out; the legionaries had finished their rations — salted beef and biscuit — and were now busying themselves around the shattered artillery.

‘What’s this?’ Gallus called out. ‘I ordered you to fall out — we need fresh men for tomorrow.’

One filthy faced, gaunt trooper stepped forward, hammer and nails in his hands. ‘Beg your forgiveness, sir, but we want to work on the fort — there’s plenty of time for rest.’

Avitus leant in to his centurion’s ear. ‘They’ve got a point, sir — nobody will sleep tonight anyway. Let ‘em make tomorrow count?’

Gallus sighed — his body ached and his mind spun — rest could wait a while longer. ‘Go for it, soldier. Good on you, men, save a spot for me!’ He pushed off the battlement, his legs groaning under the strain, blistered soles roaring in protest. ‘Are my optios game for this, too?’

All three nodded with a grin, but Avitus added; ‘I have an idea sir — might buy us some time?’

Gallus, Quadratus and Zosimus all looked to the little optio.

‘We’re fixing the artillery — but we don’t have enough men to work the devices, let alone man the walls — the fort is too big.’

‘You call that an idea?’ Zosimus grunted.

‘Bear with me. If we can fix the catapults, then we can use them to make the fort smaller!’

‘What — knock the walls down? Have you been on the sauce?’ Quadratus spluttered.

‘Aye, why don’t we open the gates as well?’ Zosimus chuckled dryly.

Avitus turned to Gallus, exasperated. ‘Sir, you remember when we were in Dacia. That Gothic cavalry charge was coming right at us…’

‘…But they wouldn’t charge our spear line,’ Gallus’ eyes glinted, ‘because they won’t run onto a blade!’

‘Exactly, sir. And that lot out there, they’ve hoisted cartloads of missiles in here at us,’ Avitus waved a hand across the carpet of bent arrowheads, spears and I Dacia plumbatae, ‘So rather than sitting, waiting on them to swamp the walls tomorrow, how’s about we take the initiative. We can bring the side walls down into a steep pile of rubble and embed every bit of sharp iron we’ve got into it — their mounts won’t come near it. And it’ll take them Mithras knows how long to have what infantry they’ve got left to pick through it — at least longer than it would take for them to walk up to an undefended side wall with a ladder.’

Gallus nodded. ‘And we only have the front wall left to defend. Just like the rocky pass on the way up here.’

Avitus nodded briskly, shooting a frown at the unconvinced figures of Zosimus and Quadratus. ‘We can fashion caltrops out of any spears or arrow heads that are too mangled and sprinkle them on the rubble, just to be sure — it’ll cut them to ribbons.’

Zosimus and Quadratus looked at each other, wrinkling their brows.

‘Avitus is right; it’ll buy us time, albeit a precious sliver of the stuff.’ Gallus patted their shoulders and then nodded to the legionaries who busied themselves around the fort, ‘if nothing else let’s do it for them.’

As the three shuffled down the stairs to the courtyard, Gallus took another look over the wall to the foot of the hillside, grimacing at the storm that would smash them tomorrow. His momentary optimism evaporated.