Legionary

Chapter 75

All around the foot of the hill, tents lay empty and fires doused, as the full force of the Hun horde coursed up the hillside, crushing in on the doomed fort. Outside the command tent, Balamber stood in dialogue with Wulfric, surrounded by a handful of Hun nobles and I Dacia centurions.

Balamber glared upon the Gothic tribunus. ‘A sea of blood has been let from my horde! Crushing this legion was supposed to be easy. A two day siege on a hill fort was not part of the plan, tribunus.’

Wulfric grimaced at the Hun noble’s tone, before replying. ‘And the blood of the I Dacia has been spilled equally freely. It is both of our armies who failed to stop their retreat to this fortress.’

‘And it was your precious soldiers who dishonoured themselves and decided to turn back to the empire they had betrayed in the first place,’ Balamber snarled. ‘But what more could I expect from traitors?’

Wulfric gritted his teeth together. ‘A handful of impressionable recruits lacked faith in our master plan and saw a chance to save their necks.’ He waved a hand dismissively. ‘In any case, a rabble of inexperienced legionaries would never have made it back to the heart of the empire — our sponsor in this affair has gilded our path to victory.’

‘Ah, yes, your holy bishop? Well, when this legion is ground into the dust and we descend upon the empire, I shall have to have an audience with the man. Well, we still number, what, some twelve thousand — plenty to finish the job in hand. But we will need to raise further manpower after this — maybe the bishop will spend more generously this time to guarantee our success.’

‘Perhaps. And I trust you will be able to raise more manpower from your homelands, Noble Balamber? Your people will still be happy to let their sons march under your command?’ Wulfric replied.

Balamber stepped forward, toe to toe with the Gothic tribunus. ‘You speak with hidden venom, Tribunus Wulfric,’ Balamber sneered, his moustache twitching, teeth bared.

Wulfric shot him a stony gaze. ‘You are but a pawn in this game, cheap manpower for the slaughter.’

With a roar, Balamber lunged at him, clawing for his throat. Wulfric leapt back, whipping his spatha free. Wulfric’s centurions followed suit while Balamber’s nobles stretched their bows at point blank range. He held the Hun leader’s stare. Both men’s eyes sparkled with fury. The air around them seemed to crackle with tension, until something caught Wulfric’s attention from the corner of his eye. Something that didn’t look right. Not right at all.

He turned round to the hillside; the vast throng of the Hun and I Dacia army swelled up its sides, focusing on the tiny heap of rubble at the top; then he glanced to the opposite valley-side and froze: there stood a white-cloaked figure, fervently waving a purple rag on a staff.

‘What do we have here?’ Balamber cooed in curiosity. The nobles relaxed their bowstrings and the centurions lowered their swords.

The purple rag fluttered in the breeze, displaying a grubby Chi-Rho emblem. Wulfric’s jaw fell. ‘You wanted an audience with the bishop?’ He scooped a hand to the figure.

‘Your bishop, here?’ Balamber’s face wrinkled. ‘He’s signalling us?’

Wulfric stared at the Hun leader, sharing his confusion. Then his heart thundered as he pieced it all together. ‘Noble Balamber, we must turn the army around!’