Chapter VII
“Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen but his country's cause.” - Homer
The sun was rising fast as we left our camps. For an autumn day, it was too hot and too humid. My men had been unhappy to take to the field because it was the anniversary of a great defeat in Roman history, when the Cimbrians had destroyed Caepio and his army a hundred years before. Soldiers are a superstitious lot. Calvus told me that when the men asked Lucullus to delay for that reason, in case the anniversary meant bad luck, he merely commented that if it were bad luck, then they would fight and change it into a day of good luck. It did not improve morale but clearly demonstrated his iron will.
We created a lot of dust as we left and it must have looked impressive. The Armenians immediately drew up their forces across the little river that cut the plain in half. Their line was twice the length of ours and much deeper. I could see their phalanxes of spearmen and their cohorts of infantry in straight well organised rows. It made me feel uncomfortable, but I knew that our main advantage, apart from discipline, was our versatility. We could turn, fight, and re-order our ranks very quickly, thanks to long months of training and drill.
Phalanxes cannot do this. They lumber along and have trouble keeping formation if they have to manoeuvre. It was the main reason why the Greeks never managed to defeat our legions. All we used to do was attack from both flanks and the phalanx would fold.
As we emerged and formed up on the plain, I looked ahead at the enemy. They were dark men, burned by the sun, hardened by it perhaps. Their little chin beards seemed absurdly foppish but their weapons glinted and were as hard and sharp as ours, I was sure. I could smell them. Their odour carried on the breeze that came from the north. It was a smell of leather, sweat and something sweet overlaying it. A tall man stood in front of one phalanx. He looked directly at me his dark eyes peering out from beneath his black helmet. I recognised that look in his eyes. It was a look of fear. It calmed me then, for I realised that I was not scared. I knew I would kill and I was strong and fit. I also knew I had to return to Pontus where my heart lay and I would not die this day. It could not be my destiny.
Behind their serried ranks were forested slopes where the ground rose. They stood still as if they had complete confidence in the outcome but the look in that Armenian’s eyes had told me much. An army can be big but once fear gets a grip nothing can make its men stay and fight.
Calvus tapped me on the shoulder with his vine cane.
'Well?'
'Sorry, sir?'
'The Armenians? What do you think of them?'
'They look well organised.'
'Drivel man! At least half of them are workmen and conscripts. It looks to me as if the only real fighting men they have are those infantry in the phalanxes. They'll rely on their heavy cavalry. Over confident I call it!'
'If you say so, sir. Are we attacking across the river?'
'I don't know yet. I'm waiting for instructions. Looks as if we'll be on the left flank as usual, with the Thracian cavalry to our left. The generals seem to think that since we defeated the cataphractii before, we can do it again.'
'There's a lot more of them this time though I think they look scared.'
'They have reason to fear. I’m here! Maybe we'll be waiting here for them to attack. If they have to cross the river they'll be out of formation and probably easier to take on.'
Calvus walked away towards our Tribune, Procillus. He was talking to the cavalry commander. Although the cavalry were not Romans, their commander was. He was a young man called Publius Crassus. Everyone knew him because his father was one of the richest men in Rome. Why he would waste his only son on the army I could not understand. The army seemed to me to be an organisation made up of people who enlisted because they had no other choices. Even I was not there because I had volunteered.
I fiddled with my amulet. The silver wire holding the two halves had shown little wear and tear over the years. It had never left me, so I supposed it contained luck, as well as the family secret. I gained comfort from having it there. It must have been lucky I reasoned, or the corsairs would have seen it, even though it was so well hidden from sight beneath the neckline of my tunic.
My thoughts strayed to Marcus. I could understand his motives in trying to obtain the amulet. I occurred to me then that the only way anyone would have known that it contained the whereabouts of the deeds, would have been to make one of my parents reveal it. Perhaps they tortured them before they killed them. I tried to think of something else. I was getting angry and it was disturbing my concentration.
The orders came suddenly. We were all to march east along the river. The march was at a double pace. We were in full battle gear and we seemed to be running away. I could not work out what was going on. There, before us stood an enormous army and we were ready to take them on, then without warning, we were marching away at speed.
The grass beneath our feet was dry and the ground cracked and hard, for it had been a long summer. The unevenness of the ground made it hard to stay in formation but we did the best we could and after we had passed the length of the opposing army, around a bend in the river, we formed up again. None of us rankers knew what was going to happen.
Lucullus suddenly rode down to where we had stopped. To our consternation, he dismounted and stood next to our prefect and Procillus who were at the head of our column. I could not hear the conversation because of the distance but the intention was clear. The whole Ninth turned to face the far bank and we marched by columns of whole centuries across the small ford that lay at that end of the field at the bend in the river.
Opposite us, there was a hillock occupied by the Armenian heavy cavalry. As each century crossed, they formed up alongside the riverbank. The Thracian horse came next. Once they were across, Lucullus ordered them to attack the heavy cavalry of the opposing army's right flank.
Lucullus turned to the Ninth and said in a voice we could all hear, 'see that hill,' indicating where the heavy cavalry stood, ‘we will take it. Don't be afraid of their cavalry. No javelins. Use your swords and we will triumph. They will run.'
He finished speaking. We were off. The cornicens sounded. We followed our General. I thought he had gone mad. He was in a frenzy. Lucullus, to my total amazement led a full charge of the first and second cohorts of our legion. A shield bearer backed him. Procillus and our prefect Manius Ostorius were on either side. We followed him at a fast pace, swords drawn ready for the fight. The Thracian cavalry had arrived first and in a tight wedge had proceeded to attack the Armenian cavalry. It was an unexpected move. Even Lucullus' own men were puzzled at first. We ran up the steep hill, still in formation, ready to fight the Armenian cataphractii.
Our next surprise was that they were not there. I could see that the cataphractii had turned and fled. Lucullus who had his sword drawn stood on the top of the hill shouting, 'We have overcome! We have overcome!' or some such thing. It is hard to recall all the details, for battles are always confusing.
The rest of the Ninth Legion followed and now stood bristling on the hill. The Armenian heavy infantry had to turn to their right to face us. It was a slow and cumbersome manoeuvre. There was time enough for us to advance towards them whilst they were in disarray.
Lucullus again ran forward sword in hand, like a madman. His scale armour reflected the sun and I could not help thinking he looked like some divine prince, bright, shining, but mad all the same. I caught up with him and Calvus was at my side. There was no time to form up, for the General was swinging his sword and hacking into the heavily armoured phalanx. They tried to fight back but we were on their right sides and they were unable to use their shields effectively to fight us off.
The phalanx had long spears and they turned levelling them at us, stabbing at faces and chests. The General skidded on the dusty earth and fell onto his back in his haste. A long spear reached forwards at Lucullus. I was at his side. I deflected the weapon with my shield and reached down helping my
General to his feet. He looked me in the eye. There was a wild look on his face and his eyes were wide and bright.
‘Kill them, Decurion,’ he shouted, and we both smiled for I knew he recognised me. We both stood behind my shield. We used our swords to deflect the long pikes of the enemy phalanx. We got close in under the wicked points. Stabbing thrusting, pushing. Men fell before us, bloodied and screaming. The smell of blood was in my nostrils. It inflamed me but it was with a cold, grim, silent determination, controlled and careful.
Our two cohorts backed us. I heard Procillus laugh as he fought. I wondered briefly, where Junius was in all this carnage. I caught a glimpse of him standing with his contubernium, covered in blood and swinging, stabbing with his sword as men fell before him. The din of shield on shield and swords ringing was almost deafening and there were screams all around us. I smelled the same blood-smell as I had on the bireme, but felt no battle-rage as I had fighting the corsairs.
Seeing the heavy troops cut down made more of the Armenians try to turn. This only resulted in further disruption of their formations and their numbers were so great that confusion spread quickly.
The rest of our troops advanced on the Armenians from the river and we attacked them on two sides, front and flank. They ran. It was an absurd battle and the only real fighting that had taken place was our first assault on the right flank.
The whole hilltop, four furlongs in length, was a seething mass of killing and bloodied men. I could see Thracians riding among the fleeing Armenians, grinning as they stabbed with their dripping swords as if reaping bloody corn.
As the Armenians ran, we ran with them, stabbing, tripping, and striking with sword and shield. As they ran, they abandoned their weapons and they had no armour. It was like wolves among sheep. Everywhere I looked, there were dead or dying Armenians. I did not care, nor did I pause in the killing. A blood lust finally descended upon me once more. Uncontrolled and unreasoning. As I killed them, I felt nothing. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the grass, covering the killers and the dead in the same measure.
I saw an Armenian prince, unhorsed and wearing a diadem on his forehead. It glinted in the sunshine as he struggled to his feet. I ran after him. He was still unscathed and I wanted to kill him or take him prisoner. I thought he would fetch a good ransom or maybe he had jewellery that I could take. He ran to the wooded area and tried to disappear into the trees. I followed at a run and saw I was closing the gap rapidly.
We were well into the wood when he turned spear in hand. He was not the pampered weakling I had imagined. He knew how to wield his weapon.
I slowed and eyed him carefully, breathing hard. I still had my shield and sword and felt safe. I approached slowly, crouching slightly. The din of dying men, screams of horses and shouting were all around us but distant, for we must have run a hundred yards from the tree line.
My opponent inched towards me and I wondered what he would do next. The look on his face was one of determination. He showed no fear. He was my height and wore shining green and brown clothes over the chain mail that glinted in the light that filtered through the leaves above us. Absurdly, I heard a corncrake screech to my left and I thought that even the birds were panicking.
He came closer. He was beyond the reach of my short sword. He swung the spear at my head, full length. It was a fast, unexpected movement. My reflexes served me well. I caught the full force of the blow on my shield.
I stepped forward. I stabbed with my gladius. He had backed out of reach again. I was frustrated for I wanted to return to the battle and fighting one man in a hand-to-hand contest was not what I wanted. I moved forward faster in my impatience. I could hear Meridius saying, "never get impatient" but no one takes good advice all the time.
He swung his spear at me again. I ducked. He neatly swivelled the weapon downwards. The tip buried itself in the soft earth at my feet. In my haste, I had continued advancing quickly. I tripped on the spear. It pitched me forward in an undignified heap. I still had the sense to roll away as he raised the spear. I kept rolling until I was sure I was out of reach.
I hit a tree stump with my back. The pain spurred me on to using common sense instead of rushing the fight. I was up in no time, facing the Armenian. He was advancing again. The look on his face was serious and his breathing regular.
I was uncertain how to tackle him. He was advancing and seemed confident. His reach was much greater than mine was, for I only had my short legionary sword. I had to get inside his reach to use my weapon.
It came to me suddenly. The ground was uneven and as I began to back away down a slight slope, I bent my legs and remained still, crouching. He continued to advance. I threw myself forward, and continued in a run. It was a fast, sudden, unexpected move for it was uphill. He tried to back away again. I raised my shield. I knocked his spear arm aside. I turned slightly as I stabbed with the gladius and pierced him in the side of his chest. It was only to the depth of my finger, but it was enough.
We both fell forward. His blood had soaked my tunic, for it spurted from his chest. As I extricated myself, I saw he did not move. I must have penetrated his heart, for he lay immobile as if dead.
I stood up. There was a noise behind me. A faint rustling of leaves. I looked around, fearing it might be another Armenian.
It was Bassus. The Centurion stood with sword drawn and shield hefted ready to fight.
'Hope you're not too tired, but I want the thing that's around your neck and if you don't give it to me I'll have to take it. I don't mind removing your head first to do it though. Understand?'
I grinned from a bloodstained face and indicated him to approach, using the tip of my bloodied sword. I knew I could take this fat fool. I knew I was good at this and I knew I would keep what was mine. Not mine, but rightfully mine. My inheritance, the last thing left to me of the family taken away from me by the Mettius Costa family.
'Think you can do it?' my lips curled as I spoke, 'Come and try. Hades awaits you.'
'Tough talk from a young pup like you. You may be quick, but I'm a professional killer. This is my job, just like yours should be cleaning the latrines.'
'Each time I do I'll think of you.'
I was enjoying myself, for I knew I would kill him. Fat. Slow. Stupid. It was a foregone conclusion. I advanced.
We circled, for we were both right handed. Shields facing swords. Bassus attacked first. He used his weight behind his shield. I think it was only to see what I would do. He was not a match for any of the legionaries I had fought in the sword contest and I wondered what tricks he might use for he could surely not be as skilled as Meridius.
He grunted with the effort as he pushed with his shield but I sidestepped. He stumbled forward, turning far quicker than I would have expected for man of his bulk. He kicked as he did this and swung his sword at me at the same time, with his weight on his back foot. The sword hit my shield and the kick landed on my shin. It was painful enough to make me limp. I wondered how I had let that happen.
I advanced again. This time Bassus was backing off up the slope on which I had attacked the Armenian. He reached the dead man's limp body and stepped over it. He was still backing away slowly. As I advanced, I had to step forward over the body too. He suddenly rushed at me. He was pushing with his shield as I was about to step over the Armenian.
He stabbed with his gladius. It moved with breathtaking speed. The sword made a grating noise as it scraped my breastplate. I was off balance and tripped on the dead Armenian. Bassus rushed forward. He put all his weight behind his shield again. I stabbed with my sword.
I cut his left thigh and he yelped with pain. As his leg buckled, he pitched forward and struck his head on the bole of a tree. He sat with his helmet half covering his eyes. He seemed concussed, for he did not struggle to get to his feet and the hatred within me made me savour the approaching moment of his death. I stood and raised my sword. Death approached. It would take Bassus exactly as he deserved.
I had begun my
revenge on Marcus. I could feel the hate welling up inside me. To me this was Marcus. It was the entire Mettius family the hated killers of my parents and the objects of my revenge.