Lucius stared forward, looking over the forming lines of the Goths. He and Pisakar had interspersed the best of the borrowed cohorts with his battle-tested legion, the remainder of the borrowed cohorts in the reserves. Dressed in their black winter gear, his heavy infantry effectively plugged the small pass their troops had captured. His three alae of cavalry, two light units and one of heavy kataphraktoi—both horse and rider covered in heavy armor—were hidden in the tree line to his right. Marpesia and her horse archers had been steadily harassing the Goths, trying to keep them from forming up cohesively while screening their own lines. The light lancers and the unit of heavy horse from her Wolf Clan joined with the other Roxolani to form Lucius’s left wing and were led by an experienced warlord sent by Marpesia’s cousin, the leader of all the Roxolani.
Marpesia, taking command of the horse archers, had divided her force in two. She led one while Aella led the other. Lucius admired the finesse of their attacks, flying in to unleash several volleys only to turn and retreat, firing back into any forces stupid enough to press into the space they’d vacated. The constant harassment was cutting wide swathes through the Goths, leaving piles of dead and injured in their wake.
He kept his eagle-eyed gaze peeled for the golden mare and its fierce rider, the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. They’d only shared kisses and warm embraces, but together, they’d shifted the lines of his thinking into strange and explored territories. He couldn’t lose her after only just finding her.
“The Goths have passed the line. Send up the call to the artillery?” Pisakar asked, sitting next to Lucius.
Lucius nodded.
“Ballistae and Catapulta!” yelled Pisakar.
The cornicen put the curved brass horn to his lips and blew the call to loose. They’d placed the ballistae and onagers up on a series of ridges, elevating them and increasing their range. In answer to their call to action, they launched their ordnance skyward. At the blast of the horn, Marpesia’s horse archers increased their distance, turning and firing further volleys as they retreated.
“Archers to the front,” Pisakar called.
The cornicen blasted out the signal for the archers to advance through the line of legionnaires to the front. His fierce German long bowmen looked sharp as they marched forward, spreading out. And although he couldn’t see them, he knew the unit of Syrians, with their heavy recurve bows, was getting into position, using the trees hiding them and his cavalry units as cover. At this point, his archery commanders would take over, knowing their business and the battle plan.
As he focused on the opposite side where Marpesia and her horse archers were working, a flight of arrows rose from the front of his cohorts, arcing into the sky before reaching their zenith and plummeting down in gravity’s rainbow, felling droves of Goths. Yet, the Goths kept advancing in their ragged line. Next, Lucius’s Syrian archers opened up, tearing apart the first rows of Goths nearest them.
Lucius wasn’t sure how many Goths were arrayed in front of them. His scouts never could get a firm number of warriors, since they were mixed in with a seething mass of humanity of noncombatants. He hoped his better trained and coordinated forces would be able to counter the sheer weight of an entire people on the march. The thrum of the longbows in front of him alerted Lucius to the next volley rising skyward.
Despite his forces engaging and the Goths closing, Lucius’s eyes drifted to the left, seeking Marpesia as she surged over the battlefield, leading her squadron of archers to deliver round after round of arrows. When he finally found her, she rode with her people back to their position. As they slowed, forming up into lines, the waiting light cavalry charged through the gaps Marpesia left. The light lancers had left their lances behind, pulling their bows from their cases. The heavy kataphraktoi remained in their rows, held in reserve for later when the shock troops would do their most damage.
All the Roxolani had bows, even the heavy kataphraktoi. He guessed Marpesia and her squad must have run through their first quiver and were making for the resupply wagons to get new arrows while using the time to give their horses a breather. The steppe ponies were still in good shape; they were renowned for their robustness and stamina.
Seeing Lucius’s distraction, Pisakar issued the order for the cohorts to begin their advance. The cornicen barked out the order to advance which was taken up by each of the carnyx players, announcing to the battlefield that their cohort was marching to battle. Each carnyx had its own unique call that matched its shape, from natural animals to mythical beasts. The eerie sounds of carnyx floated over the battlefield. Legends of the wild Gauls marching to war under the battle calls of the carnyx before succumbing to Julius Caesar were still told around fires in Gallic villages. As the Romans subsumed the Gauls into the empire, the horns were nearly wiped from history until revived by Lucius for the Black Legion. For over two hundred years, the battle call of the carnyx horn warned the enemies of Roma that the Black Legion was on the field, affording them an opportunity to retreat and live.
When Lucius was able to pull his eyes back to the unfolding battle, his brows drew together in consternation. “Why are the Goths not forming up? Their reputation is formidable enough to scare a lot of the people along the border.”
“I don’t know. They really haven’t even returned fire except for some sporadic shots,” Pisakar replied.
“Send out some more scouts. See if we can get around this mass and find out if they’re screening something in back.”
Both their heads snapped forward when the sound of horns, probably from animal horns, vibrated through the air. As the archers moved into columns so the legionnaires could advance around them, the bowmen continued launching volleys into the air. Lucius, his breath coming shallow, waited to see what the horns meant. He wished the sun would burn off the cloud layer and occasional snow flurry obscuring their view into the distance.
For the first time, they were seeing some organization in the front lines as the seething masses formed into a rudimentary line, shields creating a more formidable frontage. Another call went up, and archers worked their way through the lines of the Tervingi to form in front of their shield walls. When the next call went up, they took aim and sent a flight of arrows into the sky.
Lucius, tipping his ear forward, sighed in relief when his centurions blew the call to tighten ranks and form a shield wall. The rear ranks raised their shields to form a roof over their forces as they continued their march. The tortoise like formation slowed the cohorts’ advance but provided maximum protection from the missiles arching through the sky.
The screams of men washed over the field as arrows found gaps in the shields or punched through finding flesh beneath. Lucius flexed his left forearm, remembering when an arrow had pierced his own arm after puncturing his scutum.
From his left, Marpesia’s call blasted out from their lines as they recalled their light cavalry so she and her archers could return to the field. She charged forward on the back of her glittering, steel-covered golden mare, her warriors following in her wake. As she got within distance, she poured arrow after arrow into the ranks of the Goths.
A series of horn calls from the Goths snapped Lucius’s attention back to the front line of Goths. Their archers had dissolved back into the writhing mass of foot soldiers as Lucius’s legions opened their formation up and increased their trot to a charge, the first ranks unleashing their pila into the sky. The heavy javelins arced forward in deadly flight, plowing down huge swaths of the front lines. At the sound of their own horns, the Goths finally committed, sending their poorly organized infantry against the rigid lines of the best trained legionnaires in the empire.
Lucius’s legionnaires met the Goths with shield and pila, stabbing an endless horde until their javelins broke or bent only to be replaced by gladius and spatha. The well-organized Roman lines flashed with steel, punching with shields as they slowly advanced, mowing down any Goth brave or stupid enough to come within range of their swords.
“Send the light cavalry!” Pisakar yelled, the cornicen taking up the signal. Pisakar turned to Lucius. “You ready to give that gelding a little taste of battle?”
Lucius, eyes still fixed forward, nodded, reaching down to pull his spatha clear of its scabbard. He raised it and pointed toward the gap in between cohorts he wanted to hit, seeing the two units slowed under the weight of the Goths. He walked his gelding forward, picking up speed as the got closer. As they accelerated, they curved around and into the gap. His cornicen sent up the call that the Centurio Immortalis was entering the field of battle.
The sound of thundering hooves followed him as Pisakar and the rest of his elite guards formed a wedge. His voice, rising into a yell, preceded him as his gelding bashed into the first Goth, leaving the man’s shattered body to be churned under the hooves of the Roman war pony. Lucius’s arm fell and rose, slashing and stabbing. Taking an axe on his shield, he spun the gelding, knocking his attacker into the waiting sword of one of his guards.
The ferocity of their incursion into the front lines shoved back the mass of Goths, inspiring his men to surge forward and the enemy to fall back in the face of Lucius’s onslaught. He lost track of how long he was there, his arm felling enemies, his legs guiding his horse to meet new threats. Not until he heard the horn recalling his small unit did he pull up on his advance, letting his infantry overtake the line and push past. Once it was safe, Lucius spun his gelding and trotted back toward the rest of his commanders.
Chest heaving from his exertion, he scanned the battlefield. His legionnaires were still moving forward, regularly rotating their lines to ensure fresh fighters moved forward to relieve those at the front. On his wings, the light cavalry swept across the flanks of the Goths, darting in to slash at the edges and keep the superior numbers of the Goths from wrapping around the lines and outflanking his infantry.
At the newest call from the Goths, their front lines gave ground, retreating, at first orderly, then less so as they ran from the Romans. The Goths, with their mass of forces, shouldn’t have given in so easily, still outnumbering the Romans and Roxolani significantly.
“Do we give the order to pursue?” Pisakar asked.
“No. Hold the line. Reform in order.”
The cornicen barked out the orders. When the front line of his legionnaires cleared the last of the Goths still fighting, they stopped instead of breaking into a run to butcher the fleeing Goths. Both wings of cavalry, responding to the call, pulled back and formed up to the left and right of the wide line of legionnaires. They waited.
“Lucius!” Pisakar pointed to their right.
A man in Roman armor rode low across the neck of his pony, spurring his horse on. As he approached Lucius and his guards, he yelled out the pass code, riding through. He yanked back on the reins, the horse sliding to a halt.
“More Goths, sir. Heavily armed. Advancing. Cavalry on each wing.” The man panted to catch his breath, drinking from a water skin someone had handed him.
As if on cue, a new set of horns broke the stillness. The sound of heavy boots and hundreds of hooves swept over them. On a shallow hill in the distance, a dark mass emerged, spreading across the narrow valley the Romans and Roxolani currently held.
“Fuck,” Pisakar said.
“Archers, advance to forward position!” Lucius shouted orders. “Slow retreat all units! Send in medics and reserves while we can to pull any wounded from the field.”
The cornicen sent out the orders, and Lucius waited for the return calls acknowledging receipt. His eyes drifted to the left, looking for the golden mare and its fiery rider. He held his breath as he scanned over the lines looking for her, worry filling his heart. When he saw a horse turn, light gleaming off its curved horns, he exhaled, holding his hand up to acknowledge the rider he couldn’t be without. He wasn’t sure if she saw, but it didn’t matter.
Lucius’s lungs heaved as he worked to catch his breath after a rotation at the front, driving back the hordes of Goths. His presence had inspired his tired men to push forward, hoping to break the will of the numerically superior but under-armed foe. He blinked his eyes, looking toward the left of their lines. Marpesia, her arrows spent, was leading her Roxolani in a slashing attack on the flanks. Her heavy kataphraktoi were taking a breather, grabbing unbroken lances for those who needed them.
Her axe flashed down, carving arcs of reflected light as the Wolf Clan used their speed and skill to wear at the edges of the mass of Goths. Lucius’s breath came in shallow gasps as he watched her, waiting for her to turn her forces and dash away to let the next wave of cavalry punch into the Goth’s flank.
For only a moment, he closed his eyes to gather himself, but when he opened them, he couldn’t find Marpesia. Adrenaline surged through his body as his eyes shot open wide. He frantically scanned over the Roxolani, looking for the bright warrior he’d come to care for deeply. When a glint of light flashed off the curved horns of Marpesia’s golden mare, he heaved a sigh of relief, only to gasp in a surge of air when the mare turned to present its empty back.
“No…” His gelding, picking up on his body language, sidled to the left. “Marpesia…”
His stomach dropped, his eyes stinging as he tried to get his breathing under control.
“NO!” Lucius bellowed, kicking the tired gelding forward.
As he picked up speed, he ripped a lance from someone’s hand, his eyes locked on where he’d last seen Marpesia. His vision tightened into a narrow tunnel. Behind him, the distorted call of a horn barked orders into the air. With the butt of the lance, he forced his pony into a full run as they charged toward the area where Roman and Roxolani struggled to hold the line against a seemingly endless tide of Gothic warriors.
Focused entirely on his goal, he didn’t notice when the surrounding bodies changed from his allies to his enemies. As faces and hands grasped toward him with steel clawed swords and axes and spears, his hand, guided by his fury and desperation, darted out, his lance piercing anyone within its range, its steel point lashing out as fast as lightning and twice as brutal.
He shoved out with his hexagonal cavalry shield, catching faces and arms with its iron rim. Surrounded, he guided his gelding around as the animal bucked up, kicking out with his hooves, shattering bodies in his desperate drive to survive the hell his rider had forced him into.
When the shaft of his lance shattered, Lucius shoved the ragged end into the face of the nearest Goth, letting the lance pull out of his fingers as it stuck in the skull of one more vanquished foe. Reaching across his saddle, he yanked the long spatha from its scabbard and carved into anyone who drew within range, kicking his horse closer toward the mass of Roxolani horse warriors.
His fury and supernatural speed drove back the Goths who’d made the mistake of thinking Lucius entering their grasp was an opportunity. Lucius screamed, the ground rushing up at him as his horse fell forward. The world froze into an infinitesimal moment as Lucius tucked his arm and head. Crashing to the ground, he rolled over his shoulder onto his knees. Steel screeched across the armor protecting his back, missing where his head had been a moment before.
Lucius kicked out with his hob-nailed boot, the impact of the foe’s knee bending backwards shivering up his leg. He swept the spatha wide, cutting deep into any shin foolish enough to be within his range. He sprang to his feet. He punched out with his shield, shattering a face against the dented boss at its center.
Seeing nothing but red, he let out a ragged bellow and ran ahead. Lucius’s fury and speed wreaked havoc around him. Eyes narrowed in concentration soon widened in fear. Where his sword reached, only bodies and severed limbs remained in its wake.
“Marpesia!”
The weight of an axe sinking into the wood of his shield pulled him to his left. He ripped the shield around, yanking the weapon from its wielder’s hands and following with a slash that took the head. Lifting the shield, he rammed its rim into the faceless body in his way. The weight of the axe was throwing him off balance. When he brought it around, he let the edge crack into someone’s face, then let go of it.
His left hand free, he ripped the gladius from its scabbard at his left hip. With razor sharp steel in each hand, he unleashed his full rage, carving bodies into blood and corpses. Each swing was a step closer to his goal. Every Goth vanquished was one less person to harm his Marpesia.
“Marpesia!” he screamed.
“Lucius!”
He shifted toward the sound of his name, finding a new level to draw upon. The steel at the end of his hand struck over and over, biting deep. Instead of rushing to meet their outnumbered enemy, they quailed before him, unable to find an opening. Only death awaited those who stepped within his reach. Then he saw her.
Marpesia, her axe in her right hand and her sword in her left, cut a swath through the crowd around her, seeking Lucius. As they hacked toward each other, their opposition melted before them. They were nearly within reach of each other.
“No!” Lucius’s eyes went wide as he lunged forward, an axe painting a silver streak through the air as it plunged toward Marpesia.
Lucius knocked into Marpesia with his shoulder, shoving her aside as he buried this spatha through the face of the axe-wielder. His lungs heaving, he ripped his arm back and kicked out, dislodging the Goth from his sword. Marpesia recovered her balance and continued her bloody work, protecting Lucius’s back as he freed himself from her attacker.
Together, they carved a circle, heaping hewn bodies about them. The only sounds in his ears were their rough gasps of breath and the butchery of their weapons carving through bone and sinew and armor. His shoulders burned from the constant effort. He could only imagine the fatigue fighting to overcome Marpesia’s body and its non-supernatural abilities to heal and push beyond normal endurance.
Each parry slower. Each slash more ragged. Each thrust sloppier. He could hear voices crying in languages he knew—Greek, Latin, and the various tongues spoken throughout the empire as they met and mingled with the calls of the Sarmatian dialect coming from the other side. Marpesia grunted, staggering back into Lucius. Only a little longer… They only had to keep going for a little more…
Her warriors had made their way to her, flanking out on each side of her in a wedge. When the sea of his legionnaires swept past him, meeting with the brutal tide of the Roxolani, his arms fell, his hands shaking. His lungs heaving like bellows, he staggered around in time to see Marpesia collapse to her knees. His swords fell from his hands as he dropped too, catching her before she could fall into the pile of corpses surrounding them.
“Marpesia…” Lucius’s hands trembled as he tried to stroke her cheek, only to be blocked by the steel cheek guards of her helm.
“Lucius… You came for me.” Marpesia was having trouble keeping her eyes open.
“I’ll always come for you.”
She weakly squeezed his hand. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think anything serious. You?”
“I don’t know.” Her armor rose and fell heavily as her body tried to get air.
“Lucius!” called a deep masculine voice. “Lucius?”
“Here…” Lucius coughed, clearing his throat. “Pisakar. Over here.”
A horse’s head came into view, followed by the giant figure of the Kushite. “Do you need a medic? You’re covered in blood.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s mine. Do you have a horse I can borrow? I need to get Marpesia away from here.”
Pisakar extended his arm. Lucius carefully laid Marpesia’s head on the ground before taking Pisakar’s offered hand. On his feet, his knees trembled. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to get control of his body.
“Help me get her up.” Lucius’s eyes begged his friend.
Between them, they got her standing and onto the back of Pisakar’s pony. Making sure she was stable, he noticed something wrong with the leg of her trousers. The white zigzags of her leggings were stained. Lifting the skirt of her armor, Lucius found a deep gash across the front of her thigh leaking blood.
“Pisakar, I’ve got to get her to the medics.” Lucius started to lead her back toward their lines when Pisakar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“You, legionnaire, your mount,” Pisakar barked at a Roman milling about.
“Sir!” The man dismounted and handed the reins to Pisakar.
Pisakar helped Lucius onto the back of the horse, handing him the reins of both horses. Once they cleared the mass of bodies, wounded and dead, he squeezed his legs, getting a trot from the pony. When he got back to their initial lines, he turned Marpesia over to a medic.
“She gets highest priority. Treat her as if you’re treating me or Pisakar,” Lucius ordered.
“Yes, sir!” The medic saluted and transferred Marpesia to a stretcher.
Marpesia reached up and grabbed Lucius’s hand. “Lucius, tell Aella you’re in charge.” She let go and pulled a golden bracelet from her wrist. “Give this to her. It’s our sign. She’ll listen to you and relay your orders to the rest of the Roxolani.”
Lucius bent over, brushing some hair from her face. “The medics will take care of you. I have the best surgeons in the empire.” He bent over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”
She nodded weakly, her eyelids dipping closed. He tilted his face toward the sun, offering a quick prayer to Mithras, Sol Invictus, and Selene for her recovery and to watch over her.
Lucius turned the tired pony around and found Pisakar directing the reserves into battle.
“Report, Pisakar.”
“I think your crazy charge broke their back, Centurio. We’re seeing heavy surrenders or other groups and bands retreating southeast. Do we pursue?”
“Hmmm, mercy to all who surrender. Send runners to our cavalry alae and the Roxolani. Tell them to encourage the retreat but no heavy engagement. I don’t want to give them a reason to turn and fight. Let Constantius deal with them. We’re not here to win the war for him. We have other tasks. Oh, let the Roxolani know Marpesia is alive and with the medics.”
While Pisakar rounded up messengers to execute Lucius’s orders, Lucius watched as the lines of his legions advanced slowly, rotating their lines to keep the men at the front from getting overly tired. He knew they had to be exhausted, but their conditioning ensured they were still going strong. As he examined some of the bodies laying about or those rounded up and contained, he guessed the Goths had to be nearly done in. Most looked emaciated with too little meat on their bones, their eyes haunted and dim as if they expected death no matter what.