THE HUN ARMY rumbled closer and closer. Hagan looked at the men to his left and right but they were focused on the approaching menace. Their jaws were set and their faces pale though there was no sign of fear.
The shimmering heat on the horizon meant it was difficult to make out the approaching horsemen and Hagan wondered if that was why Attila had waited until the middle of the day to attack, so as to confuse the Alliance further. Before long they could feel and hear the approaching horses though. The ground underfoot thrummed with hoofbeats and the air began to fill with their drumming sound, the whinnying of excited horses and the distant war cries of their riders.
Hagan waited with the rest, feeling like his nerves were stretched to breaking point. It was unbearable. For a moment he felt exhausted. The lack of sleep from the night before had taken its toll, as had waiting all morning in the baking heat. He was unsure if he even had the strength to hold up his shield. The overwhelming thirst returned to clog his throat and dry his mouth, though he was not sure that this was due to the heat.
Remembering the drink Wodnas had given him, he pushed his spear butt into the hard, dusty earth as far as he could, leaving the shaft to rest against the inside of his shield. Taking the goatskin from his belt he uncorked it. It tasted foul but it would have to do. Hagan drank several swallows of the bitter liquid then, grimacing from the taste, put it back in his belt and took up his spear again.
The plain was perhaps three Roman miles across – Hagan knew because he had crossed it the night before – so it took some time for the enemy to cross it, and they were not charging, so as to not exhaust their horses. In that time each man had plenty of time to think about what lay ahead.
Then the horsemen emerged from the shimmering haze. They were more visible now. Hagan could see their fur-rimmed helmets, their glittering mail and the glint of gold and silver off the ornaments they decorated their horses’ bridles with. He saw they had bows in their hands. His mind flew back fifteen years to when he had seen those riders coming at Vorbetomagus, except now he was standing exactly where his father had been standing that day.
A low noise began to rise from the men all around Hagan. At first it was just a murmur, a growl at the back of their throats, but it got louder and louder until it became a chanting. There were no words, just a sound that somehow every man knew how to create and which somehow raised in volume in a steady way even though no one was directing it. With a thrill Hagan realised they were making the baritus, the Germanic war cry that had terrified Roman soldiers since they first tried to cross the Rhine centuries before. As the noise built to a deafening roar he joined in, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Despite the summer heat the flesh on his forearms was standing in gooseflesh too.
Some shouted into the backs of their shields, amplifying the sound even more. He could hear it from other places in line too: the Visigoths and the Saxons were joining in. He could hear it from somewhere across the field too. The Ostrogoths, Gepids and the other Germanic warriors in the Hun army were chanting the same war cry.
As he looked out across the fields, it seemed as though all the colours had become sharper, more vibrant. The sky was as bright a blue as the sea he had sailed over north of Ravenna and the sun-dried grass was a fierce yellow. All his fears, doubts and tiredness melted away, driven out by the deafening roaring of the warriors around him, a roar that also came from his own mouth.
He also wondered for the first time what really was in the drink Wodnas had given him.
The line of riders that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon began to part, splitting into discrete sections at some unheard command from signal horns drowned out by the screaming warriors around Hagan.
They were about three hundred paces away.
Then, all at once, they charged.
The Alliance’s men snapped their shields together, clamped their jaws shut and dug their feet in, ready for the impending impact.
The Hun archers divided into wedge-shaped formations. Hagan felt as if the whole of the enemy army was galloping straight at him.
‘Hold the line!’ he shouted to those around him. ‘Stand firm. Their horses won’t charge into our formation if the shield wall stays solid.’
At about one hundred paces the Hun archers loosed their first arrows. They rose high in the air like a dark wave. As they began to descend the riders were already notching their second arrows.
Hagan crouched behind his shield, trying to get every inch of protection he could from it. Then it grew dark around him and he saw that the men in the second rank were holding their shields up high in both hands, as if trying to set the bottoms of their shields against the top of the front rank’s shields, but tilted back so they provided cover both for the man in the front and the man holding the shield. He only had time to wonder if this was part of the ‘special training’ Wodnas had referred to before the first arrow storm arrived.
The shields thrummed and bucked under the impact as countless arrows smashed into them. The shields tactic worked well, however. His own shield had protected his body while the man standing behind him had covered Hagan’s head and shoulders with his shield.
The hail of arrows petered out and Hagan just had time to peek out and see that the Huns were even closer now. Then the second arrow storm hit. Again the world was drowned out by the frantic drumming of arrows landing on shields all around.
Somewhere further down the line a man cried out in pain and surprise as an arrow found its way through the cover of the shields to strike flesh and bone beneath.
As the din of arrows subsided the sound of hoofbeats was ominously closer and getting even nearer by the moment.
‘They’re nearly on us,’ the warrior beside Hagan said. ‘They’re going to ride straight into us!’
‘Not if we keep our spears out,’ Hagan said. His own protruded through the narrow gap between the top right of his shield and the top left of the man next to him. ‘No horse in its right mind will ride onto a line of spears and shields. That’s why we need to stand firm.’
A third hail of arrows came crashing down, shot now from mere paces away. This time there were more screams from along the lines. This close, the Huns had time to aim for gaps in the shield wall and had sent their arrows through them to strike the men behind.
At almost the same time Hagan heard Roman bucinae blaring and again the air was filled with the whoosh of arrows, but this time it came from behind. The Roman archers had loosed, and their deadly shafts rained down on the Hun horsemen as they were preparing to shoot one more volley themselves.
Men and horses screamed as the shafts pierced them. Crouched behind his shield, Hagan heard the crunch and clatter of them falling. He felt fierce joy at the Huns’ pain.
Peering through the small gap in the shields Hagan saw that though some had fallen, the rest of the mass of horsemen were nearly on top of their line. They were still galloping at full speed. He gritted his teeth, fighting the rising panic that the huge mass of horseflesh, thrashing hooves and bristling weaponry was about to smash straight into the other side of his shield.
He had said himself that no sane horse could be made to do that. He had believed it but now, facing the onrushing riders, the flaring nostrils of the horses mere paces away, the thunder of their hooves drowning out all else, doubt stabbed into his heart. Could the Huns, with their iron discipline, have somehow trained horses to smash into shields?
Every instinct within Hagan screamed to get out of the way. To drop out of position and jump out of the way of the charging horses.
He knew that if he did that he would open up a hole in the shield wall that the horsemen could ride into. Then, with the Huns in behind their defences, the whole shield wall would collapse. He was also supposed to be the leader of the men around him. If he broke they would break too. The whole line would dissolve like parchment touched by fire and the battle would be lost.
Hagan dug his feet in and took a deep breath. On the other side of his shield a horse snorted and Hagan swore he could smell its hot, stinking breath.
At the last possible moment the charging horsemen broke left and right, wheeling their horses and charging away from the shield wall.
The Burgundars cheered. A few stood up from behind their shields to taunt the retreating Huns.
‘Get down, you fools!’ someone along the line shouted. ‘Remember your training.’
The warning came too late. Even though the Huns were now galloping away, each one turned in his saddle and shot a final arrow as he went. The men who had stood up were struck in the head, the neck and the chest – anywhere exposed above their shield.
Some were saved by their war gear. Others were not so lucky. They cried out, blood spurting from their transfixed wounds, as they fell backwards.
Straight away men from the second ranks moved forward to fill the gaps left by the wounded or dead even before the casualty had been dragged out of the way. Repairing the shield wall was the utmost priority.
‘Good work, lads,’ Hagan shouted to the Bear Warriors.
He felt some elation to have survived the first assault. Though he was under no illusion that this was nothing but the opening clash of what would be a great battle, the discipline shown by those he had thought of earlier as violent madmen gave him some encouragement that perhaps they would make it through after all.
Gunderic would be disappointed.
The Huns withdrew to a hundred or so paces away, far enough to feel safe from any more Roman arrows, then they turned around once more.
‘Here they come again,’ Hagan shouted and he and his men hunkered down, pushed out their spears and braced themselves for another attack.
The Huns came thundering back in almost a replay of their previous attack. This time they again managed three volleys of arrows before reaching the shield wall. Hagan again felt as if his heart would not be able to stand the strain as he crouched behind his shield, unsure how far away the enemy was, anticipating being battered into the dirt by horses’ hooves at any moment.
The Romans again showered the Huns with arrows while they were in range and more bodies of horses and men piled up before the shield wall. Again the Huns turned at the last moment and retreated back out of range.
This time no one jeered their retreat. Those wounded by arrows were dragged out of the line and any gaps in the shield wall closed by others from the rear. Hagan noted that their losses were not great, but if this went on all day they would be worn down. Eventually there would not be enough men in the rear to replace those who fell at the front. This could well be Attila’s tactic. If so, they would have to come up with a way to counter it or suffer a long slow defeat through the death of one warrior at a time.
The Huns began a new charge. Hagan and the others braced themselves again. The first salvo of arrows came raining down, clattering and banging against the shields. When a second one did not arrive Hagan peeked out through the gap at the shield’s corner and saw that the Huns had put their bows into their hide holsters on their saddles and now brandished spears and swords. Every fourth Hun rider held a hide noose.
Hagan remembered Godegisil, ensnared by their nooses, unable to raise his arms or fight back as they riddled him with arrows. It seemed the next attack would be like the one that killed him.
This time the riders came right up to the shield wall. They prodded with spears and hacked with their swords, trying to find any weakness or gap they could get their weapons into. Hagan’s shield bucked with the battering of Hun blades.
Then the point of a spear came lancing in through the small gap between the top corners of his shield and the shield of the man to his right. It flashed through the gloom just to the right of Hagan’s right ear. He heard the anguished cry of the man in the second rank who stood behind him, holding his shield over Hagan’s head.
The spear gouged into the warrior’s thigh and he fell backwards, taking his shield with him. Hagan felt himself suddenly in the full glare of the bright sunshine. This was not the only thing he was exposed to.
Before Hagan could react another Hun cast his noose. It fell around Hagan’s shoulders and pulled tight in an instant. Before he could do anything he was already being hauled to his feet as the Hun holding it started riding away.