The next recollection Veranius had was of landing on his back with his horse falling beside him, a violent impact, the air was instantly knocked out of his lungs and he struggled to breath, gasping for air. The small cavalry detachment had been behind the thin ranks of infantry awaiting the trumpet call to outflank the barbarians on their right side when the attack had caught them by surprise. The Germanic tribe seemed to fall out of the trees and mist from nowhere and were upon them before they could react.
His horse was quickest to it’s feet and fled galloping to the rear of the Roman lines vanishing into other advancing columns without it’s mount. He had stood shaking his head trying to make the stars dancing before his eyes vanish as metal clashed against metal near him, ringing in his ears. Instinctively he had drawn his dagger from his right side and almost fell backwards as infantry retreated all around him taking him along with the weight and strength of their numbers.
Something had struck him against his armoured shoulder with such power he buckled at an angle, his knees bending automatically, almost taking him back to the muddy surface. He turned to see a huge hairy face grimacing next to his own. It was so close he could smell the acrid stench of the animal like being wielding the sword that had hit his chainmail. Insane, crazed eyes stared, battle madness displayed on them as the near toothless male struggled to get the large sword up again for another strike.
An overwhelming weight hit Veranius from the left from something unseen before he hit the ground again he realised it was another horse shrieking as it was impaled through the chest by one of the attackers. He was as powerless as the horse in that moment. As the animal shrieked louder and kicked its legs trying to get to its feet, its rider was dispatched by an axe blow that struck the unfortunate soldier on the neck above the folds of his armoured vest. His head was almost cut from his body, dead eyes stared out unseeing. Blood jetted from the wound and hit Veranius in the face and mouth, warm and wet, tasting foul. In that instant the fluid was down his throat and in his eyes, he choked for breath, scraping with fingers for better vision with both hands, his sword he realised had landed somewhere at his feet, unseen as he panicked to clear his eyes.
He was aware of cries of agony as iron and bronze weapons clashed all around him and those that didn’t, sliced and cut into human or animal flesh. The horses made dreadful sounds, worse than the men as barbarians thrust their weapons into their bodies, seeking out arteries, bone or major organs to terrify the riders and bring them down. The soldiers on foot were furiously thrusting and stabbing their short swords into and through the fur covered attackers that were intent on killing or mortally wounding them. They peered from behind or over their shields as they put into practise their well rehearsed training and tactics of stab, thrust and withdraw. He heard feet scrambling for purchase on the muddy surface as the retreating soldiers were pushed back by the horde attacking them.
He knew if he didn’t get back to his feet quickly he wouldn’t leave this field alive, his remains would be ripped apart if the Germanic tribe won the day and his severed head would end up on a spear or stake. He also knew that would only happen if he was fortunate enough to die straight away. Captured troops were made the play things for the women of the Germanic tribes, who would torture them sometimes for days on end. This was usually done by women who had lost their men, brothers or sons to the invading force. Their limbs would be broken with wooden logs, their fingers cut off and fed to packs of dogs or pigs and their organs cut out while their host took its last breath in this life. It was a vile way to die and no way for a soldier to meet his end.
He leapt up frantically searching for the large barbarian whose rank breath had almost made him retch. He had blurred vision through one eye, his right smeared with blood from the axed soldier, his left eye useless entirely. Figures blurred around him, the noise of battle overwhelming, the smell of blood, the metallic aroma disgusting and repugnant. He whirled blinking unsure who or what was around or near him. Dabbing at his right eye furiously, from nowhere animal fur brushed against his face, moving violently. He thrust the blade into what he thought must be the midriff of the tribal barbarian who had to be by his side. He heard a gasp as he ripped the blade up holding the handle now with two hands. Planting his feet for purchase on the ground, he gulped in air as he pulled the blade up with all his strength slicing through skin and muscle.
As his eyes began to clear, he heard a grinding sound, as the blade so easily cutting through flesh suddenly stopped, grating as it caught against something solid maybe bone or cartilage. Warm liquid gushed out onto his hands and wrists, making them sticky and hard to manoeuvre. He felt the weight of his opponent fall against him as he pulled on the dagger trying to free the weapon from the other living bone, its metal had cut into.
As he struggled to clear the large dagger and get it free, something hit the fur clad enemy pushing him rapidly backwards. It was the booted sandal of another soldier, as he kicked him away the dagger was instantly free. In that moment, Veranius thrust it forward again, slicing the sharp blade into the right side of his enemies face near the eye. The tribesman was still fighting struggling and gurgling against his impending death. He adjusted the blade and forced it into the barbarian’s eye, it popped a dull but satisfying sound to Veranius as he fought for his very existence. Pushing forward with all his weight he saw through blurred vision as his blade caused irreparable damage as it was forced fully into the eye socket.
Time had slowed as he saw the impact on the dark terrified remaining wide eye, as the tip of his weapon pierced the other organ as the being it belonged to tried to close it’s eyes in a final and futile attempt to save its sight and possibly its life. It was forced back into the head and suddenly popped again, exploding blood in a sudden gush. The knife instantly sank deeper and the man fell to the floor, silent and dead that instant.
He struggled to keep a grip of the handle of his dagger with two hands that were now slippery with sticky warm blood and he moved back, the momentum helping to free the weapon as he gagged almost emptying the contents of his stomach. As quickly as time had seemed to slow, it returned to its frantic manic pace as men fought to slash, stab and hack at each other all around him.
Veranius tried to wipe the blood from his left hand whilst stabbing out at more hordes of barbarians with the dagger in his right. He knew he had to get clear of this chaos if he were to survive. There was no sense in dying for no reason in this land of primitives in a battle that would probably be forgotten tomorrow. Other soldiers were now retreating to other lines to the rear, some fell, stumbling as they tried to get to the neat rows of soldiers that were formed up some distance away, waiting to join the battle.
Through shaking vision, he saw the straight columns and lines slowly walking towards his position as he began to get clear of the combat. An eagle standard glistened with the sun reflecting off its surface as the mist began to clear and trumpets sounded the signal for the advancing troops to quicken their pace. Swords began to strike shields as they got closer and the sound grew.
He heard a trumpet echo as the troops closed in on the battle and changed their stance slightly as they walked. The front rank he saw, were preparing to throw their first pilums. These spears were much heavier weapons than those used by the Cavalry and wooden pegs secured the spear head so they would break off on impact, stopping the spear from being thrown back. The metal head would break free of the body and pierce even shields as well as flesh and bone. The killing head of the weapon could be up to twelve inches long and so would kill or cripple anything it came into contact with. Veranius had seen the damage these spears could do to the body and ducked lower as he ran thinking of the irony of being killed by his own side.