His stomach knotted now, as it always did before a fight. He offered up his usual prayer, a calming ritual. Great Mars, hold your shield over me and my men. I swear to offer a sacrifice in your honour if most of us make it through. He had learned long ago not to ask that all his soldiers survived. ‘Now,’ he said to the two musicians by his side. As their instruments added their noise to Bolanus’ trumpets, Tullus heard Arminius’ horns sound to the south. ‘Draw swords! Advance, at the double!’ he shouted.
The charge began. The half-grown crop of emmer and millet, never to be harvested, was trampled into the earth by hundreds of studded sandals. They crossed a narrow cart track and entered a field of bitter vetch, flattening that too. A lone pig, one that must have escaped the Usipetes, ran off, squealing. Still there was no movement from the settlement. Tullus kept an eye on the other centuries’ positions, but he made no attempt to keep his front rank parallel with the next unit along. There was no point.
This would not be a set-piece battle, when the legionaries halted a short distance from the enemy to hurl their javelins. Because of the village’s irregular but typical layout – a centre point of a raised, palisaded mound with buildings and workshops of varying size arranged in large, irregular rectangles around it – any sense of formation would be lost as they arrived. From that point, Tullus would lose control of all but the eight or ten nearest men. The trumpeters would provide him with the wherewithal to issue basic orders to the rest of the cohort if needs be.
A hundred paces out from the first buildings, they came across the first body, of a man, lying on his front. Judging by his muddied sandals and worn tunic, he’d been a farmer. As they ran by, a cloud of flies rose, disturbed, from the red stain between his shoulder blades. The corpses came thick and fast after that. Men, women, children. The old, the lame, even the animals had not been spared. Beside a dead boy of about four, Tullus saw a pup that had had its skull crushed. He turned away in disgust, but the dreadful sights were everywhere, too many to block out. What had been done to the village women was the hardest thing to stomach. It hadn’t mattered to the Usipetes whether they were toothless grandmothers or girls too young to have a monthly bleed. They had all been raped before being murdered. Upturned dresses hid the terror that must have distorted their faces, but the corpses’ terrible wounds and their blood-smeared thighs were enough to bring bile rushing up Tullus’ throat.
‘Kill!’ he shouted, unleashing the beast. ‘Kill!’
‘KILL!’ his soldiers roared back. ‘KILL!’
They were almost on top of the houses before the first Usipetes warrior emerged, tousle-headed and bleary-eyed, from a doorway. With an animal roar, Tullus outstripped his men. The warrior was still gaping in disbelief when Tullus’ gladius rammed into his belly so hard that its tip emerged from his back. Tullus’ ears filled with his victim’s screams and he wrenched the sword free. Thrusts that powerful often caused a blade to wedge in a man’s backbone, he thought. That could have meant a stupid death for him. It was fortunate, therefore, that the three other Usipetes inside the house were as drink-fuddled as their dying friend.
Tullus stormed through the doorway, kicking one warrior in the face and smashing the iron rim of his shield on the head of another even as he tried to rise. One of Tullus’ legionaries was hot on his heels; he dispatched the third warrior as Tullus spun back to kill the men he’d stunned with precise thrusts to the chest. In-out. Blood everywhere. In-out. More crimson sprayed. Tullus was about to dispatch his first moaning victim when he caught sight, through the door, of the boy and the dead pup. With a curl of his lip, he stepped over the wounded man. ‘Leave the filth to die,’ he ordered.
Eight soldiers were waiting outside; the others had splintered off as he’d expected. Around them, chaos reigned. By a bonfire that yet smouldered, a score or more of dazed-looking Usipetes had been surrounded by several times their number of legionaries. They died still reaching for their spears. Others who had fallen asleep nearby met the same fate. Wood splintered as door after door was kicked in. Screams of panic followed as warriors woke to the sharp end of Roman swords.
A number of the houses were raised off the ground, standing on four thick wooden legs. When some of the legionaries discovered axes in a workshop, they sought out a building with Usipetes inside and instructed their laughing comrades to prevent any from leaving. As the structure began to wobble beneath their blades, the warriors within tried to climb down the ladder by the door. Two died before the rest retreated inside. Ten heartbeats later, the chosen leg collapsed. The entire structure followed, and as the warriors who yet lived tried to extricate themselves from the wreckage, they were finished off by the cheering legionaries.
The tactic was such a success that it was copied on other raised houses. It was a cruel way to die, but Tullus didn’t intervene. What he’d seen had so revolted him that he didn’t care how the Usipetes were slain. What counted was that their own casualties were few, and that they captured a number of prisoners. How many, Tullus hadn’t yet decided. His men could bathe their swords in Usipetes blood for a time longer.
Not all the raiders proved so easy to kill, however. When spirals of smoke rising from the direction of the river announced the destruction of the Usipetes’ boats, groups of warriors began to band together, even to try and break out of the settlement. While their desperate efforts were contained, it didn’t end there. A short while later, Tullus’ optio Fenestela came pounding over. There was blood spattered all over his face, which made him uglier than ever. He was unhurt, though, which relieved Tullus more than he liked to admit. ‘What is it?’
‘Tubero ordered us to herd as many of the Usipetes into the palisaded compound as we could, sir. It was a good place to trap them, he said. Trouble is, they weren’t all as panicked as we might have liked. Some of them shut the gate. We’ve already lost five or six men trying to get inside.’
Tullus cursed. ‘How many are in there, do you think?’
‘Fifty, maybe more, sir.’
‘Have you seen Bolanus or Arminius?’
‘Bolanus’ men are clearing out the rectangle to our left, sir. Arminius was talking to Tubero, last I saw.’
He should have told Tubero they’d turn the palisade into a defensive position, thought Tullus angrily. ‘How many men have you gathered up?’
‘Fifteen from our century, sir. They’re watching the gate.’
‘Take these legionaries, and one of the trumpeters. Encircle the palisade as best you can. I’ll assemble a couple of centuries and come to join you.’
Fenestela’s face grew concerned. ‘Will you be all right with only a trumpeter, sir?’
Tullus threw Fenestela a sour glance. ‘Piss off.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Fenestela eyed Tullus’ nine soldiers. ‘You heard the centurion, you foot-dragging pieces of shit! Follow!’ He ran back the way he’d come, the men hard on his heels.
Tullus had his trumpeter sound the recall once, and not too loud. He didn’t want panic to spread among the soldiers further away. It wasn’t long before he had two centurions, several junior officers and more than a hundred legionaries standing before him in rough order. Tullus bawled out the reason that he’d ordered them to his side, and they replied with gusto.
Perhaps two centuries were with Tubero at the palisade. Success had eluded him thus far, Tullus saw. A decent number of legionaries lay in and around the gate, and Tullus asked that none of his men be among the dead. The Usipetes were giving no sign that they were ready to surrender.