Caedicius was busy too. He couldn’t have stood in the front line of a battle for years, yet he hadn’t forgotten the little details that stiffen men’s spines. Tullus felt his own resolve firm as Caedicius stalked up and down, telling his soldiers that they were the pride of Rome, the best legionaries in the empire. They would fight for each other, and to avenge their comrades, who had been so foully murdered by the whoresons coming down that road. No quarter was to be given, Caedicius roared, not even if an enemy was crying for mercy. ‘I want you to cover your blades in blood. I want you to kill every fucking savage that comes near you! Do you hear me?’
‘YES, SIR!’
Caedicius began to clash the head of his javelin off the iron rim of his shield.
Every man joined in.
They kept it up until the berserkers were a hundred paces away. The rest of the warriors were at least three times that distance further behind. Caedicius raised his pilum high, and a gradual silence fell.
‘Front two ranks, ready javelins!’ called Caedicius. ‘On my command, ranks three and four will pass their pila forward.’
Tullus tried not to think about the gaps in their far from ideal formation. On the road, they were only six men wide. Seven soldiers were standing a little lower down to either side, in the ditches that ran alongside, and on the rough, grassy ground that extended beyond that. He took a tighter grip on his pilum shaft, thinking that it would have to do.
Caedicius continued encouraging his men until the berserkers were fifty paces away. They were a fearsome sight, their bodies streaked with white pigment, spears ready, mad war cries leaving their throats. ‘Front two ranks, take aim,’ he yelled. ‘Pick your target. On my order.’
Tullus concentrated on a wiry berserker who was taller than any of his companions.
‘READY,’ cried Caedicius. ‘LOOSE!’
Tullus drew back, and threw.
Caedicius was shouting before the shoal of missiles had even reached the top of their arc. ‘RANKS THREE AND FOUR, PASS YOUR JAVELINS FORWARD. QUICKLY!’
Tullus held up his hand, and was given another pilum.
Down came their first effort, forty javelins, striking the berserkers like heavy rain on immature wheat. Many of the warriors fell, but Tullus had no chance to count them. Caedicius had ordered another volley – short this time. Up went two score more pila, and down again, their pyramidal iron points ripping into the unarmoured berserkers like hot knives through cheese.
Tullus stared. Counted. Let out an incredulous laugh. Two berserkers remained standing, and one had a javelin protruding from his left leg, crippling him. The pair were no cowards, however. The uninjured man charged on alone, and his companion hobbled after.
The mass of warriors behind continued to advance, yet the annihilation of the berserkers had silenced their barritus, and seen their pace slow to a walk.
Grabbing a pilum from a soldier behind him, Tullus hurled it from fifteen paces. The throw was as good as any he’d ever made. It hit the lead berserker in the chest, felling him like an ox struck with a hammer and spike.
‘Come on, you maggot!’ roared Tullus at the last berserker, who had stopped in his tracks. ‘Come and die on Roman iron!’
Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. The sound of Roman trumpets was unmistakeable – and they were sounding the advance, double time.
Tullus’ breath caught in his chest.
The wounded berserker cocked his head. He listened for several heartbeats, and then he began shuffling backwards, away from the Romans.
Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. It was closer this time.
The berserker increased his pace, moaning with the pain it caused him. The front ranks of the warriors wavered a little.
‘ROMA! ROMA! ROMA!’ roared the legionaries.
Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara. Tan-tara-tara.
Like a flock of panicked sheep, the warriors turned tail and ran. They didn’t stop. They didn’t look back, except in terror.
The soldiers’ cheering redoubled. It was a small victory – but one to be savoured.
Tullus breathed again and the air felt sweet in his lungs.
Caedicius’ cunning had left the road to Vetera – and safety – open. He, Tullus, would survive. So would Fenestela and his remaining men. And the girl. Even the pup would make it. He laughed as the clouds parted, spilling golden sunlight over the sodden landscape.