Stamping down on the paralysed warrior’s spine for leverage, Julius wrenched the weapon free with a fierce pull and then turned in search of another target, swinging the axe high over his head and slamming it down into the head of another Venicone who was in the process of raising his sword to strike at Titus, as the massive centurion carved a path into the warriors around him with both of his axes flying in sprays of blood. The heavy blade carved through the warrior’s iron dog cap and hacked deeply into his skull, lodging so firmly that just the feel of the handle told Julius that it would take too long to free from the dying man’s body in the chaos of the fight. He released the weapon, allowing the Venicone to stagger away with a long groan, his eyes rolling up as the weight of the axe dragged his head backwards. He tottered for a moment as the first spear watched, then fell headlong with the axe handle pointing incongruously at the forest’s canopy, holding the Tungrian’s fascinated gaze even as one of Titus’s men screamed a warning at him.
‘Look out!’
Julius barely had time to realise he was under attack before the shield boss hit him hard enough to rattle his teeth, a punching blow to his shoulder that rocked him back on his feet followed by a spear thrust that slithered across his mailed chest rather than punching through it purely by dint of the step back that he had taken to keep his balance. Tearing his sword from its scabbard in the knowledge that he had to step forward and counter-attack rather than wait for the barbarian’s next move, he found the Venicone ready and waiting for him with his feet set and shield raised, calm eyes in a hard face watching the Tungrian from behind a levelled spear. Julius’s sword thrust was delivered with more speed than finesse, and the enemy warrior easily batted the blade aside in a defensive move designed to leave his opponent wide open for the spear that the warrior held ready for the kill. Julius knew only too well what was coming, as the Venicone raised his front foot to stamp forward and bury the spear’s glinting iron head in his throat.
As the long blade thrust towards him the Tungrian desperately sidestepped to his left and swayed away from the attack, allowing the spear to slash past his face only to find himself on his back with the wind driven abruptly out of his lungs as the warrior expertly hooked his leg and upended him, raising his weapon again to drive its iron head down into his helpless enemy. With the polished blade poised momentarily above him, and as the Venicone pivoted forward on his right foot to deliver the killing thrust, the enemy warrior’s body suddenly shuddered, his eyes jerking wide open with shock as an axe hammered into his back. The soldier who had charged into the battle on Julius’s right tore his blade free from the gaping wound in the reeling barbarian’s torso and dropped him to the ground with a vicious kick to his knee, swinging his other axe in a flashing arc to behead the stricken warrior.
The soldier stood over Julius, his chest heaving from the effort of the brief fight as his first spear climbed back to his feet, his armour already running with the blood of the men who had died on the blades of his axes. A growling roar caught both men’s attention, and Julius’s anger was instantly rekindled at the sight of Titus embattled in the middle of half a dozen enemy warriors, the bodies of several more men at his feet as he fought furiously with his twin axes, the blades’ whirring arcs of silver flashing red in the light of the fire. As they watched he hammered one of his weapons down into a hapless warrior’s shoulder, cleaving the man’s chest down to his right nipple, staggering as another of the men around him slashed at him from behind with a long sword. Both men sprang forward towards their embattled comrade, Julius realising that the Venicone line was crumbling under the renewed attack from the Tenth Century’s enraged soldiers who were clearly desperate to rescue their officer from the enemy warriors swarming around him. Before they could reach the surrounded centurion, first one and then another of Titus’s assailants sank their iron deep into his unprotected back, his mail’s iron rings no defence against the swords’ sharp points. He sank to his knees with his face distorted into an animal snarl by the wounds’ pain, and with a roar of anger at the sight of their centurion being felled the Tungrians burst forward in a wave of berserk fury to send the remaining Venicones fleeing down the path before them. Julius caught the arm of the century’s chosen man as he made to pursue them, pulling him close and shouting in his ear over the combined din of fire and fight.
‘The Bear’s out of the fight, which means that you’re in command! Either carry your wounded or give them the mercy stroke, but get your fucking century moving down that path at the run! Pull yourself together and do it!’
The chosen man took a moment to gather his wits before nodding and turning away to shout instructions at the men following up behind those already pursuing the tribesmen away down the path. Julius sheathed his sword and took a deep breath before forcing himself to turn back to the stricken centurion lying motionless beside the path with his two comrades kneeling to either side. The man who had rescued Julius a moment before looked up at the first spear with a look of despair at his centurion’s plight.
‘I saw that.’ The big man’s voice was thin and strained, and a trickle of blood ran from his lips as he spoke, his words barely audible. Julius bent over him, putting his ear close to the wounded centurion’s mouth. ‘I felt the iron in my back, and I can feel it still. Not long left for me, is there Julius? Don’t you lie to me, boy …’
The first spear shook his head, feeling a presence at his side.
‘Lying down on the job again, eh Titus?’
A smile cracked their comrade’s face as he looked over Julius’s shoulder.
‘Just too late for the fight again, eh Dubnus?’ He raised a trembling hand, reaching out to grasp his brother officer’s shoulder. ‘You missed a good one, little brother, there were enough of the tattoo boys for all of us. Our first spear here fought like a barbarian …’
Julius smiled gently.
‘And our colleague here fought like a warrior king.’ He gestured to the grievously wounded centurion. ‘Cocidius himself would have been envious.’
Titus coughed, more blood seeping from between his lips, his voice almost inaudible.
‘He’ll have the chance to tell me so soon enough. Now, get me standing up. I’ll not die here on my arse.’
Julius and Dubnus nodded to each other, gently lifting the man to his feet and then allowing the two men who had accompanied centurion and first spear into battle to take their officer’s arms and hold him upright, tears streaking the drying blood that masked both men’s faces. The centurion’s back was sodden with blood from his wounds, and Dubnus realised that there were half a dozen rents in his armour, wounds inflicted from behind as he had laid about him with his axes. A tear ran down his face as he stared at the ruin of his brother officer’s body.
‘You threw yourself into them like a bear into a pack of dogs, didn’t you?’
Titus stared down at him with eyes struggling to focus, swaying on his feet and only kept upright by the support of his men to either side.
‘No man lives forever, Julius.’ He coughed again, and this time a gout of blood fell onto his mailed chest. ‘Time for us all to be leaving, I’d say. You have to go that way …’
He nodded a weary head at the path and the soldiers marching past, many of whom averted their glances as they passed, unable to take the sight of the seemingly indestructible centurion brought so low, while others stared numbly at the sight. The fire’s roar was growing around them, and Julius realised that the blood that coated his friend’s body was beginning to steam off in the extreme heat.