I wheeled to make another pass at the enemy and strung another arrow. Some archers had taken up position next to a cart in the middle of the column and were returning fire at our horsemen. But their bows had less range compared to ours and their arrows were falling short. I decided we had to destroy this threat.
‘Follow me,’ I shouted at the riders behind me.
We rode hard along the column, ignoring and staying out of the range of enemy spears that were flung in our direction. The archers were shooting in a haphazard fashion, each man trying to identify and hit a target instead of firing a concentrated volley. I urged my horse into an even quicker pace as I approached the group of archers. My aim was instinctive, honed by years of intensive training in the saddle with a bow. Before I drew level with the archers I wheeled my horse sharply to the right and away from the enemy, at the same time loosing an arrow in a high arch towards them. The riders following did likewise, and in a matter of seconds nearly one hundred arrows were peppering the enemy formation. As we regrouped to make another attack I could see lifeless figures on the ground where our arrows had found their mark. I estimated that we had dropped around a third of them, maybe more.
Bozan rode up. He was sweating and had removed his helmet.
‘It’s almost over. Leave those archers. They’ll run away if given the chance. Up ahead we’ve got about fifty Romans who are sheltering under a wall and roof of shields. We need to break them fast.’ With that he rode away.
The Romans had taken up position in the open away from the line of carts, locking their shields outwards while those inside the small square hoisted theirs over the front ranks to give overhead cover from our arrows. A lull now descended over the scene as officers gave the order for around half our men to dismount and rest. The others were formed into troops of fifty horsemen who were positioned all around the Romans but stood off at a safe distance — the enemy had javelins and knew how to use them. I dismounted, took a swig from my waterskin and strode over to where Bozan was standing alone, looking at the Roman formation. There was a frown across his scarred face.
‘We might have to leave these bastards,’ he spat on the ground. ‘They aren’t going anywhere and I don’t want to hang around.’
Bozan loved a fight, but he was also a commander and he knew that it was not worth wasting time and lives over an insignificant number of the enemy. Even so, I knew that the fact that the enemy stood defiant in good order must be rankling him. Behind us smoke drifted into the sky as the carts and their contents, minus the food that we took, were burned. Some of our men armed with daggers were putting the enemy wounded out of their misery, while Bozan had sent another fifty riders to hunt down and kill those of the enemy who had fled when we first attacked.
‘Have you demanded their surrender, lord?’ I asked.
‘Of course. They declined to accept my invitation. Arrogant bastards. It doesn’t matter. We’ve caused them some damage, and by tonight we will be well away from here.’
‘I would like to try something, lord,’ I said.
‘I’m not wasting any men, or horses, just to prove a point.’
‘What I have in mind won’t cost us anything.’
He looked at me and glanced at the Romans. He nodded. ‘Very well, you have one chance. Don’t waste it.’
I ordered a dozen of our dismounted soldiers to cut the straps of the two dead oxen that were still lashed to one of the carts. The corpses were hauled aside and the carts were pushed towards the Roman formation, halting about two hundred feet from it. We piled enemy shields, broken spear shafts and any other dry wood we could find onto the front of the cart and set the lot on fire. Soon the front of the cart was ablaze. We now had a race against time.
‘Heave,’ I shouted, as ten of us gripped the rear of the cart and pushed it forward with all our strength. Around the cart dozens of horsemen readied their bows. Pain shot through my legs as I helped to haul the burning cart forward. We were now less than a hundred feet away and gaining momentum. The cart was burning fiercely and the heat was searing my face. The Romans now broke ranks to avoid the blazing hulk that was bearing down on them. Ahead I saw legionaries readying their javelins to launch at us. A few managed to throw them, a couple spearing men who were pushing the cart.
‘Back,’ I yelled.
We let go of the cart as it rumbled forward and then came to a halt. The Romans, realising that they were not going to be crushed by a burning cart after all, tried to reform, but they were too late. The air was filled with arrows as our bowmen found their targets. Arrows slammed into chests, arms, legs and faces, filling the air with piercing screams and yelps as iron tips lacerated flesh and shattered bone. The Roman formation was broken. Our horsemen were among them now, hacking away with their swords. Some Romans fought back, slashing horses with their swords or stabbing them with javelins, and bringing riders down and killing them. But for every one of our men who were killed four or five Romans were felled. The enemy group dwindled in number, until there was just a handful left. I saw that the figure with the traverse crest on his helmet was one of them. He also saw me as I unsheathed my sword and hoisted my shield to guard my left side. He came at me at a steady trot, his short sword in his right hand. He was obviously some sort of leader, and I wanted to kill him to seal our victory.
I was supremely confident as we closed and hacked at each other with our swords. My confidence soon started to disappear as I realised that I was in a life-and-death struggle with a man who was an expert fighter. His grizzled visage glared at me from under his brightly polished steel helmet. I charged at him, shield against shield and tried to hack down with my sword to split his helmet, but he anticipated the move, parried the blow with his sword and then slashed with his blade aiming for my neck. Only my reflexes saved me, as I instinctively jumped back to avoid the blow. He attacked again and again, forcing me back and battering my shield with heavy hacking blows that splintered the wood. His speed was amazing as he tried to deliver a killer blow with his sword. I caught one blow with the cross-guard of my sword and tried to press one end of it into his neck, but in a trial of strength he was the stronger, and he pushed my right arm down. While our swords were still locked he smashed the edge of his shield into the side of my face. A searing pain went through my skull as he jumped back and began circling me. I thought I was strong, but this man seemed superhuman. I was sweating profusely and panting hard. Then he came at me again.
He must have decided that he was going to die and so he was going to sell his life dearly, because he screamed and attacked me with scything strokes of his sword. I parried as best I could, but one blow cut my right forearm before I could get it out of the way, the blood soon covering my arm. I lunged at him with all my weight using my shield, but it was like hitting a rock. He stopped my attack and then tried to rip open my stomach with an underhand stabbing attack, though I was able to parry the blow with my shield at the last moment. But my legs had got tangled around his and he gave a low grunt as he pushed me back over his right leg, sending me crashing to the ground. I was finished, I knew that as I saw him draw back his sword to deliver the final blow. Then I heard several whooshing sounds and then saw two arrows slam into his side. He groaned but remained standing. Incredible; was he a god? Then another arrow hit him, then another and another. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he collapsed sidewards onto the ground.