The army of the Heruli and their allies was spread over miles of grassland. They rode in four units: a vanguard under Uligagus and three parallel columns under Aruth, Artemidorus and Naulobates himself. All the Heruli and the Agathyrsi had a couple of spare ponies. Some of the Nervii and Eutes also had remounts, but very few of the warriors from the sedentary tribes along the Rha river and none of the bandits were so well equipped.
The strategy of the horde, lengthily and furiously argued over in the assembly, in the result could not be simpler. They would ride south-west to the Tanais, follow the river when it bent to the west and, at about the point the Roman embassy had disembarked, join with the levies of Hisarna, King of the Urugundi. The united force would march south to the Hypanis river and on to the Croucasis mountains. As they went, they would spread out and round up the herds of the Alani and burn their tents. Somewhere between the Tanais and the Croucasis, the Alani must turn and fight.
Ballista and his familia rode behind Naulobates. It had not been an invitation that countenanced refusal. Ballista had tied a silk scarf around his face. The dust still clogged his mouth and nostrils, gritted his eyes. Riding in his mailshirt, the sweat coursed down his body. The straps and weight of his armour chafed. The heat, dust and discomfort did not lighten his mood. He had no wish to be here.
Once Hisarna had appeared at the ceremony of the sitting on the hide, it was obvious the Roman mission had failed. A few days later, when granted an audience, Ballista had requested Naulobates’ permission to return to the imperium. For a time the First-Brother had regarded him with those unnerving grey eyes, before saying he was disappointed Ballista had not put his right boot on the hide. Nevertheless, Naulobates considered the Romans should remain to witness the war which had been caused by their presence. Besides, Naulobates had added enigmatically, at some point he wished to discuss with Ballista the old days, the days of their grandfathers. The prospect of discussing Starkad with any Herul, let alone Naulobates, was not encouraging.
Ballista very much wished not to have any part of this expedition. The whole thing seemed ill-conceived. The Alani would know Naulobates and Hisarna were coming. The majority of the Urugundi warriors would be on foot. When the Heruli joined with them, the combined army would move slowly. If he were Safrax, the King of the Alani, he would move his herds up into inaccessible glens in the Croucasis, and block or set ambushes in the passes through the foothills that led to them. The latter should not demand many men, leaving the majority of the Alani cavalry free to harass the invaders or, more boldly, to counter-strike at their dependants. And, of course, there were said to be some thirty thousand Alani warriors. If they could catch either the Heruli or the Urugundi before they met on the lower Tanais, the Alani would outnumber them by at least three to two.
On the fourth evening, they made camp with the Tanais on their right. At this point, the river still ran south. It was broad here, riffling over wide bars of sand and shingle. After they had seen to the horses and eaten, there was little to do. There was no baggage train to worry about. All the horde, even the First-Brother, did without tents and slept on the ground. Drunkenness, gambling and fighting among the horde were banned on pain of death. Given the well-known inventiveness of Naulobates with capital punishment, the prohibitions had proved highly effective — only about a dozen men so far had had to be staked out, disembowelled or otherwise killed.
As the heat drained out of the day, Ballista went down through the wide band of trees to the river to swim. Maximus and Calgacus did not stir, but Tarchon insisted on accompanying him. Remember the boy Wulfstan, the Suanian said. Ballista would rather have been alone, but did not argue. Sometimes Tarchon respected the desire for silence.
Skeins of geese and ducks were over the river. The water held that strange luminescence which rivers can keep after the sun has gone down. Ballista stripped off his mail and clothes and walked naked into the river. He waded out, relishing the chill, clean bite of it on his skin. When it was deep enough, he swam a few strokes. He dived under the surface and came up blowing and wringing the water out of his long hair. After a time, he climbed out and dried himself with a towel Tarchon had brought. He got dressed, but could not be bothered to put his war shirt back on.
They sat side by side in silence. Ballista savoured the smell of the water and the vegetation, and listened to the wildfowl. Their sounds often reminded him of his youth. He thought of his father and mother. What an age they must be now. They had seemed old when he left, but in reality his mother could only have been about the age he was now, perhaps younger. Would he ever return and see them? He thought, far less fondly, of one of his half-brothers. Morcar would not welcome his return. For the first time in months, possibly years, he thought of a girl called Kadlin.
It was good here down by the river. By this time of year out on the Steppe at night the nightingales no longer sang, and the quails and corncrakes no longer called. If you were away from the noise of a horde of men and beasts, there was nothing but the ceaseless sighing of the wind. It was as if the sun had burnt the joy, if not the life, out of the plains. Ballista very much wanted to get away from the sea of grass.
Ballista fiddled with the straps of his mail. In the old days, if there had been even an outside chance of a threat, he would have put it straight back on. Years before, a centurion had told him — it was back in Novae on the Danube, when the Goths were outside the walls — that almost all soldiers became fatalistic, if they lived long enough. At first it was a good thing; they could look beyond preserving their own hides. But then they stopped taking basic precautions; became a danger to themselves and others. The centurion had claimed there were two ways of thinking behind it. Having run repeated dangers, some soldiers thought their luck had run out, there was no point in caring, because they were as good as dead, no matter what. Others fell under the delusion that nothing could touch them, certainly not kill them.
Ballista had no intimations of immortality. Equally, he saw no reason he should die here, rather than in any of the other bad places in which circumstances had placed him. He thought of his sons, the two best reasons to fight his way back. And he had Maximus and Calgacus with him. He loved the two men and knew it to be reciprocated. There was no reason the three of them would not get out of this, as they had of so much else.
When they did get out, perhaps he might be allowed to retire to his estate in Sicily. The mission had failed — far from attacking the Urugundi, the Heruli were their closest ally again — but there was war on the Steppe. While it lasted, it should prevent the tribes raiding the imperium. Unless other tribes intervened, it should free Odenathus to fight the Persians, and Gallienus to march against Postumus in Gaul. That must have been why Gallienus had sent him here. Perhaps the emperor would let him retire at last. It would be good to live in peace. When they were home, he would free Rebecca and the boy Simon. It would please old Calgacus. The things that would please Maximus were all too easy to imagine.
As he stood to get into the mailshirt, he heard the urgent triple rhythm of a horse being ridden fast. A challenge was called by a sentry, and the correct password given. The rider asked and was given directions to Naulobates. Ballista struggled into his war gear, and with Tarchon walked back up into the camp.
Few had found sleep easy after the news the scout brought had spread through the horde. Ballista had slept for a couple of hours. It was strange, being in the camp of an army going into battle the next morning but having no duties and not being involved in anxious last-moment counsels. Yet he still felt bone-tired, and his eyes were scratchy with fatigue.