It was not long before the dust largely obscured the scene. All Ballista could see was the rear of the Heruli formations, where warriors swung around to re-enter the fray, the many, many standards jerking and swaying above the melee, and the gusts of flighting arrows.
While the warriors twisted and jinked, the fight was stationary. Ballista dropped to the ground to take the weight from his horse’s back. It might need all its stamina later. He wished he had his own charger with him. But Pale Horse was many hundreds of miles away, safe on a friend’s estate outside Ephesus.
The Sarmatian would have to do. He stood by the head of the big bay. He stroked its soft, whiskery nose. He talked gently to it, making it listen to him, not to the sounds of its own species screaming in pain and fear.
The others dismounted. Maximus passed Ballista some air-dried meat and a flask. They ate and drank without talking to each other, watching the roiling cloud where men were dying. The north wind was getting up. It tugged at their hair, buffeted their shields.
‘Look, Aruth’s men,’ someone shouted.
The melee on the right was moving. Almost imperceptibly at first, then quicker; the fight there was ebbing south along the line of the trees.
‘Sound the recall,’ Naulobates ordered.
The war drum beat a different, insistent rhythm.
It went unheeded. A gap was opening between Aruth’s division and that of Uligagus to its left.
Naulobates shouted another command, and a messenger galloped down to the river.
It was too late. The Alani were fleeing, and Aruth’s men were chasing.
Ballista saw the Alani reserve moving forward. It was well placed either to take Aruth’s disordered men in their left flank or storm through the gap they had vacated between the river and Uligagus’s division.
Naulobates did not rant and rave. Calmly, he addressed Andonnoballus. ‘Take two thousand of the reserve and fill the line where Aruth’s men were stationed.’
Andonnoballus trotted down the slope to put himself at the head of his men.
Naulobates turned to Ballista. ‘You should go with him. Brachus has shown me that your daemon and that of Andonnoballus are blood-brothers in the spirit world. You should fight together in Middle Earth as you do in the menog.’
Ballista got back into the saddle. There was no arguing with Naulobates when his incorporeal twin brought him instructions from the beyond. After checking his girths, and checking the others were with him, Ballista cantered down to catch up with Andonnoballus.
Andonnoballus manoeuvred his troop into place with alacrity. Once there, sitting quietly with bows resting on their thighs, they saw the trap sprung.
Aruth obviously was no fool. He had seen the Alani reserve moving up to outflank him or cut him off. With much waving of flags and blowing of horns, Aruth had managed to bring the majority of his command to a halt, some three hundred paces out. The Eutes jostled, men and ponies out of breath, but ready to obey further commands. Those inexperienced in warfare on the plains and the overexcited had careered on after the routed Alani, oblivious to the recall. Things would go badly for those farmers from the Rha river and the motley followers of bandit leaders. But Aruth had plenty of time to lead the Eutes back to the lines before the Alani reserve reached him.
The first sign was movement among the trees which edged the Tanais to the right. Mounted warriors, banded by sunlight, moving up under the willows and ash trees from where they had hidden down by the water. As they cleared the tree line, many standards were lifted. There were many warriors, several thousand, stretching from well beyond Aruth almost back to Andonnoballus.
‘Poor Aruth,’ Andonnoballus said.
‘Either he was stupid and led the charge, or he was weak and let it happen,’ Ballista commented.
‘It may be better for him to die,’ Andonnoballus said. ‘I do not know what my father would do to him.’
‘Aruth has led many men to their death,’ Ballista responded.
‘Pharas and Datius are with him.’ Andonnoballus’s tone was resigned, as if his companions were already dead. There was no possibility of him flouting his father’s orders and leaving the line in a rescue attempt.
The warriors with Aruth were rushing back towards a safety they would not attain. The ambushers swept out, closing around the disorganized Eutes tribesmen. Among the Alani standards, one of the nearer caught Ballista’s attention. A broad banner depicting a man on a mountain, it stood out from the nomad horse tails, animal skulls and tamgas. Prometheus chained on the peaks of the Croucasis; one of the symbols of the royal house of Suania. Only one man in the horde of Safrax would fly such a banner.
‘Andonnoballus, lend me two hundred of your warriors.’
The young Herul looked with surprise at Ballista. ‘My father commanded that no one should leave the line.’
‘I am not under your father’s orders.’
‘You would risk your life to rescue strangers?’
Ballista shrugged. ‘There must be three or four thousand men trapped out there.’
‘Sarus, Amius; your hundreds are to follow Ballista.’ Andonnoballus looked at Ballista. ‘Take great care.’
‘I intend a distraction, no more.’
Ballista paced his horse out of the line and turned to address the men, Roman and Heruli, who would follow him. ‘We will ride towards the fighting, shoot off a few arrows, then veer off to the right, down to the Tanais. One of the enemy leaders has an animosity towards me. He may be tempted to follow us. If so, it might open a gap through which Aruth and some of his men can escape.’
His audience regarded him stolidly.
‘Remember, we are there to cause a diversion. We want some of them to chase us. We do not want to fight them. Shout my name, get their attention, then we make our way back through the trees and the shallows of the river.’
Ballista realized he had spoken in the language of Germania. He repeated his instructions in Latin. Still in that language, he shouted the traditional cry, ‘Are you ready for war?’
‘Ready!’
Three times the call and response rang out. The sound of the eight riders from the imperium was small but brave against the din of battle. The Heruli looked on calmly.
Ballista laced up his helmet, checked the small buckler strapped to his left forearm, pulled his bow from its gorytus and selected an arrow. With the pressure of his thighs, he got his horse moving. On his right rode Maximus and Hippothous, to his left Tarchon and Castricius. Old Calgacus and the three auxiliaries were tucked in behind. The Heruli, two deep, fanned out on either side.
As he moved them to a fast canter, Ballista took in what he could see of the whole battle. The melee where Uligagus fought was passing behind their left flank. Presumably, Artemidorus’s men were still engaged somewhere in the dust beyond that. The Alani reserve was still quite a way off ahead. Right in front, the Alani ambushers surged around the dwindling band with Aruth. He aimed for the Suanian royal banner.
‘Ball-is-ta! Ball-is-ta!’ The shout mingled with the rattle of hooves on the hard Steppe. He wished he had his own white draco standard. That would have guaranteed the attention of the man he sought.
They were closing fast. Two hundred paces; less. The enemy had seen them. Some were hauling around the heads of their ponies, ready to meet this new threat. Only a couple of hundred of us — they must think we are mad, Ballista thought.
‘Ball-is-ta! Ball-is-ta!’
One hundred and fifty paces. He drew his bow, saw those around him do the same. One hundred paces. He released, took another arrow, drew and released. It did not really matter where they fell.
Seventy paces, fifty. Arrows flew in both directions. All around him was the dreadful thrum-thrum-thrum of the incoming shafts, the dull, wooden thuds of them hitting shields, the grunting exhalations when one struck a man.
Ballista steered his mount off to the right. A horse behind him crashed to the floor. The others swerved around it, surged after him. He pushed the bay into a flat-out gallop towards the trees.