The charge by the Goth right wing buckled the Byzantine left sufficiently to allow them to turn face-to-face combat into a melee. Now it was Byzantine cohesion that began to crack and as the left-wing cavalry sought to disengage enough to re-form, a near to impossible manoeuvre to carry out while under assault, it began to crumble.
Flavius, seeing what was happening, had the horns blown to order a general retirement, his intention being to re-form the whole behind the Isaurians, who would hold the Goths until he could renew his assault. With commendable discipline his centre and right divisions broke off in good order and successfully disengaged.
The trouble on the left was more acute; there the losses had been greater and the mixture of friend and foe more serious, which had rendered an increasing number horseless. They were straggling to the rear so there was no cohesion in the retirement on that flank, due to lack of numbers and enemy pressure. It broke into a near collapse and the disordered body of men retreated in some confusion, which would not have mattered if the Isaurians had held.
Seeing one-third of the cavalry before them in flight the mass reacted as infantry usually did: safety lay behind the moat and it was to that to which they now ran. This meant that without a shelter behind which they could re-form, the rest of the cavalry, albeit in proper formations, had no choice but to aim for the same sanctuary.
The greater mass of the Isaurians were now in a state of utter panic. They did not stop at the moat, instead making for the nearest gates, two placed at a point where they formed a tight angle into which the infantry now crowded, there to clamour at the mass of Roman citizens lining the walls. The gates, despite their pleading, remained closed.
Flavius, Constantinus, Bessas and all the other senior commanders were not idle; with the flat blades of their swords, added to hoarse and repeated shouting, they were busy ensuring that the cavalry formed up behind the moat to repulse their enemies. Only when a modicum of order was restored did it become obvious why they were being gifted the time. Not all of the Isaurians had broken; out in the fields stood two tight squares of infantry who between them had broken up the Goth pursuit.
Led by Principius and Tarmutus, this diminished force was seeking to do that which should have fallen to the whole. That they could not hold was obvious but before he could give them support Flavius had to mount a defence with his back to the walls of the now closed city, any pleas to the citizens to open the gates denied.
‘Is there anything more treacherous than a Roman, father?’
‘Remember we are Romans, Photius, despite what those swine call us.’
Some order was emerging, infantry being pushed forward to line the inner side of the moat while others were moving to destroy the wooden causeway by which the army had advanced and now retreated. This was stopped by Flavius, who gave permission to Ennes that he should try to rescue those who could be saved, especially his brother, Tarmutus.
Leading three hundred of the heavily armoured bucellarii, Ennes thundered over those timbers and initiated a full charge so that their sheer weight would break the Goth encirclement. Their comrades watched as they crashed through the lighter Goth cavalry, to create an avenue by which the remaining Isaurians, and there were now few, could flee, that followed by a fighting retreat.
Ennes personally carried out his brother over his saddle. Principius suffered harsher treatment; being dead, he was dragged back over the moat and once the men who had effected the rescue were safe Flavius ordered the causeway to be hacked down, watching as his triumphant enemy worked to get his forces into the proper formation to finish off what was now a trapped enemy.
‘Are we to die here?’ Photius asked, with a tremor in his voice.
‘If the citizens of Rome will not open the gates all we can do is cost the Goths dear. Now it is time to pray and comport your soul.’
How was it possible that so many thousands of men could be silent; if, like their general, they were praying there was no evidence, while over their heads the residents of the city also seemed to come to a collective holding of breath in anticipation of what was to come, a bloody massacre. Or was it in contemplation of the revenge Witigis would take upon their treacherous city?
Many were later to question the power of prayer, for no attack came; the Goths began to fall back, splitting up to return to their camps, which did nothing to break the silence, even when the fields on the eastern side of the moat were clear of everything but the dead and dying. Then from behind the defeated army came the sound of creaking as the great gates were opened.
That his troops began to cheer sickened Flavius; he had chanced everything to win a decisive victory and he had been beaten and then betrayed. It was a chastened general, his head hanging low, who rode back into the city.
‘Why did they not attack, Father?’
‘If you can communicate with God, Photius, ask him, for I have no answer. Ride to Valentinus and inform him of what has occurred. Whatever the state of his action he is to retire at once.’
‘And the occupants of the city?’
‘I cannot do to them what Witigis would have done, Photius.’ The voice lost its weary quality and became a hiss. ‘Much as it would give me pleasure to do so. Now go, time is pressing.’
On the Plains of Nero the orders issued by Flavius had been studiously obeyed. Valentinus had stood off and used controlled archery to pin the Goths in front of their camp but made no attempt to overcome them. If the men who led the Roman levies had been content to stay where they had been deployed all would have been well but, sure of their prowess and against orders, they marched out of the Porta Pancratia and, making their way through the abandoned building of an exterior suburb, debouched onto the plain.
The sheer number of that body, five thousand men setting up a huge cloud of dust, had to be the cause of what followed. The horns before Valentinus blew and suddenly his enemy melted away, abandoning their camp to occupy the nearest set of hills to the rear where they could mount a defence.
Seeing the enemy retreat, the Roman levies, hitherto in untidy lines, ceased to march in any kind of order. They began to run and did not stop until they were within the wooden rampart that protected the Gothic encampment, where they immediately fell into an orgy of looting. Not to be outdone and in fear of losing out, the Moorish mercenaries likewise set to, seeking to ensure they got their just share, their behaviour immediately copied by the mounted archers.
Valentinus had been in command of a well-disciplined force; within a few grains of sand he was seeking to impose some kind of order on a rabble, while the condition of that which had caused him to flee was not lost on his opposite number. Seeing the chaos before them the Goth cavalry began to advance, which immediately alarmed the Romans.
Attempts by Valentinus to get them to form up fell on deaf ears; men who had been looting now had only one aim, to get back within the walls of the city with everything they could carry. The Moors were now so muddled as to be useless, while the archers, who knew they could not stand alone, took the only course open to them and began to flee as well.
If the well mounted got to safety that was not an opportunity afforded to many of the others. Men on foot running from warriors on horseback had little chance and the slaughter was great. Nowhere was that more than at the gate itself, open but so crowded with panic-stricken Roman levies that it became a charnel house.