Poseidon's Spear (Long War 3) (40 page)

I took my place in the ranks and raised my spear. ‘Let’s go!’ I said. And like Miltiades at Marathon, I called: ‘Let’s run!’

We ran at them.

The entire time I held my command meeting and gave my little speech, the men on the right flank had been moving forward cautiously. It is a thing men do – they sort of
pretend
to
cling to cover, even after they have been discovered.

My archers – the same men who performed the role on board ship, but without Doola’s magnificent archery – began to drop shafts among the more confident men on the right. I
don’t think they hit a man, but they slowed the right flank of the ambush to a literal belly crawl.

We ran forward to the bridge. The Aedui were in a shield wall, about forty men with javelins, big shields, a few well-armoured men in front. Gaius and I took the centre of our spearmen into
them, and our flank men went right down into the stream and up the other side. In spring, I’m sure the stream was full and the bridge was required, but in mid-autumn, all they lost was their
close order as they poured over the streambed.

I didn’t have time to watch. I ran forward, and despite the old wound in my leg, I flew. When I reached the Aedui shield wall, it was just me and Gaius.

We had never really fought together.

Perhaps we sought to impress one another. But neither of us would give a step, and neither of us slowed, and so we hurtled straight into their ranks. I got my aspis up and forward onto the
spears and I let them slow me, and then I leaped as high as I could and threw my spear – hard – into the front rank, and came down without getting a spear in my foot or knee or head
– alive, in other words.

Gaius must have thrown a pace farther out, because a man fell, and for a moment, their ranks rippled—

I put my shoulder into the back of my aspis as I landed, head down, and my impetus slammed a man back even as I got my kopis out of the scabbard. The long swords the Gauls used only hampered
them, this close. I know, because one rang off my helmet immediately. I was in their ranks, moving among them, slashing right and left. I doubt I killed a man, but I’ll wager I
hit
six in as many heartbeats.

And about then, the rest of my spearmen hit their shield wall, and they folded. They began to break from the front, not the back, and suddenly they were dead men – just like that. Let me
say, we outnumbered them four to one, and we had every advantage: terrain, flanks, depth and armour. But their shield wall couldn’t hold
two
of us.

It is a difference in attitude, eh? As many Persians would have killed us. Hmm . . . Or perhaps not, eh?

I burst out through the back of their shallow line, and my flankers were climbing the bank and I was almost across the low bridge. To the right, a hundred men or more were coming at the flank of
the tin train. It would be close whether they got to it, or it got across the bridge.

To the left, the river guarded my flank. Or so I thought. But when I looked, there were fifty armoured horsemen swimming the river. The same low water that had allowed me to cross the
streambed—

Well, I can be a fool, sometimes.

And my spearmen were running the Gauls down and killing them instead of stopping to rally.

Oh, for a hundred real soldiers! Even real pirates.

Men in victory are as irrational as men in defeat. Only a veteran knows the truth – that it’s not over until it is over.

Seckla hadn’t crossed yet. I held up a hand and stopped him.

‘If there’s an ambush, the spearmen will find it,’ I said. ‘Stop the horsemen. And take the archers.’

Seckla nodded and rode off, and I ran – in armour, damn it – back to the donkey train. They were trotting along the road. Demetrios was at their head.

‘Move!’ I roared. ‘
Move!
’

I looked to the right. The archers lofted another volley, and hit not one but two Aedui warriors, and the rest fell on their faces. My archers turned and followed Seckla, and the Aedui rose to
their feet and came forward – slowly at first, and then with more spirit.

I had been far too confident.

Panicked men do not make good animal-handlers. Panicked men lead to panicked animals, and panicked animals run. In all directions.

In a matter of heartbeats, an easy victory had become a disaster. My train didn’t cross the bridge. It ran off, away from the charging Aedui and towards the river. A donkey with an
eighty-pound ingot of tin doesn’t run all that well, but it will run as fast as it can.

The horsemen were almost across. The archers were starting to engage them. The range was close, and the archers had time and felt safe, at least for the moment.

Horses and men began to die.

Behind me, the Aedui from the bridge were dying. But my precious spearmen had run too far, all but Alexandros’s marines and maybe a dozen others.

I could have screamed in my frustration. Even Gaius had run off after the Aedui. Gwan – I could see his Gaulish gear – was beside him, halfway down the valley.

On the other hand, when the animals broke for the river, the eighty men in reserve ceased to matter as baggage guards. That’s how it goes.

‘Demetrios!’ I called. He did not look like a great warrior; he wasn’t very tall and his helmet looked several sizes too big. ‘Face to the right!’ I called. I ran
to his men.

I’d like to say that the enemy didn’t expect us to abandon our tin, but they were not under anyone’s control either, at this point. I put myself at the head of
Demetrios’s baggage guards and we charged the Aedui on foot, who had been pricked by the archers and crawled across the marsh.

A few of them died, but the rest chose to run, evading our short charge and running back into the marsh. There were some desultory spear casts from both sides.

I needed a decisive result.

I wasn’t going to get one.

‘Hold them here,’ I said to Demetrios, and ran – panting, now, with effort – back to my marines and Giannis and a few comrades.

‘Follow me,’ I spat. I ran down the slope towards the river.

The cavalrymen were trying to kill Seckla, and Seckla was refusing to be drawn into a fight, and the archers were running around, trying to stay alive and occasionally launching a shaft. I only
had six archers, and they were the balance of the fight. The cavalrymen didn’t seem to know that, though. Phokis, one of the former slaves and a fine archer, died from a chance javelin throw,
but he was one of the few.

At any rate . . . I charged fifty cavalrymen with twenty infantry.

I didn’t have a spear to throw.

It was foolishness. They were brilliant horsemen – as good as Persians – and one of them saw me, and all by himself he turned out of the chase for Seckla and rode at me. I should
have stopped running, but I didn’t. I ran right at him.

He was grinning. He had a scale shirt down to his thighs, a fine helmet and two javelins. He threw one just before he reached me. It bounced off the face of my aspis and then I sidestepped and
his horse sidestepped – he struck with his javelin, hitting me in the head. My sword licked out and caught his leg, and then he was past me, and I was alive.

I shook my head, and the eagle fell off.

A dozen more of their cavalrymen turned, now, eager to emulate their fellow. And he was circling wide behind me, coming back for another try.

‘Form on me,’ I croaked, and set my feet. I remember praying to Heracles, and feeling like a fool. I had come all this way, and I was losing my train of tin. And perhaps my life or
my freedom.

I gritted my teeth.

A dozen cavalrymen may not sound like much. After all, I was a hero of Marathon! I had faced down a hundred Persian noblemen – the finest horsemen in the circle of the world.

But the Gauls were, man for man, marvellous horsemen, perhaps the equals of the Persians, and they were fresh, delighted to be fighting, dangerous men on well-trained horses. I was tired, and
defeat has its own fatigue. And we were losing.

Behind me, the Aedui infantry were gaining courage, and working their way forward.

Far to the south, I could see Gaius’s Etruscan feathers waving on the brows of his helmet. He was rallying my phalanx. He would only be ten minutes late. In time, perhaps, to rescue my
corpse.

My marines and some shepherds pressed in around me.

‘Spears up!’ I remember roaring.

There’s a belief that horses won’t face a spear point, or a well-ordered host of men. I don’t know – perhaps it becomes true at some point, if the host is wide enough.
Certainly, I’ve seen five hundred Athenians turn the charge of the very best of the Persian noble cavalry, the horses turning away before a single man had died.

But the Gauls trained their horses differently. The Gauls came at us in no particular order, but one man, on a beautiful white horse, was in front, and he came at me at a dead gallop, and when
he was a few horse-lengths away, I realized that he was not slowing down and that I was literally trapped between my comrades.

So naturally, I leaped out and charged him.

What would you do?

I got my aspis up – no low blows from a horseman. I was on the cavalryman’s bridle-hand side, so he had to cut cross-body at me, and I took his blow on my sword – held high
over my head, across my aspis face – and I let the blow roll off my blade like rain falling off a temple roof, turned my hand and struck. It was a short blow, but I had plenty of fear to
power it, and he had no armour on his thighs, and then the next horseman hit me in the back and I went down.

My cuirass took the blow, but I went face down over my aspis and I stunned myself on the rim of my own shield. A horse kicked me as I fell, right on the point of the hip.

I
thought
I’d got a spear through my armour. I assumed I was dead. I was down, and the pain was intense, and when I tried my legs, they didn’t work.

My legs didn’t work.

I don’t know how long I lay there. I was conscious, but I had taken two bad blows and a light ring to my head, and I had every reason to think I was raven’s
food.

Then a riderless horse came pounding across the ground at me, and without conscious thought, I rolled myself over to avoid it.

With my legs.

Thought is action. I got my feet under me and powered to an upright position. My sword was lying there. My helmet had twisted on my head. I remember standing there on a stricken field, unable to
decide which I should do first – retrieve the sword? Fix the helmet?

Aye, laugh if you like. Pain and fatigue and desperation make you stupid.

My marines had scattered. Giannis helped me get myself together.

Six of the Gauls’ cavalrymen were down. And Seckla was leading the others in a merry dance.

Suddenly, we were in a stalemate. A
stasis
. I muttered to Giannis, and he began shouting for the men to come to me.

Other men pointed at me.

Demetrios had all of the reserve together, and they came to me in a block. The Aedui infantry were still hesitant.

My archers were in a patch of brush, down by the water, and they were carefully loosing at the bolder Gaulish horsemen. They didn’t hit many men. But they hit a great many horses. And the
Gauls are tender on their horses.

When I went down, we were losing. When I got up, we weren’t.

War’s like that. I made a good plan, and it failed. The enemy plan was foolish, and it nearly succeeded.

But now we had some advantages. So I ignored that dull, metallic ache in my hip, and I picked up a fine Gaulish spear and pointed it down the field at the riverbank, where our donkeys and horses
were pinned by a handful of mounted Gauls.

‘There’s our tin, friends,’ I said.

‘Arimnestos!’ shouted Giannis. I thought he was trying to get my attention, but Demetrios shouted it too. In a moment, a hundred men were bellowing my name as if it were a war
cry.

I’m not ashamed to say I almost burst into tears. And when we charged, I had the feeling – that old feeling – that I was invincible.

That’s the daimon of combat, thugater. One moment you think you are dead, and the next, you are full of of piss and vinegar, ready for anything.

I’ve seen a few defeats, but far more victories, and men die in defeat faster than they do in victory.

We slammed into them. No, that’s a lie, friends. We ran at them, and most of them ran from us – into the river. The men chasing Sekla were cut off, well up the ridge to our right.
And in a few moments, we were all around our pack animals. The stubborn panic of the average donkey is a two-edged sword. They ran from us, but they weren’t going to tamely submit to our
enemies, either.

If men hadn’t died, it would have been like comedy, Thugater. We’d run around in all directions, our bandit enemies had largely run around us, and now they were running away.
I’m not sure if that counts as a battle or not. We lost nine men, dead and badly wounded, and the worst part was killing off our own wounded – Garun, a Marsalian fisherman who’s
been with me since I poured bronze for the ram-spur, and others just as good, or just as deserving of life. But when a man has a spear right through his guts so that the head comes out the
back—

Best he have brave friends.

The Aedui infantry on our side of the stream faded the moment it became clear that their noble cavalry wasn’t going to fight. We took eight of them, too – tired men who didn’t
have the muscles to run away.

The enemy had about thirty dead and wounded and twenty captured. A dozen of the captured were cavalrymen. They couldn’t cross the gully to freedom, and Gaius closed the bridge, and
Demetrios and I worked with Sekla to herd them into a circle. They were mostly very young men, and all the fight had gone out of them, and I think they’d have surrendered sooner except that
they got the idea we were going to execute them.

Did they think we were fools?

We used them as hostages, of course. We sent the youngest, a boy of seventeen, up the ridge to tell his lord that we had them, and then we made camp. We spend two hours on our ditch and our
abatis, and then we collapsed in exhaustion. A fight – even an easy fight – takes it out of you, and the affray at the bridge on the Rhodanus was a sharp fight with a bad bit.