Gallus paced ahead, one hand raised, the other on his sword hilt, eyes scouring the approaching pack.
‘Desert raiders,’ Carbo hissed, recognising them first.
Pavo’s eyes darted. These riders were the bane of the no man’s land between the two great empires, siding with Rome and Persia in turn and as it suited them. Then he spotted the handful in their midst, wearing Roman helms and carrying legionary spears. The dromedarii. ‘Treacherous bastards!’ he spat. The sentiment was echoed all along the Roman ranks. Just then, a chorus of ululating battle cries split the air and the desert raiders split into a wide crescent, as if to envelop the legionary line. At that moment, the soldier’s curse struck Pavo like a lance, swelling his bladder and bringing thunder to his heart.
‘Double line!’ Gallus bellowed. A buccina sang to underline the order and the legionary standards waved frantically. Carbo rushed off to head up his own century. Pavo jogged over to push into place alongside Zosimus on one side and Sura on the other. Over one hundred shields clattered into place, presenting a wall, half ruby and half blue. Only spear tips, helms and determined eyes were visible over the rims. The single rank behind pressed into place. This shallow but wide formation would make it harder for the raiders to threaten the flanks. ‘Front ranks, ready plumbatae!’ Gallus cried, stepping into the line to take his place just right of dead centre.
Pavo stood alongside Sura and Zosimus. The wave of desert raiders made as if to charge the Roman line. ‘They won’t come at our spear wall,’ He insisted as he trained his gaze down the length of his spear. ‘They’re archers. They’re going to wear us down’
But big Zosimus wasn’t listening. ‘Just another few feet,’ he growled, his knuckles white on the shaft of his plumbata. Then at just over a hundred paces away – just outside of plumbatae range – the raiders split in two and washed past either flank. As they did so, they loosed a storm of arrows.
‘Shields!’ Gallus cried from the centre.
Pavo’s shield arm tensed instinctively, hefting it overhead. The hail hammered into the Roman shield wall and his whole body juddered, splinters of wood spraying overhead. Wet punches of iron piercing flesh and the torn cries of the stricken rang out. Glancing left and right, he saw the determined grimaces of his comrades and the shafts of afternoon sunlight where the unlucky few had fallen, those nearby showered in blood. Some two hundred and twenty men exhaled in relief.
‘Turn!’ Gallus cried. As one, the Roman line about-faced, presenting shields and spears to the riders reforming into one band again in the north. The raiders’ looked relaxed and confident. Some of them wore broad, shark-like grins as they nocked their bows in a leisurely fashion – as if hunting game. Pavo glanced over his shoulder to see the legionaries of the rear rank crouching and fumbling with their packs. Moments later, he heard the stretching of wood, horn and bowstring behind him.
‘Archers, ready!’ Gallus cried. Like a rising wave, each of the legionaries in the rear rank stood tall, lifted their bows high, arrows nocked and bowstrings stretched.
The desert raiders’ easy demeanour vanished at the sight of this. A canny grin touched Pavo’s lips. Roman infantry carrying bows was still a novelty in these parts, it seemed.
‘Loose!’ Gallus boomed.
Over one hundred bowstrings twanged in unison. The confident line of raiders at once dissolved into panic. Apart from the few who wore shields or armour, many were punched from their mounts as the arrows thudded down upon them, tearing through skin and smashing bone. Well over seventy of them fell. The rest sank into disarray, some slowing, others immediately wheeling round ready to take flight.
Now! Pavo mouthed the word, and saw Sura, Zosimus and the men nearby do the same, all eyes trained on Gallus.
Before the lead desert raiders could rally their men, Gallus broke ahead of the Roman line, grappling the Claudia standard from the aquilifer, then swiped the banner down in a chopping motion. ‘Forward!’ he cried. As one, the shield wall burst into life like some iron insect, the shields jostling, the legionary war cry and the wailing buccina spilling across the desert plain.
But the raiders did not crumble in the face of the legionary charge. Instead, they rallied, the lead riders barking encouragement to them. They were shaken, but angered too. Many had thrown down their bows and drawn their swords – long curved blades. They whipped their camels forward and unleashed their trilling battle cry once more, haring to meet the Roman advance. As Pavo raced forward, he saw one rider howl and kick his beast into a charge. Their eyes met, and he realised it was one of the traitor dromedarii. At the last, he leapt up to meet the man’s vicious sword-swipe.