‘Remember, I am your shield.’
Valerius blinked. He’d entirely forgotten his plan that they would fight together. Without warning, something flashed across Valerius’s vision and Serpentius’s blade swept up to divert the spear point that had been about to take out his throat. Before he could react, they were surrounded by scarlet and yellow shields and fighting for their lives. The sword in Valerius’s left hand hammered at a painted boar and Serpentius spun a web of bright iron to keep the attackers beyond striking distance. A hulking figure launched itself from Valerius’s left. He knew he was too slow to save himself, but it was Juva, driven beyond madness, his helmet gone and his face a mass of red from a cut that had sliced open his forehead. His bulging eyes were fixed on something in the distance and Valerius followed them to where the Twenty-first’s sacred eagle danced above a swirling mass of men. With a terrible roar the big Nubian tore apart the shields barring his way. A legionary lunged at him with his spear, but as the Roman raised his arm Valerius rammed his sword into the gap above his armour and the man froze as he felt the cold iron enter his body. With a twist of the wrist Valerius hauled the blade free in time to parry a scything cut from a soldier in a centurion’s helmet. The gladius deflected the blow, but his attacker kept coming and his weight smashed Valerius to the earth. The centurion’s sword was gone, but he still had the advantage. All Valerius could do was hack at his armoured ribs in a futile attempt to dislodge him. Strong hands gripped his helmet and the chin strap bit into his throat. He tried desperately to wriggle free, but the centurion was so close his nostrils filled with the stink of the other man’s breath and spittle dripped on his face. Lightning exploded in his head as his opponent battered it repeatedly into the ground until his skull rang like the inside of a bell. He knew he was done, but as his mind began to fade the hands loosened and the centurion went limp, his snarls turning into a scream as the point of Serpentius’s gladius severed his spine. Valerius lay pinned by the dead weight and for the first time became aware of the screams of the wounded and dying, the howls of men turned animal and the cloying stink of fresh-spilled blood and torn bowels. Serpentius kicked the corpse off his chest and hauled him to his feet.
‘The eagle,’ Valerius gasped. ‘Follow Juva.’
Ten paces ahead, the Nubian was a roaring presence who surged through the carnage like one of the galleys he once rowed and, as if in a dream, Valerius followed in his wake. The men who faced Juva’s awesome savagery were paralysed for a heartbeat and the marine legionaries accompanying their optio used that precious interval to ensure those heartbeats were their last. Juva had taken a dozen minor wounds, but he felt nothing but elation. All he knew was that the eagle was there, just beyond his grasp in the midst of the honour guard, who screamed their defiance at their attackers. They were big men, weighed down with phalerae, each at least a ten-year veteran, and they feared no enemy. At their centre stood the aquilifer, in a leopardskin cloak with the beast’s mask framing his face as he brandished the eagle high and howled for the Twenty-first to honour their oath to Jupiter. Valerius wondered why they hadn’t retreated to the rear of the cohort, but a glimpse of a First Adiutrix shield beyond the group answered his question. The guard had created a ring of spears around the standard-bearer and dared anyone to enter it. A dozen corpses testified to that ring’s resilience, but they had not reckoned on Juva. The Nubian launched himself at the nearest spear, one big hand brushing it aside while the other bent a second just behind the point. Still he would have died but for the little Scythian throwing axe that appeared magically in Serpentius’s hand and spun to take a third spearman in the face. Valerius and the Spaniard followed him into the gap and the slaughter began. When it ended Valerius stood panting with blood to his elbows and the familiar dull, metallic taste of it on his lips. The guards had died hard, but none harder than the aquilifer, who had beaten back every attack until Juva lifted him bodily from the pile of corpses that protected him and crushed him in his great arms so that Valerius heard ribs snapping and the legionary’s body flopped forward as his spine cracked.
Juva stood on the charnel heap he had helped create and lifted the eagle to the skies. His challenge echoed across the battlefield and Valerius experienced a moment of Elysian stillness on that field where two thousand men had already died. The Fifth cohort echoed their champion’s roar of triumph. All except one.
‘Shit. Time we were out of here.’
Valerius turned at the sound of Serpentius’s shocked whisper. Was the Spaniard mad? He shook his head, wincing at the pain. ‘We need to hold here until the reserves are finished with the front lines. The battle is won, Serpentius. It is only a matter of time.’