‘Wheel left. Form line.’
He had intended to smash the Batavian attack and retire to protect Otho, but the instant he turned he recognized an opportunity too tempting to ignore. The charge had carved the Batavians in two and now the riders to the right of his line milled in confusion a hundred paces away. Six or seven men and two horses writhed in the dust where Valerius had struck the centre. Those on his left were closest and had held their nerve, but they were pitifully few, with perhaps a dozen troopers still in the saddle. Valerius still had more than twenty men and now he launched them against the nearest Batavian survivors.
‘Kill the bastards!’
The Vascones charged in open order while their enemies were still re-forming, and the Batavians had barely reached a trot before the Spanish tribesmen were among them, cutting right and left and howling their war whoops. Valerius picked out a mailed figure in the centre of the line and it was only as he closed that he saw how young the man was. Calculating eyes shone from a pale, determined face beneath the rim of a helmet that shone like gold. The Batavian drove his spear point at Valerius’s chest and only the speed of fear allowed the Roman to deflect the shaft upwards with the edge of his sword. He felt a bruising crunch as the point clipped his shoulder and ducked to avoid the ash shaft swung like a club at the side of his head. Still, the cavalryman was able to batter his shield into Valerius’s body as they collided, almost knocking him from the saddle. They circled like fighting dogs, snarling and seeking out a killing opportunity. Valerius saw the moment his enemy’s eyes widened, the mouth opening in a final scream as the auxiliary felt the edge of Serpentius’s sword crunch into his neck between helmet and mail. In the same instant, Valerius rammed his spatha between the gaping jaws. He felt the jarring impact as the iron point met the back of the skull and hot blood spewed from the boy’s mouth to coat his sword hand. His victim was thrown back, already dead in the saddle, and his pony ran for a few strides before the body fell to sprawl among the corn stalks.
‘Must be getting slow,’ Serpentius muttered. ‘I’ve seen the day you’d have had a chicken like that for breakfast and spat out his bones.’
Valerius gasped his thanks and turned to survey the battlefield. Four or five dismounted Batavians still battled for their lives on foot, but the rest were dead or dying, and the survivors of the enemy left flank were still milling about where they had been when the Vascones had charged their comrades. ‘Enough,’ he ordered the cavalry leader.
The man looked mystified. Serpentius spat something in his own language and the officer called his men off. The surrounded Batavians formed a wary circle, but when Valerius ordered them to lay down their swords they complied readily enough. He heard the sound of hooves and Otho rode up with his guards. ‘Why have you spared these traitors?’
‘Because they’re not traitors. They were only obeying orders, just as we are. Think about it. If your mission succeeds, in a few weeks’ time we’ll all be fighting on the same side, so what’s the point of killing them?’
‘They would have killed us.’
‘I accept that, but—’
‘Then I’m ordering you to kill them.’
Valerius raised his sword and Otho edged back. ‘I gave them my word that they’d live.’
The other man bridled. ‘I—’
‘Look.’ Serpentius pointed to where the remaining Batavians were trotting back towards the edge of the wood, where another, larger force had appeared. Valerius bit back a curse as he saw that the newcomers vastly outnumbered his men.
‘Form up,’ he roared. ‘Senator Otho, retire to the rear.’
He heard a sword being unsheathed. ‘I’ve done enough retiring for today.’
Serpentius laughed and Valerius shook his head wearily. ‘Very well, but stay close to this Spanish rogue. And if he says run, by Mars’ sacred arse, you run.’
By now the Batavian horsemen had reached the larger force. Valerius squinted in the bright sunshine as some sort of heated discussion took place among the enemy, punctuated by a sharp cry as one of the riders pitched from the saddle.
‘Now why would they do that?’ Serpentius asked no one in particular.
‘If the left flank had attacked us while we were busy with their friends,’ Valerius suggested, ‘they would be sitting here and we would be lying in the dust trying to push our guts back in. I think whoever commands has just given his opinion on their lack of action.’
‘A forceful kind of officer,’ Serpentius commented. Valerius nodded, but his eyes never left the cavalrymen on the other side of the field and his fingers tightened edgily on the hilt of his sword. Serpentius could count too and his horse tossed his head as it sensed his concern. ‘There are a lot of the bastards.’