The Pompeian officers did not react quickly enough to their men's indecision and their advance had slowed right down by the time the Caesarean troops hit. Screaming like maniacs to scare the horses, Atilius and his men barged into the Numidian cavalry. The faster-moving enemy riders broke open the front of the Roman lines, knocking soldiers to the ground, but most had lost their momentum. Shields slammed into the mounts' chests and gladii stabbed upwards at their riders. Like all light cavalry, the Numidians wore no armour and carried only a small round shield for protection. They were not the type of troops to meet a charge by heavy infantry head on, and their javelins were unable to punch through heavy scuta. In contrast, the legionaries' iron blades bit deep into men's thighs, bellies and chests, injuring and killing Numidians aplenty. Horses were slashed across the neck or stabbed in the ribs, causing them to rear up in terror, spraying blood over everyone within arm's reach. Ignoring their dashing hooves, Caesar's men darted into the gaps, disembowelling the steeds or hamstringing them. The next rank of cavalrymen looked panic-stricken at the sight of frenzied legionaries emerging from the slaughter with bloodied gladii and snarling faces. Instinctively, they reined in, and some tried to turn their horses' heads around. Of course their fear was obvious, and the baying legionaries redoubled their efforts.
Within the space of a hundred heartbeats, the enemy attack on the Twenty-Eighth had come to a standstill. Romulus could see that the Caesarean standards were all still roughly in a line, which meant that the Fifth's cohorts were achieving the same results. Pushing in behind came the other three units, which kept up their momentum. Exhilaration filled Romulus. After all the fear and setbacks of the day, it seemed that courage and determination were being rewarded at last. Already many of the horsemen were looking to the rear. All they had to do was keep up the pressure, and the Numidians would break and run.
Of course there were always leaders who could pull the fat from the fire. Screaming orders at his riders, an officer clad in Roman army uniform on a fine white stallion managed to drag the Numidians' rear sections away before the Twenty-Eighth had reached them. Galloping back three hundred paces, he rallied the panicked tribesmen before leading a stinging attack on the side of Atilius' cohort. Riding in at speed, the whooping cavalry threw their javelins in a thick shower and retreated, as they had all day.
The volley caused heavy casualties among the unprepared legionaries, whose shields were raised against attack from the front, not the side. At once the tactic was repeated, with similar results. Dozens of men were down now, and fear was mushrooming in the rest. It was a shining example of how the course of a battle could be turned around. Romulus watched the scarlet-cloaked Roman officer directing operations and cursed. If this went on, all their efforts would have been in vain.
'I know him,' shouted Sabinus. 'It's Marcus Petreius, one of Pompey's best generals.'
Romulus watched Petreius gallop off to the far flank, no doubt to emulate his success here. 'The bastard's got to be stopped, or they'll turn us over.'
'What can we do?' Sabinus retorted. 'He's out on the open battlefield on a damn horse and we're on foot.'
Romulus didn't answer, but a daring idea was coming to mind. Breaking rank, he trotted over to Atilius, who was directing sections of legionaries forward into the Numidian lines. 'A word, sir,' he shouted.
The senior centurion looked around, surprised. 'Make it quick.'
'Did you see the attack on the cohort's right flank a moment ago, sir?'
'Of course I did,' scowled Atilius. 'Now the prick has gone off to repeat the same with the rest of his cavalry.'
'I'll kill him, sir. Just give me two men,' Romulus pleaded.
He had all of Atilius' attention now. 'What will you do?'
'Make our way through the melee,' Romulus explained. 'Pick up some enemy javelins on the way. Somehow get close enough, and bring him down.'
'Causing panic in his men,' muttered the senior centurion. 'With luck, they'd flee.'
Romulus grinned. 'Yes, sir.'
Atilius scanned the open ground to their right. Apart from a few scrubby bushes, there was hardly any shelter. Waves of Numidian cavalry were sweeping back and forth across it to attack the Twenty-Eighth. 'It's a suicide mission,' he said.
'Maybe it is, sir. But if someone doesn't stop the whoreson, they'll soon break our attack.'
'True.' Atilius thought for a moment. 'Three men less in the cohort won't save our skins either. Do it.'
Romulus could hardly believe his ears. 'Sir!' He snapped off a crisp salute and pushed his way back through the press to Sabinus' side. Quickly he filled the dark-haired soldier in on his plan.
'Been praying to Fortuna?' Sabinus asked sarcastically. 'We'll need her guiding every step of the way to stay alive.'
'Are you with me or not?' Romulus demanded. 'We're defending the rest of the column, remember?'
Sabinus spat a curse and then nodded. 'Very well.'
'I heard what you said, comrade. Count me in too,' said a thick-set legionary wearing a bronze helmet with its horsehair crest missing. He stuck out his right arm. 'Gaius Paullus.'
Romulus grinned and accepted the grip. 'Let's go.' Shoving through the ebbing and flowing ranks of legionaries, they soon reached the edge of the cohort. Injured men were everywhere here, screaming at the iron- tipped javelins which had struck them in their arms or legs. Those who had been hit in the neck or face sprawled uncaring on the ground, forcing Romulus and his two comrades to step over them. Mentally, he asked their forgiveness. It helped — a little.
Once in the outermost rank, Romulus took in the situation at a glance. There was no sign of an optio or centurion here, which meant that they'd been killed. The Numidian attacks had already left huge gaps in the side of the cohort. It would not be long before the beleaguered legionaries were either overwhelmed or ran away. Time was of the essence, but they also had to wait until Petreius returned from the left flank.
Ducking down behind their scuta, the trio weathered a number of Numidian attacks. There was no chance of defending themselves, just the ignominy of hiding away from the enemy javelins. Eventually, though, Romulus saw the distinctive white stallion reappear behind the regrouping cavalry. 'There he is,' he muttered, pointing.
'It's about three hundred paces,' muttered Sabinus.
'A long way,' added Paullus.
A strange calm fell over Romulus. 'Leave your shields. Helmets too,' he ordered. Wiping his bloody blade on the bottom of his tunic, he sheathed it. 'Take off your mail shirts.'
The other two stared at him as though he were raving mad.
'We stand out a mile in our gear,' Romulus hissed. 'It's also damn heavy. Without it, the Numidians might think we're riders whose mounts have been killed.'
Understanding blossomed on their faces and they began to obey. The dazed soldiers nearby looked on uncomprehendingly as the three stripped themselves of all their equipment. Underneath their thigh-length chain mail, their padded russet jerkins were saturated in sweat.
'Gods, that feels good,' said Paullus with a grin.
A shower of enemy javelins came scudding overhead and the smile disappeared from his face.
Swiftly they lifted their shields again until the attack had ended. Reaching out carefully, each man picked some Numidian light throwing spears from the dozens which lay scattered amidst the bodies.
Romulus waited until the enemy horsemen had turned around. 'Now!' he hissed. 'After them!'
The trio shot forward like Greek sprinters at a games. The retreating tribesmen did not look back and, as Romulus had hoped, their mounts concealed the trio from the Numidians who were waiting to move forward. The crucial moment would be when the two lines met, and the new wave of attackers rode out.
They had covered about half the distance when Romulus saw horses' heads appearing in the gaps between the retreating cavalry. 'Down on your bellies!' he shouted.
Sabinus and Paullus understood now.
All three threw themselves headlong to the hard ground. Pressing their faces into the dirt, they lay like dead men. Soon they could feel the earth shaking from the cavalry's approach. Romulus' heart was hammering in his chest, and he had to stop himself from trying to see what was going on.
An instant later, dozens of Numidians rode past at the canter. Shouting to each other in their own tongue, they didn't even look at the soldiers: just three more bodies on a littered battlefield.
Sabinus made to get up, but Romulus grabbed his arm. 'Stay put,' he whispered. 'The others will see us. We wait until the first lot pull back, and then do the same again.'
