The Silver Eagle

Seeing him look, Tarquinius also lifted his gaze as the raven crossed into no-man’s-land. Even some of the Indian troops began to stare upwards.

As it flew over the enemy lines, the bird croaked again, a raw, angry cry that pierced the air. It was if the Indians’ presence offended it in some way. Without further warning, the raven pulled in its wings and dived towards the lead elephant. Like a black stone, it hurtled downwards, aiming its powerful beak straight at the beast’s head.

Brennus had seen too. ‘What’s it doing?’

Awestruck by its suicidal bravery, Romulus did not answer.

More and more legionaries began pointing and gesticulating.

‘The raven is helping us,’ cried Tarquinius. ‘It’s a sign from the gods!’

Finally a cheer of approval left the men’s throats.

Even Pacorus and his warriors were watching, agog. ‘Mithras is watching over us,’ a number of warriors shouted. ‘He has sent his Corax to help!’

Delighted by this revelation, Romulus threw up a prayer to his new favourite deity.

Gradually the mahout on the front elephant realised that something was up. When he saw the raven plummeting towards him, he cried out in fear. His shout was enough to unsettle the massive creature; it raised its trunk and blared an alarm. Its companions’ response was immediate. Loud bugles of distress echoed up and down the Indian line, and the mahouts struggled to control their mounts. The response of their infantry and cavalry was most pleasing: to a man they looked terrified.

‘See?’ shouted Tarquinius. ‘They’re frightened of their own beasts! If we can panic them, they will turn and run.’

Now a rousing cheer went up from the legionaries.

When it was less than twenty paces above the elephant’s head, the raven suddenly pulled out of its dive and banked up into the sky again. Scores of Indian archers shot arrows at it, to no avail. Their shafts flew up in dense shoals and fell back to earth, wasted. Flapping strongly, the raven had soon climbed far out of range. Without further ado, it flew off to the west, its odd action a complete mystery.

It’s heading towards Italy, thought Romulus sadly. For some reason, a powerful image of Fabiola struck home, and he took heart.

He missed Tarquinius’ dark eyes upon him.

The black bird left unsettled elephants, angry mahouts and a less confident Indian host in its wake. The lead beast was still most unhappy, and had barged backwards out of line. Screams carried through the air as some of the closely packed infantry were trampled to death.

‘If a raven can scare an elephant like that, imagine what a dozen spears in the face will do!’ Tarquinius raised a clenched fist. ‘The Forgotten Legion!’

Proud of the name he had originally coined, Brennus echoed the cry.

A passionate roar followed the haruspex’ words. Swelling as it rolled through the ranks, the legionaries’ response was fuelled as much by desperation as it was by bravery. As at Carrhae, there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. They had to stand and fight, or die.

The men’s reasons did not matter, thought Romulus. As he knew from the arena, courage was a mixture of many emotions. What mattered was the belief that there was a chance of survival, however slim. He gripped his spear shaft tightly and held on to the tiny spark of hope in his own heart, gathering himself for the titanic struggle. Mithras, watch over us, he thought.

The Indian leader did not delay his attack any further. There was no reason to. The raven’s odd behaviour had already handed a small advantage to his enemies. The sooner they were crushed, the better. His first mistake was to send in the battle chariots.

Their wheels creaking loudly, they rolled towards the Roman lines at the speed of a man walking fast. Hundreds of infantry accompanied them, filling the spaces between to form a great wall of men and weapons. Musicians played drums, cymbals and bells, and the soldiers chanted as they came on. The noise was incredible. Used to smashing apart enemy formations with this initial charge, the Indians were full of confidence.

Then the chariots reached the covered water channels.

Which had turned the earth into a mud bath.

Simultaneously, all the lead chariots’ solid wheels sank deep into the morass. Cumbersome, hard to manoeuvre and immensely heavy, the battle platforms were not made to travel on anything other than flat, firm ground. The frustrated charioteers whipped on their horses. Valiantly obeying, the steeds pulled a few steps further. Now the chariots sank to the axles, and the attack stalled before it had even come near the waiting legionaries.

Pacorus’ response was instantaneous. ‘Loose!’ he roared at the soldiers manning the ballistae that covered their front.

The grizzled optio in charge had been waiting for this moment, and had already marked the Indians’ distance from his position. It was less than two hundred paces, a good killing range. He barked an order and the six powerful machines twanged as one, hurling pieces of stone bigger than a man’s head in a graceful arc over the Roman lines.

Romulus watched in awe. He had not seen ballistae used much since before Carrhae. The pitched battles fought by the Forgotten Legion were never large enough to require them. Today though, every shot counted. What mattered was causing maximum enemy casualties. Through this was their only chance of victory.

The volley was a good start.

The optio’s range marking was precise. The sixth stone merely smashed the front wheel of a chariot, immobilising it, but the rest found human targets. Men’s heads were cleanly ripped off, chests smashed in, limbs pulverised. The horrified companions of those hit were covered in a red mist of blood from spraying carotids. Their energy still unspent, the boulders went on to tear holes in the chariots’ sides or injure more soldiers before they fell to the ground, throwing up great splashes of mud and water.

The stunned Indians had barely time to react before the ballistae fired again. Yet more chariots were torn asunder, their crews killed or maimed. With his next barrage, the optio had his men load smaller stones and aim at the infantry. It was like watching heavy rain knock down a field of ripe wheat, thought Romulus. Gaping holes opened up in the Indian ranks as the projectiles landed, taking out far greater numbers than the previous volleys. It was a complete slaughter.

‘Stop them with the mud, then massacre the poor bastards,’ said Brennus, grimacing. ‘Very efficient. Very Roman.’

‘They’d do the same to us,’ retorted Romulus.

‘True,’ replied the Gaul. ‘And there’ll be plenty left.’

Keen to conserve the catapults’ rapidly dwindling store of ammunition, Pacorus signalled the optio to cease firing. Their volleys had pulverised the Indian attack. Already the enemy infantry were fleeing in blind panic towards their own lines.

The bucinae signalled that the First and Third Cohorts should advance at once. Leaving their heavy spears behind, they trotted forward, their caligae squelching through the mud. Romulus gritted his teeth. Their purpose was to kill the survivors.

The gruesome task did not take long. It was a necessary evil, reducing enemy numbers and badly affecting their watching comrades’ morale. Fearful and in disarray, the main Indian force looked on as the unfortunates left behind were dispatched by the legionaries. Soon the only living figures in the muddy area were those of Roman soldiers. Indian infantry lay scattered in piles while other bodies festooned the stationary battle platforms, hanging half-in, half-out as if still trying to escape.

The signal to withdraw rang out.

Concerned about the dozens of horses tethered by their traces and struggling in the mud before the immobilised chariots, Romulus was busy chopping through as many leather straps as he could. It was also a way to avoid killing injured, helpless enemy soldiers. He had set free a number of teams when Brennus grabbed him.

‘Come on!’ urged the Gaul. ‘You can’t help them all.’

Romulus glanced at their comrades, already halfway back to their own lines. On the other side, the enraged Indian leader had signalled his mahouts to move forward. With ponderous steps, the now calm elephants began to