The Silver Eagle

advance.

‘We don’t want to be caught here when those arrive,’ said Brennus.

Adrenalin pumping, they both laughed at the absurdity of two men fighting an army of elephants. They turned and ran.

Their Parthian centurion glared furiously at them as they reassumed their position. But it was not the time or place to punish minor infractions like this. It was enough that hundreds of Indians had been killed with no Parthian casualties at all.

Buoyed up by the combined success of the water channels and the catapults’ volleys, the legionaries’ demeanour was much steadier as they watched the elephants approach. The enemy infantry had finally been rallied by their officers and were marching between the grey beasts, using them as protection from attack.

Romulus took in the Indians’ tactic at a glance. The elephants would try to smash apart the Roman shield wall and then the foot soldiers could pour into the gaps. If that happened, the Forgotten Legion would quickly be overwhelmed. He grimaced. It was vital that they used their long spears as Tarquinius had said.

Whooping loudly, the Indian cavalry broke away from their army and cantered off to the west. There was no point trying to charge through the mass of abandoned chariots and corpses, so the Indian leader had ordered a probing attack around his enemies. Romulus was not worried by this. Thanks to the defensive ditches, any attempt to flank the Forgotten Legion would not work. And he doubted the lightly armed horsemen could break through the reserve cohorts either. At least a thousand of the long spears had been held back to use in this exact scenario.

Romulus shifted from foot to foot, trusting in the soldiers at his back, just as they were depending on him and Brennus. Perhaps if they survived, their status as escaped slaves would not be such a badge of hatred for the other legionaries. In his heart, Romulus doubted that would happen. It seemed that in the eyes of citizens and free men, there was an inescapable stain on the character of a former slave. The knowledge left a sour taste in his mouth. He longed to be accepted for what he was — a good soldier.

Using their short staffs to guide their mounts, the mahouts manoeuvred between the stranded chariots full of corpses. The obstacles slowed up their progress, and it bunched the elephants closely. Together with their enormous size, it made them excellent targets.

‘Loose!’ roared the optio by the ballistae.

More stones flew through the air, striking the elephants on their heads and bodies. Some hit the warriors on their backs, hurling them to the ground. The projectiles were not powerful enough to badly injure the huge beasts, but, better than this, they created fear and confusion. Ignoring their frantic mahouts, many elephants immediately whirled around and stampeded into the distance. Any Indian infantry in their path were trampled underfoot without regard.

A pair began fighting fiercely, battering each other with their iron-tipped tusks in an effort to wound or disable. Another barrage of stones landed; one beast was struck in the eye and also ran away, trumpeting in pain. But the rest, better trained, continued tramping forward.

Close behind marched the tightly packed Indian infantry, allowing the Romans to study them properly for the first time. Many men sported cloth turbans, and they wore an incredible variety of garments from loincloths to leather armour and chain mail. Large numbers carried round shields while others carried tall ones fashioned from animal skin. Romulus saw crescent shields similar to those carried by the Scythians, as well as rounded triangular ones. The foot soldiers were armed with spears, long and short swords, axes and knives. Like retiarii in the arena, some even carried tridents. Romulus did not even recognise a number of the weapons: leaf-shaped double-ended blades with a short handle in between, and lengths of thick wood wrapped with bands of iron.

But none of the men struck fear into Romulus’ heart as the elephants did. They were now very near. Terrifyingly, the closest one had a spiked metal ball on a chain attached to the end of its trunk. Romulus could already imagine its destructive power. Suddenly the long spear in his hands, made from Margianian iron and so successful against enemies on horseback, seemed puny.

Following orders, half the legionaries had slung their scuta from their shoulders by their leather carrying straps. Only a two-handed grip on their spears would suffice. To combat the enemy foot soldiers, every second man retained his shield and drew his sword.

Soon the elephant’s musky odour reached their nostrils. It was strong but not unpleasant; Romulus thought he could smell alcohol too. Lines of coloured paint had been drawn around the beast’s eyes, while an ornate silver headdress covering the head completed its exotic and fearsome appearance. Dangling its lethal ball, the prehensile trunk swayed from side to side, its tip scenting the Romans’ alien smell. The mahout shouted and used his goad, forcing the elephant into a shambling run. High above on its back, the warriors readied their bows and spears. Hastily released arrows shot past Romulus, one plunging deep into a legionary’s eye.

His screams did little for the soldiers’ nerves. There were grey faces everywhere now. Men rubbed lucky phallic amulets, cleared their throats nervously and spat on the ground; others whispered prayers to their favourite deities. At least one legionary vomited, his courage frayed to breaking point. The acrid smell of bile mingled with those of the elephant and men’s sweat.

Romulus glanced at Brennus. The Gaul was eyeing him proudly and he ducked his head, embarrassed. A tickling worry began at the back of his mind. Something Tarquinius had said, a long time ago. Could that moment be now?

‘Raise your spears!’ bellowed Aemilius, his nerves still steady. ‘Those at the back, ready pila.’

Wooden shafts clattered together as the front ranks obeyed. Behind them, line after line of right arms swung back, pointing barbed javelin heads upwards. Indian arrows hummed through the air, but the legionaries just had to ignore them. Some struck home, creating small gaps in the line. More shafts followed, accompanied by a volley of stones from the enemy slingers.

Twenty paces separated the two sides.

Screaming blood-curdling battle cries, the Indian infantry broke into a full charge.

A cold sweat broke out on Romulus’ forehead, but his spear tip did not waver. Oddly, Brennus began to laugh, a strange jarring sound coming from deep in his chest. His blue eyes lit up with battle rage; he looked terrifying. Romulus was very glad that the Gaul was fighting with, not against him.

‘Hold steady, lads!’ Aemilius shouted.

To the legionaries’ credit, they did not break.

Blaring with anger from the mahout’s blows, the lead elephant reached the forest of spears. Bending like twigs, half of them simply snapped in two.

Romulus’ vision was entirely filled with flashing metal-tipped tusks, a swinging trunk and the beast’s open, angry mouth. He could see streams of thick, pungent-smelling liquid pouring down the sides of its face, but did not realise their significance. He would find out later that it meant the bull was full of breeding ‘rage’. But all he could do right then was react. And use his spear.

‘Aim at the head!’ screamed Aemilius. ‘Loose javelins!’

A flurry of pila shot up, striking the elephant in the face and wounding the mahout in the right arm. Two of the warriors on its back fell off, injured or killed, but the last continued to fire arrows at the legionaries. Bellowing with rage, the massive creature swung its head and the spiked metal ball spun forward on its chain, sweeping aside more of the long spears as if they were brushwood. As it swung back, the deadly weapon carried a trio of soldiers into the air, crushing the skull of the first and badly injuring the others.

Leaning down towards his mount’s ear, the mahout shouted encouragement.

Around came the ball again, tearing the front ranks apart.

The man next to Romulus had his shoulder smashed into pieces by a glancing blow. With rings of chain mail mashed deep into his flesh, he collapsed in a heap, screaming.

Relieved it had not been him, Romulus stabbed at the elephant’s head. It made no difference at all. The beast’s destructive power was matched by the sheer terror it caused. All the Romans’ efforts were in vain: it was like trying to kill a mythical monster. Even Brennus’ powerful thrusts seemed to have little effect. Romulus was beginning to despair when a lucky javelin took the mahout through the chest. Hurled by a legionary several ranks behind, its pyramidal iron head punched through his ribs. Mortally wounded, he toppled sideways from his position.

‘Now’s our chance!’ cried Romulus, remembering Tarquinius’ advice. ‘Attack it!’