it. He was responsible for bringing up spare horses and missiles, as required, and for the removal and care of the wounded.
The barbarians, seeing that we intended to fight in the open, came on in six massive columns, made up of their usual wedge-shaped groups, each under its local chief. The Marcomanni were on our left, the Quadi and the Alans on our right, and the great host that made up the two Vandal tribes was in the centre. Their cavalry rode ahead of the infantry, a series of ragged lines that broke and wheeled to left and right when they saw where our horsemen were placed. A host of foot followed them at a run. Quintus, who held the left, was engaged first and found himself trying to deal with a mixture of horse and foot, both armed with bows. He broke through the enemy horse without difficulty and then charged the foot. In the thirty seconds it took him to close the two hundred yards that separated them, the enemy loosed four flights of arrows and unhorsed half his front rank. Unable to break through the enemy spears he disengaged, and withdrew his squadrons in good order. The remainder of the Marcomanni suffered fearful losses, trying to close with the archers on the wing, and a section, in desperation, tried to outflank them. Fredegar, shouting, swung his men round and fell upon them; and a grim hand to hand struggle followed.
On the right, Fabianus had charged the enemy in the flank, but the Quadi, instead of standing their ground and waiting to be slaughtered, opened ranks, stepped aside, and flung their spears and axes at our men as they rode past. This, however, proved a mistake, for the auxiliaries under Scudilio, who had already checked the enemy horse with their arrows, charged them on foot before they had time to re-group, and swept them back towards Fabianus’s cavalry, who easily rode them down. The Quadi fell back in confusion and Scudilio slowly began to turn their flank.
In the centre the Vandals came at a run in a dense mass. The bolts of the carroballistae ripped great gaps in their ranks, but did not stop them. The fighting ranks stepped forward and flung their javelins, one after one; nine arrow flights went home; but they still came on over the bodies of their dead; and there was a tremendous shock and clash of arms as the two lines of infantry met. Our line bent for a moment and then held. For over half an hour a fierce struggle went on, with neither side giving way, and then Quintus fell on their right flank with seven hundred horse. A minute later, Fabianus attacked the left, just as Scudilio’s men were beginning to tire; and the Vandal wings crumpled as men began to throw away their weapons and run. I signalled my bodyguard to mount, and then led them round to the right, intending to reinforce Fabianus. At this moment, the Franks under Fredegar broke under the weight of the Marcomanni, who had been strengthened by reserves pouring from their camp. The Marcomanni began to close in upon the rear of Quintus’ wing, which was now almost at a standstill in the midst of a vast, struggling mass of screaming, shouting men. The din was appalling. I shouted, my trumpeter saw my mouth move and blew the two blasts that meant “change direction.” I wheeled round and crossed the rear of our centre just as the Marcomanni, mingling with the Vandals, were beginning to fall upon it. My men heard us coming and fell back quickly as we poured through the gap in our line and charged home. It was a tight, controlled, compact charge, and the enemy broke and gave way before us. At my order, the trumpet sounded again, and the front line disengaged and fell back, reforming as it did so. The enemy, glad of a breathing space, did the same. They also had had enough for the moment.
I said to Quintus, “Don’t charge home into a mass that size. It’s like trying to drive your fist through a barrel of glue. Ride round them and cut them down on the perimeter.”
He wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought it was worth a try.” He hammered the pommel of his sword angrily. “With only two more alae I could have broken them into pieces.”
I said patiently, “If we go on like this, it is we who will break into pieces.”
There was a long lull in the fighting, while the wounded went to the rear, and the men’s wounds stiffened in the cold. I issued a ration of biscuit and vinegar to all ranks, and two hours later we tried again. I pulled Fredegar’s Franks back into line with the left wing of the archers, split my reserves into two halves and pushed them out towards the wings, and then ordered the whole line to move forward until contact was established with the cavalry. In this way we gained about four hundred yards of ground, while the enemy watched us from a distance and made no move. Then I ran the carroballistae forward and they opened fire at two hundred yards, supported by a screen of bowmen who had instructions to fire into the air, so as to drop their arrows into the enemy centre. As the nine inch bolts tore through men’s stomachs, and smashed ribs and backbones at a single blow, the Vandals fell back sullenly. I ordered the advance, and the cohorts’ first waves moved out at a trot. The two lines met, wavered and again held. The enemy cavalry waited on the flanks, watching our horse, while we goaded them with arrow fire from the wings. I sounded the trumpet, and Fredegar and Scudilio moved out to take the enemy on the flanks. More men were pouring out of their camp now and forming up on the rear of their centre. The carroballistae on my wings now opened fire and an enemy horseman went down at every shot. Angered into action they moved outwards to where my cavalry stood waiting patiently for my order. I waited till they were well clear of their main body, and then ordered the trumpet to be sounded. Our cavalry charged, and within three minutes it was all over. Half the Vandals were unhorsed and dead, the other half was in flight back to the camp. With no horse to oppose them, the two alae, led by Quintus and Fabianus, fell upon the enemy’s flanks and began to ride round the Vandals, working their way in, closer and closer to the centre. Slowly my front line began to move forward again. Still more men came streaming across the plain to help the enemy host. They were principally bowmen, and, from their position at the rear, they began to fire inwards, regardless of whether they struck our horse, or their own foot. Our men, who had fought all day in grim silence, now began to shout, as though they sensed that victory was within their grasp.
“Now,” I said to Aquila, and the two reserves on the flanks moved into action. At the same time, Flavius broke from the copse and led his men straight through Scudilio’s and into the weakening left flank of the Quadi, who began to give ground rapidly. I blew the “Advance” and ordered my bodyguard to mount. “They’ll break,” I cried to Agilio excitedly. “Any moment now and they will break.”
At that moment there came a sudden wailing cry, which even I could hear above the shouting and the dreadful, familiar clatter of iron upon iron. Our cavalry checked—it was an appalling sight—and began to break backwards, as though overtaken by panic and fear. This feeling spread to the infantry and they hesitated, and then began to give ground. Through a gap in a flurry of horsemen, I saw a figure in a red cloak, lying across its horse’s neck, and being cantered back under escort. I tried desperately to rally the infantry, but they were giving way now steadily, each rank retiring, in turn, through the next. “Come on,” I shouted to Agilio. We cantered through our own men—I heard our foot shout, “Ware horse”—and saw their startled faces drop away from me. Then we were moving at a fast gallop into the midst of a horde of yelling, excited Vandals. The weight of our charge, its very unexpectedness, carried us through and out the other side, leaving a swathe of dying and broken bodies behind us. We turned quickly, in the midst of their startled archers at the rear, cutting down every man we could reach; and then reformed and charged back. There is nothing quite so demoralising as being attacked from the rear. To this the Vandals and their allies were no exception. They broke away from us, their advance crumbled uncertainly into isolated fragments of ragged, exhausted and defiant men, so that, when we had ridden clear, and the cohorts had reformed, they turned and withdrew slowly towards their camp, collecting their wounded as they did so. A few minutes later I gave the signal to retreat, and the tired centuries plodded back across the blooded snow to the safety of the ditches, the palisade and the camp.
I gave my horse to my orderly and walked to the signal tower. Every man I passed gave me a salute or a grin, or a greeting of some kind; and every man seemed to be wounded. I felt exhausted and sick. We had so nearly succeeded; we had so nearly failed.
A voice shouted my name, and Fabianus rode his horse towards me, picking his way carefully between the crowds of men making for their tents. “They are coming,” he cried. “The reinforcements are on the way.”
I shook my head. “You must be mad.”
He said, excitedly, “No. There is a column of infantry a good half mile down the Treverorum road.”
I walked out with him, and I could feel the excitement spread around me, as the word was passed from one tired and wounded man to another. Marius joined me, wiping his sword on a piece of rag. Aquila came up, limping from a cut across the thigh. Scudilio was there, too; and Fredegar was with him, his terrible battle axe resting across his shoulders.
The dark column, heads bent against the driving lash of the wind, moved towards us at a slow pace. At their head was a man on horseback. Two cohort commanders walked slowly to join us, one of them half carried by the other. The wounded man was Flavius, his left arm wrapped in dirty bandages. We stood there, smiling stupidly, and waiting. We could be sure of victory now. I was so relieved I felt almost happy. “Mithras,” I said aloud. “My prayers have been answered.” I turned my head and saw Flavius watching me, a startled and disbelieving look upon his
