Eagles in the Storm by Ben Kane

Author:Ben Kane [Kane, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BA
ISBN: 9781848094024
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2017-03-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XXI

THE SUN BEAT down, its heat unforgiving, its light blinding. Piso’s entire body was covered in sweat, his mouth drier than a month-old hunk of bread. His heart beat off his ribs as if he’d just run ten miles, and in his left fist, his shield had metamorphosed into pure lead. Any metal Piso was wearing: his helmet, armour, javelin head, was too hot to touch. He cared not a jot. He was near the point of the wedge, a position of huge honour.

Tullus was at the apex, with Piso and Metilius right behind him. Dulcius, Calvus and another tent mate comprised the third row, behind Piso and Metilius. Four men made up the next rank, five the next and so on: eleven rows of soldiers, shaped into an armoured triangle. A few paces separated each man from the next: room was needed to hurl javelins. That done, the legionaries would close up tighter than tight.

They’d just cleared the auxiliaries’ ranks and seen the battlefield for the first time. A lull in the fighting reigned, an odd moment when by some unspoken consent enemies pulled back from each other, to rest, drink water and treat their injured. Piso stared. The area between the two armies was littered with bodies: most were German. Not fifty paces away stood Arminius’ warriors, a long line, many rows deep, stretching off to either side. Despite being bloodied and reduced in number, there was no sign of their wanting to withdraw. Their formation was solid, and chieftains strode about, shouting, gesticulating and making obscene gestures at the Romans.

‘They’re carrying on like Tullus,’ muttered Piso to Metilius. ‘But not one is half the man he is.’

They both studied their centurion. Fierce concentration marked his face. His teeth were part bared, and his gaze was locked on the enemy, reminding Piso of a wolf watching a flock of sheep before it struck.

‘Seven years he has waited for this. No wonder he’s keen,’ said Metilius, throwing a glance at Piso. ‘I’m the same.’

‘Aye,’ growled Piso. ‘And me.’

He could sense the same readiness in those behind him. Javelin butts thumped the ground in an uneven, repetitive rhythm. Hobnailed sandals stamped up and down. No one was foolish enough to step out of the wedge, but the men wanted to advance. They wanted to close with the enemy. Piso could feel it. Even Calvus seemed eager.

‘The cohorts to my left are almost in place, Tullus.’ Bassius’ voice carried from his position at the point of a wedge to their left. ‘You ready?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tullus replied.

‘The other centuries, and the cohort beyond – what about them?’

‘A moment, sir.’ With a shout, Tullus caught the attention of the Third Century’s centurion, who passed on Bassius’ query.

Waves of heat hammered down on Piso and the rest. He imagined stripping off his armour and jumping naked into the Visurgis, not a mile to their rear. Such pleasures would have to wait. Live through the slaughter first, Piso thought.

‘They’re ready, sir,’ bellowed Tullus. ‘On your command.

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