Past Lives (The Past Lives Chronicles Book 1) by Terry Cloutier

Author:Terry Cloutier [Cloutier, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ganderland Publishing
Published: 2021-08-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MALCOLM

The Romans were running! It seemed hard to believe, even though Malcolm had known it was going to happen. The Teutones and Cimbri had hit them hard from both sides of the valley, appearing from the trees in screaming waves of bare-chested, tattooed warriors. Carbo’s first two legions had already lost a third of their numbers before the Cimbri and Teutones had attacked, which alone must have been a shock to the Roman Consul. But after being bolstered by the reinforcements from the hilltop, the tide of the battle had seemed to be turning—until the carnyx was blown and the trap had been sprung. Now, pressed in by thousands of additional frenzied warriors, the ranks of the legionnaires that had seemed so poised moments before were beginning to crumble.

The usually disciplined maniple formations were the key to Roman military success, but those formations had disintegrated into mass confusion all along the front lines and the flanks. The ranks coming from behind were wavering as well, reluctant to move forward to face certain death against the fury of the tribes. Some legionnaires had given up all pretense of fighting and were fleeing to the west, while others tried to retreat in some semblance of order as their centurions and optios screamed at them to hold the line. The iron precision and calmness of the maniples had mostly disintegrated, with small islands of men completely cut off and fighting alone against an endless sea of tattooed warriors. Those eager warriors encircled the doomed men like hungry wolves among lambs, laughing as they hacked the enemy down without mercy. The battle that had seemed so winnable for the Romans only minutes before had now turned into an all-out slaughter, with nothing left for Carbo’s legions this day except death and destruction.

Malcolm paused to catch his breath as he wiped the blood of the man he’d just killed from his eyes. A wounded Roman surrounded by three taunting warriors was begging for his life twenty feet away, but Malcolm knew it was pointless. There would be no quarter given this day. As expected, the soldier’s words fell on deaf ears as the tribesmen laughed before one of them thrust a spear into the Roman’s belly. The warriors moved on after that, still laughing as they searched for new prey. Malcolm looked away from the fresh corpse, feeling even Artturi’s almost insatiable bloodlust starting to wane. It seemed they’d both had enough killing for one day.

Malcolm could see the few Roman equites that were still mounted had turned and were racing west, already at the base of the hill as thunder rolled ominously across the sky. The battleground was cast in an eerie semi-darkness now, with a cold wind whistling along the valley floor that quickly dried the sweat and blood on Malcolm’s body. Soon, he thought as he looked upward. Soon the storm will arrive and the slaughter will come to an end.

“You’re not done yet, are you Artturi?” Caratacus asked as he came to stand next to Malcolm.

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