The Barbarian by Douglas Jackson

Author:Douglas Jackson [Jackson, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781473591752
Google: 0WmqEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2022-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

XXXI

The first Huns who came into view were already at the canter and their entire focus was on the gateway ahead. They rode four abreast, more or less, in a straggling column with the rear horsemen forty paces behind the leader. Small men on small horses, dressed in strange padded jackets and with exotic curved swords already to hand. Every warrior carried a short bow slung over his back and had a pouch of arrows attached to his saddle. Marcus knew their reputation belied what his eyes were telling him, but, inside, his heart soared.

Valeria had chosen the perfect tactic to turn the charge into chaos and ruin.

A cry of warning. They’d been seen at last. A stutter of confusion ran through the little column before Valeria’s whooping riders smashed like a thunderbolt into the rear section of the attack, scattering men and animals. In a moment six or seven of the Huns tumbled into the dust, their horses sent reeling by the big Roman mounts. Unhorsed, the stunned warriors were at the mercy of those who followed. Marcus hacked at a passing blur beneath a fur-trimmed cap and was rewarded by a shriek as the blade sliced through bone and sinew. Crimson blood misted the air in the wake of the charge. Then they were through and clear and wheeling right, though not all because at least one riderless Roman horse ran loose among them.

The wheel brought the still compact formation on a line to intercept the lead element of the Hun charge in the shadow of the fort’s gatehouse. Here all was milling confusion. It should have been a repeat of the first attack, a hammer blow of death and destruction. But the dozen heartbeats they took to perform the wheel had given the Huns the breathing space they needed.

A squat warrior on a pale horse screamed out orders, but each Hun reacted to the attack in his own fashion. Now it was the nimble little ponies which came into their own, with riders born to the saddle orchestrating their movements. They spun, darted and twisted to stay clear of the charging Roman horses. A few went down, and more of their riders fell victim to the Ala Sabiniana’s swords. But not enough.

Marcus targeted the squat leader’s pony in a thundering charge. The impact alone would have broken the smaller horse’s back, but its rider twitched the reins and they jinked clear. Frustrated, Marcus took a passing swing at the Hun that should have spilled his guts, only to watch in disbelief as the warrior threw himself horizontal across the pony’s back and allowed the blade to pass harmlessly over his prone body. Before he could blink, the Hun was upright again and Marcus flailed wildly at the wickedly curved sword that hacked at his right flank. The blades met with a ringing clash and the Hun was past, only to pirouette to resume the attack. What in the name of Christ was this? Narrow eyes glittered above sharp cheekbones, a flat nose and a mouth that gaped wide in a gap-toothed grin.

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