The Silver Eagle Read online

  They looked unassailable. Invincible. Romulus’ heart sank further, and even Brennus was dismayed; on either side of them, the legionaries looked downright terrified. The junior officers and Parthian centurions shuffled their feet uncertainly.

  By now, the use of elephants in the arena was reasonably commonplace. There they killed or maimed at will. Even if he had not seen it for himself, every Roman knew of the huge beasts’ capacity to tear apart men like firewood. The Nubian king Jugurtha had used them in his fight against Rome, and no one ever forgot King Pyrrhus or the Carthaginians, enemies who had used elephants against the legions with devastating effect. It had given them a place in legend. And while Roman allies had used the great beasts alongside legionaries for many years now, most men here had never trained or fought with them.

  Elephants were the ultimate battle weapon, able to smash aside almost any opposition – and the Indians knew it.

  Romulus could almost sense their confidence as he watched the laughing, chattering men opposite. They were happy to delay the battle until all their forces had arrived.

  Fearful muttering began in the Forgotten Legion’s ranks. Prayers and curses mingled in equal numbers. The whole pantheon of gods and goddesses were named: Jupiter, Mars and Minerva. Fortuna and Orcus. Neptune, Aesculapius and Mithras. Even Bacchus got a mention as every possible divine being was called upon. It made no difference. They were alone on the plain.

  The solid lines of legionaries began to waver back and forth like reeds in the wind.

  ‘We’re doomed,’ shouted one.

  His cry was infectious.

  ‘It’s Carrhae all over again!’

  Fear changed at once to panic.

  Romulus glanced at the terrified faces around him. Despite the cool air, they were sweating. If something was not done fast, the legionaries would flee. And if they did that, he knew exactly what would happen. The Indians would simply run riot. The plain truly would become another Carrhae.

  He could see that Brennus thought the same, but neither man knew what to say to their comrades.

  ‘Take courage,’ shouted a familiar voice.

  Heads turned in surprise.

  Pushing his way through the ranks, Tarquinius emerged to stand before the frightened soldiers. Pointedly turning his back on the enemy, he held up his hands for silence.

  A hush fell over the Forgotten Legion.

  ‘This is a long way from Italy,’ the haruspex began. ‘A whole world away.’

  Nervous laughter met his comment.

  ‘But that does not mean you should forget who you are. Look behind you,’ he urged. ‘At the silver eagle.’

  The legionaries obeyed.

  ‘It is watching your every move,’ Tarquinius announced loudly.

  Sensing the moment’s importance, the Rays of sunlight lit up the metal bird, and the golden thunderbolt in its talons glittered and flashed. No one could fail to be impressed by its imperious stare, thought Romulus, taking heart. Even elephants could not scare the eagle.aquilifer raised his wooden pole high.

  Their pride stirred, men looked to each other for reassurance.

  ‘You are Roman soldiers!’ Tarquinius cried. ‘Who do not run!’

  This raised a ragged cheer, but many remained unconvinced.

  ‘What can we do against those monsters?’ shouted a man near Romulus.

  ‘The fucking Parthians are no use,’ said another. ‘Their mounts will be terrified.’

  Uneasy murmurs met the comment. As many knew, the musty smell of elephants made horses panic. They had to be trained to accept the presence of such strange creatures.

  ‘We haven’t got any flaming pigs to set among them either,’ Aemilius quipped.

  There was a burst of laughter from those who got the joke. One of the more successful tactics employed against the Carthaginians’ elephants had been to coat swine in grease and pitch before setting them alight and driving the screaming creatures into the enemy’s midst.

  If only we had axes, thought Romulus. Another historical method used to disable the great beasts was to run underneath and hamstring them. But Tarquinius possessed the only such weapon in the Forgotten Legion.

  ‘We haven’t.’ Tarquinius smiled thinly. ‘But Alexander’s hoplites learned to defeat them long ago,’ he revealed. ‘Near this very spot.’

  Hope appeared in some faces. Despite all her previous glories, Greece was now under Rome’s control, its formerly invincible phalanxes no match for the legions. Surely they too could equal what a conquered people had done?

  ‘More recently than that,’ Tarquinius went on, ‘Roman legionaries learned to fight the elephants of Carthage and beat them. Without pigs.’

  ‘Tell us how,’ shouted Aemilius.

  Romulus and Brennus roared in agreement and a more determined air settled over the Roman soldiers.

  Tarquinius looked pleased. ‘Use the long spears,’ he said. ‘Keep them bunched together. Aim at the elephants’ sensitive spots: their trunks and eyes. They won’t advance if it’s too painful to do so.’

  The nearest legionaries nodded keenly.

  ‘And every man with pila,’ cried the haruspex, ‘yours is the most important job of all.’

  The ears of those at the rear pricked up.

  ‘The mahouts control these beasts. They sit on the shoulders, just behind the head, and wear little or no armour. All that protects them is the fan of leather in front,’ Tarquinius explained. ‘Kill them, and the elephants will turn and flee.’

  Determination began to replace some of the fear.

  ‘Then it’s just the rest we have to deal with,’ joked Aemilius. ‘No problem, eh?’

  It was the right thing to say. Men grinned at each other, taking strength from the knowledge that they had been through hell together before. They even laughed, slapping each other on the shoulders. They accepted that death was likely, but they would not run. That was what cowards did.

  High overhead, a raven croaked. It was a good omen, and everyone’s eyes lifted to the sky.

  Glancing up with the rest, Romulus watched the black bird swooping through the air from behind their position, controlling its flight with astonishing precision. Its head turned, taking in the legionaries arrayed beneath it. Bizarrely, Romulus had a real sense that it was assessing the battlefield. He could not shake off the feeling.

  Seeing him look, Tarquinius also lifted his gaze as the raven crossed into no-man’s-land. Even some of the Indian troops began to stare upwards.

  As it flew over the enemy lines, the bird croaked again, a raw, angry cry that pierced the air. It was if the Indians’ presence offended it in some way. Without further warning, the raven pulled in its wings and dived towards the lead elephant. Like a black stone, it hurtled downwards, aiming its powerful beak straight at the beast’s head.

  Brennus had seen too. ‘What’s it doing?’

  Awestruck by its suicidal bravery, Romulus did not answer.

  More and more legionaries began pointing and gesticulating.

  ‘The raven is helping us,’ cried Tarquinius. ‘It’s a sign from the gods!’

  Finally a cheer of approval left the men’s throats.

  Even Pacorus and his warriors were watching, agog. ‘Mithras is watching over us,’ a number of warriors shouted. ‘He has sent his Corax to help!’

  Delighted by this revelation, Romulus threw up a prayer to his new favourite deity.

  Gradually the mahout on the front elephant realised that something was up. When he saw the raven plummeting towards him, he cried out in fear. His shout was enough to unsettle the massive creature; it raised its trunk and blared an alarm. Its companions’ response was immediate. Loud bugles of distress echoed up and down the Indian line, and the mahouts struggled to control their mounts. The response of their infantry and cavalry was most pleasing: to a man they looked terrified.

  ‘See?’ shouted Tarquinius. ‘They’re frightened of their own beasts! If we can panic them, they will turn and run.’
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  Now a rousing cheer went up from the legionaries.

  When it was less than twenty paces above the elephant’s head, the raven suddenly pulled out of its dive and banked up into the sky again. Scores of Indian archers shot arrows at it, to no avail. Their shafts flew up in dense shoals and fell back to earth, wasted. Flapping strongly, the raven had soon climbed far out of range. Without further ado, it flew off to the west, its odd action a complete mystery.

  It’s heading towards Italy, thought Romulus sadly. For some reason, a powerful image of Fabiola struck home, and he took heart.

  He missed Tarquinius’ dark eyes upon him.

  The black bird left unsettled elephants, angry mahouts and a less confident Indian host in its wake. The lead beast was still most unhappy, and had barged backwards out of line. Screams carried through the air as some of the closely packed infantry were trampled to death.

  ‘If a raven can scare an elephant like that, imagine what a dozen spears in the face will do!’ Tarquinius raised a clenched fist. ‘The Forgotten Legion!’

  Proud of the name he had originally coined, Brennus echoed the cry.

  A passionate roar followed the haruspex’ words. Swelling as it rolled through the ranks, the legionaries’ response was fuelled as much by desperation as it was by bravery. As at Carrhae, there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. They had to stand and fight, or die.

  The men’s reasons did not matter, thought Romulus. As he knew from the arena, courage was a mixture of many emotions. What mattered was the belief that there was a chance of survival, however slim. He gripped his spear shaft tightly and held on to the tiny spark of hope in his own heart, gathering himself for the titanic struggle. Mithras, watch over us, he thought.

  The Indian leader did not delay his attack any further. There was no reason to. The raven’s odd behaviour had already handed a small advantage to his enemies. The sooner they were crushed, the better. His first mistake was to send in the battle chariots.

  Their wheels creaking loudly, they rolled towards the Roman lines at the speed of a man walking fast. Hundreds of infantry accompanied them, filling the spaces between to form a great wall of men and weapons. Musicians played drums, cymbals and bells, and the soldiers chanted as they came on. The noise was incredible. Used to smashing apart enemy formations with this initial charge, the Indians were full of confidence.

  Then the chariots reached the covered water channels.

  Which had turned the earth into a mud bath.

  Simultaneously, all the lead chariots’ solid wheels sank deep into the morass. Cumbersome, hard to manoeuvre and immensely heavy, the battle platforms were not made to travel on anything other than flat, firm ground. The frustrated charioteers whipped on their horses. Valiantly obeying, the steeds pulled a few steps further. Now the chariots sank to the axles, and the attack stalled before it had even come near the waiting legionaries.

  Pacorus’ response was instantaneous. ‘Loose!’ he roared at the soldiers manning the ballistae that covered their front.

  The grizzled optio in charge had been waiting for this moment, and had already marked the Indians’ distance from his position. It was less than two hundred paces, a good killing range. He barked an order and the six powerful machines twanged as one, hurling pieces of stone bigger than a man’s head in a graceful arc over the Roman lines.

  Romulus watched in awe. He had not seen ballistae used much since before Carrhae. The pitched battles fought by the Forgotten Legion were never large enough to require them. Today though, every shot counted. What mattered was causing maximum enemy casualties. Through this was their only chance of victory.

  The volley was a good start.

  The optio’s range marking was precise. The sixth stone merely smashed the front wheel of a chariot, immobilising it, but the rest found human targets. Men’s heads were cleanly ripped off, chests smashed in, limbs pulverised. The horrified companions of those hit were covered in a red mist of blood from spraying carotids. Their energy still unspent, the boulders went on to tear holes in the chariots’ sides or injure more soldiers before they fell to the ground, throwing up great splashes of mud and water.

  The stunned Indians had barely time to react before the ballistae fired again. Yet more chariots were torn asunder, their crews killed or maimed. With his next barrage, the optio had his men load smaller stones and aim at the infantry. It was like watching heavy rain knock down a field of ripe wheat, thought Romulus. Gaping holes opened up in the Indian ranks as the projectiles landed, taking out far greater numbers than the previous volleys. It was a complete slaughter.

  ‘Stop them with the mud, then massacre the poor bastards,’ said Brennus, grimacing. ‘Very efficient. Very Roman.’

  ‘They’d do the same to us,’ retorted Romulus.

  ‘True,’ replied the Gaul. ‘And there’ll be plenty left.’

  Keen to conserve the catapults’ rapidly dwindling store of ammunition, Pacorus signalled the optio to cease firing. Their volleys had pulverised the Indian attack. Already the enemy infantry were fleeing in blind panic towards their own lines.

  The bucinae signalled that the First and Third Cohorts should advance at once. Leaving their heavy spears behind, they trotted forward, their caligae squelching through the mud. Romulus gritted his teeth. Their purpose was to kill the survivors.

  The gruesome task did not take long. It was a necessary evil, reducing enemy numbers and badly affecting their watching comrades’ morale. Fearful and in disarray, the main Indian force looked on as the unfortunates left behind were dispatched by the legionaries. Soon the only living figures in the muddy area were those of Roman soldiers. Indian infantry lay scattered in piles while other bodies festooned the stationary battle platforms, hanging half-in, half-out as if still trying to escape.

  The signal to withdraw rang out.

  Concerned about the dozens of horses tethered by their traces and struggling in the mud before the immobilised chariots, Romulus was busy chopping through as many leather straps as he could. It was also a way to avoid killing injured, helpless enemy soldiers. He had set free a number of teams when Brennus grabbed him.

  ‘Come on!’ urged the Gaul. ‘You can’t help them all.’

  Romulus glanced at their comrades, already halfway back to their own lines. On the other side, the enraged Indian leader had signalled his mahouts to move forward. With ponderous steps, the now calm elephants began to 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.

  Romu
lus 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.