They halted over the next rise, their horses abreast and facing the expansive landscape that opened before them. The meandering Liger continued to flank them to the west as it slowly turned northwestward, edging past the unruly ground which gradually smoothed out as it moved into plains burnt brown in the harsh sunlight. The temperatures had risen in the past weeks until it approached the uncomfortable and, forced to wear the scraps of armor they had stripped from dead pursuers – much of it too big or too tight, they agonized under the summer heat.
Remus wiped his forehead and looked around, feeling the brief sense of optimism he always felt with each new vantage of the lands ahead of them. And it inevitably turned to discouragement when it revealed more of the same, the broken lands of the Liger basin.
”Fire.”
Gillenus’ voice brought him back to the present, and he swept over the flattening terrain and looked eastward, where he caught the unmistakable wisp of smoke.
”Campfire then. If we’re gauging the direction right, Augustodunum will be off behind that hillside there.” His companion nodded, but said nothing.
Studying the down slope, Remus looked to the horizon and tried to…
”I think it’s my eyes. That glistening almost looks like the Sequana.”
”Impossible, it’s leagues off to the north, another day’s ride.”
Remus nodded, admitting the truth of it. They were close, but not yet, and he couldn’t let his hopes deceive him. Not when they were almost into Gallia. He squinted.
”That looks like a narrow dip across the plains there. I think we need to follow it towards the river source. Might help us keep out of sight.” Scattered copses of trees formed the sparse vegetation in this area, some of it sitting close to his intended destination, perhaps denoting ground water.
They began to ride carefully down the slopes, twisting back and forth across the soft grass, trying to reduce the grade as they slowly descended to the plains. Their horses were almost spent, he knew, with perhaps one good dash left in them. They had to save them until they absolutely needed it. This region was scarcely inhabited, a consequence of no government. The Burgundians surely drove out the Roman farmers, and their own people had yet to settle, leaving the land to decline. Each isolated farmhouse and occasional villa they encountered was ransacked. The isolation was in their favor as they tried to escape, though there wasn’t any civilization in which to blend in. It was a risk, and a necessary one.
”General!” Gillenus whispered harshly. Again he pointed towards the wisp of smoke, only now Remus caught something far more ominous. The sparkle was unmistakable.
”Spear point.”
”Vero. But Chilperic or Gundobad?”
Remus shook his head.
”Does it matter?”
”No, but general, they’re going to cut us off if they see us.”
His hands tightening on the reins, Remus gently kicked the flanks of his mount, who began to trot a little faster. Gillenus followed suit.
”The horses won’t make it,” he said.
”I know.” He gained speed and, almost at the same point as they spotted the Burgundian column in the distance, they broke into a gallop, Arenius’ mount trailing mounrfully, hampering their speed.
They had to reach the opening of that wooded dip before the patrol did. It was their only hope of cover. Gillenus having to pull along Arenius’ stubborn horse made things worse, but fortunately they had spotted their foe first, and the warriors were only just matching their speed. It would be close. Remus gritted his teeth and prayed, a rare invocation to aid him. His beliefs hardly ever carried into war itself, and his plea was brief and to the point. God would help or he wouldn’t.
The two dust clouds converged as each party broke out into the open, the burnt grass giving the horses good purchase. Almost there…
Now he could hear the distant cries of the enemy warriors. They smelled blood. So did he, but he had to get to the trees first. Dismount, secure Arenius in a safe spot, and then turned to fight. In the tight constraints of trees, horses were useless and he and Gillenus could improve the odds. Five? No, six warriors! They would have to get their first, and make the first kills quickly. Surely this was the end then.
It would be the height of loss, Remus thought amidst the pain in his thighs and the warm air fluttering past, to die forgotten in the desolate emptiness of barbarian Gaul. What a waste of destiny…
Cubits short of the first trees, he felt his horse’s right leg catch and the mount pitched forward, taking rider and baggage with it. Somehow, Remus tucked his shoulder just enough to roll as he hit the ground, his legs awkwardly flailing over him, propelling him away from the weight of horseflesh that surely would have broken him. With a grunt, his body skidded to a halt just in front of his horse, now on the verge of death. Without a thought for the mount, he struggled to his feet, hand on his sword. The barbarian weapon was crudely smithed and off-balance, and he longed for his
semispatha, lying forgotten in Gundomar’s lost camp no doubt.
Gillenus had reached the trees, his horse somehow using its last strength to save its rider. Remus began to race to the trees, and looked over his shoulder at the approaching warriors. The six were bearing down fast now, five of them bunching further behind the leader, who was coming straight for him. The leader then.
No time for it then, he told himself. He continued to run, taking occasional looks at the Burgundian captain. Almost there...the trees were tantalizingly close. But not enough. His foot stumbled and Remus hunched over. He could hear the thundering hooves…how far? His hand switched hilts.
The agonizing battle cry raged in his ears. Close enough then. His hand gripped his
pugio and he spun. The throw was off, but not by much. Slicing the warrior’s shoulder where it lay exposed near the neck, the leader grunted and struggled to hold himself on the horse. His charge thrown off, Remus raced to the trees, earning just enough respite..
True to his loyalty, Gillenus had quickly walked his and Arenius’ horse further back into the copse, where both collapses with exhaustion. Arenius was arranged as comfortably as possible, his head leaning on his own mount, oblivious to what was going on around them. Remus stood near the edge of the trees, keeping himself in sight. He couldn’t let the enemy think or even contemplate circling around. These were proud warriors, but would change their strategy if forced to.
Seeing the trees, the leader had stopped some distance away, his compatriots catching up. Milling around, they brandished swords and spears, stepping closer to where Remus awaited, grinning fiercely and with confidence.
Remus spat on the ground in front of him, a gesture of defiance, and drew his sword, walking a few paces back into the trees. Come on, you filthy
irrumator, he barked. An easy kill, that’s it, come into the trees. It’s just a soft Roman, nothing to fear.
With a cry, the warriors charged at him, oblivious to formation or strategy. It was ix against only one in sight. It would be over before the first swings.
Barreling into the woods, their wounded leader brashly taking the lead, they swept towards Remus, who raced behind a tree and pivoted. Coming around the far side, he caught one warrior racing past, unable to stop in time. His crude sword slashed against the man’s flank, and he went down, bruised or dead. More cries were heard towards the copse edge, where Gillenus charged out of cover, stabbing the rear warrior between the shoulder blades.
With the first kills made quickly, Remus began to gain confidence, even as he heard the bellowing of the angry leader behind him. He turned just in time to parry the
falxe blade, which cut a small chunk out his blade, but threw them both off-balance. Two more warriors raced to help their leader, leaving the remaining warrior against Gillenus.
Three on one, even in cover, was impossible in the long-term. Battlefield tactics were useless in such a brutal melee, and it was all Remus could do to keep his sword up, backing up as much as he could, using the trees, to slip between, sometimes just in time to avoid a hacking blow. The leader’s strength was immense, and the blow to his neck barely slowed him down. Indeed, it only seemed to anger him. Guttural curses raged out at him, as he backed from tree to tree. He could only grin fiercely, trying to appear calm and in control. But he knew the copse was finite, and he was running out of room. And he couldn’t let the warriors find the horses, or Arenius.
Fortune smiled on him, and he managed to slip past one warrior’s guard, and pierce his arm where the leather shirt ended. The man drew back, but Remus’ success was short-lived. With a horrible slicing pain, the leader’s
falxe cut into his right arm, only the extreme angle saving the limb, the blade cutting deep into his skin. Remus cried out in pain, giving immense satisfaction to his foe. He could scarcely hold the sword up, the leader mocking him as he swung his
falxe back and forth, trying to bludgeon the sword aside. Lacking the strength even to swing, Remus could only take the blows, wondering what was holding his arm up. A cry from ahead caught the other warrior’s attention, who turned to hold off Gillenus’ approach. Remus turned and tried to reverse back into the copse, away from its edge, but the leader was on him fiercely. Ducking one blow, the
falxe bit deep into a tree. Remus lunged desperately, gathering his strength for a finishing blow, but the man kicked him, sending him reeling back into another tree. The force of it made him drop the sword.
With a final curse, the leader yanked the blade out of the wood, glaring at Remus, his eyes like coals. It was over now. Even if he could pick up the sword, he wouldn’t have time. Gaul seemed such an ill-fitting place to die.
He raised his
falxe to strike, when a shadow caught Remus’ attention, coming off from the right, landing hard against the leader, something pressing into the Burgundian’s side, causing him to cry out.
Arenius! The poor man looked even worse than Remus, and he slumped against the warrior, his one burst of strength gone. With a cry, the leader cuffed him on the head with his left arm and pushed him away, his weapon sweeping down in one blow that seemed to last too long. Remus saw it hit Arenius’ chest, and he shouted with anger. With his own last strength, he picked up his sword and barreled forward, knowing too late that the leader would meet his blow, parry, and kill him.
Even as he raced ahead, and the
falxe knocked the sword clean out of his hands and he saw the malignant triumph in his foe’s eyes…which widened and then rolled upward. Both warrior and Remus slumped over and fell, one spent and the other…dead. Panting for breath, Gillenus stood over them, his sword buried deep into the Burgundian’s back.
Remus could barely keep his eyes open, grunting as the weight of the dead warrior pressed him into the earth. Gillenus, not seeming to notice, could only look at his companion, forlorn and wistful. Arenius was splayed helpless against a tree, cut open.
Even alive, Remus knew how hopeless it seemed. If another patrol caught them, they were done for. They were down to two, and Remus seriously wounded. Their mounts were spent, two surely gone. And they were still leagues from Gallia. Gillenus’ gaze seemed to confirm his fears. Finally collecting himself, he helped to pull the warrior off of Remus, and set about tending to his wound as best he could.
”I need to find water for us and to clean that wound. Otherwise the rot will set in. General, I’m afraid we’re stuck here for a time, until you get your strength back. I might be able to salvage Arenius’ horse but…” mentioning his friend’s name seemed to break him. Remus might have learned to count on them both, as comrades…but it was clear that Gillenus and Arenius had a deeper friendship than he could ever aspire to. He thought of Selenus, wondering where he might be, and wondering if he had anything approaching that with anyone. It didn’t matter, he told himself. Duty required sacrifice, and sentiment could only weaken one’s resolve. But what happened at the end if duty was no longer important?
He tried to move his good arm as Gillenus slowly dragged him away from the scene of melee, towards their mounts. They couldn’t stay near the dead horses either, if decay set in.
”I’ll be back, general. I promise.”” Remus only had the strength to nod, before falling into a restless sleep.
The images lashed at him. In glowing light, a man in light stepped towards him, his gaze unrevealing. Why do you forsake me? Even as the words were spoken, the man became…a woman? Her robes just as white, and she held arrows in her right hand. Forsake me, she finished the damning question. And she was gone. Now Remus was standing, his wounds vanished, a pair of open doors before him, glinting with precious design. Before him stood an array of…commanders, their red capes, gleaming cuirass, all with looks of…derision? One of the generals, with balding hair, held out his hand, thumb point downward. Some of the others followed suit. The doors began to close.
”I am worthy!” he shouted, suddenly emerging into the waking world, Gillenus’ hand shaking his soldier.
”General!”
Remus tried to focus, taking in Gillenus and…there were several men arrayed behind him.
”Who…” he tried to mouth.
Gillenus smiled.
”I ran into one of our own patrols a league to the north. The Sequana is close by. We’re almost in Gallia, general.”
He barely had the strength to smile.
One of the men stepped forward, an officer.
”We’ll get him on one of your spare mounts. The governor has had us searching this area since the winter. He said you and the Legatus Arenius would be returning soon.”
Gillenus nodded soberly.
”Arenius is lost, but we’ll take his body for proper burial. Treat the Magister gently. He has a terrible wound. I need to wash it out first.”
Remus’ mind began to clear.
”The governor? Is he at Soissons then?”
One of the men, with armor reminding him of his old
comite, shook his head.
”He advanced his army to Laudunum…to meet King Clovis. But we’ll take you to the capital. You can mend there.”
”No.” Remus’ eyes were clear.
”You will take me to Laudunum. Gillenus---“ he said firmly.
And his companion nodded, even as he began to apply a wet cloth to the gash. Remus grimaced in pain even as he was lifted on to a horse.
