It was strange how the closer they approached the hillside, the less they could hear of the din of battle on the far side.
”Perhaps the fort blocks the noise?”
Remus, gritting through his teeth in the agony of trotting his horse, could merely grunt and nod. For him, the trip to Laudunum had little to do with noise and battle, rather torture. And he was merely thankfully that the journey was close to an end. Hearing the battle, however, only meant that their stay might not be as long as he had hoped.
Despite his wishes when found by the Gallic patrol, they had not rushed to Laudunum. Two days into the trip, his arm swelling to an ominous size, his hands had failed him and he had slipped off his mount, falling to the ground in screams, blisters on his limb bursting with searing force. That had settled the matter as far as Gillenus was concerned, and they had limped up the Sequana to Soissons, which was far closer and approachable by habitable terrain.
In the midst of his physical struggles, Remus could spare little sight for the Gallic capital, which, in the few glances he caught, was less impressive than he had envisioned. Perhaps putting all of his hopes into a place gave it qualities it simply did not possess. Or, his military mind thought before slipping back into its familiar fog, the absence of an army made it an empty settlement.
He had recuperated for two weeks, imploring Gillenus repeatedly to bring him to Laudunum. He had to reach Syagrius, he pleaded. He had to help the Gallic army. But his companion was having none of it, and neither was his arm, which was turning a dangerous shade of blue and black. Finally, in the last week in the month of Julius, a messenger galloped into the city, and they learned of King Clovis’ approach to Laudunum. Now at last, Remus could convincingly argue his case.
Binding his arm in a tight dressing that bordered on the inhuman, the small party, consisting of Gillenus, Remus, and a small escort, set out for Laudunum and what was surely to be an imminent battle for the gates of Gaul. One week later, struggling to stay on his mount and creeping up the hillside to the
Porta Decumana, Remus struggled between relief and regret that he had ever made the journey. If Clovis or Syagrius was to prevail in this contest, he would have been better served to have remained at Soissons, he decided painfully.
As the gates opened and they trotted into the
Via Praetoria, Laudunum, too, appeared empty, its civilian inhabitants having long ago fled to the southwest, and its military garrison fully committed to the struggle outside its gates, which they could hear in its full roar now. There was no way to tell who was winning the battle, as the guttural shouts from both sides seemed equally primal. Even the most disciplined troops, he knew, could bring forth an inner rage in the heat of the struggle. What was remarkable to him was how exposed the fort was. Save for a few gate sentries and
medicii, Laudunum was practically an open door. If the Franks had decided on sending a party to take the fort itself, what would stop them, Remus mused. It was the barbarians’ lack of imagination, he decided, grateful for the respite.
A
protector jogged forward from the crude
Praetorium and reached for his reins.
”We’ll get you settled, sir. A courier apprised us of your coming.”
But Remus jerked back his reins.
”Take me to the Gubernator. Now.” His eyes were flint and gave the soldier pause.
”Sir, he’s out in the field! The Franks are attacking again!”
Remus nodded, ignoring the sharp pain from his protesting arm.
”All the more reason to make my presence known to him.” He turned back to the soldier, and then moved his gaze to a nearby horse.
”You will take me to him. Now, soldier!” His voice of command caused even the Gallic officer to move obediently, a different army or no. At least the instinct for discipline still remained out here, he thought with a hint of approval.
With concealed trepidation, the officer lead them up to the
Porta Praetoria, where the din and cry of battle raged just beyond the walls.
”They attacked twice in the afternoon, hit both sides. Now the King is bringing all of his force to bear.”
Remus grunted.
”He should’ve done that from the start, among other things.”
They were mere
gradii from the gate, when suddenly the tall wooden doors slowly groaned open, and the immense roar swept into the fort, ahead of a smattering of infantry surrounding a small party of horse.
The
protector pointed.
”The Magister, there,” his hand making out one of the horsemen, a heavily mailed officer with blue tunic. Remus studied him, and noticed how he favored his right side. With a grimace, he kicked his horse, and trotted deliberately into the party, ignoring the men racing beside them. He knew the worst, knew that they were retreating. Officers struggled to regroup them before a rout broke out. The situation was desperate.
Both Magisters braced to a halt near one another, the retreating infantry racing past them, the cavalry equally ignorant. They studied one another only for a moment, each judging the other and seeing what he had hoped to see.
The officer nodded.
”Remus Macrinus.” His eyes instinctively flickered to Remus’ right arm.
He nodded in turn.
”Syagrius,” he said, glancing at the man’s left shoulder.
”You’re late, though now I know why,” he said, taking in Remus’ bound arm.
"The King’s last attack has broken through. These are my Gallic contingent pouring into the fort now. My center,” he pronounced, almost choking on the words.
”And the comitatensii?”
Syagrius glanced behind him and shook his head.
”They’ll stand, buy us time with their deaths. I’m already damned for not being out there with them.”
Remus was silent, understanding perfectly.
”There isn’t much time,” Syagrius said with a sudden clip. Experience was all he had to fall back on to now.
”The infantry will be able to regroup here, hold the fort.”
Trotting his horse so that he was right beside the man, Remus eased into the role of subordinate without even needing to be asked. This man was Roman, and in command. Nothing more needed to be said.
”The Franks are like any tribe, no victory without plunder. Clovis will want Laudunum before he marches on Soissons. You can use that, Gubernator,” Remus commented.
Syagrius nodded quietly. His oiled hair was coming undone, his face greasy with combat, and he was losing his air of control he projected as a general and leader of Gallia.
”No time to lose then. My army is lost, then.” He let out a long sigh, which brought much frustration out of him, visibly deflating the man in front of Remus’ eyes.
”Every soldier I take with me back to Soissons means the fort falls that much quicker.”
Gillenus galloped up to join them, looking fretfully at the open gate. The sounds of melee were fading and the battle cries of the approaching Frankish army began to echo up to them, adding to the stress of the moment.
”You’ll need someone strong in Laudunum, then,”, which helped to shake Syagrius from his thoughts. Both generals glanced at Gillenus who, if he was reluctant, hid it well.
He saluted.
”Clovis will break his teeth on these walls, sir.”
Syagrius smiled wanly, perhaps the first inkling of emotion he had shown since their meeting. Remus knew all too well the turmoil under that outer calm.
”How many troops do you have in Gallia?” he asked, thinking ahead.
Now the first tendrils of doubt crept on to the Gubernator’s face.
”Two thousand, less than what we lost here.” His voice grew soft, almost drowned by the chaos around them.
”Two thousand to hold Gallia.”
”It’ll work,” Remus said firmly. And after a moment, Syagrius nodded wearily.
”All that matters now is to get you to Soissons. We can plan there.”
Nothing more was said. Gillenus rode off the rally the men, while Syagrius and Remus trotted to the far side of the fort. Barely anyone paid them mind, most of the garrison now struggling to maintain cohesion, Gillenus’ charge now.
”No general should be seen riding away from battle,” Syagrius commented idly as they came to the western wall.
”You’re riding into a war, Gubernator,” Remus said, and they passed out of Laudunum, scarcely a
century of cavalry trailing after them. As they passed down the hill, the sounds of the Frankish victory faded gratefully.
