Calgaich the Swordsman (44 page)

The roar of the spectators died away as Calgaich and his nine barbarians marched into the sunlight.

“You barbarians haven't got a chance against our Roman legionnaires!" a drunken Roman shouted.

Ribald laughter rippled throughout the towering tiers. Then the spectators saw the steady marching unit led by Lutorius, those who wore the legion helmets and the
lorica,
a leathern coat strengthened by bands of metal across the breast, on the back and over the shoulders. They saw the big semicircular legion shields, the sheathed swords and the legion spears resting on their shoulders. Lutorius was the very model of a proud centurion.

Aemilius Valens had assumed the emperor's podium in Valentinian's absence. It was an area fenced off from the rest of the seats, and was composed of the first tiers of seats just behind the scrolled iron grating that fenced in the entire circumference of the arena. He stood to take the salute of Decrius Montanas as the ex-legionnaires marched to the area below the podium. The fours wheeled and turned to the right at the centurion's command to form a double rank standing stiffly at attention facing the podium. Decrius Montanas and his men gave the clashing salute of the legions to the procurator.

Valens narrowed his eyes as he looked beyond the legion unit toward Calgaich and his bare-headed, long-haired and mustachioed barbarians. His eyes widened as he saw Lutorius and his pseudo-legionnaires marching along behind the barbarians. Valens gripped the scrolled fencing. “What mockery is this?" he exclaimed angrily.

Calgaich pointed to the right with his spear. His barbarians wheeled into a single line facing the podium and came to a halt. Lutorius barked sharp commands with all the assured authority of a centurion of twenty years
⁵
service with the Eagles. His unit fours turned sharply to the right to form a double rank, which came to a halt to extend Calgaich
⁵
s line of barbarians.

Calgaich raised his eyes. The spectators were massed almost to the very top of the amphitheatre, which was backed by the seatless fourth story. The sunlight beat down through the oval center of the immense awnings of red, blue and yellow which were suspended from cables stretched from the rim of the fourth story of the structure. Thus the audience of more than fifty thousand spectators sat in parti-colored shades of red, blue and yellow, while the combatants fought in the indirect sunlight pouring through the opening in the center of the awnings. The heat within the vast elliptical bowl was almost overpowering from the blazing sun overhead and the body heat of the massed humanity sweltering within the amphitheatre.

Within the podium area were the guests of Aemilius Valens. These were the elite of Rome: the patricians and powerful politicians. Among them was Lucius Sextillius, and beside him sat Bronwyn. Her eyes were blank, staring. The Lady Antonia was there sitting between Mucius Claudius, her husband, and Ulpius Claudius. Morar sat in the front row, beside the seat vacated by Aemilius Valens. She looked down at Calgaich, but her lovely face was immobile, as though painted on ivory. A young dark-haired woman with a fan stood behind Morar. It was Cairenn. She looked directly at Calgaich over the golden head of her mistress. It was the first time he had seen her since the day he had marched toward Rome from Ostia.

The voice of Aemilius Valens had been drowned out by the sustained roaring of the blood-hungry crowd. They wanted to get on with the carnage. Valens
⁵
s mouth worked in his rage, but not a word could be heard from him.

Fomoire sat in the first tier of seats behind the podium. He smiled at Calgaich and pointed to his left toward a gray-haired man just beyond the fenced-in area of the podium. It was Rufus Arrius Niger. The howling of the mob died away as they realized something was not quite right about the scene before them.

“Why am I not answered! ” Aemilius Valens shouted.

Calgaich stepped forward and saluted the procurator with the great Spear of Evicatos. “What is it that you wish, Procurator?” he asked loudly in impeccable Latin. His voice carried far.

Valens extended a shaking hand to point at the unit of Lutorius. “Who are those men armed as legionnaires?”

The sudden intense hush in the vast bowl seemed unreal. Spectators stood up and leaned forward to get a better look at the strange spectacle on the floor of the arena.

“Answer me!” Valens screamed. He seemed mentally unstable in his great rage.

“Barbarians, Procurator.” Calgaich was perfectly straight-faced.

“He looks like hell burst his stinking brains from within his skull,” Niall murmured from just behind Calgaich.

“We can only hope,” Calgaich said out of the side of his mouth.

“They’d only replace him with another perfumed prick,” Girich put in.

“Those are not barbarians!” Valens shouted. “Those are legionnaires!”

“Look again, Procurator,” Calgaich invited. “Study their faces! Those are not Roman swine, but rather barbarians, dressed and armed in Roman fashion! ”

A woman laughed at Calgaich’s ready and insolent answer. A slight tittering arose from those people seated closest to the podium. The tittering died away suddenly when Aemilius Valens turned to glare at them.

Decrius Montanas stepped forward to look along the line of Calgaich’s men, from the ten barbarians to the forty men in Roman uniforms. His face flushed darkly when he recognized Lutorius.

“I’ll have those masqueraders whipped from the arena with red-hot irons!” Valens screamed. “You and your few barbarians can face the legionnaires alone!”

Calgaich shook his head. “You can’t, Procurator. Besides, isn’t it our deaths you so eagerly want?”

“Watch that tongue of yours, barbarian, or I’ll have it torn out by the roots!”

Calgaich shrugged. “Why bother? If you have your wish, Roman, my tongue will be stilled soon enough.”

Laughter spread again through the audience. It was louder this time and more widespread. The long-haired, proud barbarian showed no fear of Aemilius Valens, a man who could not stand to lose face.

“I'll have you cut down now, barbarian!”

Calgaich smiled. “Have you the courage, Roman, to come down here and try it for yourself, man to man?”

Laughter broke out like a gale of wind. It was almost deafening and very raucous, and it spread quickly throughout the huge elliptical bowl.

Valens closed his hands, white-knuckled, on the bars of the scrolled fence.

“You’re making a fool of yourself, Aemilius,” Lady Antonia murmured sweetly.

“Shut that painted whore’s mouth of yours!” Valens snarled back over a shoulder.

Calgaich leaned casually on his great spear. “It’s getting hotter by the minute down here on the sands, Roman. Let’s get on with the fighting. Isn’t that why you’ve all come here, Romans? If Valens wants to debate the issue with me, we can do it in your Senate.”

The laughter reverberated from side to side of the amphitheatre. The spectators slapped their thighs and threw back their heads to roar. This insolent barbarian had the procurator with his testicles in a nutcracker and he was giving them a squeeze.

Lutorius looked sideways at Calgaich. “You’ve got the audience with us. I don’t know how you did it, but you’d better quit while you’re ahead.”

“Where is Quintus Gaius?” Valens shouted. “I’ll have his head for this!”

“Well along the Ostian Road by now, riding for his life, with his beloved Paetina,” Calgaich murmured softly. He looked sideways at Lutorius and grinned.

“Fetch Gaius!” Valens snapped at an attendant.

Calgaich could feel the itching sweat running down his body and legs. A trickle of it ran from his temples and down the sides of his face.

“It’s like a Roman bath in here,” Niall complained.

The attendant came hurrying back to Valens. "Quintus Gaius cannot be found, Procurator.”

"On with the games!” many spectators shouted. A muted roaring came from the audience. They began to stamp their sandaled feet in rhythm.

Valens didn't want to give in. By the gods, he did not! He looked back over his shoulder and saw the sweating faces of thousands of the spectators. This was the true semi-controlled mob of Rome. They could be controlled only as long as they were satisfied with bread and circuses. They were not to be thwarted. More than one high official and several emperors had been tom from their lofty positions because of them.

"Get on with it!” Antonia hissed at Valens. "You fool! Do you want to have us all mobbed?”

Lucius Sextillius looked back at the angry mob. "She’s right, Valens,” he agreed hoarsely. "They’ll tear us to pieces!”

Pieces of half-eaten food and fruit arched out from high up in the stands and dropped on the podium. A ripe fig splattered against the procurator’s back.

Calgaich grinned crookedly. "Where’s your vaunted authority now, Roman?”

"Give the signal,” Morar implored.

Valens thrust out his right arm. The audience became suddenly still. The foot stamping died away. Valens reached inside his tunic, took out a white handkerchief and then waved it.

The crowd was instantly on its feet. "Ahhhhhhhhhh! …” the massed voices roared.

Decrius Montanas snapped out his commands. His unit wheeled into sets of fours and double-timed toward the center of the arena. Calgaich looked at Lutorius and nodded. Lutorius shouted his commands. His columns of fours marched after the command of Montanas. Calgaich raised his spear. As he turned to follow the lead of Lutorius his eyes caught the eyes of Rufus Arrius Niger. There was no expression on his seamed face.

Montanas and his command had reached the far side of the arena, on the long axis of the elliptical bowl. At the centurion’s orders the ex-legionnaires wheeled and turned to face their oncoming opponents in a double line of twenty-five each. Lutorius instantly halted his command about one quarter of the distance between it and the podium, or about two hundred feet from their opponents. He aligned his forty men into a double rank. Calgaich and his nine warriors halted behind the rear rank of Lutorius's unit.

“Forward!" Decrius Montanas commanded. The ex-legionnaires stepped out at the regulation marching pace of the legions, or about one hundred steps per minute.

“Forward!" Lutorius shouted.

The barbarians moved forward, opening their ranks to pass around Lutorius and then closing again when he was behind the rear rank and ahead of the warriors led by Calgaich, in the proper position of command.

There was little sound in the arena now, except for the shuffling of the many pairs of nailed sandals on the sands and the irregular and persistent clinking of metal against metal.

“Charge!" Lutorius suddenly bellowed.

Montanas was caught short. It was not customary for a legion unit to charge so soon, lest the men get out of breath before they closed with their opponents. He had forgotten that he was not dealing with Roman legionnaires, such as himself, but rather with the long-legged barbarians who had been trained from early boyhood to run like hunting hounds.

“Charge!" the centurion shouted.

The barbarians had the impetus with them now. They had reached the middle of the arena with Calgaich and his spearmen loping easily after them.

“First rank volley spears!" Lutorius called out.

The
pila
were launched on the run. They flashed through the sunlit air and struck with deadly precision into the shields of the ex-legionnaires. The long, soft metal shafts bent with the impact and the forward movement of the Romans. The wooden shafts twisted sideways to strike against the shields of other men or were forced under their feet so that many of them tripped and fell headlong on the sands. Here and there along the front rank some men went down with three inches of sharp iron stuck in their unprotected faces or right arms. Some of them fell backward and others forward, so that the second rank crashed into them, or over them, to break their steady stride and disorganize the rank. The whole unit wavered in panic from the sudden and unexpected volley of spears.

The barbarians closed in at a dead run. The front rank drew their swords at a command from Lutorius, while the second rank poised their
pila
and volleyed them toward the wavering lines of Romans. The shower of spears struck into the disorganized legionnaires, who were desperately trying to reform their ranks under the lashing of Montanas’s tongue and vine staff.

“Impetus gladiorum!”
Lutorius roared. It was the feared “Onset with swords.”

The second rank of barbarians whipped out their swords and followed closely after the first rank as they closed in on the wavering Romans.

“Ahhhhhhhh! . . . Ahhhhhhhh! . . . Ahhhhhhhh! . .
*
the excited crowd roared. They were on their feet now, eyes wide and fists clenched.

The Romans dropped their spears, drew their swords and fell back, fighting for every inch of sand. Bodies fell wounded or lifeless to one side or the other. Some were ground underfoot by the nailed sandals of the combatants. A tired or wounded man who went down was as good as dead. The blood-glistening sword blades flashed in the bright sunlight.

Lutorius ranged like a questing hound behind the ranks of his swordsmen. His eyes were ever on the red-plumed helmet of Montanas, who stood like a rock within the backward bent crescent of his fighting men. He was like a pillar of strength on the field. By sheer force of personality and courage he rallied his men so that a knot of them smashed into the ranks of the barbarian swordsmen. With the advantage of numbers and years of training, the Romans were able to break through Lutorius’s unit, while dealing fearful wounds and death on both sides. The rest of their comrades were heartened by the rally and drove back into the combat again.

Calgaich raised his spear.
“Abu! Abu!
To victory! To victory!” he shouted.

Calgaich's great spear spitted a Roman. Calgaich couched the shaft of the spear under his arm and swung the Roman to one side. As the Roman dropped to the bloody sand, one of his comrades stumbled over him and went down on one knee. Before he could regain his feet the blood-wet Spear of Evicatos sank up to the heron feathers in his throat.