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Hooves kicked against the earth in unison, and the short, staccato blare of trumpets roused the spirits of the riders.
The Roman riders wheeled around in a wide arc as they had been trained, and crashed mercilessly into the enemy infantry who were already fleeing with shattered morale. It was the rear guard that had stood to check the cavalry charge.
Ordinarily, the reserves should have been visible by now...
"Signal the 1st and 2nd Drungoi! Let the routing enemy go, and order them to fall in on our wings, now!"
"Aye! Domestikos Basilikinos!"
[Bam bam bba- bbarabbarambam- bbarabbarambam-]
The sound, somewhat frivolous yet arrestingly catchy, rippled out from the center like a wave, and the cavalrymen who had been driving into the enemy turned their heads once more to rally toward their commander.
It was a tactic they had mastered over long years of facing nomads.
The cavalry doctrine, now infused with the Roman character, held discipline firmly at its core within fluid movements.
"The 3rd Drungos will strike straight for the enemy's main body! Make haste! The Emperor waits!"
"Tagmata! We move! Skǫl! Follow the Domestikos!"
"Onward to His Majesty the Emperor! God is with us!"
"God is with us!"
[Bam- bambambam- bam- -]
In accordance with the signal to quicken the pace, the snorting of the horses—already heated from their first run—and the sound of their hooves behind Basilikinos, at the very forefront, settled into a steady rhythm.
[Dugu- duguk- dugu- dugu- dugu-]
The cavalry's advance, slowly converging into a fixed cadence. The smoothly melding sound of breathing between horse and rider.
It was a signal from the battlefield that no one who had never charged within a cavalry formation could ever feel.
'Had the enemy's defense leaned more heavily against Basil?'
At the head of the formation gradually picking up speed, Basilikinos, who was already crashing into the enemy without resistance after having crushed the rear guard, found a different thought in his mind.
'Or perhaps, they are deliberately stalling for time...'
He always wore a gentle smile, but he was not so soft as to be unaware of the chill that settled in the eyes that looked upon him. Though they had met in the worst possible form, as rebels, ambition tried to rear its head even within the heart of Basilikinos, who inwardly pitied Symbatios.
'Basil. If a peasant's son can rise to the seat of Co-emperor, then what is there that I cannot do?'
He did not know exactly what that sinister Co-emperor was plotting, but in any case, he had been the first to break through the enemy's rear, so what remained was simply reaping the glory of finishing off the rebels.
Just as the horses' breathing was slowly growing ragged and the thighs of the riders tightening their reins began to tense, the backs of the enemy appeared in the distance.
Positioned quite delectably.
'Hm? Something is strange.'
However, Basilikinos, who had early caught the eye of Emperor Mikhaíl and begun his life in the cavalry, could sense something a little odd about the enemy's formation.
'That is not the look of a force pressing an assault in a frenzy... rather, that looks more like...'
They were being pushed back?
Even excluding the small number of cavalry and infantry turned to the rear, the rebel infantry line, which far outnumbered the imperial infantry, was being pushed back?
How could that be possible?
"Domestikos! The enemy line is in sight! What are your orders?!"
There was only a moment to feel perplexed—a battlefield was, after all, a place where incomprehensible things happened. Having studied the enemy line once more, Basilikinos gave the order befitting a young commander.
"Charge! Raise lances! Sound the trumpets! Forward! Roma Invicta! Long live His Majesty the Emperor!"
"Roma Invicta!"
"God is with us!"
"Long live the Emperor!"
[Bbambbamba- bam-!]
Immediately, with Basilikinos at the fore—casting a light glance at the rebels desperately turning back to form a spear wall—the shock of a stupendously heavy and simple mass collided against the fragile bodies of men.
[Dugudugudugu-!]
"Raise lances! Raise lances!"
[Peong! Kwajik-! Kung!]
Men, trampled by horses and pierced by lances, died on the spot without so much as a scream. It was a law that sheer will alone could not stop a crashing wave.
Though many mounts fell in that single impact, the infantry line that had blocked their path was annihilated in formation.
Unluckily for them, a cavalry charge does not end with a single wave.
Behind the cavalry line that was discarding their lances and immediately wheeling away, the second line, which had kept charging without pause, collided fiercely.
[Kung-! Peopuk-! Kwang!]
Sounds that ought never issue from a human body burst out in succession, and the line, having endured just two charges, collapsed in an instant, turning their backs and beginning to flee.
Basilikinos, who had been the first to charge into the vanguard and thrust his lance between enemy shields, was already wheeling past the enemy line when, beyond it, he discovered a giant standing utterly still, looking as if his entire body was drenched in blood.
'What in the...'
Even among the Northmen, who stood a head taller than the Romans around them, this was a conspicuously striking warrior. The two eyes of that blood-drenched figure—dyed so crimson that his original color could not be recalled—rained down a terrible, unfeeling calm utterly out of place on a battlefield, scrutinizing their every movement.
'Helgi Konungr...'
It was astonishing. In the moment he beheld that northern Konungr, the presence of Basil, which had occupied a corner of his mind, vanished in an instant, and that space was filled entirely by a pair of deep green eyes. The eyes of a predator, hard to believe were human.
An excellent soldier, Basilikinos understood instinctually that he must not fight such a being.
*****
[Dugudugu-! Kung! Kwakwang!]
'Magnificent.'
The imperial infantry stood as a solid anvil, and the cavalry, having brilliantly outflanked the enemy's rear, struck hard against the enemy infantry who were fully occupied dealing with us.
It was a textbook hammer and anvil operation.
Of course, the primary reason that charge succeeded so brilliantly was first and foremost the Varangian assault that had overcome the enemy's terrain advantage and numbers...
But the shock power of that cavalry was truly shocking.
"By Hel, good Lord."
My commanders, seeing such a spectacle for the first time in their lives, stood with mouths agape, staring at the carnage before them.
The enemy's morale had already plummeted without end—once from our breakthrough, a second time from the cavalry charge—so there were no more enemies left to fight around us. And the sight of that massive heavy cavalry charging as one body was such that even we, standing at a slight distance, could feel its momentum.
Stórolf especially stood blankly, not even noticing the blood running into his mouth.
"By Hel. We are fortunate not to be standing before them."
Even Refil, always striving to maintain composure, had eyes grown wide, while Oleg and Djur seemed relatively less shaken.
Well, the warriors of the Rus lands must have faced cavalry often enough. Of course, they merely looked less shocked—it wasn't that they were not shocked at all.
'How would one even stop that?'
As the warriors who had been fiercely cutting down and holding back the enemy turned into awestruck tourists in an instant, my reason continued to operate without pause.
'Impact force comes from speed. Therefore, in mud and mire, they're worse than useless. Use much longer spears to block them, or simply refuse to fight them on open plains. And...'
Having seen it once, I must never fall victim to that tactic. Even as my sharp mind presented me with every possible countermeasure, the longing for cavalry had already lodged itself firmly within my chest.
'Change of plans. In addition to engineering knowledge, I must obtain some horses. And some harnesses too.'
I did not know if those horses could endure the climate of Scandinavia, but I would at least take harnesses. If I could somehow imitate that kind of impact force...!
"Konungr Helgi—! Konungr Helgi!"
As my desire grew steadily deeper, I heard a familiar voice approaching from behind our ranks, accompanied by the sound of hooves.
If it were anyone else, the Varangians would never have opened a path, but when a man in golden armor seated upon a golden saddle came riding up with his face alight with exultation, of course they had to make way at once. Was he not our employer?
"Helgi Konungr!"
Urging on his beloved steed, Boukephalos, Michael hastened to a stop before me and jumped down as if he might fall, then extended his arm toward me.
"Your Majesty. My arm is drenched in enemy blood."
"What in the world does that matter...!"
[Thump!]
Without the slightest hesitation, the Emperor clasped my Örn arm, from which drops of blood were still falling.
Looking up at me due to our difference in height, Michael seemed utterly unbothered as he beamed and cried out.
"None of the heroes I have ever heard of in all of history could have accomplished a deed equal to yours...! Helgi Konungr! Are you a messenger of God? You are truly a hero worthy of myth...!"
The Emperor's eyes, which in the Hippodrome had held something close to friendliness, now seemed to have reached the stage of pure admiration.
Feeling somewhat awkward, I turned my gaze away from the Emperor, who was fervently shaking my Örn arm, and looked around at our surroundings—and as if that had been a signal, the Romans and Norsemen encircling us erupted all at once in a triumphant roar.
"We have won—!"
"Helgi Styrkr! Helgi Styrkr!"
"God, protect Rome! Watch over the Emperor! Grant blessings upon the Konungr of the Rus!"
"Long live Rome! Long live the Emperor—!"
"Helgi Helason! Helgi Ragnarsson!"
A sound less like human voices crying out and more like the howling of a predator, gorged and sated with blood, filled the broad hill, and the Emperor raised my arm outright, shouting victory alongside his soldiers.
"Louder! Shout louder! Proud soldiers of Rome! We have won! Sing it out—we have won!"
Thus, the Battle of Adramytios drew to a close with the victory of the imperial army.
*****
The energy of victory brought forth strength where none had been, and the soldiers who had been shouting together for a long while soon had to move on to their next tasks: clearing the battlefield and establishing camp. Of course, the frontline units moved to the rear along with the Emperor for rest. The relatively fresh third-line personnel and supply units were mainly the ones deployed for the work, but still...
Moving the bodies of comrades and enemies alike. Checking their equipment, sorting the usable from the useless, recording everything. Recording the numbers of our own dead and wounded, and the enemy's losses as well.
'Right, that habit of recording. I must take that with me too... I'll have to have everything recorded. Would I need paper for that? Did Rome have papermaking technology?'
For now, the Roman military officers were diligently recording everything while carrying around what looked like wooden tablets. But instead of carving letters into the wood as we did, it seemed they had put something like wax inside the wooden frames so they could write and erase easily.
'That sort of thing is worth learning. Paper is expensive, after all.'
Thus I plundered another piece of knowledge.
"Helgi Konungr."
The Emperor had insisted and insisted, so I had come to the rear with him, but washing oneself properly was impossible even for the Emperor just then, so I had roughly taken a few coarse cloths and wiped down my body. Beside me, Basilikinos's voice reached my ears.
"Ah, Basilikinos. The hero of this victory has arrived."
The timing and force of the charge had truly been superb. How much coin did it take to train a cavalry commander like this?
As I unknowingly thought like the monarch of a nation, Basilikinos gave me a refreshing smile and spoke.
"To hear those words from a Konungr who has already performed deeds straight out of legend... I am a little embarrassed. Haha!"
"Legend, you say... it was hardly that."
"Is that so? Then the soldiers of Rome must have told me lies, but I find that hard to believe! Konungr. They say you leaped over a shield wall and split the man who aimed for the Emperor in two with a single blow? If that is not a legend, then what is?"
"I happen to be rather good at the long jump."
"That is hardly the point... Konungr."
Feeling the weight of Basilikinos's gaze, which looked at me with eyes similar to Michael's, I reached for one of the cups on the Emperor's lavish table and poured him some wine.
[Gurgle—]
"Here. I have never seen a cavalry commander such as you. Roman hero, please, accept my cup."
With a sly grin spreading across my face, I offered the cup. Basilikinos took it, drained it in one swallow, and returned it to me—this time pouring wine for me himself.
[Gurgle—]
"Among the common folk, many already call you Hercules, so why do you conceal yourself so?"
"Hercules. Hah, truly."
"Hahaha! I also heard a story that you sent a man flying with a kick. Is that true?!"
Like me, Basilikinos had not yet wiped all the blood from his armor, and finding his laughter warm and endearing, I drained the cup he had given me in one gulp.
Watching this, Basilikinos was about to say something more when he suddenly paused, and at that same moment, the soft sound of hooves drew near the Emperor's tent.
[Dagak— dagak— dagak— dagak—]
A man in another suit of golden armor, surrounded by white cloaks.
'Basil...'
With Basil, who had commanded the left wing, now returned, all the key players of this battle were now assembled.
Yet the look in Basilikinos's eyes as he watched Basil was curious.
Of course, it was none of my business.
I poured yet another cup of wine into the ornate golden goblet.
This cup was for Basil, who was striding in with an air of magnificent dignity.
[Gurgle—]
After all, for now, were we not still on the same side?