The One Who Gazes at the Stars (2)
“The Empire’s centurion Leo fulfills his duty and dies! Brothers! I go first to Valhalla!”
The centurion wearing a rooster-plumed helmet bellowed those words, then hurled his sword at the barbarian in front of me with his last ounce of strength. The barbarian struck by his blade spewed blood and collapsed, but the now weaponless centurion was felled by the swords of the surrounding barbarians.
Thanks to soldiers like him who met their end so bravely, the legion held the walls for ten more minutes, digging in their nails. But their struggle ended there. The front lines of the Briton legion—who had trusted me and staked their lives on the fight—finally crumbled completely.
Barbarians poured through the broken lines. The soldiers, who had barely held on while being pushed back, screamed.
In the chaos of blades flying from front, back, and sides, experience and skill meant nothing. Veteran Briton soldiers from countless battles spilled their blood and fell.
“Dry up the Empire bastards’ seed!”
One barbarian raised his weapon and roared.
The number of barbarians scaling the walls had already surpassed a thousand. They shoved their comrades aside, eager to charge at the cornered Empire soldiers.
Drunk on blood, sweat, and the heat of battle, they now saw only what was right in front of them. No matter how skilled their commanders, controlling the troops would be impossible now. The moment had come.
I watched the barbarians swinging their swords in the thrill of victory, then issued the retreat order.
“Fall back!”
The officers heard my command and shouted it swiftly.
The soldiers pulled away from the walls as if they’d been waiting for those words alone. Dozens more fell to the barbarians’ blades in the process.
A few soldiers at the narrow stairs held their shields to buy time for their comrades to escape, only to be cut down by barbarian axes. Even as their arms and legs were severed, they struggled to hold their ground.
My bodyguard Gorgo, who had fought so fiercely, was now surrounded by barbarians. Our eyes met for a moment. With a look, he bid me farewell and turned toward the barbarians.
Gorgo let out a hearty laugh at the barbarians and swung his weapon.
“The slave gladiator Gorgo dies a free man today!”
Gorgo.
I bit my lip.
The piles of corpses stacked on the walls caught my eye. I hadn’t thought luring the enemy into a trap would be simple, but the sacrifices were far too great.
I descended the walls with the soldiers and ran deeper into the city. The barbarians, riding their momentum, chased us closely. Thousands of enemies flooded into the city in disorder.
“Londinium is ours!”
“Kill them all and take everything!”
The barbarians roared as they stabbed the backs of straggling soldiers. Over four hundred were already dead.
To anyone watching, the battle favored the barbarians absolutely.
But.
As I ran, I caught a faint whiff of animal oil at the tip of my nose.
We had buried dry straw and timber just two centimeters underground inside the walls, then doused it with animal and fish oil.
This was my prepared ace in the hole.
When we reached the reserves formed up behind the main avenue, the soldiers parted left and right to let us through. The survivors, panting, handed off to their comrades.
As the barbarians swarmed toward the reserves, I bellowed.
“Archers!”
The officer commanding the archers raised his hand at my call.
“Ready to fire!”
The soldiers grabbed arrows they’d pre-placed on the ground and nocked them.
Decurions passed in front, lighting the arrowheads. Cloth soaked in fish oil was wrapped around the tips.
By then, the barbarians had reached the reserves. Shields clashed against barbarians, pushing our soldiers back a few steps.
Whoosh.
As the flames blazed at the arrow tips, the officer looked to me.
I nodded, and he dropped his hand.
“Fire!”
Whistle.
The fire arrows arced into the sky, and the charging barbarians glanced up momentarily.
They hurriedly raised shields to block, but the arrows weren’t aimed at them from the start.
Thud.
The instant the arrows hit the ground, flames surged and spread around them. Fires erupted everywhere, and the barbarians screamed. Terror now flickered in the eyes of enemies who moments ago had been drunk on victory.
“Fire!”
“F-Fire attack!”
The barbarians panicked, at a loss. Some fled the flames; others stamped helplessly, trapped by the encircling blaze.
The barbarian horde that had nearly pushed the Empire army to destruction was now fighting for its own survival.
“Don’t panic!”
“Break the enemies in front, and we live! Attack!”
Barbarian commanders bellowed, but their units had been tangled since breaching the walls. Even if lines held, orders barely got through; now hopelessly jumbled, they stood no chance.
Even those clustered at our shields hesitated and fell back at the sight of the carnage behind. The tide had turned.
“Legion! Attack!”
I squeezed out my last strength and roared.
At my order, the reserves charged the enemy as one.
Soldiers who had ground their teeth watching comrades die swung mercilessly. They bashed with shields, stabbed bellies with swords. Wounded foes collapsing were trampled under military boots without mercy. Trapped between flames and legion, the enemy could only take the blades.
“Aaaagh!”
“There is no tomorrow for the Empire’s foes! Cut their throats and offer them to our fallen brothers!”
Under our venomous assault, the barbarians kept falling back. The fire itself was weak and dying fast, but smoke blinded them. In that short time, we took nearly six thousand barbarian heads.
“Retreat!”
“There’s a way back at the walls!”
Some barbarian commanders tried organized retreat, but fire and smoke made it futile. We herded them toward the walls.
The surviving barbarians, dodging our furious attacks, clustered toward the stairs.
“Fire!”
Archers following the retreat rained arrows on the jammed barbarians. They slipped repeatedly on blood-slick stairs of corpses, desperately scrambling up.
Three thousand more died in the process.
I kept the archers firing while sending troops back up the walls.
Late-arriving barbarians over the walls fled in horror at their comrades’ slaughter.
Chasing them, I said to Fabius.
“Fabius!”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Open the gates. I’ll send the cavalry.”
“Understood.”
Soon, the heavy drawbridge lowered with a rumble of pulleys. The city entrance, which barbarians might have opened given more time, was now in our hands.
As the gates opened, I stood before the cavalry.
In my hand was the black eagle standard of the Praetorian Guard.
“The Empire’s glory rests on your blades. Go! Show the Empire’s enemies how ferocious its wrathful eagles are. Give the barbarians the Empire’s punishment!”
“Cavalry, charge!”
The cavalry officer drew his sword and shouted.
The roughly five hundred Briton legion cavalry thundered through the gates in a heartbeat.
While infantry struck barbarians on the walls, the cavalry surged like an angry wave toward those beyond.
“I-Imperial cavalry!”
Before the barbarians could react, our cavalry slashed their flanks below the walls. Disorganized and fleeing, they were simply trampled under hooves.
The cavalry crushed hundreds, shattered their lines, then turned blades toward the enemy’s main camp.
“This battle is over.”
As I walked slowly to the gates with the eagle standard, I saw the cavalry’s wedge formation. The barbarians couldn’t even dream of countering that power.
Seized by chaos and fear, they scattered at the cavalry’s approach.
When the cavalry reached the tent symbolizing the barbarian king, even the stubborn holdouts lost heart.
The cavalry officer yanked down the barbarian king’s banner, cast it to the dirt, and raised the Empire’s standard.
“Imperator Ain forever! The Empire triumphs!”
Soldiers on the walls cheered at the sight, morale soaring. Realizing even their king and rear guard were crushed, the barbarians lost all will to fight.
They clambered down ladders and poles in panic, tumbling off the walls. Some were pushed by comrades. Our soldiers shoved mercilessly, sending them plummeting.
Countless barbarians fell like bloody petals, staining the ground red.
I planted the eagle standard in the earth at the sight.
Today too, the legion’s sacrifices brought victory to the Empire. Respect to the soldiers who fell for it.
I bowed my head, grief over the soldiers’ sacrifices for my orders outweighing the joy of victory.
The barbarians were stunned by the unforeseen rout. To them—who thought they fought with full view inside the city—my siege ploy delivered unimaginable shock.
The few surviving barbarians and those at the sea hastily rallied and retreated twenty kilometers from Londinium.
So terrified, they fled without even burning the ships they’d brought to threaten us.
I gave a wry smile at the abandoned ships.
Fabius said,
“The tide has turned. No need for civilians to evacuate; the Briton legion alone can handle them now.”
Fabius spoke no exaggeration.
Numerically, the enemy still outnumbered us four-to-one. But they were crushed, morale broken. Unforeseen defeat would surely breed internal strife.
We, meanwhile, had won an impossible fight; morale pierced the heavens. The troops trusted me, and the city siege was lifted.
Still, no room for complacency.
The barbarians’ tricks and schemes surpassed ordinary foes. What if they feigned total collapse? Luring the Briton legion into open battle for annihilation would be dangerous.
Was there even need?
Crushing them quickly would be ideal, but no need to risk defeat. Wait for the Atillca legion, then strike—plenty sufficient.
I clasped hands behind my back.
“Of course. But no need to strike alone. Reinforcements arrive soon; no reason for risks.”
“As Your Excellency says.”
“As for the ships they left...”
“Yes.”
“Sell them to Londinium’s citizens.”
“What of the proceeds?”
Not personal spoils from soldiers, such items usually became imperial property. Corrupt commanders pocketed them. Not me, of course.
“Divide among the troops.”
As expected, Fabius smiled. The Briton legionaries earned the reward.
“And Your Excellency’s share?”
“Put mine in the imperial treasury.”
“Yes.”
I worried for the Empire’s treasury strained by this war. A mere general needn’t fret, but I bore responsibility for the Empire’s future.
“Speaking of, the weather’s turning.”
I clicked my tongue at the rain clouds gathering from the west.
“Signs of a storm, no?”
“A storm.”
Hoping for no trouble, I moved on.
(To be continued)