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Chapter 52

A military camp is a marvel of order and efficiency. Leather tents run in rigid straight lines with paths wide enough between opposite rows for wagons and horses to move through quickly; each sleeping tent shelters four to six soldiers, and there are kitchen tents at either end of the camp. Commanders’ tents are clustered in the center to be among their men the better to direct them; weapons are neatly stacked at intervals along the central path so that they are ready to hand, the same with vats of water. Long picket lines of horses run along behind this array so the mounts are never far from their riders. In every detail, the camp is designed to best serve the purposes of warriors and of war.

Compared to the military camp, that of the followers was more akin to chaos—at least such was our sprawling huddle of tents and make-shift dwellings. Be that as it may, we had our purpose, too: caring for those who fought and who, inevitably, would be wounded.

Gossip coursing through the civilian camp had it that Riothamus intended to crush the Saecsen war host utterly—not only halting the current incursion, but dealing a blow of such dispiriting devastation that barbarian aggression would be curtailed for years to come.

The Flavia Gallicana cohorts occupied the spine of a low ridge with light wood and meadowland sloping away below it. Our camp lay a short distance behind that of the soldiers—far enough away not to hinder, but close enough to be of help when needed. Other legions—at least three others it was said—occupied similar encampments spread out along the ridge top. A prime position, some called it. Here, our Dux Bellorum displayed a portion of the skill that made him such a successful commander. He had not only chosen the battlefield, but had taken and secured the high ground before the enemy had even been engaged—in a stroke giving his troops a considerable advantage. It was a clever tactic, yes, but not without its limitations—as Uther explained when he and Aurelius came down to see me in the little tent Vitus had provided for Tatiana and me.

“The barbarians can always choose to ignore the us and continue raiding somewhere else,” he said, and added that had been known to happen. “Usually, they’d rather fight.”

That made no sense to me. “Why?” I wondered.

He shrugged. “Who knows? It’s their way.”

“Maybe their craving for blood and the chance to defeat the defenders overcomes all reason,” Aurelius offered.

Uther gave a little laugh. “Ha! They have little enough of that for a start!”

“Victory in battle gives them renown and high status among their tribes,” Aurelius continued. “To the Saecsen kind, the will to power is all but irresistible.”

“So, the dux will get the battle he foresees,” I concluded. The dread I had held off for the last few days washed over me anew. In travelling to and establishing our camp, I had been able to occupy my thoughts with other things. Now, on the eve of battle, fear reasserted itself in force.

“When the battle starts,” I said, “where will you be?” I looked to Uther for an answer.

“With Vitus,” he replied.

Aurelius explained, “Vitus is commanding a cohort and we are in it. So, wherever Vitus is, we will be.” He forced a thin smile meant to reassure me. “So, you see? Nothing to worry about.”

Well, I did worry and nothing he or anyone else could say would lessen that burden. I did not tell them this; instead, I made them promise to look after one another, not to take unnecessary risks, to obey Vitus in everything. We talked a little more and then they had to go. I embraced them both and pledged to hold them close to my heart and my heart close to the Good Lord in prayer for their safe returned.

I followed them out to the edge of the camp and then stood watching as they hurried away in the shadowed moonlight. I watched and wondered . . . would I see them alive this time tomorrow?

Tatiana found me there, wearing a path between our tent and the next, as I murmured my prayers for the safety of my sons. She told me she had prepared a little bone broth and bread, and bade me to come in and eat. I assured her I would when I had finished my prayers. I thought she would be back inside, but she stood and waited with me, adding her prayers to mine. After I had prayed all I could think to pray, we went back into the little tent and sat together in the dim light of a single candle to sip our broth and eat our bread before curling up in our cloaks and sheepskin mats.

Though I closed my eyes, I knew I would not sleep.

Twice during the night, I stirred and, wrapped in my cloak, went out to gaze at the hilltop where, just below the crest, the soldiers lay in camp. All was quiet, all calm. Only the winking of sentry fires could be seen here and there along the ridge, marking position of other legions’ encampments.

My second visit was just before dawn. The sun had not risen, but the sky in the east was pale with the promise of a cloudless sky—light enough to make out the path leading up to the camp above. There were others up and about by then, and we all stood at the edge of the camp and gazed up at the hilltop. “I think some activity up there,” one of the young wives said. I saw nothing and was about to say as much when into the early morning quiet a distant trumpet blast signaled the commencement of combat.

Jolted from our survey of the ridge, those of us gathered there looked at one another and, as if some decision had been made, we all charged off at once. Before I knew it, my feet were moving up the hill. I heard a noise behind me and glanced back to see Tatiana following me. I paused and waited for her to catch up. “I want to see—need to see how the battle fares,” I told her. “You should stay here where it’s safe and help prepare for the wounded.”

“Where you go, I go,” she replied. She fell into step beside me and we scrambled up the slope to the legion’s camp with the others. Through it we ran, passing empty tents and picket lines, to the crest of the hill.

What I saw when I looked down brought me to my knees.

“God in heaven!” I gasped, pressing my hand to my mouth.

Dei Maria!” echoed Tatiana, crossing herself as she sank down beside me.

The early morning mist rising from the valley and feeble light lent everything a strange, ghostly quality. The battle was already joined and a snaking double line of legionaries was advancing down the slope, shoulder to shoulder behind their shields and lowered spears and into a writhing, churning mass of Saecsens.

Though the fighting had only begun, already the slope behind the advancing legionaries was strewn with bodies of dead and wounded—both men and horses, barbarian and Briton sprawled side by side. Here and there, a body quivered, or limbs flailed as life ebbed away. Horses screamed, thrashing out their death throes, trying vainly to rise; riderless horses whinnied and trotted away from the carnage, or stood with heads low in silent suffering.

Out on the plain below the hill, we could see the Saecsen camp as a dark smudge in the indistinct light and—God help us! Was it possible?—another dark mass of enemy warriors rushing up to join the howling barbarians hurling themselves at the shield wall. Amidst this surging swarm I searched for our mounted troops. The cavalry—where were they? Where were my boys? I could not see them. In the faint light of a beclouded morning I could see nothing clearly—only a heaving hellscape of shadowy shapes in desperate, tumultuous motion.

As if that was not terrible enough, rising up the hill and up to heaven thundered an unholy cacophony: steel on steel, and clatter and crash of battle axe and sword, the bellows of commanders, shouts of soldiers, cries of men and horses. The sound swirled around and merged into a roar—harsh, dissonant, and unnatural—and underpinning it all, the dull, throbbing thunder of war drums.

It was all too terrible to hear and to behold. I closed my eyes and turned away. Reaching out, I caught Tatiana by the sleeve. “Come away,” I told her. “There is nothing we can do here. We will be needed soon enough to help the wounded.”

Tatiana and I retreated. Arm in arm, we fled back down the hill to the followers’ camp. Many others, awake now and milling about, came running to learn what we had seen. I had not the heart to tell them how our brave soldiers were so woefully outnumbered, or that already the field was strewn with bodies of the fallen. Instead, I told them only that the battle was well begun. Then Tatiana and I went to help ready the camp to offer whatever aid would be required. There would be soldiers—wounded, hungry, in many kinds of distress—to comfort before long.

With some of the other women, I helped build up a fire, adding fresh wood to the coals of the night before until we had a goodly blaze going. Meanwhile, Tatiana fetched an iron pot, filled it with water and set it on the flames to boil. This work occupied our idle hands and took our minds away from the horror beyond the hill. We gathered a few things to add to the pot, and made up loaves of camp bread to bake on a slate amongst the coals.

I was chopping up a beet when the first cry went up—a single scream. Cut short. Then more screams—and suddenly there were horses coursing through the camp and riders with long beards and braids.

“Saecsens!” cried one of the women. “Run!”



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Framed