War Prize (A Roman Britain story)

Chapter Twenty Seven

Bran was fighting to Kailen's left, the sheer power of his sword thrusts were cleaving men in two. His war cry rallied the Britons to his side and put fear in the hearts of the Romans.

To Kailen's right was Vaughan, his lithe fighting skills let him dance rings around their enemy and enrage them until they struck out clumsily, allowing Vaughan to take their life.

Around them, the rest of Kailen's warriors did the same, the desperation of protecting home and family driving them ever onwards, stepping over the dead to meet the challenge of the next lot. A Roman emerged from the seething mass, a bright slash of red plumage atop of his helmet marked him out as a Centurion. His Gladius cut down a British warrior in front of Kailen's eyes.

Kailen snarled, meeting the man with a slash of his own sword, sending the Centurion staggering back a step.

"Filthy British dog!" The Roman growled, charging at Kailen.

Kailen answered him with a dark laugh, striking out with his blade to the Centurion's midsection. The Centurion was forced to block quickly and Kailen, with a knife in the other hand, slashed at the Roman's throat. A fountain of blood spurted to the side and he fell to his knees gurgling.

"For Rome!" Came a cry from behind him.

Kailen turned quickly but it wasn't quick enough. He saw a Roman soldier swing his Gladius down in an arc and Kailen was powerless to bring his own sword up to deflect the blow that threatened to cut him from shoulder to hip.

Aurelia, he thought in that split second where time seemed to do the impossible by slowing down but unable to act.

But the blow never came.

Kailen was suddenly yanked away by a hand that was fisted in the back of his shirt, the collar inadvertently choking him. The sword missed him by a scant few inches, the swing sending the Gladius to bury itself in the churned earth at his feet.

 Caratacus appeared behind the struggling Roman soldier who was trying to pull it out of the mud and thrusted his blade into his back. The soldier didn't see it coming.

Kailen turned to see Bran still clutching his shirt in his white knuckled fist. He gave a weak smile. "I don't think 'thank you' is very adequate for what you have just done for me."

"Thank me by not getting yourself killed." Bran said gruffly. "What have i told you about being aware of your surroundings in battle?"

"Can we save the lessons until we are not completely surrounded by our enemies?" Kailen said archly as he stabbed out at a Roman who had the misfortune of coming too close.

"Consider this conversation on hold then." Bran said amiably as he took the head off of another soldier.

They were interrupted by one long burst of a war horn. The Romans suddenly disengaged from the fighting, the men's retreat covered by a hail of arrows from the Roman flanks to keep the British from picking them off.

"What is happening?" A young British warrior asked breathlessly as they watched the retreat.

"Now the real fighting starts." Bran said with unabashed glee.

"Real fighting? What have we been doing up until this point?" The young warrior demanded.

"Practise." Kailen put in. "The third and final rank of the Roman legion is the triarii, the men who live and breath Rome and its conquering."

What was left of the first two ranks merged into the third rank, swelling it to it's own army force. A second blast of the horn was the signal for the fighting to resume in earnest.