Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [309]
He strode out of the sanctuary, back upright, shoulders squared.
I trailed behind him, a lowly foot-soldier once more, clad in motley attire.
Beneath the shadow of Jupiter's mighty effigy, Captain Arturo saluted, his weary face surprised and hopeful. "My lord?"
Lucius gave him a curt nod. "Report."
"They're coming."
* * *
Chapter Sixty-Two
It was raining again.
A light rain, little more than a steady drizzle. We held our position, periodically twitching our cloaks to shed the rain. Barbarus was the 22rd squadron. We were posted on the right side of the aqueduct. On the left side was the 21st, and behind us were the 23rd and 24th, which were called Stone and Anchor. All of the best or most foolhardy soldiers were in the latter two. Either trait would serve.
Before us was the 20th, called Senecus owing to the age of their commander, a grizzled oldster with fierce eyes and narrow jaws like a pike eel. A good fighter, his men said.
I hoped so.
We were in a narrow formation, each squadron split into two lines of twenty men. Eamonn stood directly in front of me, blotting out most of my view; in front of him, there was a sea of cloaks belonging to the other squadrons of the Red Scourge. We were backed up all the way to the residential district.
Gallus Tadius rode back and forth along our ranks.
Not Gallus; Lucius.
Even I, who knew, had to remind myself. He did a beautiful job of it. The set of his shoulders, the straight line of his back, the defiant angle of his chin—it was pure Gallus. I suppose he'd had time to learn it. Bone-weary though I knew he was, it didn't show. When he called out mocking assessments of the enemy's fears and ordered us to hold firm, even I drew heart from it.
"Is he… ?" Eamonn had asked when I slipped back into the basilica.
"He'll do," was all I said.
We couldn't see what was happening beyond the breach, but word filtered down from the sentries atop the wall and passed through the ranks. Valpetra's men were massed and waiting. During the night, they'd managed to ford the river. In the grey light of dawn, they'd slogged across the burned, half-flooded fields. The cavalry, a mere hundred and fifty men, had fallen back to take a position at the rear. Almost two thousand infantry stood just out of bowshot, awaiting orders.
And we awaited them, a thousand strong.
I tried to clear my mind.
I tried to imagine I was Joscelin. What must he have felt in such moments? A clarity of purpose, the essence of his oath and long training, purified and distilled. But I wasn't him. There was no charge to protect, no oath to obey, no act of solitary heroism pending. I was only a soldier, a single cog on a mighty wheel, a single brick in a vast wall.
Imriel.
A soldier.
Beyond the wall, Valpetran horns sounded a charge. Atop the wall, Lucca's horns echoed a warning, caught up and repeated throughout the city, atop a dozen rooftops. We all braced ourselves, bucklers on arms, the butts of our spears planted. I was on the inner edge beside the aqueduct on my left, the water flowing high but contained. I spared a glance to my right, where Matius gave me a nervous grin. Not a good man to have beside me.
"Here they come!" Lucius shouted. "Hold, lads!"
They came.
They came hard and fast, charging the gap. They came in waves, the first wave ducking low and running, bent double beneath their raised shields. Our sentries' crossbows twanged, bolts flying, thudding into wood and flesh. The second wave of Valpetra's infantry followed hard on the heels of the first, hurling javelins. Atop the wall, men staggered and fell, pierced through.
"Cutpurse, Horsethief, hold." Lucius roared. "Everyone, hold."
The sound of that first clash was like nothing on earth. A screech of metal on metal, the crash of shields, battle-cries and howls of pain. We felt it, all of us. All the way through the ranks, we felt the impact, as Valpetra's first wave struck our vanguard. It rocked us on our heels, setting us to scrambling, until we got our feet beneath us and leaned forward, shields pressing.