17 July 609
~06:00
“Magister!”
Iustinianus’ eyes flicked open. The sky was tinted with the light purple of pre-dawn and a few stars were still visible. He blinked. Something seemed wrong. Then it hit him. He could see the stars. No tent. They hadn’t brought tents on the expedition.
“Magister!”
His head snapped up. One of the miles—his thought his name was Lucius—was running up the side of the hill towards him. He scrambled to his feet, snatching his sword from the side of his bedroll.
“Yes, Miles?”
Lucius stopped a few feet before him, panting. “Delius…he’s back…Goths…at Malaca…and…they…wait, stop!”
He took off past Lucius, sprinting down the hill. The makeshift pen that the horses were tied up in, constructed from a few villa doors dragged across the mouth of a small depression, was open with the doors thrown aside and the rest of the Romans crowded around its mouth. He slowed as he came up on them, pushing aside the four others as they shot him worried looks.
Delius was slumped against the ground, two arrows protruding from his arm and back. His head hung limply over his other shoulder and he was faintly mumbling something that Iustinianus couldn’t make out. He stooped, kneelbeside him.
“Decurio.”
Delius tilted his head up, straining to looking Iustinianus in the eye.
“Magister…” he rasped.
“Yes?” Iustinianus said, trying to keep his voice calm in spite of his concern for the Miles—part personal and part logistical.
Delius began to respond, only for a cough to sieze him and spit a small bit of blood from his mouth. He stopped, took a deep breath and then finished his response. “There were Goths at Malaca…I counted at least eight hundred.” He coughed again, spitting up more blood, then gasped, “They followed…”
“They followed?” one of the other men interrupted, “How many is they?”
“Easy!” Iustinianus snapped, whipping around and glaring at him, “Let him breath!”
Behind him, Delius weakly moaned “I’m not sure…I think fifty.”
The magister resisted the edge to slam his head into the ground as panic rose in his chest. Fifty Goths? Fifty?! There was no way in hell that they could survive, let alone defeat that many enemies. His gut urge was to flee immediately, leaving everything behind and fleeing for Sparteriosis whether his men would follow or not.
Get it together, Iustinainus. Think. Position? Their camp was in a small valley, ringed by forested hills except for two small ruts, one of which the Goths would be coming through and the other of which led into a dried swamp. Threat? Fifty Gothic warriors, coming through one specific entrance to the dip. Assets? Five able-bodied men, one wounded, six horses, several bows and a few spears and their tents. Outside factors? He looked up. The sky was cloudless, and the locals had told him they were in the middle of a heatwave. Alright, he knew what he was working with.
He rose from his crouch, turning and beginning to pace. They hadn’t passed any streams on their way and had been drinking from their waterskins. Odds were, the Goths would’ve been scrambled after Delius and so wouldn’t have much water with them. They would be demoralized, thirsty and hot. Good, it wouldn’t take much to route—
Heat. Fire. Fill the tents with dry reeds, bait them into the valley and then block the openings, let them burn. He broke from his stride and turned to the nearest man.
“Name?”
“Phillippus Apprinius, sir.”
“Phillippus, you and him,” he pointed at the man next to him, “go and get as many dry reeds from that marsh that we found last night. Bring them to the camp, then go back and get some more.” He pivoted back to Delius. “How long do we have?”
“Maybe…a few hours.” he murmured.
Good, good. He spun around again, pointing to the other two men.
“You two get Delius up the hill, get him behind a log or something and then come back. Get all the food and weapons and other shit from the tents and put it with Delius. Make sure it’s well out of view. Make sure to leave the tents up, though.”
He faced them all. “Everyone know what they’re doing?”
They all nodded.
“I’m going to go take the horses up behind the hill. Go!”