‘Again! Draw!’ Amos roared. ‘Fire!’
Dion loosed another arrow, sending a shaft into a grizzled soldier who tried to raise his shield but wasn’t quick enough for the point that struck his cheek. Another wave of soldiers pouring from the warship’s side went down, but they were joined by still more of their comrades. The Ileans in the shallow water formed a line, their shields held high to allow more of their fellows to group behind them.
Now fewer shafts found their targets. Dion’s next arrow penetrated a wooden shield but failed to strike through to its owner. He reached for yet another as Amos bellowed for his men to fire at will.
At either side of the warship a wall of triangular shields now fanned out, allowing soldier after soldier to emerge under the protection of his countrymen. Swiftly glancing along the line, Dion saw the same situation unfolding at every warship: the Ileans were gathering strength, even under the onslaught of Amos’s archers. Soon they would advance.
‘Forward!’ Amos cried. ‘Shield to shield, spear to spear!’
The Phalesian line moved forward, but Dion saw that it was too thinly spread to maintain a rank two men deep while standing shield to shield. The second rank swiftly became mingled with those in front. There was terrible danger here, he realized. A concerted push would smash through the line, and soon Amos’s men would be facing enemies both in front and behind.
Nonetheless it was the only move available to the Phalesian captain. He needed to fight the soldiers of Ilea as they climbed out of the water, when they were most vulnerable. Dion grabbed hold of his spear and ran forward, finding himself standing between a young soldier barely in his teens and another archer. The boy clutched his spear with white knuckles as he waited for the enemy’s approach. The archer sent an arrow at the shield wall on the warship’s right, but the point uselessly embedded itself in a shield. The archer reached for another arrow but his quiver was empty. He had no other weapon.
Sticking the spear into the ground again and checking his quiver, Dion saw he had just two arrows remaining. As he drew the first an enemy arrow sped at his head. He ducked and was saved when the boy at his left managed to block it with his shield. Dion took a deep breath and drew once more and released, striking an Ilean soldier’s knee where the shield wasn’t protecting him. The man went down with a cry.
He prepared his last arrow as across the line, the sun king’s soldiers finally charged.
Dion loosed and killed a roaring spearman with a well-placed arrow in his chest. He barely had time to drop his bow and lift his spear before the two forces collided.
The Phalesians held their ground. All along the line snarling men’s faces were barely inches away from each other as shield pressed against shield and spears lunged forward as each man tried to find a gap in the defenses of the soldier in front of him.
The archer at Dion’s right was protected by neither shield nor weapon, and he went down in an instant as a spear found his chest. The line began to buckle. Everywhere there were grunting men and cries of pain. A short, stocky warrior with leather armor and a yellow cloak thrust his spear at Dion’s head. Dion weaved to the side and felt it whistle past his ear. With both hands he jabbed his own spear at the warrior’s face but the man ducked behind the shield on his left arm.
‘Close ranks!’ Amos cried.
A dozen paces to his left, Dion saw Amos fighting with desperation. The scar-faced captain lunged forward to skewer an opponent’s throat with his sword and then slashed down at another, but for every man he killed another took his place.
The youth turned to gasp something to Dion, but he never discovered what he’d been about to say, for an arrow suddenly penetrated the boy’s shoulder and he fell with a cry of pain. Dion closed ranks with the men at both sides again. Finding a gap, he managed to spear the stocky Ilean facing him, thrusting deep into his upper torso and pulling out in a single movement, but the enemy continued to push forward.
Amos suddenly looked along the line, then wheeled his arms. ‘Fall back! Back to the embankment!’
Everywhere the line wavered, then finally crumbled. Dion thrust one last time with his spear and felt the point bite into something, but whirled without looking to see where his blow had struck, barely managing to keep hold of his weapon. Every soldier in blue joined the rout as they ran for the embankment.
He faltered and nearly fell when he felt a sharp stab of pain between his shoulder blades.