Chapter 645 Battle of Chalons 27
We are doing a great thing, like saving a beautiful princess from the mouth of a dragon, like helping the villagers to expel evil robbers, like eliminating the influence of barbarism for God and the civilized world and ultimately preserving glory and eternity.
What is the price that can make these passionate young men go to the battlefield? An epic poem praising war and glory, it may be excerpted from "The Iliad", "The Gallic War" or even the witty words written by the nobles.
It is just a story of a hero saving a beauty. The brave warrior saves the beauty and finally wins her heart. It would be best if the girl is of German descent. After all, exotic customs are always so fascinating.
A brand new set of chain mail, although it is very scarce, and an iron helmet. You see, this thing not only makes you look majestic and imposing when worn on your head, but also very durable.
Or maybe the few Soledes gold coins in a year could buy a few sips of wine and give a girl who struggles for money an unforgettable night.
Or maybe it was just a nod of agreement from the Roman officials, followed by a sentence: From now on, you are a Roman citizen.
Why did I join the army? I had long forgotten the lofty goals. What bright future? What outstanding and famous people? They were like stars in the sky, out of reach.
You can't tell a person who has just crawled out of a pile of dead bodies about the greatness of war. People who have never been to the battlefield see flags flying after victory and flowers everywhere, but what they see is the land stained with blood and the hideous corpses lying on it, as well as the limbs that were chopped off and thrown on the ground and still twitching.
The armored cavalry under Luga's command advanced in a group, pushing down all the barbarian soldiers who were huddled together due to chaos along the way.
The subsequent Roman army launched an all-out offensive. They were like a giant fist that instantly grew larger, rapidly expanding the mouth that was trying to swallow the fist.
The fierce attack forced the barbarian coalition in front of them to retreat because they were in chaos.
On the vast plain south of the Marne River, there was a dense crowd of people, everything was in chaos, and the crazy soldiers were roaring loudly, raising their weapons from time to time, trying every means to kill the other side.
"Theoderic is dead, our king is dead! I saw it with my own eyes, he was knocked down and trampled to death by a frightened warhorse!"
The Gothic cavalry who witnessed this tragic scene cried to Torismon who came to stop them from retreating. Everyone turned their eyes to Torismon. Each of them had a different expression, but the common point was that they all wanted to get a satisfactory answer from Torismon.
"Torimon." At this time, an old veteran stood up and whispered to Torismon: "This is not our war. Enough. We have paid too much for the feud between the Romans and Attila. We have done too much. Stop it, Torismon, and let our soldiers return to their homes alive to reunite with their wives and children. This is a misunderstanding in itself!"
"Why? Why should we retreat?"
Another young officer stood up. He was full of vigor and vitality, like a lion ready to fight at any time. He roared at the cowardly old general: "Did you see that? Our king, Theoderic's horse died under Attila's bow and arrow. He was thrown to the ground. Attila also frightened our horses and made them lose their minds and hit our king to death. Attila is the culprit. We must take revenge. We have so many equally angry soldiers!"
"Then why are you riding here?" The old general snorted coldly, looking at the young general who refuted him with a disdainful look on his face, "Could it be that your horse was also bewitched by Attila and fled here in panic instead of carrying you to the enemy?"
"Torimon, Torismon!" The young officer turned around and looked at Torismon, saying anxiously, "You should understand what you should do. The murderer who killed your father is manipulating more people to kill your compatriots. You must know what you should do now. Everyone is waiting for your decision!"
"Torisimon! Trisimon!"
The officers and soldiers were all calling Torismon's name, which made it very difficult for him to make a decision while standing among the crowd.
"Yes, we must go back!" Torismon said firmly: "Since we have promised the Romans to fight alongside them, then we must fight with them."
"What's more!" said Thorismon, turning over and mounting his warhorse, taking a lance from the hand of the guard cavalry beside him and carrying it on his shoulder, and loudly said to every Gothic cavalryman present: "I, the eldest son of the Gothic King Theodoric, the prince of the Goths, now command you to follow my footsteps, let us return to the battlefield and recover everything that was lost because of my father's death!"
Amid the chaotic army of Visigoth, Attila was not satisfied with the slow offensive pace of his soldiers. He thought they were too slow and far from the speed he wanted in his heart.
Although they had lost the cooperation of the cavalry, the Gothic infantry looked like a piece of fat meat in front of Attila. Although they were defeated and their morale plummeted, they still had a complete organization and retreated in close coordination.
The sound of Roman trumpets continued behind him, and the sudden roar of the Romans made Attila's heart tighten. After all, he did not want to see his vassal army unable to withstand the impact of the Romans and retreat for the first time.
He rode a black warhorse and, escorted by a group of white horse cavalry, launched another attack on the flank of the Gothic cavalry.
"Kill! Kill all these troublemakers who refuse to kneel!"
Attila roared and brandished the sword of Mars as he charged into the already chaotic Gothic army.
"Our king! Our king!"
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The Gothic soldiers were still shouting, but the sound was no longer one of surprise, but more like wailing. They were crying and longing to see Theoderic appear and repel the fierce Attila.
"Gothic cavalry! Gothic cavalry!"
Attila was in the middle of a killing spree, ready to devour the tens of thousands of Gothic infantry in front of him. Suddenly, he saw a cavalryman running towards him, shouting over and over again, and pointing his finger at the distance behind him.
Attila suddenly raised his head and saw billowing smoke and dust in the distance. A large number of cavalry were roaring from the distant heights. This time they did not rush directly towards Attila's cavalry, but went around and ran to the right side of the Gothic infantry.
"Our king! Our king!"
Hearing the heavy sound of horse hooves, they looked up and saw a huge cavalry galloping behind them. No one doubted that this was not their king Theoderic. The Goths raised their shields and cheered loudly. More of them even launched a fearless counterattack against Attila's cavalry. They were no longer so timid, but like mad beasts.
Middle road.
Aetius' army had to stop because Attila believed they were a real threat. Unable to spare more soldiers, he left Golding and thousands of cavalrymen here to harass Ricimer and Andrew's armies with arrows, causing them to suffer considerable casualties with every step forward.
(End of this chapter)