a sharp reverse

The Gallic army streamed over the rolling fields toward the hill. The mass of the army, swordsmen on foot, formed a solid block in the center, cheering and shouting as they trotted along in search of the foe whom scouts had assured their war leader, Thikasbrix, were drawn up nearby. The cavalry trotted along to their right, chatting about their forthcoming prowess in battle (and later with the recently widowed Spanish ladies). Thikasbrix pondered in his chariot behind the army, while his driver watched the capering of the young men who acted as skirmisers, who were tailing behind their fathers, elder brothers, and cousins.

The great mass of warriors raced towards the rocky hill, looking to reach its heights before the enemy could seize them. But when they approached the crest they saw it would be their uncontested--the Spanish had halted in the woods at the bottom of the hill, while their horsemen held the open ground to the east, their fine Spanish stallions prancing and curvetting in impatience.

Thikasbrix, who had urged his mounted troops to the west in hopes they could sweep the enemy's flank, gestured wildly, calling them back to the Gallic army's left flank where they could fight best in the open (though they would have to get over the hill first). His warriors on the hill, seeing his waving, took it for the command to attack and poured down the ridge, waving their blades and shields.

The Spanish commander mopped his brow. If only his men would follow his plan and keep to the woods, where the swordsmen and their supporting javelineers could use the rocky groves to disrupt the feared rush of the Celtic a warriors and fight them on a more even footing. But what was this? Cavalry were advancing behind him, Greek by the look of them. These must be the Syrcusan force that his spies had reported were en route. A party of light horse rode straight for his camp, followed by a denser body of horsemen with spears and armour. He gestured to his trumpeter, who signalled to his bodyguard that they should turn about and move to cut off the horsemen approaching their baggage train.

The first Gauls raced down the hill and without stopping to take breath, plunged into the shade of the oaks and pines where the Iberians were waiting for them. One party, screaming and hacking with equal gusto, put to flight a number of Spaniards, slaying most of them as they fled. But their brothers on either side ran into a more solid defense, and the penetration of the Spanish line was quickly isolated and contained. As the eager Gauls suddenly realised their dangerous position, more of the dusky southerners swarmed around their flanks, swamping portions of the Gallic line and driving other parts of it back. Surrounded and seemingly outnumbered, one band of swordsmen after another were cut down or, broken, fled the field. Thikasbrix, dismayed, sounded the recall and began to plan his explanation for the sudden and unexpected defeat. He had outnumbered his enemy, and the islandmen from the east had sent horsemen to lengthen the odds even further. But here his forces were streaming backwards in rout, and the Greeks (with, it looked like, quite disgusted looks on their faces) were calmly retiring from the battlefield, watched carefully by the Spanish horsemen. Something had gone badly, badly wrong...