At about eight in the morning, when the sun began to creep up illuminating the horizon of Italy, the great rumble that shook the earth slowly subsided.
The roar of tens of thousands of men slaughtering one another was now muffled, leaving behind a silence that was far more terrifying. On the expanse of marsh in front of the fortress, there was no longer any organized troop movement. What remained was a landscape like a frozen hell.
A few surviving enemy figures could be seen staggering among the piles of corpses. They held their split bellies or dragged legs that were nearly severed. Warhorses that had lost their riders ran wild with eyes wide in terror, jumping over tents that were still being devoured by fire.
The giant camp that had stood majestically last night had now turned into a lifeless mass grave. Black smoke billowed high, carrying the stench of blood and burnt flesh toward the fortress.
Atop the wall, General Vitus felt something that had long died inside him come back to life. The fear and despair that had haunted him last night had vanished. That feeling was replaced by a burning new fire of spirit. He saw an opportunity. He saw destiny.
Vitus turned and his red cloak fluttered in the wind.
"Prepare my horse!" shouted Vitus loudly. His voice broke the silence of the garrison. "Prepare all cavalry! Line up the infantry behind the gate! We are opening this gate now!"
He looked at Spurius standing beside him with eyes gleaming ferociously.
"Spurius, you come with me. We are getting out of this prison."
The officers who heard the order did not hesitate in the slightest. They rushed down from the wall and shouted orders to their subordinates.
In a matter of minutes, the inner courtyard of the Ravenna fortress was filled with the clatter of armor and the stamping of horse hooves. The giant wooden gate had not yet been opened, but behind it, the remnants of the Western Roman Empire's last strength had lined up neatly.
It must be admitted, their numbers were very, very pitiful if compared to the glory days of the legions of the past.
Based on the garrison logistics records of that day, the combat strength remaining in Ravenna was merely four hundred heavy cavalry from the elite Scholae Palatinae unit. They were the emperor's personal guards whose armor still gleamed gold. Behind them stood one thousand five hundred infantry from the remnants of the Legio Italica who were old and weary.
The total was no more than two thousand men. A dwarf number to face the world. Yet that morning, these two thousand men stood with backs straight as if they were a million men.
In the very front row, right facing the still-closed gate door, two horsemen stood side by side.
Vitus rode his large black warhorse, while Spurius sat upright on his loyal horse even though his leg was still wrapped in bandages.
The atmosphere was silent for a moment. Only the sound of horse breath and the crackling of burning wood in the distance could be heard.
Vitus turned to the side and looked at the old face of his friend. Slowly, with a solemn movement, he drew his gladius sword from the scabbard at his waist. The sound of metal friction rang loud and clear.
Spurius nodded slowly. He did the same and unsheathed his sword into the morning air.
Vitus then turned his horse slightly to face the ranks of his troops waiting behind. His face was hard and his eyes sharply swept over every soldier.
"PREPARE YOUR SWORDS!" shouted Vitus thunderously.
Two thousand swords were drawn simultaneously into the air. The movement created a forest of iron glistening under the morning sunlight, ready to spill the last blood for an empire that refused to die in silence.
Vitus turned his black horse once more to face his troops. Cold sweat mixed with adrenaline on his temples. He looked sharply at the four hundred Scholae Palatinae horsemen behind him.
"Listen to me!" shouted Vitus, his voice overcoming the roar of their beating hearts. "The moment this gate opens, we will charge directly toward the main camp! Do not stop! Do not hesitate! We will destroy whatever is left of the chaos out there!"
Vitus then spurred his horse, trotting past the ranks of the cavalry to address the infantry standing further back.
"And you, Infantry!" he ordered loudly. "Follow us from behind! Do not let a single enemy escape! Finish off anything that still breathes! Ensure this Italian soil is clean of their footprints!"
A deafening roar erupted from the ranks, answering his command with a fury that shook the very air.
Vitus pulled his reins, turning his steed around and galloping back to the very front, taking his place once again beside Spurius.
Vitus turned slowly and faced back toward the giant gate door that was their final barrier. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the morning air that smelled of smoke and destiny.
He raised his sword high.
"OPEN THE GATE!" commanded Vitus thunderously.
A painful creaking sound was heard as giant iron chains were pulled by operators in the tower. Wooden beams the size of whole trees locking the door were slid aside. Slowly but surely, a crack of light began to appear in the center. The two-span thick wooden door groaned as its hinges were forced to work to open the way for the predator.
Blinding morning sunlight flooded the dark gate tunnel and illuminated the faces of Vitus and Spurius who were at the very front.
Before them lay the road to a frozen hell. The view of the enemy's destruction was displayed clearly without any more barriers.
Vitus did not wait for the door to open fully. When the gap was wide enough for three horses to pass, he kicked his horse's belly hard.
"ROMA AETERNA!" shouted Vitus using the ancient language of the conquerors. Rome Eternal!
The shout was met by an explosion of sound from two thousand throats behind him.
"ROMA AETERNA!"
The earth trembled. Vitus and Spurius spurred their horses simultaneously. Their swords pointed straight forward, the blades glistening catching the sunlight.
The warhorses shot forward, their iron hooves striking the street stones with a terrifying sound. Behind them, four hundred heavy cavalry spurred their mounts in one simultaneous motion.
From a distance, if anyone watched from atop a hill, the Roman army exiting that gate looked like a giant iron spear launched from the mouth of the fortress. Pointed, sharp, and unstoppable, stabbing directly into the heart of the chaos spread out before them.
Inside the tightly locked imperial bedchamber, Centurion Decius Marius Cilo felt a strange change in the vibrations of the floor beneath his feet.
The roar of humans that had been banging on the door and filling the corridor slowly subsided. Hysterical screams demanding a way out were now replaced by the sound of thousands of footsteps running away. The corridor out there became silent.
Decius signaled his men to stay alert with drawn swords around Romulus's bed. Carefully, he unlocked the main door and peeked out.
The corridor was empty. There were only remnants of dropped items and left-behind sandals. The people who had packed the place like sardines were gone.
Decius wasted no time. He ordered his troops to keep guarding the Emperor, then he ran out to the palace courtyard to ensure the evacuation route was safe.
However, the sight in the palace courtyard confused him. People were not running toward the secret sewer or hiding in the underground cellars. Instead, they were running out of the palace gates toward the north, toward the main fortress wall. Toward danger.
Decius saw a horse abandoned by its owner near the fountain. Without a second thought, he jumped onto the saddle and spurred it out onto the main street.
On the streets, the current of humanity moved like a river reversing its course. Their faces were still pale, but now there was a mixture of confusion and hope in their eyes.
Decius pulled his reins and blocked a middle-aged man who was running breathlessly.
"What is happening?" snapped Decius. "Why are you running toward the wall?"
The man stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He pointed north with a trembling hand.
"The main gate... they say the main gate has been opened!" answered the man stammering. "General Vitus and his troops have gone out! I do not know how, but people are shouting that the barbarian army has been defeated! They are destroyed!"
Decius's eyes widened. Spurius and Vitus had really carried out that suicide attack. Or perhaps, a miracle had truly happened.
He released the man and spurred his horse as fast as lightning cutting through the crowd.
"Make way! Make way!" shouted Decius.
Arriving at the plaza in front of the northern gate, he saw the giant gate had been closed again. The remaining garrison troops guarded the door bars tightly so no civilians would recklessly go out into the unsecured battlefield.
However, the people's curiosity could not be contained. Thousands of people packed the stone stairs leading up the fortress wall. They shoved and climbed over each other to see what was actually happening out there from behind the safe wall.
Decius jumped down from his horse. He broke through the dense mass at the foot of the stairs.
"Make way! I am a palace officer!" cried Decius while elbowing his way through the sweating crowd. "Let me pass!"
He used his shoulder and sword scabbard to part the sea of humanity. His breath hitched as he climbed the stairs one by one.
"Move!"
Finally, he managed to push through to the very front row on the parapet. The strong morning wind immediately slapped his face.
Decius gripped the cold wall stone with both hands. He leaned his body forward, his eyes staring out at the expanse of marsh down there.
And that was where he saw it.
Decius's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The view before him surpassed all military logic he had ever studied.
Odoacer's terrifying camp had become smoking rubble. Thousands of corpses lay scattered as far as the eye could see. And amidst that sea of death, he saw red banners with the Golden Eagle symbol moving forward.
The Roman cavalry, led by Vitus and Spurius, looked like a glistening iron spearhead. They had reached the outermost side of the enemy camp, charging through the remnants of chaos without a single force capable of stopping their advance.