by Marc Jones
He looked down at the map again. “So – what is the plan?”
Constantius traced a finger down the line that showed the course of the Rhenus. “Every bridge over the Rhenus has been either burnt or dismantled and every boat we could find has been brought over or burnt. The only way they can cross is if they build their own way of crossing.”
“And judging by the way that trees are being felled over there, they’re building their own boats. Or rather rafts.” Aetius said that last word with a frown. “Which could make their crossing, when they attempt it, somewhat messy.”
Cato and Constantius nodded. “We will keep the bulk of the infantry back until they are committed to the crossing, wherever they make it,” the Gaul said quietly. “This is our best chance to defeat them, when they can’t use their main strength – their cavalry, especially their horse archers.” He smiled a very savage smile. “And we have a very hot welcome waiting for them. Field artillery and as many foot archers as we could get our hands on. If we have to pour naptha on the river and set fire to it, we will do so.”
It made sense. Especially if those archers were protected by the heavy infantry. “Are we sure that they will make the attempt here? What if this is a feint? Attila is no fool.”
Aetius nodded. “That was my thought too. But this is the best place for a crossing for miles up or down the Rhenus. And if this is where they’re felling trees to make boats and rafts then this is where they will cross. There are no reports of the Hunnoi felling trees to the North or South. Which isn’t to say that they aren’t. That’s why we need cavalry.”
Cato nodded. “We can keep an eye to the North whilst the Gaullish cavalry guards the South. If this is a feint then you can move quickly with the army to reinforce. Plus, once the crossing does start and we engage it then we’re going to have to deal with rafts or boats drifting downstream, scattering Hunnoi all over the place.”
“Sounds like a job for the Twins,” Constantius grinned.
“Twins?” Aetius asked with an upraised eyebrow.
Chuckling, Cato looked at the Roman. “They aren’t really twins, but they look close enough. Marcus Tullius Cato and Lucius Tullius Cato. My son and my nephew. Both command Turmae of cavalry and both are damn good at fighting.”
“How can you tell them apart then?”
“Their personalities and their nicknames.”
“Which are?”
“Arcturus and Artos.”