by C K Ruppelt
693 AUC (61 BC), summer
Stella Mountains, southern pass, lands of the Lancienses Transcudani, Hispania
Gaius Blandius was part of the detachment of three cohorts sent to guard the southern pass into the high plateaus of the Stella mountains.
“Isn’t there a better place for this damn fort? Preferably somewhere that’s already halfway level?” one of Blandius tent mates complained.
The legionaries of the Ninth’s third and fourth cohorts were currently building a fortified encampment on the eastside of the long incline leading up to the enemy. They were nearly two miles up the path from the main tree line, giving them a good view of any reinforcements or food transports coming for the Transcudani, yet still a mile distance to the closest defenders.
“Sure, there are lots of flat places farther below. Do you want to camp close to the woods down there? Where we don’t see anybody coming from below?” Blandius answered, while dumping his basket of dirt onto the slowly rising rampart, soon to form the base of the western camp wall.
Everybody was aware of the enemy watching, and the men’s armor and weapons were never far away. Blandius glanced up at the three turmae of mounted Cretan archers standing by on foot, ready to shower approaching enemies with arrows. Blandius was grateful that the Cretan archers were here with them. He had heard of their ability for close hand-to-hand combat. In addition to bow and arrow, every man was equipped with a small bronze buckler, and a long, single edged steel sword with a slight forward curve, appropriately called a kopis in Greek, meaning chopper. He bent down with his spade, hitting the rocky ground hard to loosen the dirt.
“At least you know we’ll be here for a while,” Blandius continued. “No more camp building for a week or two, maybe more, and no marching! It’ll be nice to have a break again from that, and from lugging dirt every evening. I heard there’s going to be a wait for reinforcements from the Eighth before the other cohorts will attack from the north.” That will make for a nice break from the routine.
Blandius was one of the original recruits from when the Ninth legion had been freshly levied. His little home town outside of Fidanae had nothing left for him after his mother’s death, and the few friends he had grown up with had all long since fled the impoverished area. He knew he had made the right choice when he sold all their belongings and marched the twenty miles distance to the city of Rome to sign up with the legionary recruiters on the Campus Martius. The Ninth legion had been a reasonable home, and he knew others respected him for his skills with the sword, despite his blind right eye he had to deal with for most of the four years he had served.
He had long since made his peace with his handicap, earned as a fresh recruit just after his arrival in Hispania. His centuria’s training had included a mock battle with wooden training swords. Green as he had been, he had given his opponent a wide opening, and had promptly received a hit in the face as a reward. The other man’s blade hat impacted his right eye with its blunt side, and the eye had swollen enough that the medicus insisted on draining and removing it. He had resisted, and the eye had reduced back to its normal size just in time to get the man off his back, turning milky white in the middle of his brown iris, leaving him with a vision of blurry shapes ever since.
Blandius and his squad worked in silence for a bit, until his spade broke. He swore, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to have it replaced until after the camp was built. “Anybody know where our muleteers are with the baggage train?” he asked without hope for a reply. They were likely still hours away, guarded by the seventh cohort and a few artillery men from the First. Blandius wiped his dark-blond hair from his forehead, unhappily resigning himself to carrying the wicker baskets of dirt for his comrades when one of the two architecti on loan from the first cohort walked up and stopped.
“What have we here? You are in luck, soldier!” he exclaimed to Blandius, who still held his broken handle in his hand. “I’ll loan you my own spade.” He handed it over. “We should be done with this section in another hour or two, then your group can shift to terracing the inside of the fort. We’ll need to level for the tents, or all of you sorry lot will roll out at night and make a big heap at the southwestern corner.” The soldiers in earshot laughed at the witty comment. The hillside was indeed steep, so a heap of sleepy legionaries rolling off was easy to imagine. The walls would mostly follow the natural incline, with all excavated dirt from the ditches in front of the walls being used, as always, to even and elevate the wooden palisades themselves, and their walkways behind. That would still leave the camp’s inside surface with a strong decline that needed to be dealt with.
Blandius looked up when two of the buccinators blew their buccinae, the legion’s long curved trumpets, to signify a short break time. The digging legionaries were jealous of the buccinators, the other horn blowers and the cohort standard bearers. All of them were exempt from digging and currently stood around in the middle of the camp laughing and joking to each other.
Loud sighs of relief were audible all around him. The sweaty and smelly legionaries gratefully dropped their loads of dirt or shovels to hurry to their bags for water skins and food.
The men around Blandius chatted and ate, the mood light despite the hard work. He finished his water skin and put it back in his bag, wondering about getting a refill, when both the cornua and tubae blew. At first, he thought they were called back to work, then he realized it was a call to arms. The centurions and optios started to shout. Blandius glanced at the mountain side above their camp and held his breath in shock. The Transcudani at the top of the pass had moved into action. They must have realized that we’re vulnerable before the fort is complete and waited for a break when even our Cretans were distracted.
That must be close to two thousand riders, already halfway down the distance to the Romans, with another roughly three thousand warriors chasing behind on foot. “Hurry!” he urged his squad on, swearing to himself while stuffing his remaining food back into his bag before donning his armor in record time, and helping others to get theirs donned faster.
All the readied soldiers ran as directed by the centurions who shouted “Ad Signa,” gathering everybody into battle lines in front of the respective centuria standards. The nearly one thousand legionaries formed into three ranks that covered the open stretch between the two main finished ramparts, a distance of about eight hundred feet, and a few men on each end covered the sides to discourage enemies from trying to climb the ramparts to outflank. The archers spread out evenly behind the three lines of legionaries for support, with a few of their number walking the Cretan’s horses over from the middle of the future camp to have them ready.
***
Nico stood in line holding his bow ready, when he heard shouting behind him. He turned to see the two engineers and some of their helpers run towards the line, lugging heavy leather sacks. One of them shouted at Andrippos. “First decurion, have your men move these sacks up to the front! They need to get to the first row of legionaries as soon as possible. We will bring up more.”
“You heard the man!” Move the sacks forward!” Andrippos shouted at them all, and Nico rushed to put away his bow, so he could carry a sack forward to hand to the third row of legionaries, which handed it to the second, until it arrived at the first line. He heard the legionaries shout excitedly after emptying the contents on the ground in front of them. Each sack contained twenty-some iron caltrops, a shape of two slightly bent and sharpened iron rods joined to create a structure that would always sit solidly on three of its tips while the fourth pointed straight up. He had seen these things in the armory but did not know how they were supposed to work. He saw the legionaries pick up the individual caltrops to throw them forward, creating twenty feet of danger zone for the oncoming riders which were now only a few hundred feet away.
He moved back in position, close to Klearistos and Andrippos, and waited for the next load of caltrops.
He heard Andrippos shouting loudly at his own decurion to carry thro
ugh the din. “Klearistos, once the front line is fully engaged, move your own turma back and mount up. Ride to the opening at the western side of the rampart and wait. Just stay there to block any one of their cavalry deciding to flank us. Send word right away if you need help, understood?” he asked the man.
“Yes, Andrippos. We’ll block the gap, and I’ll send word if we need help,” Klearistos shouted back.
The second set of bags of caltrops arrived, and Nico helped move them forward. He walked back in position a few feet behind the soldiers and readied his bow again. Now there was nothing else to do. He waited another minute, and the cavalry came into bow range.
“Archers, release!” He heard Andrippos command. His call was picked up as a short note by their single Cretan liticines, their official lituus blower, relaying the command to the men too far away to hear the first decurion’s shout.
Nico had a hard time keeping his bow steady, and he feared he would lose his grip based on his sweaty palms. This was his first full-scale battle after all, and they were fighting against overwhelming odds, based on the numbers of the enemy coming at them. After he released his first arrow into the sky, he stood still for a moment, his eyes following its flight towards the oncoming riders. He realized that everybody around him kept shooting at a rapid pace, and with a jolt he moved to pull out the next arrow, aimed, and let go. The last hundred feet of the enemy’s distance shrunk so fast his third arrow’s trajectory was nearly flat, flying right above the legionaries’ heads.
Several of the enemy men went down, either hit directly and sliding off their horse, or both horse and rider going down if the horse was hit, taking out other riders around them in spectacular fashion. Let’s hope this proves too much for them and they turn around. Oh Fortuna, who am I kidding?
***
The cornua and tubae blew the command to brace, and Blandius gripped his pilum so hard that his knuckles turned white. The entire first line of soldiers had already taken out one of their two pila from behind their shields in anticipation of the command and knelt. They would use their standard throwing weapon as a lance, digging the handle’s back end into the dirt, and bracing the shaft with both hands. The row behind him held their shields high, ready to cover his line after the first impact. He smelled his neighbor’s urine, the green recruit no longer able to control his bladder. This wasn’t Blandius’ first fight, and he knew from experience that waiting was the hardest part. Once the wait was over so was the time of conscious thought and worry. His gaze followed the riders’ approach, seeing many go down from arrows, creating chaos in the tightly packed Transcudani ranks. The first riders, now in a much looser formation, came up on the caltrops.
The warriors in front of him made it several feet into the caltrop zone before chaos ensued. The magnificent horses started to scream, their legs buckling from hitting caltrops in full gallop. Those horses went down hard, dislodging their riders explosively. Still, a smaller number of the riders made it through and came up on the first line. Blandius shivered from anticipation, looking up at the head of a proud brown stallion aiming straight at him. He got lucky since the horse slowed at the last moment, deciding to rear. Blandius knew to lift his pilum off the ground to push it at the horse’s exposed neck. The horse saw the weapon coming and turned in panic to avoid it, jumping right and colliding with another cavalry man.
Blandius had a short moment to look to the side. He saw many horses impaling themselves on the men’s Pila, falling forward and crushing legionaries in the process. Several of the second rank had pushed forward, attempting to fill the gaps and free trapped fellow legionaries. He turned forward, pulled his second pilum from behind his shield, and looked for more cavalry. The initial hard charge had been stopped by the caltrops and the spears. The riders now tried to ride close enough to the Roman line to make use of their long swords, but the legionaries closed the line and stood their ground.
Blandius heard the call for the entire first line to stand up. “Pila iacite! Throw your Pila!” the centurions shouted up and down the line. More horses and riders went down. “Two steps back!” This moved everybody clear of the horse bodies. Blandius drew his gladius before the next command to close shields.
With the entire first line standing at attention, holding their shields high against the cavalry, the riders had a hard time getting close enough to hurt the legionaries. The first rank started to go through the standard rotation, opening up a small space between the shields, stabbing out with their gladii into the horse’s sides or the rider’s legs. In a very short time, enough had come down, that another “Two steps back!” was needed to clear the line and get the shields closed again. Soon the scene repeated itself, followed by another call. “Two steps back!” Blandius moved backwards, from the ditches to the middle of the ramparts’ unfinished ends. Maybe there is some hope.
The encounter had gone much better than he had expected. He knew that Roman legions could face overwhelming odds and win, though, of course, he also knew that some legions had been annihilated even when winning seemed all but assured. Recent public losses included armies facing Germanic barbarians, or more recently, a rabble of slaves under the gladiator Spartacus.
His spirits lifted when the riders retreated, and a flood of fresh warriors on foot pushed in. It was a hot day and some of the enemy hadn’t bothered to don any kind of armor. Blandius grinned, hoping it would give his blood-spattered face a demonic expression. No armor against a line of legionaries was a serious mistake. They would know that once they went down dying.
He kept working in sync with his fellow legionaries. Lock shields, push shield forward, rotate the shield on his left arm to get enough opening to stab the tip of his gladius at any exposed skin. Over, and over again. From the corner of his left eye, he saw some of his colleagues go down, replaced by men from behind. The third rank pushed forward to fill the holes in the second. The cornua and all the tubae blew for rank change, and it took Blandius a split second longer to react and move than the smelly recruit to his right. A wounded Transcudani lay on his side a couple of feet in front of him, and the dying man reached out to swing his long cavalry sword. As Blandius rotated, the heavy sword tip cut through his right caliga, cutting right through his open military boot and deep into his foot. The man managed to pull the sword back, cutting deeper still in the process. Shouting and swearing, Blandius continued his turn to let his replacement deal with the wounded enemy. He rushed backwards through the third rank and looked down at his foot, seeing the freely pooling blood. The medicus assigned to their detachment ran over to have a quick look. He had heard the man was not a studied doctor but raised from the ranks of the medical helpers based on his excellent triage capabilities. I hope he knows what to do.
“Sorry, no time to deal with you right now. Your caliga is doing a fine job of holding things together. Just lay down and elevate your foot, that will keep you from dying before things calm down again.” The man moved on to look at the next legionary in need.
Blandius hobbled back to the legionaries’ packs and lowered himself to the ground. He got as comfortable as he could, always keeping a wary eye on the line in case the enemy broke through somewhere.
***
As the first of the enemy horses where impaled on the legionaries’ pila, Nico heard their lituus blowing the call to mount. He saw the line of archers turn their heads momentarily towards the middle, until everybody saw the raised standard of the second turma. The first and third went back to shooting while Nico released the arrow he held and dashed with his squad towards the horses. The thirty men of his squad mounted and rode a couple of hundred feet back to the middle of the camp. Here they reigned in to study the enemy movements. When he realized how hard the Transcudani cavalry had gotten decimated, Nico allowed himself a glimmer of hope, but then the first men on foot reached the battle field and ran through the killing zone filled with dead horses and caltrops. They jumped over bodies of horses and men alike, and for the most part had no problem avoiding the iro
n spikes. The cavalry men, now relieved from having to bear constant pressure on the Romans, gathered on the far side of the caltrops. His mood went sour when the enemy group of about five hundred, the sole remnants of their original force of two thousand, moved into a trot. Their direction was downhill, intent on going around the camp’s western rampart. The faces of the men around him turned grim.
He heard Klearistos’ call. “Alketas, take word back to Andrippos that we’ll need all the help we can get,” his decurion shouted. “For the rest of you, we can’t keep them at bay with our bows, so one arrow only. After that it’s down to how well we can chop with our kopis. We need to keep them away from our legionaries’ backs as long as possible.” Nico’s eyes followed the flanking force which was now increasing speed.
“Follow me!” Klearistos shouted. He kicked his horse, and they rode to the opening between the southern and the western ramparts, spreading out with four or five feet of space between the horses. When they stopped, everybody nocked their arrows and held ready to release. Nico steadied his mount with his legs.
“Wait until they get closer!” The first of the Transcudani had now made it to the end of the rampart and were turning inward and back upwards toward the Cretans, now only twenty feet away. The enemy warriors spurred their horses on, fighting each other in their eagerness to be first to the archers.