by C K Ruppelt
“Thank you. Now we’re prepared for wherever Caesar leads us this time.” Oz smiled at the man. The rumors of Caesar becoming their commander-in-chief again had been confirmed, and since the relocation of the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth legions to Aquileia in Northern Italia a few months ago, the Numidian archers had all received horses. Besides the issues of some of the men having to learn to shoot from horseback, the question of what kind of shield to use had come to the forefront again. The Roman style cavalry shield seemed like the best compromise—small enough not to interfere too badly with their bows, the buckler’s iron-reinforced rim also kept it reasonably safe from splitting apart on the first or second sword hit. The fighting in Hispania had shown that any of the Numidians could be pulled into hand-to-hand combat at any time, and he was glad that Capussia had made chainmail a mandatory upgrade for all his auxiliaries. The only grumbling about it came from recently arrived new recruits, the veterans knew better.
Oz waved a goodbye before leaving the massive warehouse tent to find himself on the Via Principalis, one of two main streets crisscrossing the camp’s center. From there, he walked back to their barracks building to show the men the armory sample he had received. They could decide themselves if they wanted to use a common color for all of them. If so, he would buy the paint himself and ask the craftsman of the first cohort’s fabri century to come up with nice designs. He walked around the backside of the administrative building when Adhe rushed towards him from the latrines on the outside of the bathhouse.
“So that’s the one!” Adhe exclaimed. Oz handed the shield over. “Nice, I think this is the perfect type of shield for us, once it has the additional leather straps like the Cretans have on theirs,” Adhe added.
“I won’t like this on my arm when shooting, I think it’s too heavy, but we’ll figure out a way for quick attachment to our saddles. Should it hang on the same side as our hasta?” Oz mused. As another result of the Lusitanian campaign, all Numidians now regularly trained with the Roman hasta, a long lance with a wide double-edged head. The legion’s officers had encouraged the auxilia forces to cross-train, welcoming more deployment options in the field.
The two walked up to the massive wooden barracks, a huge improvement from their old camp in Hispania, and pure luxury compared to the tents used on campaigns. Each of the buildings housed one-hundred-twenty people with ample space left over for community areas. “After I drop this off with the men, I’ll go see the children. Do you want to come along?” Oz asked.
“Sure thing, I am always up to see my little cousins,” Adhe replied before whistling a merry tune.
***
Oz watched his nephew hurry after the children. At twenty-three, Adhe was handsome and somewhat exotic looking to the camp followers and the Celtic inhabitants of northern Italia.
With a smile Oz walked faster to catch up to Adhe, seven-year old Stena and four-year old Saki, now all far ahead. “Wait up!” he called after them.
“Good luck with that,” Adhe shouted back. They were following the excited children through the camp’s satellite settlement on their way to an area used as the children’s playground. The suburb had sprung up on both sides of the road to Aquileia, away far enough to keep clear the Porta Praetoria, the camp’s main gate. It resembled an average small town with blacksmiths, traders, all manner of entrepreneurs running eateries, bars and bordellos, and of course, the ever-present slave traders along the main road. What made it feel like a real town though were all the soldier’s families, housed in big communal buildings behind the many shops and offices. It might have been against the rules for legionaries to marry, the right strictly reserved for officers at centurion level or higher, but the majority of soldiers couldn’t care less and started unofficial civil unions with local women. Most of the camp wives came from Hispania, though there was a recent influx of local women from Gallia Cisalpina, like the group of attractive young women Oz and Adhe encountered while they brought back freshly washed legionary tunics from the river. Several of them were without iron or bronze wedding rings on their left ring fingers and smiled openly at Adhe as they hurried past.
“What’s the matter with you?” Oz muttered after they had passed without Adhe even looking up. He knew the young man was interested in women but still struggled with shyness. Oz had his own issues in that regard. They were both damaged and so far, unwilling to make strong connections. Their shared grief saw to that, though the brutal fighting in Hispania had added another layer of complexity. “Don’t answer that,” he said rhetorically when he caught up with Adhe and put his hand on his shoulder. “Slow down, we know where they are headed.” He turned around to look after the women. His own outlook had changed recently, he dreamed of having a steady woman in his life again. Maybe caring for two children is what changed me. Little Saki and Stena have opened my heart again, I didn’t think anything would ever be able to.
Though these particular women were all too young for him. At thirty-four, he couldn’t imagine life with a teenage girl, hoping instead to find somebody closer to his own age. Preferably someone with life experience and accepting of his emotional baggage. Though most importantly, they needed to be fine with his children.
Stena ran back to them. “Papa! The red-haired girl from yesterday and her little brother are back. The four of us will play hide-and-seek in the trees down there, if you agree?”
“No problem. We’ll check on you in a little while,” he answered, waving her on. It was hard to remember now how full of mistrust little Stena had been. Was it really just two years ago?
He had never wavered in his loving treatment of her and her brother, slowly winning her over. At this point, he could not imagine life without them.
“So, you really think we’ll be moving out again soon?” Adhe mused.
“Yes, I do, and I think it will be sooner rather than later. Think about it, we just received close to fifteen hundred fresh recruits, and I heard there’s a few more already on the way. The cavalry got more Celtic warriors, and the Cretans and us have been brought up to full strength. We even have four hundred slingers now from the Balearic Islands.”
They turned around towards the massive camp in the background, easily visible behind the suburb and an imposing sight to behold. “I don’t know the exact numbers, but the Ninth alone must be close to sixty-five hundred fighting men. The Romans wouldn’t pay for all these reinforcements if there were no plans for needing them soon.”
695 AUC (59 BC), summer
Close to Bailenua, Free Gallia, Eastern part of the Aedui Nation
Elsed saw Drestan ride up and rein in his tall black mare. “They took the bait and are coming this way,” his father said. “Their party is a mix of Harudi and Suebi, about two hundred and fifty riders, each on their own horse. It seems they gave up on their old habits.”
“After becoming rich in Celtic lands,” Elsed replied. “My group is ready. Don’t wait too long before you hit them in the rear.”
He watched his father ride across the open field to another small patch of old growth forest, similar to the one in which he and his two hundred fifty riders waited. Close to town, the landscape consisted mainly of fields, some worked, some fallow, and patches of old forest sprinkled between. He turned back for a quick glance at his wife Brenna who stood next to his sister Aina just a few feet behind him. He raised his hand to signal everybody to mount. His father led a similarly sized group, leaving only another three hundred in reserve for guarding the town. Their clan’s fighting force had steadily eroded over the years thanks to continuous raids.
“Let’s hope your plan works,” Aina said to him after guiding her horse forward to the edge of the woods.
“It should,” he replied. “See, our people are coming back at full gallop, with the raiders in hot pursuit.” He turned around. “It’s time!” He hurried ahead of his group toward the field where the Harudi and Suebi were expected to arrive, while staying carefully hidden from sight by the trees. The distant noise of the appr
oaching horses turned into a rumble as they entered the field “Follow me!” he screamed and kicked his horse, his people riding out of woods before arranging themselves into a line facing their Aedui scouts. The first horses came within a hundred feet of the defenders and the towns people moved apart to let them through. The raiders behind them slowed down before reining to a full stop. Good, they look surprised. The plan worked.
The Aedui around him broke out into a war cry. “Baile nua abu! Baile nua abu! Baile nua abu!” Elsed grinned, proud of his people. The name of Bailenua, simply “new town” in Celtic, had become the clan’s identity. Adding abu as the call for victory united their local families, old and new alike. The few of their people that had brought their carnyx now blew them with all the breath they could muster.
Without warning, the Aedui line exploded into movement, the warriors kicking their mounts into a frenzy in their attempts to reach the enemy. The front line smoothly flowed around the scout party, which reined in to turn and follow. The enemies responded by spurring their own panting horses back into a canter, adding their own battle cries.
He was at the middle of the line when the two parties crashed into each other. The deep bangs of horse running into horse, of blade hitting blade or shield, and the mix of voices of men or women shouting in defiance or in pain was deafening. Elsed added his own noise, shouting out his anger at these hated intruders. A horse in front of him neighed and reared up to avoid a collision with his own, just to move sideways into the next horse, eliciting an ear-piercing scream from the rider when the horse’s hoofs hit his side. Fighters all around him stabbed with their spears or hewed around with their long swords, the stench of emptying bowels from people dying around him adding to the metallic smell of blood already permeating the field. Focused on the enemy in front of him, he barely noticed somebody else’s spear dart his way from the corner of his eye. His horse bucked and surprised him by launching him out of his saddle. The impact took his breath away. Crap, that hurts, but I guess I got lucky. These damn barbarians are no push-overs.
Quickly rolling into a crouch on the warm loam steaming around him from blood and other bodily fluids, he picked up his sword and ran to support one of his beleaguered townspeople. Moving in front of the attacking Suebi with his shield raised high, he followed through with a sideways cut into the man’s right side. That warrior dispatched, he looked to his left just in time to notice a massive Harudi warrior charging his horse at him. Elsed threw himself to the side while holding up his shield. That guy is huge!
The impact of the enemy’s heavy spear was too much for the shield’s upper rim, and two of the shield’s sections opened up. As he used the shield to block another stab, it broke in two, leaving only a third of the wood sandwiched between shield boss and handle. In disbelief, Elsed threw the now worthless remains after the rider and danced to stay out of his reach after the man had turned his horse. The sheer force behind the spear attack had rattled him and he was worried. Somehow, he had to make this quick. This bastard is too good with his lance, I can’t get my sword close enough.
He glimpsed a long spear embedded in a dead warrior’s chest a few feet away and jumped for it, dropping his sword to the ground in order to grab the shaft out of dead hands. With the spearhead swinging he turned to face the massive warrior. The man had turned to fight somebody else, facing away. Did he really think I meant to run away from him?
Gripping the lance tighter, he advanced. “Hey, dead man! Yes, I mean you, ugly bag carrier, comb of a castrated cockerel!” he screamed, waiting until the warrior glanced back before sprinting at him, jumping and driving the long spear deep into his chest. The steel head penetrated the man’s fine Celtic chainmail and pushed him off his horse. The Harudi’s fall ripped the spear’s shaft out of his hands to leave him weaponless. Elsed frantically searched for his sword on the ground when several Suebi converged on him. Grabbing the closest shield from the ground in the nick of time to deflect the first spear swing, he carefully retreated, attempting to get the riderless horse between himself and the new attackers. As he moved into the horse, it spooked and reared up, pushing him hard into two of the Suebi. They went down together, and Elsed lost his grip on the shield.
He rose back up and heard Celtic trumpets in front of him. That meant that his father’s group was engaging the rear of the enemy. With now empty hands, he ran as fast as he could, scanning the ground for weapons and the enemy warriors in close pursuit.
Just as he tripped over a dead body, he heard somebody shout “Elsed!” From down in the dirt he saw his brother in-law Bradan leading a group of several still horsed Aedui right into the pursuing warriors. That was a close call. Thank you, old friend!
He had a moment to choose a dead Harudi woman’s shield, and a decent sword lying close to the body of an Aedui warrior. Sorry, I will bring it back later to give your family.
Elsed rushed after Bradan’s group to help kill the last of his original attackers. They moved on together, cutting down many more of the enemy before meeting the warriors from Drestan’s team.
The battle now clearly won, a few of the remaining Harudi and Suebi clustered around their women and few children, intent on fighting to the death. The Aedui made quick work. Thankfully, most surviving enemies threw away their weapons and dropped to the ground. These people will work our fields until we can use them as barter with a Roman trader, for wine and other luxury goods.
He moved through the battlefield to look for his former personal opponents and proceeded to cut off the heads of several Harudi and Suebi he had killed, including the massive man he had unhorsed.
“Have you heard that the Romans think this barbarous?” Bradan said from behind, like him searching the battle field for heads to collect. “They hang people on crosses for slow and painful deaths, but they think we are barbarians for collecting heads from people already dead.”
“The head may be the center of a person’s soul, but that soul surely departs at the moment of death. The Romans are simply too different to understand our customs,” Elsed mused. Showing off heads of enemies killed in battle was a status symbol for any Celtic warrior. With his sword out, he could not carry more than the two heads he had, so he chose a riderless horse and tied the heads to the saddle before searching for more. He was satisfied once he had his sixth and stuck with Bradan, who kept collecting until he had a well-deserved eight.
He scanned the battlefield as they led their horses across. Only fifty of their enemies were still alive, though at least a hundred of their Aedui warriors lay dead on the ground as well. His wife Brenna came into view on the far side of the field. She had one of her arms loosely dressed from a battle wound and looked with Rionach and Orlagh for heads to sever. He waited for her to look up and waved until she waved back. As he scanned back to the other side of the battlefield he saw his father slowly moving towards him, supported by Aina. He looked pale and his legs were drenched in blood. Elsed’s heart dropped in fear for his seemingly invincible father. Oh no, oh no, father, that doesn’t look good.
Elsed and Bradan ran over to help. When Elsed took Drestan’s left side, it became clear that his father was about to fall over. “I am sorry son, this was my last battle. Got this deep cut in my leg right at the initial charge. I’ve been bleeding out since.” He motioned with his head to the far side of the field. “Please help me over to the trees. I would like to sit against a yew if you can find one, or at least a strong and tall oak.” They made their way over to the small copse of trees, where Elsed spotted an old yew just a few feet inside.
He and Aina gently lowered their father down against the tree trunk. Drestan raised his head until he could see the tree’s massive foliage overhead and sighed contentedly. “Thank you.” Yews were the most sacred trees, being the longest living things anywhere, offering an occasional branch to make an excellent bow or its foliage as poison to ease somebody’s suffering. “I feel close to the whole world here, to nature and the gods,” Drestan said in his usual strong and
sure voice. “Maybe I have a chance to go straight to the Otherworld instead of having my soul linger.” He settled down and held his hands out for Elsed and Aina. “I hope to see your little siblings soon, my children, your brothers and sisters that passed over while they were still little.” After Drestan closed his eyes, Elsed couldn’t hold back his tears. I know it’s too late, but please, gods, I don’t want him to go, not yet.
He looked at his sister’s face and saw her crying just as hard. Then his father spoke again, softly, yet amazingly clear and unmistakably happy. “I am coming, my love. We will celebrate and hold each other again,” Drestan let go of Elsed’s and Aina’s hands to raise his own in greeting. He opened his eyes. “And here you are! Ganna, take my hand, help me up.” With a smile of endless joy, he slipped away.
695 AUC (59 BC), summer
Free Gallia, Lands of the Helvetii Nation
The sun descended behind the wall of mountains in the west, coloring the low hanging bank of clouds in fascinating shades of pink and orange. Divico heard the riders’ approach and looked away from the beautiful display the gods had provided.
“There you are.” He looked at the men as they walked to him, to the top steps leading into the great hall of the Helvetii council, as was fitting for this official transaction. Well, mostly official.
He smiled at the two young retainers in front of him. “I have two courier bags for you. Both of you need to be on your way at first light tomorrow morning.”
He chose the burly man with the long mustache for the lesser of the two jobs. “You need to hand this to the Sequani Council. It contains proof of the treachery of one of their members. Providing this proof will produce some goodwill for when we need it,” he said. “Be on your way, and please report back the moment you return.
He waited while the man walked back to his horse, pulled himself up into his saddle and rode away before turning to the second man, a tall, lanky and even younger warrior than the first. He handed him the remaining bag. “I have a most important mission for you. You need to go to Bibracte and find a chieftain on their nation’s council. His name is in the bag, with a letter addressed to him and coins. This part is important, so listen closely. Do not address him in public but shadow him until there is a chance to catch him alone, unseen by prying eyes. I don’t care how long it takes, it’s very important he is not seen with you. I need you to swear to that.”