From Darkness

by C K Ruppelt

Numerius worked next to his friend Vibius when he glanced up at the approaching rumble. “Here comes our work for when we’re done playing in the dirt,” he commented.

  Vibius handed the next basket of dirt over and looked up himself, breaking out into shrill laughter at the sight of the arriving mules. “I clearly remember the words of our recruiter.” His friend changed his voice, sounding like a market seller. “In peacetime, your legion will drill maneuvers and train to hone your fighting skills. You will learn how roads and aqueducts are built. When your legion is on campaign though you will be so busy as to never get bored.” Numerius and several of the other men in the line joined in, laughing while standing in a long basket line handing dirt from man to man. The Ninth’s cohorts were creating a gently declining ramp down to the riverside, cutting through the high embankment a mile west from last night’s encampment. The river here was narrower than they’d seen before and flowed a bit faster. Based on the comments of the engineer directing the Ninth’s Second cohort, this new tongue of dirt would form the basis of a road surface leading to a new bridge. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his left arm. The legion’s mules and some of their wagons were delivering the first loads of rough-hewn logs from the nearby woods.

  “But nobody ever said anything about having to dig for a new camp every day we march, or about building a little bridge in our spare time,” another legionary called.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Numerius followed the progress of the six centuriae of fabri, the several hundred craftsmen of the legions’ First cohorts. They stacked dry palisade logs into several crisscrossing layers to create floating rafts. Another of their teams had strung a strong rope across the river. I guess the floats will be tied to the rope?

  He had heard from the veteran legionaries about endless building projects between campaigns, but he was still surprised at the efficiency and the little amount of complaining he could hear. And those complaints are spoken in jest. Amazing.

  ***

  Titus Balventius stood on one corner of the raft as part of a four-man team moving it out from the riverbank with long poles. The job was tricky, the faster flowing water towards the middle trying to rotate them. The men with him had all volunteered for the job when the call for decent swimmers made it through the ranks. Praefectus Fabrum Lucius Cornelius Balbus stood on the stack of timbers in the middle of the raft and gave his orders. “Hold steady now, come on, we’re nearly there.” The man grabbed the rope spanning from the last completed bridge segment to several pilings driven into the ground on the other side of the river and pulled it between one of two pairs of the float’s uprights. “Quickly now,” he said. Balventius laid down his pole and rushed a small crossbar to Balbus, who lashed it to the uprights before moving to the second pair of uprights, fully securing the raft to the rope and making it the newest official part of the rapidly forming bridge. The men at the adjoining section now brought two long logs forward, and Balventius and the other three pole handlers moved into position to receive the ends. The first one came in fine for the other two men and was fastened securely. Balventius’ log though came in at too much of an angle, and as he worked with his partner to push the crooked log into the right position he lost his footing and slipped off the raft, hitting his side on the rough-cut timber on the way down. Merda, that hurt.

  As he swam back to the raft he was glad the cool river water numbed his side. Balbus waited for him and heaved him up the side, where he needed to sit for a moment to catch his breath. The other team helped out to get the second log secured.

  “Thank you,” he told the prefect leader of the engineers as he used his fingers to feel his side.

  “Are you alright?” Balbus asked him.

  “Actually, not too bad. Maybe I cracked a rib, but it doesn’t seem to be broken through.”

  “Pain alone won’t slow you down, right?” Balbus added with a grin.

  “Join the legions for some adventure!” he retorted, and they both laughed in response.

  The prefect waved and moved on when the center planking had been laid, checking on a horde of legionaries next as they dumped and tamped loads of dirt as a base for two lines of planking forming the roadway for cart and wagon wheels. Behind him, the next raft was moved into place. He carefully stood up and climbed up to the nearly finished roadway. Even though Balventius was a veteran of many years, he was still impressed. The speed of three legions building something needs to be seen to be believed.

  ***

  “Time for quick step, don’t you think?” Gaius Julius Caesar said to Titus Labienus riding next to him. Now out of the forest, they were clearly visible to the Helvetii. The Tenth’s legate nodded and shouted to the signalers walking right behind Caesar’s fierce looking ax-bearing lictors. The legion, still marching in a wide line three ranks deep, switched to a quick-trot of ten steps jogging, followed by ten steps marching before going back to jogging, with all the legionaries counting out loud together. He saw with satisfaction that the Seventh and Eighth followed suit. This would get them close to the enemy swiftly without losing their formation, or so the theory went. The lines pulled apart somewhat anyway. They reached the last hundred feet in front of the enemy baggage train, and Caesar nodded in thanks at Labienus who already shouted to the legion’s signalers. The cornua and tubae once again called for standard march. The line reformed properly just in time for the engagement, and Caesar sighed a breath of relief. Now we’ll see if a speedy river crossing was worth attacking with only three legions.

  He had couriers standing ready to bring the other legions for support, though he could only fully rely on the Ninth for help. Fresh legions could be a liability in their first serious fight, known to break rather than follow a call for an orderly retreat, meaning he had to be careful with the Eleventh and Twelfth for now. Too late for second guessing, let’s see what they are going to do.

  From the vantage of his horse, he saw many families rushing away from his oncoming legions, though at least some of the Helvetii warriors rallied to rush out between the abandoned wagons in one continuous wave. Looking at the many wagons, he knew that as long as his legions prevailed, there would be a lot of proceeds from the spoils to divide. He smiled. And hopefully food for our empty stores.

  The enemy reached the first legionary rank in front of him and raised their spears. The mounted Roman officers moved apart to give them less of a target. A Helvetii close to his position threw his spear with tremendous power, targeting the group around Caesar, who raised his shield and turned sideways in his saddle. The spear’s point satisfyingly glanced off his shield but had enough force to hit the arm of one of his lictors marching behind him. Caesar felt guilty when he heard the loud scream but kept his focus forward. The legionary shield wall now engaged the enemy warrior in question. He could not see more than the man’s shoulders and helmet, and the long sword he swung. When the line opened to stab out with their gladii, the warrior was cut down. As the line moved, the legionary of the second rank stabbed down to put the wounded man out of his misery.

  He looked up and observed the line flowing around the abandoned wagons. When he had maneuvered his horse far enough into the Helvetii camp, he could see a good number of wagons racing to the woods to the north. The Roman cavalry was heavily engaged, trying to stem the flood of fleeing enemies. This is no fight at all, they were utterly unprepared. They couldn’t fathom anybody had the guts to attack them.

  The Helvetii all fled from the legionaries to avoid slaughter or capture. “Keep two cohorts behind to secure the baggage train and guard against boats crossing back over,” he told Labienus. “Any preference?”

  “I’d rather keep the first if you don’t mind,” Labienus responded without hesitation. The oversized first cohort matched two normal cohorts in size, and its troops were considered the elite of the legion.

  “Very well,” Caesar answered. “I’ll lead the remainder after the fleeing Celts to catch as many as we can.” He called over to the signalers. “Ca
ll quick step for all but exempt the first cohort.”

  ***

  “Just keep on shooting until you’re out, but only aim for the fighters, you hear?” Oz shouted. The Legions’ Celtic cavalry had engaged the Helvetii riders, and Crassus had sent the Numidian and Cretan auxilia farther to target the fleeing masses. It will slow the exodus, but I will forever hate him for making us do this.

  The initial rush of fleeing families slowed to a trickle, the people discouraged from attempting the gauntlet. It worked, but the gods will judge us for shooting at old women and children.

  The Helvetii cavalry now disengaged the Roman cavalry to go after the auxiliary archers instead. Oz saw them galloping over and shouted, “turn to your left!” in anticipation of the enemy’s arrival. “Put your bows away and grab your hastae! Don’t forget your shields, be quick about it!” Oz yelled at his men as he untied his own spear. A long line of steel tips soon pointed at the enemy warriors. “Let’s show them what Numidians can do!” he screamed and kicked his horse forward. The two hosts collided, and chaotic one-on-one fighting ensued. Oz stabbed and twisted with his spear, which finally felt natural after intensely training with it for a year. He let his instincts take over and the first warrior in front of him went down, then the second. The third was a small woman with striking orange-red hair. By the gods, I’d think of her as quite attractive under different circumstances.

  Ducking under the slash of her sword, he waited for her to move in close in an attempt to gain the advantage over his longer reach. Once she did, he twisted towards her, swinging his new, heavy roman cavalry buckler right at her face with his left arm with as much force as he could muster. She raised her own shield into the way, but the heft behind his push crashed her shield’s rim into her face with a loud crunch. She groaned and fell sideways off her horse, away from him. Oz scanned around and saw Gulussa in trouble. He turned his horse towards his friend, but another Helvetii intercepted him within a few feet. MERDA!

  Screaming out in anger and helplessness, he slashed out with his hasta.

  ***

  “The Romans, the Romans!” a warrior shouted while running into the tent set up for the high council. War king Divico and the chieftains all rose at once.

  “To arms! What direction are they coming from?” Divico demanded.

  “From the south, on the other side of the river,” the man answered, short of breath from the hard run. “They are attacking the Tigurini.”

  My people. And I am over here instead of leading them against the Romans as I should. He drew his sword and started running. First out of the tent, then through the camp until he came to the river bank, non-stop shouting “to arms, to arms!” along the way. After he reached the banks ahead of a force of thousands, he stopped to reorient himself. His sword pointed north at the shallow stretch of riverbank where the boats and floats had been pulled up. “To the boats! We have to help them!” he screamed.

  “Stop, Divico, stop!” Bricio shouted from his side. The son of Orgetorix, now his most treasured and trusted aide, had easily kept up with him during his run and now laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “Look, just look!” he said, pointing across the river.

  He stopped to analyze the situation. His heart dropped when he realized that the camp was already overrun, and the families were rushing to the forest in the north with the Roman legionaries in pursuit. After taking a deep breath, he forced himself to think. “We should still set over, we might be able to distract the Romans!”

  “All we could do is get maybe five hundred warriors ferried over at the same time, and the Roman soldiers are waiting for us,” Bricio said in disagreement and pointed at the Tigurini wagons. “I can’t let you throw away your life”

  Divico scanned the shoreline. His shoulders slumped in defeat when he spotted the Roman foot soldiers lying in waiting behind the first few rows of wagons closest to the river. All is lost. My heart bleeds for you, my people. I failed you.

  “We can’t change the outcome anymore, I am sorry. It’s too late.”

  Divico put his hands over his face to hide his tears. I can’t watch this anymore.

  He fell to his knees, freely crying for his tribe, suddenly feeling his old age of more than seven decades for the very first time. After a while he managed to calm down enough to risk another look across the river. The Romans were still pillaging through his people’s possessions and collected food. When he noticed the long lines of Tigurini tied and hobbled being led off the field by the legionaries, he cried again. The helplessness he felt at the sight was like nothing he had ever known. Bricio was right, all that was left now was revenge. Should I have let you lead us after all, Orgetorix? The Romans, these stinking dogs. They will pay for this, I swear by Taranis.

  He stayed there on his knees, unable to move away from the bank until close to sundown, when Bricio urged him to return to the council tent. Scouts had arrived there with more bad news.

  ***

  Nico shot his bow next to his commander and close friend, who had long since recovered from his injuries in Hispania. The most visible remnant was the man’s lopsided smile, an already legendary identifier for Andrippos. The Numidian litui blew and Nico looked over to see their fellow auxiliaries turn to engage the enemy cavalry riding against them.

  “Follow their lead!” Andrippos shouted.

  They feverishly lashed their bows to their saddles, shoved their shields in place and urged their horses to follow the Numidians.

  Nico reached them just as the archer in front of him went down. A tall Helvetii warrior had delivered a brutal cut into the man’s neck before turning to surprise another Numidian that was already fighting off a different warrior. Nico pushed his horse between to disrupt the man’s swing, stabbing his kopis into the exposed armpit of the man’s sword arm. The Celt slid off his horse, dead before hitting the ground.

  He sighed in relief when he saw their own Celtic cavalry had caught up from behind the enemy. Nico took out a second man by deeply chopping into his exposed thigh, creating a spray of blood from the leg’s artery. Searching for the next enemy he realized there were no more warriors to fight. The remainder of the enemy cavalry had disengaged to join the wild flight for the forest. He slid off his horse and walked to the downed Numidian. After sheathing his sword and moving his buckler back up onto his arm he turned the man onto his back. Sorry friend, it’s too late for you.

  The cut had gone cleanly through the man’s clavicle and deep into his torso. Somebody approached from behind and he turned, moving his hand back to the handle of his kopis. It was a tall and dark-skinned young archer, with several more of the Numidian auxilia dismounting behind him.

  “Thank you for saving me,” the man said and held out his hand. “My name is Adherbal, or Adhe for short.”

  “I am Nicolaos,” he answered. “Nico for short.” He shook the man’s offered hand.

  Adhe stepped around him to kneel at the body on the ground. “And this was Gulussa, a good friend.” He closed the dead man’s eyes and turned to the left when more Numidians came walking over. “Sorry Massi, it’s Gulussa,” he shouted. A man rushed over followed closely by a Numidian decurion. “No, not my brother. Why you, why you.” The man shouted as he dropped on his knees to hug the now lifeless body. His unfocused eyes wet with tears, he turned to the decurion. “Oz, please let me be the one to tell Daleninar,” he demanded

  The officer patted the man’s shoulder. “Of course, Massi, whatever you want. I am so sorry.”

  ***

  The two scouts were waiting in the tent with the council members.

  “Here’s our war king,” Bricio announced to the tent. “Divico, listen to what these two observed today.”

  The two scouts stepped forward, one looking at the other to start. With a jolt, the left one opened his mouth. “We were south by about three miles. We rode up a small hill in the hope for a good view of the surroundings. What we found was a Roman bridge over the Arar.”

  Divico held up his ha
nd. “How could that be possible? We had scouts ride up and down the river for many miles looking for bridges or a ford for our own crossing, and they found nothing.”

  “We couldn’t believe it either. The Romans built the damn thing in a single day. When we found them in the early afternoon the bridge was halfway across the river. When we rode back to camp a few hours later, they had reached the other side.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” the other scout agreed. “They are well organized, and by the looks of it, the men building the bridge were all soldiers. From the numbers I’d guess another two or three legions.”

  “How can they do something like that?” one of the other councilors asked, clearly unnerved.

  “They might be superior in building things, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be beaten in battle. They were lucky today because they caught us apart and by surprise. Don’t ever forget that I led the Tigurini to victory before against three full Roman legions. That was one of our tribes against half or more of what Caesar has today.” He scanned the faces of his councilors. “We still have three full tribes all around us. We can win again,” Divico told them with an iron conviction. “Get ready to break camp in the morning.”

  ***

  Early the next day the call to arms echoed across the large Roman camp two short miles south of the Helvetii camp. Caesar threw his armor on and ran out of the tent while tightening the leather straps. “Where are they coming from?” He asked a centurion running.

  “Must be the western wall, sir, that’s where I am headed. Just follow me!”

  He raced after the centurion to the wall. Once on the earthen catwalk, he took account of the situation. The enemy had come in force, the Helvetii warriors amassing just outside of the Balearic slingers reach, though he figured the centuries’ scorpios could easily get to them if needed. He heard cavalry litui call and looked south where several wagons loaded with wood tried to make the camp’s gate. That must be lumber from the bridge.