by R. W. Peake
Pullus’ first thought was that this was a trap of some sort, yet he could not bring himself to offer up some sort of platitude that would let Vespillo know he did not think what he actually did believe, that Vespillo was not fit to be a Pilus Prior. He learned Vespillo did not miss this when the Pilus Prior gave a chuckle that held no humor.
“Keeping your mouth shut, eh, Pullus?” Vespillo heaved a sigh, still watching his men as they busied themselves preparing for what the day might bring, then he added, “I don’t blame you, boy. I really don’t. I know how I’ve treated you. And,” at this, Vespillo did look back up at Pullus, who was shocked to see a gleaming in the man’s eyes that could only be tears, “I ask for your forgiveness.”
Pullus felt certain that he would never be as shocked in his future, however long it was, than he was at this moment, but he was about to stammer out that there was no need for him to forgive his Pilus Prior, except that the words seemed to stick in his throat.
Instead, he managed, “I…I do, Pilus Prior.” Hearing the words come out made him feel more confident that he was not telling a lie, and he repeated, “I do.”
This clearly affected Vespillo, but before the Pilus Prior could say anything, there was a low call for him to attend to Sacrovir.
“Let me find out what they decided,” Vespillo said, then without another word, trotted off.
It ended up that, because the 1st and 20th had either expended or discarded their supply of javelins, and the spares had been loaded in the armory wagons of the baggage train that was now in German hands, the best that could be done was that every other man in each Century would get a javelin. As the javelins were distributed, the light steadily grew, and Pullus knew he was not alone in worrying that the Cherusci might not be willing to wait much longer before they started whatever it was Arminius had planned. Once the decision was made, Pullus returned to his Century in a state of bemusement, wondering if Vespillo’s apology was heartfelt, or if he had some sort of premonition about what was going to happen to him and, as they said in the Legions, wanted to clear his books. His mind was soon on other matters, and while he thought there was certainly merit in Caecina’s plan, there was one part that bothered him, but it was when, at last, everything was prepared and the order was given for the men to lie down, that he realized that the Legate had clearly seen something he had missed, although he had not really been paying attention to his surroundings when it was still light the day before. To the naked eye, and a casual glance, the ground of the camp seemed flat, but it was only when he first crouched down that he saw that there was a slight but clearly noticeable crown that essentially bisected the camp, and the forum was positioned on the highest point of ground. Once he was prone, he found that he could not see the wall facing the enemy or the men on it because the rise obscured it. When he saw this, he immediately understood why Caecina had planned as he had, and while he still held misgivings, they were the normal things that a man faces before he goes into battle. As long as we lie here, he thought, they’re not going to see us. It also had explained why the Primus Pilus had insisted on them collapsing their normal spacing, so that men were essentially lying side by side, with perhaps a hand’s width gap, and heads were inches from the feet of their comrades in the rank ahead of them. The cornu had sounded the first, then the second call that, once it began, regulated the Roman day, but there was still no indication of any movement by the Cherusci. Time dragged by, and while the men were allowed to talk, nothing above a whisper was allowed, but when there were hundreds of men within earshot, it made for a rustling sound that made it hard for Pullus to concentrate. Unfortunately, the only way he could stop them was to raise his voice, and even then, it would only work if Vespillo and Licinius did the same, so he resigned himself to being annoyed. When the next cornu call came, it was not the regularly scheduled one, it was from farther away in the direction of the Porta Praetorium, and it played the notes that signaled the event they were waiting for had begun.
“Here they come, boys,” he murmured to himself. “Now let’s see if those bastards in the 5th can redeem themselves.”
In its conception, it was a simply straightforward plan. Knowing that trying to march without inflicting serious damage on the Cherusci would most likely lead to another disaster on the scale of Varus’, Caecina decided to entice Arminius into doing what the Legate understood was the only chance for his army. The walls of the camp were manned, but by half the force than would be called for by someone who actually intended to defend them, which Caecina wanted the Germans to see. It was certainly a risk, but Caecina was counting on something, the overconfidence of Arminius and his men; after all, they had destroyed an army of three Legions before this, so the myth of Roman invincibility was no longer there. About two parts of a watch after dawn, Caecina was rewarded in his faith in the Cherusci leader, when the men of the 5th, who had been volunteered by their Primus Pilus in a bid to erase the shame of their deserting their post, sounded the alarm that the Germans were approaching. These were the only Romans in Caecina’s army who were armed with a full complement of javelins, Caecina thinking that if they only had one, it might arouse suspicion in a leader who was as well versed in the tactics of his enemy as Arminius. Not long after the first cornu call that signaled that the enemy was approaching, another sounded, that the Cherusci had reached the ditch.
Pullus was suddenly struck by a thought, and he turned to Tetarfenus, who was lying next to him to ask, “Did you happen to notice whether they made the ditch the same width but shallower? Or did they make it deeper but narrower? I can’t remember.”
Tetarfenus considered, then slowly shook his head, admitting, “I’m sorry, Centurion, but I didn’t notice.”
“No need to apologize,” Pullus assured him. “Because I didn’t either, and I probably should have. Although,” he shrugged, “I don’t suppose it matters. What does is that they get across.” Something else occurred to him, and it caused him to chuckle softly. When he saw Tetarfenus look in his direction, he said, “It’s just that I think this must be the first time in our history that we want these cunni to get into the camp.”
Tetarfenus stared at him incredulously, and to Pullus’ eye, with the kind of expression that made him think his Signifer was worried about his mental state, which he confirmed by asking, “And why, by Pluto’s bunghole, do you think that’s funny?”
“I don’t,” Pullus protested, hearing his voice raising, so he dropped it back to a whisper as he added lamely, “At least, not funny but…strange, I suppose.”
“If you say so,” Tetarfenus mumbled, then looked away, returning his attention to the rise that blocked their view as they continued using their ears to try and gauge what was going on.
With a camp this size, the fact was that where Pullus and the bulk of three Legions were lying flat on the ground was several furlongs away from the front wall of the camp, so it was a combination of the distance and the intervening low rise of the ground that made it next to impossible to hear with any real clarity. Giving up, Pullus turned his attention to where the Legate was positioned, off to his right front and standing roughly where the praetorium tent would have been located. He was mounted, as was his personal standard bearer and the staff of Tribunes, but it appeared to Pullus as if he had divided his personal bodyguard, with half of them on foot and arrayed in front of him, the other half still mounted. Pullus thought about it for a moment, then guessed that Caecina had put those bodyguards who were former gladiators down on the ground, which made sense, especially since there were not enough horses left to go around. He quickly dismissed this from his mind, aided by the first sounds that were not from a horn; a barely audible noise that, as faint as it was, every veteran knew.
“They’re at least down in the ditch trying to get up from the sounds of it,” he commented, taking his Signifer’s grunt as agreement, then Pullus went on, “Not long now.”
“I just hope those bastards put up enough of a fight that Arminius’ bunch doesn’t
smell a trap.”
Pullus nodded in agreement with Tetarfenus’ fear but said nothing. Gradually, the noise increased, and more importantly, the area from which it seemed to be coming widened, and the next few moments, Pullus and the other waiting men craned their necks, some of them lifting one flap of their helmet to hear better.
“They’re hitting us on three sides.” Tetarfenus broke the silence, sounding worried. “What if they move down far enough so that they’re going to come up over the wall on our flanks?” Before Pullus could reply, he added, “Or what if they come over the back wall?”
“Then we’re fucked,” Pullus whispered harshly, “and we’re all going to die today! Now,” he turned to glare at the Signifer, “let’s keep our fucking minds on our fucking jobs, eh?” Tetarfenus looked slightly ashamed as he nodded, and it made Pullus regret his words enough to offer, “Besides, if those boys on the front wall do their job and start falling back, how many men will Arminius be willing to divert to do that? And,” he pressed, “how many of his men would be willing to listen to him and possibly miss the chance to get into the camp before the fight’s over? He and his lot are going to pour through the first breach they make.”
The Signifer nodded again, and Pullus returned his attention to staring at the dirt in front of him, straining his ears and alternating between praying to every god he could think of that Tetarfenus was not right and mentally cursing the Signifer for putting the thought into his mind. Suddenly, the noise level rose dramatically, and from the original direction, telling Pullus and the others that something had happened that accounted for it becoming noisier.
With a casual air he did not feel, Pullus took the risk of raising his voice enough to be heard by more than just the handful of men nearest him. “It sounds like they’ve either pulled part of the wall down or gotten over it, boys. Make yourselves ready.”
Perhaps a sixth part of a watch after the call that the enemy was at the wall had been sounded came the notes of another cornu, except this one was much closer, coming from where Caecina was standing, and it unleashed the surprise.
Knowing there was no need for quiet now, Pullus and the other Centurions bellowed orders to rise, Pullus shouting, “On your feet, boys! It’s time to make these cunni pay!”
Even as he rose, Pullus tried to prepare himself for what might greet his eyes, yet he felt the gasp escape from him, and he wondered if Caecina had made a fatal blunder.
The men of the First Cohort of the 5th manning the front wall and the Second and Third arrayed on either side performed their duties perfectly, at least as far as Caecina was concerned. They did not immediately flee at the sight of three disordered columns of Cherusci who came directly at them, with men holding tied bundles of sticks and sacks of grain they had taken from the Roman baggage wagon, where several wagons were still smoldering and the bodies of both men and animals surrounding them were beginning to stiffen and bloat. Behind the men carrying the means to cross the ditch, more Cherusci were lugging a variety of implements, along with a few ladders, also taken from the baggage train. Since the artillery had been lost, the Romans were consigned to wait until the moment their enemy came within javelin range, but their Centurions kept them from immediately releasing them. Without even the picket stakes, the Legionaries on the wall had absolutely no cover other than their shields from the hail of short throwing spears hurled at them as the Cherusci attempted to keep the Romans from launching their own missiles while their comrades threw the hurdles and sacks down into the ditch. One column was just to the side of the dirt gate of the Porta Praetoria, while some men in that group made an effort to force their way through the gate but were quickly cut down, and from then on the Cherusci focused their efforts on the three spots they had selected to either effect a breach or to scale the walls. After weathering the hail of missiles from the Cherusci, the Romans retaliated, waiting until their enemies actually crossed the ditch using the makeshift bridges they had created, thereby shortening the range, and with the height advantage, increased the power of the impact. In numbers, the Roman response was not as great; if any man present had taken the time to guess, it was likely they would have credited the Cherusci with having four of their throwing spears for every Roman javelin. However, once more, the design that was credited to the great Gaius Marius proved superior, at least in its destructive potential, and quickly the roaring challenges and curses issuing from Cherusci throats were joined by the sharp cries and piercing screams of mortal agony as the hardened triangular points punched into their targets.
Inevitably, their supply was exhausted, and even after inflicting heavy casualties, it appeared that the Romans did next to no damage at all, at least to the fervor of the Germans who were now stepping on the bodies of their dead and dying fellow tribesmen as they continued to rush across the ditch. Ultimately, it was not the Cherusci who tried to scale the wall with ladders but the application of sheer brute force in the form of a mass of men pushing against the dirt wall, finally sending a section toppling, that created the first breach. Then, as they had been ordered, the Centurions commanding the men put up enough of a fight that it was not blatantly obvious what they were doing, suffering heavy casualties in the process, and this time, the men of the 5th stood their ground long enough to ensure the Cherusci were convinced. Once the men around the breach began moving backward down the dirt ramp, the Cherusci wasted no time, dividing themselves between keeping up the pressure on the retreating Romans and sending swarms of warriors along the rampart, thereby flanking those men of the 5th closer to the side walls on both sides of the first breach. It was bloody, but it worked as Caecina hoped, with the 5th seemingly withdrawing because of the pressure being put on them. Once the area around the gate was overwhelmed by Cherusci, warriors began pouring through this as well, rapidly multiplying their numbers. Nevertheless, things did not go all the Roman way; Caecina was forced to sound the call to rouse the rest of his army sooner than he wanted, for the very reason that Tetarfenus had worried about. When it became clear that the Cherusci were dangerously close to reaching a spot where, aided by the height of the rampart and the crown of ground no longer providing cover, they would see the men he had lying in wait, he gave the order that brought Gnaeus Pullus and the rest of his army to their feet. For the span of a few heartbeats, as Aulus Caecina Severus sat his horse, he worried that he had misjudged Arminius as so many others had, that the Cherusci chieftain would immediately understand this was a trap, and he would recall his men before they were hurt too badly to be an effective force. He would never learn why, not that it mattered; what did was that, for whatever reason, the horde of Cherusci now effectively contained within these walls, made no attempt to withdraw.
“One volley, boys! Remember, one volley!” Pullus shouted. Understanding he did not have much time, he said quickly, “So, last five sections, when I give the command, I want you to throw…on the run!”
He knew it was a risky order to give; it was possible that one of his men could outstrip his comrades and be in a position to be pierced from behind by a javelin thrown by a Roman. And, in the back of his mind, he was aware that, given his habit of getting too far ahead, he was the most likely candidate. Still, he thought it was the best thing to do, and before he could remand his order, the cornu blared the advance. The now-arrayed three Legions, spread from one wall to another, stepped off in a ragged unison, and Pullus turned his attention on what was coming next. They were still almost three furlongs away from where the 5th had retreated after abandoning the wall, who naturally were spread more thinly to keep the Cherusci from flanking them. Pullus’ Cohort was positioned with the forum to the right, placing them closer to the wall that normally contained the Porta Sinistra, although this camp had not been constructed with those side gates, and he saw the same thing that Caecina had, although he had no idea that this was what had triggered the Legate sounding the command to engage earlier than he planned. About three hundred Cherusci had climbed up onto the rampart to his left, clearly int
ending to maneuver past their foes, but the Centurion commanding the Century closest to the wall had dispatched what Pullus guessed was half his Century up onto the rampart, where they were engaged in a furious struggle. Moving at their normal pace, the three Legions advanced, and as they drew closer, Pullus began to wonder exactly when, and how, Caecina intended to withdraw the 5th; he got his answer a few heartbeats later, when from behind him now that they had swept past the forum, the cornu sounded another call, one that, later, would be much debated. Not, however, because it did not work, but that it did when there was no reason it should have, and while there would be several alternatives offered, Pullus would never alter from his original belief, that Fortuna decided to finally smile on the Romans. A prudent commander would have ordered the signal for a withdrawal of the type that Pullus and the 1st had performed the day before, but Caecina directed his new Cornicen to sound the full retreat, one of the most dreaded commands to a Legion, because it was essentially the signal that the day was lost. The manner in which the men of the 5th immediately complied did inform Pullus and the other men of the advancing Legions that their comrades had been forewarned, the rankers at the rear instantly turning and going to the run…directly for them.
“All right, you bastards!” Pullus warned. “Turn sideways and give them extra room! Here they come, and be ready! Those Cherusci fuckers are going to be right behind them!”
Afterward, Pullus would be consoled that every one of his counterparts said more or less the same thing, because it made the most sense; seeing their foe suddenly fleeing the field, it was a given that the victorious army gave immediate and hot pursuit, except this was not what occurred. There were certainly those Cherusci whose blood was up, and they did dash after the retreating Romans, and indeed caught a few of the more heavily armored Legionaries encumbered with and slowed by a shield that was much larger than the German style. For the most part, however, instead of pursuit, the mass of the Cherusci seemed content to allow the 5th to vacate the field, then wait for the Legions who were still advancing at their normal, slow pace. Suddenly, the cornu sounded the call to halt, just when their fleeing comrades were about a hundred paces away, and Pullus immediately understood why.