Avenging Varus Part II

by R. W. Peake

  It was not more than a hundred heartbeats after that when the cornu sounded, sweeping away all the levity as men scrambled to their feet, hefted their shields, and made themselves ready for what came next. Which, I was certain, would be the call to begin the battle, and as I discovered later, I was not alone in my assumption. Granted, it was late in the day, but here were both armies, arrayed for battle and ready to throw themselves at each other. When, I thought, would this opportunity come again? I offer this as explanation for my actions when the next cornu call came, which was the order to withdraw, not advance, which made me lag behind the other Cohorts in issuing the proper command. Nevertheless, withdraw we did, returning to our downed gear and baggage train, but much to our surprise, there was no order given to construct a camp for the night. Instead, we were ordered to settle down in place, essentially where we had grounded our gear, while an alert of fifty percent was set, cutting the amount of time we could sleep in half. We were at least allowed to have charcoal fires, and while I cannot speak for the rest of the army, I was proud to see how quickly, and with a minimum of complaint, the men of the Fourth adjusted to the idea that they would be spending the night either wrapped in their sagum or standing watch. The one difference was that Germanicus instructed us to move from the column we had been in and had men move into the positions they had been in on our approach to the river. By doing so, he placed the archers as the first line of defense in the event of an attack from the position the Germans had held on the other side of the river, with the second line the auxiliaries who had been in front of us, but we learned why Germanicus was so certain that they would not at least attempt to flank us.

  “The Propraetor doesn’t think that Arminius will try to do anything tonight,” Sacrovir told us. “He knows that we’re alert and ready for any trouble, and while we were standing there, he sent men out to scout for another ford. The nearest one is five miles from here, so it’s highly unlikely that those bastards are going to do a ten-mile march to try to attack us tonight. And,” he finished with a smile, “he’s stationed part of the cavalry and sent a Cohort of the auxiliaries there in the event that they try.”

  When I glanced over at Macer, I saw by his expression that we shared the same thought, that while true in the sense that we would be expecting some sort of attack, more than once, a man wearing the mantle of command of Roman Legions had underestimated the Cherusci chieftain’s guile. I also realized that, if we were sitting back in Ubiorum, and this topic was introduced as an academic exercise, I would likely wholeheartedly agree with Germanicus’ assessment; given that we were standing in the middle of a forest on the east side of the Rhenus, after having seen the size of the German horde, it was another matter entirely. Still, the fact that there was not another fordable spot across the Visurgis for five miles was the clinching factor that we were safe for the night as far as I was concerned. We were dismissed to return to our respective Cohorts, and I relayed the orders to my Centurions, designating that the even numbered Centuries would stand the watch for the first half of the night hour, and the odds the last half. By that time, Alex had prepared my meal, which I ate standing up despite knowing that I should take advantage of what little rest I could get, but I was far too energized to do so. We would be going into battle the next morning, my first as Pilus Prior, against Arminius, and the knowledge that tomorrow could settle all ensured that I would not be getting any sleep.

  The call to rise came a third of a watch earlier than normal, but I had been awake the entire time, something that did not please Alex in the slightest.

  “You should have gotten some sleep while you had the chance,” he grumbled, although he was handing me the remains of the bread from the night before while the bowl of porridge heated up.

  “I wasn’t tired,” I told him.

  “You say that now, but you don’t know how long a day this will be.”

  That, I knew, was undoubtedly true, but since it was too late to do anything about it, I concentrated on my meal, finishing it as quickly as I could so that I could begin the real work of preparing my Cohort for battle. One thing I noticed immediately was that no orders had been given regarding any attempt to move as quietly as possible; indeed, it seemed to me as if Germanicus wanted us to make as much noise rousing ourselves as possible, which was reinforced when, at precisely the right moment as the sun cracked the horizon, the bucina call sounded the official start of the day. Like me, most of the men had already consumed their meal, and while I had Saloninus work with the First, I moved through the rest of the Cohort, and I was extremely pleased at what I saw, as Structus, Licinius, Fabricius, Gillo, and even Calpurnius already had their Centuries prepared for the pre-battle inspection. The leather covers were stripped, the red paint still fresh and protected by varnish, with the symbol of the 1st, the bull, emblazoned on it, although Germanicus had decreed that the horsehair plumes not be worn, which was considered a benefit because it tended to hinder the vision of men in the second rank. Since they were ready so quickly, I decided to spend the time to walk, rank by rank, through all six Centuries, and as I did, I attempted to mention something to each man. This was the moment I learned that my adoption of the practice of sparring at least once with each man of the Cohort, which on this day numbered four hundred sixty-seven effectives, paid an extra dividend, because while I had not memorized the name of every man in my Cohort, I recognized their faces from our time in the square. So, with the men of the other five Centuries, I would make a joke about something that had happened during our bout, and if I remembered their name, I made sure to use it; with another man, I would remind him of something he had done that we had worked together to correct. The only material difference in how I behaved was with the men of the Sixth, and of the First, who I knew better, and I found that it was impossible for me to pretend with a handful of men who were among the malcontents that are part of every Century, in every Legion. Yes, we had culled the worst of them some eighteen months earlier, and it had certainly done a great deal to quash the amount of trouble these men caused, yet on this day, while I could not be jocular, I at least did try to be positive. I could not have timed it any better; I had talked myself hoarse, and just as I finished with the ranker of my own Tenth Section, the cornu sounded the assembly for Pili Priores, although it was before I could stop and at least take a drink, which I found a bit worrying. I was already sweating, and this would only get worse, but I hurried at the trot to reach the Primus Pilus, barely beating the Pili Priores of the third line Cohorts.

  “We’re about to move,” Sacrovir wasted no time with niceties, and turned to the Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth Pili Priores to inform them, “but your Cohorts are going to be with the other third line Cohorts.”

  “We’re not going to be part of the fight?” Gallus asked, clearly dismayed, although to my eye, only Regulus of the Tenth seemed to share it.

  “No.” Sacrovir at least did not hesitate in giving what was obviously bad news to two of them. “Germanicus has decided that you’ll be working on a camp. We need to have shelter and protection for however many men we have wounded after,” he did not seem to know how to word it, so he finished, “this.”

  “Twelve Cohorts to build a camp big enough for the army?” Camerinus of the Ninth made no attempt to hide his doubt, which he expressed to Sacrovir, “Primus Pilus, I don’t think we’ll have enough men to be done in time.”

  “I’ll be sure to inform the Propraetor of your concerns, Nones Pilus Prior Camerinus.”

  If the acid tone employed by Sacrovir was not enough warning, his use of Camerinus’ full rank certainly was, and Camerinus was wise enough to not argue any further, whereupon they were dismissed.

  Returning his attention to the rest of us, he continued, “The plan as it stands now is that Germanicus is going to wait to see if the Germans are arrayed like they were yesterday. Once we get to the river, he’ll know if what he has in mind works.”

  “Do you know what that is?” Macer asked, but Sacrovir shook his he
ad, and while his tone was neutral, I felt certain that he was unhappy to answer, “I have no idea, Macer.” Shrugging, he finished, “Go to your Cohorts and make ready. It shouldn’t be long now.”

  He was correct; I had barely settled in my spot next to Gemellus when, from the cluster of horsemen who were now positioned roughly in the center of our long line, ahead of the auxiliaries in our front but behind the archers, the cornu gave the preparatory call, waiting long enough for the Legion Corniceni like Paterculus of my Legion to respond with a call of their own in acknowledgement they had heard. Just the sound of the horn caused a fresh spate of sweat, which made me remember that I had not gotten anything to drink, and the urge was strong to turn and order one of my men to offer up their flask so that I could at least wet my throat. Fortunately, for them, I refrained, since it had been one of the first lessons I had been taught when I entered the Centurionate that at moments like this, the chances that a ranker violated the regulation against wine in their canteens was virtually a certainty. And, if I took a drink, I would be faced with a choice, either ignoring what would be a breach of regulations, or punishing a man because of my own thirst. Before I could make a decision either way, the command sounded that put our army into motion, and I quickly shoved everything like thirst out of my mind so that I could begin worrying about larger concerns.

  To my eyes, the men of Arminius’ army were in essentially an identical posture, the same distance away from the opposite riverbank as they had been the day before while the two brothers bickered with each other. I had been so preoccupied with everything that I had forgotten to send Alex on a quest to see if he could glean any information about what had taken place, not that it mattered all that much. As I could see, both sides were just as determined to destroy each other as they had been the day before, so clearly, Arminius’ brother Flavus had been unable to sway the Cherusci chieftain. In most ways, it was identical to the day before, except that it was earlier, but as we had done the previous day, we were ordered to a halt that placed us roughly the same distance from the river. While we in the Legions and the line of auxiliaries just ahead of us stood motionless, movement a fair distance from where the left flank of the Sixth of the Fourth of the 2nd was located drew my attention in time to see a substantial force of horsemen moving at a brisk trot, but parallel to the river and moving downstream. I cannot say why, but I turned and looked off to my right, and saw similar movement by what appeared to be the same size cavalry force heading in the opposite direction. Across the river, the Germans were beginning their usual prebattle rituals, shaking their weapons at us, as first one warrior, then another stepped a couple paces ahead of their comrades to bellow something that perhaps the archers could hear, and maybe their dialect was close enough to comprehend the meaning.

  “Ooooh, I’m going to kill you, Roman. I’m going to pull out your guts, then I’m going to bugger you as you’re dying right on top of your guts.”

  I have no idea if it was Gemellus’ intention to inject some levity, and I realize that as I dictate this, it may not seem as humorous as it was in the moment, and I know that much of it came from the bored tone he adopted and how he matched it to the gesticulation of a blonde-haired warrior shaking his gladius at us, but what mattered is that every man who heard, including the men of Structus’ Century, began roaring with laughter. What was also true was that I was laughing along with the others, until it was clearly loud enough to cause some of the men on the outer fringes of Germanicus’ group of horsemen to turn in our direction.

  “All right, Gemellus.” It was a bit of a struggle to stop laughing. “That’s enough.”

  It was only as I turned back around that I remembered I had admonished Figulus for doing essentially the same thing the day before, but before I could spend any time thinking about what that meant about the mental state of my Century, I saw what appeared to be a shower of tiny slivers suddenly arcing into the sky, and it took a heartbeat to recognize what direction they were traveling.

  “All right, boys, it’s begun! Germanicus is having our archers soften them up! It won’t be long now!”

  For the next few moments, we watched as our archers launched wave after wave of missiles, but rather than simply withdraw out of range, the Germans seemed content to stand there in their version of a testudo, which essentially consists of raising whatever type shield they have up above their heads. At first, it seemed to be a foolhardy thing to do, especially since the men along the front rank did not present their protection in front of them, but held them above their heads as well, which made me realize that our archers were at an extreme range, requiring them to point their missiles up as if they were aiming at the sun, which was still ascending into the sky. Germanicus clearly saw this as well, because there was more movement along our front, and we saw a second group of our skirmishers move forward, stopping just in front of our archers, but it was the motion of their arms that signaled these were our force of slingers, and within a span of heartbeats the Germans of the front rank were forced to move their shields in front of them to protect themselves from the flatter trajectory of sling bullets. It was not until, from the fringe of the forest on the opposite bank off to our left, the force of cavalry I had seen moving away from us came charging out of the trees that I understood that Germanicus’ use of the archers had not been an attempt to inflict casualties, but to pin the Germans in place, and I assumed that his sending the slingers forward was just his attempt to take advantage of the situation. Only later would I learn that it was Stertinius leading this force, while another man, Lucius Aemilius, was in command of the second force that was only a matter of heartbeats behind Stertinius, launching their attack from the opposite side. And, at first, it appeared that the plan was working perfectly, as the German host suddenly went rushing back in the direction of the forest that, by my best guess, was about a half-mile from their side of the river. This was obviously what Germanicus was waiting for, because almost immediately, the Batavians under Chariovalda, who were part of the second line of auxiliaries but placed in the middle of the line rather than the flank, went immediately to the gallop, charging into the river. It was a sound tactic; the Batavians’ skill with river crossings and how rapidly they are able to make them is well known, and more quickly than I would have thought possible, the Batavians were across the river, emerging in a spray of water and mud as they went pounding up the short but steep slope of the riverbank before reaching the expanse of open ground. There was a pause that was so brief that it was barely discernible as the Batavians gathered themselves, and because of the gentle slope up from the riverbank, I could see that Chariovalda had ordered his troopers to form a wedge, with him as the point of it, visible as such by the black crest on his helmet. From a visual standpoint, it was a superb display of discipline and horsemanship, with every man in the formation close enough to their comrades on either side that I doubt I could have inserted my fist in between the legs of each trooper, they were that close to each other. Then they went thundering towards the German center, and while the enemy did not turn and run towards the forest, they were moving backward with an impressive rapidity, although a sizable group of them on either flank, either by command or circumstance, were standing fast against Stertinius on the left and Aemilius on the right, both now hopelessly entangled with the Cherusci. Honestly, there was only a few heartbeats where what was taking place on the flanks was even visible before the dust churned up by hooves and feet created a curtain that was not quite opaque, but certainly obscuring enough that it was impossible to tell what was happening to any level of detail. I cannot speak for anyone else, but my attention was riveted to the Batavians, because I felt certain that what Germanicus was waiting for was for them to push the Germans far enough away from the river to allow us to cross unimpeded. And, at first, it appeared as if Germanicus’ plan was working to perfection, and I shifted my gaze from the scene on the opposite side just long enough to watch as Germanicus turned in his saddle to the mounted Cornicen. I was so ce
rtain I knew it was coming, I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but I was beaten to it, though it was for a different reason.

  “Juno’s cunnus! Where did they come from?”

  I recognized Gemellus’ voice just behind me, but even before he was finished, my eye was drawn to the spot where a new source of movement emerged, from the forested area on the other side of the river, upstream from our position to the right. While there had been some speculation about the relative absence of German cavalry, I know that, at least in my case, it was only a passing thought; my attention had been focused solely on the Cherusci infantry, but now we were confronted with the beginning of the realization that, once again, Arminius had outwitted us.