by R. W. Peake
It did not take long for us to see that the attack was not going well, but we could only watch helplessly as our comrades threw themselves at the Cherusci tribesmen defending the wall. Since we were too far away to make out details, we only got a sense of what was going on, yet it quickly became apparent that at least part of the problem was the footing at the base of the wall.
“It must be steeper than it looks from here,” Gemellus commented, and I agreed because, even as he said this, we saw men tumbling backward in a manner that suggested they lost their balance, the manner in which they slid down the slope of the wall offering further visual proof.
I have no idea how long the fighting continued in this vein, with the Germans taking advantage of standing atop the steep dirt wall, shoving our men back down the slope, aided by the longer reach of their spears, but it had to have been for a fair amount of time. Another factor was the flow of men to the rear, some of them being dragged to a spot at the base of the slope, where the medici who had been working on those felled by arrows or javelins turned their attention to these men, all of whom suffered a different type of wound. Whether it be with a slash or a thrust, a spear, axe, or gladius does a different type of damage to the body, and the medici were kept busy trying to do what they could for each man. I had heard from Alex, who had been trained to serve as a full medicus when there was a need and had performed that duty a few times, that the most difficult aspect was deciding which man could be saved and which could not, especially when a doomed man was still conscious and staring at him with a futile hope that he would choose them.
Finally, Germanicus decided he had seen enough, and his personal Cornicen sounded the call for a withdrawal, the call repeated by the Legions’ Corniceni. This is perhaps the most difficult maneuver to perform if the enemy decides to keep up the pressure, but it became clear that they were content to stay put, which was something of a blessing for the battered Cohorts. They withdrew in good order, but we quickly learned why when there was a disturbance from behind us, with shouts to separate our ranks. Because of where I was standing in the first line of an acies triplex, although we were in a single line of Centuries, it took a span of time for me to see the cause for the excitement, as teams of animals pulled the wagons holding our artillery forward, with men carrying the smaller scorpions, broken down into their parts for easier transport following closely behind, along with those men who had been tasked with firing the relatively new manuballistae brought up the rear. Since the wagons were drawn up in the space between the Legion lines, I took it upon myself to order the men of the first rank of each Century to ground their shields and javelins and go help unload the wagons, then assist the immunes in assembling the large ballistae. As they were occupied with this, the scorpion teams and the manuballistae immunes continued to close the distance to the enemy, and I felt my mouth twist into a grim smile at the thought of what must be going through the minds of our enemy right now, seeing the array of artillery that would soon be sending their particular lethal cargo in the Germans’ direction. What, I wondered, would be worse? A five- or ten-pound stone falling from the sky or a scorpion or manuballista bolt coming directly towards you? While we had some ballistae that were designed to launch iron bolts the length of my arm, I did not see these deployed, and although I never heard the reason, my assumption was that because of the situation, either Germanicus, the Praefectus Fabrorum, or the chief artillery Immune had determined that the angle was such that it posed too much of a risk since it required a flatter trajectory. It took perhaps a third of a watch to unload, assemble, then anchor the large pieces, while the scorpions were arrayed just in front of the first line that was now back on the level ground, but with the ditch just behind the rearmost ranks. Finally, the manuballistae men advanced what appeared to be about twenty paces closer, but out of arrow range of the Germans, although there was one volley attempted that fell short. Finally, all was ready, and there was a moment where we all were standing there in relative silence, and I noticed that there was a noticeable breeze in our face that was strong enough to make me wonder if the artillerymen would have to compensate. Before I could develop the thought, I saw Germanicus’ head turn and nod to his Cornicen; even before the final note died out, the Legions of Rome unleashed the full fury of our might, in the form of our machines of death and destruction.
I hate the Germans; I hate them with a passion that, if I allow myself to dwell on it, makes me tremble with a rage that I know can unleash what, once my father described the feeling in himself as some sort of beast, I adopted as my own, and is dangerous to anyone near me, including myself. Watching them absorb the terrible punishment meted out by the barrage of rocks from the ballistae, the streaking iron-tipped bolts of scorpions and manuballistae unleashed an exultation that was so powerful and savage that I had to fight the urge to abandon my men and go rushing forward to attack our enemy all by myself. I did my best to appear impassive, but I am certain that Gemellus and Poplicola were not fooled in the slightest, especially after I bellowed in delight when one of the rocks slammed into the Germans in the front rank along the wall with enough force to send the splintered remnants of a warrior’s shield flying a good ten feet in the air, just slightly higher than the man’s head, which tumbled crazily to land at the base of the wall then roll down the slope. For about as long a span of time as it took to prepare the artillery, they bombarded the Germans, exacting a terrible price, forcing the living to either drag the corpses of their dead and usually dismembered comrades back through their ranks to get them out from underfoot or roll them down the slope in front of them. Frankly, I thought, if they were smarter, they would do that with all of their dead comrades, if only to make the footing more treacherous for the second assault that every man, on both sides, knew would be coming. That they did not break under this punishment was also a sign that they realized this was the final battle just as much as we did, that their only hope lay in victory, and with defeat came not just their own deaths, but the likely enslavement of their families. And, make no mistake, I was as determined as any man to achieve victory for Rome, but at the same time, avenge my father, which only compounded my impatience as we stood watching the first line advance for a second time. Somewhat ironically, and unexpectedly, it appeared that the Germans throwing their dead down the slope actually helped the assaulting Centuries by giving them the traction and footholds that had been missing in their first attempt, something I realized with some embarrassment, happy that I had kept the thought to myself. Aiding our cause was that either the Centurions leading the assault had ordered their men to keep one javelin back in their first attempt, or the trailing Centuries had passed theirs up, and this volley seemed to be even more devastating than the first one. Whatever the specifics, what mattered was that this time our men surged up the side of the wall, and after a brief struggle, punched a hole in the German line, roughly in the middle of the earthen barrier.
“It looks like we’re going to be picking off the stragglers,” I commented to Gemellus, not bothering to hide my disappointment, but my Signifer’s attention was elsewhere.
“Pilus Prior!” He pointed off to our right, where the wall met the treeline. “Isn’t that Germanicus?”
Indeed it was, still on horseback for the moment, but leading the two Praetorian Cohorts, their identity made easy by their blue tunics, marching in an obvious attempt to flank the main body by attacking the more lightly defended part of the wall off to our right. He had arrayed them in a line of double Centuries, the Cohorts side by side, and they marched in an open formation and not testudo so that they could move more quickly. Just when they got within javelin range, Germanicus suddenly disappeared, dismounting, with one of his bodyguards leading the animal to a point just between the double Centuries. Then, there was a flurry of missiles, most of them coming from our side, followed by the sudden rush, but we were still too far away to hear anything other than a low, indistinct rumbling sound, although I was certain I could occasionally hear a thin wail dr
ift across the distance as some man left this world to go to whichever afterlife they believed in; if, of course, such a thing exists. Very quickly, Germanicus and the two Cohorts reached the top of the dirt wall, and we now had a toehold in two spots, in the center, and the far right, essentially splitting a portion of the force defending the wall, along with another segment that was facing Germanicus but with the forest behind them. None of us in the 1st knew at the time that this segment in between Germanicus and the forest was where Arminius was located, but Germanicus, from his closer vantage point, had seen the Cherusci chieftain, and he was the reason for our sudden attack. As Arminius’ group of Germans left the wall and began moving backward towards the forest higher up the slope, Germanicus wheeled the two Cohorts to our right to face them in order to keep up the pressure, spreading them into a single line in the process. This was the moment that what I assumed was the German reserve, the formation of perhaps five thousand men who were at the very top of the hill at the edge of the treeline, made their move. However, rather than drive straight down the hill towards where what we learned later was the 14th Legion in the center, and undoubtedly drawn by the presence of our overall commander in the same way Germanicus had gone after Arminius, this force cut across the slope at an angle, heading to their left and aiming right for Germanicus and the Cohorts of the 2nd Legion who were on the far right of the first line. What we all instantly saw, and every man no matter the rank understood, was that unless the First and Second Cohort of the 2nd, the two to our immediate left of where Germanicus and his Praetorians were now pressuring Arminius’ group, made their own pivoting movement to their left and placed themselves at a slight angle to the rest of the line, the reserve force would be able to fall on Germanicus’ Praetorians from the flank and rear. We all saw it, but it was our Primus Pilus who saw it and, without waiting, reacted, snapping the order to his Cornicen, while it was our response that was most important, because the required notes never finished before, with a certain raggedness, our Legion broke into a double quick march. It was a distance of perhaps three furlongs that we had to cover before we reached the ditch, then another three hundred paces up the slope to the wall, and we all instantly understood that this was a race to see who could reach their respective spots first. Unfortunately, this was another example of the one advantage German tribes, and from what I have learned through the accounts of my father and great-grandfather, the tribes of Gaul and Pannonia have over the Legions. By virtue of their inherent disorder and lack of formal structure, both in command and in their formations, the one thing they can do is move more rapidly. And, when aided by a downward slope as they were then, their progress was even more rapid. Because of my Cohort’s location to the far left, and with the angle that Sacrovir was leading us, I tried to judge exactly where Gillo’s Century would be once we reached a point where we could offer assistance, but it was next to impossible to determine, because the Primus Pilus of the 2nd had seen and chosen the correct course of action. The problem, of course, lay in the fact that performing a wheeling maneuver takes time, although I saw that their Primus Pilus was sacrificing cohesion for speed, yet it still did not look as if they would be in time.
“Drop your javelins!” I cannot say how, given I was already out of breath, but I managed to shout this, certain that we would not have time to slow down, let alone stop and perform our normal maneuver of redressing our lines before hurling our missiles. “Pass it down! All Centuries drop javelins!”
Of course, this was exactly what Sacrovir decided to do; probably twenty heartbeats later, the command came, so that my Fourth Cohort was the only one that when Sacrovir’s Cornicen managed to sound the call, shakily but understandably, ordering us to slow to the quick march, we did so without our javelins.
“No! We can’t stop!”
In the moment, I truly had no idea who shouted this; afterward, I was informed that it came from my own lips, and I have no reason to doubt this to be true. Regardless of who said it, I never took my eyes away from the scene in front of us, and therefore knew that any pause now could have catastrophic consequences. It was true that it appeared as if the rearmost two ranks of the Praetorian Centuries, who had gone from the double to a single line to extend their coverage farther upslope, had turned about, undoubtedly warned by someone in the 2nd. I could also see that the Second Cohort of the 2nd was now almost perpendicular to the rest of the first line, but the First Cohort was still running to get into position, leaving a space of about two hundred paces at the top of the slope where a substantial number of Germans could simply skirt past them to fall on Germanicus and the Praetorians. I offer this, such as it is, as my explanation for disobeying the orders of my Primus Pilus once again.
While I have never had it confirmed, I suspect that the reason I was not punished for my refusal to obey the orders of my Primus Pilus to slow down along with the other three Cohorts, then approach at the quick march to launch both javelins, was because Sacrovir realized almost immediately that it was a mistake. In fact, I never heard a word uttered, either by him or by Germanicus, that could be construed as criticism, although this did not mean much in the moment. In practical terms, it meant that three Centuries of my Cohort had to slow slightly to navigate the end of the German ditch, putting my Century, along with Structus and Licinius, about fifty paces ahead of them as we charged up the slope, right into the middle of a brawl, at least in the sense of the lack of order. We were still about a hundred paces away when the Germans who had managed to get past the end of the First of the 2nd threw themselves headlong into the two-man deep line of Praetorians who had faced in the opposite direction, while their comrades were furiously engaged with Arminius and his segment to our right.
“At them, boys! At them!”
I did not turn to look to ensure my men were following because there was no need, and I had already aimed myself for a spot at the very end of the nearest Praetorian Century, where I saw a blue-tunicked Praetorian standing with his legs straddling the body of a comrade, while the man of the next rank was still faced towards Arminius’ men. Like most of his comrades, this Praetorian was larger than average, though not nearly my size, but while he was successful in blocking the thrust of his foe’s spear with his shield, in the instant before I came within reach, I saw that when he recovered it, he brought it back up lower than was wise. Naturally, there is no way to know, but if I had not arrived when I did, it was not out of the realm of possibility that the Praetorian’s foe would have taken advantage, and indeed seemed to intend on doing so because he had lifted his arm to launch his spear from a higher angle to plunge over the Praetorian’s shield. And by doing so, it enabled my blade to punch right under his arm and into his chest. Between my momentum, albeit slightly slowed by scrambling the last few paces up the slope of the wall, my weight, and my strength, the greatest challenge was recovering my blade from his body because I buried it up to the handguard. His head whipped around, and what I remember is how vividly blue his eyes were, although the colored part looked very small compared to the white surrounding it because his eyes were opened so wildly, locked on mine. The moment did not last long as I shoved him with my vitus, and while it was not my intention to do so, it was with enough force to send him careening into the German to his left, staggering this warrior and giving the Praetorian on the opposite side the chance to end the man.
“Thank the gods, Centurion! I thought I was…”
“Shut your mouth,” I snarled at him, “and keep your eyes to the front!”
I have no idea how he took this because I was already turning away from him, just in time to see my front rank send the Germans who had gone from the certainty of falling on the unprotected rear of their foes to the surprise of being forced to worry about our arrival reeling backward, leaving several of their comrades at the feet of my men. Now that we were on the wall itself, it gave me a better idea of the situation, particularly in seeing that the slope back up to the forest to our front was more severe than had appeared from a dis
tance. Because of the ditch, the last three Centuries arrived a bit behind us, but I immediately saw that we could turn this to our advantage.
Turning to Poplicola, I snapped, “Sound the alert for the Centurions!”
He complied, although like it had been with Sacrovir’s Cornicen Paterculus, the sound was shakier than normal, but it sufficed and I saw the five of them step slightly away from their Centuries so that I could see them, raising their viti in the signal they were ready to receive my orders, but I indicated that my orders were for Calpurnius, Fabricius, and Gillo. I pointed with my own vitus, using it and my right hand to convey what I wanted, and they immediately complied, while I retrieved my gladius from where I had thrust it into the ground. It was bloody, but I was far from satisfied.
“Let’s see if we can’t cause them some more trouble, boys!” I bellowed, and the men of the Fourth responded with a roar.
The arrival of the 1st had shifted the balance, quickly and dramatically, but to their credit, once the leader of the reserve—Inguiomerus as it turned out—saw their ploy to skirt past the 2nd to reach the Praetorians had failed, they responded quickly, running back up the slope to the edge of the woods to reorganize. By doing so, it not only relieved the pressure on the Praetorians, it gave my Cohort more room to maneuver, but this was one time I was unwilling to use my initiative, acutely aware that I had already disobeyed orders once that day. With Mus back in the baggage train with the wounded, I called another man from the Tenth Section to my side.
“Perperna, go to the Primus Pilus, ask him what he wants the Fourth to do,” I ordered, and he repeated the order then went dashing off.
Because of the lull, I took the moment to assess where things were at, and what I saw was that we now had complete possession of the wall as far as I could see all the way to the river. Now the Germans were arranged in a rough semicircle along the top of the slope, the thick forest to their back, their formation following its contour around from my left to right so that the open end of the semicircle faced our direction. This was certainly positive, but they still held certain advantages, the first which I had discovered once I was close enough to see how steep that slope was. What was more concerning, at least to me, was what awaited us in that forest. Even with all the bodies of tightly packed men on both sides between us, I could easily see that the trees were dense and the undergrowth thick, exactly the type of terrain that favored the Germans’ looser formations than ours, which need uninterrupted space. And, while I waited to hear what Sacrovir wanted us to do, either stay put with the two Praetorian Cohorts in between my Fourth and the other first line Cohorts or to join them, I got an answer about what our enemy was going to do, when I saw them fading away into the forest.