Tribune of the People

by Dan Wallace

  Sextus returned to camp two days later just before sunrise. I called for an immediate meeting of the centurions and optios in my tent, where the eques quickly reported his findings. Some twenty miles away from our present camp, he had found a place in the roadway that narrowed between the Iberus and a string of low, heavily wooded foothills. The hill closest to the riverbank stretched for about half a mile. The hills on the other side were interspersed by a series of ravines that looked difficult for wagons to negotiate, though groups of men and horses could pass through them. In other words, Father-in-Law, it seemed the perfect setting for an Arevaci ambush. Indeed, it occurred to me that their chieftains might think of it as an opportunity to reproduce Hannibal’s massacre of my ancestor’s army at Trebia.

  The debate began. Didius, ever the pessimist, argued that we should find a safer way through or around the hills. Ulpius was inclined to side with him, while Shafat and Sextus disagreed vociferously. Casca and Quarto held their peace, as did I, waiting for the others to begin repeating their arguments. When they started going over the same ground again, I spoke.

  I told them that we couldn’t afford the extra time it would take to find another route through the hills. I suggested that we could heighten our security measures when we came upon the narrowing of the riverbank, sending strong patrols to the closest hills beforehand, stationing them there until we had passed through safely. Or, I said, we could gamble to see if we could snare the barbarians in their own rabbit trap.

  The plan I proposed meant dividing our legion into three forces. For it to work, we would have to expose our supplies and many of our brothers in arms. We would have to act with stealth in a land completely foreign to us without its native warriors detecting our actions and our purpose. It truly was a game of chance, a play for decisive success or utter disaster. Never would we need Fortuna’s favor more. I outlined the plan, and after much discussion of details, the officers embraced the stratagem.

  Nothing much needed to be said after that. Our eques left to meet with his horsemen while everyone surged into action. Each of the centurions went from tent to tent to wake their men without noise and instruct them with specific orders. At the same time, Sextus mobilized a number of his auxiliaries brought with him from Rome. They quietly led their mounts out to the front gates in the waning moonlight. Gradually, legionaries began to appear near the horsemen, wearing no helmets or loricas, carrying no shields or pila, only their swords wrapped in cloth. Once everything was in order, I nodded at Sextus and Shafat, who silently guided their men out of the camp into the night. Sextus returned just before morning, his men again taking their horses quietly to the corral for fodder and water.

  The next morning, we struck camp and, as originally planned, marched north near the Iberus toward Salduba. We put in a good ten miles and set camp as though nothing had changed. But on the following day, our march would take us onto the tapering riverbank flanked by the steep hillsides.

  Once we set out, our pace began to quicken as the ground next to us began to rise. As planned, the auxiliaries stayed close to the marching legionaries, running up and down the column in hope of confusing observers tracking their number. Gradually, the distance between us and our baggage train began to stretch out. Indeed, parties watching from afar might have thought that we were hastening our step, almost in a hurry to traverse the hills to reach the next camp site and safety. After marching until Apollo raced Sol at the height of the sky, our baggage train trailed the main force by almost an hour.

  Since the main body of the legion traveled in good discipline, with velites openly patrolling the hillside, no marauders harassed us. I must admit, the lack of any hostilities caused me some concern, wondering if they would take the bait. No matter, the bones had been thrown, I thought.

  After another hour’s march, the river began to bend away from the hills, and the surrounding terrain broadened and sloped down. Once clear of the confined riverbank, we slowed our speed, until I called a halt. We issued orders for men to draw water from the river and allowed others to relieve themselves in the nearby brush.

  In the meantime, Father, the lagging baggage train entered the constricted pathway between the hillside and the river where we had been. As fast as we had marched the legion, the impedimenta dragged ever so slowly, until the entire array of wagons and weary men plodded on the cramped roadway.

  As expected, the Arevaci attacked at this point. They could not resist the opportunity to strike a devastating blow by destroying our legion’s entire supply train. I must tell you, Father-in-law, when I heard the distant, muted sound of the tumult on the riverbank behind us, I was much relieved. Though many of our men and all of our supplies were at great risk, I knew then that we at least had a chance. As soon the cornicens from the supply train bleated the alarm, I gave the order.

  Our own horns blared, and the men dropped all pretenses and formed up facing back the way we had come. They shed their packs and camp stakes as previously instructed, and on command quick-stepped back toward the sound of the battle along the river. As fast as our men ran, though, Sextus and his auxiliaries surged past us.

  We were told later by those with the baggage train that, without warning, a band of horsed warriors had attacked from the rear. Meanwhile, another throng of barbarians on horse had raced through the narrow passage on the opposite side of the hill to the front of the supply train to hem in our wagons and men. Finally, Arevici foot soldiers descended from the hillside where they had been hiding since the night before. While they brandished their long swords and cudgels, their marksmen shot arrows and slung projectiles in terrific numbers into our wagons. Our troops took cover amid the wagons, though many were downed before they could reach them. The Arevaci foot soldiers reached the base of the hill and charged wildly, ready to push our men into the river.

  I learned that it was at this point that Casca, whom I had put in command of the baggage train, ordered his men to let fly their pila. In alternating waves, the soldiers whipped their shafts point blank at the front mass of charging Arevaci warriors, piercing many of them like onions on skewers. Still, at the outset, our legionaries defending the wagons were severely outnumbered and pressed.

  That is when a century of our legionaries surged down the hillside behind the Arevaci foot to attack them from the rear. These were the men that Sextus and his horse had secreted to the hills near the river two nights before. In charge of these men, Centurion Shafat silently led them that night through the ravine on the opposite side of the hill next to the river. They climbed to the next hilltop and hid in the woods on the other side without fire or light, for the next two days. Shafat later told me how he and his scouts had watched the Hispanii warriors position themselves on the next day to rush over and down the hillside to attack our supply train. The centurion told me they could barely contain themselves in waiting.

  Finally, as planned, as soon as they heard the horns sound distress from the baggage train, they rushed down the hillside across the ravine and up over the hill next to the river. With only their swords in hand, our men fell with a fury upon the rear of the barbarians attacking our supply train from the hillside.

  At the same, our auxiliary force was closing in on the Hispanii horsemen blocking our wagons in the front. Again, as planned, our cavalry divided forces, with Sextus and a hand-picked contingent heading straight at the enemy horse. Sextus and his troop rode hard to the riverbank, slashing the Arevaci with their blades and stabbing them with spears. In the meantime, his second officer Decimus led another company through that very same ravine between hills used by the Arevaci to encircle the wagons on the riverbank. Decimus was charged with engaging the barbarian riders at the far end of the riverbank, thereby completing our envelopment of all of the Hispanii warriors.

  When I heard the first peal of our horns, I jumped onto Chance and raced to catch up with Sextus and his men. As I have already related, they had charged straight back to harass the Arevaci cavalry blocking the front of the river road. Conf
used and stymied by the sudden assault, the Arevaci turned tail and raced toward the wagons. We followed and saw the enemy horse on the far end also running toward the wagons with Decimus and his men close on their heels. Any Arevaci on foot running from us were being hacked to pieces by our riders as they galloped by or stabbed to death by the legionaries flowing down the hillside, revenge for their fallen comrades.

  Just as it looked as though we would slay them all, however, a leader among them shouted out an order that immediately reversed the tide of their fleeing horse. Sextus commanded his men to be ready for a counterattack, and the Arevaci riders did seem to charge directly at the auxiliaries, who outnumbered them two to one. Instead of actually closing with our cavalry, however, they instead pulled up and whirled around, each picking up a running warrior and hoisting them behind onto the back of their horses. They then rode up the hill as fast as they could. Our horse and foot tried to follow them, but they could not match their speed and agility climbing up the steep slope angling between the trees.

  Through this feat, I would say they managed to save more than half of their remaining warriors. As they reached the hilltop, I saw the chieftain who had saved them suddenly halt his mount, turn, and look back. He was round and grey-haired, wearing a fur vest with round metal disks sewn to it, and on his head a simple, round bronze helmet without a crest or the horns that some of them affix. Then, and I swear this by the good graces of Jupiter and Mars, Father-in-Law, he seemed to look straight at me, as if we were next to each other. Involuntarily, I raised my sword slowly in the air. Without a gesture, he pivoted his horse and rode off.

  By then, the rest had escaped into the farther hills. I reached Sextus, who had halted his troops out of arrow range. Spent, he sat on his horse resting his hands on its neck, gazing up at the hill. Nearly breathless, he said to me, “Those barbarians do know how to ride.” After which he asked me in almost a bemused tone, “Pursue, sir?”

  “No,” I said. “Guard the perimeter while we reform the legion and tend to any wounded. Then, form a detail to return the shepherds and their families to their villages.”

  He looked at me in amazement, so I tried to educate him. “The barbarians will be amazed, too, Eques,” I said. “They will be grateful and happy to tell their countrymen of our fairness. It might keep some of them from pressing our flanks.”

  Sextus didn’t strike me as being convinced, so I added a cautionary corollary. “Even so,” I said, “when you return, keep to the foothills so that even should they want to, they cannot attack again. Meet us at the specified campsite. We’ll march to Salduba from there tomorrow.”

  And, that’s what we did. Our men raised a shout of triumph, and we celebrated that night, sacrificing to Mars and Fortuna liberally, and also to the moon goddesses Diana and Luna, for hiding their light during the two nights that Shafat and his men hid away. We had been victorious with but a handful of men slain or wounded. The Arevaci suffered the loss of perhaps a hundred warriors, including many Numantines, who Shafat identified by their distinctive clothes and armor. To us, such casualties are considered significant but not crippling. Apparently to the Arevaci, however, the losses mean more. I’m not sure I understand why, since all former commanders have estimated the enemy forces in the tens of thousands. Of course, those numbers could have been predicated on an alliance of all the Hispanii peoples, while an individual tribe such as the Numantines might only field a little more than a legion of soldiers, though on horseback. As I’ve written, they are remarkable horsemen.

  But they failed to attack us again during the rest of our trip to Salduba. Of course, we took away any advantage of surprise afforded by the woods, being sure to encase our advance with a large array of scouts. Firewood became no problem, either, since the scouts doubled in their duty by bringing back what we needed when relieved. The wagons always presented a problem, but I drove the men to move fast, and we built roads where we needed them, and bridged many a stream with the speed of Mercury.

  We arrived in Salduba in a fortnight, slower than I had hoped, but as fast as possible considering the enemy harassment early on and the difficult terrain thereafter. Salduba is an actual town that features a mixture of stone buildings and the wooden structures expected in this wild country. The praetor, one Vibius Curius Triarius, struck me as a lean, hard soldier from his look with plenty of experience warring in Hispania. Curius was solicitous but nervous, of course, when he welcomed our motley, gaunt legionaries standing at ragged attention in front of his walls. I did my best to assuage him, and he was quite generous with the town’s victuals and potables. I allowed the men to eat and drink themselves to sleep that night because granting leave to Salduba was out of the question, considering our terribly compromised timetable. How would I ever have been able to round them up? I’d have to search every bed chamber in Salduba!

  I admit, I was so discouraged at this time, I even whined to my poor boy orderly Lysis about being too late, now, to join Mancinus in front of the walls of Numantia. Slight and shy as he is, to his credit he did the best he could to buck me up, telling me that Mancinus was likely to have met similar resistance and obstacles in his march. He swore to the gods that Mancinus would be relieved to see our legion no matter when we joined him. I was secretly bemused by my little Greek slave acting the heroic augur in my tent. He hadn’t been with us at dinner that night so long ago in Rome, when Mancinus eyed me for the first time, taking my measure. Lysis could play act as much as he wanted in his mind’s fantastic world, but he didn’t know how much rested on our success. Mancinus had sworn publicly that he would not be joining the endless ranks of generals who had failed in Hispania, that he would win or come home with coins on his eyes. Without ever saying so, the consul had made it resoundingly clear that if I in any way impeded his vision, large or small, it would be to my detriment. Young Lysis does not know this about Mancinus, though I will say this, the boy certainly can ride Chance. He’s a natural, surprising for one who was only a Greek goatherd before being a house slave. But on that horse, he looks like a miniature, black-haired Alexander.

  Salduba would be another ten-day march to Numantia, and I feared that I would arrive too late. No matter, I could only do what I could do. Praetor Curius did his best to advise us and to give us reliable scouts. Their families lived in Salduba, so I supposed they would be truthful to some extent. I ordered the centurions to make preparations to leave in the morning. During a farewell dinner that evening, Curius showed us maps and traced the route that Mancinus had taken, one directly toward Numantia. He cautioned us again about Arevaci and Numantine attacks, but also said that good time could be made by taking a more southerly route where the terrain was better.

  We left at dawn, keeping as rapid a pace as we could while hewing close to the hills where Sextus could watch out us from high ground. Occasionally, we saw riders, the enemy, no doubt, prowling at a distance, anxious to attack but leery of the whereabouts of our own horse and the thrashing they’d received at the riverbank and our tight formation since then. Young, wild warriors would rush forward now and then to show their bravery to their clansmen. They would fire an arrow and flee, chased by a flight of twenty of our own bolts. A few bold ones drew too close and suffered the consequences. Unfortunately, an arrow of theirs struck home as well. Centurion Ulpius caught one in the meat of his thigh, an almost spent arrow that did not penetrate too deeply. Our only surgeon extracted the pointed shaft and sealed the wound, calling upon Vulcan to bless him with his fire. The surgeon said that, barring corruption, Ulpius should survive. Whether or not he’ll be able to march a full campaign again remains to be seen. But we stuck him on a wagon, and he continues to command his men from afar with good cheer and appropriate invectives. If anything, his attitude promises him a speedy recovery.

  The march was rugged but swift. The men responded well to our urging. They especially excelled in erecting and striking camp, perhaps motivated by a sense of self-preservation as much as by our continuous cajoling. But the shi
fting terrain presented many challenges, and we averaged just ten miles a day. By the fifth day, I was nearly distracted by our slow progress and my concern that Mancinus and his men at this very moment lounged in the Numantine chieftain’s great meeting chamber, eating the last of their winter stores and drinking their wine and ale. We would arrive as an afterthought and, behind closed doors, be a laughing stock. Worse yet, I envisioned Mancinus commanding us to garrison Numantia, and end up being stuck in Hispania for two or more years.

  With these thoughts plaguing me, I paid little attention to Sextus and two adjutants loping toward me, a broad grin creasing his face. Nor did I wonder that he was here instead of at the head of his auxiliaries, ensuring that the pernicious Arevaci were kept at bay from our legion.

  “Salve, Quaestor,” he greeted me, still smiling broadly.

  “What brings you here, Sextus?” I asked, a bit peeved at his cavalier manner. “Who’s keeping track of the Arevaci wild men?”

  “They’re in their place, sir, well out on the fringe and unhappy about it,” he said in the smug way he had perfected. He said, “Decimus is in command for now. I felt it necessary to bring this news myself.”

  “And?” I said. I was truly becoming irked, impatient for him to quit dancing around his news.