Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  And so it stood now. The cohorts were deploying in formation, while the engineers marked out the dimensions of the new camp, smaller than the original, due to the terrain and the planned occupants.

  Longinus’ cavalry were set in two wings, one at each end of the line, with the commander himself on the left and prefect Ingenuus leading the right.

  Fronto, his head still tender and his shoulder and leg sore, sat between the two lines of defence astride his horse. From here he could clearly see the half mile to the German defences. The few skirmishers were still visible, but staying well out of the way of the auxiliary slingers and archers that graced the Roman defensive line. He could see a force building up at the wall of the German camp like a wave behind a dam.

  “Steady lads. Close up the formation. Any minute now there’s going to be a flood of the bastards pour across that grass and into us. We’ve got to hold ‘em off until the engineers are finished.”

  One of the optios near the back of the first line looked around and up at Fronto. The legate recognised the junior optio from somewhere.

  “How long d’you think it’s going to be, sir?”

  “We’ll be here a couple of hours and the bastards will keep coming at us until we’re done.”

  “What happens then, sir?”

  “Us and the Eleventh get to settle into the camp and dig our heels in. We’ll have some of the Auxilia with us and half the cavalry will be staying. The rest head back to the big camp. We’re going to guard the supply line.”

  From somewhere near the front, Priscus’ voice sounded across the troops.

  “Arius, do you never stop asking bloody questions? Concentrate on the job at hand.”

  Arius jumped at the primus pilus’ voice and jerked straight as a rod. Fronto smiled.

  “Relax lad. Just do your job.”

  A voice from off to one side of the line called out.

  “They’re coming!”

  Fronto put his hand to his brow, shading his eyes from the early morning sunlight. Sure enough, the wicker walls had opened and men, both running and riding, came pouring through, though it would take them minutes to cross the field and engage. Fronto turned to look over the second line and saw Tetricus giving out instructions to a number of engineers.

  “Tetricus! Make the front bank wide enough to support artillery!”

  Tetricus shouted back over the mass.

  “Already on it, sir.”

  “And get the front bank built first.”

  Tetricus grinned.

  “Already on it, sir. And before you ask, the ballistae are here and ready to be put in position as soon as the bank’s up.”

  Fronto grinned back at him.

  “I’ll just let you do your job, shall I?”

  He turned back to watch the advancing Germans. He would have very much liked artillery support from the start, but in less than an hour they’d be in position and ready anyway.

  “Centurions! The first volley of javelins at thirty yards. Second at twenty.”

  The front ranks of men drew back their arms, preparing the javelins for attack. As the Germans pulled closer and closer, Fronto was surprised to find that Ariovistus had been very careful and reserved with the force he committed. Plenty of horses, so probably all his cavalry, but only enough foot to make it even with the Roman defence. They were light skirmishing troops too so, as long as the shield wall held, they should be able to keep the enemy at bay for hours.

  Arius, the young optio in front of Fronto, craned his neck and addressed his commander again.

  “Sir? Why aren’t the cavalry coming forward to engage the enemy horse?”

  Fronto smiled.

  “The cavalry are here to provide support. They had a hard fight yesterday while we supported them.”

  “So we’re facing the cavalry on foot?”

  “Don’t worry lad. Just listen out for your centurion’s orders.”

  The young man turned back to face the enemy as Fronto watched the cavalry getting closer. Soon they would crash into the front ranks of the legions. He judged the distance. A little closer perhaps…

  “Priscus, now!”

  All along the front rank, centurions called out orders and the front rows of legionaries separated out, leaving gaps. In the spaces between, the Balearic slingers attached to the legions stepped into the field and fired off hundreds of lead bullets that crossed the intervening space at head height. Most of the German footmen were lagging a little behind and few of them were struck by the shot. Most of it struck horses on the chest and shoulders, making the animals rear.

  All across the line, men were thrown or forced to hold on for dear life as their horses bolted madly from the field. It was a small blow really to the German army and even to their cavalry, but they would be a lot more cautious with future charges. At a further order from Priscus, the lines closed up once more and the slingers clambered out from between the ranks into the intervening gap between lines of cohorts.

  Fronto scanned the field. Far more cavalry were coming at the sides, but they would be caught by Longinus’ men and herded into the melee. There were still a number of horsemen in the field, but the majority of the centre were now warriors fighting on foot. In his head he counted ‘Three… two...” Before he reached one, the volley was released.

  Several thousand javelins arced out over the field and came down among the mass. The hissing sound of the flying missiles disappeared to be replaced with the metallic and organic noises of their impact, along with a great deal of screaming. Moments later the second volley was released, too early for Fronto’s liking, but the effect was still good. The mass had barely moved beyond the initial line of javelin casualties when they were struck by a second rain of deadly points.

  Fronto watched the carnage from his mounted position with satisfaction. The initial volley was a shock tactic designed to terrify the enemy and break their spirit. In this case, it had also done a great deal of damage.

  The German warriors were still coming on, but were now advancing with a slower and much more reluctant gait.

  “Steady lads. We’ve shaken them, and when they hit the shield wall they’ll break. Just hold the line.”

  The front runners of the German horde had now come within a few feet of the Roman line. They seemed reluctant to launch an attack on the shield wall and only once there were a reasonably large number of them did they turn, screaming, and run at the Romans.

  The first point they hit was up by the Eleventh. Fronto could hear Crispus’ precise and well-educated tone even over the vast noise of the clash.

  “Maintain formations everyone! Rufus! Be sure your boys don’t break out forwards. Keep the line. Rear ranks move forward and support!”

  Fronto smiled. The man was young and very inexperienced for a military commander, but his innate good sense and his knowledge of military history gave him more of an edge than many of the experienced commanders he’d known. Moreover, Crispus had taken a newly-formed green legion with an officer corps drawn from all over the provincial military and had given them self-respect and honour. In no engagement since their formation had the Eleventh run or failed. Fronto felt confident with them on his flank.

  Drawing his eyes back from the Eleventh, he paid a great deal of attention to the front ranks of his own. They had been hit fairly hard in a number of places but, even where the initial shield wall had buckled under the onslaught, the second or third row of men had pushed the enemy back out or maimed them and let them fall beneath.

  All in all, the line was holding very well and already in places the Germans had given up on the assault and were drawing back toward their camp. The legions were, of course, very lucky in that they had made their way early and taken up the perfect position. The Germans had had precious little warning and had marshalled a small force to try and drive the Romans away. Had they been prepared or committed their whole army, things could have been very different.

  Fronto became aware of someone calling him. He turne
d to see Tetricus waving and pointing to one side. Following his gesture, the legate could see one of the Ballistae still on its cart. Tetricus shrugged. Fronto shook his head.

  “We’ve driven off the first assault. By the time they’re ready to come again, you should have the bank built. Nice thought though.”

  He turned back to see most of the Germans now pulling back from the shield wall. Somewhere off to the right there was a disagreement going on within the German attackers. A particularly large and well-dressed warrior was halting fleeing Germans in their tracks. Though he couldn’t understand what the man was shouting at his fellow warriors, Fronto could easily imagine what it was. The German warrior was unsuccessful in rallying the men and shouted something at them in a derisive manner. Turning, he stamped resolutely on toward the Roman line.

  Fronto was impressed with the courage of the man, but his lack of foresight and common sense would be his undoing. He hesitated for a moment, toying with the idea of ordering the man be brought down with javelin or arrow. It would be ignominious and teach a very pertinent lesson, but a better lesson awaited.

  The German stopped his advance around five feet away from the tips of the Roman swords. Holding his sword high above his head, he bellowed something at his enemy. A challenge, obviously.

  One of the centurions called out “He’s mine!”

  The man barely got to move out of the shield wall before Priscus’ voice, harsh and powerful, carried along the line.

  “Flaminius, if you so much as think of moving out of line, I’ll take your vine staff and wedge it in your arse. This is the Army of Rome, not some Greek heroic epic!”

  The eager centurion faltered and then stepped back into his position. The German grinned at him and then bellowed his challenge at the legions again. Along the Roman front, centurions called out “Hold the line.”

  After a minute more of shouting, the German warrior seemed to be shifting between dejection and derision. He appeared to be undecided as to whether he should attack the line on his own or return to his own camp.

  Velius’ voice could be heard from the left.

  “Castus, you still got that unsightly boil on your arse?”

  There was a small outbreak of laughter and an affirmative from among the Second Cohort, followed by muttered planning. Fronto didn’t generally like being left out of any tactical discussion, but Velius was a special case. Fronto trusted him implicitly and was intrigued.

  Moments later, a rather chubby legionary stepped out to face the huge German and, turning to face the shield wall, raised his tunic and dropped his breeches. The warrior, who had been expecting a challenge, stopped in his tracks, faced with a legionary’s afflicted rear end.

  He dithered for a moment longer, undecided, and then gestured derisively at the Romans, turned away, and walked back to his camp. Fronto grinned.

  “Alright, lads. We can hold anything they throw for now. A few more hours and we’ll be back inside the wall and protected by artillery. Velius, have that man report to the medicus!”

  He smiled, certain in the knowledge that today would be a walkover.

  Chapter 19

  (Around Ariovistus’ position, in both Roman camps)

  “Equisio: A horse attendant or stable master.”

  “Haruspex (pl. Haruspices): A religious official who confirms the will of the Gods through signs and by inspecting the entrails of animals.”

  Fronto and Crispus sighed as two legionaries helped them settle their cloaks into place and tie the military knot around their cuirass. Longinus smiled from his seat in the corner.

  “Your cloak’s looking tattered and worn, Fronto. You’re either going to have to buy a new one or start wearing that abominable glittery one.”

  Fronto grinned.

  “Blind the enemy? I’ll buy a new cloak this winter when we’re not campaigning. Might even be back in Rome, so I can leave the bright one with my sister then.”

  Crispus raised his eyebrows.

  “Might be in Rome you say, Marcus? Where else would you possibly be?”

  Longinus interrupted as Fronto opened his mouth.

  “Marcus here’s one of those that likes to stay with his men. He’ll probably spend most of the off-season with the Tenth in their winter quarters. Apart from a few trips back to see family, that is.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “These days Rome leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s all politics, greed and power. If I don’t stay with the Tenth, I’ll probably go back to Puteoli.”

  Longinus smiled at the other legates.

  “Actually, I’m thinking of spending some of the winter in Spain. Probably in Tarraco or Saguntum, buying horses. Maybe you’d like to join me for a while. You remember how mild the winters are around there, Marcus.”

  Fronto returned the smile.

  “Sounds good. I’d like to see Tarraco again. It’s been a few years now, but I’d lay bets all my favourite inns are the same as ever. You starting up a stable, Gaius?”

  Longinus shrugged.

  “Already got stables Marcus, but there’s precious little good Spanish stock in them, and I rather like my Spanish horses. If you want to join me for a month or two, I’ve already got a villa being built near Tarraco. You too, Aulus, if you want.”

  Crispus beamed at them.

  “I’ve never visited Spain. In fact, this particular command is the first time I have left the familiar shores of Italy. Good grief, I’ve precious rare been out of Rome itself. I’d be enchanted to join you.”

  Fronto glanced out of the tent doorway at the distant sound of the cornicen.

  “Sounds like Priscus has given the call. We’ve got a couple of minutes before they’re fully standing to.”

  Crispus squinted out of the doorway and into the sunlight.

  “Regardless of the events of yesterday, I find it impossible to believe that Ariovistus will commit his forces today. How many times have we presented ourselves before his camp and all but begged him to engage us? I am certain of one thing: he will refrain from attacking either of our forces as long as he is under threat from both sides.”

  Fronto nodded his agreement.

  “I’m no student of grand tactics, but I agree entirely with Aulus. If he’s going to attack us at any time, I’d look to our defences at night, when the two forces are harder to combine. Still, Caesar wants that we present ourselves for battle, so present ourselves we shall.”

  Longinus gave them both a crafty grin as he tightened the belt around his chain cavalry shirt.

  “We’ll see him today alright. I can guarantee you.”

  Fronto furrowed his brow and squinted suspiciously at Longinus.

  “Alright Gaius, what do you know?”

  Longinus stretched, watching the arming process appreciatively; quite grateful he had to wear only a standard cavalry mail shirt.

  “Ariovistus has a very few long-range cavalry scouts still outside the field that come and go at night. He’s now well aware of the train of supply wagons that should reach this very spot not long before dark. He won’t attack until he’s sure he’s only fighting on one front, but he has to destroy this camp by nightfall, or he’s failed to stop our supplies.”

  Crispus grinned.

  “So he’s definitely coming, then.”

  Fronto’s furrowed brow had not moved.

  “How do you know all about the German’s scouts and what they’ve seen?”

  Longinus tapped him on the head and made a hollow sound in his cheek.

  “How do you think I know, Marcus? I’ve had my own scouts marking theirs one on one for days now. I know everything they’ve seen and done.”

  Slowly the frown on Fronto’s face fell away, to be replaced with a content smile.

  “I’m going to rip the bastard German’s face off if I get hold of him.”

  “You and every other Roman on the field. Come on, or we’ll be late for your primus pilus, and he takes the piss even when you’re on time.”

  Maki
ng a few last minute adjustments to the uniforms, the three commanders stepped out into the sun, along with the two legionaries. As the men fell in with their units, Fronto, Crispus and Longinus clasped arms.

  “How long shall we remain in position before we retire to the camp?”

  Fronto shrugged.

  “Caesar will give it until noon and then pull the other force back. I would give the Germans maybe an hour after that before they come. It’ll give the men a little time to eat. When we do fall back, allow them to go off duty, but make damn sure they’re ready to fall in at a moment’s notice.”

  Crispus nodded and Longinus, hauling himself into the saddle, addressed the two legates.

  “Both of you’ll need to be ready, but the cavalry can eat in the saddle. I’ll pull them back to the camp at noon, but I’ll keep them poised and mounted and out of sight. Then, if an attack comes at short notice, we can harry them while the legions fall in.”

  With a slightly unsettling smile, Longinus set off for the cavalry on the wing. Crispus saluted Fronto, unnecessarily he thought, and headed off toward the Eleventh.

  Fronto turned and walked between the lines of men to the front, where Priscus stood with the tribunes and the signifers and cornicen of the First Cohort. The Tenth, like the Eleventh next to them, were in full battle formation, each century in position within the cohort, each cohort in position within the legion. With half of Longinus’ cavalry on each wing and numerous foot and missile auxiliary units in position behind and beside the legions, they were ready to move.

  He glanced briefly behind him at the front rampart of the fort. Tetricus was the only officer not in position with the legion, having volunteered to man the walls and the artillery with the crews. They would doubtful be of any use this morning, even if the Germans did attack, but were a gratifying support. Should the legions be engaged and have to pull back towards the fort, the Ballistae would take on great importance.