Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  “Your primus pilus needs you.”

  The capsarius examined the wound closely.

  “That’s going to need some serious work. I need you to get to one of the tents and lie face down on a cot. Legate, would you help me with him.”

  Balventius spat on the floor and rolled his eye at the medic.

  “If I were going anywhere, I could do it myself, but I’m not. I need you to stitch me up right here and now while I sit.”

  The capsarius opened his mouth to speak, but Balventius overrode him as he called over one of the orderlies on the rise nearby.

  “Get to the quartermaster and requisition me a new mail shirt.”

  Balbus shrugged as he turned and walked back toward the melee. Capsarii usually won arguments with the wounded, but he couldn’t imagine Balventius giving any ground. The man was clearly insane and, given any leeway at all, would be back in the line as soon as possible, hammering at Germans, held together with twine if necessary.

  Glancing from the slight rise across the field, he had, for the first time, a clear view of what was happening. The centre was moving now, the Germans falling back under the combined weight of the Tenth and the Eighth. The other legions were beginning to make some headway, and the cavalry were tied up with the enemy on both wings.

  In the distance, at the far right, he could just see Caesar in his red cloak on the white horse, deep among the enemy cavalry.

  Chapter 21

  (The battlefield)

  “Patrician: The higher noble class of Rome, often Senatorial.”

  “Equestrian. The often wealthier, though less noble mercantile class, known as knights.”

  The German cavalry had moved in for the kill at both ends of the phalanx, in much the same fashion as the Roman line. Caesar had ridden at the front of the wing right in among the enemy. Most of the cavalry troopers and Auxilia had been awed and impressed by the sight of the General charging among his men and subjecting himself to danger. Prefect Aulus Ingenuus however, commanding the regular cavalry on the wing, had his own opinion.

  He had been close enough to observe the combat most of the time, and had not yet seen the General actually physically engage a German warrior. Indeed, with the exception of occasionally brandishing his cavalry sword high, Caesar didn’t seem to have been involved at all. The few times German riders had been close enough to pose a threat to him, a number of auxiliary cavalrymen would rush to his aid and dispatch the enemy immediately.

  These saviours of the General did not seem to be attached to any of the auxiliary units on the field and Ingenuus could only imagine that Caesar had organised and authorised a private bodyguard in the fashion so often favoured by Roman Generals.

  The two forces had met on the right wing with a thunderous crash. The report they had received from Varus had proved to be wholly accurate. Ariovistus seemed to have forfeited strength on this wing, presumably to create a strong position at the other side. The fighting had immediately become bloody and violent, with most of both forces armed with spears and a smaller proportion with long swords. Here and there among the Germans were footmen, attached to the cavalry as they had been before, one man to one horse.

  As Ingenuus glanced around, looking for any enemy that was not already engaged, he suddenly spotted the German warrior out of the corner of his eye. The man had managed to get round behind him and lunged with his spear, jabbing deep into the horse’s flank. As he tried to bring his sword to bear on the man, his horse bucked and jumped. The barbarian tried to land a more fatal blow with his spear, but the horse’s lashing hooves caught him in the chest and hurled him across the field. The prefect had little time to gloat, as his thigh came unhooked from the saddle horn and he was pitched high into the air when his horse bucked again before cantering off the field, leaving a trail of blood.

  Ingenuus had been a horseman from his earliest memories, riding his steed around the countryside near Capua every minute he had free. His family were reasonably wealthy, though nothing like the Senatorial class in Rome and had had a stable with several horses. He had almost been paralysed after a particularly bad fall when he was ten and had been forbidden to ride for a few years. Flashes of these days and many others passed through the young man’s head as he fell. Fortunately, with the memories came the knowledge of how to fall and roll and avoid serious injury.

  He hit the ground hard and rolled several feet until he came to a stop, standing as fast as he could to avoid being trampled by the numerous horses of both sides. An auxiliary cavalryman swept around with his spear and made for a moment to impale him before realising that he was not a German footman, but a dismounted Roman. Before anyone else could deal with him, he crouched and hunted quickly for his sword. There was no sign. With the way he was pitched from the horse, it could have come down anywhere. He shrugged energetically and only then, with that moment, did he realise how badly he’d hurt his shoulder during the fall. He bit off an unbidden cry and closed his eyes for a moment until the pain passed.

  Looking around to try and grasp how the land lay, he saw a German nearby, sat astride his horse, fighting with an auxiliary cavalryman. He stepped forward, almost stumbling over a body. Acting purely on instinct, he reached down to the body and picked up the broken spear the dead German had been using.

  With a couple more steps, he found himself within striking distance of the German rider and brought the spear round in a two-handed underarm swing. Though the movement caused screaming pain in his shoulder, he persevered and the point vanished into the man’s side just below the ribs, running deep within. The rider jerked once, made a croaking sound, and then slumped in his saddle, dark gobbets of blood pouring from both mouth and wound. Ingenuus gave a heave on the man’s leg and the body fell to the ground, the Germanic sword still grasped in his hand.

  Crouching down, wincing once more at the pain, he tugged at the dead man’s fingers, slowly prising them apart until he could remove the sword. Grasping the hilt he stood, weighing the blade in his hand. It was heavier than the Roman cavalry sword he was used to, but not unwieldy. Hefting it, he looked around.

  Close by, two Germans were stabbing with spears at a Roman cavalry trooper who flailed with his sword, knocking one of the spears out of the way while protecting himself from the other with his shield. For a moment, the prefect wondered whether it was truly wise to push his already painful shoulder but decided that he wouldn’t be able to fight effectively with one arm using a blade of this weight. Taking a running step forward, he drew the huge sword back, gritting his teeth against the pain. A final step and he brought the blade around in a wide sweep, impressed with the devastation wrought by a blade this size and gaining a grudging respect for Celtic smiths. The sword, relying more on its weight than its edge, caught the German in the side, severing the spear-wielding arm instantly and continuing halfway through the chest. The pure momentum of the sweep ripped the blade out of the body, carrying viscera and chunks of bone with it. The German slumped forward, almost collapsing in on himself with the shattering of so many bones.

  The pain in his shoulder all but forgotten, Ingenuus stared at the Celtic sword. It might be harder to wield on horseback, and it was certainly a slower weapon than the blades he was used to, but on foot, and with the room to swing, it was devastating. The beleaguered trooper, suddenly faced with only one opponent, swung his blade and shattered the spear. Moments later he finished the man off, while Ingenuus scanned the field. He reached out for one of the now many riderless horses and grasped the saddle before he realised that there was no way he’d be able to haul himself onto a horse with his shoulder like this and still carrying the blade. He turned again to scan the field for any further trouble. Most of the action had now died down. On this side of the field the German cavalry had been weakened, and the Romans had caused devastating losses with comparatively few on their own side.

  It was as he was surveying with an air of satisfaction that he saw the three horsemen bearing down on the General. Four of the ‘bo
dyguard’ were nearby, but only one was realistically within reach, and he was under attack by the footmen attached to those cavalry. There were so many Roman regulars and auxiliaries around, but they were all occupied with chasing down the Germans who were trying to reach the other side of the field to rally their compatriots.

  Taking a deep breath, Ingenuus started to run. His legs felt like lead and his shoulder burned as he pulled the sword back behind him, ready for a huge swing. Moments passed as he saw Caesar for the first time during the battle hold out his blade and prepare to engage in combat. One of the enemy horsemen veered off to deal with the bodyguard who was racing in to protect the General, but the other two separated as they reached Caesar, attacking him from both sides. With blood pounding in his ears and his breath coming in rasping gasps, Ingenuus launched himself at the closest.

  The General lunged at the other cavalryman, his sword flashing in the sun. He had taken his ornate gladius into battle, rather than a standard cavalry sword and the reach was unrealistic. There was no way he would be able to fight off the enemy for long, and he couldn’t lunge far enough to do serious damage with the short sword. The German swung his blade and the General was forced to throw himself forward, flat across the horse’s neck.

  The other German reined his horse in a little and pulled his arm back, the spear ready for an over arm stab. He reared back and Ingenuus swung with the heavy blade, feeling the muscles in his shoulder tear with the effort. Unused to the weight of the blade, his swing was lower than he’d intended and dipped even further, losing power as the blade travelled. Far from hitting the man in the side and unhorsing him, the edge smashed into the man’s leg just above the knee, severing it messily and smashing into the horse’s side. The German slid from the other side of the horse, the severed leg falling to the ground and landing close to the forgotten spear. The horse reared in shock and pain, the wound in its side deep and long. The blow had certainly broken its ribs.

  In pain and confusion, the horse blundered forward into the General’s. Caesar, locked deep in personal combat, was caught unawares as his horse panicked and bucked. The General was hurled into the air and crashed to the turf close by. Both Caesar’s white horse and the German’s chestnut panicked and thrashed for only a moment before running from the scene. Ingenuus rushed to help the General up, pausing only to stick his large Celtic sword into the one-legged German who rolled around on the floor in agony. The General was unhurt, apart likely from a little bruising and a pulled muscle or two. He stood, brushing himself down. The second German who had been locked in combat with the General had finally righted his nervous horse, just in time to face two of the bodyguards who had reached the scene. Leaving them to deal with the enemy, Ingenuus dropped the tip of his sword to the ground and leaned on the heavy hilt, wincing and rolling his shoulder. He breathed out, a deep relieved sigh, and then realised that he was in the presence of the commander of the entire army. He straightened.

  “Apologies, General. Can I be of assistance?”

  Caesar smiled at the tired and injured cavalry prefect.

  “Aulus Ingenuus I believe. You’ve already assisted me, prefect. Looks like we’ve broken the wing, wouldn’t you say?”

  The young officer glanced around at the scene wearily. There were shattered remains of the German cavalry force visible here and there through the Romans and Gauls. Few remained on the field, and those that did fought desperately for their life against tremendous odds. Some distance away a party of Germans fleeing the field were just visible over the trees.

  “Yes sir. I’d say we’ve turned the wing. Permission to depart, sir? I need to find a horse and a Roman sword.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “You’re wounded, prefect. Look at the way you’re standing. You need to get to the valetudinarium, not the stables.”

  Ingenuus raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “I’ve a few aches and pains, sir, but I’ve no intention of leaving the field before any of the Germans.”

  Caesar laughed.

  “Very well. Shall we rally the cavalry and support the main push? Harry the enemy on the flanks?”

  The prefect was opening his mouth and drawing breath to speak, when a regular cavalry trooper thundered to a halt next to him and saluted the General wearily. Glancing up, Ingenuus realised this was a decurion he used to serve with, one of Varus’ men now. The trooper was spattered with blood; some of it his own. A grisly sight. The man straightened, wincing at some invisible pain.

  “General, Commander Varus wanted me to tell you that we ran into real heavy resistance on the left. We’re deep in the shit sir. Any help you can throw our way’d be real handy, sir.”

  Ingenuus looked up at the General who tapped his lip.

  “What does Crassus suggest?”

  The trooper looked taken aback for a moment.

  “Crassus, sir? Never stopped to ask. He’s ridin’ around at the back making sure no one retreats! Being an arse, sir!”

  Caesar frowned.

  “You mean he’s led the cavalry into deep water and then left you there?”

  “Not deep water, sir. Deep shit!”

  Caesar leaned down to Ingenuus.

  “What’s your opinion of our situation on this wing?”

  Ingenuus put his finger to his lip.

  “We could push the remnants out, harry the flank of the infantry and chase down the escapees with only half what we have here, sir. Once the remnants of the cavalry are gone, we could try to remove some of their wagons and have a go at the rear, but it would be dangerous.”

  “I tend to agree, prefect. You feel up to the job?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Caesar smiled again as the young man came painfully to attention.

  “Good. And stop doing that… you’ll break something. I’ll take half the cavalry round the edge of the field to aid the left and pick up the third reserve line as I go. You take command here, but don’t try for their flanks. There are too many wagons and defences round their sides and rear and that’s a job for the infantry. Chase them down. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve seen to the left wing.”

  Ingenuus nodded.

  “Yes sir. With pleasure.”

  * * * * *

  Varus dared a quick look over his shoulder. The rear ranks of the left wing had thinned out rather seriously. Crassus had been pushing and driving all the time, sending forward any spare men he could find the moment he spotted a gap. There was no longer a reserve, no support. Everyone was on the front line and they were still outnumbered.

  The enemy horsemen were, as previously, supported on a one-to-one basis by footmen armed with swords or spears and there were a great number of riderless horses and dismounted cavalry littering the field. The prefect’s attention was drawn back to the current predicament as the shaft of a spear drove past his shoulder. With a twist of his wrist, he flipped his sword and neatly cut the tip from the spear. Turning back to the man assailing him, he slashed twice in wide arcs, cutting the man across the chest and face. The German toppled from his horse, adding to the numerous bodies strewn across the grass, mostly Roman. He spotted one of the decurions nearby and shouted to attract his attention.

  “Keep the line closed. No-one’s to be a hero. Just protect yourselves until help arrives. I’m going to see the commander.”

  The decurion gave a barely perceptible nod and went back to fighting for his life, shouting orders out above the noise. Shaking his head with anger, Varus wheeled his horse and rode away from the danger toward Crassus, alone at the rear on his horse. The primus pilus of the Seventh was controlling the infantry while his legate dealt with the cavalry.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, prefect?”

  Varus came to a halt in front of the commander.

  “Sir, you must pull in the third line of the legions; the reserve. We need them.”

  “I won’t have cowardice in my cavalry, prefect. We match them in strength.”

  Varus growled audibly, the
tip of his sword dipping dangerously toward his superior.

  “If we weren’t in battle, I’d kill you for that. We don’t match them in strength. We’re nowhere near. They outnumber us almost three to one with their infantry. We need to learn from them! We need infantry support!”

  Crassus sneered.

  “You are dismissed, prefect. You may leave the field.”

  Varus growled again.

  “You should leave the field, you puffed up, inbred, ignorant lunatic. I’ve got to look after my lads until support arrives.”

  “There will be no support, prefect. I’ll not beg for help.”

  Varus wheeled his horse back toward the enemy.

  “You don’t need to call for help. I’ve already sent someone.”

  And with that he charged off into the melee again.

  Crassus watched with a rising fury as the prefect waded in among the enemy again. The man was brave, he had to admit, but he was just an equestrian. He’d have to pay for talking like that to a superior officer; to one of the Patrician class. After the battle, Varus would have to be removed from command, and beaten of course. He’d have to speak to Caesar about the man.

  Taking a deep breath, he scanned the rear of the field. He couldn’t let another officer save his skin. He’d have to do something himself. He looked around until he saw one of the irregular riders that carried messages.

  “You. Go and find the commanders of the Seventh and tell them that their legate has ordered them to pull back and support the cavalry.”

  The rider stared at the commander, a confused look on his face. Crassus sighed. The army would never be truly effective while they relied on barbarians for so many of their numbers.