Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  As the units closed on the targeted carts, the orders were given and the front rank thrust their swords through the narrow gaps between shields. With synchronised precision, the centuries separated out into a wide line. Finally, a few of the German defenders began to consider the possibility that they had made a terrible mistake. They were now trapped between their carts and a wall of steel and bronze. Several of them broke and ran to one side or the other. One or two actually laid down their weapons, only to be despatched by the man standing next to them. Most of them resolutely stared the Romans in the face.

  Fronto hoped the cavalry would move in soon; that the ropes would arrive. The testudo was good for protection, but any moment now they would have to reform in order to fight effectively.

  Perhaps an early rush would remove their effective resistance long enough to take hold of the situation.

  “Break ranks and charge!”

  Chaos ensued as shields were dropped into their proper positions and the Romans hit the carts like a battering ram. A warrior standing between two wooden spars in front of the centre cart lashed out at Fronto with a spear, though the blow went wild and Fronto easily brushed it aside with his oval shield. Throwing himself in at the man, within the effective range of the spear, the legate continued to push the man’s weapon arm to the left with his shield until he was almost on top of him. Bringing his arm up high, bent at the elbow, he brought his sword down between the man’s collar bones and heard the crack of his solar plexus splitting. The body slid to the floor at his feet and he turned to examine the scene.

  All around him now he could hear the sounds of furious combat. Shielding his eyes, he gazed out over the field at the cavalry. They were forming up into two units. Hopefully that meant the rope had arrived and they were coming to help.

  Suddenly a sharp pain shot through his heel. Fronto turned and looked down. One of the women, presumably driven from the cart top by panic, had been hiding beneath the vehicle and had sunk her teeth into his heel the moment he turned his back. Shit! She’d nearly hamstrung him. Wobbling on his injured foot and trying to turn round without collapsing to the floor, he stepped back and tottered. Righting himself tenuously, he slammed the edge of his shield down onto her arms where she was trying to crawl out from her hiding place. He heard the bones break in her arms, but moments later slid and fell backwards, the reverberating shock too much for his weak and quivering leg.

  No sooner had he hit the ground than one of the legionaries from the Eleventh bent and reached down for him. Gratefully he accepted the man’s aid and pulled himself up. Horsemen were now visible around them and on both sides. He heard a length of rope whistle past him and the men started to tie the lengths to the carts. Briefly, close behind, a woman screamed. He closed his eyes and tried not to feel sorry for her, considering what she’d done.

  The legionary supporting him passed his shield to a colleague and sheathed his sword.

  “C’mon sir. We’d best get you movin’ before this place turns to hell.”

  Fronto shook his head for a moment before realising that the lad was right. If he didn’t get a head start, limping like he was, he’d be cut down by the fleeing hordes of Germans when the carts gave way.

  The soldier half dragged, half carried the legate to the cavalry, where a few spare horses were gathered. Fronto kept looking over his shoulder at the fighting still going on by the carts. He also noted the remarkably visible trail of blood that betrayed where he had come from. The wound must be quite bad, he decided. After all, it had gone numb, and only really bad wounds went numb; the smaller ones hurt more.

  “Best get you on a horse sir.”

  The legionary looked over at Ingenuus.

  “Can I leave him with you sir? You’ll make sure he gets back, yes?”

  The prefect smiled and turned to one of his men.

  “The legate looks a little pale. I think you’d best get him to a medic quickly.”

  Fronto sat up on the horse.

  “I’m damn well going nowhere until I see Ariovistus leave.”

  Ingenuus grinned.

  “Then you’d best move your horse a little, sir, or you’re going to be in the way of the ropes.”

  As the cavalry beat an ordered retreat, Fronto scanned the carts. The infantry were pulling back in good order, around the line of carts and at an increasing distance from them. Tetricus had brought the units back together well and they appeared to have suffered what even Fronto would term ‘acceptable losses’. German warriors swarmed over, under and around the carts and began hacking at the ropes.

  Ingenuus turned his crazy grin to the men around him.

  “Heave lads. Pull the buggers over.”

  The ropes tightened rapidly. As the first rope was cut by the Germans, two of the horseman had to correct themselves and were almost unhorsed. The other rope, however, held firm and the cart gave an ear-splitting cracking noise and then rumbled at high speed out of the wall. A number of German warriors were unfortunate enough to be in front of it, trying to cut the rope, and were lost with a sickening crunch beneath the heavy wheels.

  As the central cart trundled to a halt some fifty yards from the wall, the ones on either side came away with just a few creaks, tipping first onto their wheels due to Tetricus’ positioning of the knots, and then rattling away across the turf. A mass of Germans poured through the gap. For a moment Fronto feared they might wheel to the side and come after the mixed group of infantry and cavalry, but they were more intent on fleeing the death pit that was the centre of the field.

  Fronto smiled. That was it. They’d beaten Ariovistus. The Germans were fleeing the field in scattered panicky groups. Even if they ever managed to group together between here and the other side of the Rhine, the leaders of the other Cantons would never follow Ariovistus against Rome again. Fronto found himself thinking deeply of drinking; drinking deeply. With a relieved smile and heedless of his wound he kicked his horse into life…

  …and yelped.

  * * * * *

  Fronto winced. The medicus dealing with his heel had all the bedside manner and gentle touch of a Numidian gladiator.

  “When you’ve quite finished mauling and tenderising my foot, would you kindly tell me how long I’m going to be invalided?”

  The medicus gave Fronto a look that worried him. No one this naturally unpleasant should be responsible for his wellbeing.

  “You can hobble on it now, but only from seat to seat and so on. If you try walking any distance on it, you’ll just end up in a heap and I’ll refuse to redo it.”

  “Thanks doc.”

  Priscus grinned.

  “It’s alright. I figure you’re getting used to sitting on your arse a lot nowadays.”

  Fronto growled.

  “You’re almost as respectful as he is! Why is it that doctors always treat me like a petulant child, but they never seem to argue with you and Velius?”

  Priscus grinned.

  “Doctors aren’t frightened of senior officers. They’re generally sensible and well behaved. And doctors know they’re valuable. Centurions on the other hand have a reputation for being lunatics and don’t take so well to being ordered around by doctors. Take Balventius.”

  “Why, what’s up with him?”

  Priscus’ grin broadened.

  “He’s in the next tent with Balbus. The doctor had a go at him and when I last saw them, he was threatening the medic with a sword. They won’t argue with him any more.”

  A cough announced the arrival of Crispus.

  “A very fine afternoon, gentlemen.”

  “Crispus. How’s things going?”

  The young legate took a seat.

  “The legions are once more in the camp, with the exception of the few centuries who persist in pursuing the Germans. Duty units are gathering the dead and still finding wounded.”

  Fronto nodded soberly.

  “And what of the Germans, then?”

  “They continue their flight as though the ver
y ghost of Scipio himself were after them. I am somewhat unconvinced that any of them will cease their flight until they cross the Rhine. They are, as I intimated, continually pursued by units of our infantry.”

  Fronto glanced down at Priscus, who wore a confused frown. He smiled and translated.

  “The Germans are running back across the Rhine and we’re chasing them.”

  When he looked back up, Crispus now wore a confused frown. He sighed and glossed over the subject.

  “Anyway, I presume the cavalry are still out?”

  Crispus nodded.

  “I very much doubt that the pursuant centuries will reach conflict at all. Varus and Crassus are already halfway to the Rhine by now, and Caesar and Ingenuus will not be tarrying. No one has yet found the King. Perhaps he died on the field, though I am more inclined to the opinion that he escaped.”

  Without changing his expression, Fronto turned to Priscus.

  “The cavalry are chasing them down. They haven’t found Ariovistus.”

  “Yes, thank you. I already got that.”

  Fronto smiled.

  “Crispus, you have a lovely turn of phrase but sometimes we mortals have trouble following you.”

  Crispus smiled back.

  “Indeed? Then I shall endeavour to paraphrase myself.”

  Behind Crispus, a shadow cast on the tent leather indicated the arrival of another visitor. Leaning heavily on the doctor’s table, still sticky with drying blood, Fronto heaved himself upright, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Immediate pain rushed through his heel and he almost collapsed. With a sigh he looked pathetically at Crispus and Priscus.

  “Oh all right.”

  The two of them half-lifted Fronto out of the tent, helping him across the threshold. Outside, Florus, the young capsarius from the Tenth, stood waiting respectfully. Fronto smiled.

  “Busy Florus?”

  The young man nodded.

  “Fairly busy sir, though most of it’s a job for the proper doctors now. We field medics don’t get much of a look in back here.”

  Priscus looked the young man up and down. The fact that he was covered in blood was unsurprising, given his job, but the ripped chain mail he wore and the dents on his shield told a different story.

  “I thought I gave orders that the capsarii were to stay behind the second line. And anyway, weren’t you staying with the hospital, training to be a doctor?”

  Florus shrugged.

  “I’m a soldier first. Anyway, glory’s quite hard to win when you’re sat in a tent waiting.”

  Fronto interrupted.

  “Were you actually waiting for us?”

  “Yes sir. A number of officers have gathered on the hill above the camp. Legate Balbus sent a message asking if you’d join them for a celebration.”

  Fronto grinned. It seemed to have been a long time since there’d been anything worth really celebrating. Suddenly he found that he was missing that nice little tavern at Bibracte.

  “I’d certainly like to. Best find a horse though; can’t walk all that way with my war wound!”

  Priscus stifled a laugh.

  “War wound. I heard you were defeated in battle by an old woman using only her teeth!”

  Fronto frowned and glanced around him. Crispus had erupted in laughter and was stifling it with his hand. Even Florus’ eyes were watering.

  “Fine, lets all laugh at the invalid. Somebody find me a horse. You lot can all come with me.”

  They were halfway between the valetudinarium and the horse corral when the tumultuous sound of hooves brought them to a halt. They turned to see a group of a dozen auxiliary horsemen led by a regular decurion. The decurion was leading an extra horse with a young woman of perhaps fourteen tied by the wrists to the saddle horn. She was clearly Germanic and her wild hair and dirty face were matted with blood. She was unwounded, however, and stared arrogantly and defiantly down at the officers and men.

  The decurion addressed the group, saluting at Fronto.

  “Apologies, but could you direct me to the senior officer in camp?”

  Fronto shrugged.

  “That’s probably me, decurion, on the assumption Caesar hasn’t returned yet.”

  The decurion nodded.

  “Then I deliver into your custody one prisoner, taken by prefect Ingenuus. We’ve a number of others, but this one’s important.”

  “Important? How?”

  “I believe that she’s the daughter of the German King.”

  Fronto’s eyes widened.

  “Ariovistus’ daughter? Caesar’s going to want to see her. She’s royalty, so we’ll have to treat her well. Honour of Rome and all that crap. Why’s she tied to the saddle and gagged? Not good, decurion; not good.”

  The decurion looked down at Fronto.

  “With respect, legate, you haven’t had to control her for the last hour. She’s a biter sir. Got the prefect a good one on the hand. He lost a finger.”

  Fronto shook his head.

  “What is it with these German women? All right, give the reins to the centurion here and we’ll take her.”

  As Priscus took the reins in his left hand, the other hand still helping to support the legate, Fronto tapped Crispus on the shoulder.

  “Mmm?”

  The young man looked round.

  “Aulus, I think you’d best go to the group on the hill and tell them we’ll be delayed. Best tell them why too. I’ll take the capsarius here with me.”

  Florus looked up in surprise.

  “Me sir?”

  Fronto nodded and gestured at the prisoner.

  “There’s a lot of blood there and I want to make sure none of it’s hers. Priscus? When we get to the praetorium and you drop her off, can you go and see the quartermasters? See if you can round up some intact and clean clothing and a cloak for her?”

  Priscus nodded.

  “Anything else, your leglessness?”

  “Funny.”

  He glowered at Priscus as Crispus jogged away up the hill to see the rest of the officers. Turning to Florus as they headed for the centre of the camp, the legate gestured once more at the prisoner.

  “Can you remove the gag, lad?”

  With a considerable effort, the capsarius reached up and unknotted the military scarf that had been used for a gag. As he pulled it away, the girl spat on him, a mixture of saliva and blood.

  “Charming.”

  Fronto looked over at her.

  “Do you speak Latin?”

  The girl frowned and growled quietly, then took the opportunity to spit on Fronto, hitting him square in the face.

  “Honour or no honour, I’m tempted to put the bloody gag back on! Listen, Princess: if you speak Latin, you need to tell me now. I’m actually capable of being quite nice and reasonable, and the young man here is a doctor who can help you with any wounds you suffered. When the General gets back, he’s less inclined to be nice. In fact he can be a downright bastard. Now’s your chance.”

  Her third attempt at spitting on a Roman went awry. This time both were prepared and jerked out of the way.

  “Very well. Let’s get her to a guarded tent and I’ll leave her for the other staff. I’ll be damned if I’m going to take my chances with another biter today.”

  * * * * *

  Ingenuus rode on, his left hand clutched tightly into a ball, with a scarf wrapped around it. The bloody witch had got two of his fingers. Two! He was no longer wielding a sword, just riding. The few pockets of fleeing Germans they came across either hurled themselves to the floor in supplication or hid in the brush. This wasn’t combat; it was just making sure they left Sequani land. He kicked his horse a little and caught up with Caesar. The General rode at the head of his cavalry, not fast. He was happy to overtake a few survivors, but didn’t want to impede their flight across the Rhine.

  As he pulled level, he became aware of shouting further back along the column. Turning, he saw two of the outriders heading toward the head of the line.

/>   “Caesar, the scouts are shouting for us.”

  The General craned his neck and then nodded. Holding up his hand he called a halt to the column and he and the prefect wheeled their horses and rode back along the line of cavalry to the scouts.

  “What is it?”

  The two auxiliary riders looked at each other and one addressed the General in broken Latin.

  “Caesar. Many German. In tree. Mile to north.”

  Caesar arched his eyebrows and turned to Ingenuus, a question in his gaze. The young prefect shaded his eyes.

  “There’s a fairly large copse over there, sir. If we want to deal with them, we’ll have to dismount. Unless, of course, they feel like surrendering.”

  Caesar nodded.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I’d take two alae and surround the place. Keep one mounted and use the other dismounted if we need to go in. I’d keep the rest of the cavalry at a reasonable distance. If the whole army were there I can’t imagine why they would want to come out.”

  “If you think that’s best, Ingenuus, then see to it.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Nodding to one of his decurions and one of the auxiliary prefects that he knew quite well, he trotted out to one side. Once the cavalry had followed out of line and were assembled, Ingenuus called over the prefect and the decurions.

  “We’re going over to the copse that our scouts found a large number of Germans in. When we get there, I want the auxiliary cavalry to remain mounted and surround the place. The regular cavalry will dismount a short distance away and ring the wood within the line of the cavalry. If the order is given to advance, the regulars will advance on foot and the auxiliary will form a cordon to prevent escape. Inform your men as we ride. Time is short.”