Labienus barked out a laugh and kicked his horse into a slightly faster pace as he rose to the crest of the hill. Grumbling, Quadratus joined him, and stopped suddenly at the hill top.
‘What? Where?’
‘Your next questions, I think, will be when and how, since the who is plain?’ Labienus chuckled as the pair looked down upon the bulk of the Seventh and Ninth legions arrayed for battle, safely out of sight of the Treveri beyond the river, the ridge keeping them obscured. ‘The ‘what’ is fifteen cohorts drawn from the Seventh and Ninth, along with their artillery hidden in the treeline. The auxilia and five more cohorts have returned to secure our fort and accompany the whole of Caesar’s baggage train that is now entrusted to us. The ‘where’ is safely out of sight of the Treveri. The ‘when’ is all the time we’ve been setting up, they have already been ready to fall into place. They arrived immediately after us from the south, unnoticed. And the ‘how’? Well, I think that’s obvious. Dispatch riders organised everything. Now the Twelfth will fall into position with them, and three legions will await the Treveri attack.’
‘What attack?’ bumbled Quadratus, feeling as though a rug had been whipped out from under his feet.
‘That, my friend, is why I could not inform you of my plans. Just as I have my spies and scouts among the Treveri and the Mediomatrici, this new king has his spies among our Gallic auxilia under your command. Everything had to look natural to them, so I relied upon your fury and irritation at my decisions translating nicely to them. Even now, half a dozen of your riders will have slipped away from your units and taken news of the authenticity of our fearful retreat to the Treveri. They will, of course, want to deal with us before we can get safely behind fort walls.’
‘A feint? This whole thing has been a giant feint?’
‘Indeed. I wondered over the past few weeks whether to weed out the spies in our ranks. My own spies have identified a number of theirs, of course. But it struck me that misinformation could be more useful than securing our own information.’ He smiled at the exasperated prefect. ‘Now. If you would be so good, Quadratus, perhaps you can reform your cavalry in the space we have left over to the right side of the slope. But signals only. No horns or whistles. Let’s keep the Treveri completely in the dark, eh?’
Quadratus shook his head in wonder and let out a relieved laugh.
‘It’ll be my pleasure, sir.’
* * * * *
Andesaros gave a satisfied smile.
‘You hear that, Dunohorix? Solemnis? The Roman commander retires to his fort in defeat. Our Suevi allies close on him and he finds himself in grave danger. Now he must seek the safety of his walls and the legions that are likely converging there.’
‘If they reach the fort, we will have to dig them out,’ Dunohorix grumbled. ‘It will be hard. Like opening a stubborn oyster with one hand. And all the glory and loot will fall to the Suevi. We will have nothing to show for throwing our support behind you. Ambiorix continues to steer us wrong.’
‘Not if we take them now,’ Andesaros said calmly.
‘What?’ Solemnis looked more nervous than ever.
‘The weather is good. It has been dry for some time so the ground is good. We have hours ‘til dark. The river banks will be solid, for all they are steep, and the river is lower than it has been for many months. The Romans are in disarray and on the retreat. My spies tell me that their morale is poor and their belief in their commander is waning. We will fall upon their retreating numbers. Even if they manage to reach the safety of their walls, they will have lost half their number by then, including…’ he smiled and stressed the last part as he scoured the eyes of his fellow chieftains, ‘their support wagons and supplies, which are always at the rear, slower than the rest.’
‘We could crush them,’ Dunohorix smiled grimly.
‘We can. Rouse your men. Promise them Roman blood and Roman treasure once more. Then join us. We charge at once. We must move fast to catch them while they are far from safety.’
He watched the two chieftains run back to their men. Revenge was in his grasp. His uncle’s ignominious death would be paid back ten thousand-fold. And the Treveri, over whom he still had only the most tenuous grasp, could be made to accept him as their true and only king, forged in battle against Rome.
Today was a fine day for the kin of Indutiomarus and the nation of the Treveri.
* * * * *
Ianuarius hauled on the wheel, turning it despite the massive resistance it put up. His arms had grown muscular in the two years he had served with the Ninth, and there was little weight he could not manage when required. With a grunt, he gave another half-turn and his fellow artillerist snicked the lock into place.
‘Which one?’
The young fellow, more of an assistant than a companion engineer, sounded enthusiastic as he peered between the branches.
With a roar, the Treveri force had seethed across the river mere moments earlier. Ianuarius’ ballista had been the last to be settled into position, and he had worried that he wouldn’t have time to set it up before the volleys began. It had been a near thing.
‘No one if you don’t put the bloody bolt in the groove!’
The young recruit flushed in embarrassment and dropped the heavy iron projectile into the slot, wedging it up against the mechanism.
‘So which one?’
‘Always make the first shot count, Marcius. It’s the only shot you’ll get where you have the luxury of aiming and the opportunity to be careful. Subsequent shots can just be ploughed into the bulk of the men, but the first one should always be a good one. First choice will always be an officer for preference. If one doesn’t present itself, then a good warrior. You can always identify them by the quality of their armour. Look for a lot of bronze or iron and some sort of decorative helmet crest. Horsemen are easiest, of course, but sometimes a great warrior on foot is more important than an ordinary horseman. So be choosy. At first.’
Ianuarius lifted the heavy artillery piece and swivelled it, sighting down the timber and estimating distance.
‘See him, there?’ he pointed.
The young soldier shook his head and shrugged.
‘Him with the bronze helmet. There’s a boar standard near him and he’s well-dressed. A leader, he is. Good first choice. About three hundred paces. Difficult, but quite achievable.’ His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he made minute adjustments that would look virtually invisible to the young engineer next to him.
‘Now. Get it locked in.’
The assistant locked the ballista into place vertically and Ianuarius swivelled it a couple of finger widths left and right, and then squinted between the leaves and aimed.
The enemy had almost reached the crest of the ridge when the single horn blast echoed out through the afternoon air.
Ianuarius released the bolt and was already beginning to winch the tension back into the machine while the bolt was in the air, nodding to the assistant to select a second missile.
* * * * *
Andesaros of the Treveri urged his men on up to the ridge with imprecations and exhortations to battle and glory, citing the womanly cowardice of Rome and the fear with which they carried themselves from battle with the glorious warriors of the Treveri.
With a thrill of battle-hunger and the golden glow of vengeance fulfiled, he crested the rise across which the fleeing legionaries had passed mere heartbeats earlier.
And his future changed before his very eyes.
Rank after rank after rank of Romans stood implacable and immobile, their shields presented in a solid line, their dreadful javelins already raised and held at the shoulder, awaiting the command. There were so many of them that Andesaros simply could not wrap his thoughts around their presence, let alone how quickly they had reformed to meet him and his tribe.
One thing was instantly clear:
They had lost before the first blow was struck.
He gave a shout to his signallers, and the carnyxes be
gan to wail out the retreat, standards waving to direct the Treveri back to the river. As he turned to take in the whole, disastrous scene, he saw Dunohorix of the Mediomatrici lifted from his horse, a Roman artillery bolt tearing a wide hole through his chest and casting him aside like a child’s raggy doll, the missile’s momentum hardly slowed as it carried on and passed into the shoulder of a warrior behind him.
Andesaros blinked.
More and more bolts and stones were whipping out of the bushes and trees to either side, the clatter of releasing ballistae joined by the thump of loosing catapults. He knew the sounds well from many previous battles. He knew what they would do.
A huge warrior clad in bronze and iron rushed towards the fallen Mediomatrici leader, and then suddenly he was gone. Or at least half of him was, the onager shot - a shaped rock more than a hand-span wide - striking him in the back, smashing the spine to fragments and neatly separating the body in two halves, the top of which disappeared off into the mass of panicked warriors.
Andesaros turned to the far side, confirming that more hidden artillery were releasing from the treeline to that edge of the field. His eyes picked out the panicked shouts of Solemnis of the Tribocci, shrieking at his men to flee the field. Briefly, he caught the young chieftain’s eyes and recoiled at the accusation they launched at him. Then, Solemnis too was gone, an iron bolt smashing through him and driving him from his horse.
‘Retreat!’ he bellowed.
A sound behind him made his blood run cold. Though he could not translate the Latin words, he knew it for what it was, given that it was repeated along the line by every officer of the legions and followed by the noise of a thousand men tensing.
He turned and dived from his horse, using the men around him and his own steed as cover from the horrible, deadly rain of pila that arced up into the air, seemed to hang there for dreadful heartbeats, and then plunged down among the panicked, pushing and shouting mob.
Andesaros struggled to his feet, and then found himself tumbling to the ground once more when a disgruntled warrior of his own distant kin snarled and gave him a hard punch to the jaw. As he floundered on the floor, the warrior spat on him and ran for the river.
This would be a difficult loss to recover his position from.
There would have to be a lot of casting of blame elsewhere. Fortunately, both other leaders were dead, and Ambiorix gone north somewhere, saying he sought the Segni for his alliance. Blame would be easy to apportion with such little of it falling upon his own shoulders. As long as he could leave the field safely, he could rally those who survived.
Again, he picked himself up and dusted down his muddied tunic, casting a brief glance back at the legions, now marching on the Treveri at an unstoppable pace.
His world went crimson, then black, and ended.
* * * * *
‘See that?’ Ianuarius grinned at his assistant. ‘Two nobles in one fight. And that one through the neck. Bet you couldn’t match that in a month of trying.’ He turned and bellowed to his equal, aiming the next ballista along. ‘See that, Petreius? Two! You owe me two jars of wine, you old cheapskate.’
* * * * *
Quadratus sat ahorse expectantly, his eyes on Labienus, waiting for the command. The legions had crossed the ridge, driving the Treveri before them in panic, their leaders dead already. The cavalry would likely be required for mopping up - chasing down the survivors and bringing them back, but with the narrowness of the ford area, they would not be expected to move until the infantry were not blocking the field.
The legate of the Twelfth, lieutenant of Caesar and commander of the southern forces in Gaul, smiled and walked his horse over casually.
‘Prefect?’
‘Sir.’
‘Would you be so good as to take your horse and harry the enemy for a good few miles? Make them regret their decision. No need to bend over backwards to give them quarter - they’ve had their chance. If they surrender, have them guarded, then roped and enslaved. If not, run them down until you’re within sight of their walls, then return to us.’
Quadratus grinned.
‘It would be a pleasure, sir.’
The commander turned to his signifers and musicians. ‘Sound the halt. I don’t want the legions racing across Gaul after the Treveri. They’re beaten and the cavalry will finish the job.’ He turned to the tribunes sitting nearby along with the other two legates. Plancus looked satisfied, and Trebonius stretched and rolled his shoulders.
‘Congratulations, Labienus. It seems you are turning smashing the Treveri into something of a habit. Caesar is planning to come and crush the Treveri against your forces. He will start to worry that you’re outshining him.’
Labienus laughed. ‘Hardly, I fear. I just lead them. They’re still Caesar’s men, and they know it. Let’s start moving the legions back to the fort. We’re going to have to create a sizeable annexe, given the growing size of the army here.’
‘Only a temporary one,’ Trebonius said, wearily, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a sealed scroll case, which he passed over to the commander. ‘Caesar is planning to come here as soon as he’s dealt with the Menapii and combine the forces against the Treveri, but then we’ll all be moving on to deal with the Eburones. That you’ve managed to crush the Treveri before he arrives will just hasten our departure, I’m sure.’
Labienus nodded as he broke the seal and scanned the lines of neat handwriting. ‘Then we had best send riders north to inform Caesar of recent events. Since he no longer needs to aid us against the Treveri, he may wish us to march north and meet him.’
‘I hope not,’ Trebonius gave a tired smile. ‘I’m a little sick of marching.’
‘Let’s get back to the fort, and then we can discuss it all in comfort.’
‘Do you not want to speak to their leaders and set terms for their surrender?’ Plancus frowned.
‘I shall send a deputation to their capital, which is less than ten miles from here.’ He laughed. ‘Given the fact that I saw all three standards taken and all their leaders fall in the attack, I wouldn’t know who to threaten, anyway! We’ll give them a few days for the tribe to take out their anger on the rest of Indutiomarus’ relatives and decide who might lead them better and then we’ll talk to this new king. The Treveri are unlikely to support any further rebellion now.’
He smiled a tired smile at the other legates. ‘In the meantime, we need to get you gentlemen and your forces settled in.’
He turned his horse to see three riders approaching, escorted by a centurion and a contubernium of men.
‘Sir,’ the officer saluted and gestured to his charges. ‘Scouts from the northeast.’
‘What news of the Suevi?’ Labienus asked pensively. Were five cohorts enough to protect the camp?
The rider, clearly worn out from his ride, gave a weary salute. ‘Sir, the Germans have halted. We spotted other riders, and it seems they have their own scouts ranging out ahead of them. I can only assume they have learned of the battle, since as soon as the riders spoke to the Suevi chiefs, the whole lot of them turned and started to walk back towards the Rhenus.’
Labienus sagged and Trebonius chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘How does it feel to frighten off the whole Germanic nation?’
‘A bit of a relief, to be honest,’ Labienus smiled. ‘I was still half-convinced that the Suevi would ignore the death of their allies and come for us anyway. They’re not a people to be easily put off.’
‘Is there any chance of us catching them before they reach the Rhenus?’ Trebonius mused.
‘Little,’ Labienus said. ‘They travel light, living off forage and pillage, so they can move faster than us. Besides, they likely still outnumber us, even without the Treveri, so I’m not sure it would be a wise plan of action. Let us return to camp and thank Minerva for turning them back.’
Plancus nodded. ‘It’s been a long journey to travel straight into a battle. I for one could do with a bath, a meal, and a lie down.’
> * * * * *
Publius Sextius Baculus, Primus Pilus of the Twelfth Legion, eyed the wagon suspiciously.
‘I shall ride a horse.’
‘No you shall not,’ announced the medicus, who, without warning, snatched away the vine staff of office upon which Baculus was resting most of his weight. Relieved of its support, the centurion staggered and fell into the waiting arms of the medical orderly. ‘You cannot stand unaided. You quite clearly should not be riding. You also seem unable to grasp the simple concept of rest and recovery. Had you stayed in bed and rested as you were ordered and not poured every vial of medicine the staff gave you onto the ground when they weren’t looking, you would be almost back to full health by now. Instead, you continually push yourself to the limit and consequently you are still months from well.’
‘You said the infection was cleared up?’
‘The infection has gone. What you have now is exhaustion, and atrophied muscles due to your protracted stay in my care. You, Baculus, are your own worst enemy. There is nothing that impedes your full healing but your own inability to rest. Now get in that cart and sit still until we reach tonight’s camp site.’
Again, Baculus eyed the cart. The hospital was being evacuated for the journey and the wounded and sick who were incapable of walking or riding had been assigned to the carts - eight men to a cart, except for this one, which held four officers.
‘Perhaps I could join one of the ordinary soldiers’ carts?’ he asked hopefully. Aboard this vehicle were Clemens, standard bearer for the Third Cohort, Second Century of the Twelfth, who Baculus knew well enough to know he was prone to travel sickness, an optio from the Seventh suffering from a gut wound after the Treveri fight and who smelled like he might pass away on the journey, and Dentio, a prefect that was suffering from foot-rot and was delirious much of the time. A worse set of travelling companions he could not imagine. ‘When we get there I’ll be covered in vomit and innards and have a headache.’
Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow Page 34