by Griff Hosker
Herrmann nodded. “They are good plans. We have not the numbers yet to ambush them but you, Sura, the Pannonian, take your men and a hundred of my warriors. Cross the river and make them fear us/”
“I will do as you command.”
The voyage across the Rhenus was frightening for those in the ala who had had to swim after their last battle and for the recruits it was another ordeal on top of the horror of the hair being torn, as they felt it, from their bodies. Wolf, or Decurion Felix, as he was getting used to, was eager. This would be the first time he had led his men into battle. He knew twenty of them but there were ten recruits and he hoped that he had trained them well. He knew that they had all been intrigued by his wound; many men’s wounds remained hidden but his was there every time he looked at them. He deigned to use the patch and the scar had reddened and then turned white. He knew from Decurion Casca that he looked frightening. He hoped that his enemies were as fearful as his men. He had chosen to keep his men on the barges with the horses rather than travelling in relative comfort on the biremes and triremes of the Classis Germania. As he said to his men, “The horses are our most valuable weapon; we travel with them to protect them.”
The low marshy shore loomed ahead as the trireme pulling them swung around so that the ungainly barge was side on to the reeds. “Get those ramps over!”
His turma worked well, led by those warriors who had followed him from their homeland. They led the shaking beasts into the land of the Frisii. By the time the other turmae came for their horses the Second Turma was mounted and in skirmish order. “Well done Felix. Take your men in a five mile circuit. Tell us what is out there.”
“Yes Prefect. Second Turma, follow me.”
The Prefect couldn’t get over the change in Wolf. Since his promotion and the wound he had become a different officer. No longer reckless he was efficient and organised. He marvelled at the change. If losing an eye could guarantee such a change he would order them all to be so blinded. He looked at the sea of reeds before him. His men and horses would need to become fish or frogs to survive here. “Come on get those horses ashore.”
Wolf turned to his chosen man, Gaius. “Send Lucius and Titus ahead to scout.” He hated having to use his old companions all the time but he knew he could rely on them. The new troopers were keen but he feared to use them. He was always looking for a safer occasion in which to test them. So far he had not found one and now that they were so close to the Frisii, it seemed almost foolhardy to do so.
The two troopers galloped off and wild flow took to the air. Had they had bows then they could have had meat for the pot. They rode through the fens until he felt solid ground beneath Blackie’s hooves. He halted the column to give them time to rest. “Gaius, make sure they all take a drink.” Gaius gave him a look which suggested that he was trying to teach his grandmother to suck eggs. “I know the old hands know what to do but some of these are still fresh faced.” He looked at the nicked chins and cheeks, “Literally, fresh faced.”
Grinning, Gaius rode off, “Yes sir!”
Wolf took a swig from his own water bottle. He had been tempted to bring some of the wine they had acquired. He knew that the Gallic Centurions and Optios did, but much as he enjoyed the taste he knew that it made him less alert and in enemy territory that could cost you your life. Suddenly, about four hundred paces from their left a pair of wild fowl noisily fluttered into the air. He could see Titus and Lucius well to the right and knew it was not them. As quietly as possible he said, “Gaius. There are men in the reeds. Warn the men and on my command I want a line abreast. Do it quietly.”
Gaius knew Wolf from their village and he went around each of the men quietly giving them clear instructions. Now would be the time when Decurion Ulpius Felix would see the mettle of his men. He checked that his shield was tight, loosened his spatha and held the javelin in his right hand. He would now see if the Greek doctor spoke true; he would find out if his left eye was working harder. He glanced at Gaius who nodded. He turned to Spurius the standard bearer, “Signal the charge!”
The standard pointed forwards and Decurion Lupus Ulpius Felix led his men into battle for the first time. Titus and Lucius had seen the movement and they galloped to join the right hand side of the line. The first arrow almost struck Wolf but he sensed rather than saw it and inclined his head to one side; it flew over his head. He instinctively pulled his shield to cover his precious left eye and aimed Blackie at the place from whence the arrow had come. The ground was relatively firm and Blackie was surefooted. Wolf looked ahead for the sight of a target. He had covered almost three hundred paces when they flushed their quarry. A dozen men stood and loosed a volley of arrows. Hoping that they would miss his mount the Decurion hoisted his shield to take the impact. He heard the crack as three of them hit his scutum. The red crest atop his helmet marked him as a leader and that meant he was the primary target; that suited Wolf. Their quarry turned and ran; it was a foolish move as the horses could move faster. He hurled his javelin at the nearest man and had the satisfaction of seeing it strike him squarely in the back. The escape route of the barbarians was being cut off by the approach of Titus and Lucius. Wolf threw the second of his three javelins and he aimed for the lower back of the man ahead. He struck him in the thigh. His last javelin hit another in the back and he drew his sword. It was not needed. “Don’t finish them off. We need prisoners!”
The Tribune of the Fifteenth had built his camp flanked by the Pannonian and Gallic camp. The fleet was lying offshore with all the artillery aimed at the marshy banks of the river. As soon as the scouts were in they could begin to plan their route to the strongholds. The Tribune was no Corbulo and respected the abilities of the auxilia. They had decided that they would send out the ala as a screen with the legion and the Gauls as two long columns. It would make travelling as swift and as safe as possible. The three men were still finalising their plans when the sentry shouted. “Riders coming in.”
In this part of the world it did not pay to be complacent and take things for granted. Every soldier grabbed his weapons until Marius yelled, “It is my men.”
One prisoner was being tugged by a rope while another was draped, heavily bleeding across the saddle of Decurion Ulpius Felix. “Well done Wolf. Any casualties?”
“No Prefect. There are ten dead Frisii out there. They tried an ambush.” He grinned. “They failed.”
“Good, leave them with us and you get your men sorted in the camp.”
Wolf rode back to the camp feeling pleased with the new men. They had performed well and obeyed every order. The only down side was that one of his javelins had broken and he would have to get another from Publius who seemed to regard every piece of equipment as his own.
The next morning the ala spread out in a line eight hundred warriors long. There were twenty five turmae and they were well led. The prisoners had told them that the Frisii were gathered close to the coast in a low lying hill fort and that their king was Gannascus. Tribune Rufius Longus felt that they should strike quickly before their allies, the Chauci could come to aid them.
Cava and his men were on point. Like Wolf Cava trusted his men and found that he enjoyed this life in the Roman army. Unlike some of the other officers he also liked the detached duty of scout. It felt more like being a Pannonian on a raid. It was his sharp eyes which spotted the spiral of smoke which marked the hill fort. The low lying land made it quite obvious to Cava that the hill fort was no obstacle and only rose thirty or so paces from the land. He sent a man back with the news and then closed on the Frisii stronghold.
The Tribune, in turn, sent a messenger back to the fleet to join them on the seaward side of the fort. He hoped that they could cow them into submission but the prisoners had said that Gannascus had ambitions to invade the Roman lands; he would want his moment of glory. By the time they reached the fort it was too late to attack and they all built secure camps. Flavius took Marius to one side. “I will bet a week’s pay that they attack us tonight!”
“No takers there Flavius. Have half the men on guard tonight. Use Aulus to take charge. Rest turmae one through six and we’ll use them tomorrow. We won’t be needed for the assault.”
“You can see that Corbulo isn’t here or we would have been sent to take it on the backs of our horses.”
“That sounds cynical Flavius.” He lowered his voice, “Don’t let the men hear those kinds of opinion eh?”
“Of course not sir.”
The third turma were on duty that night and every trooper was alert to danger. They might wear the Roman armour and look Roman but they all had Pannonian instincts. Metellus, who had been Mabad when he rode the plains, sniffed the air. There was the smell of the sea and the pines but there was something else, a sour smell of unwashed bodies. He half smiled to himself, a year ago and that would have been him but now he took occasional baths; not as many as the regular Roman troops but enough to make him aware of others. “Decurion, there is someone out there!”
Cava’s neck had been prickling and Metellus’ words merely confirmed it. “Third turma stand to. Drusus, wake the Decurion Princeps.”
The thirty troopers checked the straps on their scuta and held their javelin above their head. The other two were jabbed into the ground, ready for a second volley should it become necessary. “What is it Decurion?”
“There are men out there sir. Can’t see them but I know they are there.”
Just then a duck took noisy flight. Flavius grinned, “I think you are right. I’ll bring the others.” He pointed to the ditch. “Keep your eyes closer to the fort.”
Cava knew that Flavius was an old hand at sentry duty and he heeded his advice. Within moments he had spotted the pale face glimpsed for a but moment. He tracked where he thought it would reappear, “Steady lads they are twenty paces from the ditch.” As soon as he detected the movement he hurled his javelin and was rewarded with a scream as the Frisii fell. Suddenly the ditch was filled with howling warriors wielding axes and swords. Orders would have been superfluous and he and his men hurled their javelins at the approaching men. He was aware of the gaps on either side being filled as the other troopers joined them. His last javelin thrown he drew his spatha as a Frisii warrior tried to haul himself up using the bodies of his dead comrades as a ladder. He was a brave man and Cava hoped he would find his way to the Allfather as he thrust the length of the blade through his open, screaming mouth.
The ala’s troopers were just spectators, as Marius had predicted, for the assault. The failed attack on the ala’s camp had taken the heart out of the Frisii who were quickly subjugated. The Gallic Prefect had not needed to worry about their livelihoods for, when the boats were destroyed and the fort dismantled the people were herded aboard ships and sent to the slave markets of Rome. The Frisii threat was over.
Chapter 7
Decurion Felix stopped wearing the patch as summer approached. It itched and sweated when he wore it and he only received strange looks for the first few days. Soon they all came to ignore it and see beyond the disfigurement and recognise their old comrade beneath. The new recruits had been assimilated and with almost a thousand men the ala was as full as it would ever be. There would be fewer Pannonians making the journey west. The Decurion had been told by Flavius that a second ala was being raised for action in the east. Any new recruits would have to come from the land around them. Wolf couldn’t see that they would ever be able to trust the Frisii and Batavi who had been conquered. Flavius had laughed, “In your father’s time the Pannonians fought against my legion and yet now his son fights with me. Times change, Wolf, as we all do.”
He still couldn’t see it himself. He was happy however; he had become used to not fighting alongside his old friends. There were still a couple of the men he had led in his turma but his core had been picked clean to provide officers and sesquiplicarii for the rest of the turmae. He enjoyed the patrols but he missed the action. He could not wait for the proposed autumn invasion of the Chauci land. He was a warrior and that was what warriors did.
Sura and the forty men he had brought with him laid up in the woods to the west of the camps. They had made their way through the Roman lines at night to wait during the day in the quieter hinterland where the Roman gaze was not so vigilant. He had brought his deserters and fifteen Chauci youth who wished to be blooded. Sura had already chosen his target, the Fifth Legion whose camp was close to the fortress. There they would feel secure, protected, as they were, by the fort on one side and the two auxiliary camps on the other. Tonight they would visit their terror on the camp and then flee south, not back to the river as the Romans would expect but to Tungri and the other settlements where they would continue their raid. Sura had promised Herrmann a summer of destruction and he would deliver a summer that the province would never forget.
The third century had drawn the night time duty for the third consecutive night. They were all looking forwards to the next ten days when they would just have the drills and the practice and not have to endure the boring and pointless sentry duty. Centurion Julius Cuneo was getting close to his pension. Retirement loomed and he had already earmarked an inn in Cisalpine Gaul. He had passed through it many times in his twenty five years and knew that he could make much money from the legions who passed through that land. Every night he filled his head with the ideas and the profits. He pictured the comely women who would work for him and whom he would bed. He envisaged his old comrades sharing an amphora of wine, slightly discounted of course, and talking of old campaigns. He had been lucky in his twenty four years. It had been fifteen years since he had had to fight. When they had assaulted the Chauci village the previous year he and his century had been in the second wave and the Pannonian charge had meant that it was without danger. He had been lucky.
His tired ears thought they heard a noise and he glanced over the rampart but could see nothing. He smiled to himself, he was getting old and hearing things. When he smelled the unwashed body close to him and felt the hand cover his mouth his hand went to his gladius, but too late his life blood and his dreams of retirement were dripping in pools at his dead feet. The rest of the century on the north wall were all despatched silently. The raiders took their heads and slipped them over the wall. While the ten warriors outside placed the gruesome trophies on the spears placed there earlier, the rest descended and opened the gates. The attention of the other sentries was to the river and they did not see the warriors as they took the burning torches and threw them at the tents. The raiders had left by the open gate before the sudden flaring of the tents drew their attention. “Fire! To arms!”
The legion centurions reacted the quickest and leapt from their tents, half dressed but with a gladius in hand. First Spear took charge, “Get a chain of buckets. Marcus, get your century and reinforce the sentries on the walls. I’ll have the dozy buggers backs laid bare for allowing this.”
“First Spear, the south gate is open.”
“Shit! Centurion Flaccus. Get your century to the south gate and check on the sentries.” He suspected that any who should have been punished were now dead. The Tribunes and the Legate of the fifth arrived, half dressed and looking annoyed. Legate Julius Salvius Labeo knew that First Spear was a competent officer and he went directly to him. “Well Gnaeus?”
In answer he pointed to the open gate. “Someone got in and out of the fort and set fire to these tents.”
“And the sentries?”
Just then a grim faced Centurion Flaccus arrived. “Sir the sentries are all dead, including the centurion.”
“Any sign of the perpetrators?”
“No Prefect but…”
“Out with it man!”
“They have no heads.”
By the time dawn broke a short while later the fires had been doused and the whole legion stood to arms. As the mist cleared it became obvious where the missing heads were as the grim line of severed heads stared back at them.
When Marius arrived at the Praetorium he noticed that the normall
y smug expression on Bucco’s face had disappeared and he had a distinctly green look about him. The Prefect allowed himself a smug smile of his own. They had heard about the attack on the camp and he knew that every one of the Legate’s staff would be sleeping less soundly for a while.
The Legate stood and addressed them all. “As you may have heard some barbarians entered the camp of the Fifth last night and killed some of the sentries. The atrocity will not go unpunished. We are going to begin our campaign against the Chauci and this time we will destroy all of their river side bases and send them back to their forests. The two legions and the Gauls will cross by two pontoon bridges which are being built. I have asked the Sixteenth Gallica at Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium to build a pontoon bridge there. The Pannonian ala will pursue last night’s raiders and then cross the river at Colonia Claudia.” He then looked directly at Marius. “Your main role will be to close the bag. We will be driving along the northern bank of the Rhenus and you will use your ala to prevent the refugees escaping. We will all then return here via the temporary bridge at Colonia Claudia for the engineers will have dismantled the two other bridges.” He gave a grim smile, “as we are only leaving one cohort here it would not do to give our enemies the chance to cross the river and destroy all our good work eh?”
Labeo stood, “Who will command sir?”
“I will. It is time my staff and I saw some action. Planning these campaigns is all very well but I need to be on hand in case all does not go as expected.”