The Helvetian Affair

by Ray Gleason

  “Patrone,” I stammered, “non existimo me dignum . . . I don’t think I’m up to—”

  Caesar held up his hand to stop me. “You were tutored by Gabinius’ greekling . . . the same as his own children . . . That’s good enough for me . . . Which reminds me . . . I will dispatch a personal message to the consul about . . . about your issue with his family . . . I will let him know that you are part of my personal staff . . . et sub patrocinio meo . . . That should put an end to any more incidents like the one in Aquileia.”

  That was perfectly clear. Caesar’s offer was protection for writing his journal. “Ut vis tu, Patrone,” I responded.

  “Good lad!” Caesar said, actually tussling my hair. “Get with Valgus . . . Tell him I want you riding like a trooper by the end of the week . . . I don’t want to lose my ad manum on the end of some Gallic lance!”

  VIII.

  De Calamitate Prima

  THE FIRST DEBACLE

  Quo proelio sublati Helvetii quod quingentis equitibus tantam multitudinem equitum propulerant.

  “When the Helvetians push back a great number of our cavalry, with only five hundred of their own, they are encouraged by their success.”

  (from Gaius Marius Insubrecus’ notebook of Caesar’s journal)

  He badly misjudged the response of the Aedui and Sequani to our call for cavalry. We thought we could raise a few hundred. By the sixth hour of the next day, some two thousand had gathered near our camps.

  At Caesar’s bidding, I questioned the assembled Gallic riders. Some said they came to defend their homeland; some, to loot the Helvetii; some were simply following their chiefs; some were out for the adventure. When pressed by Caesar for some common reason for their enthusiasm, all I could say was that there had been years of peace in the lands of the Aedui and Sequani. It was now the beginning of the fighting season, and the young warriors were spoiling for a fight, any fight. In short, they were bored.

  Earlier, during the second hour, our legionary cavalry screen had reported that the Helvetii were on the move into the highlands west of the Arar. Caesar was content with allowing some distance to grow between his army and them; he still wasn’t sure what size of a force he was dealing with.

  While Crassus was being briefed by Caesar on his new responsibilities as legatus equitium, chief of cavalry, Labienus struggled to organize the Gauls into turmae and to integrate Roman leadership over them. The Gauls, especially the Sequani, wanted revenge for the burning, pillaging, and slaughter the Helvetii and their German allies had visited on their people. They could hardly be restrained from immediately attacking the enemy. As time passed, more Gallic bands slipped off to the west to pursue the Helvetii independently. By the seventh hour, the rest of our Gallic cavalry initiated a general, headlong pursuit—as if the Helvetii were defeated and fleeing. What Roman leadership Labienus had managed to integrate into this mass of horsemen were more dragged along than leading the way.

  I again found myself riding with Athauhnu and the Sequani. He was commanding an ala of about twenty men under Madog, who led a hundred riders. Agrippa was the angusticlavus assigned to advise him. We had another trooper, a Padus-Valley Gaul from the Twelfth Legion called Flavus, “Whitey,” because his hair was as blond as a Kraut’s eyebrows. The rest of the unit was somewhat divided into three alae, but except for family and clan groups who tended to stick together, the organization was quite fluid. And, they were all fired up to get at the Helvetii.

  “I no can to hold back,” Madog was complaining to Agrippa. “Young men . . . very eager of going . . . want revenge . . . We lose maybe twenty already . . . They just go . . . We go too.”

  “Madog,” Agrippa was cautioning him, “we don’t know how many Helvetii are out there or what their tactical deployments are . . . We could be riding into a massacre.”

  “Bah . . . Helvetii girls,” Madog dismissed Agrippa’s advice. “We kill all.”

  Madog shouted to get his men’s attention. When he had it, he waved his spatha over his head and whipped the Sequani into a blood frenzy. Then, he screamed, “Follow me!” in Gallic and led them galloping out toward the hills.

  We three Romans just sat there in the dust of the Gauls’ sudden departure. Agrippa looked over to me and said, “Did you catch what he said? What’s his plan?”

  “Plan?” I shrugged. “His simply told them to follow him and they will kill all the Helvetii they can find.”

  Agrippa stared at me for a long heartbeat, then shrugged. “We better catch up to them,” he said. Then, he turned his horse and rode toward the hills, following the dusty trail of our Sequani.

  Flavus and I rode after Agrippa. Catching up to the Sequani wouldn’t be easy. Although their horses were smaller than ours, they had good stamina, especially in the hilly country of their homeland. Also, the Sequani rode lighter than we did. Most did not wear armor. Of those that did, many wore hardened leather as loricae, not the heavier chainmail armor and helmets that we were wearing. Many of the Sequani riders were armed with nothing more than small hunting spears. Only the richer Sequani had steel swords or even shields.

  I was carrying two swords: my legionary gladius strapped on my right hip and a long spatha tied down on the left front of my saddle. I had my pugio on my left hip. Although I was carrying a small cavalry shield, a parma, strapped behind my left shoulder, I had decided not to carry the light cavalry stabbing spear that Valgus called a “Greek lance,” the dory.

  I was still not comfortable riding into possible combat against experienced riders. In the little time we had had, Valgus tried to teach me critical combat riding skills, mostly controlling my mount with my knees and legs so I could use my hands to wield my weapons: the shield in my left hand and the spatha in my right. Army mounts are trained for leg control, and Macro had shown me some military riding techniques back home. But, I had no doubt that in the confusion and terror of actual mounted combat, my riding skills would be far from adequate.

  During my drills the night before, Valgus had told me a story about a tiro cavalryman, who lost control of his mount and was carried into the enemy formation. “A one-man charge!” Valgus chuckled. “Didn’t work out well for the poor son of a bitch!”

  I didn’t want to be that guy, but I wasn’t sure I could prevent it.

  The other problem was using weapons while mounted. As an infantryman, I was taught to leverage the power of my attack from the balls of my feet. This was the essential technique of the power behind the basic infantry attack with shield and sword, the percussus. But, a rider “floats” in the saddle; his feet are literally dangling at the sides of his mount. Not only could I get no leverage to power a sword blow, but if I overreached, I’d lose my seat and find myself on the ground.

  Again, I didn’t want to be that guy.

  Madog’s turmae weren’t difficult to follow, but they were difficult to overtake. We pursued them west across the narrow river valley and up into the highlands. Several times as we were riding, I was aware that we were just three Romans riding alone through hostile territory. If the Helvetii discovered us before we overtook the Sequani, it would not go well for us.

  At about the eighth hour, we were some nine thousand passus out from the legionary camps. We were riding south up a small river valley with a wooded ridgeline to our west. As the sun shone through the trees at the top of the ridge, I noticed the silhouettes of riders.

  I called ahead to Agrippa, “Tribune! We are not alone. Look to your right!”

  Agrippa quickly spotted the riders. “Who are they, Decurio?” he asked.

  It took me a few heartbeats to realize he was talking to me. I wasn’t used to my new rank yet.

  “No’scio, Tribune!” I answered. “I’ll challenge them. Be ready to ride like the Furies if they’re hostile!”

  I rode over to the edge of the woods, which only served to make the men on the ridgeline less visible. Realizing there was no help for it, I yelled a challenge at them in Gah’el: “Ar uh bruhnu! A uhduhch uhn gyfaillo
i Rhufeinig?”

  After a few nervous heartbeats, I heard Athauhnu’s voice from the top of the ridge in answer, “Little Roman! What kept you? Come up and join the fun!”

  I shouted over to Agrippa and Flavus, “It’s Madog’s turma! They want us to come up!”

  We found a track up the ridge and were soon with the Sequani. When Madog saw us, he pointed to another broad valley to the west under our ridgeline. “Good fighting,” he said in his broken Latin. “Sending many Helvetii to Land of Youth.”

  Below us was a swirling brawl of native horsemen—hundreds of them. I could not separate Helvetii and Kraut from Aedui and Sequani. Men were hacking at each other from the backs of horses. On the ground, there were individual duals, small groups attacking other small groups, and all were wrapped in choking gray-brown dust. Periodically, I could recognize a Roman by his armor, but it was obvious that we were exerting no control over our allies or the battle.

  “Good fighting!” Madog repeated. “Horses rest . . . Then, we go!”

  That delay may have saved us.

  Flavus suddenly pointed across the valley. “Tribune! The woodline!”

  I peered in the direction that Flavus had indicated. The far woodline was in shadow because of the declining sun, but soon I was able to detect some movement in the gloom.

  I began to ask Madog who it was, but I was interrupted by a burst of cacophonous trumpeting from across the valley.

  “Helvetii come!” Madog exclaimed.

  Immediately, from across the valley, Helvetian infantry, hundreds of them, mostly spearmen, charged into the cavalry melee.

  Suddenly, Agrippa yelled, “Vi’te! Look there!”

  Another large force of enemy infantry had worked its way undetected along the east side of the valley and was now rushing to block any escape route for our Gallic allies trapped in the valley below.

  Then, another series of trumpet calls sounded; these were somewhat different from the first. A body of the Gallic cavalry disengaged itself from the battle and fled headlong down the valley to escape the onrushing Helvetian infantry.

  “Aedui pigs!” Madog yelled at them. “They run from good fight like children!”

  Agrippa reacted. “Madog! Follow me! We must open the road for our men!”

  Agrippa moved down the ridge without waiting for Madog to respond. Flavus and I followed behind. We picked out a trail which led us down through the woods to the valley floor. I was relieved when the Sequani followed behind us.

  I could see the battle below as we descended. The Helvetian spearmen were decimating our cavalry. I saw more than one Roman go down as the Helvetii stabbed up at them from the ground with their long spears. The Romans were wearing chainmail loricae, very valuable booty for the Gauls. I knew that those injured and dying were the newly minted decuriones from the Eleventh and Twelfth Legions. Once they were unhorsed and on the ground, follow-on Helvetii infantry surrounded them hacking and stabbing with whatever weapons they had brought to the fight: some swords; many knives; a few clubs; even hoes, billhooks, and scythes—anything that could kill.

  Presently we reached the valley floor. The second mass of Helvetii had not seen us. They were loosely strung across the valley exit, expecting little opposition except for the few horsemen who might have escaped the main battle.

  Agrippa rode out into the valley floor from the tree line, then yelled back, “Insubrecus! On my right! Flavus, my left!”

  We rode out to comply. At that point, the Helvetii down the valley noticed us. I saw a few of them pointing and gesturing toward us.

  “Madog!” Agrippa ordered. “Your ala is with me. The other two split, one with Insubrecus, the other with Flavus!”

  I heard Madog relay the instructions in Gallic, and the riders gathered behind us.

  Agrippa, “Form wedge!”

  Madog repeated the order, and the Gauls formed behind us as best they could. I suddenly realized that I was the point man in the right-flank wedge, the first man in.

  Agrippa yelled, “Right and left flanks, follow ten passus behind my center . . . at the WALK . . . FORWARD!”

  Our turmae began to move toward the Helvetian blocking force. I could see them in the distance, less than three hundred passus away. They were beginning to coalesce into a line facing us.

  Agrippa, “Cornucen . . . SOUND ATTENTION!”

  There was some confusion as Madog relayed the order. Finally, a Sequani bugler sounded a series of cacophonous notes to get the attention of our allies engaged across the valley.

  Agrippa, “At the TROT . . . FORWARD!”

  We picked up the pace of our advance toward the enemy. They now stood shoulder to shoulder, facing us. Their officers and chiefs were adjusting their line, shouting encouragement.

  Agrippa, “Cornucen . . . SOUND, WITHDRAW!”

  That was the signal for our men across the valley to disengage from the enemy and follow us out of the valley.

  Agrippa, “At the CANTER . . . FORWARD!”

  At that, I could feel my mount’s excitement grow. She seemed to be straining to get at the enemy. I had my shield off my shoulder and drew my spatha from its sheath. I was guiding my mount as best I could, using only my legs and knees.

  Agrippa raised his own sword and screamed, “TURMA . . . CHARGE!”

  The horses stretched forward into a dead run toward the enemy line. Over the pounding of the hooves, I heard the war cries of the Sequani.

  I heard myself screaming in Latin, “Fortuna! Bona Fortuna m’ames! Goddess of Good Fortune! Favor me!”

  Looking forward, I could see a solid, dark line of enemy infantry. As we closed, I could distinctly see faces, equipment, and spear points leveled directly at us. Suddenly, I remembered Valgus saying that Roman cavalry is not meant to engage infantry. We pursue; we scout; we screen. But we cannot stand up to infantry. Across the rapidly shrinking space, I spotted one Helvetian. He was looking directly at me. His spear was leveled at me. He intended to kill me!

  Abruptly, out of nowhere, there was movement in the Helvetian line. A man dropped his spear and fled to the rear, then another, then more. My would-be killer looked to his right and saw his mates breaking and beginning to flee. He looked back at me. There was doubt in his eyes, then fear. Suddenly, he dropped his spear. He broke to his left. He was trying to get past our flank.

  When I hit the Helvetian line, it was no more. We thundered past it. We hacked down the Helvetii spearmen fleeing to the rear, trying to outpace our mounts. Some fell to the ground, hoping to avoid our swords. Others turned at the last moment in a futile attempt at resistance.

  We killed them.

  About a hundred paces past the Helvetian line, we were out of the valley and in a bowl-like area where three valleys seemed to converge. Agrippa halted our advance and turned us around, facing the line of our own charge. About a hundred paces behind us, we could see what was left of our cavalry, riding to follow us out of the trap.

  Agrippa yelled, “Spread out! Let them pass through us!”

  Madog repeated the order in Gallic, and the Sequani did their best to comply. Their effort was adequate. Our escaping comrades managed to pass through our lines with little confusion. They did not halt to assist us.

  When they had cleared us, Agrippa yelled, “Prepare to receive the enemy!”

  Agrippa rode along our front with Madog in his wake, tightening our line, adjusting our positions, encouraging the men. In the distance, I could see a force of enemy cavalry about twice our size coming forward rapidly. My mount was still struggling to regain her wind.

  Agrippa commanded, “If they attack, we move forward into them . . . We cannot allow them to hit us at a standstill . . . We cannot give them momentum . . . initiative.”

  Madog struggled to relay Agrippa’s orders. I had no idea how he was coping with Latin words like “momentum” and “initiative.”

  In the distance, the enemy force was coalescing into individual riders. I was trying to detect their speed. I imagined that
they would want to hit us at the gallop, but they seemed content to trot toward us.

  Athauhnu appeared suddenly at my side. “Enjoy the ride, Little Roman!” he chuckled. “Soon the gods will give us more Helvetii dogs to kill. I’m happy the People of the Dark Moon did not remain with us. We will not have to share the glory with those pigs.”

  As I watched the enemy mass approaching, I was not at all sure that I appreciated Athauhnu’s humor.

  Agrippa and Madog assumed positions in the center of our line. The enemy continued to approach at a trot. They were less than two hundred passus from us. Agrippa knew he had to maintain enough distance to get our horses to a run before we made contact. He had just raised his sword to start us forward when the enemy halted.

  For many heartbeats, we just sat there, looking at each other across a flat, grassy field. Then, one of the Helvetii riders came forward a few paces. He was wearing a high, plumed helmet and a chainmail lorica; he held up a large, battered, red shield. He raised a long Gallic spatha over his head. He was yelling something across at us. I could only pick up a few words: “dogs of the Romans . . . many heads taken . . . drinking mead out of your skulls!”

  When he was done with his tirade, the Helvetii behind him raised a racket, screaming and hitting their shields with their swords and lances.

  They seemed to be working themselves up to attack. At my side, Athauhnu said nothing. It seemed that his odd sense of whimsy had escaped even him.

  Agrippa was strangely paralyzed by the outburst. He just sat there on his horse. In my mind, I both urged him to order the advance before it was too late and prayed to Fortuna that he would not.