The Helvetian Affair

by Ray Gleason

  “I’ll make it, Decurio,” he said, with no sense of certainty.

  We galloped across the battlefield. As we rode, I saw the Sequani cavalry break from cover and ride down the slope. They didn’t seem to be fleeing, but withdrew in good order. They rode about fifty passus from the bottom of the slope and spread out in a screening line between the ridge and the left flank of our army. There was still no movement on the hill above them.

  I finally caught up to Agrippa and Labienus. “This will be our right flank, here!” Labienus was saying.

  Right flank of what? I wondered.

  “I will be positioned here with the cornucen. Where is that man?”

  We looked back from where we rode. The trumpeter was still barely on his horse, about seventy passus from our position.

  “Festina! Festina, miles!” Labienus shouted. “Hurry!”

  Labienus continued, “Agrippa! You will position yourself on the left flank. Don’t let them turn you. Bend back in a prevent formation if they overlap us.”

  There was movement now in the trees on the ridge above us. The Germans had arrived.

  The trumpeter finally arrived. Immediately, Labienus ordered, “Signal . . . third rank . . . attention!”

  The man tried, but nothing meaningful came out of his cornu. It made a sound like a duck farting in a swamp. He gave up on the horse and slid down from the saddle. Finally, planting his feet back on firm ground, he took three deep breaths. When he took his fourth, he raised the trumpet to his lips and blew, “Third rank . . . attention!” I could see the transverse crests of the centurions marching in the third rank of the closest legion turn. I imagined I could hear them echoing the order to their muli: “Attention!”

  “Order, ‘Consistite!’” Labienus instructed. “Halt!”

  The cornucen looked at Labienus and stammered, “Consistite, Legate?”

  “Do it!” Labienus ordered.

  The trumpeter blew the signal. The entire third line of the Roman advance, twelve cohorts, came to a halt in two steps.

  In front of us we could see the German fiurd, the muster-men, pouring out of the woodline.

  “Don’t let them go right into the attack!” Labienus hissed through his teeth. “Mass them there . . . Give me the time I need.”

  Then, Labienus ordered, “Cornucen! Order . . . third rank . . . signa conversate . . . turnabout!”

  The trumpeter did as ordered. Across the field behind us, our little army of twelve Roman cohorts turned as a single man. I saw the standards and officers run to reverse their positions: centurions front and right; optiones rear and center.

  The Krauts seemed to be cooperating with Labienus. The musters were milling about on the ridgeline. The sight of an entire Roman army maneuvering across a battlefield as if on parade will make even experienced soldiers pause.

  I heard Labienus mutter again, “Here’s where it gets complicated!” Then, “Cornucen . . . signal . . . third rank . . . ad dextram . . . aciem . . . formate!”

  Labienus gave the order for the entire third rank to wheel right and form their battle line facing the Germans. The trumpeter blew the signal, and twelve cohorts began to wheel into position.

  Labienus snapped a command to Agrippa: “Ride across their front! Get on their left flank! Guide them to a line on my position facing the enemy. Move, Tribune!”

  Over his shoulder, as he galloped across the advancing Roman front, Agrippa yelled, “A’mperi’tu’!”

  Then, Labienus was talking to me, “Insubrecus! Ride forward to Madocus Dux. He is to withdraw as the Krauts advance. Have the Sequani take a position behind our battle line here. We will only be eight men deep at the most. If any of the Krauts break through, the Sequani are to stop them . . . mop them up. Is that clear?”

  “A’mperi’tu’, Legate!” I confirmed and rode forward, looking for Madog.

  As I rode off, I heard Labienus order the trumpeter: “Signal . . . third line . . . gradus bis . . . double-time.”

  I found Madog in the center of the screening line. He seemed bent slightly forward in his saddle. Then, I noticed blood flowing down his right leg.

  “Madog, Pobl’rix!” I said in Gah’el. “You are hurt!”

  “I can still ride, Arth Bek!” he responded somewhat breathlessly.

  I related Labienus’ commands. Madog nodded. He blew his hunting horn, then led the way to our new position.

  Before I followed, I looked up at the Krauts. Well-equipped members of the dugath were aligning the ranks of the muster-men. The attack was imminent. I turned my horse to follow the Sequani. I could see the Roman cohorts double-timing up to the battle line. I remembered these drills from my training. The men on the left flank who had the farthest to run would be heaving by the time they got into position.

  We rode across the front of the Roman advance and around its left flank. Madog ordered his men into three loose wedges behind the Roman line: Athauhnu on the left, Ci on the right, and himself in the center. As the senior Roman officer, I assumed a position with Madog.

  On the ridge, the dugath was finalizing the disposition of the fiurd. From the looks of it, they wouldn’t overlap our flanks. A rider emerged from the woodline, trailed by a gedricht, a royal bodyguard.

  “Their ciuning?” I asked Madog.

  “No,” Madog gasped. “I’ve done for that bastard. That’s one of his thegns . . . his companions . . . what you Romans call comites. I left that German ciuning with his guts hanging out over his belt.”

  Madog could hardly catch his breath. He was holding onto his saddle horns to steady himself.

  “Do you want me to call for the medduhg, the medic, Madog Pobl’rix?” I asked him.

  “No,” he panted, “no . . . my men must stay strong . . . Can’t see their king fall out of the saddle . . . not now.”

  Our cohorts had finally come on line facing the Germans. From my position near the center of the line, I could see some of the muli on the left flank doubled over with the exertion of double-timing in full combat kit. The centuriones and their optiones were trying to straighten the lines and get the men ready for the German assault, but even they were affected by the run they had just made.

  The Krauts on the hill made no move to take advantage. From the distance, I could hear chanting, some weird and disturbing sound from the German line: “Wo . . . wo . . . wo.”

  “What is that?” I muttered out loud.

  “They’re praying to Woden,” Madog responded.

  “What’s Woden?” I asked him.

  “Not what . . . who,” Madog began to say. Then, a fit of painful coughing racked him. When he steadied himself, he spit out whatever was in his throat. It was a bog of bloody phlegm.

  “They are . . . they are calling on their god, Woden, to send the Wal Ciurige . . . the gatherers of the dead . . . to take them to the Wal Halle . . . the feasting hall of the dead . . . if they are killed in battle.”

  Madog started coughing again.

  “They will feast there,” he continued, “with the heroes of their people . . . until Woden calls them forth . . . for the rako werdum . . . the great war . . . at the end of times.”

  “That sounds like our Land of Youth,” I observed.

  “Bah!” Madog tried to start, but again a fit of coughing hit him. There was a small trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth.

  He finally caught his breath to speak, “They believe that everything . . . everything will be destroyed . . . at the rako werdum . . . the end of times . . . Men . . . the gods . . . and the earth will be burned away. Wal Ciurige . . . they’re only the crows. They strip the flesh off the battle dead . . . nothing more . . . Woden is a god of carrion.”

  Madog’s description of the crows reminded me of a tale Gran’pa had told me of a dark phantom, a goddess, the Mawr Riganu, the great queen, who appears on the battlefield in the semblance of a great crow to feast on the blood of the slain. I shuddered. I reached up and rubbed my lorica where my Bona Fortuna hung.


  Athauhnu was right when he said the waiting is the worst.

  The straw-headed bastards on the hill were working themselves into a frenzy: “Wo . . . wo . . . wo.”

  “It won’t be long now,” Madog gasped.

  I could see that our battle line had stabilized, but the main Roman attack force, the first and second battle lines, were still advancing toward the Helvetii. A gap was opening between their left rear rank and our right flank.

  I called over to Ci and pointed to the gap opening on our right flank. He nodded and moved his ala into it.

  The movement of the Gallic horsemen must have caught the attention of the primus pilus commanding the legion advancing against the Helvetii on the end of the Roman battle line. I could see from its standards, it was the Seventh Legion. Suddenly, their acies secunda, three cohorts, halted, turned about, and aligned themselves in a prevent formation, a line diagonal to their route of march, to protect their left flank against the German threat. Then, the two left-most cohorts of the acies prima executed a smart, three-quarter turn to the right and tucked themselves to the rear of the advancing First and Second Cohorts to reinforce them. All this was accomplished as if they were on parade and not unexpectedly moving into a battle position.

  Then, I heard a shout to my front. I looked. The German fiurd was charging down the ridgeline at us.

  “Maent uhn dod!” was all Madog could manage. “They come!”

  Suddenly, the entire ridgeline to the north, where Caesar thought the alreadydefeated Helvetii were cowering, exploded in a cacophony of Gallic trumpets and movement. The Helvetii warriors threw themselves down the ridgeline into our advancing legions.

  The ambush was triggered, and we were standing right in its kill zone!

  Looking back toward the Krauts, I immediately saw that they had miscalculated. First, our lines were too far back from their ridge for their momentum to take them into us. They would have to run across at least seventy passus of flat ground before making contact. That should wind them and slow their attack. Second, the Krauts were headed straight for us and not for the gap opening on our right. Killing Romans seemed more important than winning the battle.

  Then, I noticed that the Germans had left about a hundred men deployed across their ridgeline. Archers!

  Labienus saw them too. Before the Krauts could launch their arrows, his trumpeter sounded, “Notate! Ad testudinem!”, “Form the turtle!”

  Immediately, the Roman muli in front of me closed ranks and lifted and locked their shields over their heads. They were protected from the German arrows, but large gaps opened in the battle line.

  I felt a hand grab my forearm. It was Madog.

  “We move back . . . out of range,” he gasped. I didn’t know what was holding him up in the saddle. His face was pasty, almost greenish. There was a patina of sweat across his face.

  As we moved back, the German muster-men cleared the hill slope and screened our line from their archers. The archers ceased fire. The dugath, the professional warriors, organized themselves into five groups, each about the size of a Roman century. They moved down the slope, spreading themselves out across the battle line. They followed behind the German fiurd.

  “They follow,” Madog panted, indicating the dugath. “Wherever the fiurd opens the battle line . . . they attack.”

  Labienus realized that the arrow fire had ceased. He and the cornucen emerged from the turtle. Neither of their horses had been hit. The legate remounted so he could see the battlefield, but the trumpeter chose to stay on his feet. At Labienus’ command, he again signaled, “Notate! Aciem formate!”

  Immediately, the turtles collapsed and the muli reformed their line. The forward edge of the German fiurd was less than thirty passus from our lines.

  The trumpet called, “Pila ponite! Pila parate!” I saw the arms and javelins of the entire Roman battle line come up.

  Labienus waited.

  The Krauts closed to within twenty passus, then fifteen, then ten. “Iacite . . . iacite,” I heard myself mutter. “Throw . . . throw.” Then, finally, the trumpet sounded: “Pila iacite! Open fire!”

  The Roman spears went forward into the German attack. It staggered as men crumbled. Others tripped over the bodies of the dead and wounded. Some stopped running to avoid the growing pile up. Others stopped to try freeing their shields of the Roman spears. The rear ranks piled up on the stalling and staggering front ranks.

  There was no second volley!

  Then, I remembered that these were miles aciei tertiae, third-rank men. They were only carrying one pilum each.

  Quickly Labienus ordered gladii stringite: “Draw swords!”

  Then, immediately impetum facite: “Attack!”

  Labienus was attacking a superior force!

  Initially, it worked. The Roman muli quickly covered the ten passus between themselves and the struggling pile of men that had been the forward edge of the German attack. These they quickly cut through. Then, they came into contact with the rest of the horde of Kraut muster-men who had lost all forward momentum. Our advance slowed, but we were still moving forward.

  As we moved forward, though, the gap on our right widened.

  I heard a cacophonous trumpet call from the German ridgeline. The Kraut thegn had stationed himself there so he could see his battlefield. He indicated the gap on our right with his sword. Immediately, one of the formations of the dugath turned and moved toward it. As they moved forward, they formed a wedge, like a Roman cuneus, a “bore’s snout.”

  I yelled over to Ci, commanding our cavalry on the right, and indicated the threat. He raised his hand to acknowledge. I saw the two cohorts from the Seventh Legion adjust their position in the face of the new threat. But, they stayed well back. Their mission was to protect the rear of their own legion, not pull our balls out of the vice.

  I turned to Madog to recommend we reinforce Ci’s ala. He was off his horse, on the ground, not moving.

  “Medduhg! Medduhg!” I yelled.

  The Sequani horse doctor was immediately off his horse, attending to the king.

  “Athauhnu! To me!” I called to our troop on the left.

  Athauhnu rode over.

  “Madog’s down,” I told him. “The troop is yours! We must reinforce Ci! The Germans are attacking the gap!”

  Athauhnu nodded. He called over to his men, “Guithiru! You are in command! Move center!”

  We rode over to the right and joined Ci.

  The Kraut wedge was moving toward us, now no more than fifty passus from the gap, over sixty warriors, at least, with shields up. They formed a solid, German scilde wealle of linden wood, leather, and iron and were determined to crash through us.

  Our horses would not attack a shield wall, and there were less than forty of us. I could see the red-horned aurochs totems painted on the round shields as they bore down on us.

  Then, I remembered Athauhnu’s lesson with the gaea, the light hunting spear that had pierced my cavalry shield as if it were vellum.

  “Athauhnu!” I snapped. “A gaea attack!”

  “Gaea will not penetrate that!” Athauhnu objected.

  “They don’t have to!” I said. “We just need to weigh down their shields. We have to fight them on foot. Our horses won’t stand up to that!”

  Athauhnu understood immediately. He gave instructions to Ci, then yelled, “Follow me!”

  My Sequani horsemen attacked the German wedge in a file. Each rider approached at an acute angle, turned in front of the wedge, and delivered a single blow with a gae.

  The dugath halted when they became aware of the Gah’el attack. We took advantage of their indecision. The Sequani turned and attacked a second time. The Krauts quickly realized that horsemen couldn’t seriously damage them, so they resumed their advance. I could already see many of their shields were held lower, weighed down by our spears.

  It wasn’t much, but it was all we had.

  I dismounted and ran into the middle of the gap. “Form shield wall on me!”
I shouted.

  Labienus finally noticed the activity on his flank and quickly realized the threat. He bent back his First Cohort to protect his right flank. His only reasonable hope was to safeguard his own formation, which was already heavily engaged with the German fiurd. He could do nothing to help us.

  The Sequani began to form around me. I had my Roman short sword out. Most of the Gah’el had only the spatha, the cavalry long sword—not the best weapon for this type of close-in fighting. We were all carrying Gallic cavalry shields, light and oblong, giving little protection for the throat and legs of dismounted fighters. They also lacked the punching handle of the Roman infantry scutum; they were defensive weapons only. I did not have much confidence that they would stand up to the massive German round shields bearing down on us.

  The Kraut wedge was less than ten passus away. I could hear them chanting a cadence to time their attack. As they got closer, the pace of the cadence increased. They planned to bowl right through us.

  Suddenly, the right side of the German wedge collapsed.

  The two Roman cohorts on our right from the Seventh Legion had delivered a volley of pila in support of us. The Krauts never saw it coming. More than a score of them went down.

  “Illuc!” I screamed pointing to the hole in the wedge. “Impetum facite! Illuc! There! Attack there!”

  I suddenly realized I was screaming in Latin, but it made no difference. The Sequani leapt into the gap in the wedge, slashing and stabbing. The Kraut formation crumbled like a rotten wall. German warriors dropped their shields and spears. They began running to the rear. A few tried to hold their ground. They were quickly cut down.

  I was still standing exactly where I had originally positioned myself. I had won a fight without as much as striking a single blow, without even moving!

  Athauhnu was still standing next to me. “Shaggin’ Germans!” he spat. “Only brave when they think they’re winning.”

  I stepped forward and turned toward the Romans who had delivered the decisive blow. I raised my right fist in their direction, and yelled, “Io! Victoria!”

  “Io! Victoria!” they thundered back. The signifers moved their standards up and down in celebration. A centurion raised his fist and saluted me back.