The legate raised his eyes and focused on Caesar.
‘Sir, the legions are tied closely with their commanders, but that is a good thing, and the legions will always become closely linked with a charismatic leader. I would respectfully submit that the benefits of your unusual command policy seriously outweigh the setbacks. I can foresee a day when all the legions have a permanent commander. I think it’s the only feasible way forward. To my mind you needn’t worry about the troops so long as you have strong and loyal legates. They’re the ones you need to watch. After all… when it comes down to it, who pays them all? You, Caesar; not us.’
Caesar smiled.
‘You always make me feel better Marcus. I feel confident in my decisions once they’ve had your approval.’
Fronto smiled wearily.
‘Caesar, the six legions have marched readily and almost continually for a long time now, and the new auxiliaries haven’t rested since their departure from Geneva. I saw the effect that the free off duty day in Bibracte had on the men and I think that, should the battle go our way, we should stay encamped here for perhaps a week. The legions could all do with the rest and it’d give us time to mend, heal and recover. Besides which, we still have the trial of Dumnorix to attend to. We can spend the time strengthening our ties to the Aedui.’
Caesar smiled.
‘Agreed. A time of recuperation and political manoeuvring after warfare is done. Thank you, Marcus. As always I find your advice a comfort. Now all we need to do is to win the battle.’
* * * * *
‘Bloody Typical.’
Priscus looked over at Velius and raised his eyebrows.
‘What?’
‘Being at the front. As usual.’
Priscus grinned.
‘Gives you a chance to prove yourself, man.’
‘Huh.’
The legions were camped on a hill about half a mile from Bibracte. According to the latest intelligence, the Helvetii would arrive a little after dawn. The army had been given its positions and there was no time or need to erect tents and fortifications; no one would be caught unawares tonight. The evening was dry and quite warm, the rain having given way to sunshine well before lunchtime. The ground had dried out thoroughly, and there was a strange atmosphere on the hill. Rather than a pre-battle tension, there was something of a summer camping expedition feel. In the twilight, soldiers from six legions lay wrapped in their cloaks and blankets under the open sky. Those who were still awake munched on the remains of game and salted meat cooked over the small fires dotted around the hill. A few drank to bolster their courage for the next day; others played dice to take their mind off it.
Priscus, Velius and Fronto sat with a flask of well-watered wine halfway up the hill, where the Tenth had been assigned. The legion had been organised (as had the others) in three rows, with four cohorts in the front line, and three in each subsequent one. Thus the crescent formation on the hill stood fifty men deep and, with the four legions side by side, four hundred men long. The Tenth were stationed as one of the two centre legions, alongside the Eighth. The Ninth took the left flank and the Seventh the right, side by side with Fronto’s men. The Eleventh and Twelfth Legions, still relatively untried, stayed on the crest of the hill with the auxiliaries, surrounding the baggage and the staff officers. The entire hill was covered with men, such that virtually no ground was visible beneath the resting bodies.
It had been a very long time since an army this size had drawn up lines for engagement anywhere. The cavalry were visible on the plain at the bottom of the hill. They would leave before dawn and engage the Helvetii, drawing them closer and egging them on. The plan was well thought out and would be carefully executed.
The cavalry now controlled the only beasts on the field of battle. Caesar had had his own horse, along with that of every officer and all of the pack animals, removed to a corral at the very crown of the hill, surrounded by baggage carts. No one would be given an easy way to flee this field.
Velius looked up at Fronto, reflected firelight dancing in his eyes and across the metalwork of his uniform and armour. Fronto sat in his tunic and breeches, but without the cuirass. He was still suffering with the damage to his right arm and would be doing, so the medical staff said, probably until the winter and the campaigning season was over. As such, he would take no active part in the battle, but had refused to stay entirely out of the way.
‘Sir?’
‘Hmm?’
Fronto reeled in his thoughts from afar. Velius shifted his bulk on his blanket, crossing his legs.
‘How many men do you reckon they have? The Helvetii I mean.’
Fronto frowned.
‘I remember their numbers being estimated in one of the old man’s briefings. I think they had about three hundred thousand when they left Geneva, but maybe a third of those were men of fighting age.’
‘Whew…’
Priscus whistled.
‘I hadn’t realised there were that many. They always look like such a disorganised rabble when they’re on the move you kind of forget how many there are.’
Velius sniffed.
‘Bunch o’ rectums the whole lot of ‘em.’
Fronto and Priscus turned to look at Velius, who shrugged.
‘What?’
He continued to sit, chewing on a piece of salted pork while the other two rolled around in laughter on the floor.
‘You do have a way with words, man, have I ever mentioned that?’
Velius grinned.
‘Anyway, dunno why we’re counting on that many. We know a quarter of ‘em disappeared by the river.’
Fronto nodded darkly. He had no wish to revisit the site of that slaughter, though it occasionally haunted his dreams. Trying to lighten the conversation, he turned to Priscus and gestured at Velius with a hooked thumb.
‘Have you ever noticed that he talks differently when he’s in front of a senior officer?’
Priscus smirked.
‘He’s in front of a senior officer now, and he sounds like one of the gutter-tramps that sleep under the Pons Aemilius to me.’
Fronto laughed as Velius delivered a nerve-deadening blow to Priscus’ upper arm.
‘Laugh that one off.’
Priscus’ face took on a more serious cast.
‘Is this it, now, sir? Are we going to beat them here and go home to Aquileia?’
Fronto frowned.
‘You know I can’t give you information concerning future campaign planning, Gnaeus, so stop probing for information.’
‘I’m not, sir. Honestly, I can’t see what else we’re up to here after we trash them. Maybe take slaves, collect up booty, and back to Aquileia.’
Fronto gave a non-committal shrug.
‘All things are possible, but don’t start banking on anything until we’ve done for the enemy tomorrow. Even with the auxilia we only number thirty five or forty thousand. They’ve probably still got seventy thousand able men, so we’d best make use of this hill tomorrow. They’ll outnumber us two to one. I hope Caesar’s worked this through properly.’
Someone behind Fronto cleared his throat. Turning round, he saw a legionary sitting up in his blanket. No veteran, this boy; little more than twenty years old.
‘Yes lad?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir? I don’t want you to think I’m eavesdroppin’ or anything, but I can’t sleep, and I couldn’t help overhearing.’
‘What’s up?’
The young man shuffled forward, into the orange glow of the fire around which the three sat.
‘Well, sir, some of the veterans say that you’re the best general this army’s got, better even than Caesar.’
Priscus grinned at Fronto.
‘See, your fame’s spreading like wildfire.’
He turned to face the young legionary.
‘Better not inflate his ego too much, soldier. He’s already got a big head, and he won’t be able to fit it into his helmet tomorrow.’
Fro
nto thought for a moment, looking at his bandages and scars, then delivered a quick rabbit punch with his left fist to the same spot on Priscus’ upper arm. The primus pilus fell back on the grass laughing and holding his arm. Fronto turned to the young man once more.
‘I’ve studied my tacticians, and I’ve had the chance to put a few plans into practice in my time.’
The legionary looked up at him, wide-eyed.
‘What would you do, sir?
‘What do you mean?’
‘How would you have planned this battle?’
Fronto looked thoughtfully into the fire.
‘I think I’d have left all the baggage in Bibracte for a start. I’d have split the cavalry into three separate units. One to do what Caesar plans with them, one stationed in Bibracte as a reserve, and one hidden behind the hill.’
The young man grinned excitedly.
‘And the army itself?’
‘Three legions on this hill in the crescent formation; probably the Eleventh in the centre, with the Tenth and the Ninth on either side. The Twelfth on the slopes below the walls of Bibracte, and the Eighth I’d have sent on a forced march with most of the scouts to get in a position behind the Helvetii. The Seventh in reserve around the baggage.’
‘And then sir?’
Fronto smiled.
‘And then the Helvetii would get here and engage the three legions on the hill. Not long after that started, the Eighth would arrive behind them and we’d have them trapped. As soon as they first engaged, I’d have sent a signal up, and the Twelfth and a third of the cavalry would charge down from Bibracte and slam into their flank. They’d be ground to minced meat between the three fronts. Their only hope would be to break out the other side, and we’d have two remaining cavalry wings to harry them as they broke.’
‘Wow.’
The young soldier grinned like a madman.
‘Do you think this way will work?’
Fronto nodded.
‘Oh, it’ll work, and we’ll beat them. I just hope the enemy don’t have any nasty surprises planned. We’ll have stationed our entire army in one place, with no reserve force, so casualties could be high if we screw it up.’
He suddenly realised this is not what he should be saying to young, impressionable soldiers on the eve of an important battle. He reached round and gave the boy a comforting pat on the shoulder.
‘We’ll beat them. We’ve beaten everyone so far on this campaign, and we’re Roman, so it’s our destiny to win. What’s your name, lad?’
‘Florus, sir.’
Fronto smiled benignly.
‘Well, Florus, you look me up after the battle tomorrow, and I’ll buy you a drink. We’ll drink to the glorious destiny of Rome, eh?’
The legionary grinned again.
‘Yes, sir!’
Fronto turned back to the other two officers. They were smirking at each other.
‘What?’
Priscus put his hands together in a pleading manner, let his lower lip hang pathetically and fluttered his eyelashes.
‘Please mister Fronto, you’re our hero!’
Velius spilled his drink as he fell about laughing.
Fronto sighed.
‘Get it out of your system lads. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.’
The four men sat silently, staring into the dancing flames of the dying fire.
Chapter 11
(A Hill near Bibracte)
‘Phalanx: Greek/Macedonian infantry tactic in which rows of men form a veritable hedge of long spears, backed with a shield wall.’
‘Cornu: A G-shaped horn-like musical instrument used primarily by the military for relaying signals. A trumpeter was called a cornicen.’
The first the army knew about the arrival of the Helvetii was when the cavalry under Longinus came cantering down the valley in an ordered withdrawal. Moments later, the vanguard of the tribe appeared behind them on horseback. The Roman cavalry remained quiet except for the occasional bellowed order. The Helvetii, on the other hand, shouted, cheered and screamed as they rode, a tactic that Fronto knew was meant to frighten the enemy. He turned to the centurions of the Tenth.
‘Let ‘em know we’ve heard ‘em lads.’
Under the orders of the centurions, five thousand men began to bang rhythmically on the bronze edging of their shields with their short swords. The act was soon picked up by the surrounding legions, right the way up the hill, where auxiliary troopers banged a variety of weapons on the edge of equally varied shields. The sound was deafening and well and truly drowned out the cries of the Helvetii.
Longinus’ cavalry continued to hold the advance units of the Helvetii at bay while the legions formed into closer order. In the distance the main Helvetii force could be seen by the soldiers on the higher elevations, pouring into the valley. The enemy baggage train was brought part way down the valley and left in a dell bordered with trees, by the side of the main track.
Fronto shuffled his feet, wishing he were standing on flat ground. He could see the advantage of a slight incline, but it was making his shins and calves ache unbearably, and with the dull pain still in his arms, he certainly did not need any more discomfort. He silently cursed the Helvetii and wished them on, looking down over the massed heads of the Tenth and trying to see what was happening with the cavalry. Longinus would have to break the enemy horsemen. If he did not, the legions would have to face skirmishing cavalry, and they could be in trouble. Fronto strained to see.
The cavalry were making headway against the mounted tribesmen and, as soon as the beleaguered Helvetii realised this, their horsemen pulled back and around the flanks of the main bulk of the tribe. As they melted away and Longinus’ riders reformed into a coherent unit, Fronto saw something happen among the enemy that he would never have expected to see in this barbarous land. The front ranks of the Helvetii formed up into what could only be called a phalanx! He could not believe there had been much contact between these people and the Greek world of the east. Perhaps among them were learned men who had read the military histories? Whatever the reason, there was no other way to describe the manoeuvre.
Longinus and his men were obviously equally struck with disbelief. The unit milled about in confusion as the cavalry troopers stared at the unusually strategic Helvetian advance. Unfortunately, as they dithered too long, the front ranks of enemy spearmen met the cavalry with enough force to remove some of the men from their horses. With a quick shout, Longinus drew the cavalry away from the front of the phalanx. The riders split into two groups that peeled off in opposite directions and cantered around the lowest slope of the hill to take up a reserve position for when they may later be needed to flank the enemy.
As soon as the cavalry had cleared the front of the massed legions, the cornicen began to play at the summit of the hill, relaying commands from the general and his staff. Caesar himself stood on one of the wagons, high and visible, shouting words of encouragement that precious few on the battlefield would be able to hear. Fronto, standing in the back row of the Tenth, listened to the call and gave the order for his men to sheathe swords and heft their pila. Caesar had requested Fronto’s presence among the staff on the crest of the hill, but he had fought for his position as commander of a legion. He had after much argument been allowed to take a place with his men, though not to fight, but purely to lead, direct and encourage. To this end, he carried a sword with his left hand and no shield. This was an important fight, and Fronto needed the best possible morale among the Tenth, hence his camping the previous night among the men.
The Gaulish phalanx closed inexorably with the front lines of the legions, thousands of long spears thrust from behind a wall of the Gaulish shields. The legions took a few steps forward on the command of the officers, reaching the lower levels of the slope, where a slight ledge allowed the legionaries to defend at a slightly advantageous though not unfeasible gradient. The Helvetii reached the initial slope just as the order was given for pila to be released.
&nb
sp; Each legionary throughout the army on the slope took a firm grip of one of the two pila they carried as standard kit. The whole bulk of men shifted position slightly and, as the final cry went out, twenty thousand pila arced out from the four front legions and into the phalanx moving toward them. The impact was phenomenal. The Helvetian shield wall at the front shattered and disintegrated like painted wall plaster. pila tore through shields, sometimes crippling the bearer but always making the shield useless, the soft metal neck of the missile bending and becoming lodged as it passed through the wood and leather.
As the front lines of the Helvetian offensive collapsed under the hail of missiles, the four legions repositioned, drawing their short swords once more. At the top of the hill, the Eleventh and Twelfth reacted to the signal and released another volley of pila, arcing way over the heads of the lower units and crashing among the mass of Gaulish warriors.
As the Tenth moved forward, the other three legions keeping pace to the sides, Fronto settled into step. The Helvetii ahead of them were disorganised and in something resembling a state of panic. Realising that a wall of Roman steel was closing on them, the non-wounded men in the nearest group of Gauls desperately pulled themselves into as solid a front as they could manage. Few had managed to retain their shields due to the pilum volleys; most had cast them aside as useless. The front ranks of the armies met with a crash that shuddered across the Roman lines, but smashed the Gaulish wall. The order to break ranks came from Caesar’s staff cornicen on the summit, and was relayed by each legion’s musicians. By the third note, the shield wall of the Tenth had broken and the true melee had begun.
Priscus led the First Cohort from the front of the army, and they spearheaded into the enemy. Once the front line of the Gauls had been broken, the ranks behind were disorganised. Discipline and command passed away from the generals and became the province of the centurions, who controlled their individual groups of eighty men according to a grand plan but with a great deal of individual freedom. Priscus raised his head as high as he could above the men of his century and looked around. The First Cohort was in danger of getting cut off if the enemy managed to organise themselves again. He could see the rest of the Tenth some distance behind, and could hear Fronto’s cornicens relaying commands, but there were now pockets of Gauls between the First Cohort and the rest of the legion.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 23