Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  He hit the ground hard and rolled several feet until he came to a stop, standing as fast as he could to avoid being trampled by the numerous horses of both sides. An auxiliary cavalryman swept around with his spear and made for a moment to impale him before realising that he was not a German footman, but a dismounted Roman. Before anyone else could deal with him, he crouched and hunted quickly for his sword. There was no sign. With the way he was pitched from the horse, it could have come down anywhere. He shrugged energetically and only then, with that moment, did he realise how badly he had hurt his shoulder during the fall. He bit off an unbidden cry and closed his eyes for a moment until the pain passed.

  Looking around to try and grasp how the land lay, he saw a German nearby, sat astride his horse, fighting with an auxiliary cavalryman. He stepped forward, almost stumbling over a body. Acting purely on instinct, he reached down to the body and picked up the broken spear the dead German had been using.

  With a couple more steps, he found himself within striking distance of the German rider and brought the spear round in a two-handed underarm swing. Though the movement caused screaming pain in his shoulder, he persevered and the point vanished into the man’s side just below the ribs, running deep within. The rider jerked once, made a croaking sound, and then slumped in his saddle, dark gobbets of blood pouring from both mouth and wound. Ingenuus gave a heave on the man’s leg and the body fell to the ground, the Germanic sword still grasped in his hand.

  Crouching down, wincing once more at the pain, he tugged at the dead man’s fingers, slowly prising them apart until he could remove the sword. Grasping the hilt he stood, weighing the blade in his hand. It was heavier than the Roman cavalry sword he was used to, but not unwieldy. Hefting it, he looked around.

  Close by, two Germans were stabbing with spears at a Roman cavalry trooper who flailed with his sword, knocking one of the spears out of the way while protecting himself from the other with his shield. For a moment, the prefect wondered whether it was truly wise to push his already painful shoulder but decided that he would not be able to fight effectively with one arm using a blade of this weight. Taking a running step forward, he drew the huge sword back, gritting his teeth against the pain. A final step and he brought the blade around in a wide sweep, impressed with the devastation wrought by a blade this size and gaining a grudging respect for Celtic smiths. The sword, relying more on its weight than its edge, caught the German in the side, severing the spear-wielding arm instantly and continuing halfway through the chest. The pure momentum of the sweep ripped the blade out of the body, carrying viscera and chunks of bone with it. The German slumped forward, almost collapsing in on himself with the shattering of so many bones.

  The pain in his shoulder all but forgotten, Ingenuus stared at the Celtic sword. It might be harder to wield on horseback, and it was certainly a slower weapon than the blades he was used to, but on foot, and with the room to swing, it was devastating. The beleaguered trooper, suddenly faced with only one opponent, swung his blade and shattered the spear. Moments later he finished the man off, while Ingenuus scanned the field. He reached out for one of the now many riderless horses and grasped the saddle before he realised that there was no way he would be able to haul himself onto a horse with his shoulder like this and still carrying the blade. He turned again to scan the field for any further trouble. Most of the action had now died down. On this side of the field the German cavalry had been weakened, and the Romans had caused devastating losses with comparatively few on their own side.

  It was as he was surveying with an air of satisfaction that he saw the three horsemen bearing down on the general. Four of the ‘bodyguard’ were nearby, but only one was realistically within reach, and he was under attack by the footmen attached to those cavalry. There were so many Roman regulars and auxiliaries around, but they were all occupied with chasing down the Germans who were trying to reach the other side of the field to rally their compatriots.

  Taking a deep breath, Ingenuus started to run. His legs felt like lead and his shoulder burned as he pulled the sword back behind him, ready for a huge swing. Moments passed as he saw Caesar for the first time during the battle hold out his blade and prepare to engage in combat. One of the enemy horsemen veered off to deal with the bodyguard who was racing in to protect the general, but the other two separated as they reached Caesar, attacking him from both sides. With blood pounding in his ears and his breath coming in rasping gasps, Ingenuus launched himself at the closest.

  The general lunged at the other cavalryman, his sword flashing in the sun. He had taken his ornate gladius into battle, rather than a standard cavalry sword, and the reach was unrealistic. There was no way he would be able to fight off the enemy for long, and he could not lunge far enough to do serious damage with the short sword. The German swung his blade and the general was forced to throw himself forward, flat across the horse’s neck.

  The other German reined his horse in a little and pulled his arm back, the spear ready for an over arm stab. He reared back and Ingenuus swung with the heavy blade, feeling the muscles in his shoulder tear with the effort. Unused to the weight of the blade, his swing was lower than he had intended and dipped even further, losing power as the blade travelled. Far from hitting the man in the side and unhorsing him, the edge smashed into the man’s leg just above the knee, severing it messily and smashing into the horse’s side. The German slid from the other side of the horse, the severed leg falling to the ground and landing close to the forgotten spear. The horse reared in shock and pain, the wound in its side deep and long. The blow had certainly broken its ribs.

  In pain and confusion, the horse blundered forward into the general’s. Caesar, locked deep in personal combat, was caught unawares as his horse panicked and bucked. The general was hurled into the air and crashed to the turf close by. Both Caesar’s white horse and the German’s chestnut panicked and thrashed for only a moment before running from the scene. Ingenuus rushed to help the general up, pausing only to stick his large Celtic sword into the one-legged German who rolled around on the floor in agony. The general was unhurt, apart likely from a little bruising and a pulled muscle or two. He stood, brushing himself down. The second German who had been locked in combat with the general had finally righted his nervous horse, just in time to face two of the bodyguards who had reached the scene. Leaving them to deal with the enemy, Ingenuus dropped the tip of his sword to the ground and leaned on the heavy hilt, wincing and rolling his shoulder. He breathed out, a deep relieved sigh, and then realised that he was in the presence of the commander of the entire army. He straightened.

  ‘Apologies, general. Can I be of assistance?’

  Caesar smiled at the tired and injured cavalry prefect.

  ‘Aulus Ingenuus I believe. You’ve already assisted me, prefect. Looks like we’ve broken the wing, wouldn’t you say?’

  The young officer glanced around at the scene wearily. There were shattered remains of the German cavalry force visible here and there through the Romans and Gauls. Few remained on the field, and those that did fought desperately for their life against tremendous odds. Some distance away a party of Germans fleeing the field were just visible over the trees.

  ‘Yes sir. I’d say we’ve turned the wing. Permission to depart, sir? I need to find a horse and a Roman sword.’

  Caesar frowned.

  ‘You’re wounded, prefect. Look at the way you’re standing. You need to get to the valetudinarium, not the stables.’

  Ingenuus raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘I’ve a few aches and pains, sir, but I’ve no intention of leaving the field before any of the Germans.’

  Caesar laughed.

  ‘Very well. Shall we rally the cavalry and support the main push? Harry the enemy on the flanks?’

  The prefect was opening his mouth and drawing breath to speak, when a regular cavalry trooper thundered to a halt next to him and saluted the general wearily. Glancing up, Ingenuus realised this was a decurion he used
to serve with, one of Varus’ men now. The trooper was spattered with blood; some of it his own. A grisly sight. The man straightened, wincing at some invisible pain.

  ‘General, Commander Varus wanted me to tell you that we ran into real heavy resistance on the left. We’re deep in the shit sir. Any help you can throw our way’d be real handy, sir.’

  Ingenuus looked up at the general who tapped his lip.

  ‘What does Crassus suggest?’

  The trooper looked taken aback for a moment.

  ‘Crassus, sir? Never stopped to ask. He’s ridin’ around at the back making sure no one retreats! Being an arse, sir!’

  Caesar frowned.

  ‘You mean he’s led the cavalry into deep water and then left you there?’

  ‘Not deep water, sir. Deep shit!’

  Caesar leaned down to Ingenuus.

  ‘What’s your opinion of our situation on this wing?’

  Ingenuus put his finger to his lip.

  ‘We could push the remnants out, harry the flank of the infantry and chase down the escapees with only half what we have here, sir. Once the remnants of the cavalry are gone, we could try to remove some of their wagons and have a go at the rear, but it would be dangerous.’

  ‘I tend to agree, prefect. You feel up to the job?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Caesar smiled again as the young man came painfully to attention.

  ‘Good. And stop doing that… you’ll break something. I’ll take half the cavalry round the edge of the field to aid the left and pick up the third reserve line as I go. You take command here, but don’t try for their flanks. There are too many wagons and defences round their sides and rear, and that’s a job for the infantry. Chase them down. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve seen to the left wing.’

  Ingenuus nodded.

  ‘Yes sir. With pleasure.’

  * * * * *

  Varus dared a quick look over his shoulder. The rear ranks of the left wing had thinned out rather seriously. Crassus had been pushing and driving all the time, sending forward any spare men he could find the moment he spotted a gap. There was no longer a reserve, no support. Everyone was on the front line and they were still outnumbered.

  The enemy horsemen were, as previously, supported on a one-to-one basis by footmen armed with swords or spears, and there were a great number of riderless horses and dismounted cavalry littering the field. The prefect’s attention was drawn back to the current predicament as the shaft of a spear drove past his shoulder. With a twist of his wrist, he flipped his sword and neatly cut the tip from the spear. Turning back to the man assailing him, he slashed twice in wide arcs, cutting the man across the chest and face. The German toppled from his horse, adding to the numerous bodies strewn across the grass, mostly Roman. He spotted one of the decurions nearby and shouted to attract his attention.

  ‘Keep the line closed. No one’s to be a hero. Just protect yourselves until help arrives. I’m going to see the commander.’

  The decurion gave a barely perceptible nod and went back to fighting for his life, shouting orders out above the noise. Shaking his head with anger, Varus wheeled his horse and rode away from the danger toward Crassus, alone at the rear on his horse. The primus pilus of the Seventh was controlling the infantry while his legate dealt with the cavalry.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, prefect?’

  Varus came to a halt in front of the commander.

  ‘Sir, you must pull in the third line of the legions; the reserve. We need them.’

  ‘I won’t have cowardice in my cavalry, prefect. We match them in strength.’

  Varus growled audibly, the tip of his sword dipping dangerously toward his superior.

  ‘If we weren’t in battle, I’d kill you for that. We don’t match them in strength. We’re nowhere near. They outnumber us almost three to one with their infantry. We need to learn from them! We need infantry support!’

  Crassus sneered.

  ‘You are dismissed, prefect. You may leave the field.’

  Varus growled again.

  ‘You should leave the field, you puffed up, inbred, ignorant lunatic. I’ve got to look after my lads until support arrives.’

  ‘There will be no support, prefect. I’ll not beg for help.’

  Varus wheeled his horse back toward the enemy.

  ‘You don’t need to call for help. I’ve already sent someone.’

  And with that he charged off into the melee again.

  Crassus watched with a rising fury as the prefect waded in among the enemy again. The man was brave, he had to admit, but he was just an equestrian. He would have to pay for talking like that to a superior officer; to one of the nobiles. After the battle, Varus would have to be removed from command, and beaten of course. He would have to speak to Caesar about the man.

  Taking a deep breath, he scanned the rear of the field. He could not let another officer save his skin. He would have to do something himself. He looked around until he saw one of the irregular riders that carried messages.

  ‘You. Go and find the commanders of the Seventh and tell them that their legate has ordered them to pull back and support the cavalry.’

  The rider stared at the commander, a confused look on his face. Crassus sighed. The army would never be truly effective while they relied on barbarians for so many of their numbers.

  ‘You go find big men in Seventh Legion!’ He held his hands out showing seven fingers to emphasise the point.

  ‘Tell them to come here!’

  The rider grinned and said something unintelligible in his own language.

  Another voice cut in.

  ‘Belay that order.’

  Crassus turned to see Caesar astride his white horse.

  ‘General. We need my legion in support.’

  Caesar smiled.

  ‘I’ve heard. I’ve brought you half of my cavalry and the third line of infantry is wheeling left. They should be with you in a few moments.’

  He gestured to the edge of the field, where hundreds of horsemen were appearing from behind a copse.

  Crassus glared at Caesar.

  ‘General, when I need reinforcements, I can call them myself, and I would have started with my own legion. I dismissed prefect Varus from the field and he insulted me and disobeyed my order. I shall be requesting the harshest of punishments for him.’

  Caesar sighed and pointed into the distance.

  ‘D’you see that, Crassus? That is a dangerously thin front line, near to breaking point. If you fail to hold that line, the German cavalry will have a clear run at our flank and our rear. Have you any idea what that means?’

  ‘General, I…’

  ‘It’s a rhetorical question, Crassus… I’m known for my rhetoric. You’re an able enough legionary commander I suppose, though too harsh. In time, you could even be a great commander, but you need to forget your pride, swallow your fear of failure and trust in your men. You’re in danger of losing me half my cavalry and that man,’ he pointed at Varus, hacking away among the Germans, ‘is the only one holding that line together. Take the reserve cavalry into battle; I’m going back to push our advantage on the right. Win me the left, Crassus.’

  Grinding his teeth, Crassus nodded curtly. Behind him, he could see several thousand heavy infantry. He would have to risk everything now to save face. As Caesar cantered back toward the remains of his wing, Crassus shouted out to one of the regular cavalry officers with the reserve force.

  ‘Prefect! Order the reserve forward, then take charge of the infantry support and bring them up to the front as fast as you can.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  The prefect saluted, turning to the reserves, as Crassus squared his shoulders and drew his sword. Nodding to the servant who held his gear for him, he retrieved his shield. With a deep drawn breath, he rode for the front line.

  He saw Varus straight away. His attention was, however, drawn by an impressive fountain of blood and an airborne lower arm. He grumbled aga
in, knowing that he had to make a magnanimous show here, or he was in danger of losing all the men’s respect to Varus. Gritting his teeth, he rode directly for the prefect. The urge to ‘accidentally’ remove the man from the grand picture flashed momentarily through the legate’s mind, but then professionalism took over. Waiting a moment for a gap to open, the legate hefted his blade and rode in alongside the prefect.

  ‘Varus. Take all the men to your right and reform. I’m taking the left and the reserves are going to bolster the centre.’

  Varus heard the legate’s voice and glanced around in surprise in time to see Crassus lean forward over his horse’s neck and drive his blade through a German footman. The prefect grinned maniacally.

  ‘With pleasure, sir.’

  The legate pushed forward, his bright, ornate armour now spattered with viscera. Looking out across the line, he saw the reserves almost upon them and the third line of infantry closing at the back. Turning his horse, he rode along the line toward the edge of the field.

  ‘Left flank! Reform on me!’

  Slowly the cavalry detached and withdrew to the commander. The Germans tried desperately to make the most of the gap left by the two forces separating, but those who rushed ahead to widen the breach merely came face to face with the reserve cavalry, fresh from the opposite wing. Not enough of their countrymen had seen the opportunity and rushed to seize it. As the few who had sought the advantage met their fate at the hands of cavalry swords, the third line reached the scene. Eight thousand heavy infantry; the trained elite of the Roman world, marched in unison, bearing the standards of six different legions. For the first time on the left of the field, the Germans knew panic.

  Varus grinned as his men hacked, stabbed and slashed at the enemy, trying to carve an inroad into the main force. While he was under no illusion that Crassus actually trusted him, the legate had once more authorised his command. He raised himself as high as he could in the saddle and tried to look over the immediate area. The German wing was gradually beginning to give ground. He could not see the other wing, but the presence of half of Caesar’s cavalry on this side could only mean that the right had punched through Ariovistus’ defence. From here, Varus could see the centre and the advancing Roman line. The German infantry were giving ground with every moment, and only a few hundred cavalry lay between him and them. He shouted to his men.