Ingenuus turned his crazy grin to the men around him.
‘Heave lads. Pull the buggers over.’
The ropes tightened rapidly. As the first rope was cut by the Germans, two of the horseman had to correct themselves and were almost unhorsed. The other rope, however, held firm and the cart gave an ear-splitting cracking noise and then rumbled at high speed out of the wall. A number of German warriors were unfortunate enough to be in front of it, trying to cut the rope, and were lost with a sickening crunch beneath the heavy wheels.
As the central cart trundled to a halt some fifty paces from the wall, the ones on either side came away with just a few creaks, tipping first onto their wheels due to Tetricus’ positioning of the knots, and then rattling away across the turf. A mass of Germans poured through the gap. For a moment Fronto feared they might wheel to the side and come after the mixed group of infantry and cavalry, but they were more intent on fleeing the death pit that was the centre of the field.
Fronto smiled. That was it. They had beaten Ariovistus. The Germans were fleeing the field in scattered panicky groups. Even if they ever managed to group together between here and the other side of the Rhine, the leaders of the other cantons would never follow Ariovistus against Rome again. Fronto found himself thinking deeply of drinking; drinking deeply. With a relieved smile, and heedless of his wound, he kicked his horse into life…
…and yelped.
* * * * *
Fronto winced. The medicus dealing with his heel had all the bedside manner and gentle touch of a Numidian gladiator.
‘When you’ve quite finished mauling and tenderising my foot, would you kindly tell me how long I’m going to be invalided?’
The medicus gave Fronto a look that worried him. No one this naturally unpleasant should be responsible for his wellbeing.
‘You can hobble on it now, but only from seat to seat and so on. If you try walking any distance on it, you’ll just end up in a heap and I’ll refuse to redo it.’
‘Thanks doc.’
Priscus grinned.
‘It’s alright. I figure you’re getting used to sitting on your arse a lot nowadays.’
Fronto growled.
‘You’re almost as respectful as he is! Why is it that medici always treat me like a petulant child, but they never seem to argue with you and Velius?’
Priscus grinned.
‘Medici aren’t frightened of senior officers. They’re generally sensible and well behaved. And medici know they’re valuable. Centurions on the other hand have a reputation for being lunatics and don’t take so well to being ordered around by medical staff. Take Balventius.’
‘Why, what’s up with him?’
Priscus’ grin broadened.
‘He’s in the next tent with Balbus. The medicus had a go at him and when I last saw them, he was threatening the man with a sword. They won’t argue with him anymore.’
A cough announced the arrival of Crispus.
‘A very fine afternoon, gentlemen.’
‘Crispus. How’s things going?’
The young legate took a seat.
‘The legions are once more in the camp, with the exception of the few centuries who persist in pursuing the Germans. Duty units are gathering the dead and still finding wounded.’
Fronto nodded soberly.
‘And what of the Germans, then?’
‘They continue their flight as though the very ghost of Scipio himself were after them. I am somewhat unconvinced that any of them will cease their flight until they cross the Rhine. They are, as I intimated, continually pursued by units of our infantry.’
Fronto glanced down at Priscus, who wore a confused frown. He smiled and translated.
‘The Germans are running back across the Rhine, and we’re chasing them.’
When he looked back up, Crispus now wore a confused frown. He sighed and glossed over the subject.
‘Anyway, I presume the cavalry is still out?’
Crispus nodded.
‘I very much doubt that the pursuant centuries will reach conflict at all. Varus and Crassus are already halfway to the Rhine by now, and Caesar and Ingenuus will not be tarrying. No one has yet found the King. Perhaps he died on the field, though I am more inclined to the opinion that he escaped.’
Without changing his expression, Fronto turned to Priscus.
‘The cavalry are chasing them down. They haven’t found Ariovistus.’
‘Yes, thank you. I already got that.’
Fronto smiled.
‘Crispus, you have a lovely turn of phrase but sometimes we mortals have trouble following you.’
Crispus smiled back.
‘Indeed? Then I shall endeavour to paraphrase myself.’
Behind Crispus, a shadow cast on the tent leather indicated the arrival of another visitor. Leaning heavily on the medical table, still sticky with drying blood, Fronto heaved himself upright, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Immediate pain rushed through his heel and he almost collapsed. With a sigh he looked pathetically at Crispus and Priscus.
‘Oh all right.’
The two of them half-lifted Fronto out of the tent, helping him across the threshold. Outside, Florus, the young capsarius from the Tenth, stood waiting respectfully. Fronto smiled.
‘Busy Florus?’
The young man nodded.
‘Fairly busy sir, though most of it’s a job for the proper medicus now. We capsarii don’t get much of a look in back here.’
Priscus looked the young man up and down. The fact that he was covered in blood was unsurprising, given his job, but the ripped chain mail he wore and the dents on his shield told a different story.
‘I thought I gave orders that the capsarii were to stay behind the second line. And anyway, weren’t you staying with the hospital, training to be a medicus?’
Florus shrugged.
‘I’m a soldier first. Anyway, glory’s quite hard to win when you’re sat in a tent waiting.’
Fronto interrupted.
‘Were you actually waiting for us?’
‘Yes sir. A number of officers have gathered on the hill above the camp. Legate Balbus sent a message asking if you’d join them for a celebration.’
Fronto grinned. It seemed to have been a long time since there’d been anything worth really celebrating. Suddenly he found that he was missing that nice little tavern at Bibracte.
‘I’d certainly like to. Best find a horse though; can’t walk all that way with my war wound!’
Priscus stifled a laugh.
‘War wound. I heard you were defeated in battle by an old woman using only her teeth!’
Fronto frowned and glanced around him. Crispus had erupted in laughter and was stifling it with his hand. Even Florus’ eyes were watering.
‘Fine, let’s all laugh at the invalid. Somebody find me a horse. You lot can all come with me.’
They were halfway between the valetudinarium and the horse corral when the tumultuous sound of hooves brought them to a halt. They turned to see a group of a dozen auxiliary horsemen led by a regular decurion. The decurion was leading an extra horse with a young woman of perhaps fourteen tied by the wrists to the saddle horn. She was clearly Germanic and her wild hair and dirty face were matted with blood. She was unwounded, however, and stared arrogantly and defiantly down at the officers and men.
The decurion addressed the group, saluting at Fronto.
‘Apologies, but could you direct me to the senior officer in camp?’
Fronto shrugged.
‘That’s probably me, decurion, on the assumption Caesar hasn’t returned yet.’
The decurion nodded.
‘Then I deliver into your custody one prisoner, taken by prefect Ingenuus. We’ve a number of others, but this one’s important.’
‘Important? How?’
‘I believe that she’s the daughter of the German King.’
Fronto’s eyes widened.
‘Ariovistus’ daughter? Caesar’s
going to want to see her. She’s royalty, so we’ll have to treat her well. Honour of Rome and all that crap. Why’s she tied to the saddle and gagged? Not good, decurion; not good.’
The decurion looked down at Fronto.
‘With respect, legate, you haven’t had to control her for the last hour. She’s a biter sir. Got the prefect a good one on the hand. He lost a finger.’
Fronto shook his head.
‘What is it with these German women? All right, give the reins to the centurion here and we’ll take her.’
As Priscus took the reins in his left hand, the other hand still helping to support the legate, Fronto tapped Crispus on the shoulder.
‘Mmm?’
The young man looked round.
‘Aulus, I think you’d best go to the group on the hill and tell them we’ll be delayed. Best tell them why too. I’ll take the capsarius here with me.’
Florus looked up in surprise.
‘Me sir?’
Fronto nodded and gestured at the prisoner.
‘There’s a lot of blood there and I want to make sure none of its hers. Priscus? When we get to the praetorium and you drop her off, can you go and see the quartermasters? See if you can round up some intact and clean clothing and a cloak for her?’
Priscus nodded.
‘Anything else, your leglessness?’
‘Funny.’
He glowered at Priscus as Crispus jogged away up the hill to see the rest of the officers. Turning to Florus as they headed for the centre of the camp, the legate gestured once more at the prisoner.
‘Can you remove the gag, lad?’
With a considerable effort, the capsarius reached up and unknotted the military scarf that had been used for a gag. As he pulled it away, the girl spat on him, a mixture of saliva and blood.
‘Charming.’
Fronto looked over at her.
‘Do you speak Latin?’
The girl frowned and growled quietly, then took the opportunity to spit on Fronto, hitting him square in the face.
‘Honour or no honour, I’m tempted to put the bloody gag back on! Listen, Princess: if you speak Latin, you need to tell me now. I’m actually capable of being quite nice and reasonable, and the young man here is a medicus who can help you with any wounds you suffered. When the general gets back, he’s less inclined to be nice. In fact he can be a downright bastard. Now’s your chance.’
Her third attempt at spitting on a Roman went awry. This time both were prepared and jerked out of the way.
‘Very well. Let’s get her to a guarded tent, and I’ll leave her for the other staff. I’ll be damned if I’m going to take my chances with another biter today.’
* * * * *
Ingenuus rode on, his left hand clutched tightly into a ball, with a scarf wrapped around it. The bloody witch had got two of his fingers. Two! He was no longer wielding a sword, just riding. The few pockets of fleeing Germans they came across either hurled themselves to the floor in supplication or hid in the brush. This was not combat; it was just making sure they left Sequani land. He kicked his horse a little and caught up with Caesar. The general rode at the head of his cavalry, not fast. He was happy to overtake a few survivors, but did not want to impede their flight across the Rhine.
As he pulled level, he became aware of shouting further back along the column. Turning, he saw two of the outriders heading toward the head of the line.
‘Caesar, the scouts are shouting for us.’
The general craned his neck and then nodded. Holding up his hand he called a halt to the column and he and the prefect wheeled their horses and rode back along the line of cavalry to the scouts.
‘What is it?’
The two auxiliary riders looked at each other, and one addressed the general in broken Latin.
‘Caesar. Many German. In tree. Mile to north.’
Caesar arched his eyebrows and turned to Ingenuus, a question in his gaze. The young prefect shaded his eyes.
‘There’s a fairly large copse over there, sir. If we want to deal with them, we’ll have to dismount. Unless, of course, they feel like surrendering.’
Caesar nodded.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I’d take two alae and surround the place. Keep one mounted and use the other dismounted if we need to go in. I’d keep the rest of the cavalry at a reasonable distance. If the whole army were there I can’t imagine why they would want to come out.’
‘If you think that’s best, Ingenuus, then see to it.’
‘Yes sir.’
Nodding to one of his decurions and one of the auxiliary prefects that he knew quite well, he trotted out to one side. Once the cavalry had followed out of line and were assembled, Ingenuus called over the prefect and the decurions.
‘We’re going over to the copse that our scouts found a large number of Germans in. When we get there, I want the auxiliary cavalry to remain mounted and surround the place. The regular cavalry will dismount a short distance away and ring the wood within the line of the cavalry. If the order is given to advance, the regulars will advance on foot and the auxiliary will form a cordon to prevent escape. Inform your men as we ride. Time is short.’
As the various officers passed the orders on to their subordinates, Ingenuus kicked his heels and started the units moving. Once more he looked down at his bandaged and blood-soaked hand. The more he thought about it, the more he wished he had not. The loss of the fourth and fifth fingers on his right hand would create a few problems for him in the future, but he would still be able to carry out most tasks with reasonable ease. The main problem, and it was the brutal problem that he was trying to come to terms with, was that the loss of those two fingers would seriously reduce his effectiveness with a sword. Those two fingers gave you balance and stability with a sword swing, and the loss of that ability would make him considerably less effective in mounted combat. It was a painful possibility that his life in the cavalry was over.
On reflection, he had not quite realised how meteoric his rise through the ranks had been this year. A few months ago he had been a cavalry decurion with little prospect of advancement. After an almost instantaneous decision to go to the aid of a fellow officer, he had been raised to prefect, in charge of an entire ala of regular cavalry. Normally there would be no realistic place for him to go after that but perhaps into a non-cavalry role. Instead, however, some of the senior officers and even the general himself seemed to have taken to him. Here he was now, ordering prefects around with an authority granted by Caesar. Oh, he would not make it to controlling the entire cavalry force in this campaign, as there were Crassus and Varus both in line ahead of him, but one day he might have. Not now though. Once a medicus had pronounced him useless, he might as well sell his horse.
Muttering, Ingenuus tried hard to pull himself together. He was dangerously close to actual tears and that would be enormously embarrassing in front of so many hardened cavalrymen. He straightened in the saddle and drew his cavalry long sword. The agony as the sword dipped and pulled at his hand was intense, and this time tears did come; tears of sheer pain. Gritting his teeth, he laid the sword across his thighs and unwrapped the bandage. Blood trickled from the sodden scarf and ran onto his leg and the horse’s flank. For a moment, he thought he might pass out, but his focus came back. Slowly and carefully he reached with his wounded hand and gripped the hilt. Fresh blood ran from the stumps of fingers as he applied pressure and, once more, he almost fainted. Sighing, he sheathed the sword, shook the excess damp out of the scarf, and reapplied it to his hand.
Looking up, the copse was now only a few hundred paces away. Holding up his maimed hand, he gave the signal and the auxiliary cavalry separated, riding out from both sides of the column to surround the wood. At his second bellowed command, the regulars reined in. For the next few heartbeats they could be seen all around the area, tying their steeds to the branches of lone trees or bushes. Once they were assembled again, he gave the third order and the dismounted regula
rs moved in, splitting off in much the same way in order to surround the wood a few paces forward of the cavalry. Ingenuus waited patiently for them to deploy into position. Once they were ready, two concentric circles surrounding a knot of Germans of unknown size, the prefect put his hands to his mouth and called out.
‘This is prefect Aulus Ingenuus of the Eighth Legion. If any of you can understand me, I am offering you the chance to surrender. If you surrender peacefully, your warriors will be taken as slaves, but your women, children and old folk will be allowed to return across the Rhine. If you defy us, we will move in to take prisoners by force. If you understand, answer me now.’
The prefect sat tensely waiting. He would much rather they came out freely and he could let the women and children go. If the army had to move in, there would be a lot of unnecessary deaths. He listened intently, the whispering leaves in the trees masking any conversation that went on within.
Suddenly, he was sure he heard a voice begin to call out in Latin before being silenced quickly. Why did he always get to make decisions in an instant, when others got so much time to plan?
‘Damn the consequences. Any German warrior to be killed on sight. Women and children are not to be harmed, but sent back to the cavalry as prisoners. Advance!’
The regulars moved into the trees in perfect order, as the auxiliaries behind them closed slightly to prevent escapees. Ingenuus sat for long moments, still tense, waiting for sounds of battle. After a count of a hundred, a shriek echoed through the woods. It had begun.
For several sickening moments there were loud cries, shrieks and clashes of metal from deep in the thicket. Ingenuus shook his head sadly, for clearly not all the cries were male voices. The prefect found that he was actually holding his breath when the first of his men appeared at the edge of the trees.
A few more men followed, and then a small group of a dozen came crashing through the undergrowth. Behind them others brought out the Germans taken alive, mostly women, but a few men, even ones of a fighting age. They would fetch a reasonable sum in the markets of Rome and would boost the already sizeable booty Caesar had squeezed out of the Tribes through defeat or protection. The individual soldiers of the legion would have made their own small profits from the battlefield before they received any gratuity from the commander. In all, a lot of people would be wealthy this winter, and the troops wintering in forts would have plenty of cash for women and wine.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 50