The officers in front of him saluted and started bellowing commands at their men. Fronto watched as the lightly-armed and completely unarmoured men began to move off at a steady jog toward the south. As the nearest unit of Cretans started to run, Fronto sprinted alongside and fell in next to their prefect.
‘Enjoying life in the limelight, Decius?’
Momentarily, he concentrated on the turf in front of him as he felt that familiar twinge in his ankle. Damn it. Almost two decades of fighting with the legions and he had sustained no lasting injuries. Then one bloody fight last year and he gets bitten in the ankle by a mad German woman and almost hamstrung. That ankle had never been quite right since. He became aware that Decius had replied while he concentrated on the ground. Ah well. At least his nose felt good these days.
‘I’ll need brilliant ideas from you lot before we engage. The way I reckon it, there’s going to be a hundred and fifty thousand mad, bloodthirsty Belgae on the other side of the river, and all we’ve got will be a couple of thousand veteran legionaries under Sabinus, ten thousand green, untried legionaries under Balbus and Plancus, maybe five thousand cavalry under Varus, and three thousand missile troops. That’s… what? Twenty thousand against a hundred and fifty? Slightly unnerving odds, eh?’
Decius grinned as he stared off into the distance.
‘Maybe, but we’ve got fortified defences, a narrow bridge to defend and the height of the northern bank for advantage.’
He turned his grin on Fronto.
‘And, of course, we’ve got us!’
Laughing, the two men ran on alongside the Cretans with their bows.
* * * * *
By the time Fronto reached the camp, standing on the high ground and overlooking the bridge and Sabinus’ fort, the action had clearly already begun. In this lofty position, Fronto swallowed hard as he viewed a disaster of epic proportions in the making.
Sabinus had his cohorts secure yet trapped behind the walls of the small but defensive fort. There was no hope of him being able to sally forth and do any damage at this time, as the near side of the fort was bounded by the river, quick flowing and the darkness of the water suggesting dangerous depths. The other three sides were being assailed at close range by a veritable sea of shouting Belgae. There were, indeed, so many barbarian warriors that the observers had to look carefully to make out the fort walls under the press of bodies. The rearguard force that Sabinus had been left with fought desperately over their defences, stabbing and slashing madly at anyone they could reach. In Fronto’s professional opinion, Sabinus’ force would be gone in half an hour, and the fort left as kindling. From the look of things, the Belgae had moved faster than Varus had expected. They must have been here before the other Romans arrived.
Balbus’ reserve force would be precious little help. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth legions were still mostly on the north bank, a small group desperately trying to create a bridgehead at the far side in the face of many thousands of barbarians. They were failing dismally. If Crassus or Caesar had been here, they would likely have placed the blame firmly with the new, green, Gallic legions. Fronto, on the other hand, could see this for what it was. Two legions crammed into a narrow space, desperately attempting to break out in the face of impossible odds, most of them still trapped on the bridge or the near side. The Eighth or the Tenth would be doing no better in these conditions. Had Fronto been in charge of the Belgae, he would now be trying to collapse the bridge, but at least that thought seemed to have escaped the barbarian chieftains. The bridge was big and strong, but not big enough to host a battle.
Varus had clearly arrived just in time to get himself cut off and trapped. His cavalry had made it across the bridge in the face of the charging barbarians and were now milling about in the middle distance on the edge of the Belgic army, too isolated to try anything truly useful. As Fronto watched, he could see them doing what they could to harry the enemy, skirmishing and casting javelins into the middle of the mass, but little they could achieve would make any real difference without infantry support. At best they would annoy the Belgae and whittle down their numbers a little.
The way things were currently going, the fort would fall to the Belgae in around half an hour, the dead would pile up at the far end of the bridge, and the legions would remain blocked up until it finally occurred to the barbarians to destroy the entire structure, drowning a few hundred legionaries and rendering the rest ineffective. The cavalry would engage in quick bursts, but once the Belgae completely held the far bank and had rendered the river uncrossable they would turn and massacre Varus and his men before waiting for Caesar to arrive.
A disaster.
Fronto paced along the crest as his missile units began to fall into formation, the rear ranks still arriving. Something had to be done, and fast. Damn it!
A familiar voice called out from nearby.
‘Looks like shit, sir, eh?’
Fronto turned to see prefect Pansa shading his eyes and taking in the scene.
‘This makes shit look good, Pansa. Got any ideas?’
The prefect shook his head.
‘We can start picking them off from here with arrows, slingshot and spears, but it’s going to be like being bothered by insects for that lot. No way can we make a difference in time to save anyone.’
Decius came to a halt nearby.
‘Going to have to widen the crossing, so our legions can get over.’
Fronto turned in surprise.
‘How the hell do you propose that?’
Decius shrugged. ‘I really don’t know, but that’s what we’ve got to do. If we can get more men over there, we can create a proper bridgehead. If that happened, they could then force the Belgae back between the bridge and the fort and start setting up a proper line while everyone else crossed. After that, it’s battle as usual.’
Fronto shook his head.
‘Makes sense, I suppose, but it doesn’t solve how we get more men across.’ He frowned as he looked down at the chaos. ‘Rafts? Boats?’
Decius shook his head.
‘Too slow. We’d have to build the rafts, and then only a few could cross at a time. Sabinus would be dead long before we could get there.’
Somebody noisily cleared their throat so close behind Fronto that he jumped slightly. He turned to see prefect Galeo staring off toward the huge camp above them, a thoughtful frown on his face.
‘Would you kindly not sneak up on me like that!’ he snapped at the prefect.
‘Hmm? Oh, sorry sir. Think I’ve an idea.’
The other three officers turned to him.
‘You want to get the men across? Well you either have to go over, which means a bridge or boats… or you just move the river.’
‘What?’
‘A dam’ the prefect replied, still staring up at the camp.
Decius smiled.
‘Go on, Galeo.’
‘Well… I reckon that bridge we built down there is good and strong. It was built to support the weight of several loaded supply carts. The piers of the bridge are quite close together.’ He pointed up at the stockade atop the camp’s rampart. ‘And we’ve got a massive ready supply of great big logs.’
Fronto frowned.
‘That’s bloody dangerous. What happens if we break the bridge? Then we’ve done their job for them.’
Decius nodded. ‘That’s not the only danger. What if you succeed and the water level rises enough to reach the bridge and flows over the bank?’
Galeo smiled.
‘Then a hundred thousand Belgae drown. Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.’
Fronto’s face slowly split into a smile.
‘Galeo, you clever bugger, you! You’re in charge of the dismantling. Get the Gaesati up there and start work tearing down the stakes... they can’t hit the Belgae from here anyway.’ He turned to the others.
‘Get all the archers and slingers concentrating on that mass of Belgae near the bridge. Send any spearmen up to Galeo. I’m go
ing to find some men from the Thirteenth or Fourteenth to help.’
As the prefect started shouting out commands, Fronto descended the slope toward the bridge. The journey was short but perilous, with rabbit holes pock-marking the steep turf incline to trip the unwary, and his ankle occasionally giving a little ‘twang’ of pain. As he slid and ran he took note of the disposition of the legions.
Balbus had led the Thirteenth into the front. In fact, as he carefully scanned the other end of the bridge, he could occasionally spot the legate’s plume bobbing around amid the violence. He shook his head. Balbus used to be careful and command from a position of safety. The longer he spent with Fronto and Crispus and the others, the more reckless he was becoming. Still marshalled on this side of the bank, hanging back from the action, were the Fourteenth. As he watched occasional pila arced out from the reserve legion toward the Belgae on the far bank, falling harmlessly into the swift current.
‘Men of the Fourteenth!’ he called forcefully as he finally reached the shore level.
The legionaries turned, and the nearest men saluted.
‘The next soldier who throws a pilum into that river will have one jammed up his arse. Don’t waste weaponry. And I know some of you don’t understand me, so if you do, make sure you pass that on!’
A plume wobbled around at the far side and then a gap opened in the lines as Plancus, red-faced and angry, strode back toward him.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Fronto? These are my men, and I ordered them to harass the enemy with pila.’
Fronto growled.
‘Most of them can’t even get half way across, Plancus. No one stands a chance of hitting a barbarian. Save your weapons. We’re going to pull off a little trick in a moment and give you men a chance to get across and into the action. When we do, get over there and help solidify that bridgehead and drive a connecting line to the fort.’
The legate stared at him.
‘Look, Plancus. This is your first command and your first action. I know they’re your men, but I’ve been commanding legions for twenty years. Take my advice and use it.’
The young officer glared for a moment and then nodded.
‘Where do want me and what signal will you give?’
Fronto pointed.
‘Form up on the downriver side of the bridge, about twenty men abreast. You’ll know when to go, if this works.’
Plancus saluted stiffly, and Fronto gave him a half-hearted response.
As the young officer began to manoeuvre his legion, Fronto pushed further through to the rear of the Thirteenth Legion, massed around the bridge and waiting to cross.
‘Any of you lot engineers?’
The men of the Thirteenth looked around in surprise and saluted the senior officer.
‘Come on, come on…’ he shouted.
A stocky legionary at the rear with an extremely unfashionable but plainly Gallic beard shrugged, the braids at the side of his head scraping along the edge of his helmet. In a fairly thick Gallic accent, he spoke up.
‘Had some training sir. A few of us have, but we’ve not really had the chance to put it to use.’
Fronto grinned at him. ‘That’s about to change, soldier. Get a dozen or so good men together and come with me.’
As soon as the Gaulish legionary and a few of his compatriots reached him and saluted, Fronto pointed up to the camp, where several sections of palisade had already visibly gone.
‘Up there, come on.’
A few moments later, he reached the top of the slope with his party. The new recruits of the Thirteenth looked on with interest as an officer and a number of ebony-skinned auxiliaries worked on dismantling the legions’ camp. The engineer frowned as he saw two of the palisade stakes dropped to the ground and let roll down the hill where they disappeared into the river with a splash.
‘What are they doing, sir?’
Fronto pointed at the stockade.
‘We’re going to roll the timber down into the river to dam it at the bridge.’
‘That won’t work, sir.’
Fronto turned on him. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, the timbers are big enough, sir, but they’ll just bounce around on the surface and some will just float under the bridge end-on. It just won’t work, sir… take it from me.’
The legate fumed, rubbing his temples. ‘Well we’ve got to do it somehow.’
The legionary shrugged.
‘It’s vaguely possible we could drop a section of the palisade as it is down from the bridge? That would dam the river pretty well.’ He frowned. ‘But can I ask what you’re wanting to dam the river for, sir?’
Fronto pointed at the Fourteenth Legion, lining up on the bank downstream of the bridge.
‘Need to lower the water level so the legions can cross in bulk, rather than being jammed tightly onto that bridge.’
Again, the legionary shook his head.
‘But if you dam the river at the bridge, sir, with that current, you’ll only have maybe the count of a hundred, and then the river will flood the flat land above the bank before flowing back round the dam. Basically you’ll be putting the entire battlefield ankle deep in water and mud, and there’ll still only be time to run a few men across. And think of how dangerous the river bed might be, sir? Could be deep mud.’
Fronto rounded angrily on him with a growl.
‘Then what do you suggest? I’m running out of time very quickly, and you’re just tearing down any idea we have.’
The legionary frowned. ‘We’ll just have to go over the river, sir. Safer, dryer, and probably quicker.’
‘What? How?’
The man gestured at the palisade.
‘If we stop tearing them apart, you can see the stockade is already solidly bound. The whole thing is tightly-roped together. Standing upright, it’s a stockade. Lay it flat, sir, and it becomes a bridge.’
Fronto blinked. ‘That’s genius! Can you do it?’
The legionary tapped his chin.
‘I’d say we want ninety feet of stockade to be sure we reach across. We want to check the rope binding and maybe strengthen or repair it where needed. Then several men are going to have to cross, dragging one end by ropes. Then they have to secure it to the bank. They can do that using some of these stakes that have already been dismantled. Then men at this end haul it tight and secure the near end. It wouldn’t take the weight of a cart, and you’ll have to limit the number of men that cross at a time. I’d say not more than thirty or forty. But a lot safer than a dam.’
Fronto grinned. ‘And can you do it quickly?’
The man nodded.
‘With enough men. Give me a century and it’ll take about a quarter of an hour to take a section down and check the bindings; then get it down the hill and into the water. A moment more to get it across and then quarter of an hour to secure it at both ends. I’d say half an hour at the quickest. Is that fast enough, sir?’
Fronto shook his head. ‘Maybe… maybe not. It’ll certainly be tight.’
The legionary shrugged again. ‘Can’t think of a better way, sir. The dam won’t work, though. I do know that.’
Fronto’s brow furrowed. ‘If we’re cutting it that fine, I need to get as many men across as possible. Can you string more than one of these across?’
‘Given enough men, I don’t see why not, sir, but the men swimming across and securing the bridge will need to be protected from the enemy while they work.’
Fronto smiled.
‘Alright. Go up and explain it quickly to Galeo. Him and his men will get started. Get three sections of palisade down. We’ll string them across between here and Sabinus’ fort. The walls of the fort will protect you from the enemy when you get across, and you can secure the ropes to it. Might make it quicker. We’ll give you cover as you work. Once you get across, shout to the defenders and they can take down sections of the rear wall, so we can get the legions across and straight into the fort. I’ll go back down and send you up a cohort.�
��
The legionary saluted and ran off up toward the auxiliary prefect where he worked at the stockade. Fronto watched him go, impressed. Caesar had underestimated these noncitizen legionaries. Glancing down at the scene below, he realised that Sabinus had pulled much of his force away from the rear wall by the river to bolster the beleaguered men at the other three walls. As he scanned the shoreline, frowning, he turned to the auxiliary archers and their commander nearby.
‘Decius!’
The prefect looked back up from where he was pointing out targets to his men.
‘Sir?’
‘Sabinus’ rear wall is unprotected, and there are a few Belgae trying to get round on the river bank. Discourage them, will you? And shortly we’ll be trying something there, so have your men concentrate on keeping that rear wall completely clear of barbarians.’
Decius nodded and smiled, turning back to his men. There were small groups of Belgae making their way along the bank toward the badly-defended riverside ramparts. Moments later, as Fronto watched, arrows began to find their targets and barbarians toppled into the water with a splash. The current down by the bridge began to take on a pinkish hue.
Without waiting any longer, he ran once more down to the men of the legions below.
‘Plancus!’ he bellowed. The young legate turned from his position by the bank.
‘Change of plan. Get your men to the river opposite the fort.’
Without waiting for acknowledgement or reply, he ran across to the soldiers at the near end of the bridge.
‘Whichever cohort’s near me, get up that hill and join in. They’ll tell you what to do. Now go!’
The signifers and centurions pushed their way through the mass and started to run up the hill, the legionaries following their standards. Fronto took a deep breath and ran across to the ground opposite the fort. Briefly, and nervously, he looked back up the hill at the archers loosing their arrows overhead, but the missiles were coming down with deadly accuracy on the opposite bank and picking off the last barbarians brave enough to try the difficult approach.
He watched with unease for long moments, tapping his fingers nervously on his scabbard and then, turning, squinted past the ranks of archers to check the activity at the top of the slope. Once again, he was impressed with the quality of these men. Already the three sections of palisade were unearthed and being gently moved down the slope. Even as he watched, the archers parted to allow the engineers and legionaries through with their makeshift bridges. Gods, they were fast.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 71