The Swabian Affair

by Ray Gleason

  The Kraut mob moving up the east bank arrived a few hours later. Despite our fears, they also halted, established a separate wagon stockade, and did nothing.

  Some of Caesar’s officers urged him to attack immediately, before the German army assembled. Remembering the debacle when he attacked the Helvetian wagons at Bibracte, Caesar refused. He reasoned that if he waited and forced the Germans to attack him, even at full strength, the Romans would suffer fewer casualties.

  So, for the next five days, both armies fell into a routine. The Romans would march out of their camps during the fourth watch of the night and form their battle lines facing the Germans along a little stream flowing east into the Ilia.

  For the most part, the Krauts remained behind their wagons. The mob on the east bank, using boats, rafts, and anything that would float, began ferrying warriors over to reinforce the laager, which faced the Roman battle line. While this was transpiring, men, women, and even children would climb to the tops of the wagons and scream what we assumed were insults and challenges at the Romans formed opposite them.

  Each day, during the early hours of the first watch of the night, when the enemy was deeply into the tuns of beer and mead that they had dragged along with them, the Romans would return to their camps, leaving a strong screen of cavalry and auxiliary troops between themselves and the Grunni, now drunk behind their wall of wagons.

  Again, Caesar’s legates urged him to attack the German laager at night, when they were all drunk. But, the lesson of the fight at Bibracte was still too fresh in Caesar’s mind, so he refused. Drunk or sober, his plan was to make the Krauts come to him.

  While we waited for the Grunni to make up their minds, the muli reinforced their front line.

  They went to work on the southern bank of the stream with their dolabrae, their pick-axes. They cut the bank straight like a vallum, the earthen wall of a legionary castrum, and then piled the soil on top to heighten it and create a parapet; the stream itself served as the fosse, the defensive ditch. When these fortifications were established to the satisfaction of even the first-line centurians, the men started planting liliae, “lilies,” sharpened sudis stakes in foot traps, along both banks of the stream.

  This front-line wall was broken every hundred-fifty passus or so with an earthen ramp and a wooden bridge across the stream to allow the passage of cavalry and troops. But, in case the Krauts got any ideas about using these openings for their attacks, the Romans placed batteries of scorpiones, powerful crew-served crossbows, overlooking the ramps. What might appear to be an opportunity to the attacking Grunni would be quickly turned into a death trap by scores of tension-launched bolts. The muli marked these portae, gates, as they called them, with red pennants, as much to indicate to retreating Roman skirmishers where they were as to dare the Krauts to follow.

  Caesar anchored both his flanks with batteries of ballistae, artillery pieces which could cover the army’s entire front with interlocking fire of steel bolts and small stones. The ballistae were setup on small, earthen platforms that jutted out ahead of the Roman lines, so each weapon could fire across the entire front.

  Each day, Caesar would ride up and down his battle line, with white stallion, red general’s cloak, and full-dress armor. He’d swap jokes with the muli; he’d say things to them like, when they beat the Krauts, they could have the women; he just needed some hair. The men would chant back at him, “Calve! Calve! Calve! Baldy! Baldy! Baldy!” He told the men of the Ninth Legion that the Seventh bet a bag of silver that they’d beat them over the Kraut wagons. He told the Seventh that the Eleventh had made the same bet. And, so on. The boys loved it. Whatever had soured them with Caesar after Bibracte seemed to be forgiven and forgotten.

  About one thing Caesar was serious, however. This was a battle of extermination. Unlike the Helvetii, the Roman nation had no use for Grunni on this side of the Rhenus. The muli were to kill everyone who didn’t manage to swim back over the river. Any they didn’t kill were going sub corona; they’d be sold to the slavers in Vesantio. Caesar claimed that the sale of German slaves would make the muli so rich that when they died, Charon would have to give them a first-class stateroom for their boat ride over the Styx.

  Agrippa’s frumentarii finally caught up with the army after it had been on the line four days. Now, instead of hardtack and jerky, the men had fresh bread, green vegetables, and pork stew, compliments of the Sequani living in the Dubis valley. Agrippa himself was still back in the rear; I was told he was supervising a barge-building project in Lugdunum, so he could float supply north over the river network. The frumentarii in the field were commanded by a centurio posterior named Opilio, who was invalided by wounds at Bibracte.

  During most of this time, I was with the Sequani cavalry turma, screening the bridging points on the east bank of the Ilia. It was easy duty. We’d advance to a point on high ground where we could see down into the Kraut wagon laager on that bank. Most of their activity was focused on ferrying warriors over to the west bank. We could also see a steady stream of people, cattle, and wagons still straggling down from the north on both banks of the river.

  For the most part, the Krauts ignored us. Occasionally, small groups of young men would mount up and ride out in our direction, but they never approached any closer than a few hundred passus. They sometimes swung their swords over their heads, pumped spears up and down, dismounted and showed us their arses, and grunted insults at us in languages we didn’t understand. We just watched and did nothing until they tired of the game and returned to the wagons.

  On the afternoon of the seventh day, everything changed; the German horde on the west bank came out from behind the wagons. From my position on high ground on the eastern bank, I could see them advancing toward the Romans. There was no discipline or order to their advance. Warriors simply flooded out from between the wagons onto the field.

  The Roman velites, mostly the light Spanish auxiliary infantry, withdrew before them. The Roman battle line stirred; I heard their bugles sound attention.

  The Grunni advanced no more than a hundred passus toward the Romans and halted. I could see warriors milling about, then gravitating to a number of tribal standards and swirling about the standards in large, disorganized herds.

  Athauhnu pointed to the mass closest to the bank of the Ilia, opposite Caesar’s Tenth Legion. “That’s the Suebi,” he said. “Ariovistus wishes to challenge Caesar directly.”

  A cacophonous blast of trumpets sounded from somewhere in the Grunni mob. They went still. Then, they began chanting. I recognized it from my fight with the Boii at Bibracte. They were evoking their god, Woden, “Wo . . . Wo . . . Wo . . . Wo.”

  To the rear of the Grunni horde, women climbed to the top of the wagons. Most just screamed out toward the Roman lines; others held up what looked like small bundles. When one of the bundles began kicking, I realized they were children.

  The chanting, shrieking, and screaming built for about an hour. The warriors were drumming with an irregular rhythm, striking their shields with the pummels of swords, pounding the earth with their boots and spear butts.

  Then, it stopped.

  I thought for sure the Krauts would attack.

  They didn’t. They just turned around and returned to the wagon laager.

  Within half an hour, except for crushed grass, the field in front of the Roman line was empty, as if nothing had happened.

  The Grunni repeated this show for two consecutive days. Out they came, clustering around their standards, chanting, pounding, shrieking. Then they’d go back behind their wagons.

  I asked Athauhnu what it was all about. He had no idea. The Almaenuhr were barbarians, he said, barely human. No one knows how they think, if they think at all. The only reason that Athauhnu could guess at was that the moon would be full in another couple of days. Maybe their gods fight well only under a full moon.

  By the third day, Caesar had had enough.

  The Grunni moved out from behind their wagons as usual, and while th
ey were milling about trying to cluster around their tribal standards, a Roman trumpet sounded. The ballista batteries on the flanks and the scorpiones along the line opened up a murderous barrage of steel darts that ripped into the massed formations of Krauts.

  Again, the Roman trumpets sounded: “All legions! Advance!”

  The first battle line moved down over their carefully constructed parapet and across the stream. As they moved forward and tried to dress their ranks, the second battle line followed them. The third line halted at the top of the earthen wall and extended its ranks to cover the entire battle front. The scorpiones, now masked by friendly troops, ceased fire. The ballistae on the army’s flanks adjusted their line of fire deeper into the mob of Krauts.

  As I watched the Roman first line struggling to adjust its alignment after crossing the steam, I imagined that Caesar was counting on the Grunni to freeze long enough for the legions to reorganize for an assault.

  He was almost right.

  The German center and right did freeze. The five legions on the Roman left were able to reform their ranks, advance, launch volleys of pila into the massed Grunni, and attack with sword and shield.

  But, the Suebii on the German left flank, opposite Caesar’s command group and the Tenth Legion, immediately counterattacked. They moved so quickly that the muli in the front line had no chance to launch their pila. They barely had time to get their shields up before the Grunni smashed into them, pushing them back into their second line, which was still struggling to reestablish its alignment.

  The German wave washed over Caesar’s command group. I saw the white stallion go down, the red cloak lost in a sea of barbarians. The praetorian detail surged forward to protect their Imperator.

  My first reaction was to gallop back over the river and attempt to reinforce the Roman flank. Athauhnu must have sensed what I was thinking. He reached over and grasped my right forearm before I could raise it. “It’s too late for that, Arth Uthr!” he said in a low voice. “Caesar must fight his own battle. We can do nothing.”

  The Roman first line was overrun, almost six men deep in places. It began forming the defensive murus scutorum, the shield wall, from the rear.

  After a few heartbeats, the Roman line seemed to stabilize. Then, the shield wall morphed into a modified testudo, the “turtle” formation.

  The muli engaged directly with the enemy kept their shields forward and locked. The ranks of men immediately behind the forward line of the shield wall raised their shields up over their heads and locked them down at an angle onto the shields of the front line troops. This covered the heads and upper bodies of their mates in the front line from the Grunni assault. Then, the muli in the third rank raised their shields up over their heads, locked them onto the shields of the second rank and bent forward, creating an inclined roof of shields. The next rank back raised their shields, locked them forward, and took a knee; rearmost rank did the same but fell to their knees and bent forward.

  This manuever formed a closed, armored, inclined platform with shields, as if the Romans were preparing to assault over a walled fortification.

  Then, the second battle line, which had reformed its ranks behind the testudo, began launching their pila deep into the German formation in order not to hit their own mates, who were still fighting individual battles in a wild, swirling melee in front of the shield ramp.

  The volleys of pila had their desired effect. Scores of German fighters went down, while those behind them pulled back to avoid being struck. The momentum of the German attack was disrupted, and the Krauts already engaged with the Roman line were now isolated.

  Then, a Roman soldier ran up and over the shield ramp. By the transverse red crest on his helmet, he was a centurion. He leaped from the platform, over the Roman shield wall, and was swallowed up in the swirling melee of muli and Grunni hacking at each other.

  The Roman second line gave up a thundering roar, then followed him, attacking en masse over the shields of their mates in the front line. Athauhnu pointed, and I saw one attacking soldier wearing a bright red sagum, the mantle of the commanding general. Caesar himself had joined in the attack.

  The Suebii, caught between the Roman shield wall and the beaten zone hammered out by the Roman pila, recoiled as the men of the fifth, sixth, and seventh cohorts flooded into them over the ramp of shields. The muli threw themselves at the Germans, pressing them backward. The Krauts tried to establish a shield wall of their own, but the Romans were on them too quickly. I saw muli pull the German shields down with their bare hands as their mates stabbed over their heads into the German rout. Soon, the entire mass of Suebii were being pushed back toward their wagon laager by a steadily coalescing line of Roman red.

  I was taken out of my role as spectator when one of my Sequani troopers galloped up to my location. He reported to Athauhnu, “A Pen! Boss! Guithiru asks you to come. Something is happening in the valley below!”

  I thought for a heartbeat that this might be the start of the expected Kraut flanking move to envelop the legions in contact on the west bank.

  We rode quickly to Guithiru’s position overlooking the German wagon laager on the east bank. From his position, the west-bank laager was also visible.

  There was no evidence of a Kraut flanking movement. Just the opposite, in fact. The stream of Grunni that had been trickling down from the north for the last few days had not only stopped, but seemed to have changed direction. We could see knots of people, mostly women and children, moving off toward the Rhenus. Germans from the western laager were now trying to cross the Ilia to the east. Some of these seemed to be men of fighting age. The laagers themselves seemed to be breaking up. Farmers were driving their beasts and wagons out of the encirclements and away to the north and east.

  “Easy pickings down there,” Guithiru suggested. “Should we attack?”

  “No,” I cautioned. “Let them think the way is clear and they will flee. If they think they’re trapped, they’ll fight.”

  Guithiru answered with a grunt.

  Athauhnu nodded, then asked, “Where is Ci?”

  “His fintai is in the trees on that hill there,” Guithiru pointed.

  Ci was less than two hundred passus distant with a clear line of sight.

  “Now . . . that is interesting,” Athauhnu said.

  I looked and noticed three enclosed wagons pulled by teams of horses leaving the western laager. These weren’t farm wagons. They were guarded by a turma of well-equipped riders.

  “I believe Ariovistus wants to make sure his loot is safe, just in case things do not turn out well in his battle with the Caisar,” Guithiru suggested.

  “I agree,” I shrugged. “But, our duty is here, screening the army’s flank.”

  “Look there!” Athauhnu said, pointing. “Is that not a Roman?”

  I looked and could see a man dressed in a white, Roman tunic. He was closely shepherded by three warriors. By the way he was holding his hands, they were bound in front. Even from that distance, I could see the narrow purple stripe bordering his tunic. It was Troucillus.

  “How many men do you have with you, Guithiru?” I demanded.

  “Ten, a Pen,” he responded.

  “Are Duglos or Ewuhn riding with us?” I asked.

  Guithiru nodded, “Duglos rides with us . . . Shall I summon him?”

  I nodded and Guithiru whistled to get his men’s attention. “Send up the scout from Vesantio,” he instructed.

  When Duglos joined us, I asked, “How far is it to the nearest ford that could accommodate heavy wagons?”

  Duglos thought for a few heartbeats, then answered, “This time of year, no more than three . . . four thousand passus.”

  “You know the place?”

  “I can find it.”

  “Athauhnu,” I said, “I’m leaving you in command here with Ci’s ala . . . I am riding to this ford with Guithiru.”

  I could see that Athauhnu was not happy with my decision. But, Caesar’s flank must be protected, and
Troucillus was my friend.

  “A’mperi’tu, Decurio,” he responded in Latin.

  No loot, no wild ride, no desperate battle, I’m sure he was thinking. To distance himself from his Gallic nature, it was becoming Athauhnu’s habit to respond in Latin to decisions that made sense only to Romans.

  I nodded and said to Guithiru, “We go!”

  “What about the Almaenwuhr below?” he asked.

  “Maent uhn fermwuhra!” I spat. “They’re farmers! They’ll run from us!”

  Athauuhnu didn’t miss out on a thing. There was no wild dangerous ride and no desperate battle against overwhelming odds.

  As I predicted, when the Germans saw us, they continued to flee, just a bit faster. We reached the ford in just under two hours. We didn’t press our horses. We wanted them ready to fight or to flee, whichever option made the most sense for us.

  There was a convenient, wooded hillock overlooking the ford on our side of the Ilia. I concealed the main body of my troop there and sent scouts—Duglos, Rhodri, and Drust—across to watch for the wagons. I told them I was only interested in the one with the Roman prisoner; they should ignore the others.

  It was almost two hours before the first wagon arrived. It was heavily loaded and guarded by well-mounted and equipped warriors. I imagined they were members of some thegn’s personal bodyguard, a gedricht the Krauts call it. What was most curious was the well-dressed young woman seated on the board next to the driver.

  We let them pass, the wheels of the heavily laden wagon digging deep furrows in the mucky soil of the trail leading up from the ford.

  The wagon I wanted arrived soon after.

  My scouts returned over the ford to tell me it was on its way. They swore they had not been seen by the escort. They were good at their jobs. I took them at their word.