The Bructeri fell back, some fought and managed to kill many men who got separated from the legion, but the swords and shields of the legions were too much. The hill turned red with the blood and entrails of the enemy, and soon, there were hundreds of bodies wiggling on the trampled ground. The trench turned from muddy into a bloody stream.
'Victory, victory!' screamed the aquilifer of XVIII, a burly man, and the men who had been following their standards cheered. They closed on Armin's defense line on top of the hill.
I saw him. Armin.
He kept working tirelessly, cheering men, and sharing danger. Many times he was nearly hit by a pila, but he laughed with a careless, fey voice when someone tried to pull him back. I saw him ride to the edge of the visible enemy shield wall, staring down where the Sigambri and many Marsi were running for the V Alaude and XVII legion's thin line, chasing winded auxilia into a loss of hundreds. Armin hoped to hold the tiring legionnaires, and take a mighty prize when his allies smashed through V Alaudae.
'Shit, what a terrible business,' the other of Batavi siblings breathed.
'We will likely see our cavalry rout the Sigambri soon,' the other one answered.
'There are many thousands of them, much of their nation is there,' I noted, eyeing the terrific sight of a milling shield wall, full of tall Germani, pushing through the valley for Roman shields and swords, drums thumping, and the odd, tall carnyx still blasting sonorous blares. 'They must be exhausted after that run and weeks of hiding. But, they are many.'
'So?' asked the second Batavi laconically, and I shrugged. I had never imagined something like that battle.
The Bructeri had lost hundreds of men on the rout, but now they stood steady where they had left from, bearing wounds and losses. They threw down some remaining missiles and hefty stones, while bracing into a huge shield walls of men, three deep. Thousands of desperate Bructeri chanted, making the barritus yell with their mouths covered by their shields, the noise reverberating like a living thing.
XIX and XVIII had mostly passed the trenches. The three lines melded into two lines, as Drusus was seen shouting his orders. Standards dipped, and trumpets and cornu blared, as the men took a deep breath, and got ready to take their blades to the jeering, bearded enemy above.
'They are in the range now,' Gnaeus said, pointing a cane at the Sigambri, a brutal line of thousands of bearded, tattooed men. The V Alaudae started to launch its pilum, and Drusus looked behind. The Syrians, Cretans, and Balearic island slingers started to make life miserable for the exhausted Sigambri trying to overlap the V Alaudae, not too far from us. There were terribly many of them facing the V Alaudae, and the Sigambri had now driven off the last of the formerly thousands of auxilia. We saw flashes of the retreating men, running past the cohorts of the XVIII and V Alaudae, the Sigambri on their tail.
Drusus pushed forward, up the hill nearing the last lines of the centuries, their cohorts the least experienced men of the legion, yet eager to follow their commander. Some of these men leaned down, occasionally ending the struggle of some hapless, wounded Germani.
I could have been with the Bructeri that day. I, the Oath Breaker, yet a Germani, but instead, I found home with Rome. I admired them, though. That day, the Luppia tribes gave Rome a real battle. The Bructeri took the losses with raging shouts, their youngsters and leaders standing there on the ridge. I saw Wodenspear lived, for I spotted him standing, holding his weapon in the first rank. They knew what was about to happen. They knew they would have to bleed and hold.
The Romans were closing ranks tightly, and then the legions stopped ten yards off, and threw the last pilum, impaling hundreds of shields and arms, killing many, and the Bructeri line dropped their useless, impaled shields. The buccina sounded, and the men charged.
A sound of terror and clash of weapons permeated the air, as the stocky legionnaires rammed their shields to the bodies of their enemies, buckling the first men, the champions dying with their guts flowing on to the ground. It became a pushing match with sharp edges, but the swords of legions were made for massed melee, while the spears of the Germani were not.
The Sigambri reached the V Alaudae. They had driven back the archers, with horrible losses to pilum and sagitta, and sling stones, but now, the thousands of men had engaged their enemy. I could see how men would throw themselves recklessly at the Roman soldiers, sacrificing wounds and death to wrestle a man down, so his friends could kill the enemy. The Sigambri were rushing for the hinge of the legions. Along the highest ride, all the way down, all the army was engaged.
Save for the cavalry.
Gnaeus yawned. 'Well, it was exciting for a moment there. Go join Chariovalda in those woods, as this war will soon be over. The Sigambri might have more men than V Alaudae, but they will never break that legion in melee. The cavalry will break them. They will finish the job. and then ride them down and butcher them, and perhaps Drusus shall get to do what Crassus never did, present the enemy gear to the gods in Rome! Hah!'
I nodded and rode on with the Batavi, our senses overwhelmed with the sounds, smells, and sights of a major battle, one that Armin had started well enough, but Germani discipline was not enough to secure victory. The battle was much more terrible than Castrum Luppia had been, humbling and almost alive, a moment designed to sunder nations.
When we passed the V Alaudae left flank, to the land neither of Rome nor of Sigambri, a large, fat Sigambri appeared, and ran to challenge us, but died with a slingshot in his face. Back up in the ridge, the Romans pushed the Bructeri back, a cheer, another. A chief had died. Armin?
I plunged to the woods.
A line of horses stood ready in the shadows, their riders stoic and still, as if unloving things of night ready to drink blood. In the middle, a large man stood up on his horse. Chariovalda’s eyes widened, and he stammered. I rode up to him. He squinted in confusion, and swore when he recognized me. 'It is you! What in the name of Freyr's fat pig are you doing here? Where are Fulcher and Cassia? Surely, you didn't bring Cassia here?' he rode towards me. 'Does Drusus know you are here?'
I nodded carefully. 'The forts on the banks were attacked by Usipetes and Tencteri, and they cut the supplies,' I said, and he just shrugged.
'Was to be expected, but no one enjoys an empty belly. My mead ran out yesterday,' he said sourly, and observed the massive battle. The Romans were pushing the enemy back all over, and it seemed there was a red mist in the air where the battle was fiercest.
'They fight hard, harder than ever, but they will be extinct after this, if they don't run, and why don't they?' Chariovalda mused. 'Nice surprise with the Sigambri, though. Hiding thousands of men behind Bructeri refugees. So their own lands are near undefended.'
I handed Fulcher's horse to a slave. 'Care for him,' I said, and Chariovalda nodded at the man.
'Trouble on the way, I see. Will Fulcher survive? I like him,' he rumbled.
'I hope so,' I said. 'I warned our lord of the Sigambri.'
'And he did not listen?' he snickered.
'No.'
He spat. 'Does not matter. Like you stole Cassia's heart from your foolish friend, we will steal their victory and heads with our spears.' He took perverse joy at the prospect.
'A heart cannot be stolen,' I told him sullenly, Chariovalda's words wounding me.
He grinned. 'Remember that when you are cuckolded. Now. Get your horse to the edge there; we are about to destroy the flower of Sigambri manhood. It is Maelo's standard in the middle, his brother to the north, don't see Varnis.' Chariovalda was looking on to the field where the Balearic slingers were retreating from a thousand determined Germani, at last enveloping the V Alaudae left flank before us, their spears and shields bobbling in anticipation. I trotted to the edge of the column, shadowed by the two Batavi. Men grinned at my Germani garb, and I could only hope to avoid being mistaken for an enemy.
'You know the passphrase?' asked a fierce decurion.
I nodded.
'Keep saying it out there,' he laug
hed, as he inspected the men in his troop, some fifteen rogues in iron helms and armor. On the hill, one could distantly see the eagles of the XVIII and XIX wave at the crest of the ridge. The Bructeri were slowly thinning out, shields broken, spears spent, disappearing in a dust of battle, as the tired legionnaires stabbed their way to their decimated ranks.
The flag of Drusus dipped, and Chariovalda perked. A buccina sounded.
Chariovalda raised his hand, banners waved and horns sounded in the woods, and it was then, when we realized there was another, ululating sound of a horn, coming from the hill. It fell and rose, as in distress, and then Armin’s final plot became evident. We halted our horses as an army of horsemen swept up from the woods the Sigambri had vacated, more than two-thousand, running for the slope between V Alaudae and the XVIII legion.
They were dressed like the Germani, in hides and cloaks, leather helms and bared heads, hair flying behind. Their brutal standards were flailing wildly in the air, and the pale, nearly white-haired Rochus led the attack, Armin's brother. They were Cherusci, all the men they could muster from their other wars. He led Armin's last gamble on a whirlwind attack for the hinge between the two legions, their banner of an elk skull above them. It was now the Germani cheered one more time, and gave the battle one more mighty push, following their remaining chiefs, knowing if they failed now, they would be done for. I saw the Bructeri and Marsi attack again, desperately sacrificing their bodies, dragging down legionnaires, men leaping to the holes in the ranks, flailing around wildly. I was sure I could see Armin forcing them forward, and the legions were pushed back, the XVIII eagle going down for a second, as a result of a barrage of javelins and stones.
The Cherusci rode up like a whirlwind, and having no time to regroup and form lines, they dismounted, abandoned their horses, and pushed forward, thousands of dark-hearted men in a frenzy of battle, and their young adeling was in the midst of this group. The legionnaires confronting the sudden influx of fresh warriors and the heavy Sigambrian line fell into confusion under a multitude of blows from the left and right, some Romans retreating, shrill commands to stand fast echoing in the air.
It did not help.
Romans retreated in pairs, in small groups, and some who did not, fell under swift framae, huge spears, and sharp swords and axes carried by battle-hardened champions leading the Cherusci force. Soon, the dark mass had pushed through the two first ranks of centuries into the second, and here, the battle stiffened, as the Roman men braced themselves, throwing the remaining pilum at point blank range. It was told that the adeling Rochus himself, hefting a huge spear, killed the V Alaudae's tenth cohort's standard bearer, then pushed forward with his shield. Gods, but he was a hero that day.
In to this gap, the exhausted, starving Sigambri and the fresh, fierce Cherusci pushed. Suddenly, there was no man holding a sword before them but a few running legionnaires, and elated, they turned on the flanks of the V Alaudae and the rear of the XVIII legion, its men turning to face both down and uphill.
I heard later Drusus forced his men to keep at the Bructeri and Marsi, knowing they could not retreat from the ridge, and took the last rank of men downhill to attack the Cherusci, enveloping the embattled left flank of the XVIII, but men were tired, and faces betrayed shock. I prayed Armin would run out of allies, and I shivered to think what might have happened, if more of the Cherusci, the Chatti, and the Marcomanni had been there that day, as Father had once planned. His master in Rome would have been very happy, for Drusus would have died in the Germani hands. In the hands of Maroboodus. Now, Armin was to steal the glory, unless Leuthard killed him. The chaos of the battle was horrid.
Chariovalda had stared at the battle, and the incredible feat by the Cherusci and the Sigambri in silence, until woods and dust covered the breach. He spat, gave laconic orders, and the 2nd Batavi cohort rode out for the Sigambri on the left flank of the V Alaudae. The 1st Batavi went to Hel's maw, as we rode to close the deadly gap, and slay the Chatti and the Sigambri milling there, briefly unsure what to do with their sudden victory.
'Gold for the man who brings me that standard!' Chariovalda screamed, pointing at the elk skull, and the men rapped their shields with their weapons, while the 2nd Batavi raced for the Sigambri horde. Horses were stomping down a slight hill towards the Sigambri now, beating on the shields and flesh of the iron-hard legion V Alaudae, whose men were anxiously looking at the fate of their most rightmost cohorts.
We screamed defiance. The 1st Batavi rode hard for the rupture, their faces full of bloodlust. The shaken auxilia stared at us in wonder from our right, as our horses stamped the ground to save the day. Looking up at the chaos we were riding for, one could see bright mail mixing with Germani grays and browns. There were light woods, with heavier patches in that part of the hill, and it was unclear what was going on. We briefly noticed how the 2nd Batavi hit the Sigambri on the left flank, scattering them, like a wind blows over ripe barley fields, and pressing them against the legionnaires, felling dozens on that first assault alone. We passed the intact part of the legion and turned abruptly, trotting uphill in the light, blood-spattered woods. What we saw was not encouraging.
The V Alaudae and the XVIII legions were pushed apart, second ranks of the legions stretching and rushing up and down to extend their lines. In many places, the Germani were between embattled cohorts and diminished centuries, with many more gleeful Germani pushing to the gap. Our horses were breathing hard with excitement, as we aimed for a dark mass of the Cherusci, all tough men, grim and scarred, bearing marks of practiced killers.
'Kill them, kill, and keep your oaths to Drusus, and Rome. Show the dogs what a whipping by a Batavi feels like!' Chariovalda roared, and I pulled my spear in an overhanded position.
I glanced behind me, and saw the brothers Pipin who had followed me from Castra Vetera.
'You still here?' I yelled.
One grinned. 'No other orders, boy. We were to make sure you do no mischief. Now, we will try to keep you alive.' I smirked at them.
The Cherusci saw us ride up, their chiefs pulling men away from the legionnaires, pushing them to face us, pallid-faced with fear, for three hundred heavy horsemen can rout a regiment of gods.
We charged.
Usually, our men disembark for battle for a cavalry was intractable in a battle, but the Batavi were practiced in shock warfare. Chariovalda held his huge spear overhand, as our three-hundred horses crashed into a thousand Cherusci. The sight of their eyes I shall forever remember as they grimaced, ready to die, men full of madness, many pissing themselves, as the hulking Batavi roared and bowled them over, stomping down corpses and shattered shields.
I aimed my spear for a young, tall man, struck with the spear of Balderich, Wolf's Tear, swift despite its size. His shield was not fast enough, as my horse tore through the enemy line, and my spear ripped off his throat. He disappeared, tore the spear with him, and the horse was pushed against a mass of Cherusci, their men pulling at the riders who had penetrated too far, toppling them off the saddles in the tight press. The momentum was gone, many enemies dead, but now, they sliced the horses in their legs and bellies, slashed our men in the tight quarters. Many Batavi fell, often killing the man who had attacked them as a last act of defiance.
The Cherusci were fearless, and I saw Rochus grinning at us from some files back, gesturing with his sword. His eyes flicked towards me, and he stiffened. I grinned at him ruefully. He shook his head at me and returned to the business of war, and I knew the gods were watching. We pushed and fought, killed a hundred enemy or more, lost a precious dozen, many horses being hamstrung. I saw Chariovalda hacking in despair with a hand axe, killing men trying to do that to his battle horse.
We pulled back, to the sound of a horn. The battle hung in balance.
Elements of the XVIII was taking steps back, gods knew what was going on in the ridge. V Alaudae was trying to reform in a weird crescent form, constrained on all sides, save where the 2nd Batavorium had slaughtered half of Mael
os's own men, but even so some Germani were even running behind the encircled legion. The Germani fought like madmen, dying and laughing as they did. Rome was finally in a real battle in Germania, and the fiends loved it. Tenth cohort of the V Alaudae finally fell back, all the way back from the breach, the centurions mostly dead.
Our horses retreated, and the Cherusci launched javelins after us, falling several men and beasts. Chariovalda pulled us further back, and the ranks reformed, with considerable holes in them, many horses limping, men bleeding, grimly looking at the enemy. A thousand Cherusci had again formed a line across our path, and beyond that line, hundreds were trying to tear XVIII and V Alaudae into an army of the dead. It was up to us.
Chariovalda pursed his lips, looked after him, signaled one of his decurions to him. The man nodded, leaving the column, and I saw him heading down to the valley where the unruly horde of Thracians and Aquitani were staring up at us, with some surviving Frisii and Chauci. Chariovalda attacked again, but before I could force my beast to join them, I saw the decurion fall. There was a spear in the flank of his fallen horse, and the man did not move.
'Follow me!' I told my Batavi guards, as I tore at his reins, and one, battle mad with red, rheumy eyes, stared at me incredulously.
'Flee? No!' he said, struggling with me.
'We need the auxilia; we have to get it back to the battle!' I screamed, and they nodded, understanding, likely Pipin licking his lips nervously. So we rode down, reaching the unruly mob led by the Thracian infantry and some cavalry, some two hundred strong and another thousand men of mixed nations looking at the battle. I rode to them, screaming for their attention.
I saw Cornix emerge from the mass wearing a tunic and a hooded cloak, his face betraying shock as our eyes met, and then he ran.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 52