by R. W. Peake
“That’s right, Gabinius, you wonderful bastard!” Balbinus roared, his praise competing with the shrill scream of the stricken man. “This is why we bash you!”
Gabinius, being a veteran, didn’t turn his head, his eyes and attention already on the Bargosan who had to step over the twitching legs of his comrade to engage the Roman, but while his shield didn’t budge, Balbinus saw Gabinius thrust his sword in the air, still dripping with the lifeblood of the slain man, in a silent acknowledgement of his Primus Pilus. All along the line of Cohorts, similar moments were occurring with the Centurions and men of the 12th Legion as, slowly but inexorably, they were driving the Bargosans back, leaving a trail of dead and wounded behind the two formations. The battle had reached the point where there was something of a lull, at least in the shouting, cursing, and exhortations by both sides, for the simple reason that they needed their breath to kill the man standing across from them. So absorbed in his role was he that Balbinus was surprised when he paused for a moment to take a step backward and take in the overall situation, and saw that they were now well more than a quarter mile into this passage.
“It won’t be long now, boys!” he called out. “They’re about to break, I can smell it! So,” he thrust his vitus in the air as he finished by bellowing, “keep it up!”
Because his men responded as he expected, the sudden roaring of hundreds of voices masked the sound of the javelin that, from out of nowhere, went streaking past Balbinus’ face so closely that he would have normally heard the whistling noise it made. Instinctively, his head moved as his eyes tried to track the flight of the missile, and he turned just in time to see the javelin strike his Aquilifer, Trigeminus his name, in his right side, which was exposed because the Roman was holding the staff of the Legion eagle. Balbinus hadn’t heard the javelin as it narrowly missed him, but he distinctly heard the noise it made when it sliced deeply into Trigeminus’ chest, making a deep, thudding sound. At first, Trigeminus only seemed surprised, and the sight of his Aquilifer looking down at the javelin that killed him burned into Balbinus’ mind. Then, it was as if Hades unleashed not just Cerberus, but every demon in the underworld as the first part of Abhiraka’s surprise was sprung. Balbinus barely had time to pivot to his right, the direction from which men, both javelineers and men armored like the phalanx, except that it was scale instead of the cuirass, came bursting from the line of heavy underbrush that was barely twenty paces away.
“Ambush!”
Balbinus heard the word, but he didn’t realize he was the one who had shouted it, nor was he in a position to see that the men of his Century starting with the second rank instantly reacted by pivoting to the right just as the Primus Pilus had an eyeblink earlier. He had more immediate concerns, because he was now standing, alone and in front of what had just become the front rank, while the sacred Legion standard was still upright, Trigeminus having jammed the iron point into the dirt, and immediately behind Balbinus. These barbarians might not have known much about Rome, but they all knew that this pole, with a silver gilt eagle on top, had to be important, and now it was right there. In the fraction of time that it took for the Bargosans to dash across the short span of open ground, it was enough for Balbinus to realize that Pollio, Hirtius, and he had been duped, and that these Bargosans were going to kill him.
To the north, where his 5th Alaudae formed what was in essence the bottom line of the quadratum, Aulus Batius was in a foul mood, although this was only a matter of degree; his men swore that Batius started every morning angry about something, but they had become accustomed to it. The oldest Primi Pili in Caesar’s army, Batius was, like many men of shorter stature, possessed of a truculent nature and an explosive temper. He was also tough; most importantly to Caesar, and by extension the men of the 5th, he was extremely competent at running his Legion. However, while he understood why Pollio had placed his Legion so far from the action that, at this moment had caused the entire quadratum to come to a halt while those bastards in the 12th were dealing with whoever had been waiting for them in that forest, he still chafed at the idea.
“Your men are specially trained to handle any elephants we run into,” Pollio had told him the night before in private after the meeting. “And since they’re undoubtedly holding them to use for when we get to the city, I can’t afford to lose any of your men.”
It was a reasonable assumption for Pollio to make, and the truth was that Batius not only understood the logic, he agreed with it. After all, it aligned with conventional military wisdom that, in a battle where one is on the defensive, one keeps the most valuable troops in close proximity to the most valuable objective for the enemy. Pollio, Batius and their part of the army was about to learn what an erroneous assumption that was, but in this moment, that was still in the future, and now Batius muttered a curse for what his Aquilifer, standing next to him, was certain had to be the hundredth time, just since they had come to a halt. Because of the size of the army, and the resulting scale of the quadratum, the green line made by the forest was far enough away that it was impossible to distinguish individual trees, and the figures of what Batius knew was Hirtius’ cavalry who were spread along the line of the forest were so tiny that man and horse was just one speck. Compounding Batius’ irritation was the fact that there wasn’t much dust up ahead, although he knew that, for the men, it was one of the few blessings of this benighted land. It made sense; after all, when it rained at least twice a day, nothing ever dried out enough for dust to rise. If anything, it was more like a misty haze that hovered just above the line made by the 12th where they were clashing with the Bargosans that further obscured his view. Standing there, in the broiling sun that always appeared after the morning rains, was a misery, and after several men collapsed from the heat, Batius had allowed them to sit down and take their helmets off.
“There’s no telling how long we’re going to be fucking standing here waiting for the 12th to get their heads out of their asses and take care of whoever it is blocking that passage,” he had commented sourly to his Optio, who knew when his Primus Pilus expected a response and when he didn’t; he made no reply.
It was a sudden flurry of movement that caught Batius’, and several of his men’s eyes as well, off to their right where the line between the open ground and forest stretched off into the hazy distance. Because it was impossible to make out any details, Batius’ first impression was that the cavalrymen must have gotten bored and decided to run their horses, but then he looked beyond the scattering horsemen and saw that the tops of the trees in one part of the tree line about a half mile away seemed to have been struck by a violent wind, because there was no visible reason for them to be shaking. His first hint as to the cause came from a sudden glint of a deep goldish-brown that seemed to be moving from deeper within the forest before bursting into full view, but it was the gray that surrounded the dull golden color that caused Batius’ heart to seem to stop. Even as his mouth opened to gasp the word, the first elephant was joined by two, then three others, their size helping make them distinct from each other, and because they headed in slightly different directions.
“Elephants!”
Pollio’s first reaction when, off to his right and perhaps a half-mile away, there was a sudden, violent movement among the trees before an elephant, its bronze headdress and armored flanks reflecting the rays of the sun, burst out into the open area, was to freeze. His horse, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate, suddenly rearing and sending his rider flying through the air as it pivoted on its rear hooves to go galloping in the opposite direction from the huge beasts. Even as far away as it was, by the time Pollio, who was fortunate to land on the relatively spongy soil that contained so much moisture that he felt the dampness transfer to his body, recovered enough to sit up, the leading elephant had already grown in size as it came charging in his direction. It had been joined by even more animals, and as Pollio scrambled to his feet, it seemed as if there was no end to the number of beasts emerging from the forest. One of his bodyg
uards had immediately dismounted, intending to lead his mount to the Legate, but his horse was clearly of the same mind as its companion who had thrown Pollio, that he was being pulled in the wrong direction, so instead it leaned backward, digging its hooves into the soft ground, whinnying in growing terror. Still gasping, trying to get air back into his lungs, Pollio climbed to his feet, turned and half-ran, half-staggered to the man, managing to offer a thanks as he tried to swing himself up into the saddle. The air was filled with the sounds of neighing horses, but it was the shrill, trumpeting sound of the elephants that seemed to be wreaking havoc before the animals ever came near enough to do physical harm. It took two tries, but Pollio managed to get into the saddle.
“What about you?” he asked the bodyguard, a Galatian named Arvistus, but the answer came when another bodyguard came by at the canter, reaching out an arm, which Arvistus took, and using the momentum of the passing horse, swung up with an easy grace to land behind the man, whereupon the Galatian called out, “I am fine, sir! Do not worry about me, but take care of my horse! His name is…Caesar!”
He had to shout this last word over his shoulder, and even with the chaos, Pollio found himself grinning, thinking, I’ll have to remember to tell Caesar that, if I ever see him again. Returning his attention to the more immediate danger, he saw that the leading elephants had slowed slightly, and at first he held out hope that they were winded, but he was quickly disabused by the sight of yet more of the animals emerging from the trees, and he realized that they were just waiting for reinforcements. For the span of perhaps ten heartbeats, he managed to control his new mount, whose nervousness was communicated by small hops that jarred the Legate’s spine and made it hard to concentrate, but it was enough time for him to determine a couple of things. The first; the leading elephants hadn’t slowed to what he supposed was a trot for them because of fatigue, but because their handlers, who he could see straddling the huge beast’s neck, were maneuvering their animals into what he could see was a standard cavalry formation the Romans called the wedge. The handlers rode just in front of a platform that looked like a wooden box without a lid, in which three men rode, and while they were still out of range, Pollio saw at least two of these men were armed with bows. Some of Hirtius’ cavalrymen had discovered this the hard way, there being several bodies, mostly men but a couple of horses, scattered in a rough semicircle around the animals. Behind Pollio, he could hear the shouts of the men of the Legions who were standing idle, waiting for Balbinus’ men to push through the forest; because of his position, and the timing of the Bargosan attack with these beasts, he had yet to learn that just moments earlier, the other part of the ambush had been sprung on the 12th, but as bad as this was, things were about to get worse. Wheeling Caesar, this time the horse instantly obeyed because he was heading in the right direction, and Pollio saw that the Legionaries had already pivoted to their right, the covers were off their shields, and they all had one javelin thrust out. In that glance, he also saw something else that, frankly, was more important; these men, who belonged to the 6th, a veteran Legion, were terrified. Regardless, he went galloping towards the middle of the hollow part of the square, but he had just passed the 6th’s lines when he saw Hirtius, who was moving his horse at the same pace, heading from the opposite side of the quadratum. It was only then that Pollio recalled that Hirtius had left a short while earlier to go check on the other part of his cavalry, but it was the expression on his fellow Legate’s face as he slid to a stop, spraying clods of moist dirt everywhere as Pollio did more or less the same that gave Pollio a sickening feeling that he knew what was coming.
Even so, when Hirtius shouted, “Elephants! They have elephants! They just came out of the trees about a mile that way!” Pollio’s bowels suddenly felt loose, as if he had just been stricken by an ague, and he dimly realized that he had never been as frightened in his life.
“How many?” Pollio managed to ask.
“I don’t know exactly,” Hirtius admitted, then he turned in his saddle, straightening in an attempt to see over the heads of the men of the 15th, whose backs were now to them so they could face this new threat. Finally, he turned back and said, “I can’t see, but I counted at least thirty, but they were still coming out of the trees when I came to find you.”
Pollio took in the words, but then he turned back in the direction from which he had come, and he forced himself to calmly count the animals, who for the moment had finally come to a stop. Apparently—the thought seemed to be misplaced because it seemed so calm to him—maneuvering elephants into a wedge was harder than with horses.
“I count forty-nine,” he surprised himself at how calm he sounded, “so my guess is there are at least that many coming from the other side.”
“What about the siege spears?” Hirtius asked. “Do you think we have time to get them out of the wagons?”
Pollio briefly considered the idea, but one more glance over his shoulder was enough, and he shook his head, saying shortly, “No time.”
“So,” Hirtius said grimly, “we stand and fight.”
Before Pollio could answer, another shout caused him to look in the direction from which it came, directly north, towards the cleared area, but instead of a man on horseback, the Legates saw a Legionary coming at a dead run. Kicking his horse into motion, Pollio moved at the gallop to meet the man, who, seeing the Legate coming, slowed to a stop, dropping to his knees and panting from the effort he had just made.
When Pollio pulled up, with Hirtius right behind him, it still took the Legionary a couple of heartbeats to stop gasping long enough to say, “Sir, Primus Pilus Balbinus sent me! We’ve been ambushed, and he’s requesting you send another Legion in support! We’re being pushed hard from three sides, and he’s trying to keep those bastards from getting around our rear, but he’s not sure how long he can keep them off!”
“More elephants?” Hirtius exclaimed, but while the Legionary was clearly confused, he shook his head and answered, “No elephants, sir.” Then, he climbed to his feet, and for the first time, looked around at more than his immediate surroundings. When he turned to look to the east, while the men of the 6th were in the way, he had enough of a view to see, less than a half-mile away, a mass of gray and dull gold, which caused him to drop back to his knees as he gasped, “Elephants? These cunni have elephants?” The Legionary gave a laugh that was absolutely mirthless, and he concluded dully, “We’re fucked.”
Despite their different roles and responsibilities, Legate and ranker were in perfect accord; we are, Pollio thought dismally, well and truly fucked. Then, from the south, the sound of a cornu call drifted across the space, but while it was barely audible, all three men clearly heard and recognized the meaning; someone was sounding the call to advance. There were too many wagons, mules, and extremely nervous slaves for Pollio to see clearly, so he had to move his borrowed mount on the other side of the 6th before he saw a line of Cohorts advancing in their direction.
From behind him, Hirtius asked doubtfully, “Is that Batius?”
“Yes,” Pollio answered, and while he sounded completely calm, it wasn’t because they were within earshot of the men of the 6th, but he had gone completely numb. “Yes,” he repeated, “it’s the 5th.”
Of all the senior officers with Pollio’s army that day, including both Legates, Batius reacted the quickest; within no more than thirty heartbeats after he spotted the presence of elephants, he bellowed the order to his Cornicen for the 5th to rouse themselves, although his Cohort and the Second next to them had already scrambled to their feet and put their helmets back on. But, before he could issue the next order, which would begin the process of detaching from the quadratum and move towards the lumbering mass of animals, the size of the group continuing to grow, another Cornu sounded, but from the opposite side of the quadratum, where his Ninth and Tenth Cohort formed the lower part of the north/south side of the formation, joining with his Eighth that was the last Cohort of the bottom of the quadratum on that side . He was
too far away to see anything other than the sight of a Cohort standard moving up and down three times, which coincided with the notes sounded by the horn, the signal that an enemy had been sighted, so there was no indication that it was elephants.
Batius, however, didn’t hesitate to make that assumption, and he turned and grabbed one of the Legionaries he used as a runner, ordering, “Go to the Fifth, tell Pilus Prior Dento to shake out, single Cohort line, double Centuries! He needs to go double quick and get between those fucking beasts and the rest of the army!” The runner saluted and turned in one motion, but Batius was already shouting out the orders for his own Cohort to detach themselves from the quadratum, but when he grabbed another man, this time, it was his Aquilifer. Pointing to a spot several hundred paces east of the larger formation, he snapped, “Go plant the eagle over there, next to that little bush! Hurry!”