Insurgent of Rome
Page 66
"Aye." At the command, a Cornicen raised his horn, giving three blasts of differing tones across the landscape. The knowledge of Legion-work was not deep enough for Julius to be familiar with such signal and he could see no significant response to the notes, but his assumption was that the horns were not for entertainment purposes. Certainly, the Centurions at least would know of their meaning.
"It begins," suddenly barked an officer. The call was unnecessary as all could see the sudden rush of the rebel army toward the main ranks stretched across the road.
"They are maintaining line of approach," said another. Julius assumed this to mean that the foe was approaching in the conventional manner, spread out to touch the Roman line in full. A troubling aspect to himself was that the numbers in the attacking mob were far greater than the numbers given earlier by the scouts, and by many thousands. He corrected the disdain for the description. The men in the far ranks might be raggedly garbed, and with weapons that had no match among their fellows, nor having even the steady movement of trained men, but it was an army, and no less for their appearance. Of course, all would not be fell swordsmen, but as his black crewman had said before, 'Even the elephants will concede ground to the ants.'
Suddenly the flight of the pila began, the iron spears arching up by the thousands to impact on the front ranks of the charging foe. Hundreds died from the two volleys and hundreds more were cast from the battle with wounds that raged from minor to fatal, in time. Even so, the onrush was so massive that the front lines of Romans buckled in places - not broken, but with the rebels pushing through at places.
More pila rose from the second ranks and over their fellows, now to fall within the crowded mass of men, gaining an even greater red harvest. It was unique to the Roman Legions, and different from any other army in the known lands, that the youngest and rawest men were in the front ranks, with increasing depth finding soldiers of greater ability and experience. In the Legions of Crassus, being only recently constituted, there were only a smattering of veterans, but many that had shown skill and aptitude to their training officers. Now, as the rebels began to break through the forward ranks of the Legions, they encountered the second line of Legionaries, these of greater ability in battle. And behind those, in the third line of men, were those that had seen battle before and had given goodly use of arms in the fights.
The tendency of men, untrained as soldiers, was to maintain closeness to their comrades, thus, the rebels were prone to draw themselves to the center, with their fellows. For that reason, the long line of the foe began to contract into a solid mass that began to penetrate the center of the Romans, just as if a spear-cast at a shield. Valens, standing beside his Tribune in horrified fascination at the spectacle - and the carnage among men - made exactly that comment, and without realizing that he had spoken aloud. Julius, his own eyes wide from the same clashing of arms, said nothing in reply, glancing at the Dux in wonder if the man would respond to the apparently developing disaster in the center.
Crassus, however, had been standing merely in watch. He might have been a patron in the Forum, watching a performance on the acting-boards that was of little entertainment. Finally, the Dux called an order, taken by the three horn-men. As one, and with ear-bending loudness, they sounded a high note together, then again. Julius saw the far ends of the long Roman lines, began to move, bending around to envelope the mass of rebels centered on the road.
Suddenly, as one of the officers called, pointing to the west, they saw the other unit of the foe, come from the woods, again in full run to engage the western flanks of the army, now bent back in just such preparation.
The field became two battles in one, as the new group began to engage the flanking Legions. These were far less numerous - as were the Romans taking the charge - and became even fewer as the heavy spears flew again, then once more, to free the hands of the soldiers for the use of gladius.
It was at some point, now, that Julius, neophyte of land-battles that he was, realized that the army of Melglos was not going to break through the Roman ranks to find the road north. The carnage in the ragged ranks must have already been counted in the thousands. Even with numbers in advantage, men with a tattered tunic as armor and many with only a spear made from a stick and knife from the kitchen of a matron - an occasionally with some makeshift shield in the other hand - had little opportunity of success against the tall and wide shields of the Legions, interlocked to make almost a wall of protection for the holder, even as the gladius emerged to stab and slice.
He could see now that the smaller unit, striking from the trees, apparently had most of the men of ability - the gladiators, the soldiers from the past, other men used to weapons in their vocations as guards or protectors. These gave greater effect against the Roman lines, but still were not sufficiently armed or numbered to gain the advantage. Still... He realized that the battle was not one-sided - not at all. There were red-garbed figures laying among the white of the foe. Many families of Rome, and the cities in her domain, would not see their man again.
In the main battle, centered over the road, the long lines of Legionaries had enveloped the main mass of rebels, effectively attacking from three sides. Julius could see that their foe had lost any chance of breaking through the Roman ranks - or even escaping with their lives. It was the small... or rather, the smaller battle to the side that was of concern, but even now Centurions were herding certain units - some that had been in the rear lines and not engaged - over to the assistance of their fellows.
Suddenly he stiffened, walking without realizing his action to the edge of the platform, as if to get closer to the action and gain better vision. Aye... He could see the huge man at the front of the mass of rebels - not with a single sword, but two, and swinging both with frightful effect. Again, the natural affinity of men not trained to formation had caused the foe to gather together to make a fist, rather than a line, and this had almost punched a hole in the Roman ranks.
"Sos! Look!" Valens had moved with his Master, and was pointing in the distance. The small unit of cavalry - or what gave the appearance of such - had trotted behind the attacking gladiators, almost unnoticed in their lack of aggression. But now, they had suddenly spurred their mounts into action, driving toward the thinning front of the Roman line - and riding down a number of their own in the sudden lunge.
To Julius, the hasty rush was pointless. Even he knew that mounted men had little prospect against soldiers standing on solid ground, unless the numbers of horsemen were far greater in count than their foe. But, these, only about thirty or so in tally, would be as water droplets flung onto the hot cook stove of a baker.
And his unskilled thoughts were quickly affirmed as the Legionaries - startled as they were - hacked with either desperation or deliberation at the passing animals. The mounts were far easier to strike than the men above and horses began to scream and fall violently, and sometime in crush of the attacker, or his mates. This was a senseless swarming of men who only wished to slay as many foes as possible before their inevitable end...
Suddenly Julius realized the reason for the improbable attack. A few had actually penetrated the Roman line, even in jump over the bodies of their dead and dying mates and mounts. But, this handful continued their gallop and in a straight line for the small group of senior officers. Futilely wishing he had brought a bow, Julius whipped out his gladius, standing with the huge shield in wait. The platform was chest high to a man and he doubted - without knowing - that a horse could make the leap, but the spears carried by the riders certainly could.
The officers on the platform, including the Dux, had not realized the significance of the riders, with many not even noticing, their attention either on the far battle of the road, or giving hasty dictation to a messenger. But even those with dawning realization, none had yet drawn weapons. This was the last design of his crewman, Melglos, to cut down the Dux and as many officers as could be reached, in hopes that the sudden loss would issue confusion, or even panic, to the men in the ranks.
Julius opened his mouth to give warning, but before his words could begin the first spear was flung towards the platform, and with the added impetus of a galloping horse. Such was the fastness of the shaft that he barely managed to move and lift his shield to give stop, and even so, the iron barb of the point penetrated even the toughened hide to a double handwidth of distance.
The rider, continuing, leapt from his mount onto the platform even as he drew his own blade. Or rather, he made the attempt. Julius was now in his element, even after days of being a land-bound sailor walking the roads and trails with little use other than deliverer of messages. This was little different than standing on the deck of the Petrel, with pirates attempting to swarm aboard for gain and capture. The feet of the rider had only touched the crude log deck of the platform when the gladius of Julius had shorn both head and life from the attacker.
The spears of the riders were the greater threat, and of those thrown by the few remaining horsemen most either went astray or were caught by his shield again. But, a cry of pain behind him gave that at least one had found a mark. The clamor of battle enveloped the group, but for the moment, he was too busy to give notice of others on the platform, meeting another lunge by a rider and pushing him to fall to the ground while stabbing a more threatening mate with his blade. The threat suddenly ended, with the lack of mounted foes and with the swarming of soldiers that had run to the platform to give assist.
Now he looked around to see the officers giving ministrations to one of their number that had received the point of a thrown spear in a leg, but most giving attention to... Julius realized that in the center of the platform was a stack of bodies, the obvious foe on top and even now being struck by the blades of the surrounding officers. The action was only a reflex as he could easily see that the man had long departed over the Styx. But as the dead man was lifted to be tossed to the ground, Julius could see that the figure under was Valens, and he himself laying on the Dux.
The staff quickly pulled the batman to his feet, then hurried to assist the General to rise, all giving quick examination for wounds on their leader. The Dux was unhurt, apparently, as was Valens, and quickly the attention of Julius went back to the battlefield where the rebels were being crushed, many even now many attempting to flee back down the road or into the trees. Of the horsemen, he saw none still mounted.
Now, the horns blared their commands, messengers were sent running to this Centurion and that, shifting men from a place of idleness to one of need, but there was no doubt that the impetus of the slave army had been stopped. Nay, more than such. Even now, the few surviving masses were giving attempt at escape, many now being pursued by Legionaries either in the red rage that prevented any thought, or in realization that the back of a man is an easy mark and desirable for chase.
Julius looked at his batman for harm as Valens walked to stand beside his master. The trembling sinews of a man newly come from his first conflict had not yet begun, but Julius knew that they would begin soon. At the questions, the young man said with some halting speech, "...leaped from his horse toward me, with his blade swinging high. I held my shield up and at an angle, as was taught, but the man in his impulsion, careened into it with force and myself backwards into the Dux."
"But you cut the man and deeply," said Julius, pointing to the gladius still in the hand of the young man, red from the tip to a double handspan down the shank.
Valens lifted it, looking as if the weapon was something strange and new, then, "'The sword is always between yourself and your foe' was the continual refrain of Ngozi." He shrugged with an expression of bewilderment. "The man must have run himself onto it in his leap."
Julius just grinned and slapped his batman on the shoulder. "Only the results of battle are important. How you achieved victory is merely for later tales to the comrades you are given to impress. Now... Wipe down your metal and help me give watch over this chaos."
Chapter 55
A victory it was, but not one to be celebrated - at least to the thoughts of Julius. From the platform, now empty of all but himself and Valens, he could see still forms covering stadia of ground, with counts into the many thousands. The bulk of the bodies were garbed in ragged tunics, but interspersed among and even in piles, were very many with red-dyed armor. The Legionaries had done well, but the youth and lack of experience of most was the cause and reason for losses that would not have been borne by a veteran unit.
There were still many loose slaves and rebels in the land beyond those that had been in the army of Spartacus, but Julius doubted that the Legions of Crassus would soon be in pursuit. The numbers of whole men were now far less than half of what was counted at the start of the campaign. In addition to the many that had been slain - on this battlefield and during the rout of the units in the days before - a far larger count could be made of men with wounds, both disabling and curable. He suspected the task would fall to the veteran Generalis, Pompey and Lucullus, to finally rid the land of the remainder of the rebels.
For himself, he assumed his task to be over - indeed, even giving pleas to the gods that it was. He and Valens had walked the battlefield toward the west, looking here and there for a particular man but finding none of any familiarity. Such was not surprising - many of the bodies of the attackers - gladiators, soldiers, whatever they had been - had been hacked into unrecognizable heaps by the Legionaries, either in the rage of fury or the flailing of fear. But, it was not with regret that he abandoned the search for a one-time comrade and crewman. Much better would it be for his memories to be of the whole man - not as carrion for the scavengers.
They stepped off the platform to walk the distance to the tent of the Dux, the tent flap opening and closing with the arrival and departure of the usual messengers, but now with a normal gait, rather than the haste before a developing battle. Nodding to Valens to wait in his usual place, he entered the enclosure to find the officers relaxed with cups, still planning their moves but without any urgency.
"Ah. Tribune." The Dux waved to a servant to bring his visitor a cup. "Gaius Caesar was not in error of your abilities when he said that pirates would have greater wage and longer life if they gave attack to a brothel, rather than attempt violence on your ship." He waved a hand around to indicate the officers gathered here and there under the tent. "But for you and your man, our group here would no doubt have been greatly diminished." He looked over the shoulder at the tent opening, then asked, "As to that, where is that man of yours? A Plebeian, is he not."
Julius nodded. "Aye, Sos. The son of our Steward. Valens by name." With a vague wave of hand, he said, "Outside in wait for myself."
To the guard at the entry, the Dux commanded, "Call for the soldier Valens to wait on me." In a moment, a very surprised young man entered, to glance at Julius, then to walk to the Dux and stand at attention. Crassus looked him up and down, and with obvious favor, then said, "You gave great attention to your training officers, young... Valens." Julius nodded at the glance from the Dux. "Had it not been for your instant reaction, yon putrid horseman might have gained a goodly trophy for his iron."
He looked across the table at another officer. "Marcellus. You will make a script of attainder to award a Torquis Aurea to the soldier, Valens, at our assembly on the morrow."
"Aye, Sos."
"And a promotion to Immunis Perpetuus for good measure." Now with a smile and a lowered voice as if giving a confidential word between two men, he continued, "I know that your vocation will not be in the army of Rome. Indeed, your Tribune is with intense desire to return to his life on the sea, and you will depart with him, but... Such a title will stand well with any femina that you will wish to impress with your wooing in some future date." He laughed, and naturally, also did all in the room.
"Aye... My gratitude, Sos... my Dux."
"Nay, young man. The gratitude is for me to give." He grasped Valens by the shoulder, then stepped toward the tent opening. "Return to your wait outside. I give promise that I will not keep your Tribune longer than needed."
Julius watched with a smile as the young man left the tent, still in disbelief at what had happened - both on the platform and now, in this tent. He turned as the Dux said, "How long will it take to get a message to Rome?"
Julius thought for a moment, then replied, "Winds permitting, mayhap six days."
"Winds? Will you conjure up a boat on an empty shore?"
The Tribune smiled. "Aye, Sos. But in reality, the Petrel is standing by just off the shore, waiting for my signal. There is also a fast speculatoria in companion, that would be used for the missive."