“Alarm! Alarm!” he shouted through cupped hands.
His shout was taken up and repeated. Whistles blew. The sound of running men floated up to him. The guardroom door was flung open by the duty optio.
“Alarm, sir,” he yelled into the darkness of his bedroom.
Before he had even got out of his bed, the senior centurion of the second cohort gave his first order.
“Get the bugler to sound the stand-to,” he barked.
Before the last notes had died away, the barrack’s doors were all open and men poured out into the night. They ran to their positions, struggling into their armour. It may have looked as disorganized as an overturned anthill but the soldiers knew what they were about. In less than five minutes they were forming their ranks. Torches and braziers were lit to give a wavering yellow light to the parade ground and walkway. The centurion moved among them, dressed only in a tunic but carrying his naked sword in one hand and his vine-staff in the other.
“Explain,” he said brusquely to the optio of the night-watch who stood at attention in front of him.
“Two casualties, both dead, prisoners absconded, sir,” he said and saluted.
The officer gave a cursory return salute.
“Show me,” he demanded.
By the light of a guttering pine-pitch torch he inspected the dead soldier on the walkway and the other slumped against the stockade. His face was a like a mask carved in granite.
“Leave them where they are. Touch nothing,” he ordered.
By this time, Tertius had arrived, fully dressed and armoured and looking like he had spent several hours preparing for a parade. He stopped in front of the centurion who had taken control and raised one eyebrow inquisitively.
“It looks like the prisoners have escaped and murdered two of ours in the process, Tribune Fuscus.”
“I grieve for our comrades,” Tertius said. “The man Hulderic has deceived us once, therefore we must assume nothing. Triple the sentries. Have the entire camp searched for concealed intruders or any other victims of this atrocity." He looked up at the sky. The stars had faded and a green tinge showed dawn was not far off. “Re-assemble the men as soon they’ve finished. Impress on them they must be thorough. …” Soranus trotted up looking dishevelled and still a little sleepy. “Tribune Soranus, adjust your uniform and stand by to take roll call as soon the men have fallen in.”
Orders were roared out and the legionaries dispersed to perform their search.
Taking the centurion to one side, Tertius told him that they could do little more until they had some daylight and suggested they breakfasted together in the Praetorium while they waited. A good soldier always eats if he can and rests if he can, the centurion agreed but went to his own quarters and put on his armour first. Their conversation was desultory as they ate. Both of them kept glancing at the shutters until enough shafts of light were pouring through to show that full day had dawned. The walked together to the stockade, hearing the chanting of names and the clashing of armour as the roll was taken and each centurion marched up to Soranus and reported his men all accounted for with a salute. The tribune was now wide-awake and fully dressed.
Tertius took a long careful look at the body on the walkway. He noted the linked belts, the foot marks on the earth rampart below and the cloaks bundled around the points of two of the stakes. He examined the other dead soldier, still half-hanging from the stockade. He also inspected the javelin lying beside the corpse with a bruised and dented wooden shaft. When he descended, Soranus had completed the rollcall. No-one was missing.
“Get our murdered comrades down and laid out decently. I am holding a council of officers. Who speaks the best German in the absence of Otto?” Tertius asked.
“Decanus Martellus Flaccus, sir,” Soranus responded.
“A decanus? Oh well, I shall need him nevertheless, also Cestus Valens. Off you go tribune; meeting in the Praetorium as soon as possible. In the meantime, send over the sentry who discovered the first body.”
The legionary was pale and desperately trying not to shake as he stood in front of his tribune.
“A man was killed within fifty paces of you and yet you saw nothing?”
“Standing orders are to look out over the surroundings sir, not to spend too much time looking along the parapets…. to avoid distractions, sir.”
“I understand and yet it happened very close to our position. You are sure you heard or saw nothing?”
“Well there was something. A legionary came up the ladder and went over to Caius, he’s the dead man, sir. It was dark so I couldn’t make him out properly but I saw his outline. He was wearing an army cloak and helmet and carrying a javelin, sir.”
Tertius nodded gravely. “Soldier, you have just confirmed my first impression.” He scribbled a note on a wax tablet and handed it to the terrified man. “Take this to your centurion. It says you are to return to normal duty without a black mark on your record.”
The Praetorium was packed with the legion’s officers. They sat on benches and stools the clerks had borrowed from anywhere they could find them. Behind the seated men, others stood shoulder to shoulder against the walls. Those for whom there was no room crowded into the open doors and spilled out onto the veranda. Martellus sat at attention, acutely aware of his lowly rank in this assembly. Tertius walked around his desk and half-sat leaning on the front, arms folded.
“Gentlemen, it is necessary for me to go back to the beginning for all of us to have a perfect understanding of the position in which we find ourselves. The man calling himself Hulderic with two henchmen alleged he was an ambassador of King Gebhardus of the Treverii and pleaded for our help. He was in fact, a liar, a traitor and a murderer. Legate Quadratus was persuaded in part, as was I, and the first cohort marched to the support of our ally, as you know. Last night, Hulderic and his men fled, killing two of ours. Now, the question I ask myself is why did they not make their escape during the first night of their captivity? The only answer is that they waited until our comrades were so far away that we could not rush to their assistance. Our legate, our first spear centurion and the men with them have fallen into a trap. My instincts are the same as yours; to march at once for rescue or revenge. This we cannot do. Our duty is to hold this camp and await developments. I am putting The Second Lucan on a war footing. Cestus Valens will make the most efficient dispositions of his artillery on the towers, parapets and parade ground to give us the maximum opportunity of both defending ourselves and hitting back if attacked. Stand up Decanus Martellus Flaccus.”
Martellus stood up.
“Decanus, I want the men in the fort at the end of the bridge withdrawn and replaced with two cavalrymen. Their orders are to light the signal fire at the first sign of enemy activity on the bridge and then gallop back to the fort. Four others will ride reconnaissance two miles out from the camp throughout the daylight hours. Finally, the three best-mounted of the auxiliary cavalry will follow the second cohort’s tracks and report what they find. Now, Martellus, if I give you this as a written order, are you sure you can convey it to the Germans, exactly?”
“I am sir.”
“Good, I was told I could rely on you. Tribune Soranus, you will escort the signalling outpost garrison back here leaving two cavalrymen in their place. That is all, gentlemen. Let us prepare and let no-one fail to pray to the Gods for the safe return of our good comrades of the first cohort.”
Chapter 24
While Tertius was putting the camp onto a war footing, Quadratus and his troops were making good progress towards their destination.
“If all goes well, we shall arrive at the hall of King Gebhardus by noon tomorrow,” Quadratus thought then immediately touched his lucky amulet and made the sign against bad luck. He was an experienced campaigner and knew better than to believe that because there had been no problems so far, that there would be none to come. After only a few minutes, his heart sank a little as he heard hoofbeats approaching at speed. He knew this was not going t
o be news he wanted to hear. Aldermar pulled up his horse and saluted.
“I am worried, sir,” he said.
“Aren’t we all?” Quadratus replied then thought he had been flippant. “Apologies, Prefect Aldermar, what is causing your concerns?”
“The men on scouting duty are rotated every three hours to rest their horses. At least two of them should be back by now but none of them has reported in.”
The legate pulled his horse to the side and waved the column on. Aldermar joined him. The previous day, they had climbed onto a high heath. The land as far as they could see on every side rolled and dipped into shallow valleys and hillocks. There were some coppices of ash and birch but no densely forested areas. It did not seem likely country for an ambush but still…. Quadratus reviewed his options. He started from the assumption that the scouts were dead and he was now forced to march blind. They were closer to the Treverii than to their permanent camp. If he turned back, a rapid enemy force could bypass him and attack in the forest. He could travel only as fast as his transport would allow. If he went forward, it was possible that they would be in action very soon. If this was to happen, the surrounding terrain was more favourable to the Roman method of manoeuvring than the confined spaces of the forest. He made his decision.
“I grieve for the loss of your good men, Aldermar. Take up a position in the rear and keep your troopers together.”
The prefect galloped off and Quadratus signalled for Titus Attius to join him.
“We’ve lost our scouts, Titus. It seems as if someone plans to dispute our right to march where we will. Shorten the column and double up the ranks, wagons in the centre with my flag and the eagles. I want fifty men designated as reserves under your personal command ready to join the fight, if there is one, where they are needed most. Give Boxer my compliments and tell him to range his men alongside the transport, bows and slings at the ready. Can you think of anything else?”
The first spear centurion thought for a moment and shook his head.
“Nothing. The gods with you, sir”
“And with you. Titus,” the legate replied and trotted his horse into the middle of his men.
Helmund, warlord of the Marcomanni, looked at his forces assembled in the valley with bitter disappointment. It was one thing to pledge warriors to destroy the Romans when the ale was flowing and the fires were bright, another to commit to facing them in battle in the cold light of day. He had been promised ten thousand but there were barely three thousand looking up at him and awaiting his words. If Hulderic had cajoled the entire legion to march, Helmund would have been forced to look on while they passed by. His intelligence had reported that a thousand Romans were on the march. He knew the strength of his enemy. He knew the route that they were using. His men outnumbered the Roman force by three to one and had the element of surprise on their side. It should be enough. He stepped forward and began to issue his commands.
The first cohort upped their pace once their new order of march was established. Swords were eased in scabbards, tighter grips taken on javelins and shield handles. Facing forward, their eyes flicked from side to side over the landscape searching for the tell-tale reflection of a spear point or the shape of a warrior accidently revealed in his hiding place. They saw nothing. They went down a shallow incline. When the ground levelled again, they found a hill to their right capped with bracken and a few spindly trees. A narrow stream ran around its base. The far bank was broad and level, covered in short grass for ten paces back. To their left, a lower hill rose but its side was broken by sharp rocks jutting up between gorse and brambles.
Helmund had chosen this spot with care. He lay in cover near the top of the hill above the stream watching as his oblivious prey walked into the killing ground he had chosen. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked more closely. They were not spread out as he had expected but in a compact, defensive formation. He cursed and gestured to the men beside him ready to launch the assault. There were no large trees nearby so he had ordered four silver birches to be felled. Their trunks had been cut into ten-foot lengths and lashed together in a bundle to give enough combined weight to do serious damage. He raised and dropped his right arm, his men heaved on levers and the logs rolled. They turned slowly at first and for a few moments, Helmund thought they would be stopped by the bracken but they gained speed as gravity took over. Within two breaths, they were hurtling down onto the Roman right flank. They began to bounce and accelerated even faster when they flew through the air. At another signal, Helmund’s main force stood up from their cover. The tactic had been that they would begin their charge as soon as the logs were released but they hesitated, waiting to see what effect they would have when they smashed into the enemy below.
The immediate response to the onrushing mass was yelling, whistle blowing and horn calls from the Roman ranks who had halted as one. The logs pinwheeled and jumped the stream but the legionaries standing in their path leaped out of the way, leaving them to smash into the front wheel of the lead wagon. The spokes collapsed and the wagon tottered on its remaining wheels, unable to move. The back legs of the rear mule were broken. It fell in its traces, kicking and thrashing. The driver jumped down and cut its throat. The Romans had been brought to a halt. A fierce cheer rose up from the attackers who resumed their onward rush. As they did, they saw the Roman cavalry cantering away back the way they had come. They checked again, brandishing their spears and yelling their scorn at the cowards fleeing before the battle had even begun.
Quadratus sat calmly on his horse. It was his duty to let the men see him cool and untroubled to give them confidence. The direction of the fight was in the hands of the senior centurion. Titus Attius was already shouting and gesturing to the nearest legionaries to cross the stream and form up, three-deep.
“Never mind getting your fucking feet wet, get over there.
He whacked two or three with his vine-staff to hurry them up, not with any venom, but simply to make his point. A solid arc of Roman shields was almost complete, some of the legionaries standing ankle deep in the water, when the first warriors collided with them. They hit with all the impetus of a downhill charge and their battle-rage but behind each legionary stood two more, bracing him against the impact. The Roman line buckled and reformed as it was heaved back against the pressure. The cacophony of thudding blows, the ringing of metal on metal, war-cries, screams and groans rose and echoed off the hillsides.
The Romans crossing the stream was a major setback to Helmund. He had thought that they would see it as a natural barrier and seek to defend it, leaving his own men more room to manoeuvre on the flat bank. However, their horsemen had left the field and that was a huge advantage both damaging the enemy’s morale and encouraging his own warriors. Overall, his plan was working out. He gave another signal and the smaller portion of his force rose up from amongst the scrub on the left bank and began to shower arrows and spears down onto the Romans.
Lucius reacted quickly when arrows began to thud into the ground and wagons around him. Felix knew he was no use in a melee so he had elected to stay on the seat of his cart with a long, broad-bladed siege spear to thrust at any enemy who came within range. Lucius shouted to his men and soon Helmund’s archers and spearmen began to fall to sling bullets when they rose up to fire or throw. But several rear-rank legionaries had been hit from behind as they struggled to hold their comrades upright and in position. Titus saw the problem and brought in his reserves to make a shield wall facing the other way to protect them. He looked over the helmets of his front line. He saw a mass of Germans howling and shoving each other aside to get at his own men. A few were armoured in mail or plate, some had leather jerkins but most wore only long tunics, some were naked but they all had spears and axes. Their faces were twisted into grimaces of fury and bloodlust. It was a sight to drain the courage of the bravest but Titus had been there before and survived. He looked around and decided that Lucius’ century was responding well to the threat from the rear. It was time for him try to
break the grip that the Germans had on his men. Every legionary carried two javelins, over eighteen hundred in all. Titus shouted for them to be passed back.
“Rear rank cast your javelins!” he yelled.,
The was order repeated along the line. He grabbed half a dozen of the weapons and shouted to Otto who was beside Lucius and the transport.
“Here,” he said, thrusting them into Otto’s hands. “Start chucking these but aim for one of the bastards in armour.”
Using them against a dispersed enemy and having to cast uphill, would have been a waste of these effective weapons but now the attackers were packed tightly on the lowest slope of the hill. The legionaries did not have to aim. They lobbed their javelins over the heads of their comrades and let them drop, sure that most of them would hit a target. Within two minutes, they had all been thrown. One third of Helmund’s men were out of the fight; dead or wounded. Otto paced behind the ranks like a caged lion. He was tall enough to have a good view over the heads of the legionaries and when he saw the opportunity, he flung a weapon with massive force. He had only one left but knew that his first five had each struck a leading warrior.
Helmund could see his victory becoming less certain as the minutes ticked away and the pile of his own dead rose in front of his enemy. Those wicked short swords stabbed out like striking snakes and his numerical advantage had dwindled sharply after the javelin attack. The Roman officers blew their whistles. Their soldiers rotated, putting fresh men in front of his own. But his warriors were still taking the battle to the enemy whose line could not hold forever; there was still hope. Then he heard a chilling sound.
Hoofbeats shook the ground and the Roman cavalry appeared at the charge. To make it worse, they came from an unexpected direction. They had left the rear of the Roman column but were now at what had been its head. They carved into the flank of his men on the flat ground and lower slopes. Their long swords rose and fell as they chanted their war-songs. Helmund’s men were trampled and bitten by the horses as the blades of their riders rose and fell again, now red with blood. A tremor seemed to run through the Germans as the instinct for survival began to take the place of determination. Aldermar’s horn call pulled his horsemen back, to re-group as they were irresistible in a charge knee to knee but were vulnerable if isolated. The line formed again, the great war-horses shaking their heads and stamping until the call sounded and their blood-spattered riders gave a roar as they battered the Germans again. Helmund’s warriors reeled under this fresh onslaught that they were unable to resist. It looked as if they could not endure for many more minutes. But Fortuna is a fickle goddess.
Knight of Rome Part I Page 27