Shortly after the General left for Messina, they made contact with a large mercenary force. But his orders were to wait in place until General Aulus Calatinus returned. Having missed an opportunity to pursue and reengage the enemy, Digessi’s annoyance grew with each passing mile.
Then a messenger arrived from a light infantry officer.
“Sir, compliments from forty-fourth Velites,” the skirmisher announced with a grin.
The messenger stood on the balls of his feet, speaking over the shoulders of First Century infantrymen. They refused to allow a stranger to pass through and get close to the Colonel.
“You are a happy fellow,” Digessi remarked. “Would you care to share the reason for your festive mood?”
“Sir, the forty-fourth Century has found the trail of the mercenaries,” bragged the messenger. “It’s to the west. We uncovered their campsites and their route beyond there.”
“Senior Tribune of Horse. Get a troop out there,” Digessi directed. “If it is truly the Qart Hadasht, then we will march them down and destroy the last vestige of the Empire in southern Sicilia.”
Junior Tribunes galloped to the cavalry positioned and returned with ten riders.
“This worthy Veles will guide you to the trail,” Digessi informed the cavalrymen. “Confirm the enemy’s direction of march and get word back to me.”
The skirmisher braced, turned, and loped off to the west. As if a two-legged wolf, he covered ground quickly. Behind him, the horses trotted, heading for what Battle Commander Digessi hoped was an opportunity for him to collect a major victory.
***
Until the sighting, Calatinus Legion South followed the Torrente Grassullo River northward. When the cavalry scouts returned with a positive report, Digessi ordered the Legion to veer away from the river on a westerly heading.
A small caravan might have curved into the new path. But an almost mile long parade of men, animals, and wagons, needed to stick to the hard ground on a single route. As such, the advanced units turned and marched west while the tail continued to travel north until reaching the turning posts.
“It seems we are moving away from the river,” Marcus Flamma told Alerio when they reached the posts.
“We are,” Alerio acknowledged. “I’ll check our left flank to be sure they make the turn.”
Centuries could get separated from the main body of a Legion in several ways. They could be ordered to patrol a distant feature and lose sight of the columns. Or be told to take a short cut that took them far from the line of march. Or by getting lost in the terrain during a maneuver or in bad weather.
Tribune Sisera did not want to face the Senior Tribune if they lost a Century because a Centurion failed to order a turn.
A mile and a quarter later, they passed the town of Camemi. Another mile and a half along the trek, the Second Maniple and the wagon trains separated from the main body of the Legion. By design, the scouts marked off a southwestern route for the heavy wagons. Marching Legionaries and riding officers could travel rough terrain. But the wagons required, if not level, then at least smooth and firm ground.
The alternate path took the Second Maniple and the supply wagons to a section with a flatter slope. But descending the long grade at a different location stretched the distance between them and the rest of the Legion even more.
In two and a half miles, the wagon route changed again. This time, the grade was steeper, but it lined the wagons up with a fording area at the Irmimio River.
“Can you see the end of the Legion?” Marcus asked Alerio as the two Tribunes walked their horses into the shallow but swiftly flowing river.
“I lost sight of them at the last turn,” Alerio admitted.
“Centurion Blatium,” Alerio called to the Maniple’s senior combat officer. “Can you see the Legion?”
“No, sir,” Blatium replied. “Too much distance and too many trees.”
“That’s what I thought,” Alerio said.
They had nine hundred and sixty heavy infantrymen and twelve combat officers. There was no worry about protecting the supply wagons or catching up with the Legion, eventually. Their worry concerned the set up for the marching camp that night. They had the lumber and the food. Being late would draw the anger of the Legionnaires in the other Maniples.
On the far bank, Alerio and Marcus sat on their horses watching the wagons get pulled by mules and pushed by infantrymen. It was slow going getting each transport across the river.
A rider, coming from the direction of the Legion, trotted up to the staff officers.
“Colonel Digessi said when he looked back,” the Junior Tribune reported, “he could not see his wagon train.”
“Not surprising,” Alerio commented, “I can’t see him either.”
“And Senior Tribune Lacrimari advises that you kick some cūlī,” the young staff officer added while ignoring Alerio’s remark. “He said if you can’t do it, he would replace the both of you with one Junior Tribune.”
The threat shook Marcus Flamma and he fidgeted on his horse, but he remained silent. Alerio peered at the river as another wagon moved into the current.
“Kindly tell the Senior Tribune,” Alerio instructed, “that we will arrive before dark.”
“Maybe we can divide the wagons and send a few ahead,” Marcus suggested.
His desperation to please his Commanders had forced him into an unwise action.
“No, we will not,” Alerio disputed his counterpart. “Dividing our infantrymen to escort a few wagons is a dangerous tactic.”
“Please tell Senior Tribune Lacrimari that we will arrive before dark,” Marcus told the young staff officer.
Alerio nodded his approval at their unified decision. Given the answer for the Legion’s Senior Tribune, the junior staff officer headed north, riding back to the Legion.
“On this ground, we can make up the distance,” Marcus offered. He studied the hills on either side of the river valley and the flat land beside the river. “Once all the wagons are across, we’ll push the drivers.”
While Marcus focused on the movement of the wagons to please the Colonel and the Senior Tribune, Alerio studied the landscape.
“This place is ugly,” Alerio remarked.
“How can you say that?” Marcus questioned. “Look at the green grass, the flowing water, and the trees on the slopes. It is as pretty as a mural.”
“Visually, yes,” he agreed. “But defensively it is a death trap.”
“We have a good view to the north and south,” Marcus pointed out.
“But the sides are high and across the river, they get steeper the farther upriver you go,” Alerio described. “Put a Century up there, and you might as well have abandoned them.”
“I assumed it was us chasing the enemy,” Marcus said. “And not the other way around.”
“At some point during a pig hunt, a boar will turn,” Alerio suggested, “and if you aren’t prepared, the beast will gouge you.”
“Do you think the Qart Hadasht will come back?” Marcus asked.
“We have the supply wagons,” Alerio replied. “An enemy could feed, partially equip, and shelter an army with what we have in those transports.”
They had five wagons stacked on their side of the river. And more on the other side, plus two fording across.
“I’m going to move the transports up to make room for those coming over,” Marcus told him. “And I am shifting Centuries to provide better security.”
“Excellent choices, Tribune Flamma,” Alerio praised him. “I guess that leaves me handling the other side.”
“If I remember correctly, the water isn’t that cold,” Marcus teased as he looked at the position of the sun. “They say a noonday dip is good for you.”
“Who says that?” Alerio asked as he kneed his horse.
“Most likely someone who didn’t have to ride with wet gear,” Marcus responded.
Alerio ignored him as his horse picked its way down to the river.
; ***
As the Second Maniple struggled to bring wagons across the Irmimio River, six miles north the Legion’s light infantrymen recrossed the same river. They followed the foot and hoof prints of the fleeing Qart Hadasht forces. The tracks channeled the Legion into a valley with high walls.
“I want to protest our route, Colonel,” Senior Centurion Sanctoris advised. He scanned the steep sides and the bend in the river that blocked his view of anything upstream. “This is a place better served by patrols rather than a marching formation.”
“Lacrimari, what’s your opinion?” Digessi questioned.
“I agree with your primary combat officer,” the Legion’s Senior Tribune replied.
“But we haven’t seen any signs of passage other than the ones we’re following,” the Battle Commander noted. “Besides, intelligence tells me General Hamilcar is stretched thin. Most of his army is north at Palermo.”
“There is one problem, sir,” the Senior Centurion pointed out. “We are following maybe fifteen hundred soldiers.”
“Yes, the Velites confirm that estimate. Why do you mention it?” Digessi asked.
“In our wake are latrine pits, discarded straps, and assorted gear,” Sanctoris explained. “Plus, the hills have scuff marks from our scouts climbing and descending the slopes.”
“Yes, and what’s your point?” the Colonel inquired.
“Ahead of us the hills are pristine,” the Legion’s Senior Centurion noted. “I haven’t seen so much as a fresh goat track.”
“Come to think of it,” Senior Tribune Lacrimari began. “I haven’t…”
The spear came from a high angle. Falling from such a great height, the spearhead split the Senior Tribune’s shoulder armor, crushed his collarbone, and pierced his heart before lodging in his hip bone. Man, and spear shaft, toppled from the horse before anyone understood the ramifications.
In fact, the boar had turned on the hunters.
Chapter 6 – Hot Combat
Consul/General Aulus Calatinus cursed and swore ruination on the infantrymen who snatched him from his horse. Not until he settled under a cocoon of shields did he realize the danger, and the reason for the rough treatment. Arrows rapped on the heavy plywood shields, but none reached the General. His life had been saved by the quick actions of the Legionaries from the First Century.
At the same time but in a different location in the line of march, Colonel Bonum Digessi kicked away his First Century bodyguards. While he appreciated their dedication to protecting him, he could not fight his Legion by hiding beneath their shields.
“First and Third get to your Centuries and ascertain our position. Then report back to me with the best escape route,” Digessi instructed his Maniple commanders. When he searched the worried faces of his staff, he could not find Senior Tribune Iterum. “Good. At least Second Maniple and my baggage train have a levelheaded senior commander in charge.”
In a nod to the danger of his high visibility, Digessi slipped off his horse. He allowed just two infantrymen to flank him with their shields as he moved around.
“I need information from our rear and from our front,” Colonel Digessi informed his Junior Tribunes. He followed their eyes to Senior Tribune Lacrimari’s body. Although the Senior Tribune had fallen from his horse and should be sprawled on the ground, the spear shaft kept Lacrimari’s body as straight as a hanging scarecrow. The Battle Commander knew the youths needed reassurance. “I appreciate that you are afraid. But if we are to survive this, it is up to my youngest noblemen. Two of you get to the rear and report on the status of our cavalry. Four of you move forward and let me know the situation with my skirmishers. I can’t see around the river’s bend. You will need to be my eyes.”
The teens dashed off in their assigned directions. While they raced away, the Battle Commander peered up at the heights to the west.
Warriors with spears, arrows, and slings were taking their time aiming before sending down missiles. After the initial volley, the mercenaries were conserving shafts and rocks by picking their targets. Although dangerous and deadly, the bowman, spearmen, and slingers were not his biggest worry. That honor was reserved for the ranks of soldiers appearing on the gentler slope to his east.
“My intelligence was decidedly faulty,” the Colonel mumbled at the sight of over a thousand mercenaries. Then he kicked the ground with his boot and offered to no one in particular. “It appears, General Barca Hamilcar’s army is not at Palermo.”
Adding to his impotence, the riverbank along this stretch of the Irmimio sprouted reeds which signified wet muddy ground. It meant bad footing for his infantry and what cavalry remained in the column.
The Battle Commander was frustrated because he couldn’t see around the bend to judge the condition of his light infantry and the strength of the enemy. The only thing worse would be losing his view of this part of the battlefield. Just as Digessi thought it, veteran infantrymen filed in behind him.
Their raised shields facing west protected against the iron heads and rocks launched from the cliff top. But their position left their backs open to missiles launched from the mercenary infantry.
To complete the Colonel’s worst-case scenario, the other sections of the Third Maniple shuffled into position to his east. They only had room for a double rank of Legionaries before the start of the slope.
At first, Digessi had a view of the battlefield. But both rows of infantrymen had their backs exposed to the crossfire of enemy incoming. Realizing the danger, the Centurions called out orders and the ranks of infantrymen stepped back closing the space.
Battle Commander Digessi found himself in a tunnel created by shields bringing the nightmare formation he feared into reality. Now he was blind to all the movements of his enemy.
***
Centurion Farciminis of Velites forty-five watched two men of his forward squad disappear below the surface of the river. Not sure if they slipped in the current or if they were cooling off, he followed their shapes downriver. Only when the bodies broke the surface in the turbulence at the bend did he see the arrows.
“Fall back,” he ordered. “Optio, find us a defensive position.”
Unlike their brothers in the heavy infantry with the big shields, the skirmishers carried medium sized ones. Defense for light infantrymen depended on them working in unison to block arrows and rocks. Spears, however, presented a unique problem.
Farciminis’ Tesserarius tossed up his left arm but the spearhead ripped through the wood and into the Corporal’s skull. The Century splashed back across as the river as the flow took their NCO’s body downstream.
The gap was a choke point where the river doubled back on itself. On either side of the narrow opening, the walls rose fifty to sixty feet above the riverbanks. Thanks to erosion, the east side offered shelter from above even though it was in range of the opposite bank.
“Interlock shields,” the Optio instructed.
With a wall of wood taking the brunt of the enemy missiles, the forty-fifth Century of skirmishers moved along the cliff face and under the overhang. Once set, they provided an anchor at the rear of the Legion’s advance units. The other three Centuries began running back to them. Their motivation was more than the assault of shafts and rocks from above. Ahead of them, ranks of Empire heavy infantry marched from upstream.
To the surprise of the forty-fifth’s officer, a Junior Tribune sprinted around the bend and dove into the protection of the shields.
“Colonel Digessi wants to know your status, Centurion,” the young staff officer said while standing and brushing dirt off his blood splattered armor. His cheeks were flushed, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
“Thirsty?” the light infantry officer inquired while offering the teen a wineskin. The boy’s hands shook as he reached out. “Take your time, Tribune. We won’t know our status until the rest of the Centuries get here.”
Later, Colonel Digessi would learn his skirmishers were being cut to pieces by the heavy infantry of the Empire.
Adding to his misery, the price of the information were the lives of three of his Junior Tribunes.
***
The inexperienced First Maniple was slower to move. But they ultimately picked up on the Third’s maneuvering and dressed in their armor while getting into position. By the time they formed the back-to-back formation, the interior of their shield tunnel had bodies stacked end to end. One Centurion suggested to his Tribune that he take a Century up to support the skirmishers. Before he could get a reply, the Empire infantry came screaming off the slope.
When the Qart Hadasht mercenaries smashed into the Legion, General Hamilcar accomplished two things. He locked the Legionaries into the long formation on the thin strip of land by the river. And he prevented Colonel Digessi from shifting Centuries to support weakened units or even to begin withdrawing his Legion. In the Irmimio River valley of southern Sicilia, attrition meant certain annihilation for the forces of the Republic.
***
The two Junior Tribunes assigned to investigate the state of the cavalry realized early that riding drew missiles. They leaped from their mounts, released the reins, and traveled on foot. Spurred on by the objects falling from the sky, the frightened beasts raced to the southeast. Instead of running directly south on the flat ground, the mounts headed up the slope and skirted a hill. Rushing to complete their task, the teenage staff officers missed the significance of the route.
After weaving between infantrymen, the Junior Tribunes reached the end of the columns, and gasped. The cavalry was gone. Providing a possible reason for the horsemen’s flight, a line of Empire soldiers marched towards the Legion from the south.
In their haste to report their findings, the young noblemen missed the bodies lying two hundred feet away and half submerged in the river. If the Junior Tribunes had looked carefully or bothered to question the infantrymen, they would have been directed to the two dead cavalrymen and their mounts facing, not away from the Legion, but towards it.
Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14) Page 5