***
“Riders coming,” Marcus Flamma shouted to Alerio.
In case his voice didn’t travel across the water, he wiggled his fingers, made traveling motions, and indicated upriver.
“You saw a spider,” Alerio called back, “and you are scared.”
Marcus waved off his fellow Tribune and waited for the rider. As the horse drew closer, he realized there was more than one.
When Alerio realized a multitude of horses were coming, he nudged his mount down the embankment and started to cross the river. The leading riders reached Marcus while Alerio was mid-stream. By the time his mount climbed the far embankment, there were two hundred Legion cavalrymen reining in their horses.
“Report,” Marcus instructed.
“Sir, the Legion is trapped in the river valley,” an Optio of Horse described.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus questioned.
“There is no room for us to maneuver, sir,” the NCO told him. “We can’t ride effectively in the tight space. And with our light armor, we can’t fight our way to the Legion.”
“What are we supposed to do with you?” Marcus asked.
“Sir, we just thought you could take the Second forward,” the Sergeant said. “We’ll guard the wagons.”
Marcus glanced at the supply transports. Most were on the east bank with only three more on the opposite shore. His last order was to protect the supplies. Yet, he wanted to help the Legion. But if he got his Maniple killed in the process, he wouldn’t be doing anyone any good. Yet…
“Help the other wagons across,” Alerio ordered the cavalrymen. Then to Flamma, he instructed. “Marcus get our Centuries armored up and headed north.”
“And where will you be?” Marcus inquired.
“I have to change,” Alerio told him.
“Change how?” Marcus questioned.
“Not how,” Alerio corrected. “I’m changing into my armor.”
“But you are wearing armor,” Marcus pointed out.
“This situation is going to be ugly,” Alerio said. “Pretty Tribune’ ceremonial armor will not survive the fighting, but I plan to.”
As only those on security duty wore their armor during the march, it required a delay for the rest of Second Maniple to strap on their gear. Only then did the heavy infantrymen jog off to the north.
Marcus Flamma and the nine hundred and sixty Legionaries moved quickly upriver towards the fighting. As they departed, Alerio Sisera shouted at one teamster while sorting through the cargo of another transport.
***
Marcus rode at the front of the columns with doubt eating at his heart. If the Qart Hadasht forces had managed to trap over three quarters of a Legion, how could he and the remaining third hope to make a difference. Just before he ordered the columns to turn around, Alerio Sisera thundered up beside him.
“Here is your glory, Tribune Flamma,” Alerio exclaimed. “Whoever thought we would have the opportunity to save a Legion?”
“Or die trying,” Marcus responded.
“That too,” Alerio assured him.
The fatalism in the remarked caused Marcus to glance over at Alerio. Rather than the silver embossed and polished armor of a staff officer, Tribune Sisera wore armor with buffed out scratches and pounded out dents. Heavy and well used, the gear would be more appropriate on an infantryman than on a staff officer.
“You weren’t kidding,” Marcus stated.
“About glory or dying?” Alerio questioned.
“No. About you being more comfortable as an infantryman, than as an officer,” Marcus submitted.
“I am attempting to get more comfortable with command,” Alerio reported. “But this is not the time to stand back and lord it over the infantry.”
“Is that what you think of me?” Marcus questioned. “That I hide behind my social status and rank?”
“Whatever I thought of you before today has little value,” Alerio informed him. “It is what you do this afternoon that will form my opinion. Not that it matters?”
“Why doesn’t it matter?” Marcus asked.
Alerio pulled on the reins slowing his mount. Marcus did as well and in several steps, their horses came to a stop.
In front of them a canyon formed as the land followed the river upstream. They could see a section of three ranks of Legionaries before a bend blocked their view of the rest of the Legion. Two ranks faced a hoard attacking from the east. Another rank stood behind them facing west and catching arrows, rocks, and spears with their shields.
“If we move up too much,” Marcus observed, “we will be in range of the missiles.”
“And if we stay here, the Qart Hadasht will come for us after they murder the Legion,” Alerio declared. “I am open to suggestions, Tribune Flamma.”
Marcus studied the high cliff before allowing his eyes to sweep back across the river. The most prominent feature of the eastern slope, besides the throng of mercenary warriors battling the Legionaries, was a mound at the top. Behind the hill, two shaking cavalry horses stood as if abandoned by their riders.
“That pair of mounts, whose horses are they?” Marcus asked. “And why are they just standing there?”
Alerio shifted his eyes from the end of the struggling Legion to the horses on the hill.
“That, Tribune Flamma, is a blind spot,” Alerio professed after scrutinizing the area. “The mound blocks the location from the Empire’s command staff. A Century could come around it unseen and peel off the attackers from the end of the Legion line.”
Marcus wiggled his fingers as if counting before voicing his confirmation.
“With the end cleared of warriors, the Centuries could begin fighting their way to our Maniple,” Marcus said expanding on Alerio’s idea. “But the infantry will be fighting back to back, defending against the arrows. Stretched out and bogged down, the Legion will be lucky to make it a hundred feet.”
“Not if I take Centuries to the top of the cliff and remove the archers, spearmen, and slingers,” Alerio offered.
“You said it before,” Marcus reminded Alerio, “any unit across the river and on the clifftop will be forsaken. They might as well be written off the Legion roster before they set out on the mission.”
“Even more reason that I should lead the force,” Alerio offered.
“No, Tribune Sisera, I will lead the assault on the high ground,” Marcus insisted. “I’ll take three hundred infantrymen with me.”
“Just three hundred?” Alerio asked. “Who are you, King Leonidas?”
“If you take a Century to circle the mound and attack their rear,” Marcus explained. “And I take three hundred across the river, that will leave enough for Second Maniple to form a triple rank shield wall between the river and the top of the slope.”
“You do remember, Tribune Flamma, Leonidas and his three hundred died,” Alerio mentioned. Then from the saddle, he bowed to the other staff officer. “My apologies.”
“For what?” Marcus asked.
“Because you do more then stand behind the infantry,” Alerio admitted. “You study the true art of war.”
“I am not a warrior,” Marcus protested.
“You are something more. You are a Tribune of Rome. Obviously, you know strategy and troop placement,” Alerio acknowledged. “If I ever want to emulate a staff officer, I will choose you as a role model.”
“I believe you are reading too much into my description,” Marcus complained.
Alerio turned to the columns as they arrived.
“Centurion Blatium. Give me a Century that is not afraid of wetting their gladii,” Alerio shouted to the Maniple’s most senior combat officer. “And find Tribune Flamma three hundred Legionaries who carry no fear of journeying to the Elysium Fields.”
“Is it that bad, sirs?” the Centurion inquired.
Marcus pointed to the clifftop and to the end of the legion line. The infantrymen were mostly buried under attacking Empire mercenaries.
“You ar
e holding Second Maniple here and creating a hard point for the retreating Legion,” Marcus instructed.
A wagon with a cursing and agitated teamster wheeled to a stop.
“Where do you want me?” he demanded.
The Centurion and Marcus stared at the driver in confusion. But Alerio confidently turned his horse and greeted the supply wagon.
“Take the load of javelins to the center of our lines and uncrate them,” Alerio directed. Then to the senior combat officer, he explained. “Centurion Blatium, do not be stingy with the javelins.”
“Excellent, sir,” Blatium said. “But where will you and Tribune Flamma be?”
“I am taking a Century around that mound and freeing the end of the Legion,” Alerio replied. His arm indicated the top of the eastern slope. Then he slowly swung the arm, as if he feared to complete the arc, and pointed at the clifftop. “And Tribune Flamma will be leading three hundred Legionaries into hot combat, up there.”
Chapter 7 – From Their Peril
Three ranks of Legionaries formed a solid wall stretching from the swampy edge of the river to the top of the slope. Although out of arrow range from the clifftop, the barrier of Second Maniple represented a challenge to Qart Hadasht command. In response, General Hamilcar shifted soldiers from around the bend and sent them downstream to face the new threat. The repositioning of mercenaries created a reduction in the pressure felt by the Legionaries of the First Maniple.
Just behind the three ranks of the Second, Alerio Sisera and his eighty infantrymen stood waiting. On Alerio’s order, they would charge up the slope, move behind the mound and around the newly arriving soldiers, drop down the slope, and attack the mercenaries assaulting the squads at the end of the Legion. But first, Marcus and his three hundred needed to clear the archers, spearmen, and slingers from the clifftop.
Marcus Flamma jumped onto the bed of the wagon hauling the javelins. As soon as the arriving mercenaries saw an elevated Legion officer, they shot arrows in his direction. A few Legionaries moved as if to climb onto the wagon and protect the Tribune. Marcus waved them away. Then ignoring the arrows, he braced, saluted, and addressed his volunteers.
“Let us,” Marcus exclaimed, “die, my men. And by our deaths, rescue our blockaded Legionaries from their peril.”
Three hundred men replied, “Rah!”
None it seemed were frightened by the journey to Hades. They would follow Marcus Flamma to the Fields of Elysium and back.
He leaped from the wagon and jogged southward. His infantrymen, startled by the suddenness of the staff officer’s move, raced to catch up with their Tribune.
***
There were three ways to assault a clifftop. Sling hooks and climb ropes directly into the jaws of the enemy. Or locate the natural foot of the slope and hike the entire unit down to it then march back to the heights on the rising ground. Both allowed for a mass of attackers to gather and wait for the Legionaries. The third method wasn’t as fast as scaling ropes or as sure as hiking. It fell somewhere in between. It was fast but would leave the three hundred Legionaries vulnerable to being repelled.
“Centurion Philetus. Give me six good climbers,” Marcus said to his most experienced line officer.
The combat officer walked away and strolled between the Legionaries. He signaled out six as he moved. Then he pulled an NCO out of the ranks and shoved him towards Marcus.
“You six look lean, like climbers,” Marcus greeted the infantrymen. He focused on the seventh man. “But you don’t.”
“Sir, I am Optio Feri,” the NCO reported. “I am your shield.”
“Is there a problem, sir?” Philetus asked. “If Feri is less than satisfactory, I can assign another bodyguard.”
“No, Centurion. I am sure the Optio is up to the job. Let’s hope he is up to the climb,” Marcus reflected. Then he peered into the faces of his climbers. “You are my spearhead, and I am your locking pin to the Centuries. Together, we will pierce the enemy’s defense.”
“Where do we climb, sir?” one of the six inquired.
He glanced around at the cliff and the fighting upstream.
“There is a wash about a hundred feet from here,” Marcus explained. “I didn’t want us loitering around the base of the flume.”
“How do you know the wash Tribune?” Centurion Iacōbus, his second combat officer, inquired.
“I remember it from the ride up,” Marcus told him. The combat officers knew Flamma as a studious staff officer who read a lot. They hadn’t realized when not engaged with the written word, he was an astute observer of his surroundings. “The bottom section will require a boost and at the top are Qart Hadasht warriors. We are going to kill them and gain the clifftop. Draw your gladii.”
Without waiting for more questions, Marcus Flamma sprinted directly southward. Feri was right on his heels with the six climbers not far behind him. At one hundred feet, Marcus turned sharply to his right and ran to the base of a dry gulch. Flexing his knees, he bent and offered his shoulders to the first climber. Seeing the Tribune’s position, Optio Feri mimicked the staff officer.
When the six climbers were up and ascending the gully, the Optio spun, grabbed two Legionaries, and positioned them as new steps.
“Sir,” the bodyguard called. “Follow me.”
The offer was bold and presumptuous. Most staff officers would wait to see if the Legionaries had secured the top before joining the climb. But from Tribune’s Flamma words and his actions, the NCO felt that Flamma wanted to be part of the attack.
“Go,” Marcus responded.
Feri placed a foot on a shoulder of an infantryman and jumped. Where the climbers had landed on their feet, the Optio landed on his knees. With his shield on one arm and his gladius in the other hand, the big NCO scurried up the chasm. Behind him, Marcus landed a little better as only one of the staff officer’s knees hit the rocks and dirt.
Near the top, the gully flattened and fanned out where it met level ground. Rising to his feet, the NCO rushed upward. His head came level with the land, and he caught a glimpse of two climbers collapsed and a third being forced back to the ravine. Bellowing his rage, the Legion NCO adjusted his angle, came fully out of the gulch, raced by the third climber, and smashed into the mercenaries.
With great slashes of his gladius and powerful swipes of his shield, Feri fought alone against twenty soldiers of the Empire. Then the third climber’s shield snapped in next to the Sergeants. Another climber added his shield and when the fourth shield joined them, the mercenary’s forward momentum stopped. For the moment, the mouth of the gully remained unguarded.
A voice, calling out a warning order, surprised the five-man Legion line. What were they expected to accomplish against four times their number?
“Stand by for advance, advance,” Marcus Flamma notified them.
“Standing by Tribune,” they shouted despite their reservations.
“Advance, Advance,” Marcus instructed.
Feri and the four remaining climbers braced, hammered their shields forward, withdrew them, and stabbed. Five against twenty did not produce a lot of movement or injuries. The actions backed the soldiers up a half step but did no real damage.
Tribune Flamma had called for two advances. The NCO and the climbers expected the same results or to be enveloped by the enemy. Yet, following orders and accepting their fate, the five shields shot forward and met resistance. Then, the resistance vanished.
From either side of the thin shields wall, heavy infantrymen of the Legion plowed into the mercenary formation. At the stabbing phase of the advance, Feri and his climbers found flesh with their blades but no second line of soldiers. The next wave of Legionaries had arrived from the ravine.
“This is the Legion,” Centurion Iacōbus shouted. “Finish killing the Qart Hadasht scum and get into formation.”
Resembling ants, the heavy infantrymen emerged from the gully and spread out into an attack line. Feri fell back to find Marcus standing dangerously close to the rank
s.
“Tribune,” Feri greeted the staff officer.
“Optio,” Marcus replied. “Nice work.”
“Thank you, sir,” Feri said to the calm staff officer.
“Centurion Iacōbus. I see slingers, bowmen, and spearmen on my cliff,” Marcus observed in a loud voice.
“Yes, Tribune,” Iacōbus responded. “Orders?”
“Non capimus!” Marcus replied.
At hearing the order for ‘no prisoners’, the Legionaries who had come up, responded, “Rah!”
“You heard Tribune Flamma,” Iacōbus announced. “Forward.”
***
Far upstream and down in the valley, Centurion Farciminis and what was left of the original Legion skirmishers fought against Empire heavy infantry. Out armored, the Velites battled under the overhang. Trapped between the infantry coming from the north and the Qart Hadasht forces swarming the First Maniple to the south, the skirmishers perished.
Around the bend, some of the First Maniple noticed the Irmimio River running red.
“It’s the blood of our light infantrymen,” an Optio remarked. “Poor souls. They didn’t have a chance.”
“As if we do,” a young infantryman remarked.
“Let me assure you, Legionary,” the NCO boasted. “As long as one infantryman has a gladius in his hand, we have a fighting chance.”
“Optio. Does the river look clearer to you?” another Legionary asked.
Glancing at the flowing water, the NCO didn’t see a change. But as he watched, the red indeed seemed to dissipate, if only a little.
A roar came from the squads at the end of his Century.
“What is it?” he asked while shoving his way towards the sound.
“Skirmishers are coming from around the bend,” a Tesserarius reported.
“Theirs or ours?” the Sergeant demanded.
“They are Legion Velites, Optio,” the Corporal responded. “Orders?”
“Tenth squad, advance and step forward nine paces,” the NCO instructed. “Let’s bring our light infantry home.”
***
General Barca Hamilcar had planned the ambush down to which of his units would capture Consul Calatinus. The Iberian heavy infantrymen should have swept down the river, removed the Legion skirmishers, and continued around the next bend to destroy the Legionaries defending their General.
Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14) Page 6