Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (43 page)

Baculus nodded unhappily. ‘The odds are still not good. You would be better with a few veteran centurions among your number, sir.’

‘I have them, Baculus. Just get back to your cot and get better. You still look like the recently-excavated dead.’

Baculus shook his head miserably and turned, tottering a little, to head back towards his sick bed, listening to the sounds of the legion and their support and auxilia preparing for the march. The idea of them moving into battle without him was unbearable.

Labienus had better flatten the whole damn tribe this time.

* * * * *

Quadratus peered off into the distance, watching the hillside beyond the river, where several thousand Gallic warriors were encamped. They were perhaps half a mile away, with the deep, fast river cutting through the land half way between them, creating a dangerous barrier, with its steep slopes on both banks and the torrent at the bottom. Even though it was
officially
a ford, he wouldn’t want to try crossing it on foot, especially within range of the enemy. Any attempt to cross in sight of the opposition was doomed to heavy casualties, which was why both armies were arrayed within plain sight, and yet neither moved.

Around him, the army was still manoeuvring, preparing for battle. The legion had settled into cohorts in preparation, standing in ordered rows with gleaming mail and bright shields presented towards an enemy who showed no signs of movement. The auxiliary cavalry were in position, Quadratus among them, to one side and near the front of a field with a gentle slope the river, bounded by trees and scrub and a low rise behind.

Quadratus was nervous. From what he heard, there were many thousands of blood-hungry Suevi bearing down on them, and two legions somewhere close by. Labienus had sent riders out to the Seventh and Ninth and Quadratus has assumed the others were to join them here for the attack. And yet there had been no sign of the reinforcements, though they’d had ample time to meet up. Had they been directed to the camp instead, in case the Suevi hit there while the army was absent? He had asked Labienus, but the commander had simply smiled knowingly and tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial manner as was his wont.

‘I don’t like this.’

The cavalry decurion close by frowned. ‘Sir?’

‘We’re outnumbered and our reinforcements have disappeared into thin air. Half the Germanic nations are descending on us and we prepare for battle here. The Treveri won’t attack across that river. They’d have to be insane to try it. So what do we do? Sit here and wait until the Suevi arrive to carve us into small pieces?’

The decurion nodded nervously.

‘And this terrain?’ Quadratus grumbled. ‘Facing the river on a slope towards the enemy, but with the hill and the woods at our rear. It’s almost as though Labienus is trying to sacrifice us all.’

‘The commander always knows what he’s doing, sir.’

‘I certainly hope so. We’ve been here over an hour. If the Treveri were going to attack, they’d have done so by now, while we were still manoeuvring into position and setting up. With the Suevi closing every moment, the situation is getting untenable. We’re going to have to decamp soon and return to the fort, else we’ll be butchered here.’

‘Here he comes, sir.’

Quadratus straightened as he saw Labienus walking his horse forward to where the cavalry sat on the periphery of the army. ‘Sir,’ he saluted as the senior commander approached.

‘What do you think?’ Labienus asked, his voice clear and unshaken.

Quadratus could almost have kicked the man. To display apparent indecision in front of the ordinary soldiers was never a good move for morale, but in front of the native horse, it could lead to mass desertion.

‘Sir?’

‘What do you think? I am thinking that they will not come for us?’

Quadratus, teeth grinding, nodded. ‘Could have told you that earlier, sir. They have no reason to. Our reinforcements are nowhere to be seen, but the Suevi cannot be more than an hour or two away. All the Treveri have to do is sit tight on that hill and watch us die.’

Labienus took a deep breath and turned it into a sigh. ‘I am beginning to think you are right. We are endangering ourselves with every breath we wait here. Time to return to the fort and hope the other legions join us before the Treveri and their Germanic allies.’

He raised his hand in defeat.

‘Very well, give the orders. We fall back.’

Quadratus, his eyes burning with irritation, nodded and began to give the orders. As his signifers, musicians and decurions relayed the commands, Labienus waved to him.

‘Walk with me, Quadratus.’

The cavalry prefect walked his horse forward as the commander began to amble gently back across the field, the legions already responding to signals and turning, marching back across the slope towards the rise and the woods, beyond which, at some fourteen miles distance, lay their fort. What a disastrous waste of effort. Quadratus could almost scream with frustration.

‘You disapprove of my decisions, prefect?’

‘Never, sir.’
Yes… yes I do!

‘And despite having served under my command for more than a season, you do not think to question why I push for such pointless advances only to abandon my position and retreat without forcing the issue?’

‘Sir?’

‘Quadratus, I never do anything uninformed or without serious contemplation of all possible results first. Unfortunately, I cannot always make my intentions clear, even to such as yourself.’

Quadratus frowned again as they approached the rear edge of the field, where the army was already moving away from the river, across the ridge and back towards the fort.

‘Respectfully, sir, if you’re going to metaphorically pull a dove out of my arse, I would appreciate enough warning to metaphorically drop my underwear first.’

Labienus barked out a laugh and kicked his horse into a slightly faster pace as he rose to the crest of the hill. Grumbling, Quadratus joined him, and stopped suddenly at the hill top.

‘What? Where?’

‘Your next questions, I think, will be
when
and
how
, since the
who
is plain?’ Labienus chuckled as the pair looked down upon the bulk of the Seventh and Ninth legions arrayed for battle, safely out of sight of the Treveri beyond the river, the ridge keeping them obscured. ‘The ‘what’ is fifteen cohorts drawn from the Seventh and Ninth, along with their artillery hidden in the treeline. The auxilia and five more cohorts have returned to secure our fort and accompany the whole of Caesar’s baggage train that is now entrusted to us. The ‘where’ is safely out of sight of the Treveri. The ‘when’ is all the time we’ve been setting up, they have already been ready to fall into place. They arrived immediately after us from the south, unnoticed. And the ‘how’? Well, I think that’s obvious. Dispatch riders organised everything. Now the Twelfth will fall into position with them, and three legions will await the Treveri attack.’

‘What attack?’ bumbled Quadratus, feeling as though a rug had been whipped out from under his feet.

‘That, my friend, is why I could not inform you of my plans. Just as I have my spies and scouts among the Treveri and the Mediomatrici, this new king has his spies among our Gallic auxilia under your command. Everything had to look natural to them, so I relied upon your fury and irritation at my decisions translating nicely to them. Even now, half a dozen of your riders will have slipped away from your units and taken news of the authenticity of our fearful retreat to the Treveri. They will, of course, want to deal with us before we can get safely behind fort walls.’

‘A feint? This whole thing has been a giant feint?’

‘Indeed. I wondered over the past few weeks whether to weed out the spies in our ranks. My own spies have identified a number of theirs, of course. But it struck me that misinformation could be more useful than securing our own information.’ He smiled at the exasperated prefect. ‘Now. If you would be so good, Quadratus, perhaps you can reform your cavalry in the space we have left over to the right side of the slope. But signals only. No horns or whistles. Let’s keep the Treveri completely in the dark, eh?’

Quadratus shook his head in wonder and let out a relieved laugh.

‘It’ll be my pleasure, sir.’

* * * * *

Andesaros gave a satisfied smile.

‘You hear that, Dunohorix? Solemnis? The Roman commander retires to his fort in defeat. Our Suevi allies close on him and he finds himself in grave danger. Now he must seek the safety of his walls and the legions that are likely converging there.’

‘If they reach the fort, we will have to dig them out,’ Dunohorix grumbled. ‘It will be hard. Like opening a stubborn oyster with one hand. And all the glory and loot will fall to the Suevi. We will have nothing to show for throwing our support behind you. Ambiorix continues to steer us wrong.’

‘Not if we take them now,’ Andesaros said calmly.

‘What?’ Solemnis looked more nervous than ever.

‘The weather is good. It has been dry for some time so the ground is good. We have hours ‘til dark. The river banks will be solid, for all they are steep, and the river is lower than it has been for many months. The Romans are in disarray and on the retreat. My spies tell me that their morale is poor and their belief in their commander is waning. We will fall upon their retreating numbers. Even if they manage to reach the safety of their walls, they will have lost half their number by then, including…’ he smiled and stressed the last part as he scoured the eyes of his fellow chieftains, ‘their support wagons and supplies, which are always at the rear, slower than the rest.’

‘We could crush them,’ Dunohorix smiled grimly.

‘We can. Rouse your men. Promise them Roman blood and Roman treasure once more. Then join us. We charge at once. We must move fast to catch them while they are far from safety.’

He watched the two chieftains run back to their men. Revenge was in his grasp. His uncle’s ignominious death would be paid back ten thousand-fold. And the Treveri, over whom he still had only the most tenuous grasp, could be made to accept him as their true and only king, forged in battle against Rome.

Today was a fine day for the kin of Indutiomarus and the nation of the Treveri.

* * * * *

Ianuarius hauled on the wheel, turning it despite the massive resistance it put up. His arms had grown muscular in the two years he had served with the Ninth, and there was little weight he could not manage when required. With a grunt, he gave another half-turn and his fellow artillerist snicked the lock into place.

‘Which one?’

The young fellow, more of an assistant than a companion engineer, sounded enthusiastic as he peered between the branches.

With a roar, the Treveri force had seethed across the river mere moments earlier. Ianuarius’ ballista had been the last to be settled into position, and he had worried that he wouldn’t have time to set it up before the volleys began. It had been a near thing.

‘No one if you don’t put the bloody bolt in the groove!’

The young recruit flushed in embarrassment and dropped the heavy iron projectile into the slot, wedging it up against the mechanism.

‘So which one?’

‘Always make the first shot count, Marcius. It’s the only shot you’ll get where you have the luxury of aiming and the opportunity to be careful. Subsequent shots can just be ploughed into the bulk of the men, but the first one should always be a good one. First choice will always be an officer for preference. If one doesn’t present itself, then a good warrior. You can always identify them by the quality of their armour. Look for a lot of bronze or iron and some sort of decorative helmet crest. Horsemen are easiest, of course, but sometimes a great warrior on foot is more important than an ordinary horseman. So be choosy. At first.’

Ianuarius lifted the heavy artillery piece and swivelled it, sighting down the timber and estimating distance.

‘See him, there?’ he pointed.

The young soldier shook his head and shrugged.

‘Him with the bronze helmet. There’s a boar standard near him and he’s well-dressed. A leader, he is. Good first choice. About three hundred paces. Difficult, but quite achievable.’ His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he made minute adjustments that would look virtually invisible to the young engineer next to him.

‘Now. Get it locked in.’

The assistant locked the ballista into place vertically and Ianuarius swivelled it a couple of finger widths left and right, and then squinted between the leaves and aimed.

The enemy had almost reached the crest of the ridge when the single horn blast echoed out through the afternoon air.

Ianuarius released the bolt and was already beginning to winch the tension back into the machine while the bolt was in the air, nodding to the assistant to select a second missile.

* * * * *

Andesaros of the Treveri urged his men on up to the ridge with imprecations and exhortations to battle and glory, citing the womanly cowardice of Rome and the fear with which they carried themselves from battle with the glorious warriors of the Treveri.

With a thrill of battle-hunger and the golden glow of vengeance fulfiled, he crested the rise across which the fleeing legionaries had passed mere heartbeats earlier.

And his future changed before his very eyes.

Rank after rank after rank of Romans stood implacable and immobile, their shields presented in a solid line, their dreadful javelins already raised and held at the shoulder, awaiting the command. There were so many of them that Andesaros simply could not wrap his thoughts around their presence, let alone how quickly they had reformed to meet him and his tribe.

One thing was instantly clear:

They had lost before the first blow was struck.

He gave a shout to his signallers, and the carnyxes began to wail out the retreat, standards waving to direct the Treveri back to the river. As he turned to take in the whole, disastrous scene, he saw Dunohorix of the Mediomatrici lifted from his horse, a Roman artillery bolt tearing a wide hole through his chest and casting him aside like a child’s raggy doll, the missile’s momentum hardly slowed as it carried on and passed into the shoulder of a warrior behind him.