Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (40 page)

The general
cleared his throat and vaulted from his horse. As the other mounted
officers joined him, he began to draw in the flat dirt with a handy
stick.

“
This is the lay of the land according to our
scouts.”

He drew a wavy
line across the patch and tapped it.

“
The river. Only about twenty feet wide here and not more than
about three feet deep. Crossing it should not be a problem, but
that means it’s not a problem for them either.”

He marked out
several areas with hatching on the near side of the river.

“
There are a lot of areas of copses and scrub, but the scouts
have checked them out and they’re empty and too overgrown to hide
any real number of men.”

He drew a set
of arrows to denote slopes.

“
There’s a gentle decline down to the water at this side, and
then a low hill opposite with areas of woodland around the crest.
My scouts estimate around a hundred thousand of them on the other
side of that rise in a camp, which suggests they’ve been there a
while.”

He drew a
large mass there.

“
Presumably they either believe they can keep their numbers
hidden from us, or perhaps they’re worried about our artillery
range and are keeping out of direct line. Either way, so long as
they remain safely behind that hill, we have time for the entire
column to arrive and to set up camp here.”

He drew a
square on the slope descending to the water.

Fronto
nodded.

“
It’s a plan, general, but there’s a few suggestions I could
make too.”

“
Go on?”

Fronto
sniffed. “Well, if you’re sending the cavalry out front to deal
with the enemy scouts across the water, that means the staff will
have no escort and protection. You’ll be a lovely little target
riding along slowly between the legions and the wagons. One good
archer could effectively remove the high command.”

Caesar
blinked.

“
You think they actually could try such a thing?”

Fronto
shrugged.

“
Who knows, but I think that, given the odds here, we ought to
play it as safe as we can. My suggestion would be to get the staff
distributed among the legions, yourself included. That way, not
only are you much harder to target, but you’re well defended too.
And it might give the lads a bit of a boost to see the staff
alongside them. Especially on foot.”

Caesar frowned
for a moment and then nodded.

“
It’s a good idea, Fronto. See to it.”

“
And the other thing,” Fronto said, glancing back over the
lines of men, “is that when the legions begin to make camp, usually
we have a screen of cavalry and our men have time to re-arm if
threatened. With the cavalry away, we can’t afford to have all of
our men busy moving earth sods and not easily armable. I would
suggest that each man keeps his armour and helmet on while they
work and their shield and weapons within arm’s reach. I would like
to know that every man can defend himself at short
notice.”

Caesar
frowned.

“
You’re being uncharacteristically careful, Fronto?”

The legate
shrugged.

“
This engagement’s making me nervous. Something about it makes
my skin itch. Nemesis is trying to tell me something.”

Caesar
smiled.

“
Then tell her to speak up.”

There was a
chorus of nervous laughter; Fronto’s nerves were beginning to
spread to the other officers.

“
Very well,” Caesar nodded. “All that we can do, we will do.
It’s in the hands of the Gods now, and let Venus who, as you all
know, is my grandmother,” more genuine laughter this time, “let her
protect us all.”

Fervent nods
around the circle of men.

“
Let’s get the final phase of this march underway, then. Right,
Fronto. Where do you want us?”

Fronto
shrugged.

“
I don’t suppose it really matters. There are, what?” he
performed a quick head count. “There are twelve officers who need
to distribute among the legions, ignoring the legates. That’s two a
piece and perhaps one a piece with the Thirteenth and Fourteenth at
rearguard.”

Caesar
nodded.

“
I will join the Twelfth at the rear of the legions, just
before the baggage.”

The rest of
the officers went quiet and looked at each other expectantly.

“
Oh for the love of Venus. What is it with you men and these
new legions? Sabinus? You go with the Thirteenth. They saved your
life. Cicero? Go with the Fourteenth.”

He smiled a
grumpy smile.

“
Can the rest of you decide what legion to travel with or does
uncle Marcus have to smack some bottoms?”

Sabinus
laughed.

“
Just as you say, Marcus. Sorry… uncle Marcus.”

With a laugh,
the officer mounted his horse once more and rode off toward the
rear of the column. After brief discussions, the various officers
split up and moved to their new positions, those stationed further
back riding, while Labienus and Brutus walked their horses forward
to the Tenth alongside Fronto.

As they
reached the legion, Labienus accosted one of the legionaries in the
front line.

“
Take our horses back to the baggage train and then return to
position.”

The legionary
saluted, took the reins, and strode off down the line of men with
the three officers’ horses.

Labienus
settled into position with the tribunes at Fronto’s shoulder.
Brutus stood next to him, smiling calmly. Fronto grimaced.

“
All ready? We’re the vanguard.”

Brutus, in his
late twenties and fresh faced, squared his shoulders.

“
I look forward to it, Marcus. No offence, Labienus, but being
stuck in staff meetings was not what I was looking for when I
joined Gaius.”

Fronto raised
his eyebrows. Nobody referred to the general by his praenomen.

Labienus
frowned.

“
What do you mean?”

“
Well, I was looking forward to leading a legion. Thought I’d
get a chance to play legatus and actually take part, but Caesar’s a
very distant cousin and his wife coddles me. Between my own family
and Calpurnia, Caesar daren’t put me in a dangerous position. They
keep me trapped and tied up in red tape. I’m actually quite looking
forward to this.”

Fronto
grumbled

“
It’s still a bad idea. This is not going to go well, I tell
you.”

Labienus
laughed.

“
Give it a rest, Fronto. I can see his point. I haven’t
actually been in close command of a legion myself for many years,
since the Cilician campaign in fact. It’ll do us good.”

Fronto had to
laugh.

“
How can we possibly lose, with this much enthusiasm?” He
turned to the Tenth’s lead cornicen.

“
Give the call to march. Let’s get there and see what Nemesis
has in store for us today.”

The musician
saluted and blew a complex series of notes that was picked up by
the cornicens of the individual centuries throughout the legion and
then the other legions to the rear. With an unstoppable gait, the
men began to march.

Fronto relaxed
a little as the familiar pace and noise settled around him like a
comfortable blanket. At least here and now things were normal,
expected, and he knew exactly what to do.

Smiling, he
took a deep breath, inhaling the heady scent of the summer
wildflowers. Soon all he would be able to smell was blood and
steel, so he carefully registered every facet of that smell and
filed it away in his mind for reference. Funny really, he’d not
realised how bad his nose was until Balbus had broken it again and
Florus reset it. He smiled. Good things came to you in curious
packages some times.

He would have
to give Florus a gift when this was all over.

* * * * *

Varus reined
in alongside Fronto. The cavalry had been riding in force alongside
the Tenth for the last leg of the march, their number stretching
out across the land to either side as far as Fronto could see. It
really was quite impressive.

“
Time to go, Fronto” the commander said, his voice even and
professional. “Our scouts say the river’s just over that rise. We
need to get on ahead and cross the water to give you time to build
the camp. Do it quickly though. There’s several thousand of us,
yes, but there are a hell of a lot more of them.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
We’ll be ready as fast as we possibly can, Varus. Don’t do
anything too brave and stupid, though. If you land in serious shit,
regroup with the legions.”

Varus returned
the nod.

“
Good luck, gentlemen.”

“
And to you.”

In a manner
that ought to have been noted by those members of the legions
distrustful of their newly-raised Gaulish brethren, the cavalry
were arrayed as a loose mass of men, with the few regulars in Roman
red mixed in among their Gallic auxiliary counterparts, as though
they were considered equals.

Now, however,
the cavalry commander gave a quick hand signal and his mounted
cornicen blew out a series of calls and, like an organised sea of
men and horses, the vast array of cavalry around the head of the
tenth moved with intricate precision into their new formations. The
auxilia became separate alae once more, with the sparse regular
cavalry settling into smaller units between them. It was a
spectacle to see, like the ridiculously expensive mechanical toys
that Greek merchants sold in Rome.

Moments later,
rather than a mass of horsemen gathered around the Tenth, three
rows of tightly organised cavalry alae trotted ahead of the column.
At a further signal, they broke into a run, leaving the bulk of the
Roman force behind in a cloud of dust.

Just as Fronto
and the officers of the Tenth crested the rise in view of the enemy
and began the descent to the site chosen for the camp, Varus and
his cavalry reached the water and splashed across it.

As reported by
the scouts, the north bank of the river rose in a slope almost the
mirror image of the one to the south, though a little higher and
crowned with areas of woodland. At the top of the hill a few Nervii
on horseback waited in one of the more open spaces and, as soon as
Varus’ men hove into view, vanished over the crest.

The cavalry
ploughed into the river, the water spraying high to the side of
each man, churned and thrown by their hooves and soaking the whole
force, and Belgae warriors appeared over the top of the hill. On
the Roman cavalry splashed, reaching the far bank and climbing from
the water quickly, reforming into units as soon as the ground
allowed.

With yells of
command from the officers, the cavalry charged once again in
formation up the slope, more and more of the Nervii and their
allies pouring forth over the crest and issuing from the areas of
woodland across the summit.

With cries to
a variety of Gods, the Romans and their auxiliary counterparts
closed the distance to the enemy, Varus in his accustomed position
at the front edge of the charge. He smiled. They may be brave, but
the same mistakes were inevitable in every damn battle with every
damn Celtic army. No discipline; no preparation. It all came down
to the personal bravery and skill of each individual warrior. How
could they ever hope to…

Varus’
thoughts came unstuck with terrifying suddenness as the Roman
charge, sure of their prowess and their superiority, met with the
hidden pit-traps carved in the side of the hill by the waiting
Nervii in the preceding days and disguised with wicker screens
covered in leaves and dry grass.

Varus’ horse,
his pride and joy for five years of campaign, snapped its neck
instantly as the front legs disappeared into the hole and the head
hit the turf opposite. Varus, his mind reeling hopelessly, was
thrown from the four-horned saddle and hurled several yards up the
gentle slope. His world exploded in a white-hot burst of pain and
shock. As he cart-wheeled over and over before coming to a painful
halt, he saw flashes of his men disappearing into the disguised
pits alongside the screams of men and horses both.

With a crash,
he came to rest. Experience and professionalism took over and he
found his feet, despite the pain of his various cuts and grazes,
what felt like a dislocated right shoulder, and almost certain
concussion. He had fared better than some of the men he could see
as he stumbled, spinning in pain and confusion, to his feet. His
eyes scouted the turf nearby, searching for the sword that momentum
had snatched from his grasp. No sign of it, but his gaze latched
onto the discarded blade of one of his companions. He stumbled
towards it and bent to retrieve it with his left arm. The first
wave of cavalry had now passed, some number falling foul of the
hidden pits, but many more passing them and engaging the enemy. The
second wave thundered up behind and slowed enough to avoid falling
foul of the same obstacles as the first.

Varus turned
and tried to take in the entire situation. This was one almighty
screw-up… Fronto had been right with his bad feeling. These Nervii
knew exactly what they were doing and were more than prepared. What
should have been a cavalry charge that shattered the resolve of the
front line of the enemy had, instead, turned into a bloodbath, the
surviving members of the first wave of attack now being
systematically unhorsed with long spears and, where that was not
possible, the Nervii and their allies were simply butchering the
horses beneath the riders.