Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (47 page)

After only
half a minute’s argument it had become clear to Labienus that he
was not going to win this argument, even if he ordered the man to
stand aside.

As soon as the
call had gone up, every soldier who still had access to a pilum had
cast it in a shower of deadly iron. The dismay at the death of
their leaders and the capture of their standards was already
shaking the morale of the Atrebates. The sudden horrifying rain of
missiles caused an uproar and, by the time Labienus shouted the
order and the Tenth began to push forward, the Ninth following suit
on their left, panic was beginning to grip the this Belgic
tribe.

Like a slow
tide, the Roman line moved through and over the enemy who tried to
retreat for several minutes in an orderly fashion with a view to
regrouping, before news reached the rear of the Celtic force that
their leaders were dead, their standards gone, and they were now
being pushed back.

Firstly the
rear groups of Atrebates began to peel off and flee toward the
water’s edge, and then more and more broke away like ice in the
first warmth of spring. Gradually, the trickle of fleeing warriors
turned into a river, and then a flood, and suddenly the Tenth were
no longer pushing the Atrebates, but pursuing them.

A roar went up
among the men and they began to pick up pace behind the fleeing
enemy. Their enthusiasm and pace were so powerful that they almost
engaged with the last dozen defenders around their legate before
hurriedly peeling off and flowing around them after the enemy.

Labienus
bellowed after the centurions “Steady! Form a line again!”

He watched for
a moment as the officers reined in the more enthusiastic men and
reformed into centuries as they drove on down to the river. Now,
the Ninth were alongside and creating an impressive front. Labienus
continued to observe the action for a moment and then approached
the weary and battle-scarred survivors. He spotted the prone figure
of Fronto and for a moment his heart skipped a beat. Then, as he
watched, he saw the legate’s chest rise and fall. A soldier
crouching next to him came to attention.

“
Legate Fronto has been wounded sir. I should get him to the
medicus.”

Labienus
nodded.

“
Will he be all right?”

The capsarius
gave a non-committal shrug.

“
He should live, sir, but he might lose the arm.”

The staff
officer shook his head sadly and thought back with fresh
perspective on that centurion refusing to let him take a place in
the front line.

“
Get him back there straight away and tell the doctor to do
whatever he has to.”

Leaving the
tired and wounded men of the heroic century to escort Fronto back
to the hastily-organised hospital, basic trestle tables in the open
air, Labienus jogged after the Tenth to catch up. As he ran, he
spotted the primus pilus running at an angle to intercept him.

“
Priscus. Glad to see you made it.”

“
Only just, sir. You and the lads got there just in time. There
were about ten of us left.”

The centurion
was bleeding in a dozen places, though none seemed to be bothering
him. Labienus was, as always, impressed with the quality of the
centurionate.

“
And Velius?”

Priscus shook
his head sadly.

“
Seen no sign of him, sir, but it looks like no one survived
there.”

As they caught
up with the rear ranks of the Tenth and marched along behind them,
Labienus took the opportunity to glance to his right and see what
was happening in the centre of the field. It appeared that the
panicked retreat of the Atrebates had had a knock-on effect on the
Viromandui, and the Eighth and Eleventh legions were even now
beginning to move, pushing their Belgae opponents back slowly
towards the river. He couldn’t see as far as the Twelfth, but could
only hope that the reserves would arrive in time to help them.

Ahead, the
Tenth and the Ninth had reached the water and were busily
butchering those Atrebates they caught trying to cross. The
centurions gave a call and the line stopped. Labienus turned to
Priscus and raised an eyebrow.

“
Why?”

Priscus
shrugged.

“
They know any further and they leave the main field of battle.
They’re awaiting orders.”

Labienus
nodded and looked to the left to see legate Rufus and the primus
pilus of the Ninth marching toward him.

“
Rufus.”

“
Sir. The Atrebates are beginning to reform on the far bank.
What are your orders?”

Labienus
nodded.

“
Then we need to break them before they get too courageous
again. Pass the word down to the officers. Let the men have a wild,
bloodthirsty charge but, if that breaks the enemy, make sure they
know to rein in and form up near the crest of the hill.”

Rufus nodded
and walked back along the line of men. As Priscus passed the word
down, Labienus looked up across the river and could see some sort
of obstacle at the top. The enemy were going to be trapped. That
meant they’d have to either surrender or die at the top. He took a
deep breath and waited. Calls went up from one of the Ninth’s
cornicens and were picked up by the other musicians, throughout
both legions. A chorus of centurions and optios bellowed
simultaneously.

“
Charge!”

Labienus
watched tensely as the men waded into the water and sloshed across
the river as fast as they could manage The first man to reach the
far bank was felled by a massive swing with a Celtic blade, the
second and third with spears, but then the bulk of the men reached
the bank and began to stab and hack at the enemy.

Fresh dismay
swept across the Atrebates and they fled up the hill, their army
breaking up once again like ice. At the rear of the legion,
Labienus took a deep breath and then waded across the river behind
his men, drawing his sword as he went.

The Ninth and
Tenth swept up the gentle slope opposite. Labienus’ fears that the
enemy would be trapped by that strange blockade and fight to the
death like cornered rats seemed unfounded. As the rear ranks of the
Atrebates reached the obstacles, they hauled the great defences
aside and, joining the warriors who had manned them, fled over the
hill.

Labienus
struggled out of the water onto the bank in time to see the last of
the Belgae they were chasing disappear over the crest as the
legions formed up just below them.

A voice off to
the left attracted his attention and he spun, wielding his sword,
before he realised who it was. Varus, accompanied by a number of
cavalrymen, came trotting out from behind a cover of trees.

“
Labienus! You have absolutely no idea how grateful I am to see
you.”

“
Varus?” Labienus blinked. “We thought you were gone or
dead.”

“
Thankfully not. Most of the cavalry got cut off, but I’m
hoping they’re on their way back down. Where are you going
now?”

The staff
officer shrugged.

“
There’s still best part of ten thousand warriors up there. Got
to either get them to surrender, kill them or disperse them. And
Caesar’ll want captives.”

Varus
nodded.

“
I’m heading back across. Thanks for the rescue.”

Labienus
smiled.

“
See you soon.”

Drawing a deep
breath, he set off once more up the hill after his men. They would
have to gain control of the Belgae’s camp over the ridge and take
prisoners. Then they could turn round and take on the Belgic
reserve from behind and trap them at the river.

He had almost
reached the rear lines of the legions, when Rufus came running back
down to him.

“
What’s up?”

Rufus grasped
his shoulder and, spinning him around, pointed back across the
river. The wagon train had still not finished arriving, and the
reserve legions were not yet in sight. The Eighth and Eleventh were
fighting a vast number of the enemy right on the bank of the river,
but the Nervii reserve had taken advantage of the sudden gaps in
the Roman line and had crossed the river. Even now, as he watched,
the Twelfth legion on the flank, already outnumbered around five to
one, were suddenly hit by fresh waves of the enemy, this time from
behind.

The Twelfth
had a nominal strength of five thousand men, but it looked
worryingly to Labienus as thought there were not more that fifteen
hundred left. And that was where Caesar was. As he watched, the
Twelfth reacted with astonishing efficiency to this new threat,
closing up so that the rear ranks turned and became a second battle
line. They were now entirely surrounded, cut off and hopelessly
outnumbered.

“
Sacred Mars!”

Rufus
nodded.

“
What do we do? Head back?”

Labienus shook
his head.

“
Can’t leave ten thousand Atrebates in control of their camp
and with room and time to reform into a unit. You stay and deal
with them. Capture as many as you can. Get them to surrender if you
can.”

He ground his
teeth.

“
I’m taking the Tenth back to try and relieve the Twelfth and
save Caesar.”

* * * * *

Centurion
Baculus stood gritting his teeth in the press of men. Around him
his legionaries fought like lions against unbelievable odds as wave
after fresh wave of Nervii fell upon them, hacking, maiming and
screaming guttural curses. In the small circle afforded him
temporarily while he sorted his latest wound, the veteran officer
crouched, settling the shield in most comfortable position possible
on his shattered left arm and used his good arm to remove his belt.
Wincing, he used the belt to strap the shield tightly to his
useless arm, holding the buckle between his teeth as he pulled it
tight. Standing once more, he tried to lift the great defensive
item, but the arm was too weak. A constant stream of crimson drips
fell from his useless fingers. Still, at least he had a shield.

Once more he
collected his sword and hefted it. To his left there was a crunch
and a gurgling scream as a thrown spear arced over the front lines
and came down in the middle of the Roman press, straight through
the chest of a legionary.

“
This is getting ridiculous!”

Baculus pushed
his way back through the press of men.

“
Come on, lads. They’re only barbarians. Fight
harder.”

Ignoring the
shocking pain in his arm, he pushed through the struggling men and
spotted waving plumes a little to his right. About bloody time the
legate got involved! Galba had been directing things as well as
anyone could, given the circumstances, but really the Twelfth was
as organised as it could ever hope to be now, and what they needed
most was men with swords.

With a grunt
of satisfaction, he pushed his way over to the commander and was
surprised to realise that the man standing next to the legate in
the line and jabbing madly with a sword, smashing his shield into
the faces of howling barbarians, was the general himself. Caesar
was already dirty and spattered with blood, his white tunic and
crimson cloak making him stand out among the darker garb of the
legionaries. This whole campaign could go to shit if Caesar fell to
a well aimed blow. Who would pay to keep the legion active then?
Pompey? Doubtful… and certainly not the senate.

With another
grunt, this time of irritation, he made his way quickly over to the
two officers and pushed his way in next to the general. If anyone
was going to make sure the general survived, it had to be someone
Baculus trusted, and the only person he really trusted to fight
well and not die was himself.

He moved a
legionary aside and took the position, stabbing down at a warrior
who was trying to swipe at their unprotected legs.

The general
beside him cast him a sidelong glance.

“
Thank you, centurion.”

“
Sir.”

“
You’ve just been back from the attack?”

Baculus
nodded.

“
Sorting a wound, sir.”

Caesar smiled
as he smashed his shield into the contorted face of a Nervian
warrior.

“
What’s your estimate of our chances?”

Baculus gave a
grim smile.

“
We’re in shit, sir. I was on the mound back there and I
couldn’t see more than three or four centurion or optio’s crests. I
think the officers are nearly all gone. We’re down to just over a
thousand men now. There’s a tribune back there that’s busy bleeding
out. We’re surrounded on all sides and the rest of the army’s all
engaged elsewhere. Unless the reserves get here, we’ll be gone in
less than fifteen minutes.”

Caesar’s
expression became grim.

“
That’s a bleak estimate, centurion.”

“
Just realism, sir.”

Baculus had to
break off from the conversation again as three warriors leapt at
the line. One hit Caesar’s shield and knocked the general back
heavily enough that the man wobbled and almost lost his footing
before heaving the attacker forward again using his shield. The
others hit Baculus’ shield so hard he felt his arm almost detach
and narrowly avoided blacking out. The third forced his way between
the two.

As the men in
the row behind them dealt with the warrior who had broken through,
Caesar looked Baculus up and down.

“
You’ve been wounded twice, centurion.”

“
Six times” the man replied with a straight face.