Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (48 page)

“
And you don’t appear to be able to move your shield
arm.”

“
Broken, sir.”

The general
laughed.

“
If I had a hundred men like you, centurion, I’d live in no
fear of the Nervii.”

“
Look there!” a voice shouted.

Both men
turned to Galba in surprise. The legate was pointing over the enemy
from their position on the slight rise of the incomplete rampart.
They followed his gesturing and squinted. A fresh wave of Celtic
warriors had appeared around the edge of the woodland nearby;
mounted warriors, shouting fresh cries in their unintelligible
language.

“
They’ll likely cut off the reserves” Galba said, his voice
leaden and flat. Baculus shook his head in wonder at how this
debacle had come about and leapt forward just in time to dispatch a
warrior who’d lunged at the momentarily distracted
general.

“
I don’t think so…”

Caesar sounded
unsure, but slowly a smile spread across his face.

“
Look. There are legionary regulars among them. It’s Varus’
cavalry!”

As the three
officers fought desperately to keep the line from the howling
warriors before them, they caught glimpses briefly over the enemy.
Varus’ trapped cavalry had found a way round and back across the
river and now came hurtling down behind the Nervii, where they
began to harry them, attacking in a charge that swept past the
Belgae and picking them off before pulling back out of reach and
forming up for the next attack; standard Roman skirmishing
tactics.

Baculus drew a
deep breath as yet another blow trimmed a chunk from the edge of
his shield and gouged a long but shallow line in his upper arm.

Caesar turned
at the sound and, as he did so, one of the Nervii facing them swept
his long Celtic blade down and across beneath Caesar’s shield.
Fortunately for the general, the man’s aim was imperfect and the
bone-breaking, limb-severing sword edge clipped the very base of
the general’s shield and jumped, scoring a deep rent across his
calf in a blow that would, otherwise, have removed his leg. The
general disappeared with a squawk and a crash, falling backwards
into the press on his buckling leg. Two legionaries immediately
went to his aid, while a third stepped in to take his place between
Baculus and Galba.

The legate
growled.

“
Where the hell is Plancus with the reserves?”

“
Sir?” a voice called.

Both Baculus
and Galba shouted “Yes?” neither willing to take their eyes from
the enemy, as they continued to block blows with their shields and
stab and swipe at any flesh they could identify before them.

A legionary
appeared behind them.

“
Sir, the wagoners and engineers are marching across the camp,
armed like us!”

Baculus
laughed.

“
Looks like the reserves are having their job done for them by
a load of fat carters! We’re going to be rescued by the support
staff!”

Across the
gently-sloping camp, three hundred legion-retained civilians,
retired legionaries and engineers had dragged swords, shields,
helmets and javelins from the supply wagons and were marching in an
impressive imitation of a legion toward the rear of the Nervii.

At the front,
Sabinus and Cicero, freshly arrived at the field and determined to
do what they could to salvage the Twelfth, shouted orders and tried
to keep their strange, newly-commissioned unit in formation.

The ‘century’
pulled up with reasonable efficiency forty or fifty yards from the
enemy, presented a shield wall as the rear Nervian ranks turned to
deal with this new threat, and cast their missiles.

Though few of
the ancillary staff had any training, the mass of pila arced up and
came down among the mass of angry warriors, causing deaths and
cries of dismay. With a roar, a group of warriors veered away from
the mass and charged the small group of false legionaries.

The men
presented a passable wall and planted their feet apart to withstand
the crash as the Belgae barged into them, reeling back momentarily
and then putting all their strength into holding the line while
they stabbed madly at anything they could. There was no finesse or
plan to the attack but, in the press of enemy bodies, it was near
impossible, even for the untrained, to fail to land a blow.

More of the
Nervii began to turn to this new unexpected attack and within half
a minute, the support column was being overwhelmed in a similar
fashion to the Twelfth. Across the rampart and beyond the battling
remnant of the legion, the cavalry began to pull back. The Nervii
had finally decided to deal with the incessant gnat-bites that were
the cavalry attacks, and had sent a large group of spear-bearers to
deal with them.

Baculus pulled
himself back from the frontline, allowing a legionary to take his
position. The general was upright, but being supported by one of
the men. The primus pilus, a tall man already, pushed his way to
the highest stretch of incomplete rampart, a mere two feet high,
but enough to look over the heads of the legion and take in the
situation. The hope they’d felt at the arrival first of the cavalry
and then of the support staff slipped away as the centurion
realised just how little difference it had really made. They were
still outnumbered at least ten to one and the legion was losing a
dozen men every minute, despite their defensive stance. The cavalry
had been forced to withdraw and were now forming up to charge,
though the spear-bearing enemy would make minced meat of them if
they tried it. The support staff, brave though the move had been,
were now being systematically exterminated by the Nervii rear
lines. Even as the primus pilus watched, the rear lines of wagoners
fled the scene for the relative safety of the wagons, leaving two
unknown officers desperately holding together a rapidly
disintegrating unit.

He turned to
see what was happening elsewhere. The Eighth and Eleventh were
embroiled in fierce fighting on the river bank and their engagement
could still realistically go either way. The standards of the Ninth
were waving at the top of the hill opposite as Rufus and his men
cornered the Atrebates and began to exact a heavy toll on them.

But the
standards of the Tenth were descending the hill back towards the
river at a run. He smiled and turned to the beleaguered men of his
legion.

“
Hold it just a little longer, lads… Fronto and the Tenth are
on the way.”

Lucius
Vorenus, pilus prior of the Second Cohort in the Thirteenth Legion,
growled. A long-serving veteran who had been pulled in to the
command structure of the newly-raised Gallic legion, Vorenus was
sick to death of his men being sent to nursemaid the baggage, or
left to guard the camp. It was clear that the rest of the army saw
the two new legions are inferior, and that prejudice extended even
to the centurions such as himself, who had more experience than
many of the taunting bastards. Vorenus had been there under the
elder Crassus fifteen years ago when they’d put Spartacus and his
slaves down and now he was leading a unit that weren’t even
expected to truly take part in anything.

And almost ten
minutes ago, the Thirteenth and Fourteenth had received word that
the battle was already happening; that the other legions were in
the shit. The staff officers Sabinus and Cicero had immediately
ridden off ahead at breakneck pace to see what they could do and to
confirm that the reserves were on the way.

And what had
‘commander’ Plancus done about it? Kept them at a steady march so
that they were fresh when they got there.

His growl
deepened in intensity. The bloody battle would be over when they
got there at this rate. The legate of the Fourteenth, currently the
only commander in the rearguard and leading both legions, was so
concerned over looking good when he arrived that the reserves would
be too late. Taking a deep breath, he ran forward to where the
primus pilus strode ahead.

“
Pullo?”

As he fell in
alongside, he noted an equally sour look on his peer’s face.

“
We’re going to have to do something.”

Pullo
nodded.

“
I know. But you’re suggesting we disobey the direct orders of
a legate.”

Vorenus
grimaced.

“
I’m suggesting we disobey the direct orders of an arsehole.
You’re the Primus Pilus. I’m just the Pilus Prior. It’s up to you
to give the order.”

Pullo
sighed.

“
I was enjoying being back in service. Seems a shame to end my
career so quickly."

He took a deep
breath.

"But you're
right. We've got to pick up the pace. Get back to your men."

Vorenus nodded
and, as he jogged back along the lines of the First Cohort to the
Second, he heard Pullo shout "Time to get into action lads. Triple
pace, now!"

The Thirteenth
Legion surged forward with a rhythmic crashing of arms and armour
and thudding of feet.

Somewhere back
with the Fourteenth, legate Plancus would be having a fit.

Chapter 17

(Battle of the
Selle)

“
Contubernium (pl. Contubernia): the smallest division of unit
in the Roman legion, numbering eight men who shared a
tent.”

Baculus
staggered under another blow and swung wildly with the enemy blade
he’d ripped from the hands of one of the dying barbarians. Lifting
the heavy sword with a bone-weary arm, he used the sleeve of his
tunic to wipe away the stream of blood flowing from the wound on
his now-unprotected head and blinding his right eye with a crimson
veil. He staggered slightly, his leg cut in four places and now
with barely enough strength to hold him up.

“
We have to do something. There can’t be more than eight or
nine hundred of us left.”

Caesar, having
fallen back from the front line and landing occasional blows
between the shoulders of his men while supported by another
legionary, nodded and glanced at Galba. The legate was as
hard-pressed as anyone else here, fighting for his life alongside
the common soldiery. It occurred to the general that the greatest
leveller among men was a life-threatening situation. In any other
circumstance, even in the thick of battle, he would have been
required by propriety to haul Baculus over the coals for addressing
him in such a manner. In the situation in which the two men
currently found themselves, even the idea was laughable.

And, of
course, Baculus had fought like a titan.

“
You’re right, of course. Step back from the line…”

Baculus did as
he was bade, dragging his leg and barely able to stand. As the man
breathed in ragged rasps and used the great Belgic broadsword as
best he could to support himself, the general collared Galba and
hauled him back from the front line.

Legionaries
fell forward to replace the two men immediately, desperately
defending the diminishing line.

“
I need suggestions” the general said. “We’ve lost three
quarters of the legion, most of the officers and standard bearers.
With enemies on all sides, the Twelfth is just shrinking and will
shortly disappear, with us in the middle.”

Galba
shrugged.

“
We need support. But the problem is that even if the reserves
show up and attack the Belgae, unless the enemy actually break and
run for it, they won’t be able to get to us. We’ll still be gone by
the time the relief reaches us.”

Baculus
pointed.

“
Looks like the Tenth are coming back across. The Ninth must be
in control over there. We’ve got the cavalry trying to help us, the
support staff and the Tenth, and the reserves must be nearly here
by now. They must have been told ages ago now.”

“
Yes,” Galba said, “but none of them can actually reach us.
They can attack the Nervii on another front, but that might not
help us at all.”

Caesar
frowned.

“
Then we must move the world around us.”

“
Sir?”

The general
smiled.

“
If the relief cannot reach our position, we have to move the
entire legion mid-fight; find a different position.”

“
But sir…” Galba said, “We’re completely
surrounded.”

“
Then we’ll just have to push hard. This is my plan: It appears
that the Eighth and Eleventh have the enemy pinned against the
river. They cannot afford to stop that push, or their own
opposition could regroup. But the Eleventh are at this end of the
field. If we can link up with them, they can give us support and we
will be the flank rather than on our own.”

“
I can see that, general, but how can we get to
them?”

Caesar
smiled.

“
The plebeian way… brute force and ignorance.”

Baculus wiped
the free-flowing blood from his eyes again.

“
We send all the standards in that direction and reorganise.
The northern edge takes the lead and actually pushes through the
Nervii until we reach the Eleventh. At the same time, the other
three directions go as defensive as possible, almost a testudo, and
pull back so that the whole legion gradually moves north until we
join up with the others.”

Caesar gave a
rare, very genuine grin.

“
That’s the sort of thing.”

Baculus
saluted, almost collapsing as he lost the support of his arm.

“
I’ll start moving the standards forward now, sir.”