Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (56 page)

He fell, but a legionary was suddenly there grasping him, holding him up. Then another, bearing the leather satchel of a capsarius. ‘Hold still, centurion and don’t move that neck.’

Feeling faint and weak, Baculus gave a low cackle as he saw the Germans, on the cusp of victory climbing over the wall top, suddenly repulsed by the relief force who now flooded onto the rampart. He could smell the tell-tale acrid odour of pitch and see the glow of orange torches. The sound of a huge barrel of water being hauled up the bank accompanied it.

‘I said stay still. This is bad, centurion, and if you want to live to shout at, beat, and belittle legionaries, you need to do exactly as I say.’ Too tired to argue, Baculus allowed himself to relax, the sword falling from his fingers. The newly field-promoted optio with the bandaged, bloody leg appeared in front of him.

‘All under control now, centurion. Thanks for your timely help.’

Baculus passed out.

* * * * *

Nasica, rare survivor of the Fourteenth Legion’s demise under Sabinus and Cotta during the winter, and now proud eagle-bearer of the same, reconstituted legion, leaned in and added his voice to the discussion. He was aware that the aquilifer held a rank that equalled most centurions, but wasn’t yet sure just how much he was expected to chip in to officers’ confabs.

The simple fact, though, was that not one officer here could hold a candle to any of those he’d served with over the past few years. They seemed to be indecisive and cautious, timid even. Especially the Primus Pilus, an ageing former training centurion from the camp at Cremona who’d not seen active service in almost a decade.

‘They will not be expecting an attack from their rear, sir,’ he said quietly.

The forage party, led by some of the legion’s senior officers, had been exceedingly late and there had been some discussion about the possibility of setting up a temporary camp for the night. It had taken some persuading by the more veteran centurions to get the Primus Pilus to march the wagons through the night rather than waiting for the dawn, and the senior commander had only seemed to be swayed by the notion that Cicero would be extremely unhappy with him if they returned to find Caesar had beaten them to the camp.

And so the five cohorts, with their accompanying wagons tended by the walking wounded, had pushed on back through the dark, past midnight and into black morning in an attempt to reach the camp before the infamous ‘kalends deadline’. Then, only half a mile from the camp, they had stopped, the scouts returning wild-eyed to inform them that the camp was surrounded by a huge barbarian force.

The Primus Pilus had dissolved into a mess, displaying the warning signs of panic, and Nasica’s already low opinion of his new commander had plummeted to subterranean depths.

‘You advocate an attack?’ the commander asked him incredulously.

‘Not an all-out assault, sir,’ Nasica replied patiently. ‘We could form into a wedge and break through. A five-cohort wedge is a solid, unstoppable force, sir.’ He remembered momentarily how long the centurion had remained idle in Cremona. ‘I’ve seen it done very effectively over the past few years, sir.’

‘Didn’t help you much in the winter, did it?’ the man snapped acidly, and Nasica had to fight to maintain his temper. This cowardly idiot was his superior after all - at least in rank!

‘Sir, if we do nothing, the camp will fall. The defenders are not numerous enough to cover all the walls. The fort’s huge, especially with all its annexes. A whole legion stands a chance, but only if we combine our cohorts with those inside. We have to give a warning to the fort, form up and break through the bastards and make for the walls. The decumana gate is the best, with the widest causeway. I know, sir. I dug the bloody thing myself last year.’

The Primus Pilus glared at him, and Nasica felt hopelessly outnumbered by the armies of incompetence. His eyes strayed, and he could see several of the lesser centurions, as well as a few signifers and musicians nodding their agreement. He had support, just not from the top ranks.

‘The rest of the army will be back soon, aquilifer, and then this rabble will die beneath the boots of ten legions.’

‘Nine,’ Nasica corrected angrily, ‘because the Fourteenth will be gone!
Again
!’

‘An assault is suicidal,’ the commander declared, straightening. ‘We will form up on that hill to the west. It is a good, defensive high point. The enemy will have to split their forces and deal with us as well as the camp. Thus we can survive the night and draw some of the heat for the legate.’

Nasica squared up to his commander. ‘Respectfully, you will draw the heat from him for about quarter of an hour. After that all you’ll do is occupy the carrion birds until the sun’s up.’

The Primus Pilus stared at him, eyes bulging and his face turning a faint puce colour. ‘You, man, are on a charge, awaiting disciplinary measures. Hand that eagle and your blade to the centurion there.’

‘With respect, stick it up your arse, sir. This eagle’s almost fallen once and it ain’t happening again. This bird will not fall into enemy hands. I am taking the poor bloody thing back to the fort.’

‘You will surrender your weapon until this is over!’

‘Make me, and I might just find a new fucking sheath for it, sir,’ Nasica snapped and stepped a few feet away, to where a cornicen was watching with fiery defiance in his eyes. The man had nodded at every word Nasica said.

‘Sound the wedge formation,’ he ordered. The musician saluted and put the cornu to his lips.

‘Belay that order!’ spluttered the Primus Pilus, pointing angrily. ‘Arrest that man.’

The cornicen blew the wedge order, and there was a strange pause as every centurion in the knot of officers looked at one another uncertainly.

‘Up the hill!’ bellowed the commander. ‘Now!’

‘Come on!’ shouted one of the senior centurions, running over to Nasica and beckoning to his standard bearer. ‘Get the men fell in for an attack… wedge formation. We’ll take the tip.’

The Primus Pilus stared in disbelief, but rose imperious as several centurions flocked to him, shouting orders for their men to assemble and advance up the hill.

Nasica glanced over his shoulder as he began to give out commands to the men around him. A brief headcount gave him about two thirds of the officers, the rest rushing to toady to the Primus Pilus. Three cohorts, then. It would be enough. They would make the camp. ‘Cornicen: as soon as we start to move, use that thing and let the legion know we’re coming. For the decumana gate if you can. Then as soon as your call’s done, fall in at the rear of the wedge as we pass. Once you blow that thing it’ll not take long for the enemy to realise what’s happening. And you don’t want to be left out here for the crows like those poor bastards will be on the hill.’

* * * * *

‘What about the carts?’

Nasica shook his head at the centurion.

‘Screw the carts.’

‘But the low supplies, man! If we’re going back to be voluntarily under siege, we’ll need all the grain we can get.’

‘Look on the bright side,’ Nasica sighed, ‘a lot of men will die in the next few hours, so supplies will gradually stretch that much further.’

‘But can we not…’

‘Look: we can’t form into a wedge to charge the enemy with ox carts among us. If you’re worrying about getting hungry, go join that lot,’ Nasica snapped, pointing at the two cohorts climbing the slope to their position on the crest of the hill. ‘None of them are going to be worrying about empty bellies. They won’t be around long enough.’

The centurion fell quiet and, turning, shouted his men into better order.

‘Soon as we round those bushes, we’ll be right on them. We’re stupidly close. The only reason they’ve not noticed us behind them so far is that they’ve been making more noise than us in their attack. Soon as they hear the cornu and see us, they’ll turn and try and present a solid wall. They won’t have time. We run. No marching. No treble time or crap like that. Run, and run fast. Stay together as best you can, especially towards the front, but anyone who lags, trips, falls and the like will necessarily be left behind. We have to hit them hard and punch through before they have the chance to form up and prevent it.’

He glanced across at the cornicen and nodded. ‘Now!’

The cornicen filled his lungs and began to blow calls into his curved horn, directed at the Fourteenth, using their specific commands, announcing a charge in wedge shape. There was little else he could do. There were no calls to demand the gate be opened, or tell them
which
gate, but a wedge call to charge from behind the enemy should indicate what was happening, and they could guess where from the call’s direction. Emphatically, he repeated the call again and again as hard as he could.

Simultaneously, the wedge burst into life, haring forward across the shadowed grass, making for the beleaguered fort. They were close, which was a gift from the Gods, since with the pace they were moving at, they wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. A mere dozen footsteps and Nasica began to round the trees and the scrub bushes that poked out from beneath them, the fort lying directly ahead behind a seething mass of Germans.

Some were already facing his way, their attention drawn by the cornu calls, but most were intent on the fort. Moments later, two cohorts appeared from the treeline off to the side, marching up the bald slope to a crest that rose above the entire scene.

Nasica hoped he was right. Was sure he was.
Knew
he was
.

Now, they were past the trees and hurtling towards the barbarians, who were starting to respond to this unforeseen threat. The men beside and behind him were pounding across the turf. It was a loose wedge. It had to be for the men to run so fast. But it would tighten automatically any moment now. The cornicen’s calls had stopped, meaning that the man had fallen in with the wedge and was charging along with everyone else.

Nasica was not quite at the front, but behind and left of the lead centurion - the one who’d been concerned about the carts. As aquilifer he had only a small round shield, which was strapped to his arm rather than held to allow him the free hands for the eagle. As such, he could reasonably be assumed to be a weak point in the wedge. Except he was anything but. Keeping the eagle clutched tight in his right hand, he prepared for the sudden crushing pressure.

It came soon enough.

The front of the wedge hit the disorganised army of Germanic warriors while many of them were still unaware of the danger. A few had turned and fought hard, swinging swords and axes, lancing out with spears and swords. A few of them, displaying what seemed to Nasica unusually good sense, dived back out of the way, pushing into the throng of their own warriors so as not to be in front of the wedge.

The Germans were knocked aside, battered out of the way and even trampled under hob-nailed feet as the wedge drove deep into the mass with the momentum of running, furious, desperate men.

Nasica’s world became a flashing kaleidoscope of scenes, his vision restricted by his helmet and the press of men: a sword swinging. A German’s face exploding in carnage, teeth flying up into the air, shattered by a bronze shield boss. The centurion at the front jerking to the side as he stabbed a man and a counter strike took his arm off just below the elbow, his sword skittering away into the press, and yet the man pushing on with the single-mindedness of a centurion in battle. A barbarian looming. A man falling by the wayside, his leg maimed, as the waiting mob fell on him, hacking him to pieces.

But they were still moving well and gaining ground. Having only slowed to a heavy jog, they had covered half the ground to the gate.

‘Come on!’ he bellowed.

Suddenly hands were clawing at his small round shield, pulling him out of the formation. One of his assailants was afforded a heavy blow by the legionary behind, but the other clung on, snarling at him. Unable to do much else, Nasica let the heavy weight of the eagle pull the top of the staff in his hand to the right, bringing up the butt end to the left, where the shield-struggle was going on.

The two legionaries to his right shouted complaints at almost being brained with the legion’s eagle, but he had it at the right angle for a moment and jabbed with the iron spike used to drive the staff into the ground when needed. The point of the staff smashed into the barbarian’s face, imploding flesh and bone, and wrapping round the haft. The grip on the shield fell away instantly, and Nasica yanked the weapon free as the ruined German fell back into the mass, righting his shield arm again, all while moving forward with the same momentum. With no little difficulty and a few curses from the legionaries to his right, he pushed the eagle proudly aloft once more.

The walls were so close now… so tantalisingly close. And yet the advance had slowed to a heavy tread at last, the Germans pushing back as best they could. Nasica wondered how many men they’d lost during the push. It didn’t bear thinking about, but they’d have lost a lot more any other way.

A barbarian swung at him, lashing out with a blade, and he ducked, the tip swiping the crest holder from the helm of the man behind. And then that warrior was also lost in the chaos. Heartbeats passed with flashing gory blades, screams, the constant, pushing tread of the wedge and the occasional Latin curses of a man falling by the wayside.

And suddenly the world was clear and open. The one-armed centurion leading the wedge almost fell flat on his face as the press against him disappeared, his arm stump leaving a trail of blood behind him. Ahead - a blessed sight across the causeway - the decumana gate of the camp was opening, legionaries swarming around it and cheering them on.

Grinning like a lunatic, Nasica and the one-armed centurion led the reinforcements through and into the fort, the aquilifer coming to a halt next to the centurion, and saluting the optio commanding the gate, almost concussing himself with his small shield.

‘Damnedest thing I’ve seen in a while, sir,’ the optio grinned as three cohorts of men threw themselves with relief into the fort’s interior.