by C. R. May
The officers had shepherded the main phalanx into position now, and a quick look told Numerius that the few equites that remained with them in the north were beginning to gain the crest of the hillock on the right.
Sulpicius continued. ‘I shall lead this legion, with the second legion to my right commanded by Quintus Servius Fidenas. A small reserve will join the equites and a number of the rorarii on the hill to our right. The centuries commanded by the Fabii will anchor the left wing against the Tiberis, with the remainder of the skirmishers.’
Numerius realised that the brothers were being kept as far away from the scene of any potential glory, but he was experienced enough in warfare to know that this was no time to argue. He nodded and turned away just as his optio hurried across. ‘Cassius, move the men across to the left.’ He shot the man a wry smile. ‘We have been given the honour of defending the ducks and reed beds.’
Numerius cast an experienced eye over the ground on which he was to fight as he walked briskly across behind his hurrying second. Years of spring flooding had levelled the plain there, and although the ground was dry and firm numerous small runnels crisscrossed the part nearest the riverbank. Although the heat of summer had long since removed any water from them, the stinking channels would prove treacherous in the unlikely event of an advance. Packed closely together, the men in the phalanx would find it impossible to keep formation as the ground suddenly fell away beneath them. To the rear the river curled back upon itself in a wide meander and Numerius grimaced. If the unthinkable did occur and the centre gave way they would have little chance of retreat. It was, he decided grimly, pretty much the worst position that he had ever been given to defend – a veritable death trap.
Cassius had already chivvied the century into position when he arrived, and further across he saw that his brothers, Caeso and Quintus, stood ready at the centre of their own. As he gained his century he saw that the goddess Fortuna had at least favoured him with a small smile that day by placing the century commanded by Quintus Caedicius immediately to his right, and he acknowledged the grizzled veteran with a nod and a smile as he passed.
The line now reached from the edge of the wood across the mile-wide plain to the riverbank itself, but Numerius saw at a glance that it was stretched painfully thin. Solemis’ attacks in the south had not only stripped the Roman army of the vast majority of its horsemen, but caused their Latin allies to retain their forces to guard their home cities. It had practically halved the number of men available for the defence of Rome that, added to Sulpicius’ failure to scout ahead of the army, was threatening them with the catastrophe of which he had always warned. Threadbare or not, there was no excuse for the lack of scouting by the remaining equites. At the very least it would have provided the army with the chance to pick its ground, narrowing its front. Numerius sent a word of prayer to mighty Mars, the thunderer:
‘Great Mars. Forgive the arrogance of Quintus Sulpicius Longus on the field that bears your name – the Sulpicii were always thus. Send a thunderbolt to aid your devoted followers and I will sacrifice this chieftain of the Gauls, Brennus, at your temple.’
The army of Rome was finally set and the great lances of the phalanx lowered as one to deny passage to the horde. It was not a moment too soon as, half a mile distant, the wail of the Gaulish war horns and the ferocious din of the warriors redoubled as their first attack of the day went in.
Ten
As the Romans scattered across the plain and fell into line before him, Solemis wheeled Tantibus and trotted towards the army. Mounted, Brennus was riding the length of the Senone war line as he pointed out men from their fellows, praising their past deeds and lineage. A mighty roar followed the passage of the chieftain, and Solemis reined in and watched the display with pride.
On the dusty plain below him the druids had completed their work and the unfortunate captive had already set out for the realm of Aita, Etruscan god of the underworld. The young Horsetail gave an involuntary shiver as the druids discussed the secrets that the ceremony had revealed to them. Like all warriors, he respected and feared the power of the seers but preferred to place his trust in muscle and skill for the dance of death that was to come.
In the battle line throats were parched from the rapid march and the men passed around skins of water, wine or their own cervesia as the noise rose to new levels.
Brennus turned back at the riverbank and, spotting Solemis, galloped across, the great war raven that capped his helm beating its wings in time to the horse’s fall of hoof. He indicated the hillock with his head as he came up. ‘Solemis, I don’t like the look of that position. I can see the horsemen on top, but what are they hiding? They could be screening any number of men on the rear slope. If that is the case, they will outflank us as soon as we launch an attack.’
Solemis looked across as he began to fasten the straps of his helm. It had been a pleasure to remove his headgear as he rode to battle. The heat on the plain was intense, and sweat began to trickle down his neck almost immediately; even the handle of his sword was almost too hot to grasp. Following Brennus’ gaze over to the hilltop he began to grow concerned for the first time that day as he watched the distant Romans forming up on the ridge. ‘Shall I take the Horsetails and drive them off?’ He unstopped his water skin and took a last swig as Brennus studied the Roman line.
‘It’s a shame that we couldn’t have just hit them as we arrived, but the run in this heat really sapped the men’s strength.’ Brennus shrugged. ‘No matter; if they have less than ten thousand men in total, that line will be stretched as tight as a virgin, especially if they have stripped men from it to mount a flanking attack.’ He nodded as he came to his decision. ‘Yes, take your Horsetails and Caturix’s Crow and drive them off. If you can, get in behind the phalanx on the plain and roll them up.’ He glanced back at the roistering multitude behind him and smiled. ‘I don’t think that they would wait for the champions to issue their challenges today, the run has already warmed them up nicely! I will wait until I see you gain the ridge line and launch the main attack.’
Brennus dismounted and picked the sweat soaked trews from his legs with a grimace of discomfort. Retrieving his shield and lancea he slapped the horse on the rump and watched as it trotted away. As he prepared to take up the position of honour at the centre of the battle hedge, the chieftain of the clans threw his young friend a parting smile. ‘If you beat me to Anwnn save me a place at the benches.’
Solemis pulled a wry smile and shook his head. ‘I can’t go yet. I promised the Romans that I would return.’ He indicated the roadside with a flick of his head. ‘According to that stone, I still have eleven miles to go!’
* * *
Lucius Antonius Creticus crested the shallow rise and curbed his mount. Even the small hillock offered a commanding view of the table-smooth floodplain below, and he drew an involuntary gasp as he looked out across the heads of both armies.
It was plain from his vantage point that only the intervention of a god could save the day, and Sulpicius had, of course, already done his best to anger them. There were rumours among the men that he had taken the auspices sent by Jupiter with less than the reverence that the father of the gods would expect. To then refuse to invoke the spirit of Mars by leaving the old pontifex to shake the sacred spears on his behalf was breathtaking, both in its arrogance and stupidity. To compound the feeling of dread the sudden arrival of the Gauls had left no time to offer a sacrifice for victory, much less a taking of the auspices for the battle to come.
Behind him the first of the rorarii were labouring to the top of the hill. Drawn from the middling class of the citizenry, they carried no armour save a small round shield and the dubious protection offered by a cap of wolf skin. Most, he noticed with relief, seemed to have provided themselves with a sword and a small dagger, but he harboured no illusions as to their effectiveness if the northern giants reached his position. He could see that the depth of the phalanx had been reduced from eight to five in the centre wh
ere the main Gaulish blow could be expected to fall, tapering down to a truly horrifying three ranks at the extreme flanks. He knew that his commanders had had no choice if they were to present the barbarians with a continuous front, and he cursed the actions of the Gaulish raiders that had kept so many of their men in the south.
Lucius’ gaze wandered over to the animated ranks of the enemy and he suddenly craned forward in his saddle and shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun. The Roman’s heart leapt as he realised the identity of the horseman there, and he gripped the sleeve of his optio as he blurted out in excitement. ‘Titus! It’s him!’
Titus leaned into his saddle horn and nodded sagely. ‘Yes, I believe it is!’ He gave a sidelong look. ‘Who, exactly?’
Despite the tension of the moment, the decurion found that he was laughing. ‘Titus, if you were not about to die, I would be seriously concerned that you may one day produce offspring.’ He watched as one of the horsemen dismounted and crossed to take position at the centre of the army of Gauls while the other cantered across the field, his men funnelling in his wake. ‘The horseman… there – it must be the man Solemis, the man who led the raiders in the south.’
Titus looked unconvinced as Lucius explained. ‘He wears a conical bronze helm with a horsehair plume just as his victims described, and all of his men carry spears topped by horsehair – it must be them. They have obviously doubled back and rejoined the army for the main assault.’ The decurion found that, despite his hatred for the man and the results of his raid, he felt a grudging respect for the Gaul. His actions had drawn away the Roman equites and denuded the army of almost half of its potential strength. ‘Mighty Mars has handed us our chance old friend. If the opportunity presents itself, I promise you that I will kill the man.’
* * *
The Horses tossed and snorted as the Horsetails swept across in front of the army. Refreshed, the Senone clans were now a roistering wall of noise as spears were beaten against shields and challenges called across the plain. The carnyx players still stood forward of the line, and a rising wail filled the air as Solemis halted before the Crow clan. Caturix came across, and Solemis leaned forward and shouted above the din. ‘Brennus wants us to clear that hill and outflank them if we can before the main attack goes in.’ He pulled a grin at his friend. ‘Lead the attack with the Crow; we are here to take revenge for the slaying of Crixos after all. We will follow you.’
Caturix’s face shone with pride. It was the greatest honour to be the first to close with the enemy, and he gripped Solemis’ forearm in an unspoken gesture of gratitude before turning away and calling his men back to their mounts. Solemis wheeled Tantibus, riding into the press of men as they waited for the Crow to mount up. ‘The Crow will lead us. We are to clear the hill on the left and then swing behind the main Roman army and cause as much havoc there as we can.’
He looked about the eager faces of his clansmen as they clustered around him. Albiomaros looked fearsome in his owl-faced helm and the others, toughened by years of fighting and a month in the saddle, looked no less formidable. They had only rejoined the army a few days previously and the smell of smoke and grime hung about them still.
Caturix came up, and he adjusted the strap of his helm a final time as his men began to collect around him. Hefting his shield and spear he exchanged a final grin with his brother-in-law and urged his mount forward with his knees. His clansmen whooped and followed on as Cotos sounded the Horsetail war horn in salute. As the last of the Crow passed him Solemis pulled his shield into his left side and brandished his lancea. His war cry – ‘Horsetails!’ – was taken up by his clan, and he kicked Tantibus towards the incline. Before they could reach the gallop Solemis sawed at the reins, guiding Tantibus to one side as the dust thrown up by the riders ahead billowed up from the parched ground to cloak them. The direction of the Senone attack was obvious, and clear now of the dusty veil Solemis watched as the small figures of skirmishers came forward onto the brow of the hill and raised their javelins. A quick estimate told him that there were several hundred men facing them, and Solemis felt a dull pang of guilt as he recognised that the first blow would fall heaviest upon the Crow as they urged their war horses up the incline.
Cotos drew alongside as the horses charged on, bracing himself against the horns of his saddle as he blew a rising note, and they swept on to gain the long arm of rising land. A glint of silver ahead told him that the Romans had released the first wave of javelins, and he instinctively raised his shield and hunched over as the wicked projectiles sliced down among them. The howl from the Horsetail carnyx ended abruptly, and Solemis was half aware that Cotos was no longer at his side. Tantibus, trained in the ways of war by the expert hand of Rodolfo, barely broke stride as he picked his way through the dust and chaos of fallen men and horses. Despite the din of war that engulfed him a throaty roar at his elbow made Solemis start, and he felt a sense of reassurance as he recognised that the voice belonged to Albiomaros. A second fall of javelins rained down among them, but despite the mayhem all around, Solemis sensed that the assault had been far more ragged. Either Caturix was among them or close enough that they had been forced to retire behind the equites, only the bravest remaining for one last volley before they too scrambled for safety.
Able now to discount the aerial threat, Solemis lowered his shield and raised his lancea as the line of enemy horsemen hove into view. Ahead of them the Roman right had already descended into a scrum of maddened horses and desperately hacking riders. Solemis saw that the skirmishers were returning to the fore as the horsemen came to grips, ducking and weaving beneath the Crow mounts, using their short swords and daggers to stab up at the riders or into the unprotected flanks of the horses. He watched as Ferox, one of Caturix’s leading warriors, was unhorsed by the tactic, and he cried out a warning as they approached the men who were to be their opponents. ‘Draw swords, and watch out for skirmishers!’
He picked out a Roman horseman who had left it late to raise his shield and launched his lancea at the man. The spear flew true and the Roman flew backwards as it punched home. Solemis recognised the decurion in charge of the men by the plume on his helm, and watched as he raised his sword and called the charge as they breasted the slope. It was a good tactic, but it had confirmed to Solemis that the Roman defenders were spread thinly. Reluctant to leave the safety of the high ground, the decurion had waited until the climb had sapped the power of their charge. If he had had the numbers he would have used the slope to his advantage, adding weight to their charge in an attempt to sweep them aside before they could threaten his position.
Solemis gripped Tantibus’ flanks with his knees and braced himself as the view ahead was swallowed by an avalanche of horses and men; a heartbeat later they came together with a bone jarring crash. Solemis held tight to the reins as Tantibus was momentarily pushed back, and a Roman spear glanced from his shield to pass harmlessly along his side. The horse was strong and recovered quickly, forcing itself forward into the ranks of the enemy, and Solemis slashed out to his right as an equite was pushed against him by the crush. He caught a glimpse of the wicked beak on the front of Albiomaros’ helm for an instant before a body was pushed between them. Too close to bring the sword blade into play, Solemis twisted his wrist and sent the heavy pommel crashing into the man’s face as he pushed his way through. His opponent fell away, opening up a gap between Solemis and the next Roman, and he quickly hacked down into the man’s shoulder as the brawl began to open up.
After the first shock of impact, the fight had dissolved into tangled knots of stabbing, slashing madmen, and the young chieftain knew that it was a dangerous moment. The skirmishers would seize their chance to return and attack the Celtic horsemen while their attention was on the life-and-death struggle with their opposite numbers. Solemis quickly looked about him, the fight miraculously melting away as the Crow charge drove the main fight southwards. The way was open to him for a dash at the summit, but the charge would be premature. Hundreds of sp
earmen stood ready there, and although thankfully it would appear that they had already discharged their supply of javelins, the sight of hundreds of sword blades in the hands of the desperate looking men was enough to discourage any thoughts of a lone attack.
Solemis risked a quick look across the ridge line as he sought to see how well the fight was going. The Crow seemed to have enticed most of the opposition across to the right, and the fighting was still heavy. Albiomaros had been drawn across, and he watched the big man’s sword blade rise and fall as he chopped a path through the Roman riders. Without the great beast head of Cotos’ carnyx to mark his position only the horsehair plume on his helm would mark him as the clan chieftain. Heavily engaged his clansmen had momentarily lost sight of their leader, and before he could decide where to re-enter the fray the decision was taken from him. Lucius glanced across, and despite the choking pall of dust that hung in the air Solemis could see that the decurion knew him as the enemy leader. Expertly disengaging from the fight the Roman urged his mount into a gallop as he came on, his face contorted into a snarl as his sword flashed in great arcs above him.
Solemis tugged at the reins and urged Tantibus forward as the Roman closed. Foregoing the protection of his shield, he guided his mount to the left as it cantered across the gradient of the slope. The move would take him above the decurion, and he hoped that the added weight the advantage would lend to his sword stroke would more than compensate for his lack of protection. It would also help him to guard against any sudden rush downhill from the Roman skirmishers. As the world seemed to narrow to encompass the two men as they came together, Solemis raised his sword and brought it down in a raking blow. To his horror the blade bit deeply into the rim of Lucius’s shield and he watched, helpless, as the decurion twisted his grip and wrenched the sword from his grasp. Tossing both sword and shield away down the hillside Lucius grinned in triumph as he sawed savagely at his reins and turned back towards the unarmed Gaul.
