The Tenth had been given the duty for two reasons: firstly, they remained Caesar’s favourites, his ‘glorious Tenth’, and it was their lot to be most trusted by the general. Secondly, though it had little bearing on the truth now, they retained the title that had been bestowed on them a decade ago in Gaul: The Tenth Equestris – the Mounted Legion. Once, long ago, part of the Tenth had been mounted on cavalry horse for a ruse. At most a quarter of the legion would even remember those days, such had the manpower come and gone, but the fact remained that the Tenth had proved they could do it. And so they were to do it again. Fully half the army’s remaining mounted cavalry had departed on foot with the legions, leaving their steeds and any spare horses with the men who remained. Every soldier along the siege lines had a horse tethered close by.
It was the best plan they could come up with. He’d lobbied against the Ninth remaining too. He’d argued that they were badly understrength and exhausted and should be allowed to move with the others. That the Tenth were sufficient for the task. That the number of horses the cavalry would have to leave with them would be drastically reduced if it were just the Tenth playing the ruse. The truth of the matter was that, while most of that was true, and the Ninth were entirely untested on horseback, more so than the Tenth, what he really didn’t want was to share the command here with Sulla.
The man was good in a fight, there was no doubt about it. His battle tactics were strong, and he controlled his men with iron. But he was equally rigid and inflexible in every other respect, too, and Fronto felt that such a trait was not an advantage in this kind of thing.
He stood, still and silent, for a long time. After a while, as the purple of the sky began to make itself more noticeable, Salvius Cursor came to stand next to him.
‘How long has it been?’ Fronto said quietly.
‘An hour, give or take.’
‘Any sign of the column still?’
The tribune shook his head. ‘Even the rear-guard are long gone. They’re moving damn fast.’
‘Caesar’s army has always been good at that. We marched round the lands of the Belgae at a pace that would put any other commander to shame. We’ve done it more than once, too. Are the men ready?’
‘As ready as they’ll ever be. I checked with every centurion and marked out the legionaries who’d never even climbed into a saddle. I had each of them paired with a soldier who had at least some riding skill. They’ll do. All the plodders have been having condensed lessons from their mates as they wait. I passed the word to the Ninth early on to suggest they did the same. Whether they have, I can’t say.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Good thinking. It might take Pompey some time to move his whole army, but his cavalry might just come out first to harry us. I want to stay ahead of those Illyrian heavy horse.’
They waited again, watching. The sky changed shades continually, and finally the birds began to sing. The dawn chorus had begun, and Fronto took a deep breath. ‘Time to go. If we stay here much longer it’ll be light and Pompey will be able to see how few of us there are.’
Salvius nodded and hurried over to a centurion. ‘Pass the word. We move on the legate’s signal.’ He then moved to a courier. ‘Send word to Legate Sulla with the Ninth that we’re moving on the legate’s signal. We need to move simultaneously.’
The rider saluted and rode off, leaving Fronto and Salvius at the parapet once more. The birdsong was growing all the time, now, becoming deafening, and the sky had lightened enough to make out a few details of the world.
Fronto jumped as a horn suddenly sounded.
‘What in Hades?’ He scanned the enemy lines, but Salvius nudged him and pointed away to the north. ‘That was from the Ninth. Listen. They’re putting out the call. They’re going.’
Fronto cursed. ‘Damn the man, does he not understand the first thing about subtlety?’ He waved at the camp. ‘Have the men mount up and send the word to all other installations. Ride for the meeting point and do it now. Sulla just told Pompey loud and clear that we’re leaving.’
Chapter 14
Fronto bellowed for his men to ride on, hauling on his reins and guiding the weary Bucephalus out of the mass of horses and to the side. The ground was dry and dusty in the summer heat and the vast cloud of brown and white that was thrown up by so many pounding hooves made it hard to see anything beyond the immediate.
The Tenth were doing well. Those who were novice riders were being assisted by men who had spent time in the saddle, and those veterans who still served in the legion and had been in the battle against Ariovistus ten years earlier made a point of proving their ability, their pride in being Caesar’s ‘Tenth Equestris’ palpable. Indeed, Atenos had told him that it was not unusual in winter quarters for the soldiers to take rides out on their time off duty, keeping their hand in, in an arrangement with the cavalry officers. Their enthusiasm and pride showed, and it had given Fronto no small amount of pleasure when the Tenth, racing away from the defences at short notice and gathering on the run, caught up readily with the Ninth, who had had plenty of warning and could leave in good order, and yet were something of a shambles and showing little ability to even stay in the saddle. Clearly Sulla had ignored Salvius Cursor and failed to put in place his policy of pairing the novices with the riders.
The Tenth moved well, all things considered. There had been surprisingly few falls and failures – far fewer than in the Ninth ahead and, despite the danger of pursuit, Fronto had made sure to keep a group of the most experienced riders on the best horses at the rear to catch anyone who fell by the wayside and get them settled and moving again.
It was chaotic and far from perfect, but they had done what had been required of them. They had bought an entire night of freedom for the army to depart while Pompey’s men lounged behind their ramparts, entirely unaware. It did not bear thinking about what might have happened had they been caught mid-departure by Pompey’s superior force.
Ahead or back? Sucking on teeth coated in dust, Fronto swiftly made his decision and wheeled the horse, trotting him back along the lines of mounted legionaries. It was surprising how quickly he could travel along an entire legion when they were all moving on horseback. Not far from the end of the column, he caught sight of a centurion’s crest silhouetted grey in the dust, and made for him. The rear-guard.
‘How is it?’ he shouted to the centurion, who blinked in the cloud and then gave as much of a salute as he could with reins in one hand and vine stick in the other.
‘Shitty, sir. They’re getting close.’
Fronto nodded his understanding, and dropped a little further back. He found Salvius Cursor moments later. The tribune was bellowing at soldiers to speed up and move, move, move. It had surprised Fronto when the man had volunteered to lead the rear-guard, given how much he constantly needed to be at the forefront of things, but once they were out and running, with Pompey’s men in pursuit, it had become abundantly clear. At the rear, Salvius was closest to the potential for violence. If they were overtaken, the rear-guard would become the front line. And in fairness, there was nowhere better for the lunatic to be than closest to Pompey’s soldiers.
The cloud of dust here was worse than ever, stirred up by so many beasts, and it took Fronto precious moments to work out what was happening as he blinked at the shapes in the cloud. A man had fallen somewhere ahead, but had had the good – or possibly bad – fortune to keep hold of his reins. Though he had managed not to be dragged beneath the pounding hooves and pulverised, as had happened to one man early on the ride, his wrist was black and crimson, lacerated from the leather than had been wrapped tightly around it, and his legs were stripped raw and bloody from bouncing along the ground. The expert horsemen at the rear had slowed and calmed the horse and lifted the groaning soldier, slinging him over the horse’s rump and guiding the beast on between them, making sure the injured man stayed in place. Such was the quality of Fronto’s legion, and it gave him pride to know it.
‘Where are the enemy?’ Fronto bellow
ed over the din.
‘How the f… I don’t know, sir?’ corrected the decurion as he realised who it was who had asked.
‘Salvius?’ the legate shouted, beckoning to the senior tribune. The two men moved out to one side and let the mass of horsemen pull on ahead. The two men sat in the cloud of cloying dust.
‘We’re doing well,’ Fronto said. ‘It may not feel or look like it, but we are.’
Salvius’ face betrayed his disbelief.
‘We’ve been running for maybe an hour, as fast as the horses can safely maintain. And in all that time we’ve not yet spotted or overtaken the infantry or the wagons. That means they moved like lightning, Salvius. We did it. And, yes, Pompey might be snapping at our heels, but we got the supplies and everything away. It’s a victory in itself.’
And it was. But, as he’d noted, it didn’t particularly feel like it. Running away rarely felt victorious. They must have come at least fifteen miles now.
The two men lapsed into silence in the cloud as the morning sun gradually began to penetrate the dust, which was finally beginning to settle, the column now moving off ahead. Visibility came fairly suddenly, and with it it brought shock.
‘Shit,’ Fronto breathed.
A huge cavalry force was closing on them, less than a mile back at most, perhaps even half that. It was hard to tell with the light and the dust.
‘What are they?’ he said, peering into the haze.
‘Everything,’ Salvius replied, shading his eyes with his hand. ‘Heavy horse in the centre with skirmishers on the wings. Proper cavalry, not like us.’
‘Pompey must have had the bastards ready, you know. He didn’t have time to gather his horse and pursue us. He was half-prepared.’
‘Half is better than fully,’ Salvius noted.
‘True. His legions will still be far behind, and his supplies have probably barely left Dyrrachium. His horse might be in close pursuit, but they’ll be all.’
Salvius nodded. ‘But they will be enough to pulverise us, Fronto. All we need is for them to catch up and we’ll be fighting for our lives.’
‘Let’s go see Sulla.’
‘You go. I’m staying with the rear-guard.’
Fronto nodded and the two men turned their backs on the huge mob of horsemen in pursuit, racing off after their own mounted soldiers. As they entered the mobile dust cloud once more and fell in with the rear-guard, Salvius Cursor peeled off and joined them, and Fronto continued to run along the side of his men. The Tenth moved at a steady canter with occasional drops into a trot, enough to maintain good speed but not break the mounts, but despite his age, Bucephalus was tough and fast, and Fronto knew his excellent limits. He moved now at a gallop for a short time, passing the legionaries and officers, many of whom cheered as their legate passed, and closing with the Ninth.
In fact, it was difficult to tell where the Tenth ended and the Ninth began, since the latter had shown little skill and organisation and had become strung out and varying in speed. He estimated that soldiers from the Ninth were probably even halfway back among the Tenth by now. He passed Atenos, who he knew would be at the fore of his men along with two of the junior tribunes who were nominally his superiors and yet who looked to him for instruction and support constantly.
On he went with a nod to Atenos, along the side of the Ninth. Finally, the cloud thinned out, suggesting he was at the fore, and he hauled on the reins in shock as visibility cleared and he almost went thundering down a scree slope.
His eyes widened.
They were at a river. A wide river. Too wide and too deep to try and cross on horse, especially for men with little skill in horsemanship. A little to their left a good road that they had been moving parallel with for some time rose where the slope fell away to a bridge that arced up and over the torrent. The bridge was a good, solid stone affair, wide enough for two carts abreast, and yet still there was a bottleneck as men pressed to try and feed onto the crossing.
Fronto found himself making quick calculations in his head despite himself and came inevitably to the conclusion that they would never cross before Pompey’s horse caught them.
His gaze lifted and he squinted at the south bank. He could see the masses of Caesar’s legions ahead where they had been slowed by the crossing. They had caught up with the infantry. And now, as he adjusted to the clarity, he could see a cohort of men settled to both sides of the bridge, playing rear-guard, allowing the lead units of mounted legionaries to pass between them, managing a few of the customary jibes despite the dire situation. His gaze caught on three men sitting to one side on their horses on a rise at the far side, and he squinted further. Sulla, and Caesar and Antonius.
‘Pompey is here,’ he bellowed.
The three men took a moment to notice the lone officer on the south bank shouting at them. Antonius made gestures indicating that he couldn’t hear.
‘Pompey,’ Fronto bellowed at the top of his voice, turning and pointing back along the dusty lines. ‘Pompey! Horse!’
The sudden frantic change in the manner of the three men told him that this time they had heard, but he had to accept that there was little they could do about it. Pompey’s men were coming, The Tenth and some of the Ninth would be caught here, and no one else could help them. And with Sulla on the south bank, Fronto was the ranking officer. It was up to him.
Shit.
He tried to recall the map he had studied so many times in so many briefings. They were still well north of the Apsus and Apollonia. There was another river that ran past up here. The… the Genusus. That was it. Wide enough to hold up an army, it flowed from the eastern ranges down to the sea, crossed by few bridges. In fact this one, on the Via Egnatia, would be the lowest crossing. That meant that the next bridge or ford would be in the hilly or even mountainous land to the east. This was the only feasible crossing for cavalry. That meant there was no point in sending half the men upstream to seek another crossing and speed up matters. No. They were trapped, and they would have to fight. On the bright side, he was still convinced that this would be only Pompey’s cavalry. They would not have to face enemy legions, and if they could fight this lot off, then they could buy ever more time for the army.
His gaze swept the dusty ground. If the sudden appearance of the bridge and the river had taken him so by surprise, then it would do the same for Pompey’s horsemen. If he could use the dust cloud to mask his movements and could organise everything…
He rode over to the place where the riders were milling, trying to get into line to cross the bridge, and spotted a centurion.
‘You! We’re about to be hit by Pompey’s horse. I need to organise a defence. Get all your men from the Ninth over the bridge. But anyone from the Tenth, turn them aside. I want them formed up at fifty paces to left and right in two groups.’
The centurion looked startled, but saluted and began to shout orders to the men around him. Next, he latched on to the senior centurion of the infantry by the bridge. Unlike the mounted Ninth and Tenth, they were in full kit and armed to the teeth, right down to twin pila.
‘Centurion? We have to hold off Pompey’s horse. Once the Ninth are past, block the route. Have your men in open lines ready to throw. The moment the enemy horse are in sight, I want each man’s first pilum cast at them and as soon as the pila are in the air, drop into contra equitas formation and deny them the crossing.’
The centurion grinned and began waving to his men. Four hundred veteran heavy infantry forming the centre would be adequate, Fronto decided. Contra equitas was hard to break, especially if the cavalry were unprepared.
His squinting eyes picked out standards among the riders, and he ignored those of the Ninth, but spotting two vexilla from the Tenth he trotted towards them and gestured.
‘You two. You’re the hub for each wing. Get out to each side of the infantry at around fifty paces and let the men form on you. I know they’re legionaries, but they’re about to get a taste of cavalry combat.’
The two flag
bearers saluted, and rode out to where mounted men from the Tenth were already gathering, directed there by that centurion near the bridge. The dust cloud would dissipate a little with the column’s movement arrested, he realised. Frowning, he rode back and forth between the two flag bearers, the infantry centurion and the centurion from the Ninth directing the riders, and gave the same instructions to all. Stamp their feet. March on the spot. Scuff their feet if they can. Raise as much dust as they could. They needed to keep the river and the bridge hidden.
It was uncomfortable for them all, stamping on the spot, choking in a dust cloud of their own making, but Fronto smiled. If he could barely see in the cloud, then what was going on was totally unknown to the enemy following them.
He watched as the horsemen flooded past, slowing as the word spread of what was happening. The Ninth continued to be directed over the bridge to safety, though they were still gathered on this bank, waiting their turn. But their numbers were thinning, and the number of men being alternately sent left and right to form on the Tenth’s flags increased. The legions were now almost separated.
Tactics.
He mused. Shame Galronus wasn’t here. Or Varus. Or any man with experience of cavalry warfare. Fronto had seen his share but he would be the first to admit that he was an infantry commander. Small scale or large, but always on foot. He was about as comfortable directing mounted combat as he would be triremes.
Pompey had sent his horse out in a set formation. Heavy cavalry in the centre and skirmishers on the wings. Old fashioned, but effective. The centre, heavily armed and armoured but slower, would charge like a battering ram for the enemy column, expecting to break the Caesarians through shock and sheer force, while the flanking light cavalry, much faster and more manoeuvrable, would enfold them on both wings and seal them in. The Caesarians would be unable to rally, given that they were on horseback and could hardly form a defensive square. Then they would be systematically ground down from three sides.
Marius' Mules XI: Tides of War Page 21
