Bedrock of Empire

by Thomas M D Brooke

  I smiled as he came over and I embraced him. ‘Hello, Marcus, it’s good to see you again.’

  He stood back from me. ‘Likewise, but what are you doing here? I thought you were far the other side of Asturica?’

  I gave a small smile. ‘Well, I came to warn you of an imminent attack, but I guess you found that out for yourself.’

  A small man with dark skin and a wiry build came over. ‘Can you men please lower your voices? He doesn’t like being upset at night.’

  I looked in confusion at the stranger, until Marcus explained. ‘This is Blantek. He looks after the monoceros.’

  ‘How is Germanicus’ prize?’ I asked him.

  Before Marcus could answer, the wiry Blantek shouted at a legionary who was approaching with a flaming torch. ‘Don’t bring that near him! He doesn’t like fire!’

  There was a commotion from the huge cage atop the ox-cart. The flaming torch revealed a massive, heavily armoured beast with a giant head and a huge tusk rising from its nose. By the gods, it was terrifying to behold. A great black eye reflected the flames from the torch. The beast started banging back and forth on the heavy iron bars, and we all took several steps back.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ shouted Blantek. ‘Take that flame away from here!’

  The legionary moved away quickly, terrified that the giant monster would smash through the bars. The beast began to calm down once the flames were taken away from its vicinity, and I rested more easily. I’d almost been speared by an overeager legionary on the way up here. I didn’t want to also have a close shave with a beast from the darkest nightmares. ‘By the gods, that animal looks strong.’

  Marcus smiled, turning me away to another part of the camp. ‘It’s certainly that. Come let me explain what’s been going on, and you can tell me what you’re doing here.’

  I explained to Marcus the situation with Blasius, Audax, and the gold as we walked around the perimeter of the camp. When I told him of Audax’ and Blasius’ betrayal, the look of disbelief and disgust on his face matched my own feelings on the subject. He looked around at his men, who’d stood down since the immediate danger had passed. ‘Blasius spent most of his life serving in the Praetorians. And yet he was prepared to send us all to the void.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve heard of men doing unspeakable things for gold, but this …’

  I looked up at the starry sky. ‘I’m partly to blame. I should have left the gold in the governor’s palace.’

  Marcus looked at me askance. ‘This isn’t your fault, Cassius. Only, you, me, Aulus, and Blasius knew of it. If he’d been as trustworthy as we’d been told, this wouldn’t have been an issue.’

  I wasn’t so sure of that myself. A residual stain of guilt still lingered in the pit of my stomach, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. ‘How did you realise the column was going to come under attack?’ I asked him.

  He gave a quick shrug and explained, ‘Making progress along this road with a very heavy cart, led by eight oxen, has been a painfully slow process. I realised that it might make us vulnerable – we seemed so exposed as we went through the mountains. So I ordered Iovis to send scouts up to prominent high points along the way to look out for trouble.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘They complained about it – thought I was being overly cautious, but they did it. One of them came running back down a hill claiming he’d seen a band of heavily armoured men blocking a narrow pass ahead.’

  That must have been the heavy infantry I’d seen on the way here. ‘Yes, I saw them, over a hundred of them. They look hard men.’

  Marcus shrugged. ‘I still thought there’d be an innocent explanation. But I dragged the oxen and that great monster up here first, before I let them know I’d seen them.’ He gave another broad smile. ‘That was quite an ordeal in itself. I thought we’d never get them up here after all that rain. But we did, and afterwards we discovered there was another larger party approaching us from behind.’

  I looked down towards the foot of the hill, where the enemy warriors’ small campfires mirrored the stars above. ‘They must have hoped to trap you between the two forces. Not a bad plan.’ I looked round at my friend. ‘Except they hadn’t counted on your extreme caution. I hope your fellow Praetorians appreciate that?’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve come a long way together since you last saw us. I think even Centurion Iovis trusts me now.’ He then shook his head. ‘It’s just a shame this hilltop is treeless, otherwise I’d order the men to build a barricade and they’d never force us from its summit.’

  I clasped him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s not worry about what we don’t have and appreciate what we do. This looks a good place to defend to me. What are your casualties so far?’

  Marcus’ face turned more sombre. ‘I lost two in their attack, and two are walking wounded, unable to play any part going forward. That gives us a fighting strength of sixty-nine, seventy-one including us two.’

  I nodded. ‘And how many do they have?’

  Marcus held his chin as he thought. ‘The second group looks to have somewhere between two and three hundred. Only those have attacked so far. The others haven’t moved from their position on the road ahead.’

  I looked north, to where I knew the Spanish warriors to be, although there was no sign in the darkness. ‘Well, we can be thankful of that at least, although that might change. We’re heavily outnumbered, but the situation isn’t as bad as it could be. Providing Aulus and the others make it through to Pancratius, the cavalry should be here to save us in less than a week.’

  Marcus looked proudly around at his Praetorians. Most were sitting huddled around fires or sleeping, but quite a few were still pacing around the perimeter, under orders to signal anyone approaching. ‘We can hold them, Cassius.’

  I looked at him. ‘I hope you’re right. Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.’

  Chapter Thirty

  We watched them come up the hill. They had milled around at the base of the hill for what seemed an age. The tension was mounting in the Praetorians as the Spanish warriors organised themselves and summoned the necessary courage to attack a Roman unit. The waiting was almost over; they were definitely coming.

  Marcus and I had given great thought to how we should deploy our men. Normally, a typical defensive line would comprise a triple-line of men. If I had a full cohort, the men would be deployed in their designation, of either hastati, principes, or triarii. These terms dated back to the Republican legions of old, when the entire legion would be deployed in this fashion. Those days were long gone, but the cohort still retained the ability to resort to this formation when used defensively. It was strong, adaptable, and it was possible to replace tiring men at the front with the next rank of fresh legionaries. However, I didn’t have a full cohort. I just had one century, and an understrength one at that.

  So, instead, Marcus had suggested a slightly looser formation, whereby each legionary occupied double their usual space in a double line. This was clearly more vulnerable but meant that we could cover the whole east ridge of the hilltop, ruling out any likely flanking manoeuvres by the enemy, as the hillside fell away sharply on either side. He argued that it would give the men room to use their weapons, and as they held the higher ground, this should be enough to repel any attacks. His logic was sound, but it relied on us not making any mistakes – something I wasn’t sure about with these Praetorians, elite unit or not. They were more used to the streets of Rome than a real battle like this. Although some veterans had been drafted into their ranks over the years, others were as green as young Quintus, who’d nearly speared me with his pilum last night. Therefore, I’d insisted on a small reserve of sixteen men. It wasn’t much, but it was all we could spare. Marcus would command these personally and lead those men whenever the line looked threatened.

  I stood just behind the second rank of legionaries on the east ridge. From here I could see the enemy warriors starting their climb. I wanted a good view of what was coming. I needed to see how
organised and disciplined the foe was we faced. The century’s signifer and Centurion Iovis stood alongside me. The signifer held the Praetorians standard high, whilst Iovis flexed the muscles of his impossibly broad shoulders. We’d agreed Iovis would be shouting the orders, unless something unexpected happened. Someone had found me a mail shirt and bronze helmet, and I held one of the large Praetorian shields. I wouldn’t be fighting in the shield wall, but it was best to be prepared. So I held it on my arm, unused to the extra weight after carrying the small caetra shield for so long. I also had my gladius drawn and ready.

  Aleixo’s warriors had fanned out and would be attacking in a broad front. No doubt they thought they’d be able to outflank us due to their superior numbers. It would only be when they reached the top of the hill that they’d find that was going to be hard to achieve with the steep north and south approaches to the summit. Nevertheless, we’d still be hard-pressed to stop them; their lines were tight and disciplined, and they walked up the hill in step. They were far more organised than your usual barbarian rabble. The warriors of Spain had learned the hard way, first from Hannibal, and then from the two hundred years of fighting with Rome, how vital cohesion in the ranks is. I was pleased to note that they were less heavily armoured than the warriors I’d seen previously. Most donned leather armour, and virtually all carried a caetra shield and falcata, the others carrying spears. Known as caetrati, these lightly armed infantry had been the main adversaries to Rome’s legions in all the years of warfare on the peninsula. They were worthy foes and not to be underestimated, but not as daunting as the heavily armoured scutati I’d seen on the road.

  I had worried they might deploy in a tighter column or phalanx and try and punch through our lines by concentrating their strength in a narrow attack. Against our thin line that might have proved difficult to stop. So Iovis had been ordered to shout a prearranged signal if that occurred, concentrating our own forces. ‘No phalanx,’ I whispered to him.

  He nodded. ‘That suits us.’

  I hoped he was right. The three hundred warriors beneath us halted. This was unexpected. ‘What are they waiting for?’ I asked Iovis.

  He gave a grim smile. ‘Maybe they don’t have the stomach for it.’

  I didn’t think that likely. The Spanish warriors were clearly waiting for something. From behind them came a man I recognised on a magnificent sorrel stallion. Aleixo.

  He rode his horse with as much agility as Audax, goading the nimble horse to lift itself up the hill as easily as one of the mountain deer of the region. He pulled round in front of his men, running down their ranks, offering last words of encouragement to his outlaws. He drew his falcata and pointed it at the top of the hill. The ranks gave a loud shout and ran past him, charging up the hill.

  ‘Steady boys,’ shouted Iovis. ‘Don’t release your pila until they’re almost on us.’

  We only had forty pila left, so we needed to time it just right. We waited until they were only twelve paces away, by which time it would be almost impossible to miss, when Iovis shouted, ‘Now!’

  The second row threw their pila right down the throats of the leading bandits, killing some, maiming others. Some raised their shield in time to deflect the Praetorian spears, but even so their momentum had been halted. As quickly as their charge faltered, my Praetorians took up the attack themselves, streaming into the confused muddle of warriors. Even in a defensive position such as ours, any Roman force worked better on the offence. So the legionaries attacked in a line, using their large shields to push the outlaws back then hacking down at exposed parts of the body. The Spanish warriors reeled backwards as the legionaries came at them, using their height advantage brilliantly.

  It couldn’t last. Soon, the extra numbers of the Spanish force told, and they halted their descent. As soon as the pockets of resistance increased, I turned to Iovis. ‘Call them back.’

  Iovis had a much louder parade ground voice than me, and he shouted, ‘Deploy back!’ as loudly as his lungs would allow. One of the disadvantages of using an honour guard as real soldiers was we had no trumpeter, so Iovis’ loud bark was essential to our plans.

  The legionaries had been waiting for the call, and they stepped backwards up the hill and crouched behind their large shields. Many of the braver Spanish warriors continued to attack, but the unexpected assault by the Praetorians had disrupted their organisation, so the cohesion of their line was gone. They attacked in pockets and the legionaries forced them back, using their heavier shields and height advantage to physically push them down the hill.

  I walked slowly behind the double line, noting where it was most under pressure. I saw to the north some of the outlaws had decided to try and scramble round the steep side of the ridge. Marcus saw it too, and he was on it in a flash, taking his reserve and killing the few who made it to the summit.

  I ran to the south to see if they were trying the same tactic there, but saw nothing untoward. The Roman line was in complete dominance in this section. Our men were hacking down and destroying anything that came too close. I walked back to the centre to see that it was under severe pressure. Iovis was engaged himself, as a determined group had managed to push through the double line. I ran to assist and used my gladius to strike the hand of a Spanish warrior who’d put his arm around the shield of one of the legionaries. He fell back with a cry and I helped Iovis and the other legionary push back against the imposing tide of men from the other side of the three-ply shield.

  We forced the gap closed, but two strong Spanish warriors grabbed a young legionary and pulled him out of our line. This wouldn’t have been possible if we’d deployed more tightly, but the small gap left by our double line gave them their opening. The opening was quickly closed by the man behind, but the young legionary started screaming. Most legionaries accepted the possibility of death in the legions, but they hoped for a clean death. Being taken alive terrified most men, and this young recruit was no exception as a multitude of hands lifted him high over the enemy hosts’ heads as a prize for a sacrifice. He screamed and tried to struggle free, but they held him fast, and some of his comrades in our line pushed forward to try and free him.

  Iovis barked, ‘Stay in line, stay in line!’

  Our line edged backwards, but the damage was done, our rigid cohesion broken, and the Spanish warriors tried to push forward through the gap. I shouted at Iovis, ‘Give the order to tighten the ranks!’

  Iovis didn’t need to be told twice. He shouted loudly, ‘Condense the line!’

  The legionaries closest to us pushed in tightly from the side, trying to seal the gap. The confrontation on the flanks had gone our way, but now the Spanish warriors saw that what they couldn’t achieve with guile, they might achieve by brute force. They bunched together and tried to push back through the bulge that had formed in our line. We were pushed further back, and I found myself on the front line. I struck down with my gladius, not quite sure what I was hitting, but followed it up with another thrust. I was rewarded with something yielding, and I pulled my gladius backwards and put my shoulder against the large Praetorian shield on my arm. We needed to keep this part of the line closed, but slowly the sheer force of the concentrated mass in front of us was pushing us backwards. Once they were through, this would be all over, we’d be cut to pieces, and we all knew it. We braced our back feet against the hill and struck through the shield wall with bloodied gladii, but nothing seemed to halt the tide of men, who were shrieking and screaming their hatred at us. Our higher position on the hill was all that was helping us keep the line closed, but even so I felt the line was about to break. The sheer force of the extra ranks of warriors was pushing us back to breaking point, and we were heartbeats from snapping apart.

  I heard Iovis shouting at us, urging us on, but the pressure was unstoppable. I wanted to free my gladius, strike back, but it was trapped in the crush. I needed all my strength to hold the shield between me and my foes. We buckled; a man went down near me and was trampled by the forward push of men, h
is screams vanishing in the cacophony of noise. A spear was rammed at me from an assailant further back from the crush. It came over my shield, its point grinding against my helmet. A weak thrust from a falcata hit my shoulder, but the mail shirt held. The weight against my large shield was unbearable; I couldn’t hold any longer. I slipped further backwards, giving everything to keep my shield in place against my neighbours.

  New legionaries came to our assistance from behind, lending their weight to our beleaguered position. Marcus and the reserve, thank the gods. I was pushed right up against the opposing line of warriors, only my shield keeping us apart. My face was forced against the face of a Spanish warrior, who, like me, was being pushed forward from behind. I felt the coarseness of his beard and his foetid breath. We were too close to use our weapons in the crush, but he tried to bite my cheek. I managed to pull my head back to avoid the bite then slammed my head back in a head-butt aimed at the bridge of his nose. The bronze of my helmet smashed into his face and a gush of blood blinded me as his nose shattered. The weight from behind pushed us both forward, and I shook my head to clear my vision. Our line was back, and strengthened, so I struck downwards with my gladius. We stepped forward again, and again I struck past my shield in the time-honoured fashion of a legionary from the line. Strike, thrust, and push, strike, thrust, and push. Force them back, strike, thrust, and push. The whole condensed line started to force back the Spanish warriors, who were now finally falling back.

  Iovis’ booming voice sang out over the confusion of the melee. ‘Hold position!’

  We stopped our onward march and held up our large shields, trembling with tension to push forward again. The Spanish host held back, caught their breaths, bruised and bloodied. They spat at us and shouted but made no further move closer to our deadly gladii and reinforced shield wall. A few of them unfurled their slings, picking up small stones to hurl at our line. We hunkered down behind our shields as stones pinged off our bronze and steel helmets or thudded into our scorpion-emblazoned shields.