“Respectfully, sir, are you questioning our skill when it comes to woodwork?” the master carpenter asked.
“Respectfully, are you questioning my skill when it comes to artillery?” Lucius countered.
They both grinned and settled on a scorpion platform. The machine was lighter and so was its ammunition. The battering-ram housing was dismantled. The timbers were cannibalized to make the upright supports of the new length of walkway and artillery platform. A scorpion was hauled up into position and secured with a ring bolt. It could be swivelled through one-hundred degrees without risk of the recoil pushing it off backwards onto the parade ground. The blacksmith at the field-forge had obligingly stood by and was able to provide some extra angle-brackets and heavy nails to strengthen the new timberwork.
As the sky showed the first hint of dawn they were finished. A runner was sent for the legate to inspect the works. He arrived with Tertius and Attius in tow, all three wearing immaculate uniforms and looking like they had just stepped out of the baths.
The legate climbed up onto the repaired section of wall first followed by Tertius and Attius who jumped up and down a couple of times to see if it would splinter under his weight.
Red-eyed and aching with fatigue, Lucius stood to attention at the head of his party of exhausted craftsmen. Quadratus came back down the ladder and stood in front of them, beaming.
“I have always been proud to lead The Second Lucan but seldom as proud as I am this minute. Magnificent work men; the general would not approve of a five-sided camp, but I do. I most certainly do. We shall have to call it the pentagon. Go and have something to eat and rest, knowing you have earned the gratitude of your officers and the entire legion.”
After their own breakfast, Hulderic and Helmund rode out of their lines to the east. They halted at a spot half-way up the slope where they would have a good view of the damage their raid had done yesterday. There was nothing to be seen, only a level and upright wall over a ditch where they had left fallen timbers and heaped earth. Hulderic threw up his hands.
“The bastards, the scum! They remade it!”
“They worked all night, we feasted, think on that,” Helmund told him.
“All that blood and battle fury, those men lost for nothing,” Hulderic said bitterly.
“No, not for nothing; look more closely. They could not rebuild it as it was. Their camp is smaller now., We have diminished them.”
“Maybe, but at what price?”
Helmund smiled grimly. “The price we must pay to be rid of them. There are two lessons here. Firstly, we can damage them, secondly, when we have weakened these Romans, they must be given no time to restore the damage we have done them. If we lose five-thousand warriors we can fight on. If their numbers are reduced by half that, there will not be enough of them left to defend their walls. Victory to the last man standing, my friend. Come. Let’s go back and think about our next move.”
When the news that the Roman fortress had been repaired spread through the Marcomanni lines, a thousand warriors left the army. But this time, as they crossed over the Rhine, they did so to a barrage of cat-calls and displays of bare buttocks as the determined core of Helmund’s force demonstrated their contempt. They took the heroic efforts the Romans had made overnight to repair the damage as a personal insult. Their commander cautioned them against a mad rush for revenge.
“The night is our friend. The demons and evil spirits that walk abroad in the darkness are our friends; they are of this land and the Romans are not. Surprise and craft are our friends, we shall use them. But our greatest friend is undaunted courage. We shall cut them to pieces bit by bit until they run south like women and then we shall fall on them and slaughter every last one.”
Soranus appeared at midday, pale and walking very carefully. The jolt of his boots hitting the ground sent waves of pain up his left arm and made him feel sick but he gritted his teeth.
“Trying to show an example to the men,” he told Attius who had asked him if he should be up and about.
“Fainting on the Via Praetoria won’t be much of an example: take it easy for a day to two,” the First Spear Centurion advised, not unkindly; the young tribune’s determination had impressed him.
Soranus had left the infirmary on his feet, a score of others left wrapped in in blankets, dead. Their wounds had been too much for them. They had died crying for their mothers or begging the gods for life; neither of the parties responded.
“No, Titus, I say again, we cannot go down and engage them without cavalry. There are simply too many of them at the moment,” Quadratus said.
The officers were sitting at the long table of their mess but Lucius was missing,; still sleeping although it was past noon.
“More were seen crossing back over the Rhine this morning,” Titus persisted.
“A few hundred, a thousand at most, not enough. Come to me when the bridge has been full of Marcomanni heading across all day long.”
“You are right, sir. I simply think we need let ‘em see we have teeth of our own.”
“I believe they know that. Still, so far we have not shown any aggression. We must do more than react to their initiatives but what?” the legate asked
Tertius had been calculating on a wax tablet during the conversation. He finished and nodded to himself.
“Tribune Longius had the idea of using scorpions mounted on carts to compensate for our lack of cavalry. Perhaps we could adapt this. Send out two carts with two scorpions on each. My figures show it will take five minutes for them to be within range of the enemy lines. If they slew round side on, it will take them a further minute to loose off between twelve and sixteen plunging bolts between them. The enemy will take a while to react to the appearance of the carts, especially if we disguise the artillery pieces with canvas. After firing, they will head back to the camp at top speed. I don’t believe our bolts will do any major damage but we demonstrate we have little fear of them and it might provoke a them into another wild charge…”
“Do it now,” Quadratus said.
Within an hour, two carts has been selected, their wheels checked and greased and four scorpions mounted in them. The horses were being brought up and harnessed when Attius said they should let Lucius know what was going on.
“He’s the designated officer for the artillery, the only one now Cestus Valens is no longer with us…”
Lucius, still looking at little bleary-eyed although he had flung a basin of cold water over his head, strode up behind the legionary who had been sent to inform him. He started to climb up onto the nearest cart.
“Not a chance, Boxer,” Titus told him. “Express orders of the legate, you stay here. He says we may all yet need your talents before this is over.”
“Well, at least get Corvo’s century up on the wall and some men who are good with a javelin,” Lucius snapped. He was tired, irritable and disappointed. Everyone liked the thought of irritating the enemy.
“Right, then,” Titus, gave his final instruction, “You drivers, you’re are not charioteers and this is not the Circus Maximus. Take it steady on the way down and they won’t think you’re a threat. With a bit of luck they’ll just stand and stare. Scorpion-crews, keep a look-out from under the canvas and let the drivers know when you think you’re in range. One minute and one minute only, then head back and get a wriggle on because they’ll be after you. However, have no fear, Senior Tribune Tertius Fuscus has made all the necessary calculations and assures me you will be fine. Let’s hope he hasn’t got his sums wrong, eh lads? Go on, bugger-off and we’ll see you back through the gate in ten minutes.”
The gate opened. The carts came through at a fast trot in tandem. They rattled over the bridges towards the enemy lines down the track that had once led to the signalling post. Marcomanni, heads went up at their appearance. As they came nearer, people called out to their friends and pointed at them. Some shouted witty or ribald remarks suggesting what the Roman could intend. Those within hearing laughed at the c
omments. There was no sense of a danger, as Titus Attius had predicted, even as the horses hauling the carts broke into a gentle canter. The watching crowd increased as word of this strange sight spread. Men stood with folded arms or leaning on spear shafts trying to work out what was going on.
When the pair of oncoming vehicles slowed and peeled off, one to the left the other to the right and stopped sideways on, tension grew among the onlookers. It was only when the canvas was pushed back and the scorpions fired that they realised that they were under immediate threat and by then, it was too late. The bolts flew high up to hesitate before plunging down into the middle of the assembled enemy. The crowd eddied as men and women shoved each other aside, trying to get away from where they thought the missiles would land. Shouting and screaming rose up, punctuated by the crack of the scorpions firing again and again without aiming and without pause. Fourteen bolts smashed into the lines. Two men and an ox were killed but the greatest damage was done by a warhorse.
A chieftain had been leading his stallion to the river to drink when it was struck a glancing blow that ripped open its flank without penetrating. In pain and fear the horse bolted, lashing out with its hooves at anyone and anything within range. A dozen or more were kicked or trampled; bones were broken and a woman died. It charged through a fire throwing embers up in a spray of sparks, setting a tent ablaze. Someone managed to grab the horse’s reins and halted its mad, destructive dance. The fire was beaten out with wet cloths. Panic and confusion turned to rage. The mass of people bulged forward like a dam about to break. The mobile artillery galloped towards the safety of their own camp as furious warriors broke into a run after them. Mounted men rode across the Marcomanni front shouting and gesticulating for them to stop but more joined in until five hundred young men were running towards the Roman stronghold.
The gate opened to allow the carts inside and closed behind them. Seconds later, the first of the onrushing warriors were in artillery range and the missiles began to fly off the top of the Roman walls. Men were transfixed or bowled over but none came on into range of Corvo’s archers and slingers. Shaking their fists at and yelling curses, the survivors made their way back towards the river carrying or dragging the wounded and most of their dead with them. Between seventy and eighty had been hit.
“A modest success; we have hurt the enemy without ourselves sustaining any losses,” Tertius said to the assembled officers. They raised their wine cups in a subdued toast; all except Otto.
“It shows us that without cavalry we may lose this fight,” he commented.
His words were greeted by shock. Otto tended to be a silent observer at officer’s meetings. His statement was the more powerful because he had said something the others knew in the back of their minds but suppressed.
“A sweeping conclusion to arrive at after a minor engagement,” Quadratus told him in a disapproving tone.
“Your words, sir; it was minor because this time only a couple of hundred hotheads rushed at the camp and they fell back before they were in range of our archers. When that chieftain insulted our dead scouts and he was shot down, thousands of them poured up the slope. Today we went close to their lines and fired a dozen or more bolts into them but they did not charge. Am I the only one who saw their leaders riding up and down in front of the warriors urging them to holdfast?”
“Yes but even so…”
“Helmund has a grip on his people now. Our advantage is our discipline. If the enemy has become a controlled force acting under that man’s orders, we are in grave danger. I have looked onto his eyes. He is shrewd and a good leader.”
“Surprised you’re still here if you admire him so much,” Soranus snapped.
In the horrified silence that followed this outburst, Otto smiled coldly at him.
“I am a Roman officer, an Equestrian and a citizen until I say something that no-one wants to hear, then I am what, exactly? Another German? Do not attack me tribune, because you do not want to acknowledge the truth of what I am saying.”
Soranus stood up and bowed his head briefly at Otto.
“Principal Decurion Longius, I humbly ask your pardon. The pain of my wound and sleeplessness makes me irritable.”
“Graciously said,” Quadratus told him. “There is not the slightest possibility of doubting the integrity of any officer present. We must not fall into the trap of disunity, that truly would be fatal to us at this point.”
“Everyone agrees that no cavalry is the problem, Otto, but it doesn’t do to say too much. We don’t want the men to be uneasy,” Titus reprimanded him.
Otto shook his head. “First Spear Centurion Attius, we all know that hostile German forces do not sit down in front of Roman fortresses, patiently probing for a weakness. Yet that is what they are doing. Do you think your junior officers and veteran troops haven’t seen that as well as the rest of us?”
“What do you suggest, then?” Titus shouted and slapped his hand down on the table with a meaty thud.
Otto smiled and shrugged. “It is not for me to say. Senior Tribune Tertius Fuscus is the expert at mathematics, along with Boxer. But I know if you have ten-thousand men and lose two-thousand you have less of a problem than we do if we lose that number.”
“We go around in circles, gentlemen. For the moment we have no choice but to defend out camp, our home, to the limit of our determination and ability,” Quadratus told the meeting in general, with an air of finality.
Helmund sat a in circle of chieftains and clan leaders patiently trying to keep them in agreement with his strategy.
“How can you claim we won today when they fired on us and killed or wounded eighty of our warriors who ran to chastise them?” one of them was asking with an edge of disbelief in his voice.
“Because they wanted to provoke us into a general charge. Our victory is that we remained in our lines, apart from a small number of very young men hungry for reputation. Even they had the good sense to fall back when they saw there was nothing to be gained. I commend them. Let there be no talk of shame or cowardice; they were momentarily overcome by righteous anger but most came to their senses before it was too late,” Helmund explained.
“They fire on us with their machines and drive away untouched, scores of us are brought down, yet you claim this as a victory. I tell you, Helmund, we cannot afford too many such victories…”
“If you will not accept what I say, think of it from the Roman point of view. They tried to encourage a mass assault on their heavily armed stronghold and failed. Mark my words, failed. It is a sign of their growing weakness and fear.” He stood up and stretched out his right arm pointing in the direction of the Roman camp. “If they are so formidable, why do they skulk behind their walls? Why do they not join us in battle in the open? Because they know that they are not strong enough, that is why. The bracken on the hillside is yellowing but still too wet for them to burn and leave it exposed. We will use it to get near enough to launch another attack just before dawn tomorrow. I need two thousand spearmen, axemen and two hundred archers each with twenty good arrows; who is with me?” Enough of his listeners pledged their men for Helmund to proceed. “But pay heed,” he told them sternly, “after we return tomorrow with yet more of their blood on our hands, we cannot feast the night away. They can expect no rest, no time to put right what we have destroyed. We must squeeze them in our fists until they are crushed.”
While the force was being assembled, Helmund was alone with Hulderic.
“What luxury the enemy commander has. He says. “Let a thousand men do this or that,” and they do it. I have to persuade them to give me warriors every time and then argue for my tactics to be employed,” he complained.
“You lead free men. If they cease to be free, what difference between us and the Romans?” Hulderic replied.
The warriors under their war-leaders began to drift over to the assembly point. In the end there were two thousand four hundred of them including three hundred archers. Hulderic checked their ammunition and re
jected those who could not show him twenty arrows, which left two hundred and sixty. While this was going on, Helmund requested that every able-bodied woman and children who were old enough to go up into the edge of the forest to collect and bundle all the brushwood they could find. They were to return by sunset leaving their harvest stacked.
“Why do we women have to labour for you “King” Helmund?” one broad-shouldered matron asked him sarcastically.
“Because the enemy are always watching and I do not want them to see your men going into the forest. That would warn them that something is planned for tonight,” he replied.
This explanation was found to be satisfactory and shortly afterwards, a procession wound its way up the slope.
With Hulderic’s assistance, and a fair amount of shoving, Helmund divided one quarter of the warriors and half the archers into a separate section. This took a long time. Individual clans refused to be split up; they always went into battle together. As many as fifty men at a time passed from one side to the other until everyone was reasonably content. At last things were settled enough for Helmund to be able to address them.
“Under Hulderic’s command….” he began when voices shouted him down.
“Who is he to lead? Is he better than anyone else among us?” a tall chieftain with no beard but moustaches down to his chest demanded.
Helmund was reaching the end of his tolerance.
“Stand forward, you and your war-band” he barked.
The clan leader with the moustaches strutted to the front with forty men around him.
“You have no place in this attack tonight because you dispute who commands. How many times must I repeat how important it is for us to work together?” he said with bitterness.
“If we are denied the right to fight in this battle, we shall quit your camp,” their leader said defiantly.
“Go!” Helmund snapped, turned his attention to the others and started his explanation again.
“Hulderic will lead you. You are to attack the part of the wall we destroyed before. You will continue with your attack until you hear the horns calling you back when you will break off and head for the river, keeping under cover….”
Knight of Rome Part II Page 9
