Marius' Mules

by S. J. A. Turney

  He made his way along the rear ranks of the legion to the highest piece of the ground on this irritatingly flat plain. Desperately casting around for ideas, he glanced once more at the hill and could see the fight going hard on the other legions too. The outcome was far too unsure with the Helvetii now holding the high ground and fighting with renewed vigour, knowing that the Romans were engaged on two fronts and fighting for their life. The only solution would be to break their spirit. There would be precious chance of that at the front, so the Eleventh would have to do something. If the flanking Gauls got through the shield wall, they could attack the army from the rear and the legions would be massacred.

  He spotted another ala of Longinus’ cavalry making their way across the centre of the plain. Perhaps they could help in some way. He waved and bellowed until one of them finally noticed him and the unit turned and made their way toward him. The prefect in charge of the unit leaned down over his horse’s neck to address Crispus.

  “Sir?”

  Crispus, still flustered and visibly so, tried hard to pull his hoarse voice under control and to appear in full command of his faculties.

  “Prefect, are you riding to engage the enemy?”

  The cavalry officer looked momentarily taken aback.

  “Sir, we did our job at the start. We’re undermanned and tired now and…”

  Crispus waved the talk aside with his arm.

  “I’m not asking you to make a stand or fight to the death, man; I would just like you to perform a small service for me, unless you’re otherwise engaged.”

  The prefect was visibly relieved. He had missed a full night’s sleep before the battle and then lost nearly half his ala in the first ten minutes.

  “So what do you want us to do, Sir?”

  A slow smile spread across the legate’s face. The bare bones of an idea were forming in his head.

  “I need you to skirt round these Gauls, giving them a wide berth, and remaining out of sight. Make your way around behind them to that ridge by the road; do you see it?”

  The prefect nodded as he followed Crispus’ gesture.

  “I need to know how many troops can be concealed behind the ridge, whether there is sufficient cover to get them there without being observed, and how long this would take. Can you do that for me?”

  The cavalry officer nodded.

  “I think we can manage that, Sir.”

  Crispus smiled again.

  “Good fellow. Return with all possible alacrity.”

  He scanned the horizon for a moment, before becoming aware that the prefect remained where he was.

  “Is something amiss, prefect?”

  “What’s alacrity, sir?”

  Crispus sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Speed, man, speed!”

  The cavalry rode off and Crispus, suddenly full of energy, turned back to his legion. Finding the rearmost of the centurions, he caught his attention.

  “Pass the word along to the other centurions. Necessity demands that we maintain the line as long as possible. There cannot be a single break, though we are in no way going to press the enemy. I do not want to see any heroics; just hold and maintain a defensive posture for as long as we can.”

  The centurion looked at Crispus, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

  “Just do it, centurion.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Crispus shielded his eyes with his hand and looked up at the sun. It would be around three or four in the afternoon now. With the high hills around them, the sun would set a lot earlier than it should at this time of the year, and the light would begin to fail at around seven. No general, or soldier for that matter, wanted to fight in the dark, so the officers would be pushing to finish this in a few hours. He doubted Caesar would let the legions pull out without finishing the enemy for good, but would the Helvetii want to stay after dark? Either way, it would need concluding soon.

  He glanced around the horizon to see if he could spot the cavalry prefect and his ala, but they were not to be seen.

  A series of shouts drew his attention to the front line of the Eleventh, where something was happening. This was no good. He’d have to get himself a little involved. Fronto was always in the thick of it with his men, hacking and cutting and that was part of what made his legion respect him. Crispus would have to be seen to be involved.

  Drawing his sword, he pulled one of the rear rank cornicens aside.

  “I’m not sure what the correct signal is, but I’m coming through to the front and I need a corridor clearing.”

  The cornicen stared at him, shrugged, and began to blow on the mouthpiece of the instrument.

  As the men of the Eleventh pulled to either side, Crispus grabbed the cornicen’s shoulder.

  “Remain in position here. The moment that cavalry prefect returns, signal me immediately.”

  The cornicen nodded.

  “Sir.”

  Rolling his shoulders and flexing the muscles in his sword arm, Crispus began to make his way between the soldiers toward the front. As he reached the front cohorts he immediately identified a problem. The Gauls were pulling back at several places along the front, opening up a gap between the two lines. Despite the desperate urgings of the centurions, the legionaries of the shield wall were bowing out, filling the space vacated by the Gauls. In their desire to reach the withdrawing Helvetii, the legionaries were stretching the shield wall to breaking point. If the Gauls managed a solid push back from where they were, they would punch through the line with hardly any resistance.

  The Eleventh were still a green legion, unused to field warfare. Caesar had kept them back as a reserve unit on a number of occasions and, being suddenly in a frontline combat situation, the troops were eager to push and gain ground. The centurions, veterans drawn from other legions, were experienced enough to know that the line must hold together. They shouted their commands, and the optios at the back echoed the orders, but the troops were too enthusiastic and inexperienced to pay a great deal of attention.

  Crispus was unused to command and relatively untried himself, but he had the advantage of a good education and the access to military histories that came with it. Something would have to be done, and he would have to do it.

  Swallowing nervously, he made his way through to the front ranks, the path that had opened up narrowing as he reached the front. Close enough to the enemy, he spied one of the gaps that had opened up and the bulge in the shield wall. Shouting orders for them to step aside, he pushed and manhandled his way to the shield wall. Another nervous gulp and a fervent prayer to Mars, and he pushed through the shield wall from the rear, bursting out into the no-mans land between the lines.

  Turning his back on the Gauls, he faced the advancing bulge in the lines of the Eleventh and shouted at the top of his voice.

  “If I alone can shatter your formation, how effortlessly do you think the Gauls will manage?”

  Gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb, he dived at the shield wall, where the arc was at its most stretched. Slamming into a legionary’s shield, he punched a hole in the shield wall and fell inside. Moments later the line closed up again, but the point had been made. The advancing arc began to pull itself back into a straight line. A centurion helped Crispus to his feet.

  “Nice one, sir.”

  Crispus brushed down his tunic and stood straight, addressing the legionaries in general.

  “Now secure the line with all swiftness and the next man who disobeys his centurion will answer with his head.”

  As he began to push his way back through the crowd, he heard the renewed shouts of the centurions to hold the line. Breathing a sigh of relief, he reached the open ground at the rear and nodded briefly to the cornicen.

  “Alright, I’m back. Do I presume that there has been no sign of the cavalry?”

  The cornicen shook his head.

  Crispus looked around at the horizon and up at the sun. There was indeed no hint of the cavalry ala returning. They had only
a couple of hours of light remaining on the battlefield, and he couldn’t wait for the cavalry any longer. The Eleventh were already under great strain. Once more, he gestured for the cornicen to join him.

  “To which cohort do you belong?”

  The cornicen nodded toward the rear line of the soldiers.

  “The Ninth Cohort, sir.”

  Crispus looked over the heads of the troops.

  “In your opinion, are the four rear cohorts capable of useful action at this juncture?”

  The cornicen shook his head.

  “Unless the front breaks, we’re all in reserve sir.”

  Crispus nodded. It was a gamble.

  “In that case, have the senior centurions of the four rear cohorts report to me immediately.”

  “Yes sir.”

  As the cornicen made his way back across the line, Crispus offered up yet another prayer. To relieve the legion of almost half its number in the current circumstances was dangerous. If this worked, he would save the Eleventh, and possibly the whole army, but if he took four cohorts away and then the front line broke, there wouldn’t be enough support to stop the Gauls from getting through and behind the army.

  Four centurions made their way gradually out of the rear ranks and hurried over to the legate.

  Crispus cleared his throat.

  “I have new orders for you, gentlemen. I appreciate that what I am about to attempt is a gamble, and that you may not approve, but the orders stand regardless.”

  The four centurions looked at each other and back to Crispus, nodding assent.

  “The way should be clear for the Ninth and Tenth Cohort to make their way around the perimeter of the field, keeping out of sight of the Gauls, and to achieve the ridge that the Gauls initially used for cover. I would estimate that you could reach your objective in a little less than one hour. You will need to remain completely hidden, however. If the Gauls are alerted to your presence before you are in position, you will not stand a chance.”

  He waited for the inevitable complaints and comments, but such were not forthcoming. Glancing around the senior centurions, he saw speculative smiles playing across their faces.

  “Once you are in position, you must remain out of sight and hold until you hear the call for a general advance. I will have that call put out in a little over an hour, so that is all the time you have. Can you do it?”

  Two of the centurions saluted.

  “It’ll be a pleasure sir.”

  “Then get them moving immediately. Oh, and should you come across an errant cavalry ala on your journey, tell them that they are no longer needed here. In fact, you might prefer to commandeer them yourself. A few cavalry might prove useful to you.”

  As the two centurions hurried off beck to their units, the other two shrugged.

  “Then what do you intend for our cohorts, sir?”

  Crispus smiled.

  “We need to instil some confusion in the enemy, and to distract them for a time so that they do not see the other two cohorts leaving the main force. I want your units to pull out to the end of our line and perform a sweeping advance on the Gauls, pushing in on them in the fashion of a closing gate. Keep them occupied for the next thirty minutes or so.”

  “Sir.”

  As the others rushed off and left Crispus alone on the slight rise, he felt a thrill. The earlier trepidation he had felt had all but dissipated in the knowledge that he was doing everything an officer could do in the situation, and understanding that they were now in the hands of the fates.

  Balbus had been aware for some time that the army had been flanked. He could only hope that Crispus was up to the task. As soon as the report had come in that the Eleventh had been forced to deploy alone and protect the army against a large reserve force, Balbus had tried to manoeuvre the Eighth to give him some support. Unfortunately, the Gauls had timed their attacks perfectly. By the time the enemy reserve had attacked the Eleventh, the front lines were well and truly mired down with the Helvetian main force.

  Things were going slowly at the front. After making good initial headway, the Helvetii had taken up a very defensive position on the hill, echoing the earlier formation of Caesar’s army.

  Now the fighting had come down to a brutal pushing back and forth of the lines. The casualties on both sides were terrible, and no one could gain the upper hand. If the Eleventh broke and the Gaulish reserves got behind the main force, they would all be butchered where they stood.

  His heart had fluttered a little around an hour ago when he saw almost half of Crispus’ force separate off and split itself into two further groups. Half of them had left the battlefield by a long, circuitous route, while the other half had engaged the enemy in a hopeless attempt at a pincer movement. Balbus desperately hoped that Crispus had something up his sleeve. The force defending the flank was weakening as he watched.

  A shout from one of the staff officers made him turn. From his position on the lower slopes of the hill, Balbus had a good view of the rear ranks and the events unfolding on the periphery of the field. Leaving the Eighth in the hands of its capable centurions, he stood and watched the Eleventh with a growing sense of excitement. Something was happening there.

  A general advance call had been given, despite the fact that the Eleventh had absolutely no room to manoeuvre. His mouth hanging open, Balbus watched as a full fifth of a legion, around a thousand men, appeared over the crest of a ridge behind the enemy reserves. He laughed. The Gauls had outflanked the Romans, so Crispus had outflanked them in return. It was almost too perfect. As he watched, the newly-positioned Roman force closed on the rear of the Helvetii, reaching them almost before the Gauls were even aware the Romans were there. With a crash, the two cohorts hit the Gauls, crushing them now between two shield walls. The pincer units that Crispus had set off now came round the end of the line and fell in with the new attacking force, bolstering their numbers. Balbus grinned. The man was a genius. He’d even managed to find some cavalry from somewhere to harry the few Gauls who managed to flee the crushing pincers. It was like poetry.

  Aware that the main Gaulish force on the hill would have had an even better view than he, Balbus realised that this was it; now they could be broken. Turning back to his own legion, he raised his voice to spur his men on.

  * * * * *

  It had been fully dark now for almost an hour. There had been a period of dusk where the legions had still been able to manoeuvre properly, but command had now fully passed to the level of the centurionate, each century acting almost completely independently. It was not the way any of the officers would have had it, given the choice, but the battle had gone on so much longer than any of them had expected and couldn’t be stopped now.

  After the rather risky manoeuvre that Crispus had pulled with the Eleventh, the reserve force of the Gauls had broken. Little more than a quarter of that force had escaped the jaws of Crispus’ trap alive, and they had fled back to the Helvetian baggage train. Crispus had set off on their heels, and had been joined by Balbus and the Eighth.

  The main force on the hill had broken shortly afterwards, fleeing higher and higher up the slope, turning to fight a desperate rearguard action every few hundred yards. Fronto’s Tenth, Crassus’ Seventh, and primus pilus Grattius leading the Ninth, had continued a slow, deliberate push up the hill. Galba had long since taken the Twelfth round to the other side of the peak, and had brought the Roman attack in from another side. Unfortunately, much of the bulk of the Helvetian force had fled down the other side of the hill before Galba had arrived and made escape for the rest impossible. In response, Longinus had sent a scouting party to follow the escaping Gauls and track their movements.

  Now, under a thick covering of cloud, illuminated only by the burning torches that many of the Roman units carried, the four legions encircled the hill, almost at the summit. They had perhaps three thousand of the enemy trapped on the hill. Initially the legates had sent the legions forward at speed to finish them. That had been a mistake tha
t had been paid for in large numbers of Roman dead. From their position on the hill, the Helvetii had showered the advancing force with arrows, spears, rocks and anything else that came readily to hand, including the dead. The angle of the hill prevented the Roman forces from casting enough missiles up at the Helvetii to cause any real threat, and the large boulders at the summit provided adequate protection for the Gauls in any case.

  Velius and his Second Cohort were now pinned down on the side of the hill. He had given the order a quarter of an hour ago for the various centuries under his command to form tortoises, a square formation that allowed the legionaries to create a shield wall on all four fronts with a roof of shields above them all. Unfortunately, every time they moved, the tortoise came apart due to the terrain, and they had barely made an advance. From the little he could see, the other cohorts around him were taking the same steps and suffering the same problems.

  He clicked his tongue in irritation. There was no way they could stay here. They would probably still be in the same position in the morning, with considerably fewer troops from the odd missiles that managed to penetrate the shields. He briefly considered calling out to the Gauls and demanding they surrender, but he knew that would do little good. There would have to be a charge, but that would involve the loss of a number of men and the legionaries would not be favourable after the last few attempts. One thing was sure, if he didn’t do something, no one else was going to.

  He glanced around at the men closest to him.

  “Nonus, Albius & Curtius, come here.”

  Three legionaries made their way through the throng and reported to the centurion.

  “You three are dangerous lunatics, aren’t you?”

  The three looked at each other, confused.

  “Nonus, you won that inter-century wrestling match all but naked in the snow! Albius, I was told you once broke your nose just to see how it felt! Curtius, well you’re just plain deranged!”