“What’s the chance of me getting hold of one of those?”
The quartermaster snorted derisively and then turned and realised he was speaking to a senior officer.
“Sorry sir. All the scale’s spoken fer. Very popular with officers sir, and ‘arder to get than chain. I can let yer ‘ave some chain right now though. ‘Ow many d’yer need?”
Fronto grinned.
“How many shirts have you got put aside to make a little packet on, though? Two? Three?”
The quartermaster, a slightly overweight centurion assigned to the Seventh, looked taken aback and wounded for a moment before a brief flash of guilt made it to his face.
“Well, I suppose I could let yer ‘ave one o’ the reserve stock, sir, but I’d ‘ave ter buy another one in ter replace it, and they ain’t cheap.”
Fronto nodded and grinned.
“I think I can probably cover it. You know me, yes?”
“Yer legate Fronto o’ the Tenth. I seen yer sir.”
Fronto smiled again.
“Then put my mark against the shirt. I’ll take it now and drop the money off after the battle.”
The quartermaster ummed and ahhed and dithered for long moments, contemplating being left one shirt down by Fronto, then sighed and reached over. Picking up the shiny scale shirt, he passed it to Fronto.
“Don’t go getting’ yerself killed today, sir. Yer owe me fer a good scale shirt.”
Moments later, leaving the unhappy quartermaster grumbling as his men continued to stockpile gear, Fronto wandered back in to the valetudinarium, the heavy armour, scales of steel sewn over leather and chain, draped over his arm. He wandered around until he found Balventius, fully bandaged, struggling to pull a tunic down over his ruined shoulders.
“I don’t know how you expect to fight when you can even dress.”
The centurion grunted.
“It’s just a bit tight with these bandages on. The bloody capsarius refused to help me. Said he wouldn’t help me hasten my own death. That’s a nice shirt. What do I owe you?”
Fronto grinned.
“I’ve got a fair bit put away at the moment, so call it a gift.”
Balventius glanced out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh yes, the wager money from you and that Gaul. I made a packet myself. Well thanks. Soon as I’m suited up I’m off to the front again. You coming sir?”
Fronto shrugged and winced. It had been months since he’d suffered his wounds to the Gaul in the ring, and they still ached most of the time and hurt like hell some of the time. He couldn’t imagine what Balventius was made of to want to go back in like that.
“I guess so. I hate missing a good fight. You sure you want to go?”
Balventius nodded.
“Gotta show ‘em you’re indestructible when you’re a primus pilus. Otherwise the moment you scratch yourself, all the other centurions start jostling into position for your job!”
Fronto laughed.
“Priscus once said something very similar to me.”
He helped the older man into the scale shirt and began to tighten all the fastenings. The capsarius, unwilling to leave until the primus pilus was definitely no longer his concern, stood close by, frowning and muttering to himself. Balventius looked round at the man and tossed him something. The capsarius looked down in horror at the lump of meat and gristle in his hand. Balventius grinned.
“See if you can put him back together!”
Fronto coughed.
“What is that?”
“It’s a windpipe. Looks funny when it’s not tucked away inside, doesn’t it.”
Fronto swallowed. Balbus had told him that Balventius was a madman on the battlefield and he could quite believe it. A thought crossed his mind.
“You ever given any thought to what to do when you finish your next term?”
Balventius shrugged.
“Frankly I’m always surprised when I finish a campaign year. Never really occurs to me to think beyond that.”
Fronto fastened the last strap.
“Balbus thinks you’d make a good camp prefect.”
“Hah!”
The legate arched his eyebrow.
“What?”
“Camp prefects get to shout a lot and do too much paperwork. They get fat and slobby, coz they never leave the camp. They get rusty and weak coz they never get into a fight. I couldn’t cope with being stuck that far from a fight.”
Fronto sighed.
“You’re probably right. Better that than killed though.”
“C’mon sir. Let’s get into the fight.
The legate and the primus pilus strode across the field and reached the third line just as they were forming for movement. He found Pomponius shouting orders.
“Centurion? What’s going on?”
Pomponius looked around at Fronto.
“Sir. Caesar’s ordered the reserves to support Crassus’ cavalry. We’re heading for the left wing now.”
Fronto rolled his eyes.
“That retarded chinless wonder’s going to get a lot of people killed today.” He glanced at Balventius. “Want to head with the reserves?”
The primus pilus shook his head.
“Front or nothing, sir.”
The two of them made their way past the forming units and approached the rear lines of the Tenth and Eighth. The fighting had become thick enough that they could see from the slight rise that the Roman front line was now a melee, Romans and Germans locked in small pockets, fighting like hungry wolves. The second line was still properly formed and held firm, striking out at the Germans when they actually reached the shields.
The battle was still heavy and dangerous, but to Fronto’s practiced eye he could see the way it was going. The Germans had broken early on the right and Caesar’s cavalry were split between harrying them from the field and pestering the German flank. On the other wing, Varus and Crassus were managing to hold against heavy odds, but the reserves should even out that problem. In the centre the Germans couldn’t break because of the circled wagons and womenfolk. Otherwise they’d be ready to flee any time now. The legions had pushed the German infantry back almost to Ariovistus’ camp and the enemy were now hemmed in by their own defences. Fronto looked sideways at Balventius.
“You can head to the front and push, but I’m going to have to take some of the Tenth.”
“What for sir?”
“We’ve got to break their barricade at the rear, or they’ll fight to the very last man. They can’t run!”
Balventius nodded and shouted over to a centurion on the rear line of the Eighth.
“You! Take your men back from here and join with the legate here. You got a special mission, lads!”
The centurion saluted and his unit performed a quick about-face. Fronto nodded at Balventius.
“Thanks. That’ll stop me thinning out the Tenth too much. Good luck. Don’t get killed.”
“I’ll try not to. You too, sir!”
Fronto turned to look along the rear line of the Tenth and, spotting Tetricus with two centurions, called over to him. The tribune looked around at the sound of his name.
“Sir?”
“Bring those two centuries out of the line and up here.”
By the time Tetricus and the hundred and fifty men of the Tenth made it to Fronto’s position, the century from the Eighth had joined them. Fronto glanced at the men, over two hundred of them and then over their heads to the front. He opened his mouth to speak, but his attention was momentarily distracted as he watched Balventius, having shouted and pushed his way through the lines of the Eighth, wade into the Germans, stabbing and slashing like a maniac. It was too far to see details, but Fronto could imagine the sounds of stitches popping and could almost picture the blood blossoming on the back of the man’s shirt. He shook his head sadly and uttered a quick prayer to Nemesis under his breath.
“Right. This fight’s going to go on for hours unless we do something, and far too many of ou
r men will get killed for no good reason. We need to break that defensive circle of carts around their rear and flanks.”
He glanced at Tetricus.
“What’s your opinion of the situation?”
“They’ve dug their own grave with those carts. They’re almost built into a solid wall. Only a fraction of their army’s going to get out alive. The rest are going to die in the centre. Those women on the top of the carts are goners. As soon as the centre panics, they’ll be overwhelmed by fleeing infantry and probably trampled. They’re fighting like caged dogs in the centre and our infantry are paying heavily. We’ve got to help the Germans in order to help our own.”
“You’re the siege man. Any ideas?”
Tetricus pursed his lips and tapped them with his forefinger, scanning the battlefield as he did so.
“First thing we’ll have to do is get the womenfolk off the carts. Capture them, I mean, not kill them.”
Nods all round confirmed his sentiment.
“That’s got to happen first. Then we need to start dragging those carts out of the way and give them a path off the field. We’ll have to be quick though; there’s only a couple of hundred of us and we’ll be in the way of the entire German army when they run. We’ll have to be quick.”
Fronto nodded emphatically. He couldn’t agree more.
Chapter 22
(On the battlefield in front of the German camp)
“Testudo: Lit- Tortoise. Military formation in which a century of men closes up in a rectangle and creates four walls and a roof for the unit with their shields.”
“Plebeian: The general mass and populace of Roman citizens.”
Fronto lined up his men. On the way round the field, he had collected two more centuries from the Eleventh, and his force now numbered almost four hundred. He held them at a safe distance on the wing where Caesar had first broken the cavalry. Caesar himself and a number of his men were more than a mile away now, pursuing and harassing the fleeing German cavalry. Ingenuus, on the other hand, had taken the rest of this wing and was picking off the few German warriors that stood on the outside of the crescent of carts. Some had been assigned by Ariovistus to protect the women. Many others had fled the centre of the field and crawled under the carts. Even as Fronto watched, more and more warriors were appearing from beneath the vehicles on their panicked passage out of combat, only to come face to face with Ingenuus’ cavalry.
Fronto tapped Tetricus on the shoulder.
“You take command here for a minute. I need to get to the prefect.”
As Tetricus steadied the men and put them in a fighting formation, Fronto jogged across the field, trying to avoid stepping on, or even in, any of the grisly remains from the earlier cavalry engagement. Approaching the small knot of horsemen surrounding the prefect, Fronto realised that only that small group were regular legionary cavalry. All the swathes of men attacking the wagons were Gaulish auxiliaries of one tribe or another. For a moment, Fronto was challenged by a couple of the regular cavalry troopers until he was recognised and they saluted.
“Ingenuus. I need to speak to you.”
The prefect peered out between two of his men.
“Legate… I’ll be there in a second.”
Jostling his horse out through the men, he slid from the saddle and landed next to Fronto, wincing as he did. Fronto noted the way he held his shoulder and arm. The quantity of blood spattered across the man and the Gaulish broadsword he held clenched tightly spoke of a great deal of brutal action this morning. Fronto nodded at the man, a professional courtesy for someone with as much talent and guts as the young prefect.
“I appreciate what you’re doing here, but we need to stop now. We’ve got to get that crescent of wagons broken down or opened up so that they can break and run, otherwise they’ll be fighting our infantry until there’s no one left.”
Ingenuus nodded and sighed.
“It’ll take a few minutes to round everyone up and pull them back, sir. What do you want to do about these odd defenders and the women?”
Fronto shrugged.
“We’ve got to give them the option of surrendering or dying.”
Ingenuus shook his head.
“No point, sir. I’ve been watching them. Even running away they won’t surrender. You’ll just have to kill them all, unless…”
His voice tailed away. Fronto frowned.
“Unless what?”
“Well it’s just a thought sir. How much do we want prisoners?”
Fronto raised an eyebrow.
“You’re proposing that we let them go?”
The prefect nodded.
“What else can we do, sir? We’ve got to let them go or kill them so we can get to the carts. We want to let the women go anyway, surely?”
Fronto nodded.
“Alright then. Round up your men and find one of them that speaks the dialect. Get him to deliver an offer.”
As Ingenuus nodded and mounted his horse once more, Fronto jogged back toward the centuries under his command.
“Tetricus.”
“Sir?”
“If we can clear the people off those wagons, what do you propose to do?”
Tetricus smiled.
“That’s easy sir. Look at them now. There’s more coming out between and underneath the wagons every minute. Some of them are even climbing over the top now; I’ve been watching the women beating them and calling them cowards or some such. I don’t even know if we need to break the carts down now. Before too long the pure weight of men pushing at the inside will push them over.”
Fronto nodded.
“Not soon enough though. They’re caught like rats in a trap, but they’re fighting like men who have no way out. Every minute they stay trapped between the carts and the legions, they’re butchering our men. I’m not having that. I’d rather see them run.”
Tetricus scanned the carts.
“Alright. We need to get some rope. Quite a bit of rope. There are three places where we could attach them. We’d have to get the prefect to give us horses. We can heave on the ropes and pull these three carts…”
He gestured to three apparently random carts in the wall. Fronto scratched his head.
“Why those three?”
“If you look carefully, you’ll see that every other cart has been turned on its side. That’s why it’s a wall, not just a line. They’re jammed against each other and none of the upright ones can move because of the upturned ones jamming them in.”
Fronto continued to scratch his head, then he slowly began to smile.
“I see what you mean. Those three are different. One of them’s end-on.”
“Exactly. I’d guess that was the last cart they jammed in the line, but it didn’t fit properly. If we heave on that one and the one on either side, it should give.”
“Bit of a narrow passageway for the entire German army to flee through, though isn’t it?”
Tetricus sighed.
“Once that hole’s opened up the whole lot will give under the pressure of all those men. How long are a few unanchored carts going to stand between thousands of men and their freedom?”
Fronto nodded.
“I take your point.”
Off in the distance, he could hear shouting. Shading his eyes and glancing over towards Ingenuus, he saw the entire force gathered behind the prefect, with the exception of two riders who sat out front, shouting at the wall in their unintelligible dialect.
“I wonder how it’s…”
Finishing the sentence was unnecessary. The German response to the Roman offer was brutally obvious. While the German women spat in the direction of the cavalry, the men began throwing boulders, spears and anything they could find. The two auxiliary spokesmen disappeared beneath a shower of missiles and, as the barrage died away, their bodies lacked any movement. Tetricus shook his head.
“Why?”
“That’s it, then. We’ll have to do this the hard way. Follow me.”
Followed
closely by Tetricus and the five centuries, Fronto moved at double-time down to where the cavalry had gathered. He saw a regular decurion among the press and gestured to him.
“You. Go and find some rope. Lots of rope. We need six ropes; each at least twenty yards long.”
The decurion glanced only briefly at Ingenuus for confirmation before riding back toward the Roman lines. Fronto squared his shoulders and called over to Ingenuus.
“Prefect? We’re going to have to take care of them I’m afraid. If they won’t surrender and they won’t run, they’ll just have to die. D’you see the three carts over there, towards the centre?”
Ingenuus shaded his eyes.
“The one that’s end on? Yes.”
“That’s where we have to hit. We need to clear everyone out of that whole area. I’ll take the infantry into the centre and we’ll clear the three carts and attach ropes to the wagons. You boys take the three of four vehicles to either side and then keep us covered. I’ll need six of your men then, ready to take ropes and ride away with them. Once we’ve attached them, your horses will have to pull the carts over. As soon as the wall breaks, your whole unit’s going to have to pull back behind the legions though, or you’ll be caught when they flee.”
Ingenuus nodded and then frowned.
“What about you sir? If we pull a hole in that thing and you’re all on foot, are you going to be able to get away in time?”
Fronto grinned.
“We’ll be able to get moving as soon as the ropes are attached. I think we’ll have time.”
Tetricus glanced off toward the Roman camp.
“I hope that horseman comes back fast with the rope. We’ve got to get moving.”
Fronto looked up at the cavalry prefect.
“Aulus, we’re going to head in for those three carts now. As soon as your man comes back with rope, come and join us and sling the rope to us.”
Ingenuus nodded unhappily and, leaving the cavalry on the edge of the field, the infantry force moved on the wall in a column. Despite being drawn from three different legions, the five centuries under Fronto’s command worked in perfect unison. Moments before the German missiles began to fly, the shields came up in front, then to the sides and the rear and, finally, over the top, in the traditional testudo. The five centuries each pulled the same manoeuvre at the same time and the missiles bounced harmlessly from the shields surrounding them.
Marius' Mules Page 49
