Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  To the outside observer it was a fascinating sight, watching as three cohorts of legionaries filed between the five to their front, immediately fanning out in both directions and forming their own battle lines with rapid precision. Though the Durotriges force remained mostly intact, exhaustion and casualties had sapped their will to fight, and their withdrawal was quickly turning into a rout. Many within the reserve cohorts did not even get to throw their javelins before their enemy broke into a run. Instead, they became occupied with conducting a pursuit, while killing or capturing as many warriors as possible.

  As the last of the First Cohort crested the short rise, Artorius and his men gave a shout of triumph, watching the remnants of the Durotriges flee for their lives, leaving their dead and abandoning the badly injured to their fate.

  “Bastards won’t be back in a hurry,” Magnus said with a satisfied grin.

  All around them soldiers were leaning against their shields and breathing hard. They were exhausted, having not slept in two days. The night crossing, which had proven clumsy and slow, had been equally demoralizing, knowing that they were confined to a minor support role and not expected to get any real fighting in. Having instead caught an entire army of enemy reinforcements out in the open and scattering them filled the men with a well-deserved sense of triumph.

  “You’re bleeding, sir,” a legionary said, looking down at Artorius’ forearm.

  “Damn it all, so I am,” the master centurion observed with a chuckle. It was a deep gash on his forearm, yet he scarcely felt a thing. “Eh, nothing a wash and a wrap won’t fix.”

  “Artorius!” a frantic voice said behind him. He turned to see it was one of the tribunes.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s Camillus, our aquilifer…”

  “Yes, I know who he is!” Artorius snapped, battling the sudden feeling of dread that came over him. “What about him?”

  “He’s dead, master centurion.”

  Artorius’ elation at the legion’s decisive victory suddenly turned to dismay and sorrow as he walked back along the knoll and came upon the body of his fallen friend. The legion’s sacred eagle still stood, planted into the ground with Camillus’ blood-soaked arm wrapped around it. The aquilifer’s eyes were wide open, his head turned to the side with a stream of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. Half a dozen dead barbarians lay around him, and his gladius was soaked in blood.

  “No,” Artorius whispered, fighting against the tears as he dropped to a knee, placing his hand on Camillus’ arm. It was still warm; only the blooded gash in his stomach from where a barbarian sword had penetrated his scale armor that was now soaked in blood and bodily fluids gave away that his friend was dead.

  Near the body knelt a young, battered legionary. He was down on one knee with his head hung low and face wrought with emotion. His smashed helmet was lying next to him; his forehead bearing a nasty gash that bled profusely. There were three more dead enemy warriors next to him.

  “Artorius,” the tribune said. “I am sorry to interrupt, but you need to know something.”

  “Yes?” He fought to compose himself and rose to his feet, unable to look down at his friend anymore, lest it break him completely.

  “This soldier broke formation when he saw Camillus fall,” the tribune explained. “Those three bastards fell by his hand as they tried to take the eagle that Camillus still clutched as he was dying.”

  “Help him up,” Artorius ordered two of the legionaries who stood over their friend. “What is your name, son?”

  “Legionary Marcus Amatius, sir,” the young soldier said, his voice trembling.

  “A soldier would normally be flogged for breaking formation,” Artorius said slowly, still struggling to keep control over his voice. “You, on the other hand, did so not out of cowardice, but in order to save the sacred standard of this legion.”

  “He fought off a number of those fuckers, not just the ones he killed, sir,” one of the legionaries spoke up. “Took a beating for it, too.”

  “Camillus was a mentor to me,” Amatius replied. “I sometimes got assigned to working as his aid at the legion’s headquarters. He died saving the eagle, and I could not let his sacrifice be in vain.”

  “Where is this man’s centurion?” Artorius asked.

  One of the soldiers immediately sprinted away, returning moments later with a centurion from the Sixth Cohort.

  “Your legionary singlehandedly saved the eagle from falling into enemy hands,” Artorius explained. “He is to carry the standard for the remainder of this campaign, and I want an appropriate award from you sent up the chain-of-command.”

  “Yes, sir,” the centurion replied, glancing approvingly at the soldier, who was now being propped up by his friends.

  Artorius turned to his cornicen. “Sound the cohort commanders’ call.” He stepped away, unable to look again at the body of Camillus, yet overwhelmingly aware that his dead friend lay just a few feet behind him.

  By late afternoon, Vespasian could see his legionaries were wearing down, despite the commitment of reserve cohorts and continuous passages-of-lines. The hour was growing late, and the Catuvellauni alliance had simply failed to break. There was nothing for it, and he was going to have to halt his legion soon and establish a defensive perimeter for the night. The barbarians were slowly withdrawing, though it was anything but a rout. Every time the Romans tried to press the advantage, they held their ground and the battle continued in a bloody grind with neither side giving way. As evening fell, Vespasian gave the order to halt with his men entrenching and preparing defenses. There were also details sent back to bring over what food and supplies they could manage while also evacuating the wounded. The lack of harassment from the barbarians told the legate they were, at least, as worn out as his men.

  “Sir, there are several riders approaching from the east,” a sentry reported as the soldiers continued to establish their camp for the evening.

  Vespasian walked over to the east entrance to his camp and saw that it was his own brother, along with a handful of escorts.

  “Glad to see you’re still with us,” Sabinus said as soon as he’d dismounted and embraced Vespasian. “I decided to come see you personally, rather than dispatching a messenger.”

  “We had a hard go of it today,” he replied, “but we’re still here. How goes it on the right?”

  “Stoppello’s ships provided excellent support for my men,” Sabinus replied. “The barbarians are anything but organized. From what we could see, a large number of them pissed off before the fighting even began.”

  “Hard to believe they came all this way just to run away before striking a single blow,” Vespasian remarked.

  “The firestorm wrought by Stoppello’s ships undoubtedly played a role in that,” Sabinus explained. “But even more so, it tells me that this alliance between the peoples of this isle is anything but sound. They are brave, but ill-disciplined. It would not surprise me if men refused to fight over something as petty as determining which one of their war chiefs was in command. In all honesty, though, we Romans are not above such squabbles ourselves.”

  “Agreed,” Vespasian conceded. “However, I take it you were not able to decide the issue today either?”

  “Not entirely,” Sabinus replied. “Once we got beyond the range of Stoppello’s artillery, they became more brazen in their attacks. Like you, we wound up in a slog that lasted most of the afternoon. Our casualties are comparatively lighter than theirs, and yet they would not give way. Believe me, brother, I will never doubt the courage and tenacity of the Britannic warrior! What of Artorius and the Twentieth Legion on the left?”

  The two legates sat down on camp stools around a small fire. As all tents and most of the baggage had been left on the other side of the river, they would be sleeping under the stars this night. Vespasian just hoped that it did not rain!

  “The last word I received came from a cavalry centurion whose men had spotted enemy reinforcements comi
ng from the west. He informed Master Centurion Artorius, who took the Twentieth Legion to face them. I had hoped to use them to press the flank of our foes here, but if he’s battling a sizeable enemy force and keeping them from supporting Togodumnus, then so much the better.”

  “We need to reestablish lines of communication with them as soon as possible,” Sabinus noted. “Depending on their disposition, Plautius wants them to advance north and prevent as many of the barbarians from escaping as possible. Meantime, the Fourteenth Legion has orders to relieve you.”

  “Relieve?” Vespasian asked, almost indignantly.

  “Relax, brother, you will still have a role in deciding the outcome of this battle. Geta’s men have been kept in reserve this whole time and have been kept fresh in order to smash the enemy center. The force in front of you is still where they number the strongest. The Fourteenth Legion will advance past your position and launch its assault at dawn. With any luck, Togodumnus will think he’s still facing you and will not realize he’s battling against replacement troops. Your men will form up in reserve behind him, ready to move as needed.”

  “I understand,” Vespasian replied.

  It was a sound plan, one that Plautius was correct to implement. After all, they had not expected the barbarians to be able to last the entire day against them, as lengthy force-on-force battles were extremely rare. The commander-in-chief had had the foresight not to commit all of his forces at once. Auxiliaries were scattered amongst the newly-won territories, providing security and establishing more permanent camps, while Cursor’s cavalry regiments were dispersed between the three legions, preventing any errant enemy forces from flanking them.

  While soldiers of the Twentieth Legion gathered up the dead and wounded and secured the supply trains, all cohort commanders and centurions primus ordo were gathered in a large semicircle with Artorius standing in front of them. He had scrawled out a basic diagram of each cohort’s position during the battle and was now gathering all pertinent information to send up in his report to Plautius.

  “It was the Fourth and Tenth Cohorts that won this for us so decisively,” Praxus observed, taking his vine stick and drawing out where the supply trains had been posted, along with the two cohorts of legionaries who had acted as their escorts. “The barbarians essentially forgot about them when they saw us coming. Only those immediately engaged with them stuck around, and they were disposed of readily enough.”

  “Once they were driven off, we reformed into battle lines and attacked in support of the left wing,” the pilus prior of the Fourth Cohort explained.

  “Their attack allowed us to roll the barbarians up rather quickly,” added the commander of the Second Cohort, who had been anchoring the left of the main battle line.

  “We were pretty stagnant on the right,” the pilus prior of the seventh cohort confessed. “In all honesty, it was an indecisive brawl for most of the day. We’d inflict the occasional casualty, but they weren’t exactly willing to commit fully, rather they simply stood back shouting curses and taunts after we hit them with our javelins. They didn’t break as a whole until they saw their friends running. After that, they collapsed completely.”

  “Well done, everyone,” Artorius said. “I want you to pass on my personal commendations to your legionaries. They’ve been through a lot of shit over the past two days, and when it came time to throw down, they did not hesitate. Their discipline and bravery is in keeping with our legion’s moniker of The Valiant. I’ll need a total count on your dead and wounded, as well. Thankfully, our losses were not as crippling as they could have been.” These last words bit into him, seeing as how one of the fallen had been a dear friend, not to mention the legion’s aquilifer.

  “Sir, what of the rest of the battle?” Centurion Tyranus asked.

  “No idea,” Artorius confessed. “For all we know, Vespasian either smashed the main barbarian force into oblivion, or they could have been cut of an annihilated; we simply don’t know whether the larger battle has been won or lost. Seeing as how we’ve heard nothing, we need to be extra vigilant this evening. The men need rest, but they also need to keep their eyes open.”

  Chapter XIX: The Alliance Shatters

  ***

  Like the rest of the army, Artorius’ men had established a marching camp for the night, the only difference being they were no longer within sight of their enemy. Without having as nearly a decisive advantage in numbers, the reinforcements from Durotriges had broken and fled. Some had made their way to the northeast, towards where Artorius could only surmise the rest of the enemy army awaited them, while most of the rest had fled to the west, back towards their homeland.

  As his men established their camp, he counted himself fortunate for having secured his baggage train. His men had both rations and tents for the night, along with needed medical supplies to care for the wounded. There were a number of dead to deal with as well, twenty in all, including Camillus. Time for a formal ceremony honoring their sacrifice would have to come later. For now, Artorius had ordered a pyre built to dispose of the bodies, lest they fall victim to scavenging animals or wandering bands of enemy warriors. He insisted on personally laying Camillus’ body on the mound of wood and bodies.

  It was this burning pyre that allowed the messenger from Plautius to find them in the dark of night. He came escorted by several auxiliary cavalrymen, as this side of the river was still mostly hostile and to send out a lone messenger would be a foolish endeavor.

  “Your men are fortunate to have their tents to sleep under tonight,” the man noted as he walked with the master centurion towards the principia. “The Second and Ninth are all encamped under the stars tonight.”

  “I took a calculated risk and was lucky the barbarians did not overrun my supply train and make off with it all,” Artorius said as he read the message. “Seeing as how the late reinforcements from the Durotriges have been beaten, I can have the Twentieth Legion ready to advance on the enemy’s main flank tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” the messenger replied. “Anything you wish me to take back to Plautius?”

  “Yes. Give him a note regarding my losses in dead and wounded, and let him know we will advance on the enemy at dawn.”

  “Very good.”

  As he made his way back to his tent, Artorius was joined by Magnus, whose face was pale and his eyes red. He had known Camillus just as long as Artorius and had counted him amongst his better friends.

  “I know casualties are always inevitable,” the Norseman said awkwardly. “But damn it all, why did it have to be him?”

  “He was the bravest man I ever knew,” Artorius said quietly. “You remember during our first campaign, when he was our signifier? And he stuck that German in the chest with the signum?”

  “I remember,” Magnus said with a short laugh. “He calmly said afterwards that he feared getting the shit beat out of him by Centurion Macro more than he did being killed by the enemy. Personally, I think he was just being modest.”

  “After he tossed the eagle over the side of the ship and advanced with it by himself through the surf towards that mass of druids and barbarian warriors, I knew he was not afraid of anything. I’ve known men of deep religious faith, as well as complete atheists, and yet one thing they all shared in common was a deep fear of death. Not Camillus, though. And if he was ever afraid, then he was the greatest actor to ever live, because I never saw it.”

  “I only saw him show fear once,” Magnus said. “It was the year before you came back to us, when his wife was dying. He told me his greatest dread would be leaving his daughters completely orphaned.”

  Artorius let out a sad sigh and shook his head. He had forgotten momentarily about Camillus’ two daughters, who were now fourteen and eleven. “Everyone who dies in battle leaves someone behind,” he said. “Our legionaries cannot marry, yet many have common-law wives and children…anyway, I cannot think on this anymore. Our mission is not done yet. I will shed my tears for Camillus and the others when the time is right
. And Magnus…”

  “Yes?”

  “Make sure when the time is right that I can shed the tears for our friends. If I am not the same wreck that I was after Vitruvius, Decimus, and Carbo all died at Braduhenna fifteen years ago, then my very soul is lost.”

  “Of course,” Magnus replied. “And you be sure to do the same for me, as well as Praxus. After all, he knew Camillus even longer than we did.”

  “I want him remembered,” Artorius continued, “If not his name, at least his actions. Thousands of years from now, I want people to know the bravery of one man who stormed the beaches of a hostile foreign land alone, carrying the eagle of Rome to the furthest corner of the world.”

  The night passed uneventfully, with both armies weary from the previous day. Artorius was awake and armored up an hour before dawn. His centurions were rousing their men, who with their usual discipline immediately started to break the camp down, albeit with the typical muttered curses and grumbling that’s been prevalent with soldiers since the beginning of time. Cohort commanders reported to him as soon as they’d broken down their section of the camp and had their men ready to march. It was Magnus who informed him when the First Cohort was ready.

  “Very good,” Artorius said to his assembled leaders.

  The four surviving equite tribunes were also on hand, and he intended to use them to coordinate between units, as he himself would be marching with the First Cohort in the very center.

  “This terrain is pretty open, so we’ll advance in loose battle order, allowing plenty of room for movement between each cohort. The first five will take the lead, baggage trains in the center with the remaining cohorts in reserve, that is, until we spot the enemy. The large river is approximately ten miles north of here. We suspect we’ll run into one of the main roads that lead to a bridge. Provided Vespasian and the other legions are successful today, no doubt there will be a large number of refugees fleeing this way. And while we cannot completely pen the enemy in, we are to kill or capture as many as possible. Any questions?” When there were none, he told them, “Return to your cohorts, make ready to move out!”