by James Mace
“Sir, I reconnoitered the hill on the far right,” Lucius explained quickly. “From what we can see, the enemy have no soldiers up there. While you suppress the enemy, I can take the high ground and get behind the Seventh Legion.”
“Good work,” Manlius acknowledged. He then observed, “Those men are all amateurs. They may have stood their ground for now, but a few catapult stones will break their resolve. If you can get behind them, it will be a complete rout. Once you hold the hilltop, I’ll send some of our reserve cohorts to reinforce you. We’ll then finish off this pitiful band of turncoats that Vespasian has sent against us.”
Lucius rushed back to his regiment, his rapid breathing matching that of his mount. Since their initial skirmish with the Flavian horse on the far left, his men had yet to engage the enemy again. All were anxious to get back into the fight.
“Any orders, sir?” Centurion Liberius asked. He, too, was ready to take the battle to the Flavians, though he was wise enough to know that any head-on attacks would be suicidal. They had yet to see any Flavian Cavalry this far to the right, which he hoped was a weakness they could exploit.
“We’re to assault that hill,” Lucius replied, pointing with his spatha. “Once we capture the heights, General Manlius will send in a reserve force to help us turn the flank.”
“Just let us at them, sir!” a trooper shouted, brandishing his spear.
“We’ll teach the Flavians the bloody price for treason,” a decurion added.
Lucius’ heart was pounding in his chest. He looked to Centurion Liberius, who nodded in concurrence. Reassured that he was making the right decision, the tribune raised his sword high, turned his horse about, and kicked his mount into a gallop. His troopers shouted in excited fury as they joined their commander in the storming of the heights. All were confident they would catch the enemy off-guard and quickly bring about an end to the battle. With such a victory, the Flavian resolve to continue the war would crumble. Lucius secretly thought to himself how fitting that he was now earning the right to march in an imperial triumph, like his father and grandfather before him.
Though the air was cool on this night, the soldiers of the Fifth Cohort were sweating under their heavy armor as they began their rapid ascent up the hill. Centurion Galeo had ordered his centurions to form their own battle lines, and to act as independent entities rather than trying to keep the entire cohort in one massed formation on the broken ground. Just prior to reaching the base of the hill, the cohort seamlessly transitioned from a marching column into battle formation. The hill face was wide, so each century arrayed their men into four ranks, allowing for as much frontal coverage as possible.
“Watch your step!” Galeo shouted to his century as they stumbled over large rocks and deep gouges within the hill face.
Gaius, on the far left of his century, felt the stinging of sweat in his eyes and could hear the loud and rapid breathing of the legionaries on his right. To his immediate left, a few paces away, was the next century within the cohort. Centurions and options had their gladii drawn. The rest of their soldiers plodded up the hill with their javelins resting on their shoulders, ready to throw. Gaius could see clear sky and stars as they neared the top. His legs burned. The slope had been much steeper than he’d realized. A series of shouts to the left alerted him, as all hell suddenly broke loose.
“Enemy horse to our front!”
“Oh, fuck!” a legionary next to Gaius shouted.
“By Juno’s cunt, where did they come from?” another said, with panic in his voice.
“Get to the top!” Centurion Nicanor bellowed, from the right of the century’s line. Decani shouted subsequent orders for their men to hurry, lest Vitellian cavalry claim the high ground.
It was scarcely another twenty meters to the crest, yet it felt as if they could not reach it soon enough. Legs pumped as blood rushed through their veins, sweat dripping, breaths coming in rapid gasps. With each step they expected to see an unstoppable wave of Vitellian horsemen storming over the hill. Yet, all they could see was the starlit sky. It took just half a minute from the time of the initial alert until the entire cohort reached the top. With the open plain below giving a glimpse of the enemy army in the moonlight, they spotted an entire regiment of horsemen angling towards them to their left front. The Vitellian riders were doubtless as shocked as they were to see opposing forces reaching the top of the hill. With no other options, they kicked their mounts into a sprint, giving a loud battle cry as they charged.
“Set to repel cavalry!” Nicanor shouted, as his century crested the hill.
“First and second ranks, down! Third and fourth ranks, set!” Gaius ordered.
In a contest between infantry and cavalry, it all came down to who managed to seize the initiative first. With enough momentum, and by not allowing their adversaries time to react, a wall of horsemen could smash through even the battle lines of even the most battle-hardened legionaries. However, the Romans had developed a stratagem to counter this hundreds of years prior. Legionaries in the front rank were quickly collapsing their intervals, so they were practically shield-to-shield. They immediately dropped down to one knee, while planting the butt of their javelins in the ground, the weapons protruding towards their foes. All the while, they braced hard against their shields. The second rank remained standing but also collapsed their intervals. They balanced their shields at an angle, off those of the soldiers in the front rank. They kept their pila protruding forward, with both ranks creating a bristling wall of spears. The third and fourth ranks raised their javelins up to their shoulders, ready to throw.
Thankfully for Nicanor and Gaius, their century was towards the extreme right, among the last to be engaged by the rampaging horde of enemy horsemen. Loud crashes were heard to their left as hundreds of cavalrymen crashed into the ranks of the centuries on flank. They and the century on their immediate left had been quick enough to form the repel cavalry formation. The leading elements, roughly one hundred horsemen, came at them. Horses reared up and shied away from the wall of spears, refusing to ride headlong to their deaths.
“Third rank…throw!” Nicanor cried.
A salvo of heavy pila slammed into both men and horse, the shrieks of the latter ripping through the very souls of all who heard them.
The weight of men and horses smashed against the braced shield walls, toppling a number of legionaries. The cavalrymen were being stabbed from beneath by the kneeling infantrymen. It was a chaotic struggle. With the Fifth Cohort’s left in disarray, yet their right holding the line and inflicting a terrible toll, the Vitellian horsemen appeared to be in a state of confusion. They didn’t know whether to withdraw or continue to press the attack.
“Look out, sir!” a legionary in the fourth rank shouted to Gaius.
He quickly shoved his optio aside with his shield before unleashing his pilum towards an enemy mounted officer riding straight towards him. The remainder of the fourth rank threw their pila into the now disordered mass of rampaging horses and helpless riders.
The man charging towards Gaius had taken the pilum in the lower left of his abdomen. He gave a loud cry, dropping his spatha as his horse continued to stumble forward. The optio sidestepped to the left, tilted his shield, and slammed the bottom edge into the rider’s chest. The officer tumbled from his mount with a loud crash of armor. The entire action lasted but a few seconds. Only then, did Gaius notice the plumed helmet and single breastplate worn by an officer of the equites.
“Reform!”
There was no time for him to see who the fallen rider was. All was a hectic frenzy as the Vitellian cavalry retreated back down the hill. A line of enemy troopers quickly formed a wall of lances in front of their stricken officer. Four men dismounted and helped the badly injured man onto the back of a horse. One of them wrenched the javelin from his stomach, causing the man to cry out once more in pain.
Though a number of their elements succeeded in smashing through the cohort’s battle ranks, their numbers were too
few. With the centuries on the right holding their ground, all momentum was quickly lost. Perhaps two minutes had passed since the first riders were spotted, and they were now falling back in shambles towards their own lines. Twenty-five horsemen lay dead or wounded. Their surviving officers had been wise enough to realize they could not win this struggle for the hilltop. The Flavians now held the high ground.
While the Vitellian cavalry and Flavian infantry were caught up in their frenzied death struggle, the soldiers of the Seventh Gemina Legion waited anxiously for the enemy to engage them. Centurions paced behind the ranks of their legionaries, all waiting with bated breath. There were a handful of dead Vitellian soldiers to their front; the wounded having been dragged behind the lines to be cared for along with their own. Were they fighting barbarians or a foreign adversary, their injured foes would likely have been killed or left to suffer in agony. Although this war had become a savage and hateful struggle, those who fell in battle were still brother Romans.
“Eyes front, damn you!” a centurion shouted to a group of legionaries, whose gazes were transfixed on the melee taking place atop the hill.
“Enemy horse were trying to flank us,” his optio said, walking over to him. “From the looks of it, some of our lads managed to steal the high ground and now have their cavalry on the run.”
“Very good,” the centurion nodded. He looked out across the open expanse. The brightness of the moon was deceiving. It was impossible to make out the definitive shapes of enemy soldiers. Perceived distances were also deceptive. The glow of torches from the enemy lines further disrupted their night vision.
“Think they’ll come at us again?” the optio asked quietly.
The centurion shook his head. “I don’t know. The damn wait is always the worst.”
In truth, both officers were filled with trepidation. They knew the Vitellian Army was comprised of highly experienced legionaries from the Rhine. Their own soldiers of the Seventh Gemina, aside from the centurions and principle officers, had all served less than a year in the ranks. Recruit training had been a very ad hoc affair, and most of their soldiers were equipped with second-hand armor and helmets. Still, they had acquitted themselves well thus far. They could only hope that the rest of the army had fared as well as them.
Relieved he had sent the cohort from Legio X to secure the hilltop, General Primus was still coming to grips with the massive risk he had accepted by invading Italia and rushing to engage the Vitellians without waiting for Mucianus. He was beginning to wonder if his hurried attempts to follow up on his early success had been sound initiative or rash imprudence. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounding of trumpets to the rear of his army. Legio VII, Claudia, had arrived!
Messalla, the acting legate, rode up to the commander-in-chief and saluted. “Seventh Claudia, all present and ready for battle, general. I hope we are not too late.”
“Your timing is fortuitous,” Primus replied. He then pointed past the hilltop. “I need you to occupy the extreme left. There’s a ditch that will make for a viable obstacle to your front. The Vitellians just tried taking the hilltop with a force of cavalry. I suspect they will try and find another way around our flank.”
“Understood,” the legate replied. “Don’t worry, general, they won’t get past us.” He then called over his shoulder, “Seventh Claudia, with me!”
Primus watched as the tired soldiers, who had marched even further than his own, followed their acting-legate around the small hill. He knew the Vitellians had a sizeable reserve of legionary detachments. He rightly suspected that once they saw this fresh legion on the Flavian left, they would have no choice but to sortie a large force against them.
“We’ve just evened the odds,” Primus said under his breath. By engaging the Vitellians before the arrival of Seventh Claudia, he had gravely risked being overwhelmed by the enemy’s superior numbers. Now he had no idea who, if anyone, held the numerical advantage. Since there appeared to be a brief lull in the fighting, the commander-in-chief rode the length of his battle lines and did a quick assessment of his army’s morale and fighting strength. Given his terrain advantage, the Flavian general was determined to make this a defensive battle. This meant, however, that the next move was the Vitellians’ to make.
The pain in Lucius’ side was terrible. The pilum had punctured through his armor and embedded itself deep in his lower left stomach. When his troopers carried him hurriedly from the field, they inadvertently tore the heavy weapon from his side, which ripped open the already terrible wound. His men laid him with his back against a large rock. The tribune felt terribly nauseous. He practically tore his helmet from his head and struggled to keep from fainting. Centurion Liberius leapt from his horse and knelt next to his commander, clasping his hand.
“Looks like I made the same damn mistake as your last commanding officer,” Lucius said. With a series of deep breaths he fought the blinding pain.
“No, you did the right thing, sir,” the centurion reassured him. “None of us could have known they had legionaries scaling that damned hill the same time as us.”
“Feels like Neptune skewered me with his bloody trident,” Lucius replied.
“If you’re in pain, it means you’re still alive,” the centurion reasoned, trying to assure the badly stricken tribune. Lucius armor prevented him from seeing just how bad the wound was, though the length of tunic that protruded from his under his armor was soaked in blood.
“I’ll be alright,” Lucius said, hoping to convince both himself and the centurion. “Get me a rag or something so I don’t bleed to death.”
“Right away, sir,” a nearby trooper said.
He quickly returned with a large strip of cloth, which the tribune folded into a square and thrust under his armor over the wound. He winced in renewed pain as he did so.
“We should get you out of that armor,” Liberius said.
Lucius pushed him away. “Leave it. I need you to take command of the regiment and get our men back in the fight. Inform General Manlius of what happened.”
“Yes, sir.” Liberius let out a sigh of resignation, as he caught his first glimpse of the soldiers from Seventh Claudia. “It would seem the enemy has reinforced their left with an entire legion.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered if we did take that hill, then,” Lucius reasoned. He took another long, slow breath before ordering his centurion to, “Go and win this battle.”
Before departing, Liberius knelt and clasped Lucius’ hand once more. “It has been an honor to serve with you, sir. Our time was brief, but you have earned your place in history as a Soldier of Rome.”
Chapter XV: Engines of Hades’ Fury
***
Master Centurion Vitruvius walked up and down the line of soldiers in his lead cohorts. Twenty minutes had passed since the enemy withdrew, and the energy surge brought on by their first encounter with the Vitellian forces had subsided. All were now filled with trepidation brought on by the extended lull since the initial contact. Eyes strained in the moonlight to catch a glimpse of any potential enemy movements, yet nothing could be discerned with any certainty.
“Come on, attack, damn you,” Vitruvius whispered. He understood his soldiers’ anxiety. The fear of the unknown was often far greater than that of a visible threat. The sooner the Vitellians attacked, the sooner the issue could be decided.
The air was still. The only sounds heard were the muted conversations between legionaries. After a few tense moments, a muffled thump came from across the field. This was followed by an audible sound of something landing about twenty feet behind the rear rank of the frontline cohorts.
“What the hell was that?” a legionary asked, looking about frantically.
This was followed by the smashing sound of a large stone crashing into the propped up shield of a legionary. The soldier gave a bark of surprise as he was toppled over.
“What the fuck?” another voice yelled.
Rounded stones, weighing between ten and twenty pounds
each, were landing in and around the assembled ranks of the Seventh Legion.
“Damn it all,” the master centurion swore. “They’ve brought up siege engines. Everyone down, now!”
The order was quickly echoed by centurions and their subordinate officers. Legionaries were already dropping down to one knee, futilely using their shields as cover. The scutum was effective against swords, spears, and arrows, but did little against a heavy stone shot from an onager or siege ballista. Shields were splintered, soldiers screaming in pain as their limbs and bodies were shattered by the heavy stones. The one thing saving the legion from an even greater savaging was that the darkness impeded the enemy crewmen’s vision. They were having to blindly guess their ranges. Most shots either sailed over the formation or impacted in front of them, kicking up large clods of dirt and rock. Regardless, the psychological effects were devastating. Vitruvius feared his legion would not be able to stand against such an onslaught for very long.
For the Tenth Legion’s detachment, the small hilltop protected them from the enemy siege engines. The entire battlefront was very large, extending at least a mile from the right of their position with the Seventh Claudia Legion now anchoring the left.
“The Vitellians think Seventh Gemina is our weak point,” Centurion Galeo said, as he and his centurions and options surveyed the field below. “It’s hard to say how many heavy weapons they have. However, I suspect they’ve concentrated all of them on this one spot.”
“If Seventh Gemina breaks, then that punches a big fucking hole in the entire formation,” Nicanor added.
“Enemy cohorts are moving against Seventh Claudia,” another centurion noted. “Which means they cannot move to plug the breach should the lads in Seventh Gemina break.”
