The officer saluted and then galloped back up the road, disappearing amongst the eagle and front rank of the next legion in the column that was just now rounding a bend of hedgerows.
Balbus then turned to another of his staff officers and pointed to the auxiliary cohort that stood alone on the plain on the other side of the river. "Go tell that idiot to get his men back to this side of the river!"
As the officer kicked his mount into a gallop down the hill, Balbus silently hoped it was not too late. The Belgae had skirmishers in that wood, of that there was no doubt. But that many skirmishers all alone was not likely. There had been only a handful of Belgic horsemen before. Were there more still hidden?
His answer came an instant later when he heard a great cry from across the river. As Balbus watched, the distant woods that had concealed the enemy skirmishers now erupted with a horde of mounted warriors. These were not mere scouts. These were the Belgic nobles, bedecked in an assortment of mail shirts and helmets, holding spears before them, and mounted on muscled steeds. Only the nobles could afford such armory and fine beasts. There were hundreds of them, and they had been well-trained. They instantly fanned out in perfect order until they presented a single front of storming hoofs and spearpoints. As the charge bore down on the auxiliary cohort, the lightly armed Cretans and Balearics lost every trace of order. They broke and fled, ignoring the wild castigations of their officer. Alone, save for a few stalwarts, the Roman officer attempted to slash with his sword at the indomitable wave of horse flesh, but he was instantly trampled under hoof with the rest of his loyal men, hardly breaking the stride of the charging warhorses.
Balbus's officer had not yet made it to the river, and seeing the now futile nature of his task he turned in the saddle to look back at his general. Balbus waved for him to return. There was no point now. The fleeing auxiliaries could not possibly escape. Their fool of an officer had taken them too far up the hill, and now they would pay for his incompetence. The enemy horsemen overtook them, and they died. They died in clusters, and individually. Spears driven at full speed and with perfect precision skipped past the small shields slung on their backs and tore into their exposed necks and buttocks. Spears dipped and rose again with red tips all over the field. Some of the horsemen cast away their bloody spears and continued the killing with long swords of unpolished iron. The swords glimmered as dull streaks against the green plain. They swiped and flashed across the field, lopping off heads and shattering skulls in a killing frenzy that only ended when all that remained were whooping horsemen and scattered corpses.
"Move the line to the right!" Balbus corrected one of his tribunes who was directing the legion to form into three lines of battle. "The slope, Publius! Take advantage of the slope! Make ample room for the Twelfth."
Balbus could see that the Belgic cavalry was pulling up at the river's edge, and he had fully expected that. They numbered perhaps four hundred, and they would be foolish to cross the river with a four thousand-man legion waiting on the other side. Balbus’s legion sat atop a low hill that stood to the right of the road and gently sloped down to the riverbank. To the right of the hill stood a dense marsh that was unpassable, and Balbus chose to use this natural barrier as the extreme right anchor of the Roman line.
As the centurions of the Seventh finalized the order of their lines, the Twelfth legion, a relatively new legion comprised mostly of Italians, filed off of the road and into the field, moving at the double-quick to form on the Seventh's left. That made Balbus feel better than he had a few moments ago, but the bold nature of the enemy cavalry had him worried. They did not seem concerned in the least that they faced a force ten times their own. Balbus and his staff were out several paces ahead of the formed legion, and the general was easy to identify in his scarlet cloak and red plumed helmet. Some of the Belgic horsemen allowed their horses to drink from the gently flowing waters, while others shouted at Balbus, inviting him to send more troops across the river to die.
The jeering horsemen did not concern Balbus. But what did bother him was the fact that there were so many of them. Where there was that much heavy horse, there was bound to be infantry nearby. His eyes again scanned up the grassy slope where the bodies of archers and slingers dotted the landscape, and finally settled on the woods. Those woods covering the upper half of the hill could hide a lot of spearmen. He half-expected to see spear bands emerging from the trees at any moment. But instead, the Belgic horse wheeled their mounts around and rode casually back up the hill, disappearing into the woods from which they came. Had it not been for the scatter of bodies on the far slope, the other side of the river would have appeared as peaceful as it had when Balbus first saw it. But he was not fooled by it. A threat hung in the air, as thick as the mildew permeating from the marsh.
He checked the position of the sun, and then looked back up the road. Had his messenger reached Caesar yet? Would the other legions be coming on at the double-quick? As he watched the tree line on the far side of the river, he silently hoped so.
XXIII
"I see no baggage!" the mail-armored chieftain said curtly, his beard and face caked in the blue woad. A figurine of a bird protruded from the top of his bronze helmet and bobbled whenever he spoke. "I count four legions that have already taken the field. My men are growing restless, Boduognatus."
By that he meant nervous.
"Have patience, Commius," the Nervii chieftain said calmingly.
Boduognatus and Commius both peeked out through the fresh spring leaves hanging from the tangle of branches. They stood upon a crude wooden platform in one of the towering trees atop the tallest hill on the north side of the river. The platform had been constructed well before the arrival of the Romans, so that Boduognatus could view the entire battlefield and coordinate the attack of the combined Belgic tribes.
"When will you give the order?” Commius pressed him. ”Caesar’s entire army will be on the field by the time we see the baggage train, and I’ll have legions across from me."
Commius was the chieftain of the Atrebates tribe. His fifteen thousand spears were concealed in the forest below the hill on the west side of the road. They made up the extreme right of the five mile long ranks of hidden Belgic warriors. The Belgic army was concealed in the forest that ran along the north bank of the river. It was not ideal concealment, for there was a small space of open ground between the tree line and the water’s edge. Boduognatus would have preferred it if the tree line ran right up to the river, but that could not be helped. This place was still the most ideal spot for an ambush, since the Roman army, arriving on that narrow road that ran through the hedgerows on the south side of the river, was forced to file onto the sloping bank one unit at a time – just as the legions were doing now.
“The bank to my front is clear now, Boduognatus!” Commius said hotly. “If we wait any longer, it will be covered with Romans. In Lugus’s name, man, we’ve been waiting so long the legions are starting to dig in!”
That was true. From his vantage point in the trees, Boduognatus could clearly see the four legions now on the field. They had quickly formed into battle lines upon arriving in expectation of an attack, but now apparently felt that an attack would not come. The legions had detached a good half of their numbers to begin construction on the formidable marching camps, and now bare-chested Romans drove stakes into the fresh earth and dug trenches.
A full two hours had passed since the all too eager Belgic horsemen had run down the Roman skirmishers at the river’s edge. The reckless act had alerted the Romans to the Belgic army’s presence, and it had seemed that any hope of surprising the main Roman force was lost. The blunder had so enraged Boduognatus that he had ordered the responsible officer immediately executed. But, as the day had run on, without any further carelessness by his own men, the Romans had begun to assume a more casual stance, and now Boduognatus was convinced that they were ignorant of the enormous army hiding only a few hundred paces away from their lines.
The steady arrival
of four legions in succession had shaken the nerves of Commius and many of the other chieftains, and that was understandable. Still, Boduognatus held out hope that Senator Valens had not betrayed him, and that the baggage train would soon come into view. That was the key. Start a panic with hundreds of carts and mules on that narrow road and it would become jammed in moments, blocking the way for any reinforcing legions to get through, and closing the escape route for those on the field. While the senator’s promise that only one or two legions would appear before the baggage train had proved incorrect, Boduognatus was confident that his seventy thousand-man army could swallow up the four legions that now sat on the opposite bank, if by sheer numbers alone, but he could see that Commius still needed convincing.
"I am certain the impedimenta simply fell behind on the march,” Boduognatus said to Commius, confidently. “It will come after this legion. I am sure of it.”
Boduognatus silently prayed that it would be so, but before he finished speaking, the lookouts in the treetops got the attention of both men and pointed to the other side of the river. The eagle of yet another legion was emerging from the hedges. This legion, the fifth to arrive, was just as large as the last, numbering nearly four thousand spears. The two chieftains watched in silence as it slowly filed onto the slope beside the previous legion, first deploying into line, and then making preparations to construct camp like the others.
"No baggage!" Commius finally said, fuming. "Your Roman friend has betrayed you, or you have betrayed us. I will not stand here and watch our enemies build fortifications and then send my men to die against them. I will withdraw. My people stand a much better chance on the walls of their oppida than they do here. "
"Wait, comrade!" Boduognatus pleaded. "We have struggled so hard to unite our tribes in arms. Let us not dissolve this alliance now, when it is our only hope of stopping our enemies. We are the Belgae. The invaders will not take our lands from us. The prophecy has foretold our victory."
"Bah! Prophecies are there to calm the nerves of the conscripts and allay the fears of their mothers. I need proof, Boduognatus, and so far you have given me only the promises made by a Roman senator. I will not stake my men's lives on such a false hope."
A hail came from the shaded ground below. A rider of the Viromandui tribe had just arrived and was craning his head to look up at them. "My lord has sent me to ask when the signal for attack will be given. He has five legions to his front preparing earthworks. There is no baggage train in sight. He demands that you come to him personally and tell him your plans. Otherwise, he will consider this a Nervii betrayal and withdraw his army from the field."
Ten thousand Viromandui warriors manned the center of the Belgic line. Evidently, their chieftain was also having doubts.
Commius met Boduognatus's eyes. "Your coalition is falling apart, my lord," he said sardonically. "We never should have trusted Nervii filth! I go!"
Commius made to descend the ladder, but Boduognatus grabbed his arm to stop him.
"Wait, my brother. This chance will not come again."
"Unhand me," Commius snarled, placing his hand on the elk horn pommel of his sheathed sword, "or I will spill your guts upon these planks!"
Another legion arriving, my lord!" A lookout called from one of the higher branches. "That makes six on the field!"
Boduognatus met Commius's eyes, then let go of his arm and turned away, acceptance of the facts finally overcoming his confidence. His heart sank as he watched four thousand more legionaries file off of the distant road and onto the river plain.
"Go then," Boduognatus said, not looking back.
Commius harrumphed and then climbed down the ladder.
As the Atrebas chieftain and his staff mounted and thundered off to rejoin their troops, Boduognatus’s mind whirled around his own failure.
How could he have been so foolish to trust Valens? The Roman senator had lied to him, and now he had led his warriors and those of the other tribes on a massive endeavor that had accomplished nothing. The shame of it all overtook his thoughts, and he suddenly became very wary of those around him. Sure, Commius no longer trusted him, but what of his own men? What were they thinking? He had seen his own bodyguard mumbling down below as they waited patiently with his nobles. Perhaps the tribal council had anticipated this failure, and had put them under oath to remove him if anything went wrong – and this day had gone so terribly wrong. Perhaps one of those polished longswords awaited him, should he climb down. They would have little choice. Once the other two tribes began to leave, his own Nervii warriors would abandon the field, too. Most would not reassemble at the oppidum but would go back to their farms, like the simple farmers they were, only caring whose rule they served under when their crops did not need tending. Today, the farmers were warriors. Today, they carried the spear. They had danced the war dance and sung the war songs. Their blood was up and their blue faces hungered for Roman blood. Today, they were unstoppable. Tomorrow, they would be normal men again, mere peasants, more concerned with the shape of the moon than with the Latin invaders marching across their lands. And the first harvest was approaching. Did Commius and the others not see this? Did the fools not understand that there was no chance of ever again forming an army this size, an army capable of defeating the Roman menace?
The Romans had to be driven from the land. They were a blight on all that was pure and good. They brought with them the corruption of extravagance and greed. If the Romans were successful in forcing the tribes into vassalage, their values and culture would spread through all of Belgica like a plague. Then, a more potent force than any Roman army would take hold of the people and never let them go – Roman merchants, bringing with them trade and wealth, the likes of which the Belgae had never seen before. Instead of seeking the pure and honorable lives of warrior farmers, they would learn complacency and indolence under the security that came with the Roman denarius. No longer would they trust in the old gods for favorable weather and fruitful harvests. Why should they, when ships on protected seas and caravans on Roman roads could provide them with all they would ever need? They would become entirely dependent on the Latins, and, yes, would probably consider themselves Roman within a few generations. The Belgae, the Nervii, and their ways – the ways of his forefathers – would cease to exist.
But with a victory today, all of that would change. The fate of the Belgae would be different. Did the others not understand that their freedom was secured or lost forever depending on their actions of this day?
"My lord!" The lookout called again, pointing across the river. "Look!"
Boduognatus looked up, fully expecting to see yet another legion arriving, but that is not what he saw. He gasped aloud as he gazed at the cloud of dust hanging above the road. Beneath the cloud, teams of mules were emerging from the hedges. The trudging beasts were heavily weighted down with equipment, some bearing their own loads while others drew carts and wagons. One after another, the vehicles came, stretching back on the road as far as visibility would allow. Caesar's impedimenta had finally arrived.
Boduognatus’s spirits surged.
If this train carried the baggage of six legions, it would be long indeed. It would stretch back for miles. The two legions at the rear of the column would be blocked from joining the other six. It was not perfect, but it was salvageable. Six legions was still a formidable force, but the Romans were not ready. In a way the long delay had created an unanticipated advantage. Fully half of the legionaries on the field had doffed the encumbrances of armor and weapons to construct camps. Several bands were even away from their units, chopping away at the distant tree line to gather materials for palisade walls.
The time for the attack had come.
“Tell your lord, the signal is given!” Boduognatus called down to the messenger from the Viromandui. “At the sound of the horn, he is to advance against the Roman center.”
The man looked uncertain. “But, my lord requested that you come – “
“There’s no ti
me for that, damn you! Now, ride!”
As the chastised Viromandui rode off, Boduognatus pointed down to one of his own mounted nobles. “Gerulf, your steed is swift! Ride like the wind, and tell Commius that the signal is given. Tell him, if he leaves the field now, he will be known in the songs of old as the coward who deserted his brethren in the face of the Romans. Go, now!”
Boduognatus took a last look at the Roman lines before climbing down from the tree and mounting his own horse. He and his nobles received helmets and shields from their retainers and then gave tribute to Lugus for the Roman blood they would spill this day.
A dozen men in the treetops bearing large horns looked down at their lord, awaiting his signal. Boduognatus looked back at them, and then solemnly raised one arm, pausing just long enough to mentally steel himself for the death and butchery he would unleash when he lowered it again.
XXIV
"Not a sign of the enemy," Caesar said as he sipped from the waterskin and studied the opposite river bank. "I am afraid there will be no action today, gentlemen. It appears Balbus had me rush these troops here for nothing."
The two senators stood nearby, Valens examining the distant woods, Porcius sighing from the heat of the day. Both men were dressed much like Caesar, in corselets and scarlet cloaks, and while Valens’s armor fit him as though it had molded with his skin, Porcius’s was far too small, and forced his meaty jowls to spill over the neck. All three men were bare-headed, having left their helmets with the squadron of aides that held their horses just far enough away to give the high men privacy.
"This country makes Balbus jumpy, no doubt," Valens said. "I’ve known legates to see a thousand spears where there are only twenty."
"If twenty did that, then I am truly impressed," Porcius said, pointing to the bodies of the skirmishers that had been left on the opposite side of the river to go rigid under the afternoon sun.
Rome: Fury of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 18
