Rome: Fury of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series)

by R. Cameron Cooke

  XXVII

  Lucius and Alain were deposited on a narrow part of the road leading up to the plain where the battle now took place. In their scramble through the marsh, they had encountered many mule drivers, auxiliaries, and even a few legionaries that had chosen to take their chances in the wild rather than face the Belgae onslaught. Lucius and Alain were largely ignored by the stragglers, though Lucius did catch a curious glance from one common soldier who probably wondered why a tribune would share his horse with a slave boy, for that’s exactly how he and Alain appeared. Lucius now wore the leather corselet, plumed helmet, and greaves he had taken off of Argus’s dead body – everything but the noble’s cloak, which had been drenched in the man’s blood. Lucius looked every bit the part, if one could look past his filthy skin and unrefined features.

  Now, the two ducked out of the quiet shadowy path and into chaos. The road was choked with carts, wagons, and pack animals of all kind. Many drivers had completely abandoned their vehicles, leaving them to obstruct the path of the few dutiful handlers trying to turn their unwieldy carriages around in the narrow space. Angry mules brayed and kicked wildly at the unreasonable demands made on them. Some carts were overturned, while many were hopelessly mired within the dense hedges on either side of the road. Here and there, Roman officers cursed at the drivers in an effort to bring order to the confusion, but the impedimenta was far beyond a state of panic.

  “You, there!” one of the officers shouted, after sighting Lucius. “What is your name? What are you doing with that boy? Come here, and help me get these carts moving toward the front! I said, come here, you son of a whore!”

  Lucius did not respond, but instead kicked the horse down the road leading toward the din of the battle. The farther they went, the more refugees they passed, all heading in the opposite direction. Some were wounded and bleeding, some were deserting. A troop of allied Treveri cavalry also thundered by, seemingly blind to anyone or anything but their path to safety. Lucius saw them trample one limping legionary to a pulp beneath their hooves when he failed to get out of the way in time.

  Where the road opened out onto the river plain, Lucius and Alain came upon another jumble of artillery carts and wagons. A centurion was trying to bring them into order, but was having a difficult time of it. He seemed beside himself as carts continued to come from the battlefield when he was trying to send them in the other direction.

  “Damn you, you maggot-brained idiots!” the centurion barked at a team of drivers. “You’re going the wrong way! Didn’t I just send you up the road that way? Why in Juno’s name are you coming back?”

  One of the drivers shrugged. “The senator ordered us to turn around.”

  “What senator?”

  “He’s just up there,” the driver motioned down the road toward the battlefield. “He’s ordering everyone back. Says the proconsul has given the order to retreat.”

  Lucius overheard this, and Valens’s treachery immediately came to mind. The bastard was just up ahead directing the baggage to retreat. Meanwhile, Caesar and the rest of the army fought against dismal odds. Lucius’s lips quivered in anger as he fingered the hilt of his gladius. He was determined to settle the score between him and Valens right here and now.

  “Alain, you must remain here,” he said, letting the boy down off the horse. “It is too dangerous for you to go any further.”

  Alain looked up at him skeptically. Lucius saw his expression and laughed.

  “Fear not, lad. I will keep my word. Should I come out of this alive, I will ensure that your mistress is protected. Nothing will happen to her. Don’t worry.”

  Lucius then kicked the horse into a gallop and headed up the road toward the battle. The battle had been hidden from view by a sharp rise in the road, and as Lucius came to the summit, he was dazzled by what lay before him. The plain, leading down to the river was covered with the two armies, a seemingly endless mass of hacking and jabbing combatants, desperately locked in a scene of carnage and savagery. Missiles flew above the heads of the raging warriors, while at their feet the bodies of more and more dying men and horses littered the blood-soaked ground. Lucius could make out the legions, some formed and fighting fiercely, some on the verge of being surrounded. They were beset by tens of thousands of Belgae, both advancing from the river and working their way around to the right of the threadbare Roman line.

  The two legions in the center, the Eleventh and the Eighth by their standards, faced an incredible mass of spear and sword wielding Belgae advancing up at them from the river. The two legions were being pushed back slowly, but they were still intact, and they were holding their formations. In sharp contrast, the two legions on the right were a picture of chaos. Amidst the tangle of lines, Lucius picked out the eagle standards of the Seventh and Twelfth legions, but he could see no discernable formation. The bulk of both legions had collapsed into a crude angle, and the few units that had not were mixed among the enemy ranks and frantically fought off attackers from all sides at once. Belgic spearmen and axemen were pressing hard to get around the rear of the two legions to cut them off from the road. The only thing stopping them was a single cohort that had been thrown out in a line behind the legions to keep the lane open. But the Belgae were already adjusting their formations to overwhelm it. As dismal as it all seemed, however, Lucius saw no signs of retreat. Aside from a few stragglers, here and there, the legions appeared determined to fight to the death.

  Lucius was so distracted by the distant battle that he almost failed to notice the portly officer, perched atop a horse, who sat at the head of the road, turning away all arriving traffic. The man was so heavy that he hardly fit into his armor, and he continually wiped the sweat away from his cheeks and jowls with a damp rag.

  “I am Senator Titus Porcius,” he announced repeatedly as the drivers brought their teams to the summit of the hill. “By order of the proconsul, you are to turn your vehicles about and go back the way you came. This army is withdrawing from the field. Go back, I say!”

  This man was certainly not Valens, as Lucius had expected. Lucius suddenly realized that this was the other senator, whom he had seen accompanying Valens around the camp. Lucius had not recognized him at first. The ill-fitting armor had distracted him, not to mention the helmet that looked like a child’s toy upon the senator’s enormous head.

  “You there, tribune!” Senator Porcius snapped, his perspiring jowls shaking with every movement of his jaw.

  It took Lucius a few moments to realize that Porcius was addressing him.

  “Stop gawking there like a common soldier and do what I say!” Porcius demanded, then pointed to two limbered scorpions being pushed by their handlers in an effort to turn them around. “Take charge of these engines and see to it they make it to safety. I want them undamaged. Is that clear?”

  “By whose order, sir?” Lucius asked gamely.

  The senator appeared stunned by the response. “By mine, and that of the proconsul! The army is retreating, man. Now, get going.”

  Lucius did not move. “The army does not appear to be retreating, sir.”

  “What?” Porcius appeared taken aback. He instantly began to perspire even more, dabbing frantically at his neck and temples. “You would question the orders of the proconsul, young man?”

  “I wouldn’t question them,” Lucius snarled, “had they come from the proconsul, and not from Senator Valens!”

  The senator’s eyes grew rounder at the shock that the tribune could know of such things. He was about to speak again when a band of legionaries suddenly arrived. They were led by the same centurion Lucius had encountered down the road. The officer and his men had come up the road at the double-quick undoubtedly to see who was ordering the vehicles turned back.

  Porcius caught site of them. “Centurion, you have arrived just in time. This tribune is disobeying the direct order of the proconsul. He is refusing to direct the baggage to turn about. Arrest him, and take his place. See to it that all vehicles are sent back the way
they came. Don’t let a single one onto the field of battle. Is that clear?”

  The centurion glanced once at Lucius and then back at the senator. “I was ordered here by General Fabius, senator, to do precisely the opposite, sir. Caesar told him to have all the baggage brought up, forthwith. I heard him say it with my own two ears. General Fabius then ordered me to see to it. Is it possible, sir, you misunderstood – “

  “Damn your insolence to hell, man!” Porcius cursed, though his manner expressed his nervousness. “Don’t patronize me! Who do you think you are? I know what the proconsul ordered, and he ordered to prepare for a general retreat. Now, arrest this man, before I have you arrested!”

  The centurion appeared confused, but after a moment’s consideration he seemed to have made up his mind to acquiesce to the senator’s wishes. He motioned for two of his soldiers to come over while shooting an uncertain glance at Lucius. Lucius was preparing to kick his horse to make a break for it, but a sudden shriek behind him compelled him to turn around.

  A band of blue-painted Nervii, wielding axes and spears, had emerged from the hedge lining the opposite side of the road. They were rushing at the Romans, screaming a wild battle-cry. Their first victims were a team of mule drivers who had the misfortune of being too close to the hedge. Before either driver could descend from the wagon, they were stabbed repeatedly in the belly with rapid thrusts of the deadly Nervii spearpoints. Then, the Nervii rushed amongst the other carts and wagons.

  Lucius drew his gladius and wheeled his horse around to join the centurion and the other legionaries bracing for the attack. They were all surprised when, instead of attacking them, the warriors began to kill the mule teams. One mule after another dropped, some of them kicking, some braying. They were packed too tightly and were restrained by their harnesses, so they had no way of getting away from the stabbing spears and hacking axes. It took Lucius a moment to realize the enemy’s intentions.

  “They’re killing the teams to block the road!” he shouted to the centurion. “We must stop them!”

  The centurion nodded, and then shouted to his men, “At them, lads!”

  Lucius joined the rush of legionaries, steering his mount for the nearest spearman. The bare-chested warrior was trying to dislodge his weapon from the neck of a dying mule. Lucius was armed with the ornamental gladius he had taken off of Argus’s body. As he passed the Nervii warrior, he swung the gladius in a low arc at the man’s head. The short sword was not meant to be used from the back of a horse and did not have the reach for such a maneuver. Instead of beheading the man, as Lucius had intended, the tip of the sword cut a finger deep gash in the man’s helmet, knocking it off his head. Then, wheeling his mount, Lucius drove the point of the sword into the dazed man’s face. The point found and expanded an eye socket, and then drove into the man’s brain. The warrior’s body twitched uncontrollably and fell to the ground dead.

  Two legionaries beside Lucius thrust their pila into both sides of a warrior, but then were cut down themselves by two more Nervii. The centurion fought nearby, too. Lucius saw him yell like a maniac as he wrenched a spear from the hands of a Nervii warrior, twirled it in the air, and then brought it down with both hands into the warrior’s foot, pinning it to the ground. As the Nervii cried out in pain, and groped to free the weapon, the centurion produced a pugio and opened the man’s throat in a single swift motion.

  There were more Nervii than legionaries, and soon the numbers began to make the difference. Romans were singled out and killed by two or three spearmen at a time. Lucius used the horse to the best of his advantage, bringing his blade down hard to crush one Nervii skull after another, but eventually, a spear found his horse’s breast, and drove several feet into the animal, piercing its heart. His mount toppled to the ground and him with it. The Nervii tried to move in for the kill, but in an instant the centurion was there with two more legionaries, and drove the enemy back.

  “We’re outnumbered!” the centurion called to him.

  It took a moment for Lucius to realize that the centurion was looking to him for guidance, believing him to be a tribune. The man appeared young for his rank, and could not have been in his position for more than a few months.

  “Keep fighting!” Lucius shouted. “They will break!”

  Lucius then noticed that a great number of the mule drivers were skulking behind the carts, hanging back at a safe distance to wait and see the outcome of the skirmish. With a wild look in his eyes, Lucius glared and pointed his bloody sword at them.

  “Get off your arses and fight, damn you!” he shouted.

  This had the opposite effect on several of the drivers, who quickly beat a hasty retreat, but many of those who remained, either out of shame or fear of the maniacal tribune with the blood splattered face, grabbed up any weapon they could and rushed into the fray. This new threat, though minor, put the Nervii off balance, and the pressure on the legionaries let up just enough for them to regroup and renew their attack. They drove at the blue warriors, knocking axes and spears away, shoving and jabbing, varnishing their swords with fresh Nervii blood, until the stunned enemy began to falter.

  A mail-clad warrior with a longsword, whom Lucius took for the Nervii officer, was trapped between the shields of two legionaries. Both Romans plunged their swords into the chest of the restrained officer, and then withdrew them simultaneously. The remaining spearmen looked on in hopelessness as their leader’s armor ran red, and he dropped to the ground, dead. They began to fall back, and soon were running full bore for the safety of the hedge from which they had come.

  The centurion raised his sword in triumph and prompted his men to chase down the fleeing foe. He turned to congratulate the tribune, but the tribune was no longer beside him. The centurion looked up to see that the young officer had picked up a javelin and was now bounding over corpses in pursuit of the heavy senator, who was frantically kicking his horse to get away from the crazed man. He did not get far. With a throw as near to perfect as the centurion had ever seen, the tribune hurled the pilum at the fleeing senator. The six-foot long weapon sailed through the air straight and true, and struck the big man squarely in the small of the back, instantly knocking him from the saddle. His giant form crashed to the earth like an over-sized sack of grain, breaking off the shaft of the weapon.

  In less than a heartbeat, the tribune was on top of him, rolling the large man over onto his back, disregarding his screams of pain. Then, looking down into the senator’s eyes with his gladius held at the man’s fat neck, the tribune’s face twisted in a rage.

  “I know Valens sent you, not Caesar!” the tribune shouted, slapping the wide-eyed Porcius across the face. “Isn’t that right! Tell me I’m right!”

  The centurion did not know if he should go to the senator’s aid or help the tribune.

  “I – I can’t feel my legs,” the senator blubbered between labored breaths.

  This drew another vicious blow from the tribune.

  “Answer me, you fat piece of mule dung! Who sent you?”

  The tribune threatened to strike him again, but the senator finally spoke.

  “Yes!” Porcius shouted, raising his pudgy arms to protect his face. “Valens sent me! Valens made me do it! Jupiter’s mercy, I can’t feel my legs!”

  The centurion had now made up his mind not to interfere. He also wanted to hear more. Guessing that this information might be sensitive, he ordered his men away.

  “What is your plan for Caesar?” the tribune demanded.

  “I don’t know what you mean?” Porcius said meekly. “Please don’t strike me again!”

  Lucius then held the point of his gladius to Porcius’s bare belly which was sticking out beneath his armor and through a large tear in his tunic.

  “How does Valens intend to kill Caesar?” Lucius said again, fully determined to gut the senator if he lied again.

  “The bodyguard,” Porcius mumbled finally, his eyes averted to the shaft of blood-stained steel. “The Gauls in Caesar’s body
guard. Some have been paid to slay the proconsul.”

  “Where is Valens? Where is he, damn you?”

  Porcius did not answer, and Lucius stood to view the battlefield, stamping one boot down hard on the senator’s belly as he rose. As the senator coughed and fought for breath from the blow, Lucius desperately searched the field for Caesar’s standard. He scanned each embroiled legion, from right to left, trying hard to discern the hundreds of different swaying standards amidst the thick cloud of dust that hung over the melee. He could not see the left side of the field, from a row of hedges, but then, a break in the haze allowed him to see a band of riders passing in the rear from the left side of the Roman line to the right. He instantly recognized Caesar’s red plumed helmet and scarlet cloak at their head. The proconsul was flanked by two knights, which Lucius knew to be Caesar’s own aides. Not far behind, a lone officer, outfitted much like Caesar, followed with the Gallic bodyguard. From the way the man sat his horse, Lucius instantly identified him as Valens. As Lucius watched the distant riders, he saw Valens raise a hand bringing the bodyguard to a halt, while Caesar and the two aides rode on unaware. Valens said something to the sword-bearing horsemen and, when he finished, only three of the bodyguard continued on after Caesar. The rest followed Valens in the opposite direction, back toward the left side of the line, and once again hidden by the hedgerow. In the swirl of dust left by the horses, Lucius caught sight of a strand of blue fabric floating in the wind, as if it had been dropped by one of the riders.

  As Lucius puzzled over the actions, he heard a high-pitched laugh behind him. Turning, he saw Porcius laughing hysterically, exposing blood-covered teeth. The senator lay on a piece of higher ground that had allowed him to observe all that Lucius had.