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

by R. Cameron Cooke

  The forested hills to the south masked the sound of the battle well. Every so often he would make out the call of a distant horn, but he had no way of knowing how the battle fared. He assumed all was going well, and that Caesar had been successful in bringing the right under control, otherwise would not Caesar have recalled him?

  A spate of raised voices up ahead suddenly got Labienus's attention. A century of legionaries had encountered something and had formed a circle around the threat. Labienus steered his horse closer such that he could see over the soldiers' heads, and was stunned to see a stocky, mustachioed man clad in mail and wielding an axe. He looked nothing like the Atrebas warriors the legionaries had been pursuing, but their blood was up and they were in a mood to kill.

  "For the last time, you turd from a goat's arse," the man said indignantly, after being prompted by a centurion to identify himself. "I am Divitiacus, chieftain of the bloody Aedui. I've got information that can't wait, so you better bloody well take me to your general, right now!"

  Labienus instantly recognized him.

  "Let him through!" he commanded. "I know this man."

  "Labienus, I am glad to see you" Divitiacus said. "Doesn't anyone teach your men the difference between an Aedui and a Belgae?"

  The century parted to let the chieftain pass, and then at the order of their officer continued searching for more Belgae to slay.

  "My apologies," Labienus said formally, slightly skeptical of the Aeduan, whom he had last seen several days ago preparing to march his own troops back to Gaul. "You must forgive them. They do not expect to find any of your people this deep in Nervii territory."

  "Nor did I expect to be," the chieftain replied.

  "In fact, I must ask why it is that that we find you among our retreating enemy?"

  "Not among them, General. And I beg to differ with you, it was I who found you, not the other way around."

  "Then there is a good explanation for your presence here?"

  "An excellent one, general, but unfortunately not one that you or I have time to go into. I come to tell you that the Belgae are playing you with this pursuit. The enemy's main force is over to the east. Fifty thousand Nervii, all warriors, all itching to kill Romans. They've attacked your army's right down by the river and they're sure to wipe them out if you don't turn these troops around and make for the river at the double quick."

  "And how do you know this, my lord?" Labienus said. He was suspicious of the Aeduan chieftain, and rightfully so. It was possible that Divitiacus was a traitor. Why else would he be on the Belgic side of the river when he should be hundreds of leagues away from here. He might have been sent by the Belgae to throw off the pursuit, and the very redeployment he was suggesting might allow the fleeing enemy to escape.

  Divitiacus seemed somewhat irritated at the questioning. "I know it because I saw it with my own eyes, from up there!" he pointed the axe towards a forest covered hill several miles away. "I've been following the Belgic army, hoping to find an opportunity to pass through their lines and get word to your proconsul. That opportunity never came. But I watched everything. For the last several hours, I've been watching. I saw the Nervii form up in the woods over there opposite the river, saw your legions deploy on the far bank as casually as they might prepare for the next Ludi festival, and then I saw Nervii attack. They are like the sands of the shore, General, there are too many of them. I saw them come out of the swamp and fall on your army's flank. The legions there were near collapse when I left my perch. I saw your standards through the trees and set off at a run across the valley to head you off. The army won't hold long, if it hasn't collapsed already. You must turn back toward the river. They don't have a trout's chance in piss, if you don't."

  Labienus glanced at the line of hills hiding the battle from his view. He could ride up there and see for himself, but if the Aeduan was right, every moment wasted was a moment the army might be overwhelmed.

  Divitiacus appeared to be growing impatient with his silent deliberations. "If you don't believe me, General, then take me to the proconsul. I know he will listen to me!"

  "Caesar is not with us. He went to take charge of the right wing."

  "Mother of Lugus!" Divitiacus cursed.

  A thought crossed Labienus's mind, only for an instant, but he felt ashamed of it, nonetheless. Were the legions back at the river destroyed and Caesar killed, command of the army would fall to him. He would be out from under that pompous ass's shadow once and for all. He had served so loyally, and for so little recognition, for so long. Time and again he had pulled Caesar out of some blunder brought on by the proconsul's own arrogance, only for Caesar to claim credit for the victory in the reports sent back to Rome. Perhaps this was his chance to be rid of the scheming bastard. With the Ninth and Tenth he could regroup with the rear guard legions, the Thirteenth and Fourteenth, and form the nucleus of a new army, one that would be led by a real general, and only to serve the purposes of the Senate and The People, not his own.

  As the guilty thoughts ran through Labienus's mind, he felt the eyes of the impatient Aeduan chieftain boring a hole through him.

  Damn the Aeduan dog! Labienus thought.

  XXX

  The Roman army was about to break, Boduognatus kept telling himself.

  Surely, the Romans could not hold against his massed spearmen for much longer. The Viromandui advance against the center of the enemy line had essentially stopped, but his own Nervii on the flank were still advancing. They were still pushing the legions there into an ever tighter line, they were still piercing the Roman ranks, and on several occasions had broken through, only to be beaten off and the line reformed. But the Romans could not hold out forever. It was a simple game of numbers. Still, Boduognatus was uncertain. Something in the back of his mind told him that the battle had turned. There were questions niggling at his thoughts that he had tried to ignore, like why had his troops not yet reached the baggage around the rear? Why did the legions before him seem to suddenly fight with such vigor? Did it have something to do with the thin, pale-skinned officer in the red-plumed helmet and scarlet cloak that he had seen through the storm of swords, dismounting and rushing to the line with a band of howling legionaries following in his wake? Could this be the great Caesar? Surely not. No war chief that had conquered so much and had won so many battles could look so much like a bookkeeper. That's what Boduognatus had thought upon sighting the unimpressive-looking Roman officer. But now, he was not sure.

  "My lord," a new messenger from the Viromandui called to the Nervii chieftain. "Our ranks are dwindling. My lord asks if you can send more men."

  "Tell your lord, he must press them harder," Boduognatus replied bleakly. "He must hold the center in place. Fight to the last man, if he must, but he must hold a little longer! We must be given time to break them on the flank, or all is lost."

  The rider appeared discouraged by that answer, but then ventured to ask. "And of the troops he requests?"

  Boduognatus paused before responding. "I have none to send him."

  The Viromandui messenger nodded solemnly, and then rode away to carry the bleak message back to his master. Would the Viromandui desert, now? Boduognatus wondered. How much time did he have to turn the tide?

  A sudden escalation in the melee before him drew his attention. A band of Nervii nobles, waving bloody swords and battered helmets, had rallied several hundred warriors together into a wedge formation, and were rushing at the angle in the Roman line. It was the weakest spot, and the one place most likely for a breakthrough. It was also the last place Boduognatus had seen the thin Roman officer. The front ranks of legionaries saw the onslaught coming and planted their tattered, axe-hewn shields firmly in the ground. The fighting wedge hit the Roman line like a thunderclap, and with such force, that the frontline Romans were trampled over by the rushing warriors. Swords flashed in rapid succession as the nobles at the head of the wedge hacked the stunned enemy down on right and left. A severed forearm flipped in the air, and small spr
ings of blood issued from gaping wounds.

  The wedge had firmly driven itself as far as the second Roman line, and now the warriors turned outward and began attacking the Romans in both directions, ever-widening the gap. Boduognatus saw his nobles, who had so ably led the attack, leave the tip of the wedge and make a rush for the nearest legionary eagle. He wished he were with them, because he would have stopped them. The eagle was of little tactical value, and it was protected by the best men of the legion. He needed them to use their swords to further expand the gap, not waste time and lives pursuing a matter of pride. As he watched, they tried to fight their way to the eagle time and time again, but the small circle of legionaries repulsed every one of their attacks. Soon, so many nobles had fallen to the jabbing gladii that further assaults would have been futile. But the spearmen were faring much better, even after seeing their nobility so thoroughly outdone. They were widening the wedge ever more, many tossing away their spears and hacking at the Romans with the one-handed axes they had taken from their belts. The wider the wedge got, the more warriors entered the formation, and the further the Romans were pushed back.

  Boduognatus suddenly saw his chance. This might be the moment he had been waiting for. He had two brigades in reserve, two thousand eager warriors that he had held back for just such an opportunity. It was time to commit to victory or defeat.

  "All reserve forward!" He ordered the officers of the two brigades. "To the gap in the line, with your full force! Send them into the gap!"

  The officers obeyed, and led their two thousand howling warriors into the opening hole in the Roman line. They instantly bolstered the spearmen that were already fighting there, and the gap immediately began to expand. Boduognatus saw Romans overcome and skewered. He saw the enemy fall back in a panic at the sight of the unstoppable force working its way to their rear. The legionaries on the line, faced with jabbing spears to their front and swinging axes to the flank either withdrew or were cut down. In the midst of the melee, even the plume of the Roman officer could be seen above the other helmets, moving back away from the surging Nervii warriors.

  This was the moment, Boduognatus thought. It was going to happen now. The entire Roman line was about to collapse, and the legions in the center would be taken from the flank, and then the Viromandui, too, would join in the slaughter. He gripped his horse's reins tightly in anticipation of the blessed moment, when his countrymen and all of Belgica would be saved from the scourge of Rome.

  At that moment, a horn sounded to his rear. It was not a horn of the Belgae.

  Sitting atop his horse on the Roman side of the river, Boduognatus wheeled around to look behind him, and his heart sank at what his eyes beheld. Across the river, emerging from the same forest his own men had used to lie in ambush only hours before, marched two Roman legions in perfect battle order. They descended the grassy slope as an advancing wall of shields, several ranks deep. They were at full strength, centurions at the head of each century and cohort. At another sound of the horn, they broke into the double-quick step. They would cross the river and fall upon the Nervii rear in a matter of moments. At the same time, more horns sounded beyond the melee to his front, and Boduognatus looked over the top of the line and through the cloud of dust to see Roman standards appearing at the top of the hill, where the road emerged from the hedges. The legions that had been at the extreme rear of the Roman column had finally arrived, after weaving their way through several miles of jammed impedimenta.

  Boduognatus took off his helmet and buried his face in his hands, the realization of his failure sweeping over him. It was a complete and utter defeat. There was no hope now.

  Remembering his own pride, and that the only thing possibly worse than suffering such a defeat was living through it, the Nervii chieftain took his hands from his face and sat up straight in the saddle. With a sweeping motion, he drew his sword from its sheath and turned his horse to face the angle of the Roman line, where his now panicky troops were beginning to falter at the sight of so many legions, and the gap they had fought so hard to create was starting to collapse. The mounted warriors of his bodyguard did the same.

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again. Then, with a peace he had not felt since he was a young wolf warrior, he raised his sword above his head and shouted a war cry from deep within his lungs, from deep within his soul, a cry that let out all of the suffering of his life, all responsibility, all loss, all hate, and all love he had ever felt. The men with him shouted, too.

  Then, Boduognatus of the Belgae, the last true chieftain of the Nervii, led his mounted sword warriors into the maelstrom of swords and spears, never to return again.

  XXXI

  The Nervii had been defeated. Beside the tranquil Sabis River, a newly erected Roman trophy now stood. For generations, it would mark the spot where the valiant men of the fearsome tribe had met their end.

  At the direction of the gray-haired nobles, the oppidum was opened to the Romans, and the legions entered unopposed. The Seventh was among these, its ranks severely reduced and many newly promoted officers at the head of its centuries. The cohorts fanned out, each to secure its share of the Nervii town.

  “Fall out and search the huts,” Vitalis commanded the sixty-two men remaining in the 9th century. “And remember what I said, now. Seize the weapons only! If I see any one of you miscreants sneaking so much as a pocket purse, I’ll have you flogged.”

  The rape and pillage often afforded to victorious soldiers after a trying battle would not happen here. The order of mercy had come down from Caesar himself. The Nervii were to be spared. They were a defeated people. There would be no further resistance. The winter months were coming, and the Nervii families would need to eat. The last thing the proconsul needed was another wayward tribe of refugees marching across Gaul in search of food.

  Alain had come with the century, and Lucius now followed him as they made their way to Gertrude’s house. Lucius tried to recall the steps he and Alain had taken that night when the boy had helped him to escape. The town looked so different in the light of day. The boy had appeared anxious all morning, and still not entirely trusting of Lucius and the other legionaries who now occupied the lanes and alleyways. But Lucius had allayed his fears, assuring him that he would keep his word. Lucius was intent on doing it, certainly for the lad’s sake, but mostly for Gertrude whom he knew had risked everything, and had lost much.

  Lucius could still see the blue eyes of the large grey-haired warrior who had fallen only a spear’s throw away from him, pierced by a dozen swords and spears. It was the same Belgic chieftain he had seen with Gertrude that night at the druid ritual. Somehow, he knew it was her father.

  After the pursuit and massacre of the fleeing Nervii, the legions had returned to plunder the battlefield. The chieftain’s fine armor, expertly-woven trousers, and boots were conspicuous among the fallen, and by the time Lucius found the body, the maddened legionaries had already stripped it of nearly everything. The body of the renowned chieftain lay bare upon the blood-stained grass, nothing left to distinguish him from the commoners of his host.

  As the pyres flamed to life to consume the thousands of dead, and the stench of burning flesh overtook the field, Lucius had seen a familiar face emerge from the drifting smoke.

  “I am joyed to see you, Lucius Domitius of Spain,” Divitiacus greeted him with a wide smile. “You have the favor of the gods, it seems.”

  “I am glad to see you, too, my lord.”

  It had been days since Lucius had seen the Aeduan chieftain, and several hours since Lucius had left Caesar’s side at the turning of the battle. He felt that he must tell Divitiacus all, about how he was right, and how Valens had given him over to the Nervii, and how the senator had attempted to have Caesar killed, but he hardly knew where to begin. Something in the Aeduan’s face told him he did not have to.

  “Valens has fled,” Divitiacus finally said.

  “Then you know all that has happened?”

&nb
sp; “I have spoken with Caesar.” He then smiled and gave Lucius a sideways look. “And he told me a most remarkable story about a common legionary who came to his aid dressed as a tribune.”

  Lucius smiled for a moment, but then all merriment left him. “I should have gone after Valens instead.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who knows what the fates hold, Lucius Domitius of Spain? The gods play a clever game. A man cannot travel two paths at once. He must choose one, and make the most of his decision. Wasting precious time yearning for what might have been does nothing, other than provide the gods with amusement.”

  The chieftain then pointed to the top of a nearby hill. Between the drifting clouds of smoke, Lucius could see a dozen or more naked, bearded men splayed out with hands and feet extended to maximum reach. They had been crucified, their pale skin contrasting against the dark trunks of the trees. Nearby, a small detachment of legionaries stood watch as the life slowly ebbed from the twitching bodies.

  “They are what is left of Caesar’s bodyguard,” Divitiacus said, confirming Lucius’s suspicions.

  “A pity Valens is not among them.”

  Divitiacus nodded. “Every one of those bastards swore to his own innocence before he was strung up. If you believe their story, Valens ordered them to follow him. The rascal told them Caesar had detached them for special service. They believed it, and ended up on the other side of the field. When the battle turned in Caesar’s favor, and it was clear the proconsul was still alive, Valens turned tail and ran. They say he simply threw away his helmet and emblems of office and rode away. They claimed not to have any knowledge of Valens’s conspiracy, nor of the deal their treacherous comrades made.”

  “Do you believe them?” Lucius had asked.

  Divitiacus had shrugged. “When one has been a chieftain as long as I have, young Lucius, one learns that the truth is irrelevant in such matters. An example must be made. They are the example. Do you think for one moment that I feel safe when encircled by my own bodyguard? Certainly not. In fact, I watch them closest of all. I’d sooner lay my balls on a smith’s anvil than turn my back on them. It’s fear that keeps them loyal, Lucius – fear of the certain punishment that awaits them, should anything happen to me. Fear protects me, Lucius. Fear protects Caesar. When one rises to prominence such as his, no man can be trusted. Fear is all that remains.”