Gallia Belgica, May AD 70
‘He’s going to fight? I thought you told the fool to retreat to join us, and to give the legions nothing but empty country on which to vent their wrath?’
Classicus shook his head.
‘My messages were more than clear on the subject, but it seems that events have pushed Tutor into a corner. Events and that young fool Valentinus he’s allowed to take command of his army. They’ve fortified Rigodulum, it seems, and intend fighting the Romans there rather than allowing them to besiege Augusta Trevorum.’
Kivilaz’s eyes narrowed, rimmed with red from the exertions of eight days of marching through the deep forest between Atuataca and Augusta Trevorum, in their dash to join up with the threatened Treveri before Cerialis’s army could bring them to battle.
‘Valentinus? He’s barely more than a child! What was his part in this idiocy?’
Classicus poured himself a cup of wine before replying.
‘He and Tutor were unwise enough to leave the Treveri ungoverned, Tutor to go recruiting men from the smaller tribes and Valentinus to attend the conference of the Gauls that the elders of the Remi seem to have thought would be a good idea.’
The Batavi prince shook his head in disgust.
‘The Remi? I’ll settle matters with those cowards when Rome’s attempt to put us back in our box has been broken. They’ve always been nothing better than puppets of the empire!’
Classicus shrugged.
‘Persuasive puppets, it seems. Valentinus argued like a man possessed for war with Rome, but found himself isolated when Julius Auspex of the Remi spoke in favour of peace and received the plaudits of every tribe present except for the Treveri, the Lingones and my own people, curse them. Gaul, it seems, is already rolling over for the Romans.’
Kivilaz spat on the ground at his feet.
‘They’ll think again, once I have the Twenty-first’s standard and Cerialis’s head to throw onto their conference table. So, this fool Valentinus has decided to fight.’
His co-conspirator nodded.
‘He returned to Augusta Trevorum to discover that the legions whose oath of loyalty to the Gallic empire I administered had thought better of the idea, sworn an oath to Vespasianus, folded their tents and stolen away in the night.’
Kivilaz laughed.
‘What did the idiot expect? Did he really believe that men who have already sworn loyalty to Nero, to Galba, then to Vitellius and after all that to Vespasianus, were going to stay loyal, now that Vespasianus’s legions have their boots in the Treveri’s soil?’
‘He knows that he’s made a fool of himself, which led him to rant and rave at anyone who would listen until he had the Treveri stirred up to fight. It seems he’s made an example of the two legati he was holding …’
Classicus stopped talking as Kivilaz put his head in his hands.
‘He murdered the only prisoners he had of any value? That’s his death warrant signed, if the ink wasn’t already dry. And now he plans to take on the Twenty-first Legion without waiting for us?’
‘He plans to defend Rigodulum, to prevent the Romans laying siege to Augusta Trevorum itself. The hill above the town is being fortified and he has taken every warrior in the tribe with him.’
The Batavi nobleman looked up at him, shaking his head in exasperation.
‘The fool’s going to fight a defensive battle. Which means that the Romans can disengage if they find themselves losing, whereas if he loses their cavalry will leave a trail of dead men all the way back to Augusta Trevorum. Every last man in that army will be killed or captured, and his city will be left defenceless.’ Kivilaz nodded, staring up at the trees’ canopy over his head as he pondered the situation. ‘But they don’t know we’re here, do they? As far as Cerialis is concerned we’re still in the north, enjoying our victory over the Tungrians. So let’s assume that the Trevirans can’t stand up to the Twenty-first Legion when they come knocking. Their army is defeated and either killed or enslaved, which will leave Augusta Trevorum defenceless. Cerialis will march straight in, accept their surrender and then allow his men the luxury of a few days in which to recover from several days’ forced march and a battle. And, if his reputation is to be trusted, he’ll go and find a bed to warm, which means that if we time our moment perfectly we can catch his army leaderless and off their guard. Perhaps this can still be the decisive moment of this war.’
Rigodulum, May AD 70
‘Are your men ready for this, First Spear?’
Pugno turned ostentatiously, staring across the narrow valley at the crest of the hill in front of which his legion was arrayed in line of battle, then returned his attention to the waiting senior officers. Cerialis had chosen to locate his command post and his colleague Felix’s auxiliary cohorts high on the opposite side of the valley, not only for the sake of a good view of the battle but also, Antonius suspected, to ensure a clear line of retreat in the event of the Twenty-first legion not managing to defeat the Treveri warriors awaiting them. The first spear nodded brusquely, his jaw jutting aggressively as he growled his response to the question.
‘We’ve been ready since the day we marched north from Rome, Legatus Augusti.’
‘And will you be requiring any assistance from my auxiliaries?’
Antonius smirked inwardly, both at Felix’s question and his first spear’s response, which did little to hide his obvious impatience with any suggestion that his legion might not succeed.
‘Thank you, Legatus Felix, but I’d be more than a little worried that the presence of your men might result in confusion, once we’re nose to nose with the enemy. The Trevirans wear mail armour and so do most of your cohorts, and any man wearing mail who doesn’t run from us is going to be dead very shortly after we reach the top of that hill.’
Felix nodded, his expression dubious.
‘You seem very confident, First Spear? Surely that number of trained soldiers with the advantage of the high ground must represent something of a tactical problem, even to the vaunted Twenty-first? Bearing in mind the mauling your men took at Cremona – both times – I was just wondering if you might not appreciate some assistance?’
Reading Pugno’s thin lips and narrowed eyes at the mention of their rough handling in both battles with the skill of a man who had seen his subordinate’s temper snap on more than one occasion in his brief period commanding the legion, Longus interposed himself between the two men before the first spear had the chance to say something that all parties might regret.
‘I have a strict policy, Sextilius Felix, of deferring to my senior centurions the moment that battle becomes imminent. After all, First Spear Pugno is the man who’ll be going up that hill with his legion, so I’m going to trust that his pride in his legion’s abilities is matched by his understanding of just how critical this battle is to the emperor. It was on my mind though, First Spear Pugno, given that your men will find it hard to exploit their victory after climbing the slope and then evicting the current occupiers, to suggest that Legatus Felix’s cavalry might be well employed hooking around to the left of that hill and cutting off their retreat? After all, if that young fool Valentinus is up there it surely gives us the chance to capture the man who ordered the death of two Roman legati, does it not?’
He raised an eyebrow at Pugno, who had the good grace to recognise his intention, and accept the opportunity with which he was being presented.
‘Thank you, Legatus. I believe that those Trevirans will go down the other side of that hill like a falling building once we’re among them, but you’re right, of course, we should plan to make sure they don’t have the chance to run away and regroup for another go.’ He turned to Felix, fractionally inclining his head in a gesture of respect. ‘And perhaps, Legatus Felix, your bandage carriers could look after those of my legionaries who manage to stop their spears?’
The auxiliary commander raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘What will your own bandage carriers be doing, First Spear?’
/>
The response was as uncompromising as Antonius had expected.
‘Killing Gauls, Legatus. My legion doesn’t stop fighting to look after the wounded, we win the battle first and deal with the consequences once we’re sure of the victory.’
Felix nodded slowly, clearly taken aback.
‘I see. Well in that case I’ll have my medics sent forward to assist your wounded.’
‘Good.’ Longus beamed at both Pugno and Felix. ‘It’s for your approval of course, Petillius Cerialis, but given that these two fire-breathers are in agreement, I hardly feel it requires any further debate.’
The army’s commander waved a magisterial assent, and Pugno blew out an undisguised sigh of relief.
‘If that’s decided, I’ll go and get this over with, if I may?’
Gesturing to Antonius to follow him, he stalked away, and in the silence that followed as they hurried down the valley’s western side and crossed its small stream, the centurion looked up at the hill before them, its crest lined with evidently defiant Treveri soldiers who, having had time to dig a defensive ditch and line the crest with a rough wall of hastily gathered stones, clearly believed themselves to be in an impregnable position.
‘Listen to them shouting the odds.’ Pugno spat on the turf in disgust. ‘Anyone who didn’t know better would think they had a chance of holding us off.’ He shot a glance at Antonius, who was considering the waiting defenders with a calculating expression. ‘Having second thoughts, Centurion?’
‘No. I’m just wondering how quickly we can get up that slope and into them, if we’re going to reduce our losses to whatever missile weapons they’ve got up there.’
The first spear shook his head.
‘That’s not the Twenty-first’s way of fighting, and it’s certainly not mine. If we arrive at the top with our wind spent we’ll give those animals the chance to counter-attack before we’re even into them. Better to walk up at a steady pace and endure whatever they have to fling down at us, so as to be fresh when the time comes to take our iron to them.’
They reached the rear of Antonius’s cohort, granted the honour of being in the centre of the legion’s line, and Pugno called for his cohort commanders. The Blood Drinkers formed a tight circle around him in what was clearly an established pre-battle ritual, their helmeted heads almost touching. Pugno’s briefing was swift and to the point.
‘Legatus Augusti Cerialis has ordered me to make such a bloody example of these Treveri cunts that the rest of their tribe will spend the next week torn between mourning their dead and shitting themselves that they’re next. And I promised him that the Twenty-first would do exactly what he’s ordered. Are your cohorts ready?’
Every man nodded silently.
‘Trumpeters ready?’
More nods.
‘And are you all ready? Ready to walk into whatever blizzard of arrows and slingshot they have waiting for us up there?’
The gathered centurions stared at him steadily as he turned a full circle, each man meeting his eye and nodding one last time.
‘Very well. I’ll see you at the top. Blood and glory!’
His men dispersed to their cohorts without having to be told to do so, each of them raising a hand to signal his readiness as he reached his men and then pushing through their ranks to reach the front of the line, the legion’s ranks responding with wild cheers and chants as the moment to attack drew near. Pugno looked up and down the line with evident satisfaction before turning back to Antonius.
‘This is the way the Twenty-first goes to war, Centurion, as a pack of wild dogs led by the wildest bastards among them. But that doesn’t mean that we’re just going to charge up there in a disordered mob, or that we shouldn’t do everything we can to soften up the opposition a bit first.’ He turned to his trumpeter. ‘Blow!’
The waiting soldier took a deep breath and blew his horn, the single note rasping out above the legion’s tumult, instantly joined by dozens more as each cohort and century added their trumpets’ blaring squeal to the cacophony, their collective howl the war cry of an angry beast, a visceral challenge to the men waiting on the hill above the legion and an unequivocal statement of murderous intent, raising the hairs on the back of Antonius’s neck as his body instinctively responded to the horns’ call. Pugno grinned at him with a hand on the hilt of his gladius, recognising the other man’s arousal. ‘Fucking lovely, isn’t it? Sixty horns sounding together like the spirits of the fallen, calling us down to join them in Hades! From this moment every man in the Twenty-first knows to consider himself already dead, and to ask himself the only question that matters – what will his comrades engrave on his memorial altar? No man here will flinch from the fight, but every one of them will strive to be the one revered for his feats of bravery. What others consider extraordinary is commonplace for us!’
The trumpets fell silent, and Antonius realised that the defenders had stopped shouting their defiance down the hill’s slope and were instead huddled into their shields, readying themselves to resist the inevitable assault. Pugno strode forward in front of his men, raising his voice in a parade-ground bellow that could be heard from one end of his legion’s line to the other.
‘Not so fucking noisy now, are they?’
A roar greeted his words, his legionaries, long accustomed to his bombastic leadership, knowing what it was he wanted from them. At the sight of an officer, several of the enemy warriors lining the hill’s crest sprang forward and hurled spears down the hill at him, but even with the advantage of their three-hundred-foot elevation all fell short by twenty paces or more, and the veteran centurion turned to roar a challenge at them.
‘We’ll get to you cunts in good time!’ He turned back to his own men with a happy grin. ‘Brothers of the Twenty-first Legion! Do you see those poor fools waiting up there?’ He paused, turning again to stare up the slope, shaking his head in apparent disgust. ‘They have entrusted their defence to this miserable, pathetic dog turd of a hill! I know you were hoping for the chance to take your iron to the traitors of the legions who defected to their cause, but we can only fight what’s put in front of us! These Trevirans are men who see battle as something to be endured! Something to be survived! But you and I know differently, don’t we?’
He winked at Antonius, his eyes alive with the joy of a fight.
‘You and I, my brothers-in-blood, we are proud servants of the best, the bravest and the most savage legion in the whole of the empire, we know better! We know that battle is not a thing to fear, but a pleasure, to be anticipated! To be welcomed! To be savoured! For when battle comes, my brothers, we are all Blood Drinkers!’
The ranks of armoured men erupted into a clamour that surpassed their previous efforts, and Pugno strolled back into the heart of his cohort with a feral grin that Antonius knew was in no way contrived, addressing his colleague conversationally as he looked up at the enemy waiting for them.
‘Some legions ask their men if they are ready for war, but not the Twenty-first. My legionaries are always ready for war, because they long to prove themselves to each other, to their centurions, and to me. Those poor fools up there have no idea what’s about to happen to them. Now, are you with me, or would you rather fight this one from behind your men?’ Antonius grinned back at Pugno’s smirking challenge, drawing his sword and setting himself ready to step forward. The first spear nodded, pulling the cord on his helmet’s cheek guards tight before drawing his own sword and taking a shield from his chosen man. ‘Good man. Now we’ll get the chance to see what you and your boys are made of. Sound the advance!’
The trumpets brayed again, and every centurion in the line roared the order to move forward at the same instant, leaving Antonius nodding his respect for the precision with which they were drilled. The legion advanced onto the hill’s shallow lower slope, Pugno’s legionaries advancing at a steady marching pace as they had been instructed, and the first spear stared up at the waiting Treveri with a gleeful grin.
‘There’ll
be men up there pissing themselves already, and others knowing that their shit’s already turned to water that will cascade down their legs the second they have to fight and forget to hold it in. So let’s give them something more to worry about. Twenty-first Legion! Make! Some! Noise!’
With the final word of the command every man in the line hammered the blades of their drawn swords against the metal rim of their shields, repeating the action with every step forward so that their advance was a rolling peal of human thunder. Somewhere in the ranks a man started singing, and in an instant the entire legion joined his bellowed challenge.
‘Twenty-first Rapax, ever victorious,
Drinkers of blood, long notorious,’
‘Did you think it was only meant to keep their heads up on the march?’ Pugno grinned at his colleague’s momentary surprise, raising his voice to shout along tunelessly with his men.
‘Fill your minds with fear and dread,
Gut you, kill you, take your head,
Slaughter enemies, rebel and barbarian,
Leave the dead to feed the carrion,
Twenty-first Rapax, ever furious,
The Emperor’s finest, bloody and glorious!’
The slope steepened, making the climb more of an effort than before, but to men who had covered sixty miles in the previous three days, having already marched across the roof of the world at the same gruelling pace, and having undergone Pugno’s merciless drills and exercises every day they had spent in camp for the last year, the exertion was almost unnoticed.
‘They’ll be hoping to stop us with their spears! They’ll soon know better!’
Even as the first spear spoke, the Treveri line strode to the crest of the hill and hurled a volley of spears down the slope, a lancing rain of sharp iron that fell onto the legion’s swiftly raised shields out of the cold sky. Grunts and agonised groans marked those points in the line where a spear blade flew through gaps in the defence and found a target, but for the most part the main loss was that of shields made unusable by the protrusion of a spear’s ungainly length.
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