He turned to the tribunes.
“What say you?”
The men glanced at one another nervously until Tertullus shrugged.
“We didn’t come this far to sit on our hands and watch the whole of Spain arrive across the mountains. Let’s go over there and give them a lesson in how a real Roman army works.”
There was a murmur of assent from the others and Crassus nodded again.
“Seems like there’s only one clear course of action. Have the senior centurions gather for a briefing. We move at dawn tomorrow.”
* * * * *
Galronus walked his horse slowly forward at the head of a detachment of auxiliary cavalry on the army’s left wing and glanced across the lines of advancing troops appreciatively. The organisation of the army seemed nonsensical unless one had listened to the legate explain it.
Shunning the traditional formations, Crassus had placed his auxiliary spearmen and archers at the very centre of his force, the position usually reserved for the heavy infantry, with three cohorts of the Seventh flanking them on each side, the cavalry split into four groups at the two edges and following on behind and the remaining four cohorts guarding the Roman camp on the spur opposite.
Presenting such a weak centre had stirred discontent among the veteran centurions, who considered it their job to hold the prime position, but the subtlety of the plan soon quietened them.
The auxiliaries were a lure. Since the enemy knew Roman tactics well, they would expect a standard Roman advance and would be prepared to deal with it. This would perhaps throw them a little off guard, but would hopefully also lead them to believe their opposition to be tactically incompetent. After all, what general in his right mind fields his weakest troops in the centre?
The Remi officer clenched his teeth. They were getting too close. The speed of the Roman march perhaps hadn’t given the enemy enough time to draw the appropriate conclusions.
Surely such a formation would be too tempting for the enemy to pass up?
And as soon as they poured forth from the gate, even should they do so as a Roman-style shield wall, and engaged the auxiliary spearmen, the centre would begin an orderly fall back, keeping a line of spears to their pursuers, as the two wings of legionaries would swing round and turn inward, flanking the enemy, effectively boxing them in until they were trapped and slaughtered. The cavalry, at this point, could create a cordon around the periphery to prevent any escapes and try to gain and hold the fort’s gate.
It was an ingenious move; a manoeuvre subtle and cunning in its formation.
But something was wrong. The lure had not worked.
By now the enemy should be rushing from the gate, or at least forming up. No horn blasts sounded and no warriors appeared. The Roman forces were now no more than a quarter of a mile from the enemy fortifications, which stood proud on the crest of the long slope. They weren’t coming.
Grinding his teeth, Galronus wheeled his horse and raced off past his men to the rear of the advancing Seventh legion and toward the commanders who rode behind, shining silver and crimson in the early morning sun.
His thoughts must have been shared by the legate and his tribunes since, just as he rounded the rear and made for the officers, the cornicen blew the call for the legion to halt. As the entire advancing force stopped in perfect unison, Galronus trotted up to the command group.
“Clever fellow” the legate was saying to the tribunes.
“Clever, sir?”
“He’s not been fooled by the weak formation. This leader we face knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s going to sit inside his fortifications and wait until he has enough men to squash us like a fly.”
Rusca frowned.
“Then what do we do, sir?”
“Quite simple. We attack. What other choice do we have?”
The legate turned to the cornicen, noting Galronus’ presence for the first time with a flick of his eyes.
“Send out the calls” he addressed the man. “I want the auxiliaries withdrawn to the rear and the Seventh to form up in standard battle formation.”
Dismissing the musician, he turned to Galronus.
“Can’t see much use for the cavalry in a direct assault. I suggest that you just keep your men back and send them anywhere you think they might be useful as the opportunity arises.”
Galronus shifted in his saddle. For his entire force to be so summarily dismissed was irritating, but there really was no way he could think of to fault the legate’s reasoning. He would just have to make sure that a situation that he could use arose.
As he waved to his own standard bearers with their dragon-headed banners and Celtic horns, ready to give them their orders, Crassus watched the auxilia pull back and reassemble to the rear, the legion shifting to present a solid shield wall.
Horns were blown across the hillside and the cavalry pulled back in their four groups to a distance from which to observe events. Galronus watched them and then frowned in surprise as Crassus rode forward, approaching the rear lines of the legion, an enterprising optio giving hasty commands and having a passageway opened for the legate.
Crassus nodded at the man and rode between the ranks of the Seventh until he reached the front, where he turned his horse and looked down at the men.
“Our Aquitanian and Spanish friends appear to be a little nervous?”
A ripple of laughter spread out across the crowd.
“How do we reward their resistance?”
A deep, raspy voice from somewhere amid the ranks called out “death?”
Crassus pointed in the man’s direction.
“Death is a start, but even heroes die. You and I will die some day. How do we reward these cowards trembling behind their fake Roman walls for closing their gates to the Seventh?”
A lighter voice muttered something and one of the centurions on the front rank raised his vine staff over his head.
“Obliteration, gutting, burning, dismantling and salting the land, sir!”
Crassus laughed.
“I fear you missed the looting from your list, but good man nonetheless!”
This time the laughter raced around the army in a roar.
“So do we go back and prepare for a siege, men?”
The negative murmur was clear indication of the feeling of the troops. Galronus smiled to himself. This was a Caesarean speech if ever he’d heard one. Fronto rarely made speeches of this kind; his men were so tightly bound to him they’d follow him into Tarterus if he asked. Caesar, however, relied on his oratory to goad his men and stiffen their resolve, like the public speakers Galronus had heard urging the crowds in Rome. Remarkably, it seemed to work and, more remarkably yet, the young legate seemed to be turning into a shadow of the general himself. The mood was suddenly tingling and electric, like the air between a crash of thunder and the flash of the lightning.
“Or do we march on and flatten that camp and every last living thing in it?” the legate bellowed.
A roar arose from the crowd and Crassus allowed his horse to rear up and paw at the air a couple of times heroically before settling back down as silence returned.
“Good men. Let’s go and show them a taste of true Roman power!”
As he turned and rode his horse back through the narrow passageway to the rear, the Seventh legion cheered and men reached up to try and touch the passing legate’s boot or harness for luck. Galronus had had to force himself not to cheer along.
Really there was so little to cheer about, he thought as he set his gaze on the strong defences awaiting them at the top of the slope.
* * * * *
Crassus hauled on his reins and turned his horse to get a better view of what was happening along the left flank.
The approach was brutal and he knew it. The men knew it as well, but they were professionals and had marched forward with the pride of Rome glowing in their eyes to take the fortress. A particularly astute soldier at the front had called a warning as they approached the causeway leadi
ng to the gate, noticing the tell tale depressions that spoke of lilia pits waiting to cripple anyone who dared take the easy approach.
The first task was to cross the ditches, three of them in all, cut to the perfect angle to inconvenience infantry. The first cohort of the legion had managed, with some difficulty and no small number of casualties, to cross the first ditch and had formed a solid shield wall between the first and second, under the constant barrage of defensive fire. As soon as they were in position, however, the auxiliary archers had rushed across and dropped down behind them before rising to send their own repeated volleys of fire at the walls, pinning down the defenders.
It irked Crassus immensely to watch his glorious Seventh reduced to the status of a gigantic shield, while the auxilia did the bulk of the work right now, the archers crippling the enemy defences and the spearmen bringing forth bundles of foliage and sods of earth to infill the ditch, enabling the remaining five cohorts to cross.
But then, the auxilia were there to use and he was sure his veterans would be happier playing shield wall than carrying the turf.
As he watched, tensely, a new wave of defenders appeared all along the fort wall, armed with heavy darts, rocks, slings and bows. The resulting sudden intense enemy fire punctured holes all along the shield wall, forcing reinforcement legionaries to run across the partially filled ditch to take their place, less than half of whom made it across alive.
The plan was solid, though. In a few hours the ditches would be no obstacle. Of course, there were bound to be lilia below the walls too if they were following the Sertorian model, and the defences themselves would be difficult enough to take, but the whole thing could be over by nightfall, depending on what these clever little barbarians had prepared within the camp itself. He’d be prepared to bet there were a few nasty surprised in store when they got that close.
He ground his teeth as the fresh wave of defenders was pushed back down behind their defences again by concentrated fire from the auxiliary archers. The problem was that in the time it took to get his men into that fortification, he may only have half his army left.
The alternative, of course, was to march the legion blindly across the ditch with no further delay and try to take them in a straight assault, since there was no chance of getting siege engines up that slope in a hurry. That would be a greater gamble still, though. This way, the battle was drawn out over a longer period, extending the time to which his men were subject to enemy fire, but at least they were in a good defensive position. If he charged them and opened them up to the full strength of enemy fire as they tried to cross the ditches…
It didn’t even bear thinking about.
He couldn’t lose this battle and he couldn’t lose the whole action. His father had spoken at length in his last letter of the likelihood of attaining a gubernatorial posting next year, which would mean that he himself would likely be recalled to Rome at the end of this season and, if that was the case, he needed victory beneath his belt to assure him of a good position in the city when his father left.
In all, this meant that not only did he have to destroy the benighted Aquitanian alliance, but he would have to do it with such force, pomp and show and with enough of a surviving force to drive the idea of resistance and rebellion from the minds of all. The Gaulish cavalryman had been right to counsel mercy down on the plains, but this was different. This had to be a statement.
Noting with satisfaction that the first ditch was now fully traversable with little difficulty and that the cornicen was sending out the orders to advance the shield wall and archers to the next intervallum, he turned and frowned.
He hadn’t spared a thought for the cavalry for the past half hour and had seen little of them, skirting the edge of the field as they were. And yet, as he scanned the periphery, past the lines of legionaries waiting for the order to advance, there was Galronus, cresting the hill from the west with a small party of riders at his back. The man was in a hurry.
Patting his restless, prancing steed calmingly on the neck, Crassus watched as the cavalry officer bore down on him, and hauled on the reins as he closed.
“I assume you’ve kept yourself busy patrolling the periphery?”
Galronus grinned.
“Something like that. I think I have some good news for you.”
Crassus nodded soberly. Good news would be welcome about now.
“The southern approach?” Galronus smiled, pointing at the fort. “I told you about the pitiful ditch there? Well it would appear that they’ve stripped the bulk of the defence from that wall to bolster this one. Clearly they’re aware that the legion is concentrating here.”
Crassus nodded again, his eyes narrowing.
“Stripped by how much?”
Galronus grinned.
“Give me a drunken circus crowd and I could probably get in there.”
The legate bit his lip.
“I cannot withdraw from here or they will become wise to the situation and even up their defences again. But then you cannot take that approach with purely cavalry.”
Galronus nodded, pointing across the valley.
“But…”
“Yes, the four cohorts in reserve.”
Crassus squared his shoulders and turned to spy the small group of tribunes gathered nearby with the signifers and cornicen.
“Rusca? Ride back to the camp with this man.”
As the tribune rode over to join them, his head cocked to one side quizzically, Crassus gestured to the pair of them.
“A joint force of cavalry detachment and four cohorts, led by the two of you.” He pointed at Galronus. “Your men know the area now. Lead them round by a distant route; the most hidden you can find. I don’t care how you do it, but get those men to the southern approach without being seen. We will continue to prosecute the main fight here and draw their attention as much as possible.”
He took a deep breath.
“Be as fast as you can, but do not sacrifice secrecy for speed, or all is for naught. You know what to do when you get there?”
Rusca looked vaguely uncomfortable, but Galronus nodded.
“Get inside the walls and cause mayhem!”
“Mayhem, indeed. Good. Juno watch over you both. Now go.”
He watched the two men ride off, the small group of riders at their heels, and took a deep breath.
“Juno watch over us all!”
* * * * *
Rusca peered around the bole of the tree and squinted into the distance.
“So how are we going to do this?”
Galronus shrugged.
“I’m a cavalry man, tribune. Siege is not my forte.”
Rusca nodded and, turning, waved the senior centurion forward.
“Sir?”
“I want your thoughts on how we assail that place.”
The centurion frowned.
“Direct and fast, sir. Not much in the way of a ditch to stop us, so we can be at the walls at a run in a few moments. There’s not many defenders so we need to get control before they can draw reinforcements to the wall.”
Galronus pursed his lips.
“Will you go over the wall or through it?”
“Both have merits” the man shrugged. “To bring sections of the palisade down is a slower job and would delay the assault, but we’d be inside en masse a lot quicker. Scaling the walls would give us speed and surprise, but it would be a while before we had any kind of force inside.”
He smiled and spread his hands.
“What I’d do, sir, is both at once.”
“Both?”
“Yessir. There’s a lot of powerful horses here that can’t do anything until they can get inside. The First cohort attacks, climbs the walls, cuts the palisade binding and secures ropes, then passes them to the cavalry. The horses can probably pull that palisade clean out of the ground one stake at a time. As soon as there are a few small holes, the other three cohorts come in, take the rest apart quickly and then get inside. Soon as we’re in
and there’s a sizeable hole, the cavalry can do their bit too, sir.”
Rusca frowned.
“Where do you think we might find ropes at such short notice?”
“Brought them with us, sir, along with a lot of other trenching tools, caltrops and more. Never know what you might need, sir.”
Galronus grinned at the tribune.
“The plan has merit. Shall we?”
The tribune swallowed nervously.
“I suppose. Whatever we do, we need to do it fast.”
The Remi commander nodded at the centurion.
“Get the men moving. I’ll marshal a group of cavalry to haul the ropes for you.”
As the two men ran off toward their respective units, Gaius Pinarius Rusca sighed and ran his eyes once more across the wall top. He was acutely aware that he was entirely unsuited to this job. A few weeks ago, Crassus would have pondered deeply before assigning him to anything more deadly than stock-taking in the supply wagons, but then his reputation seemed to have blossomed after that incident with the ambush. For some reason just because he’d fought with the desperation of a cornered beast and ended the day covered head to foot in gore, the men had cheered him and the officers assumed that he was some sort of crazed killer contained in a small bureaucratic frame.
Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) Page 40
