Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles)

by James Mace

  The Romans, on the other hand, were already beaten. There was not a sound coming from their camp. It was as if it were already a tomb. Their hastily thrown up earthworks would do little to slow down the Cherusci and their allies. A few archers could be seen on the dirt walls. They would be but flies to be swatted away. Ingiomerus raised his sword high and turned to address his warriors.

  “The Romans, in their arrogance and recklessness, have returned to the land of the Cherusci. Today they will join the legions that we vanquished six years ago. Your courage and your strength will carry you today; much plunder and glory will you reap. Destroy everything, leave no one alive.”

  The Cherusci erupted into a series of battle cries as they beat their weapons against their shields, working themselves into a frenzy. Ingiomerus turned back towards the fort, and with a cry of his own, started to run. He was older than most of the other warriors and was slowed down by age and old wounds. It mattered not. Though many of his warriors surged past him, his purpose had been served. He had rallied the Cherusci into a blinding rage. They would surge over the walls of the Roman fort and annihilate their presence, once and for all.

  Arminius sat on his horse, watching from the wood lines on the ridge well behind the band of warriors that were now rushing towards the fort at a dead run. “And so Uncle, how many will perish today because of your recklessness?”

  Artorius stood waiting with anticipation. The Twentieth Legion occupied the west wall of the fort and the Third Cohort had been designated to be part of the assault element. They had been directed to give their javelins to the soldiers behind the ramparts. With the multitude of barbarians attacking the fort, they would need all the javelins they could get. Artorius could hear the beating of drums and the chants of the barbarians. They were getting close. He stroked the pommel of his gladius.

  The cavalry was formed up to their direct front, with a dozen scorpions lined up in front of them, about ten meters from the gate. Pilate and Dionysus were pacing back and forth behind their machines which were loaded and ready to fire.

  The sound of the approaching enemy grew even louder. Artorius tried to visualize in his mind the sight of their teeming numbers, waves of men coming at them like a tide; a tide that would soon break on the rocks of their shields and swords.

  “Archers…draw!”

  He looked over to see the archers pull back on their bowstrings. On command, they all loosed their arrows.

  What a sight it must be from their vantage point! He thought.

  Twice more they unleashed their arrows. Artorius wondered how many barbarians had fallen already. It was impossible to know. The noise of their attack was becoming deafening.

  “Archers…fall back!” The command was given as throwing darts and the occasional arrow started to fly from the German ranks.

  The archers quickly dismounted the rampart and fell back to their supplementary positions behind the infantry. Several were not fast enough and were felled by the German missiles. Artorius watched as one poor fellow fell off the wall with a spear running through his back and coming out of his chest. The shouts of the barbarians were enough to chill his blood. He could hear the loud clambering as they stumbled through the ditches and scrambled up and over the rampart.

  “Javelins…ready!”

  He heard the command echoed from the cohorts behind the wall. The legionaries gave a loud shout as they hefted their javelins. It was the first audible sound they had made since coming to the fort. As the Germans came over the rampart, many froze in their tracks at what they saw. Instead of being cowed and frightened, ready for the slaughter, here was an entire army ready to fight. The warriors were suddenly struck with fear as they looked at the wall of armored soldiers, all with javelins ready to unleash. A general panic ensued as the warriors in the back pushed the ones up front forward to their doom.

  “Front rank…throw!”

  The first volley flew straight into the swarm of barbarians on the wall. They were so densely packed together it was impossible for any of the javelin throwers to miss. Jubilant battle cries were replaced by screams of agony and terror as the first group of warriors fell, skewered on the Roman javelins.

  “Second rank…throw!”

  Another volley flew home, killing or maiming another wave of barbarians.

  “Third rank…throw!”

  “Fourth rank…throw!”

  “Fifth rank…throw!”

  “Sixth rank…throw!”

  As each successive wave of barbarians pushed their way to the front, a volley of javelins quickly cut them down. Bodies started to pile up on the wall, many of the wounded falling off the wall and into heaps on the ground. Seeing the fate of their brethren, the warriors on the wall tried to force their way back through the waves following behind them. Those attempting to smash through the gate were equally confused and dismayed by the repulse of the warriors on the wall. They were completely shocked when suddenly the gates were thrown open.

  Ingiomerus could not see what was happening in front of him. The shouts and cries of his warriors sounded different. No longer did they sound confident and assured of victory. Instead they sounded frightened and confused. There were cries of pain and anguish as well. As he closed on the rampart, he stumbled into the ditch the Romans always dug around their fortifications. He watched as his warriors continued to surge forward, yet there was definitely something wrong. They seemed to be stalled on the rampart. He began to see some fall from the wall, having been stricken by Roman javelins.

  “What is happening in there?” he asked himself as he climbed out of the ditch.

  As he started up the wall, he was knocked down when a body of a warrior fell on top of him. The man was still alive, though he was ran through the stomach with a javelin. He clawed at the javelin as bile and blood seeped from the wound. Blood erupted from his mouth as he tried to cry out in pain. Ingiomerus could not believe the Romans were mounting any kind of resistance. He had to get to the top. He pushed the dying man off of him and started to scramble up the slope. He watched, horrified, as an entire wave of men was suddenly cut down by a volley of javelins not three meters in front of him. Most fell forward into the fort; others collapsed onto the wall or fell back down the slope. Archers and scorpion ballistae added to the carnage.

  “No!” he cried as he saw his warriors starting to waver.

  It seemed like every time a group reached the top, they were immediately felled. With a hoarse cry, he raised his sword and surged to the top. As he gazed over the rampart, the sight was unbelievable. The Romans were anything but beaten. They were formed up in six ranks, all bearing javelins, all looking for a fight. He stared in horror as an entire rank threw their javelins as one. Unable to move, he watched a javelin coming right at him. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his side as his flesh was pierced. Warriors fell all around him. He dropped his sword and grabbed the javelin, knowing if it were allowed to bend, his side would be ripped open. Suddenly he lost his footing and fell down the slope.

  The javelin had not gone completely through. Aware it would make the wound worse, but not knowing what else to do, he wrenched it from his body. Ingiomerus howled in pain as his side was torn asunder. Before he could do anything else, another slain warrior collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Helpless, he watched as the nearby gates were flung open.

  “Scorpions… fire!” Pilate shouted.

  Twelve scorpions fired as one, their bolts slamming home into their hapless victims.

  “Reload!”

  With rapid coordination, the crews quickly wound the cranks on their weapons and loaded bolts into the feed grooves.

  “Fire!” Pilate ordered, as soon as he saw that all weapons were reloaded.

  The barbarian charge was already broken, this next wave of scorpion bolts only emphasizing the point.

  “Cease fire!”

  “Cavalry…advance!” Master Centurion Flavius shouted.

  The cavalry moved at a gallop, immediately fallin
g into a wedge formation once they cleared the gate. They crashed into the barbarian ranks, slashing with their spatha long swords, trampling many underneath the hooves of their horses.

  “Gladius…draw!” Centurion Macro shouted.

  As one, swords were drawn from their scabbards, legionaries giving a loud shout as they did so.

  “Infantry…advance!” The master centurion ordered.

  The infantry ran out the gate, keeping together, centurions and options ensuring that formations stayed intact. Once through the gate, the cohorts formed up on line, three ranks deep. Artorius gasped at what he saw. There were literally thousands of barbarian warriors in front of him, no more than a few dozen meters away. He saw volleys of arrows come sailing from the walls of the fort as the archers reoccupied the ramparts. The arrows impacted deep within the German ranks, making it impossible to see the full effect they were having.

  The cavalry had created a large enough gap to allow the infantry room to maneuver and form up on line. They had left many German bodies in their wake. A small number of cavalrymen had been slain, their bodies bludgeoned and mutilated by the barbarians. The cavalry then peeled off in each direction, riding in file around the infantry and forming up behind them. Though the barbarian numbers were enormous, their fighting spirit seemed to be broken. There was mass confusion. They did not know whether to retire or to attack. The Romans made the decision for them.

  “At the double-time…march!” Cohort commanders echoed.

  Within seconds, they had closed with the barbarian ranks. The Second Century was in the first rank, along with the First Century. With drilled experience, shield bosses slammed into barbarian warriors, followed by rapid stabs with the gladius.

  Artorius first faced an incredibly tall barbarian. The man was too tall for him to smash in the face, so he settled for slamming his shield boss into his stomach. He was surprised when the ferocity of his attack actually knocked the giant down. He quickly stepped in and thrust his gladius underneath the German’s jaw, the point of the blade exiting just beneath the skull in the back. His stab and withdrawal was so rapid he managed to get his blade free before the gushing blood could stain the pommel of his sword or his hand. He stepped back and quickly looked to his left and right. Decimus and Magnus were both engaged. However, they seemed to have the situation under control as their opponents were quickly cut down.

  Artorius then focused on his front, awaiting the next challenger. He only had to wait a few seconds, as a burly barbarian with an axe came running at him. Artorius smiled. The barbarian’s course of action was all too predictable. Artorius instinctively dropped to one knee as the barbarian swung his axe overhead. He deflected the axe to his left with his shield. Once the German hauled back on his axe to try another crushing blow, he pulled his shield in with his left hand to cover his flank and stepped out. A quick stab to the groin and it was over. He rapidly recovered to his feet and took a step back.

  Ingiomerus slowly pulled himself from underneath the corpse that pinned him down. As soon as he was free, he gasped as he felt the pain erupt from his wound. It was a fearful mess. However, it looked as if the blood had sufficiently clotted and he was no longer in danger of bleeding to death. He lay back and tried to catch his breath.

  He was then aware of the battle going on outside the fort. The Roman counterattack had caught his warriors completely off guard. They were now being cut down in rapid succession as they fought to maintain some semblance of an offensive. The old warrior looked up at the rampart he had just fallen from. Roman archers had reoccupied it and were firing volleys of arrows over the heads of their infantry into the ranks of the Cherusci. So focused were they on the battle taking place, they were totally oblivious to his presence. Slowly he looked around to see if there was anyone else still alive amongst the heaps of corpses. Only a handful stirred in their last moments of death. The Roman javelins had been extremely accurate, and those who were not immediately killed would soon die from the horrendous wounds they suffered.

  Ingiomerus crawled gingerly down the slope. He rolled into the ditch and lay there, briefly, to catch his breath. He looked up as another volley of arrows passed in a high arc over his head. He closed his eyes, cringing at the pain and suffering they would cause. There were only small pauses between waves of arrows, just enough time for the archers to re-notch, draw, and fire. He crawled to the top of the ditch to see how the battle was faring. It did not look good. The Romans, though grievously outnumbered, were slowly pushing the Germanic warriors back. It would not be long before the battle was decided.

  “Set for passage-of-lines!” Centurion Proculus shouted.

  Macro and the options quickly echoed the command. All soldiers in the front rank stopped in place, keeping their shields at the defensive. Soldiers in the second rank set into their fighting stances, ready to spring. The barbarians paused in their attack, morbidly fascinated by the Romans and the maneuver they were about to execute. They stood frozen, waiting for the next wave of doom to approach.

  “Execute passage-of-lines!”

  On command, the second rank lunged forward together with a yell, passing in between the soldiers in the front rank. Artorius watched as two legionaries passed on either side of him, slamming their shields home, followed by rapid stabs with their swords. Immediately they checked for any friendly dead or wounded and proceeded to pass back through the men in the third rank.

  Everybody caught their collective breath as they formed up at the rear of the cohort. Remarkably, nobody in the Second Century had been killed in the exchange, though there were a handful of wounded. They advanced slowly, watching the melee continue to unfold in front of them. Within minutes, as the cohort executed its next passage-of-lines, the barbarian ranks completely broke. There was no order to be had. They panicked and started to run, the Romans in ordered pursuit. Cornicens sounded the charge. On cue, the cavalry rode past them, intent on cutting off and slaughtering as many barbarians as they could.

  The Romans pursued the barbarians for some time. As defeated warriors stumbled or fell behind, they met their fate quickly as legionaries slew them. A number became trapped between the legions and the river. Chief Tribune Strabo, who had led the cavalry attack, watched as many jumped into the rushing current to try to swim away. A wall of shields quickly smashed those that hesitated, as the legions stormed forward. It did not take long for them to finish the job.

  “Archers, javelins…forward!” he shouted.

  In a very short time, the javelin throwers and archers were on line, facing the river. It became something of a sport to them as they loosed a stream of missiles on the helpless barbarians trying to swim to safety. The arrows cut down most of the warriors who did not drown in the current. Strabo smiled grimly at the sight. He turned to his left and watched in the distance as the remaining warriors disappeared into the woods on the horizon. Though many had perished, the majority survived to fight another day. The barbarians had been dealt a vicious defeat, but he knew the war was far from over. It was getting late, and the army needed to reform back at the fort soon.

  “Sound recall,” he told the Cornicen mounted next to him.

  The young man raised his horn and sounded the notes that signaled the army was to return to the fort.

  Horns echoed the commands, and soon the legion was marching back towards the fort. All were exhausted from not having slept the night before, then having to fight a battle all day. In spite of this, all marched with a sense of energy and purpose. Artorius relished the extreme adrenaline rush he felt. It was almost euphoric. He observed the landscape strewn with bodies. There were many Germans stricken with severe wounds, who were trying to crawl away. Occasionally, a legionary would step off and finish one with a rapid thrust of his sword. This, in turn, would bring a string of oaths from their officers, who would then tell them to, ’Let the bastards suffer and rot!’

  After they reached the fort, all cohorts held immediate formations to determine losses and account for any wounded
. The counterattack had been executed with complete surprise, to the point that casualties were remarkably light. Sixteen soldiers in the entire cohort had been wounded, none of them seriously, and only a couple from the Second Century. This only added to Artorius’ feelings of euphoria. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

  The continuous disasters combined with the enemy’s refusal to engage them in open battle had done much to douse their spirits. The enemy had fallen completely into their trap, and thousands were dead as a result.

  Artorius prided himself that he had killed three: two during the battle and one more during the pursuit.

  “I saw that little fancy move you pulled on the barbarian with the axe today,” Statorius said to him after Proculus had dismissed the formation.

  Artorius thought his decanus was going to chastise him for his unorthodox way of fighting, but he saw that Statorius was smiling.

  “It takes most legionaries years of drill, practice, and actual fighting to learn to fight with the speed and competence you possess,” he continued. “Your little sparing sessions with Vitruvius are paying off.”

  Artorius grimaced at the remark and shook his head. “Sergeant, he beats the shit out of me every time I face him.”

  “Well, obviously he’s taught you something,” Statorius countered. “You have a lot of potential, Artorius. I see you going places within the legion. I may have a few things to add to your development once we get back to winter quarters.” With that, he slapped Artorius on the shoulder and walked back to their section’s campsite.

  “Even without a tent, it feels good to be home,” Artorius thought aloud.

  That night, wrapped only in his cloak and using his pack as a pillow, Artorius slept a deeper sleep than he had since the campaign began. He dreamed of home, of his father, Juliana, and Camilla. He dreamed of his mother and his brother. Something inside his soul told him that he was finally bringing them justice, one battle at a time.