by James Mace
“The terrain looks wide enough for us to deploy four legions on line, with four more in reserve. This may very well work to our advantage,” he said at last.
“Yes, sir,” Severus agreed. “One thing they may attempt is to remain in the woods and fight us there. The trees would break up our formations and perhaps even the odds in their minds.”
“Then we smoke them out like vermin,” Germanicus countered. “Once we have all of our assaulting elements arrayed, we’ll pound the tree lines with artillery. They’ll either have to face us in the open or they can slowly burn to death as we torch their sacred groves. That should draw them out.”
Severus smiled at the thought. “Very good. And I take it you’ll want the auxiliary infantry out front to act as a screen line?”
“Yes,” Germanicus nodded. “They can act as a delaying force in case the Germans decide to advance prematurely. Plus, we can use them to stall the enemy’s momentum long enough for the legions to engage. Just make certain they maintain visual contact this time!” He scowled at the thought of the auxiliary’s debacle the year before.
“That’s already been taken care of,” Severus said with a half smile. “Trust me, there will be no mistakes this time.”
“And how are you so sure of this?” Germanicus asked, curious as to how his second was so certain.
“Simple,” Severus shrugged. “I told the auxiliary commanders that if there were any lapses in discipline this time, I would personally castrate and crucify the lot of them.”
Germanicus nodded. That would do it, alright.
“I will take the cavalry,” Germanicus continued. “Once the battle is fully engaged, we will work to encircle the enemy, harassing the flanks and rear. We’ll also try and lure their cavalry into the center, negating their maneuverability. I’m going to leave it up to you when you want to deploy the reserve legions. Just make certain you do it before the ones up front become too beaten down. We’ll still need to use them as a reserve once the legions in the rear commit.”
Chapter XX: Idistaviso
***
A red sun dawned. Blood would be spilt that day. The sun cast its light over the ground as the legionaries went about readying themselves for the coming battle. For the huge number of men assembled, it was unnervingly quiet, at least to the outside observer. The rustle of armor being donned, the sound of gladii being drawn and looked over one last time before being sheathed with the occasional smothered oath from someone were the only audible sounds. Every soldier was very calm and deliberate as he made his preparations. Unlike their barbarian adversaries, the Romans found it pointless and a waste of energy to dance about, making all sorts of noise before a battle. All that would do is lead to anxiety and allow for breaches of discipline. Only at the last, when they were about to directly engage the enemy, would the Romans come alive with a roar. Until then, all would be quiet, a silence that would soothe their soldiers and rattle the enemy more than any battle cry ever could.
Meticulously, Artorius inspected every piece of equipment he would be using that day. He made it a point of donning a fresh tunic. He checked the straps and soles of his footgear as he strapped them on. With an oil dampened cloth he wiped down his armor, checking every rivet, band, and strap for serviceability. He then did the same with his helmet. He donned both, tugging on straps and making certain that everything fit right. He followed this up with a quick check of the brass strips and handle on his shield. He then looked down the shaft of his javelin, ensuring that it was straight, and the point honed sharp. Lastly, he drew his gladius and gave it a quick wipe down with the cloth. Artorius smiled to himself as he examined the blade. As always, it was razor sharp. Once everything was done, he removed his helmet and stood by, leaning on his shield. Several deep breaths helped to calm his racing pulse. He cleared his mind in anticipation of the coming battle. Slowly, he felt himself ready for what was to come.
Sergeant Statorius walked over and checked his soldiers one by one. Very little was said as he checked their armor and weapons. When he came to Artorius, the decanus nodded for him to don his helmet. He did a quick visual inspection, checking all of his soldier’s equipment for serviceability and wear. He then held out his hand. Artorius drew his gladius and handed it to the decanus, who smiled as he hefted the weapon.
“You’ve taken good care of this,” he said quietly, running his fingers over the blade and pommel. “One would never guess how much action it has already seen. I daresay, one would think this weapon was brand new off the armory’s rack.”
“Thank you, sergeant,” Artorius replied.
Statorius then handed the weapon back to him handle first. “She’ll serve you well today, lad.”
Artorius placed the weapon back in its scabbard. Statorius then gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder and went about checking the next man.
Macro, Vitruvius, and Camillus stood off to the side, watching as the decani finished the last minute checks of their men. Camillus wore the traditional bear skin over his helmet and shoulders. He had both hands wrapped around the century’s standard he leaned against. Macro and Vitruvius were fully armored, each carrying their helmets under their left arms. Flaccus stood over by where the inspections were being conducted, each decanus reporting to him when their section was complete.
Finally, he turned and walked over to Macro and reported. “All sections are ready.”
The centurion nodded his approval and the sergeants gathered around their commander.
“Get all sections on line, and then have them stand easy,” he ordered. His voice was strong but very calm and relaxed. “Once the order is sounded, we will fall in directly behind Proculus and the First Century.” He nodded to where soldiers of the First Century stood a few meters ahead of them, going through a similar ritual with their officers. He then continued with his briefing.
“As you all know, the Twentieth Legion will be among the first to engage the enemy today. Keep an eye on your men. Make sure they keep an eye on each other. If someone goes down, whether they are on our line or the one in front of us, pull him off immediately. Our armor will protect us against most of our enemies’ blows. Don’t give them the opportunity to finish us should we fall. Only together can we hope to survive this day and achieve victory. You all know what to do. Know that every soldier in this century has my utmost faith and trust. Now, let us show the Cherusci why we are known as The Valiant!”
Arminius rode through the glade. It was packed with Cherusci warriors, most of whom stood shoulder to shoulder. Many cheered as their war chief rode past; warriors thrust their weapons in the air and banged them against their shields. There was an air of confidence and anticipation as they waited for the Romans to come.
Arminius reached the top of the hill overlooking the valley below. In the distance, he could just make out the first signs of the Roman army’s approach. As the shouts and cheering died down, everyone could hear the soft cadence of men in step, marching towards them. The sound grew louder as the legions advanced. Gradually the blurry mass took on individual shapes. The Roman auxiliaries screened their front in four ranks with the legions behind them. Arminius was just able to make out wagons to the very rear of the Roman army, wagons bearing their hated artillery. No other sound came from the Romans except for their footsteps, and the soft beat of their sword belts bouncing against their armor in cadence with their steps.
“Their footfalls come as the steps of doom,” Arminius whispered. Though he maintained a calm expression on his face, his knuckles were white as he held the reins of his horse in a death grip. He took a deep breath and suddenly took heart. He knew that all would be settled on this day. It was up to him to drive his warriors to final victory over the hated legions. He turned and faced his men, giving as stirring of a speech as any he had given before.
“These Romans are the most cowardly fugitives out of Varus’ army, men who rather than endure war had taken to mutiny! Half of them have their backs covered with wounds; half are once agai
n exposing limbs battered by waves and storms to a foe full of fury and to hostile deities, with no hope of advantage. They have had recourse to a fleet and to a trackless ocean, that their coming might be unopposed, their flight un-pursued. But once they have joined conflict with us, the help of winds or oars will be unavailing to the vanquished. Remember only their greed, their cruelty, their pride. Is anything left for us but to retain our freedom or to die before we are enslaved?” 1
Ingiomerus paced back and forth amongst the warriors in the trees. He walked over to the edge, where the area opened up onto the plain below. Through the surge of warriors surrounding and in front of him, it was difficult to make out the legions in the distance. From what he could see, they seemed small, insignificant. Though he could not see them very well, he could hear the cadence of their march growing steadily louder. He decided to drown out that despicable sound.
“Brother Cherusci!” he shouted, with his sword held aloft. “The Romans have at last come to make battle with us. And what a battle we shall give them! Their arrogance, their vanity, and their air of superiority will avail them nothing!”
Cherusci warriors started to shout in agreement.
“So let the Romans know that we are here! Let them know that it is the Cherusci who will send them to hell’s door!”
With that the warriors went into frenzy. The forest seemed to come alive. Ingiomerus was certain their battle cries could be heard all the way to Rome.
The army was arrayed in battle formation. Everything was set. Germanicus looked proudly towards his army. He thought briefly back to the speech he had given to his men before the order to advance was given.
“It is not,” he had said, “plains only which are good for the fighting of Roman soldiers, but woods and forest passes, if science be used. For the huge shields and unwieldy lances of the barbarians cannot, amid trunks of trees and brushwood that springs from the ground, be so well managed as our javelins and swords and closefitting armor. Shoulder your blows thickly; strike at the face with your sword points. The German has neither cuirass nor helmet; even his shield is not strengthened with leather or steel, but is of osiers woven together or of thin and painted board. If their first line is armed with spears, the rest have only weapons hardened by fire or very short.
“Again, though their frames are terrible to the eye and formidable in a brief onset, they have no capacity of enduring wounds; without any shame at the disgrace, without any regard to their leaders, they quit the field and flee; they quail under disaster, just as in success they forget alike divine and human laws. If, in your weariness of land and sea you desire an end of service, this battle prepares the way to it. The Elbe is now nearer than the Rhine, and there is no war beyond, provided only you enable me, keeping close as I do to my father’s and my uncle’s footsteps, to stand and conquer on the same spot.” 2
Preparations had been meticulous. The auxiliary infantry were out front, supported by archers. They would bloody the Germans and fix them in place. Four legions were behind them, along with two cohorts of the Praetorian Guard that Germanicus had hand-picked to take part in the attack. Germanicus himself rode in the center of this formation, along with selected members of the cavalry. Behind them were the four legions in reserve; behind these were mounted archers who acted as a rear guard. At the very back was a line of onagers. Pilate had ordered his crews to overshoot rather than under. Germanicus wanted to use the artillery to hammer the enemy rear, thereby driving them into their waiting swords. As the army slowly advanced, Germanicus looked up with amazement to see eight eagles flying in the direction they were traveling. They were arrayed in exactly the same type of formation that his legions were, four in front, four behind. Surely it was another omen, eight eagles, one for each legion! Any doubts he may have had about the pending battle evaporated in an instant.
“My brothers, look!” he shouted, pointing to the heavens. “The gods favor us this day! The Eagles of our Legions fly towards destiny and victory!”
A shout sounded from those who looked up and saw the eagles. Germanicus’ heart soared.
The Twentieth Legion, Valeria, advanced on the right-hand side of the formation. The Second Century occupied the second rank in the Third Cohort. Artorius could see the auxiliary infantry and archers to his front. They were maintaining discipline and visual contact. There would be no mistakes this time.
The barbarian hordes were gathered on the high ground to their front. The hills sloped downward, converging on the plain where the legions now advanced. By Hades, there were a lot of them! The entire horizon was literally covered with barbarian warriors. How many were there? Tens-of-thousands? Hundreds-of-thousands? There was no way of knowing for sure. The ridge was covered in woods, the sacred groves of their foul god whom they had the audacity of comparing to Hercules. Thousands more stood hidden in these groves that they thought would give them divine protection. Ha! Their incredible numbers and even their gods would be no match for the might of the Roman war machine!
“We move as the Hammer of Vengeance,” he muttered to himself.
“Set for maximum elevation!” Pilate shouted.
“Elevation set!” Dionysus called back.
“Onagers…ignite!” Crews lit the pots of oil placed in the baskets of the catapults and stepped quickly away as the flames were fanned on the breeze.
“Catapults ready, sir!”
Pilate took a deep breath and wiped his forearm across his brow before issuing the next order. “Fire!”
Dozens of flaming missiles sailed through the air over the heads of the advancing legions, impacting amongst the trees near the rear of the German ranks. The trees only enhanced the devastating effects of the fire bombs. Upon impact, each ball would literally explode, spraying deadly fire everywhere. The dry timber easily caught fire, adding to the havoc. Some unlucky warriors were doused completely and soon consumed in the blaze. These ran about in utter panic, shrieking, before they succumbed to the effects of the fire. It seemed as if hell itself were spitting flaming death at them. More fireballs smashed into the trees at higher levels, spraying their flaming fury onto even larger numbers of barbarians below.
The Germans started to panic. Though Arminius had forbidden them from attacking before the signal was given, they hated the thought of standing by, helpless, while the Romans rained death upon them.
“We cannot just stand here and take this!” one warrior shouted to Ingiomerus.
“Steady! Keep your courage!” Ingiomerus called to his warriors. “We must not falter. We must stick to the plan!”
“If this keeps up, there won’t be any of us left to attack!” another warrior cried out as a fireball exploded in the trees above them.
Ingiomerus looked around. Though they were being tormented and were taking casualties, the warrior’s assessment was absurd. Yes, a number would be consumed by the flames; however, their casualties would not be catastrophic. The Roman barrage was meant to harass them, to try and force them to execute their attack prematurely. That way they could be caught out in the open, where the legions would have the advantage.
As he contemplated this, Ingiomerus felt a searing pain as red-hot embers scorched his face and arms. The hair of a warrior next to him had caught fire, and the man was running about screaming at the top of his lungs. Suddenly, he too panicked. Not realizing fully what he was doing, he raised his sword and started to run towards the enemy.
“With me, my warriors! Who will come with me?”
The warriors all gave a shout and surged forward with him. Those in front of the groves of trees mistook this to mean the attack had commenced. A deafening cry erupted, and they charged. Arminius lowered his head. He had done all he could. Everything now depended on the ability of his warriors to carry their charge, a charge they had executed prematurely.
“Archers…draw!” The archers in front of the auxiliaries quickly drew back and unleashed a torrent of arrows that rained down upon the Germans rushing towards them. So closely packed were
the barbarians that few missed their marks. Some held their shields overhead in hopes of protecting themselves from the rain of death. With no discipline nor any mutual support, their efforts were largely in vain. Shields would absorb a few arrows, but then even more would find flesh, muscle, and organs. In spite of this, the charge lost none of its momentum. As warriors were shot down, they were roughly shoved aside, tripped over, or tossed out of the way. The Roman auxiliary infantry kept up their advance as the archers paused and unleashed yet another volley. Soon the gap closed.
In his frustration, Arminius drew his sword. “Our warriors charge bravely. We go to join them. Cherusci forward!”
With a shout the cavalry surged from the hilltops towards the center of the fray. He led them straight into the Roman archers as they fired again. Their officers saw this new threat approaching them.
“Aim for their cavalry!” one ordered.
The archers drew their bows, and fired into the ranks of the Cherusci cavalry. Men and horses fell in heaps to the earth, yet still they came. Arminius spurred his horse with renewed vigor as a warrior next to him was shot off his mount.
“Archers…fall back!”
As they withdrew, the barbarians crashed head on into the ranks of the auxiliary infantry. A violent melee ensued. Most auxiliaries carried metal spears and oblong shields. They wore legionary style helmets and mail shirts. Though better equipped and trained than their enemies, they were no legionaries. The Germans started to fall, yet they continued to surge forward. They had a decisive edge in numbers, and they quickly started to overwhelm the Roman auxiliaries. Men stabbed, slashed, and hacked away at each other, opening up fearful wounds whenever a blow found its mark. Screaming in fury and pain they sought to disembowel each other. The air filled with the sounds of battle and death.
