‘Hold on, Sabinus. We’re coming…’
* * * * *
Quarter of an hour later, Fronto was still standing on the north bank, twitching at the urgency of their mission. He watched with growing tension as the legionary engineer, whose name he had discovered was Biorix, tied off the last rope securing the far end. Now all three bridges were attached to the opposite bank. Tapping his foot impatiently, he watched the engineers carefully hauling the bridge ropes as tight as possible and then tying them to the stakes that had been hammered into the ground here. Opposite, three large holes had been broken in the fort’s riverside rampart.
He clucked his tongue irritably and was about to shout something when he saw Biorix waving at him. With a sigh of relief, he turned to the legion assembled behind him.
‘Get across. Twenty men to each crossing at a time for now!’
The legionaries stormed onto the makeshift bridges and Fronto watched with sudden alarm as the wooden walkway dipped and disappeared below the water. However, it took but a moment for him to realise they had only sunk a little under the weight of the men. The soldiers, nervous though they were, crossed in water only ankle deep. As the first men reached the far side and ran into the fort, a familiar figure in burnished armour and with a red plume appeared in one of the gateways. Sabinus was directing the new arrivals to plug the worst gaps in his defences.
With a sigh of relief, Fronto turned to Plancus.
‘Looks good. I’m going across. I think we can just settle now into getting one century across at a time.’
The young legate nodded, staring with clear nerves at the submerged and shuddering bridge. Ignoring him, Fronto joined the next group of men to cross. Splashing along the thirty paces, he grinned as he climbed up the embankment and Sabinus slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Thought you’d never get here, Marcus!’
Fronto breathed deeply.
‘We nearly didn’t. Clever engineers, eh?’ He gestured back across the river.
‘Indeed. What’s your plan?’
Fronto blinked. He had not got as far as a plan. Just getting here had been his plan.
‘Well Caesar’s on his way with the other legions. We need to drive a wedge between the Belgae and the river, so that the Thirteenth can form a bridgehead and secure the bank. Once that’s done, we can marshal the men and begin to actually do the job. You need to get runners out around the Belgae somehow to pass instructions to Varus, and others back across to the missile troops. If Varus can start trying to help thin them out toward the bridge and the prefects above can concentrate their missiles on the area where the Belgae are thickest, we can divide the men between maintaining the defences here and joining up along the bank with the Thirteenth at the bridge.’
Sabinus laughed.
‘Oh… nothing simple, then?’
Fronto shook his head.
‘We’re still up against enormous odds, but now we can actually start to bring tactics into play.’
Sabinus nodded. ‘I’ll get the messengers out and get back to the walls. You concentrate on things by the river, yes?’
Fronto nodded. As the next group of men crossed the bridge, he called them over. Their centurion stepped to the front.
‘I need you to head along there between the wall and the river, and when you get to the end start to push out into the Belgae. Don’t try and engage properly. I just want a shield wall that moves slowly outwards. Reserves will be coming up to support you. We’re going to keep pushing them back until we control the whole bank and meet up with the Thirteenth at the bridge, alright?’
The centurion saluted and nodded. Without a word, he and his men picked their way along the difficult terrain toward the open ground on the river bank. Fronto watched them go and then turned his attention back to the bridge. The next century had just arrived. The legate pointed into the fort.
‘To the walls!’
The men saluted and ran off into the fort. Fronto turned back to the bridge and smiled. Plancus was coming across with the next group, stepping lightly as a dancer, as though there were sea monsters beneath the surface. As the young man, visibly relieved, arrived on the bank, Fronto clasped hands with him.
‘Plancus… can you take over here if I join in the action? I’m sending alternate units into the fort or along to the bridgehead.’
The young man nodded, letting out a deep breath. With a quick glance at him, Fronto gestured to the centurion who had just crossed.
‘You men are with me!’
Without waiting for a reply, he started to make his way speedily along the river bank. Ahead, he could see the legionaries fighting desperately at the edge of the river. As he ran he saw with dismay one of the men slip in the midst of combat and drop into the river like a stone. Weighed down with chainmail and helmet, there was no hope for the man. Fronto gritted his teeth as he saw how hard the men were fighting for such little ground. He and his reserves finally reached the rear of the century of men, now already whittled down to a third of their number.
‘Push!’ he yelled, and threw himself in among the soldiers, clearly greatly to the surprise of the Gaulish legionaries. The reserves joined the line, and the extra weight began to press back the Belgic warriors. With grim satisfaction, as they slowly heaved the line forward, Fronto noted how the victorious faces of the barbarians slipped to uncertainty as they found themselves being pushed backwards into the press of their own men. Fronto grinned. An idea was forming, but he’d have to be fast. These bastards were vicious. The Roman numbers in the push had almost halved again already. He leaned across to his right and barked hurried instructions at the centurion nearby. Behind them, another century of men joined the fight.
‘Push them back!’ he bellowed to the Roman force in general. He was almost at the front now. Almost close enough to reach one of the hairy bastards with his gladius.
Spotting the centurion that had accompanied him into the fray, he quickly leaned across and repeated his instructions. The man nodded and began to move off to the left. Fronto waited a moment for his instructions to have been disseminated among the men present, during which another century joined the rear. Their ranks were now growing faster than they were being whittled down, and they were forcing the Belgae back, but the push was getting ever harder, since the barbarians were being heaved into the press of their fellows.
‘Now!’ he cried.
Simultaneously, two thirds of his force changed direction and pushed off to the left, in line with the fort’s western wall, while the other third pulled back from where they had been pushing along the riverbank. The whole Roman front line swung like a gate, back along the shore to the fort wall. The sudden push deep in their lines and the opening space next to the river caused a natural momentum unfortunate for the Belgae. Unable to hold their ground, pushed back by the inland advance and their own great press, a large number of the Belgae found themselves pushed out of the force, into the open space and then beyond, where the shoving carried them straight on, over the bank and into the fast current of the river.
A cheer went up on the bridge several hundred paces downstream as over a hundred Belgae washed past beneath them, screaming as they were carried away from the field. The few wealthier barbarians who wore the heavy armour and helmets of the Celtic noblemen splashed briefly before disappearing without trace.
‘Reform!’ Fronto called.
As suddenly as they had changed direction before, the Roman left pulled back, and the right pushed out once again to their original solid line. Now, the diminished force of Belgae by the river gave Fronto’s force sufficient room to begin pushing in earnest. Laughing like a maniac, Fronto launched into the front line, hacking and stabbing with his sword, lost in the simplicity of combat where complicated thought could be replaced by instinct.
Bolstered by a continual supply of legionaries from the rear, Fronto’s force continued to expand the line in an arc, pushing the Belgae back. Stepping back from the action for a moment, Fronto smiled w
ith satisfaction. They had now fought their way almost half way along the fort’s wall, allowing Sabinus to redeploy a number of his men from that side. As he watched the nearest gate opened, just behind his advancing line, and more reserves poured from the fort. The press of Belgae in the narrowing area of riverbank they controlled were now shouting desperately. As their concentration had been drawn toward Fronto’s vicious assault, Balbus had taken the advantage of their lack of attention and finally broken away from the bridge, the Thirteenth pouring into the field and forming an arc like Fronto’s, pushing the barbarians further back from the river.
As the moments passed, Fronto grinned. The advancing forces from the bridge and the makeshift crossing were close now, the Belgae pushed back to the flat land on the other side of the fort. With a deep breath, he once more threw himself into the front line, shouting encouragement at the legionaries to either side. A roar went up, and the advance redoubled in effort, Belgae now trying to turn and flee among their own ranks.
‘Lucky’, Fronto thought to himself. For all the Romans had finally gained the riverbank and forced the Belgae back, they were still outnumbered by at least five to one. The Belgae had descended into chaos. Had they the discipline of the Roman army, they would right now be driving Fronto back into the water, instead of trying to get out of the way. The number of casualties Fronto’s advance had suffered spoke volumes about how dangerous a foe these barbarians could be when they had the bit between their teeth.
He clenched his teeth and offered a small prayer to Nemesis that the bastards kept on running.
Another cheer went up and the forces of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth legions finally met on the bank, joining forces and turning the two expanding arcs into one great, solid line advancing over the grass on the disordered Belgae. Professionalism took over among the centurions and the desperately pushing line quickly reformed into a traditional legionary shield wall, supported by second, third and fourth lines, with more reserves falling into place and rapidly forming a fifth.
This was starting to look like a proper battle now, rather than a mad advance, though only because the enemy were already trying to leave the field. A voice nearby called out his name and he turned to see Balbus, grinning, his forehead spattered with blood and, judging by the long cut close to his temple, much of it was his own. Fronto shook his head.
‘Quintus, you crazy bastard. Why are you at the front?’
‘Why are you?’ the older man shouted back, laughing. Leaving command of the push to the centurions, Fronto and his fellow legate fell out of the line to the rear and stretched.
‘I saw Sabinus at the fort. He’s alright. I left Plancus with him, so the prat can’t do much harm.’
Again, Balbus laughed.
‘I loved your swinging gate manoeuvre. My lads laughed like Bacchus when they saw all those flailing barbarians washing away underneath. I even saw one of the men pissing over the side of the bridge on them as they went past. Should have disciplined him, really, but to be honest, it was just too amusing!’
Fronto grinned.
‘Let’s just hope this panic keeps up. If they realise they’re still more than five to our one, things could go very badly for us.’
Balbus nodded, sobering up.
‘Best keep them running then.’
Fronto smiled.
‘Where’s your helmet?’
‘Bottom of the river, I think. Ah well. Cita owes me a few favours. I’ll get another one without going through the rigmarole.’
‘Sir?’
Fronto and Balbus both instinctively turned. Behind them, Decius stood with three of his auxiliary officers.
‘I beg to report, sirs, that we are now out of range of the cowardly, spineless, piss-poor barbarians. I’ve ordered the auxiliaries across to the fort where we can keep up the good work from the walls and free up legate Sabinus to bring his legionaries into the fight.’
Fronto’s grin widened.
‘Very good, Decius.’ He turned to his fellow legate. ‘Balbus? You know Decius? He’s one of yours.’
Balbus nodded uncertainly.
‘I’ve seen you around, prefect, yes. That’s some fine work today.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
He smiled and stretched wearily.
‘There’s more, though. From the hill we saw the standards of the legions behind the woodland to the left over there. Caesar should be here in about an hour and a half with the rest of the legions, but it looks like the rear of the Belgic army is already on the run. I doubt there’ll be many left here by the time the general arrives.’
Balbus frowned.
‘Caesar wanted us to hold them here. Could be trouble in store.’
Fronto ground his teeth.
‘I’m here to fight and to win. The only way they’ll stick with this now is if we start to pull back and hand them the advantage. I’m not going to do that, Balbus.’
Smiling grimly, he took a firmer grip of his sword.
‘Coming?’
The older legate flexed his hand several times. That finger he broke on Fronto’s nose still locked up painfully occasionally. He sighed, which turned into a smile, and then gripped his own blade.
‘Why not?’
Chapter 10
(Battlefield on the south bank of the Aisne River.)
‘Aurora: Roman Goddess of the dawn, sister of Sol and Luna.’
‘Cloaca Maxima: The great sewer of republican Rome that drained the forum into the Tiber.’
Caesar, pale faced once again, pulled his horse ahead of the vanguard of officers.
‘Fronto? Where, pray, are the Belgae?’
The blood-spattered legate, still gripping his sword, his helmet crest in disarray, smiled grimly and gestured all around him with a sweep of his arm. The general’s colour drained a little further.
‘Fronto! I wanted the Belgae trapped here. I wanted to wipe them out, for good.’
Fronto shrugged.
‘With respect general, the only way we could have kept that many here is to let them carve us into new shapes. We were teetering on the edge of complete disaster and, frankly, I think it’s quite impressive, given the odds, that we pulled this off.’
The general shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘And now they’re south of the river, they’ve got free rein to attack our supply lines and destroy Remi lands!’
Balbus shook his head.
‘I don’t believe so, Caesar. As they fled, they went west. They were trying to get far away from us and yourself. I think they’re following the river and trying to find a way to get back across and head north again.’
Caesar grumbled.
‘And then the Belgae will fall back and regroup to face us again.’
Fronto grinned.
‘A lot less of them, though. We won you a solid victory here, Caesar.’
The general ground his teeth.
‘Trying to give you orders, Fronto, is like trying to nail a shadow to a wall!’
The legate’s grin widened.
‘That was not meant to be funny!’
Behind the general, Labienus cleared his throat and leaned forward over his horse’s neck.
‘Apologies for interrupting, Caesar, but I think we need to decide on a course of action quickly and worry about recriminations later. The Belgae are getting further away all the time, but they could stop and reform damned quickly.’
The general let his stare of disapproval linger on Fronto a moment longer, and then straightened.
‘Quite right, Labienus. Send for my Belgic scouts. We need to infiltrate the fleeing mass and try to determine what their next move will be. But as soon as our scouts are with them, we’ll need to follow on and harry them. We certainly don’t want to give them time to reorganise themselves.’
He climbed down from his steed and handed the reins to the nearest legionary.
‘For now, I shall return to my headquarters. Fronto? This is your mess. Kindly sort it out.’
Fronto rolled his eyes and sighed as the general, with Labienus at his shoulder, made his way among the bodies to the bridge and back toward the huge camp on the hill.
‘Alright then.’ Fronto gestured to a centurion he spotted nearby, who looked up in surprise.
‘I want those three temporary sling-bridges to be supported, strengthened and secured. We can’t guarantee that the Belgae won’t change their mind and come back for more, so I want movement of troops easy. Find some engineers and get it done.’
Scanning the nearby ranks, he singled out another centurion.
‘We need to get these dead piled up and cremated. Two piles. One for Romans; one for the Belgae. No disrespect though; they may be barbarians, but they’re warriors who fought well and died in battle. Give everyone the same send-off. You’ll need to co-opt another century for the detail. There’s a lot of bodies.’
The centurion saluted and cleared his throat. ‘And survivors and wounded among the enemy, sir?’
Fronto nodded thoughtfully.
‘Medical care for those who can be saved. Round up the prisoners and put a guard on them… and do the same for any that are caught in the vicinity afterwards. At the very least, they’ll fetch a few coins for us in Rome.’
Scratching his head, he looked up toward the legions that Caesar had led by his circuitous route and who, abandoned by their general and no longer required for battle, were standing awaiting further orders from the staff officers at their head. The familiar face of Gnaeus Priscus, primus pilus of the Tenth, grinned back at him from the ranks. Fronto raised his voice and pointed at his second in command.
‘Priscus! Get Pomponius out here.’
There was a brief ruckus in the ranks of the Tenth, and the young centurion and chief engineer of Fronto’s legion strode out to meet him.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 72
