‘That’s a nice cushy life isn’t it,’ Aledus exclaimed as he too caught sight of the patrol vessel, ‘Up and down on the river. Never having to put one leg before the other. Those marines from the fleet have got it good.’
‘Yes, but boring as hell,’ Fergus retorted. ‘And less pay, plus you would be sea sick all the time, just like you were on the crossing from Gaul!’
‘I wouldn’t mind being bored as long as I never have to march again,’ Aledus replied with a sheepish grin. ‘My feet are killing me and I think my boots are about to fall apart for good this time.’
Fergus was about to reply, when a cry rose from along the road. Turning to stare in the direction of the noise, Fergus suddenly caught sight of a solitary rider galloping down the road towards him, his cloak flying behind him and a leather, despatch case slung over his back. The man was screaming at the soldiers and wagons to get out of his way. As he thundered past Aledus sniggered.
‘He’s in a hurry, isn’t he?’
Fergus did not reply. On the horizon to the east he suddenly noticed a column of black-smoke rising into the air. Carefully Fergus turned to look towards the west, down the road from which they had come, and there too on the horizon, a column of smoke was rising into the sky.
‘Shit,’ Aledus muttered as he too noticed the smoke. ‘What do you think that is? Barbarians?’
‘Could be,’ Fergus replied stoically. ‘Remember that Centurion in Castra Regina. Remember what he told Titus?’
Aledus nodded. Titus had informed the whole company soon after. The Centurion had warned them that the Barbarian tribes across the Danube were restless and had been sending raiding parties across the river all summer. The Barbarians, the Centurion had explained, seemed to be testing the Roman defences, but for what purpose no one knew. And within a day of leaving Batavis the battle-group had come upon the first evidence of this guerrilla warfare. They had stumbled on the grizzly smoking ruin of a destroyed watchtower, overlooking the Danube. The eight-man squad, who’d been manning the post, had all been decapitated and their bodies hung from a nearby tree. The sight had had a sobering effect on the company.
‘Gather round, gather round,’ Titus was suddenly shouting beckoning for the company to come near to him. Obediently Fergus joined the rest of the eighty men as they silently clustered around their Centurion. Titus glared at his men as he waited for the stragglers to join him. And as Fergus stood waiting for him to speak, he suddenly caught sight of Fronto standing opposite him in the crowd. As Fronto noticed him, he grinned revealing a row of rotting teeth and then slowly and deliberately Fronto ran his finger across his throat in warning.
‘What a fucking wanker,’ Vittius hissed as he noticed the movement. ‘Does he want to have his face kicked in?’
‘Just ignore him,’ Fergus said firmly. ‘He is just doing it to annoy me. The prick will get what is coming to him but only when I say so.’
‘Right,’ Titus bellowed, turning to look at his men. ‘Listen up. I have just been given some news. Due to the end of the campaigning season, we are not going to be taking part in any fighting against the Dacian’s. Not this year anyway. Instead, the Legate Hadrian, our acting commander, has ordered us to go into winter quarters and await the new fighting season in the spring. The Second Cohort is to be billeted at the auxiliary camp Aquinoctium, which lies on the river, fourteen miles west of Carnuntum. Our temporary task will be to help defend and patrol the frontier until the spring. After that we will be heading east to kick Dacian butt. So, the good news is that we will be reaching our new home tonight. This is good news for the winters around here are long and bitterly cold and the first snows are less than six weeks away.’ Titus paused as Furius leaned towards him and muttered something in the Centurion’s ear.
‘And I will say it again. The tribes beyond the river,’ Titus cried out, ‘the Marcomanni and the Quadi are restless and have been raiding our territory all summer, so the local auxiliaries are going to be glad to have us in support. But be on your guard. The Germans like to strike in small mobile groups, attacking our outposts and watchtowers, often at night, and then fleeing back to their own territory before our relief forces can appear. It is a cowardly way of fighting, but I never did have much hope that the Germans would be capable of much more. So, the lesson is, stay alert. Forget that and the chance is high that you may die like a fool, and boys, we have not just fucking marched half way across the Empire to die like fools. We are the best company in the cohort, so I expect you to act like the best.’
For a moment, the company gathered around their Centurion remained silent.
‘What’s the bad news Sir?’ a brave anonymous voice suddenly cried out from the crowd of legionaries gathered around Titus.
‘The bad news,’ Titus bellowed, ‘Is that our new quarters do not yet exist. We are going to have to build the barracks from scratch and they need to be finished before the first snows.’ Titus paused. ‘Rome conquers all,’ he bellowed.
Chapter Nineteen – A Proper Punch-up
‘It’s not fair,’ Aledus grumbled as he heaved one end of the felled, tree log onto his shoulder and waited for Fergus to do the same with his end. ‘Apparently the Sixth Cohort have been billeted on the eastern edge of Carnuntum,’ Aledus growled unhappily. ‘And here we are living in the middle of a dank forest, with half a cohort of miserable and moody auxiliaries for company, and fourteen miles from a town of fifty thousand people. Fifty thousand people!’ Fergus did not reply as he heaved the log onto his shoulder and the two of them started off through the trees towards the building site, where the legionaries were busy constructing their winter quarters. ‘That’s fourteen miles there and fourteen miles back,’ Aledus grumbled as he continued talking. ‘That’s just too far for a night out. Oh, it’s alright for the boys from the Sixth, who can sneak into Carnuntum whenever they like, but not for us. It’s just not fair. I mean the dickhead who decided to place us out here, sure did not want us to be able to go into town and sample its delights. What did we ever do to deserve this? Carnuntum has a bath house and an arena.’
‘Shut up Aledus,’ Fergus growled, as the two of them approached the construction site and dropped their log onto a pile of wood.
Aquinoctium nestled on the higher ground in the middle of a man-made clearing in the dense conifer forest, less than a mile from the banks of the Danube. A muddy timber palisade and V shaped ditch surrounded the brown and dreary-looking barracks and extensive stables that housed the horses of the Hispanic Auxiliary Cavalry Cohort who’s home this was. Half the auxiliary cohort’s riders had already been transferred to the fighting, further east on the Dacian frontier, but the freed-up accommodation was still not large enough to house the five hundred men of the Second Cohort. The gate into the small auxiliary fort, was guarded by a tall solitary watchtower that rose above the gatehouse and around the fort, the muddy cleared-ground was littered with freshly-cut tree stumps. Wood smoke was drifting upwards from the cook-house and the two men on sentry duty high up, on their platform above the gate, were leaning over the balustrade watching the legionaries toiling over the new wooden barrack-blocks that were being built outside the walls of the original fort. A dog was barking and as Fergus paused to stare at the construction site, a tree slowly toppled over in the forest behind him and hit the ground with a great splintering crash. The legionaries clad in their short-sleeved white army-tunics, were labouring away and the noise of sawing, hammering and shouts, filled the forest and the cleared space around the fort. The men were making good progress and the foundations and walls of most of the barracks were nearly all complete. And it was just as well Fergus thought, for as he glanced up at the sky, he could see dark-grey rain clouds. Summer was over and in the past week the temperature had suddenly dropped.
Fergus turned back towards the forest where his company were busy chopping down trees. He had just reached the edge of the tree line, when from inside the fort a bell started clanging. Startled, Fergus and Aledus turned to look in the d
irection of the fort. The two sentries high up on their viewing platform were no longer staring at the construction workers. Looking animated, they were pointing in the direction of the river and shouting down to their comrades inside the fort. A moment later the gates to the auxiliary camp were thrown open and a squadron of thirty, heavily-armed cavalrymen came thundering out, and without, explanation galloped away down towards the river. The auxiliaries soon vanished into the forest.
‘What’s going on?’ Vittius called out, as he came running up to Fergus. Along the edge of the forest, the men from the Second Company had downed their tools and had come to see what all the fuss was about.
Fergus shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘But those horsemen looked like the fast response squadron. I think there may be trouble down by the river.’
Inside the fort, the furious noise from the clanging bell abruptly ceased. Uneasily, Fergus turned to stare in the direction of the Danube. The forest beyond the gateway had been cleared to form a long, straight and narrow-looking fire-break, that went on for a mile, sloping down through the forest towards the edge of the river. Fergus had at first thought the cleared forest had been a road or path of some sort, but now suddenly he realised its purpose. The cleared break-line provided the sentries on the watchtower with a direct line of sight to the outpost, which stood on the banks of the Danube. And as he squinted and peered down the line, Fergus suddenly caught sight of large, coloured flags being whirled around by the men manning the watchtower on the river. The auxiliaries were signalling to each other.
‘What are they saying?’ a legionary cried out, as he too caught sight of the raised flags.
‘Blue flag - R, red flag - A,’ another legionary cried out, ‘Green means - I or B I think and black can means V, O or D.’
‘Raid,’ Fergus hissed. ‘They are signalling that the Germans have crossed the river.’
Stunned the legionaries around Fergus stared in the direction of the river. Then Fergus noticed the Senior Cohort Centurion hurrying towards him accompanied by the Cohort signifer and a Cornicen, a trumpeter clutching his cylindrical trumpet. Spotting Titus, the officer veered straight towards him.
‘Titus, tell your men to get their armour on and grab their weapons,’ the senior Centurion yelled. ‘Hurry. There is trouble down by the river. Multiple raiding parties. You are to get your company down there right away and sort it out.’
***
The company had already crossed the main Roman road that ran between Vindobona and Carnuntum and were half-running and half-walking down along the heavily forested slope towards the signal tower on the river, when they heard the unfamiliar blast of a horn in the distance. Warily Fergus paused and peered into the dark wild forest around him, but amongst the trees, nothing moved, and as the seconds ticked by the noise did not come again. Silence returned. Up ahead Titus had started out again, and was setting a brisk pace through the trees accompanied by the signifer with his wolf’s-skin draped over his head and clutching the precious company banner. As he followed Titus down the slope, Fergus could hear the metallic jangle of the legionaries’ equipment and the men’s laboured breathing and muffled curses. Clutching his rectangular shield, which covered him from ankle to shoulder, in one hand and his two throwing spears in the other, he glanced around at his squad. They were right behind him, staring tensely and apprehensively into the dark impenetrable forest, as if expecting the enemy to be hiding behind every tree.
The men in the squat watchtower with its square palisade, had stopped signalling and were nowhere to be seen, but the outpost itself seemed undamaged and there was no sign that the place had been attacked. As the company emerged from the forest and out onto the open floodplain, Titus raised his hand silently in the air and behind him his men came to an abrupt halt, and crouched down on one knee, their shields leaning against their bodies and their spears pointing outwards and resting on the shield rims. Beyond the watch tower, forty paces away, Fergus could see the Danube. The banks of the mighty river were covered by tall reed-beds and the ground looked treacherous, marshy and sodden. A good hiding-place, he thought. Downstream from the Roman watchtower, a white sandy beach was lined with a row of sharpened wooden stakes driven and slanted into the sand, so that they were pointing outwards at the river. Further along the river-bank, someone had built a series of earthen dykes and had flooded the land in between, creating a natural watery barrier. Cautiously, Fergus turned to gaze at the forest, which came nearly all the way to the water’s edge. Wicked looking sharpened spikes had been driven into the ground and seemed to block every gap and path that led off inland. The anti-cavalry spikes seemed to extend deep into the forest. Fergus grunted in surprise. It was as if the whole landscape had been fortified and every possible defensive feature of the landscape moulded and turned into a gigantic physical barrier. He had never seen anything like it.
Crouching in the wet soggy ground Fergus waited for Titus to make up his mind. Then, just as the tension and silence was becoming intolerable, a man appeared on the balustrade that ran around the top of the watch tower. The soldier was holding a bow.
‘Where is the enemy?’ Titus called out impatiently.
Hastily the auxiliary soldier turned and pointed downstream.
‘A big group of them came out of the forest a mile or so that way,’ he called out in a thick Hispanic accent. ‘Two of my men saw them. That was an hour ago. The Germans came from the south. They are laden with loot and they are preparing to cross back over the river. They are building rafts. They have women and children with them. Some of them could be prisoners taken as slaves.’
‘How many of them are there?’ Titus snapped looking up at the auxiliary.
‘About two hundred,’ the soldier called out. “But they are preparing to cross back to their side of the river. Maybe it would be wiser to just let them go.’
‘Like hell,’ Titus bellowed. ‘That’s not fucking likely. Those thieving bastards are going to get what they deserve which is my cold steel blade in their guts.’
For a moment, Titus paused and glared in the direction in which the auxiliary was pointing. ‘I need one of your men to show us the way,’ he called out at last. ‘I don’t want to step into one of your traps and skewer myself. Take us to this war band and we will do the rest.’
“I will show you myself,’ the auxiliary replied glumly as he turned and vanished through a doorway into the tower.
***
‘This is going to be a proper punch-up,’ Fergus muttered as he stared at the German war band who had made their camp at the river’s edge, fifty paces away across the flat grassy floodplain. Alongside Fergus, the legionaries, drawn up in a single straight line, were staring at the raiders in grim and tense silence. Fergus tried to slow his breathing. This was the first time he had seen the enemy up close, and this was going to be his first fight where the odds were not heavily stacked in the Roman’s favour. A dozen half-completed rafts lay, drawn up on the soft muddy bank and the Germans were milling about, shouting and raising their weapons in the air as they defiantly gathered around their leaders. They were big, tall and fierce-looking men and were armed with a bewildering assortment of weapons, knives, axes, pikes, spears, bows, spiked clubs and swords, but few seemed to have shields and none was wearing any metal armour. Their clothes were made of wool and animal hides and some of the warrior’s faces were covered in tattoos, whilst others were bedecked with looted rings, glittering jewellery and arm bracelets. And standing behind the warriors were groups of hard faced women, nearly as tall as their menfolk, their long blond hair, fluttering freely in the breeze. With a shock, Fergus noticed that the women too, were armed. They were going to fight.
‘This is going to be a proper punch up,’ he repeated quietly, as tensely he tightened his grip on his shield.
‘Flying wedge! Form up into a flying wedge,’ Titus bellowed as alone he calmly strode out towards the enemy. ‘No mercy, no quarter boys. Remember what these people did to the auxiliaries in t
hat watchtower.’
From the edge of the river the Germans replied with loud defiant roaring. They were joined moments later by the shrill high-pitched screeching from the women and as the women’s screaming grew in volume, Fergus saw the faces of his legionaries grow pale. None of them had ever experienced this. The screeching women were truly unnerving and unexpected.
‘Company will form up on me,’ Titus’s voice rose above the din. ‘Form up, form up. Flying wedge!’
Hastily, Fergus and the company moved into the position, which they had practised a hundred times on the exercise field. When they were ready, the company had formed a tight V shaped formation with Titus at its very tip.
‘Follow me,’ the Centurion bellowed. ‘No mercy.’
Silently and grimly the legionaries packed together in their tight V shaped formation and sheltering behind their large shields, began to advance towards the German raiders like an armoured crab. In response, the Germans rushed to form a crescent line, raising their weapons in the air. The screaming, yelling and shouting increased, as Titus headed straight towards the enemy.
Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5) Page 18
