'We saved you,' Pipin spat in heavy Latin. 'Not the other way around.'
'You saved nothing, and sons of senators don't ride to battle in peasant garb. Besides, I wanted to attract the enemy. Only way to count the cunts is to have them ride after us. We had an ambush site picked back up that way,' he sniffed and pointed toward the north, but smiled and gave the order to retreat. 'Does not matter. We got some of them.' And so we went, Fulcher on a horse, tied to the saddle, and the archers occasionally losing arrows at some foolhardy enemy scouts.
'Sons of senators might go home in a pot when taking such risks.' I grinned at him.
'By Mercury! That would probably be the one thing to make my father smile. It would be a horrible sight, his smile, but he would grin and cry with happiness! I think he might make a piss pot out of that urn!' He laughed like a mad thing, drawing exasperated looks from the Syrians and the Parthians around him.
'Is the army hurt?' I asked, as we led Fulcher on a horse.
'No, not really. A bit scattered is all. We marched up Luppia, built two forts, and left legion I Germanicum to fortify the hills near the Cherusci lands. Then we formed a large line, and drove for the Bructeri villages and burned over a hundred. Their army was on sight; retreating after thousands of their non-combatants, and we went after them. Prisoners tell us they hoped to find a proper battle site, and were asking their gods to aid them,' he said and grinned. 'Tired of running, no doubt. They won't leave their elders to die.'
'I wish the gods fought it out for once, and we could eat and drink while they went at it,' a Batavi grunted, after having convinced a stubborn Parthian the fine horse he was leading was off limits, and his. 'How is the food situation?'
He shrugged. 'We are short. We carried some two weeks' worth with us, but we left a lot on the forts so we could move faster. We have few days' worth, and the high and mighty ones have been tightening the belt.'
'The food is besieged,' I told them.
The Roman nodded. 'Guess we confirmed that. Not sure it was wise of the Germani; now the men are angry, and won’t be happy when they finally fight. They will strangle the bearded bastards, for they have food. They have been flaunting it at our army.' He laughed, and shook his head. 'A hungry legionnaire is a thing made of hate. Fight a sated one, and you do fine. You’ll might survive to be a slave, but these men of ours will drink their blood now.'
I did not tell him of an army of Sigambri somewhere out there.
We rode on, seeing more and more signs of a battle and war. The twenty Roman miles from Alisio were a land for unburied corpses. Hamlets were still burning, and horses and men had trampled the rich wheat and cornfields. There were more Roman patrols riding around, which Gnaeus greeted happily.
'He is a fool!' whispered one of the Batavi.
'He is a dandy. He had sense to arrange the ambush on a fly. How is Fulcher?' I asked, glancing at the unconscious man.
'He whimpered a bit, either he is dying, or getting back to us. No bones seem to be broken,' the man said carefully. 'But, I am no expert.'
'At least he cannot whine now,' the other Batavi said with a grin, and I agreed.
We had ridden half a day, and smoke was rising from several points on the horizon. Gnaeus swiped his hand across it. 'We advanced this way few days past, marching back from the east to the west after the Bructeri. They are a pretty fleet with their dirty feet. The Marsi are with them, too, though I cannot tell them apart. Some say they have noses like a bent pilum,' Gnaeus laughed. Some twenty grimy legionnaires marched up from the valley in front of us, and one could glimpse, far away, the shining armor of an army on a march. Gnaeus rode up to the centurion, and there was gesturing and cursing as Gnaeus was trying to make the veteran soldier salute him, with little success. 'Where is the commander, centurion? What was your name?' he asked testily.
'Centurion Shits-in-Your-Skull, sir. He is over there, with the XVIII,' the centurion spat. 'They are about to attack.'
Gnaeus rode up to us after some more words with the rude officer. He wiped his face. 'So. Let us go and look for XVIII. Passphrase is “Hunger and Bones.” Hraab. Hraab, was it? Dismal names. I'll call you Marcus. I'll send my men ahead,' he said, and he clapped my arm and led his men towards the woods, gesturing at an officer of the troop, and the archers galloped away. He turned his horse back for us, ready to guide us.
'Where is our supply?' growled the centurion as we passed them, and looking at the men, they were lean, a bit dirty, like a group of wolves. ‘What are the cohorts doing in Alisio?’
'They are eating well in Alisio and Castra Vetera. The Germani besieging them won’t stop them from eating,' I told the centurion in Latin.
He spat, nodding. 'So it’s like that. Better tell the lord.' He shoved my horse. 'And the passphrase is “Hunger and Victory.” That idiot couldn't wipe his ass without a slave,' he said it deliberately loud so Gnaeus heard it. The young noble smiled benignly, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, and I decided the buffoon was not a buffoon at all, but dangerous and wily.
I liked him, and laughed as he mimicked the centurion as we trotted off. Surrounding the army were Thracian and Aquitani cavalry, but I did not see any sign of the Batavi. We rode out of the woods into a huge churned up valley, where legions were marching, silvery snakes treading mud and grass into mucus, their shields off the hide sheaths, men carrying pilum. They would settle before a wide, tall craggy ridge, with light woods and huge stones scattered on its steep slopes. It was a long ridge, its left end curving north, right one towards a river, one of the greater rivers streaming to the Mare Germanicum, through the lands of the Chauci.
On the top of that ridge, smoke rose from campfires, creating a light orange haze, unlike the heavy dark pillars that accompany the marching Roman army after they visit a hamlet or a house. The Germani were there, waiting, apparently too tired to run. The Bructeri and the Marsi had finally stopped to give battle.
The Roman army was forming a triple axis formation. Two legions, XIX and XVIII, faced the enemy squarely, their standards shining in the air, the men excited, hoping to go up the ridge and kill the foe. V Alaudae was below to their left, held in reserve, and guarding the left flank where the river and some auxilia held the right. A large number of auxilia was marching past V Alaudae, in their thousands. They would make things interesting for the Bructeri by trying to flank the battle line waiting on top. The Auxilia were footmen of the Aquitani, Frisii, Thracia, and Gauls of every nation, eager to put an end to the war. The XVII was guarding the forts, and I Germania was far away, guarding the end of Luppia and the gate to the Cherusci lands.
But, three legions should cut through gods, should they dare stand on the side of the foe.
In the middle of the field was a small fort in the making, men toiling with dolobara tools, heaping mud on the walls and placing stakes constructed recently, and it was full of unpacked tents, mules, slaves, and guards. Doctors and surgeons were preparing to receive casualties there. I gazed around, and tried to see Drusus.
Then I noticed the purple flag. There, behind the XVIII legion, was the great standard of Drusus, the man himself wearing his great plumed helmet, and I could see single men in military garb trotting to him and from him. Officers relaying orders, I decided, feeling excited, despite Armin and his plans. There were also Batavi and other Germani riding back and forth, many galloping for the eastern and western woods, avoiding the ridge, not unlike predators looking for a weakness in a wounded beast. They were exploratores, finding all they can about the enemy. Far beyond the ridge, a huge dust cloud was billowing up.
Gnaeus spat. 'Their elders, women, children. Thousands of the bastards. We’ll trounce the men, and go after them.'
'Let's go,' I said, keen on getting the news to Drusus.
'Let us,' Gnaeus agreed. Some Thracian cavalry spotted us, and came forward. There were four of them, fur clad and in trousers, carrying broad short swords and short wide-bladed spears as they guided their shaggy mounts for us, and we
stopped.
'Hunger and Victory! Let us pass!' I yelled, and they moved out of our way.
Getting closer to where Drusus was seated on his dark horse, I saw the legions begin their cumbersome march up to where the Bructeri were waiting. Buccina blared, the standards dipped, and the centurions barked orders with harsh voices. The ground trembled, as if the gods were walking up that ridge. They had archers and Roman cavalry on their flanks, and I saw the huge auxiliary force now begin to jog to the northwest, shadowing the Bructeri Ridge and apparently trying to give the Germani there other things to think about, other than the silvery soldiers bent on killing them.
The legions seemed to move like streams of living metal, and the many centuries looked like living creatures, with hundreds of feet propelling an armored torso forward and up the hill. Buccina and cornicula blared again, the Aquila standards waved, and the cohort and century ones answered, men following the orders. I saw centurions growl at the men, optios trying to keep the centuries in line, and I saw the archers and slingers sprint forward. There was no artillery present. Slaves and camp followers were mutely looking at the thousands of legionnaires from the camp.
I neared Drusus. He was giving terse orders. I saw him grin at a tribune as we rode up, and then some burly Batavi guards were challenging us. Drusus glanced behind him, stared at me in utter stupefaction, and winked for the guards to let me come over to him. 'What's wrong with your friend?' he asked while clapping me on the shoulder, and then turned to stare up to the wooded ridge. 'I thought you were to stay in Castra Vetera? For your safety. For mine, Chariovalda still thinks.'
I put a hand on Fulcher's shoulder. 'I was. As for Fulcher, he was shot out of his saddle by some mounted archers while we were being chased by the Tencteri besieging Alisio,' I told him brusquely.
Gnaeus piped in. 'Yes, sir. There seemed a fair bunch of the devils there; we feathered some, but I think the young lad is right. Marcus here.'
Drusus took a bland look at Gnaeus and looked at me. 'Marcus? No, wait. Never mind. Tell me everything about Alisio.'
I pointed to the west. 'There is more. The Usipetes assaulted Castra Vetera ,and burned the docks and much of the supplies and stayed for a day, though hopefully the primus pilum expelled them the next day. The Tencteri are around Alisio and its supplies, and they are raiding and killing all living things between here and there.'
A scream of feral hate sprung from the top of the ridge, the enemy leaders exhorting their warriors to a blood frenzy. It thrummed through the land, silencing men and beast. It was a barritus yell, battle-mad Germani holding a shield before their mouths while shouting, resulting in a bloodcurdling sound that echoed around us and across the valleys. It stopped me for a while, and the old Hraban felt the call of his kin, the dreams of Germani victory once his.
Drusus smiled wistfully. 'A fine challenge. We will remember them. Go on.' I nodded slowly, and stared at lines of thousands of Germani on top of the ridge, brandishing their weapons, their fantastically colored shields flashing amidst the green foliage as the archers ran up the hill, and legions marched up silently, going for the enemy.
'Here,' I said, delivering the scroll. 'It should explain Vetera's issues.'
Drusus took it, and opened it lazily, while speaking. 'Tricky business, evicting them from the hill, but they have been running before us nearly a week. They took some heavy casualties by our cavalry, but they would not fight. Now, they seem eager enough. Their tails are certainly up! So, they cut off the supplies?' Drusus said quietly, and scanned the scroll. 'That must be Wodenspear up there, no?'
'Yes, he is there,' I said, gazing at a great standard, hung with blood-soaked hide surrounded by a wall of tall shields. 'And the Tencteri seem to think the Sigambri are around here as well,' I said. 'A man told us willingly when we asked. That part is not on the scroll.'
He laughed. 'Poor willing man. Do you not think our exploratores would have seen Sigambri already, if that was so?' His tone was annoyed, as he wiped his brow, and I looked at him in brief astonishment. He was short tempered and tired, and perhaps he did not wish to believe there was something strange about the war? 'The plan has worked so far.'
I looked at the Batavi, who looked away, not willing to take part in the discussion. 'Whose plan? We don't know what the Cherusci plan. And you know they are here.'
'Ah, yes. Armin. Sigimer,' he said. 'Look up there, Hraban. If he is there, he is finished. There is a river behind him, and very little room to the north and west for fleeing. If he does, our cavalry will harass them to red ruin. It will be the end of the Bructeri and the Marsi. There are no Cherusci and Sigambri, and whatever the Tencteri and Usipetes are doing are of their own devices. And they failed, did they not? We get munitions from the land, and our boys get meaner from shrinking belly fat.'
'Yes,' I said harshly. 'But, Armin is no fool either. He has made plans, complicated and brutal. He can plan for many contingencies, and has before. It might look like they are trapped, but perhaps they are trying to trap you.'
'He is a boy,' Drusus said, and sent a tribune galloping for the XIX Legion. 'He is brave and smart, but has not commanded warriors before in this kind of a war. We have, my brother and I. We took the Alps, and ransacked Noricum. If they tried to starve us by harassing our supply lines, it did not work. We are here, about to do battle.'
'No,' I said, 'they plan to win this battle, and then make your journey home a thing of hunger and horror, with no place of safety, and the prospect of battle hanging over the retreating army every minute. They hope to bathe in blood, and they are all here. It is a long day's way home if there is nothing but enemies and hunger to look forward to.'
He snorted. 'He will not win this battle. It is not possible. If he even is here. My scouts have been riding around for days. They have seen nothing but this rabble, and the thousands of women and elders. Their army is thousands strong, but as good as dead. We have three legions here. Hraban—'
'They know the land. They have been here for weeks and weeks. What if you were meant to fight them here? They would be well-hidden, and some of your exploratores dead. They might know you have no more patience—'
He turned his face towards me, anger of the noblest Roman playing furiously on it. He slapped a hand on his sword hilt, then pointed a finger my way and took deep breaths. I kept my eye on him, careful not to make any further movement. When Fulcher groaned, one of the Batavi slapped a hand over his mouth, a sheepish look on his face. The other one looked on in fascination, apparently waiting for the punishment that was sure to come, stroking his chin.
Finally, Drusus calmed. He took a shuddering breath, and ran his hand across his face.
He sighed. 'Marius! How many scouts have returned from the north? Exploratores? So few? Did they see anything? Over there, on the left flank? The same, thousands of refugees?' Drusus questioned a stoic tribune. He pondered for a while, looking appraisingly at how the legions spread out. 'I doubt they are here, Hraban; they do not fight like that, do they? They have never planned anything elaborate. Nothing like it.'
'No,' I agreed, giving him some peace of mind.
'And you wish to hunt for Armin, then?' he asked me.
'Let me fight, Drusus,' I begged him.
'Armin, if he is here, would be a fool to let his guard down today.' He squinted, looking up. 'Tribune, send more men to the woods of the west and northwest. Send men to the south as well. Even more than we already did.' He eyed me. 'Join Chariovalda. In order to get your sword to Armin's jugular, Hraban, we have to beat the enemy. When we do, you go and find him. Keep him and her both safe, if you can.'
'Yes, Drusus,' I said and nodded gratefully, feeling terribly anxious as the battle line enveloped the ridge. Drusus smacked his lips happily as the archers started to fire arrows at the Bructeri and Marsi, and some shields disappeared from the distant Germani war line. The auxilia started to cut right and climb the ridge from the left side.
Drusus dismounted to stretch and nodded with a smile.
He shook his head, as if it was a huge weight to carry. 'The exploratores have seen thousands of people fleeing in those woods to the north. Soon, we shall see if there are more than shaking elders and children out there. Our scouts don't get near the refugees easily, but I grant you, there might be a surprise, or two, waiting for us. We can handle it.' The tribune, who I recognized as the man who had been uneasy when Drusus had spoken to the troops at the beginning of the campaign, was nodding and making warning gestures at me. Drusus snapped his finger at me, pointing at a copse of trees to the south. 'Go, and join the cavalry there, brother.'
I nodded and rode off.
They would go in, and try to swallow anything Armin had baked.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Gnaeus rode with me, and we wondered at the gigantic battle taking place. He was smiling at the men who were climbing the hill. 'Gods, but they must be swearing like bitches up there. Terrible to keep a line in that terrain. Don't envy the men in the ranks following the first one.' Then he snickered, as he spotted the Germani shield wall, colorful and brazen. 'Don't envy the men in the first line when they hit the bastards on top.'
'Why did he choose to send the auxilia there, instead of a legion?' I asked, and Gnaeus snapped his head towards me. I pointed to the left side of the ridge where the horde auxilia infantry were climbing in a mass of some thousands, making good time for unseen top, where more Germani waited for them.
He smiled thinly. 'Usual tactics, my boy. Saw it while serving with Tiberius in Bellorum Alps. Use the expendable auxilia to flush out traps, and make them think about other things than legions. Often the auxilia wins the battle. Drusus is trying to make them shaky, and to stare behind their backs. Make them react to us. Keep up the initiative. Even if you pulled at Drusus's hair, he is no fool. He knows what is expendable, and what should be preserved. Fewer mouths to feed, if we lose some auxilia, and they will get Bructeri attention. No offence, of course,' he added with a sheepish look. 'Your Latin is horrid, but good enough to make me think of you as a Roman.'
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 50
