'Your men must love you,' I said thinly.
'The Parthians hate me; the Syrians love me. This week. Next week, it will be different, as I give the others some small advantage in the camp. Best keep them hating each other rather than me. That, too, Marcus, is wise tactics,' he laughed.
'Hraban, I am Hraban,' I said, as Fulcher groaned in his saddle.
'He'll be fine!' Gnaeus told us cheerfully. 'Look, he is moving V Alaudae closer to the advancing legions. They'll guard the left flank all right, should there be something out there.'
We looked on as the Cretans and Syrians peppered the wooded ridge top with arrows. The Germani could be heard mocking their efforts, though many missiles found marks in the bearded ranks. Especially the slingshots which were terribly accurate and ultimately deadly, pulverizing bones wherever they hit. I thought I saw Wodenspear, with his tattoos and dark hair in the middle of the line, under his banner, taunting the Cretans with a bared ass.
'Never could understand that,' Gnaeus said dubiously, having witnessed the same sight. 'Getting an arrow in the anus, or balls, is hardly a heroic, inspiring feat. Imagine what it will look like as you try to stand in a line with a shaft in there. Ridiculous.'
I chuckled despite the terrible battle. 'You have such a thin ass, my lord. I doubt a fly could lick it.'
He looked shocked. 'The ladies tell me it is a fine ass. Muscular and strong.'
'Your ass looks like a gnawed pinecone, thin and meatless,' I told him, liking him.
'You have to stop thinking about my ass, Hraban,' he said with pity. 'Really, you have to. You are ravaged with envy.'
We laughed and sobered, for Bructeri war roar reached us, the men in a frenzy, mocking the Cretans and Syrians, who were running out of missiles. It was not long before archers streamed back down from the hill, having kept the Bructeri busy while the legions marched up.
Gnaeus adopted a stern, self-important look. 'Send them in; make sure V Alaudae keeps up. Auxilia is to charge, now!' he rumbled, mocking Drusus.
Indeed, near Drusus a man ran towards standard-bearer and the buccinators, and soon, the clear notes rang out, electrifying the XIX and XVIII. The legions marched forward briskly, walking up bravely towards the enemy. V Alaudae was deploying near the end of the ridge and a bit to their left flank, intending to support them, if the need should arise. The auxilia were already very near the unseen ridge top, far to the left.
'Let us kill the fools,' Gnaeus said sternly, with Drusus's voice.
'Where are the Batavi?' I asked, thinking where we could leave Fulcher safely, eyeing the wood, south of the left flank of V Alaudae. 'Hidden?'
He nodded. 'Yes, they are there, our rear guard, safely hidden amongst the trees with my boys. We left most of the Thracian cavalry with I Germanicum. The light cavalry is scouting west and east.' The standards waved on the hill, and bright buccina and cornu blared. The Germani answered with a spirited cheer, their voices echoing in the valley.
'They seem eager, don't they?' one of the Batavi said dourly. Pipin, this time, I thought.
'Very eager. The dogs want us to go at them,' the other one answered.
We stopped the horses, and looked at the men trudge up the hill, the leading centuries stoically keeping pace, their shields up, nearing the panoply of enemy on top. They reached the halfway, where the archers had been. Then, they went forward, streaming through trees and rocks.
After a while, a scream of dismay went up.
From the Romans.
Centuries rushed forward only to fall into cleverly hidden ditches, with nasty spear points planted on the bottom. Hundreds of men tipped forward, nearly all of the first rows of the XVIII legion, leaving the second and third line bumping into each other in confusion. XIX on the right fared better, a bit behind the other legion, but they also found the hill prepared for the battle, and men fell forward to nasty, hidden holes.
'They have had a lot of time to prepare for this,' Gnaeus cursed, as he scanned the confusion.
The chaos was horrible, men were crying in pain, and others were braving the Germani missiles while trying to pull their friends up from the ditch, while yet others pushed to the ditch, not willing to stay on the brink of the pits. They were the wise ones. The Bructeri began to throw spears in their hundreds, many landing on tree trunks, but mostly on the confused mass of southern men, and there were sounds of dismay and pain. Germani javelins, with thin iron points, were deadly against chain and ring mail, puncturing them easily.
'Shit!' Gnaeus said. 'Well, I certainly think this will be a battle, after all.'
We all saw Drusus ride forward, his standard flying in the air, drawing his sword.
'Is he going up there?' I asked.
'He might,' Gnaeus said dubiously. 'He is mad for Germani chiefs. Wants to meet one in a duel. Crazed as a blind hare.'
The Bructeri had no shortage of javelins. The powerful arms pumped the weapons downhill, halting the movement of the two legions in an orgy of slaughter and carnage. Up there, one could see there were thousands of men preparing for battle, angry lines of pointed, sharpened iron and resolute arms holding proud shields, the Germani finally fighting the hated enemy.
'Must be much of the Bructeri and Marsi up there,' I mumbled. 'Legion's worth of men? At least?'
When the spears ran out, men started to lob rocks, and the hapless legionnaires suffered lacerations and broken bones, still bravely struggling to get their friends up from the pits, or cowering in them. The standard of XVIII waved in the sparse hill forest, as a legate was seen urging his men to climb the ditch, which was cleverly built, and many men fell trying to do so, the best cohorts getting savaged by the Bructeri. Drusus was sitting in a saddle, judging the battle as he moved up. He pointed at a man, orders were relayed.
'What will he do?' Pipin wondered.
'If he runs, it will look bad,' said his brother.
'He will run,' Gnaeus said. 'He will go back, I think, hoping they will give chase. The bastards always give chase.'
It was utter chaos.
We saw V Alaudae looking up hill where their brothers of XIX and XVIII legions were unable to advance. The archers were being resupplied, and some were rushing back already up the ridge, a few lobbing arrows at the jubilant Germani lines, but for now, it was an uneven struggle. Feats of bravery were seen. Drusus was watching; the embattled legates of the legions knew this, and they rode just behind their men, begging the men to mount the obstacles. Some centuries had actually managed to climb the ditch, ripping out the nasty javelins from the mud for the obstacle was not perfect, rains had made it crumble in places, and roots could be used to climb up it. After some time, the men who were used to working together had less difficulty managing it. A centurion was seen getting up on the other side, starting to pull men up, but he was swarmed by javelins, a veritable wooden shower of steel and sharp ends, and he was left on the bank, cursing and bleeding.
Then, amidst the Bructeri, a man appeared. We all saw him.
He was a blond, young, with a face that was familiar, and yet not familiar as I looked at him. There was a halo of sunlight about him, as his horse whinnied wildly. He was looking down, and his usually benign, friendly face was lit in an unholy, savage glee at the trap his enemies were wallowing in. He laughed at the desperation of the army before him. Well, I did not hear him, but they swore it was so, and I did see him, even from afar.
It was Armin, the God Face, as Felix had called him.
Javelins seemed to be exhausted, and many stones flew in the air, as did lesser darts with but fire-blackened heads. Yet, they had done a great deal of damage already. There were not so many dead, but many bore wounds, many shields had been punctured and bashed useless. Moreover, it had confused the once unbeatable legions, hurting their resolve and honor. The first rank was pulling back with savaged centuries, and many a legionnaire was imploring their comrades not to leave them.
Drusus was looking at the young man on a horse.
So was I.
He aimed to kill them.
Armin took up a horn, and things got worse.
He blew into a horn made of a mountain goat, a tiny thing, yet the noise it made was clear and strong. It was the same blare that had rung out in the battle for Hard Hill, the day Matticati had attacked the village, and Isfried had fallen.
'You think that is bad?' Gnaeus asked, with an ashen-faced grin.
'Sigambri, lord,' I said sullenly, and so it was.
Horns answered from afar, as six-thousand Sigambri, all hungry and tired, men who had lived and hidden in the woods for a long while, men who had been mixed in with the vast number of refugees, surged from the northern woodlands to the plain. They were running after their savage leaders, men following their oath lords, bearded men with thousands of shields decorated with stars, suns, and animals. They blew Celtic carnyx wildly, the dragon heads bobbling tall amongst the thickets of spears amidst tall, golden grass and ferns. There would be Baetrix the Terrible, Varnis, and old Maelo, men who hated Rome more than anyone, and they had managed to fool the Romans, and their exploratores.
They charged in a wide front, spread from the valley to the ridge, thousands surging for the auxilia still struggling up towards the Marsi on the ridge. The Sigambri would come for the V Alaudae.
Drusus looked at them, his face betraying shock at the huge number of men screaming for his men's blood. The Sigambri had left their lands undefended, the Ubii reaping easy loot, leaving the destitute even poorer, but should they win that day, they would be gods. They would be rich in loot and prisoners, and gods knew they thought they deserved the victory Armin was offering. I watched as Drusus shook his head, and adopted a determined look on his face, cringing at the terrible blare of the carnyx that were echoing across the woods. They say he screamed at the V Alaudae. There, Baetrix, and Maelo! Their standards. Today, they will cease to be a danger. Men, form lines, and butcher the skin-wearing girls, the lice-ridden turd sacks! they said he screamed, and the legionnaires up on the hill listened to buccina signaling the fall back. They reluctantly left their comrades to the trap, taking steps back, and the V Alaudae rippled, obeying the orders.
They would have to deploy to face the threat.
'They don't see them?' I asked, and pointed up to the auxilia, eager men who were getting near the top of the ridge. 'Woden help them.' Some heads had started to turn. Men were pointing fingers to the north, and some of their chiefs had seen the danger, as the wild, tattooed Sigambri pack surged in a wave of shields for them through the ridge and the valley below. I tried to see Varnis, the man I had taken Cassia from, or Tudrus, but there were so many standards in the air, it was impossible. Horns sounded amongst the enemy, a wild cacophony of a mad, bloodthirsty Hel.
I saw Armin was yelling, some barbaric standards dipped as men ran to reinforce the Marsi, preparing to receive the thousands of hapless auxilia who might reach them before the Sigambri did. He was happy, oh, so happy, Armin. I was sure of it. He, a young man, not a famous warrior, was winning a battle against the might of Rome, but evidently, the success made the impatient, undisciplined Bructeri careless.
The shields around Armin shook, men surging downhill, unable to resist the wealth in the form of the fallen Romans. These men dragged some high chiefs forward, and Armin's intricate plans unraveled a bit, as the Bructeri decided to ignore the high ground. They ran downhill wildly, hundreds of them, to pursue the retreating Romans, full of the pride in their manhood and strong in their evident victory, and Armin was cursing them. Their women followed them, screaming encouragements, and the bloodied Roman army ground to a stop as Drusus commanded it, while the V Alaudae shuffled to a long, thin double-line deployment to make sure the Sigambri could not outflank the army, and the archers and slingers ran to the left flank to help repel the coming horde.
'How they kept that rabble together for so long, I do not know. Exploratores should have spotted warriors amongst the refugees,' Gnaeus spat. 'I should have had my Syrians go and look. They are wily.'
I snorted. 'Armin seems a clever one at hiding armies,' I said with a low voice, and he glared at me and nodded. 'He shifted the Sigambri away from their homes, and now behind thousands of refugees. If some exploratores did see them, they likely fell dead.'
He shrugged. 'We have to go to offensive. This will not do. To be on the receiving end. Even the Alps tribes did not fight this hard.'
Drusus was still, as he looked at the Bructeri surge down to the trench where Romans were lying in heaps, and he saw many Germani charge down to loot the fallen, some of whom they slashed dead with their axes and knives. There were now at least thousand Bructeri there, buoyed by their good fortune, chiefs leading more down, ignoring Armin and his officers trying to force them to come back.
The auxilia on the left flank finally saw the Sigambri surging for them in the wide swath from the ridge to the valley. Some panicked, some were still running up towards the thousand waiting Marsi, others were turning tail and running for V Alaudae on the slope.
A dull clang of impact could be heard across the valley.
The Sigambri were giving little heed to shield walls, and the ridge was soon awash with blood and gore, as hundreds of men fought desperately in the most chaotic melee you ever saw. The Marsi cheered and charged down to dash any semblance of order as the auxilia's attempted to create a battle line. Like broken ants, heaps of bodies were made, and only the dead were at peace. The Thracian infantry seemed to create an iron hard ring amidst a sea of foes, while the rest fled. Surviving Frisii and Aquitani ran like rabbits, beaten and torn, and then we saw how a great chief of the Sigambri, likely Baetrix, led a bristling cunus of thick black shields against the Thracians, already battered from all directions. With a roar, the cunus scattered the thinned lines. The Thracian infantry broke like a mound of sand hit by a brisk wave.
Some thousand auxilia were running for the V Alaudae, throwing away their weapons, and the Sigambri were hot on their heels.
Drusus shook his head and likely cursed, but then he ignored the auxilia's distress, for as Gnaeus said, they were expendable. I actually heard Drusus scream at the grim legionnaires of the V Alaudae preparing to take the brunt of nearly twice their number of enemy. 'Look, this is what makes a difference between them and us. Discipline. We will never run like that, never! V Alaudae, stop them here. Right here! XIX and XVIII, go forward! Kill the Bructeri! Fill the ditch with their dead, and run over it! And bring me that blond boy! I will geld him!' He pointed at Armin.
So the legions charged back up the hill, century after century, save for elements of the XVII which turned to receive the Sigambri with the V Alaudae. The two legions ignored the Sigambri. They had a job to do. The savaged first rankers were the most eager to kill the offenders, and the many Bructeri milling at the ditch turned to gape at the enemy, though some retreated. The thousand or so Bructeri were milling around confused, and in the ditch, suddenly terrified, and many wavered as the iron-fisted, silent legions ran at them. The Romans were overrunning first the bravest of their enemies, men slow to retreat from looting the fallen. The enemy was confused, and did not hear Armin's horn trying to pull them back.
The pila started to fall as the legionnaires pumped them to the air; hundreds hitting the milling enemy in their shields, torsos, piercing legs, and even heads. Some famous Bructeri chiefs fell down in gory heaps to the terror and distress of their followers. The Romans climbed down the trench, as if it was a minor ditch, splashing in the bloodied water on the bottom of it. They moved over the dead, helped by those behind, century after century, each men forming up with their contrebentium, putting shield-to-shield, rushing up, and the Bructeri fell in the press
. On the ridge top, Armin was trying to organize a defense, and a line of men was forming, slowly.
I prayed for Lif, and even Hands, for the legions would take no prisoners.
Drusus spoke to the legate of the V Alaudae, clasping his shoulder, and then he went forward, following the eagles of XIX and XVIII. We all saw him guide his horse up there. In the ditch, there was a Germani chief fighting off some legionnaires. Drusus was making his way towards the man, drawing his sword, but the chief threw down his axe, cursing the Romans, and Drusus was denied his kill.
Over the wall of corpses, men! he was rumored to have screamed as he dismounted, his council following him, standard billowing over his head, and the Batavi guarding him formed a box of armor and swords around him. He rushed forward to the mud. Over the Bructeri, over their women, and let us turn to the Sigambri when these weak, fur-wearing cowards are dead. No man is poor after today, not before they gamble it all away! They said he screamed, and men renewed their muddy battle uphill, over the ditch, and the thousands of bewildered Bructeri, still hit by pilum by the second and third rankers. A Batavi fell to an arrow, another deflected a spear that could have hit Drusus, but the lord just grinned and climbed up. His men helped him, with the Batavi and his officers and guards following him.
'God Juppiter, but he will die young,' Gnaeus said, and I felt a terrible pang of foreboding.
The legions pushed up, and cut savagely into the massed tribal groups, felling men and beast alike, sometimes even lost Bructeri women. A heavy infantryman is jovial, casual, if crude in peace, but there, he was a thing made for killing, and blood flowed. A head rolled by Drusus; he stepped on a twitching arm, a man was screaming in Latin, another in Germani, both dying next to each other. What made this vengeful Roman beast move were the fine centurions. Horse hair and feathers in their traversed helmets, the leathery faced centurions surged forward, ignoring their many wounds, cursing their foes, slashing with swords and even biting when down, mad for war, eager for blood. Thousands of swords stabbed by the example of these men, thousands of shields punched forward. Only isolated Germani groups were now left behind the advancing centuries, only to be mowed down by the next lines. Few were taken prisoner.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 51
