Eagle and Empire

by Alan Smale

  Marcellinus led the Legio VI Ferrata out of the camp immediately following the Praetorians. He felt a little absurd parading out on his high horse with his polished armor and gleaming white-crested helmet, but he was loudly cheered all the same. His adjutants Aulus and Furnius rode to his left, their chests puffed out farther than usual, and Takoda and Napayshni were to his right; Enopay and Sollonius would stay in the rear to begin with, to coordinate with the engineers and associated centuries that would follow in their wake.

  Today the Sixth Ferrata would be an integrated force of Romans and Hesperians. Marcellinus was done with banishing his Cahokian friends to the wings of his legion. The First Cahokian marched out amid the Sixth Legion, between its Third and Fourth Cohorts, many of them carrying the same scutum shields with their golden lightning-bolt crest. Hanska and her combined Second and Third Cahokian rode out with the mounted Ninth Syrian Cohort. He was almost painfully aware that Sintikala and Kimimela were aboard two of the Hawks that circled overhead, but he restrained himself from peering up and kept his chin level and his gaze forward.

  After the Sixth would come the engineers and legionaries in charge of the launch towers, half a dozen of which had been dismantled and loaded into mule-drawn wagons overnight. Next would come the Polovtsians and the other cavalry wings. Once clear of the camp the horsemen would ride past the infantry and fan out into a broad escort and advance guard. The Third and 27th Legions would be taking the field at the same time, marching out of camp to the north and then swinging around to join them.

  The foot soldiers of the Sixth Legion did not march in the triple lines they would assume in battle. Marcellinus’s men walked in broad, loose columns, cohort by cohort and century by century. This was not a drill, and there was no need to maintain an onerous formation over a walk of many miles. Plenty of time to fall into ranks once combat was imminent.

  As the three legions and associated cavalry proceeded into the Grass, the horsemen of the Praetorians guided them into place with the help of scouts and dispatch riders, standard-bearers and trumpeters. Marcellinus and the other Praetors and tribunes passed orders down through their ranks to the individual centuries to adjust their paths. Gradually the three legions moved into a line that extended across many miles of prairie. It might be impossible to keep this line straight across such a distance and over such varied terrain, but it was a credible effort nonetheless. This was Imperial Roma on the move, a well-oiled machine.

  By the time they were two miles from Forward Camp, they had completed their reorganization, with the Third Parthica assuming the central position, flanked by the Ironclads on the left and the 27th on the right.

  It was still early in the morning when they first saw arbans of Mongol skirmishers, light unarmored cavalry riding in groups of ten. As soon as the Mongol riders came in sight, squadrons of the Third Polovtsian cantered forward to push them back.

  Roma had its own advance riders, of course. Norse scouts trotted ahead of the legions, along with a few turmae of the Fourth Gallorum, checking for ambushes and other traps and watching for the approach of the Mongol army.

  After a while Marcellinus and his adjutants dismounted and walked to keep their horses fresh and stretch their own legs. Behind them in the ranks men chatted, gossiped, bragged; their centurions had little reason to keep them quiet when they were in such good spirits. It was this camaraderie that made men an army rather than a crowd, and the officers would have been foolish to damp it down. Come the fight, those bonds would be critical. A hundred yards to the right even Appius Gallus was, if not exactly smiling, at least engaged in a spirited and friendly conversation with the nearest foot soldiers.

  Marcellinus was receiving intelligence and information from his scouts as they proceeded. Signals from above and written messages from the sides as the Hawks, scouts, and mounted dispatch riders moved back and forth across the face of the great army, relaying logistic details. From time to time Marcellinus ordered a roll call by trumpet signal, cohort by cohort, but it was largely make-work and pageantry; he could see most of them anyway, and their tribunes or First Centurions would signal him if they encountered any difficulties. Above him Hawks, Eagles, and Macaws were scouting forward as well and would provide plenty of notice of any encroaching Mongol forces larger than a couple of dozen skirmishers.

  Despite riding in the vanguard of a mighty army of tens of thousands of soldiers or perhaps because of it, Marcellinus once again felt strangely alone. Alongside, behind, and even above him was almost every friend he possessed: Tahtay, Kimimela, and Enopay; Sintikala and Chenoa; Aelfric and Isleifur; Hanska and Taianita. None were within earshot at the moment.

  He would have given a lot to have Kimimela riding beside him today. Perhaps he should have suggested that. She could easily have dropped back to one of the field launchers once the Mongols appeared. But it would have been an indulgence.

  In the meantime, it was a beautiful day on the prairies, and as a result of the cooling effect of the rains it wasn’t too sultry for a change. Marcellinus became absorbed by the clouds, the birds on the wing, the tussocks of grass and small bushes on the ground around him.

  Toward the end of the second hour Marcellinus spied Isleifur Bjarnason and Einar Stenberg ahead of them. As before, they had marked the halfway point between the camps of the Imperator and the Mongol Khan. The legions passed that point and kept going. Marcellinus grinned and saluted them, and they fell in to ride behind him, Stenberg to his left and Bjarnason to his right.

  By then the Imperator had dropped back to ride behind the Third, still surrounded by his Praetorians. During the coming battle Hadrianus’s position would be the hub of information, but he would be free to move in a crisis as circumstances warranted.

  Glancing back, Marcellinus saw congestion in the ranks. Two nearby rises in the terrain had forced several centuries closer together, and they were impeding one another. Men were swearing good-naturedly. Marcellinus left them to it. The centurions would sort it out.

  Another small group of Mongol skirmishers from Chinggis’s army cantered over the plains toward them, loosed arrows, then turned and galloped away. None of the arrows struck home, and a round of laughter and cheerful profanity chased the enemy horsemen back across the plains.

  You never could tell with armies. Sometimes they were somber and bloody-minded before battle, and then the very next day the same legion could display a devil-may-care braggadocio. In this case the hiatus had done the men good: that and their current confident and somewhat audacious march into enemy territory.

  Marcellinus hoped that confidence would translate into them fighting like demons in what? An hour? Less?

  “Mongols,” Aulus said suddenly. “Here we go.”

  His adjutant hardly needed to point. Marcellinus had been aware of the rising level of the naccara drums in the distance for some time, and ten minutes earlier Sintikala had begun to weave back and forth above him in a pattern that he had no difficulty interpreting. As they came over a small rise, the enemy was evident: a line of Mongol horsemen in the middle distance. They were so close to the giant, sprawling Mongol encampment that they could see its smoke and smell it on the winds, similar to the reek of Forward Camp but also, in many ways, very different. They were surely within range of the Mongol aerial craft, but as yet they saw none.

  Now came a long trumpet blast from the central point of the Third Parthica far to the north, bringing the legions to order. Marcellinus nodded to his cornicen, who echoed the signal along the massed line of the Sixth Ferrata. Centurions bellowed, and their men began to move into position, standing taller even as they continued their advance.

  The Ala II Hispanorum Aravacorum came forward, passing between the Sixth Ferrata and the Third Parthica. They wheeled left, riding in a double column to cover and protect the front line of the Sixth. To the right the Third Polovtsians were doing the same for the Third Parthica, providing security as the men maneuvered. And by all appearances it was as well that they had such cover, f
or the infantry was taking its time getting into position.

  Three-quarters of a mile ahead the Mongol lines were beginning to form. The sun from over Marcellinus’s left shoulder glistened off the steel lamellar armor worn by the warriors and horses of the heavies in a very different way than it did from the hide armor of the light horse archers.

  To Marcellinus’s eye it seemed that the Mongols were forming lines in considerable haste. By virtue of the Romans’ rapid and early deployment into the field and by continuing their march to within sight of the Mongol camp, they had caught the Khan’s army by surprise, forcing them to hurry their formations.

  That had been, of course, precisely Marcellinus’s intent when he had proposed this strategy.

  This time it was the legions whose movements seemed calm and almost casual as they ambled together into close order.

  And thus the Sixth had not yet completed its transition into triplex acies when the Second Aravacorum charged the Mongols’ right flank.

  The heavy horsemen of the Ala I Gallorum et Pannoniorum Cataphractaria broke out and followed. The two Polovtsian cavalry wings surged out after them, and in their wake the smaller mounted units of the Fourth Gallorum, the Ninth Syrian, and the Second and Third Cahokian. All of a sudden the massed cavalry of all three legions was pouring through the ranks of the Roman infantry and across the plains toward the Mongol army. In their charge they closed into a rough echelon, which was about the best they could do; Roman squadrons in such numbers could not maintain the type of close formation that the Mongols could achieve.

  None of the Roman cohorts were fully deployed when the combined alae thundered into the field. It looked like an impetuous action, even a mistake. It was not.

  The right flank of Mongol armies—of all Asian steppe armies, in fact—was sacred. Traditionally, most major Mongol offensives came from the right. The Khan would often put his most trusted general in charge of the right wing. In attacking that wing Roma was going for the jugular straightaway, first thing.

  Marcellinus and his Imperator were done with being passive defenders, inviting the waves of Mongol aggression to crash against the rock of their legions. No longer would they wait for the Mongol Horde to come to them. The best form of defense was attack, and today the forces of Roma and Hesperia would do all they could to wrong-foot their opponents. They would regain the initiative and, with luck, keep it for the rest of the war.

  Marcellinus watched the Ala II Hispanorum Aravacorum ride into battle with something like wistfulness. Gods knew he was no horseman, but the assault of the combined alae was a magnificent sight to behold. Just for a moment he would have loved to be a part of that massive charge straight into the enemy.

  And even now, the Mongols were still scurrying to get into position.

  “Forward!” Marcellinus roared, raising his gladius high over his head and using his knees to start his horse walking again. Behind him, trumpets sounded and centurions relayed their orders. The Sixth Ferrata advanced, shields up and pila at the ready.

  Once they were in motion, Marcellinus gave his second order, this time to Takoda, who twisted in the saddle to make wide gestures in the warrior sign language. Hesperians ran through the ranks and out in front of the steadily advancing legionaries; among them Marcellinus could pick out Cahokians, Blackfoot, Mohawk, Huron, Onondaga, Cherokee, and People of the Hand. None of those braves of the Hesperian League wore armor beyond the traditional wooden or reed mat chest protection, and none carried Roman weapons or shields, having left them at the rear of the formation. Today the Hesperians would fight with their own weapons. Some had bows slung over their shoulders, others carried light spears, but most were armed with long clubs, slings, or larger versions of Marcellinus’s new slingshots. Ahead of them all sprinted Tahtay, with Dustu to his left and a Blackfoot warrior whose name Marcellinus had forgotten to his right. They darted like gazelles, jumping over grassy tussocks and rocks that might have tripped lesser men, and Marcellinus knew they could keep that up all day.

  The first lines of Roman foot soldiers accelerated their pace in a forlorn attempt to keep up with the Hesperian League. Their centurions snapped at them, and they desisted. Legionaries were strong fighters and men of enviable stamina, but they could hardly run in armor for another mile and hope to fight a battle at the end of it. Their turn would come. But not yet.

  By then the Second Aravacorum was almost upon the Mongols. They had quickly raised their initial trot to a canter and were coming up to full speed. Behind them, the cataphracts in their heavy armor were at the most ponderous of gallops, their twelve-foot contus lances couched under their arms, ready for impact.

  Around the heavies spilled the two Polovtsian alae, loosing arrows at the Mongol line. For now, their lances were still holstered in the leather holders that hung from their saddles, although they would surely snatch them out soon. Behind came the cohortes equitatae. Moving considerably faster than the cataphracts and beginning to pass them but not as good at shooting arrows from the gallop, those cavalrymen had already drawn their long spatha swords.

  The Roman cavalry plowed into the Mongol line. The heavies crashed through, unseating many a Mongol. The Polovtsians wheeled, continuing to shoot arrows from a distance, but the Second Aravacorum and the Ninth Syrian were already into the melee, hacking at the Mongol horsemen with a will.

  Within moments the Mongol line was completely disrupted. Having barreled through, the Roman heavies were all set to smash into the second line next. Two hundred yards beyond that the Mongol heavy cavalry was coming together at last, shoulder to shoulder and stirrup to stirrup, preparing their countercharge.

  Marcellinus relinquished his place at the head of the Sixth to Aurelius Dizala and rode to the right, still flanked by his adjutants. Reaching his First Cohort, he snapped a salute to Appius Gallus and peered north.

  The infantry maneuvers appeared to be going as planned. The Third Parthica was hanging back, and beyond them the 27th Augustan was matching the Sixth in advancing smartly, their neatly arrayed shields a vivid swath of red. The huge Roman infantry line was bending, with the wings coming forward to form two horns out ahead of the Third.

  The Mongol generals would realize that the Romans were attempting to envelop them and push them back against their own camp. No one, least of all Marcellinus or the Imperator, expected this gambit to succeed. The Mongols were agile and quick-thinking; they would counterattack, and soon, but at least the curved Roman formation would bring the enemy under fire more quickly and prevent them from executing the broad assaults that had formed the core of their strategy in the first battle.

  Enopay was running forward from the rear of the Sixth. Marcellinus really should have expended the time to teach the boy to ride.

  “Trebuchets,” Enopay panted as he arrived. “Grouped together into three clumps and defended by simple wooden field fortifications. Far left, far right, center. If we keep moving forward, we’ll be in range of them.”

  “Grouped? Tell Chenoa.”

  “Sintikala signaled me, so Chenoa already knows.”

  Marcellinus couldn’t yet see the trebuchets. The terrain here was more creased than he would like, and his men were blocking his view. He snapped his fingers to hurry the boy up. “Come on, Enopay. Distance and direction?”

  Enopay pointed. “The nearest cluster is a quarter mile.”

  The human-powered Jin trebuchets had a range of just a few hundred feet, less than half that of the Roman and Cahokian throwing engines, when firing the larger metal-encased thunder crash bombs. Much farther for the lighter thunderclap bombs that were wrapped in paper or deerskin. The trebuchets would provide a last-ditch defense of the Mongol camp.

  “Chenoa will target them from the air?”

  “Yes,” Enopay said. “So don’t get too close to them yet.”

  Marcellinus devoutly hoped the Mongol trebuchets weren’t crewed by Hesperian prisoners, because Chenoa could not hesitate: she would bomb them with liquid flame as soon as she co
uld safely get her Thunderbirds to them. Nothing Marcellinus could do about it this time. “And what do the scouts say?”

  “That the Imperator is now up behind the Third, surrounded by his Praetorians. The Chernye Klobuki will remain in reserve with him for now. No canoes moving nearby on the rivers. No Mongol attempts at flanking us. Oh, and Subodei Badahur has been sighted in the central block of the Mongol army, and Jebei Noyon holds their left wing as before, which means that on this wing you face Chagatai again.”

  The Polovtsians had wheeled around and charged again into the Mongol lines, and now Marcellinus glimpsed Hanska’s Third Cahokian Cohort similarly riding out from the mass of Mongols and arcing around to strike back into the line.

  Ahead of her was the Second Aravacorum. He hoped Hanska would latch on to them and that they would all ride out together, as ordered. If they got cut off from the rest of the alae deep within the Mongol cavalry…

  “She will be all right,” Enopay said. “She is unkillable.”

  “She’d better be,” Marcellinus said, switching to Cahokian. “When you’re able, tell me where Kimimela and Sintikala are.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” Enopay responded in Latin.

  Aulus called to him. “Signal from Aelfric. Permission to assault the leftmost battery of trebuchets with the Sixth Cohort?”

  Yes, even Marcellinus could see the trebuchets now. “Tell him to wait for the air attack. Chenoa gets the first strike. Once the Thunderbirds pass, Aelfric can go ahead and mount his ground attack without further confirmation from me.”

  A trumpet blared. “Mongols charging,” Enopay said.

  Marcellinus nodded. “Aulus, halt the advance; hold the line here.” The cornicen was within earshot, and so the signal came almost immediately; Enopay put his hand up to his ear to block the clamor.

  Sure enough, they were coming full on, a column of Mongol light cavalry thundering toward Marcellinus’s First Cohort and already nocking arrows to fire in caracole. It looked like the Romans’ initial advantage was over.