Ianuarius lifted the heavy artillery piece and swivelled it, sighting down the timber and estimating distance.
‘See him, there?’ he pointed.
The young soldier shook his head and shrugged.
‘Him with the bronze helmet. There’s a boar standard near him and he’s well-dressed. A leader, he is. Good first choice. About three hundred paces. Difficult, but quite achievable.’ His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he made minute adjustments that would look virtually invisible to the young engineer next to him.
‘Now. Get it locked in.’
The assistant locked the ballista into place vertically and Ianuarius swivelled it a couple of finger widths left and right, and then squinted between the leaves and aimed.
The enemy had almost reached the crest of the ridge when the single horn blast echoed out through the afternoon air.
Ianuarius released the bolt and was already beginning to winch the tension back into the machine while the bolt was in the air, nodding to the assistant to select a second missile.
* * * * *
Andesaros of the Treveri urged his men on up to the ridge with imprecations and exhortations to battle and glory, citing the womanly cowardice of Rome and the fear with which they carried themselves from battle with the glorious warriors of the Treveri.
With a thrill of battle-hunger and the golden glow of vengeance fulfiled, he crested the rise across which the fleeing legionaries had passed mere heartbeats earlier.
And his future changed before his very eyes.
Rank after rank after rank of Romans stood implacable and immobile, their shields presented in a solid line, their dreadful javelins already raised and held at the shoulder, awaiting the command. There were so many of them that Andesaros simply could not wrap his thoughts around their presence, let alone how quickly they had reformed to meet him and his tribe.
One thing was instantly clear:
They had lost before the first blow was struck.
He gave a shout to his signallers, and the carnyxes began to wail out the retreat, standards waving to direct the Treveri back to the river. As he turned to take in the whole, disastrous scene, he saw Dunohorix of the Mediomatrici lifted from his horse, a Roman artillery bolt tearing a wide hole through his chest and casting him aside like a child’s raggy doll, the missile’s momentum hardly slowed as it carried on and passed into the shoulder of a warrior behind him.
Andesaros blinked.
More and more bolts and stones were whipping out of the bushes and trees to either side, the clatter of releasing ballistae joined by the thump of loosing catapults. He knew the sounds well from many previous battles. He knew what they would do.
A huge warrior clad in bronze and iron rushed towards the fallen Mediomatrici leader, and then suddenly he was gone. Or at least half of him was, the onager shot — a shaped rock more than a hand-span wide — striking him in the back, smashing the spine to fragments and neatly separating the body in two halves, the top of which disappeared off into the mass of panicked warriors.
Andesaros turned to the far side, confirming that more hidden artillery were releasing from the treeline to that edge of the field. His eyes picked out the panicked shouts of Solemnis of the Tribocci, shrieking at his men to flee the field. Briefly, he caught the young chieftain’s eyes and recoiled at the accusation they launched at him. Then, Solemnis too was gone, an iron bolt smashing through him and driving him from his horse.
‘Retreat!’ he bellowed.
A sound behind him made his blood run cold. Though he could not translate the Latin words, he knew it for what it was, given that it was repeated along the line by every officer of the legions and followed by the noise of a thousand men tensing.
He turned and dived from his horse, using the men around him and his own steed as cover from the horrible, deadly rain of pila that arced up into the air, seemed to hang there for dreadful heartbeats, and then plunged down among the panicked, pushing and shouting mob.
Andesaros struggled to his feet, and then found himself tumbling to the ground once more when a disgruntled warrior of his own distant kin snarled and gave him a hard punch to the jaw. As he floundered on the floor, the warrior spat on him and ran for the river.
This would be a difficult loss to recover his position from.
There would have to be a lot of casting of blame elsewhere. Fortunately, both other leaders were dead, and Ambiorix gone north somewhere, saying he sought the Segni for his alliance. Blame would be easy to apportion with such little of it falling upon his own shoulders. As long as he could leave the field safely, he could rally those who survived.
Again, he picked himself up and dusted down his muddied tunic, casting a brief glance back at the legions, now marching on the Treveri at an unstoppable pace.
His world went crimson, then black, and ended.
* * * * *
‘See that?’ Ianuarius grinned at his assistant. ‘Two nobles in one fight. And that one through the neck. Bet you couldn’t match that in a month of trying.’ He turned and bellowed to his equal, aiming the next ballista along. ‘See that, Petreius? Two! You owe me two jars of wine, you old cheapskate.’
* * * * *
Quadratus sat ahorse expectantly, his eyes on Labienus, waiting for the command. The legions had crossed the ridge, driving the Treveri before them in panic, their leaders dead already. The cavalry would likely be required for mopping up — chasing down the survivors and bringing them back, but with the narrowness of the ford area, they would not be expected to move until the infantry were not blocking the field.
The legate of the Twelfth, lieutenant of Caesar and commander of the southern forces in Gaul, smiled and walked his horse over casually.
‘Prefect?’
‘Sir.’
‘Would you be so good as to take your horse and harry the enemy for a good few miles? Make them regret their decision. No need to bend over backwards to give them quarter — they’ve had their chance. If they surrender, have them guarded, then roped and enslaved. If not, run them down until you’re within sight of their walls, then return to us.’
Quadratus grinned.
‘It would be a pleasure, sir.’
The commander turned to his signifers and musicians. ‘Sound the halt. I don’t want the legions racing across Gaul after the Treveri. They’re beaten and the cavalry will finish the job.’ He turned to the tribunes sitting nearby along with the other two legates. Plancus looked satisfied, and Trebonius stretched and rolled his shoulders.
‘Congratulations, Labienus. It seems you are turning smashing the Treveri into something of a habit. Caesar is planning to come and crush the Treveri against your forces. He will start to worry that you’re outshining him.’
Labienus laughed. ‘Hardly, I fear. I just lead them. They’re still Caesar’s men, and they know it. Let’s start moving the legions back to the fort. We’re going to have to create a sizeable annexe, given the growing size of the army here.’
‘Only a temporary one,’ Trebonius said, wearily, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a sealed scroll case, which he passed over to the commander. ‘Caesar is planning to come here as soon as he’s dealt with the Menapii and combine the forces against the Treveri, but then we’ll all be moving on to deal with the Eburones. That you’ve managed to crush the Treveri before he arrives will just hasten our departure, I’m sure.’
Labienus nodded as he broke the seal and scanned the lines of neat handwriting. ‘Then we had best send riders north to inform Caesar of recent events. Since he no longer needs to aid us against the Treveri, he may wish us to march north and meet him.’