Quintus said, “We could move those auxiliaries up to block the crossing.”
“No. I need them all to hold that camp.” I turned to the Alan. “There is work for your people in this thing.”
Quintus said, “But, surely—”
“Wait a moment. Where are Goar’s men now? Are there any blocking the track down the east bank?”
The Alan nodded. “Surely. He has men everywhere.”
“Not quite,” said Quintus drily.
“Then how are the enemy getting along it?” I asked.
The man seemed put out. He said, “I do not know. Perhaps they have broken through.”
“Perhaps. Aquila, order up one cohort, with waggons to form a laagar, and send them down to the point opposite the lower island, to cover a possible crossing there. And get two centuries to these points along the Bingium road, here and here, to back them. They must move out in fifteen minutes.”
Aquila said, “The men are tired out, sir.”
“It is better to be tired than dead. Quintus, get some mounted infantry across the river to link up with Goar and hold the track between the river and the hills.”
“How many?”
“Two hundred should be enough. If they get into trouble they are to re-cross and join us. I don’t want them wiped out for no purpose at all.”
“I’ll send Didius. He has a good head.”
I looked at the map again, and fingered the east bank route up which I had led the legion only two months previously. “Goar should have held that road.” To his bodyguard, I said, “Tell your prince that this is where I want his men, not up in the hills.”
A trumpet blew the alarm and an optio thrust his head round the tent flap. “They are moving up the slope again, sir.”
“In strength?”
He said, in a scared voice, “It looks as though the whole lot are coming.”
“Why can’t they be civilised,” grumbled Quintus. “All decent soldiers fight in daylight.”
I watched the men forming up in their battle ranks, and a signaller from the camp behind ran up, breathing hard. “They are moving on the auxiliary fort as well, sir.”
Night fighting was always their speciality and this was proved through the long hours that followed. They attacked Moguntiacum too, and all night long we could see the fireballs from the ballistae, arching outwards into the snow so that the camp below seemed to be a gigantic fire that spluttered furiously and would not be put out. When the fourth attack had failed, I mounted my horse and cantered along the road to the old camp from which Marius was just about to launch a counter-attack. Here, an attempt was being made to encircle the town; but the snow lay thick on the slopes, and there were many drifts, and it provided a natural barrier that we could not have improved upon. The majority of his garrison was now inside the town and only a handful of men were left to protect the camp and the aqueduct. After a quick consultation with Marius’ second-in-command, who told me that the tribune had the situation well in hand, I returned to my command. The fighting continued until well past dawn, and when daylight came the ditches were choked with the Vandal dead, so that I began to wish that I had dug them deeper. The men stood down; the wounded were taken to the rear, and the cooks prepared food over the spluttering fires. Fresh bundles of javelins were fetched from the waggons and the armourers were busy, sharpening swords and spears and repairing damaged armour. I went to my tent and lay down on a blanket, wrapped in my cloak.
An hour later they attacked again.
Late the next afternoon a messenger came from Goar. He had crawled across the ice, playing dead, from one pile of bodies to the next. He told me the Alans had suffered fearful losses but had temporarily checked the advance of the column on the east bank. They were grateful for the help I had sent them.
Quintus said wearily, “We are holding them, but that is all. They are too many for us. We cannot beat them without fresh troops.”
I said, “I agree. If they had let us rest last night I would have attacked at dawn, and I think we could have pushed them back across the ice. But our men can only fight for so long without rest; they can keep the pressure up by sending in fresh men all the time.”
He said, “Why not re-site the ballistae so as to enfilade them?”
I blew on my cold hands. “Yes, they don’t like being caught on the flanks; I noticed that. We’ll try it then and see if it works.”
That night I altered my dispositions, moved the main body of my men onto the flanks and left the centre only lightly held. I was determined to try a counter-attack if I could. They came against us for the hundredth time and died horribly between the stakes and the ditches. I waited till I judged that the great mass were pressing in upon the centre where the arrow-fire from the palisade was weaker than formerly—and then struck. The cohorts on the wings, flanked by all the horse I could muster, moved out and swept round to take them on the flanks. We moved in the old formation, shoulder to shoulder, a wave of men throwing javelins and then working in with their swords, to be followed by a succession of waves, as each rank tired and fell back to rest. The snow was packed hard by now, frozen lightly on top and slippery in patches where the dead had left their mark. Everything was in our favour, if we could only keep the pressure up long enough. Their line began to bend and writhe as they tried to contain us, and then it wavered as I threw in the last of my reserves. The noise was deafening and the shouting turned to cries of alarm and rage as they broke and fled. Our trumpets sounded and the cavalry, from the two camps below us, burst from the hurriedly opened gates and rode through the Vandal camp, scattering tents and fires and tossing lighted torches onto the waggons that had come up during the day. It was a more successful repeat of our battle on the east bank and, as before, we came within a dicer’s throw of victory. They were broken and confused and in a panic; and the panic was spreading swiftly as it always did. We herded them back onto the ice, and they withdrew to form a ragged line between the islands. Had we had more men we could have followed them further and swept them back onto the east bank; and, once there, I do not think they would have tried to cross again. But our men were exhausted and their impetus was gone by the time they reached the river bank. They had driven the enemy off but they could do no more, and so the fighting ended without my having achieved the success I dreamed of. I put more men into Moguntiacum, sent a further stiffening of auxiliaries into the camp by the river, told Marius to re-fortify the harbour area, and cleared the enemy from their positions around the broken bridge where Barbatio, bearded and deathly tired, still held out. Then I withdrew the cavalry back to the road.
At least our success gave us some much needed rest. They did not attack again for seven hours and during that time my men slept for the first time since the old year died.
Quintus said, “How much longer can they keep it up? Their losses are tremendous. How much longer can we keep it up? We are still only just holding them.”
“We must hold them,” I said. There was nothing else for me to say.
Just before midday they moved off the ice, pushed my patrols off the bank and assaulted the harbour settlement, coming in upon it fast from three sides in their great wedge shaped formations, like migrating birds driven before a gale. Marius refused to surrender or retreat. The settlement went up in fire and smoke and the legionaries died upon the walls and in the ditch. They fought in the smoke filled streets and in the doorways of burning homes. They fought with broken swords and blunted spears, with stones and bricks and with their bare hands, until all were overwhelmed. By late afternoon the barbarians had re-taken all the ground from which we had driven them with such difficulty; and then, once more, they began to move up the slope.