The tribune laughed and leaned back.
“I hope you’re right. From what I hear of Aquitania, we’re likely to need every man we have before this is over.”
“Hardly,” Galronus said with a sly smile. “Your man Crassus tells me he could charge the very gates of the underworld with his precious Seventh.”
“Ha.”
The two men fell silent as the truth of the situation continued to nag at them both.
Down ahead, something was happening. A blast from a buccina rang out, to be picked up quickly by others.
“What was that?”
Galronus squinted off into the distance. A mass of dark shapes were issuing from the trees and copses to either side of the valley.
“Ambush” the commander said flatly. “I was expecting something like this.”
The tribune frowned and looked at the activity in the distance.
“The cavalry are separate from the legion, out ahead.”
Galronus nodded.
“My officers were expecting it too. As soon as they saw the enemy, they’ll have pulled ahead to somewhere they can marshal their forces.”
Tertullus shook his head.
“There are a hell of a lot of them. The legion could be in trouble.”
Again, Galronus shrugged.
“Not my concern anymore. I’m just a passenger now.”
The tribune narrowed his eyes at the Remi commander.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do. We need to do something.”
Galronus squared his shoulders, wincing at the pain in the fresh wound. The capsarius, who had moved on to the next man, turned an angry glare on him.
“If you undo all my work, when I re-stitch it I’ll sew a coin inside. Sit still.”
Once again the two men turned their gaze to the activity ahead. The valley was narrow and with steep sides. The auxiliary cavalry had formed up ahead, creating a barrier that prevented the remaining enemy horsemen from rejoining their fellow tribesmen, but remained largely removed from the action.
It was hard to credit how well the trap had been laid, really. The number of Sotiates pouring down the slopes onto the Roman forces was more than a match, the enemy outnumbering the legion by perhaps two to one. How they had managed to secrete such a large force in such a small area without being spotted earlier was truly marvellous.
The legion had organised into squares against the enemy coming at them from all sides.
“At least he’s had the sense to form them defensively” Galronus nodded. “I’d have half expected him to charge them.”
Tertullus shook his head.
“I know that the lad has faults, and plenty of them, and that he has little regard for you and your men, but I think that perhaps you do him a disservice tactically.”
Galronus turned a surprised look on him.
“Don’t forget,” the tribune said “he pacified the north west with one legion. His methods are a little brutal, but don’t confuse aggression with stupidity. He’s fairly shrewd in terms of actual tactics.”
The Remi commander looked distinctly unconvinced.
“What can we do to help them?” the tribune nudged.
“He’s under-using the forces he has.”
“What?”
Galronus shrugged and winced again, sucking in air through his teeth.
“It’s a common failing I’ve seen in Roman commanders. No disrespect, but most Roman officers concentrate all their energy on the legions, to the exclusion of all others. See how, once the cavalry are out ahead, he appears to have forgotten they exist. While the legion is manoeuvring into the most protective formation possible, what is he doing with the spearmen and archers?”
Tertullus shrugged. The three thousand or so spearmen and archers had taken position part way up the slope, creating a wall of bristling points that could hold most forces from reaching the support column.
“They’re protecting the baggage. That’s a common role for them and I, for one, am happy they’re doing so, since we’re sat in one such cart.”
Galronus frowned.
“Why are you here? I’m wounded and removed from command, but you’re a tribune. Your place is down there.”
Tertullus sighed.
“The legate likes to keep me out of danger if possible. His mother would be furious with him if anything happened to me.”
Galronus laughed.
“You Romans have such a strange set of values.”
He pointed down the slope.
“What I was trying to bring to your attention is that fully a third of the legate’s forces are standing still on the slope and waiting for the enemy to make for the wagons. The Sotiates might not have any intention of doing so, since they’re too busy slaughtering legionaries by the cartload. Wasteful.”
“So what’s your alternative?”
Galronus grinned and stood, wobbling slightly.
“I may be a passenger now, but you’re still a senior commander. Let’s take control of the auxiliaries and provide a little support.”
Tertullus smiled and clambered down from the cart.
“So what do we do?”
“You take the archers and I’ll take the spear men. Imagine what damage a thousand arrows could do falling from the top of the valley side?”
The tribune’s smile widened.
“We might be able to thin them out quite well. And the spears?”
“Spears are no use up there, but there are a lot of loose rocks on these hillsides. Imagine the damage a heavy rock could do rolling down that hillside and into a mass of warriors.”
Tertullus laughed.
“I see what you mean about not thinking exclusively.”
Reaching up, he grasped Galronus and helped him down from the cart.
“Come on. Let’s go and save my nephew’s backside.”
Chapter 16
(Iunius: Inland Aquitania, territory of the Sotiates.)
Gaius Pinarius Rusca licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth in panic. What in the name of all the Gods was he doing here? The closest he’d ever come to fighting was a tussle with a peer who stole his seat at the games when he was a teenager.
Eight months ago he had been sitting in his cosy little triclinium contemplating his future with the delectable Laevinia and now, standing on this springy turf with his legs shaking uncontrollably and a dangerous slackening around his bladder, he couldn’t believe how excited he’d been to have had his posting to the legions approved.
His father had served under the elder Crassus years ago and had managed to secure him the most prestigious tribunate within the Seventh beneath the young legate, since when Rusca had spent the past months in Vindunum lording it over the others and turning his ability with numbers and attention to detail to the disposition of units and supply problems.
A distant bellow of rage brought his attention rudely back to the current situation.
“Hold the line!” he shouted, noting the way his voice cracked in fear and hoping that no one else had.
The legate had sent the cavalry on chasing the Sotiates and had marched the legions as fast as they could move in formation down the hill behind.
They had descended, eager to bring Roman vengeance to these skirmishing horsemen and Rusca had watched from his forward position as the pursuing auxiliary cavalry engaged the enemy once again, only to be completely cut off from the rest of the army as untold thousands of screaming, bloodthirsty barbarians, some wearing wild animal pelts around their shoulders, had poured seemingly out of the very ground to either side of them.
Rusca’s world had fallen apart. He was a natural mathematician; a studious and quiet young man hoping to achieve at least a minor public appointment back in the city on the strength of his military experience. What he was truly not, he thought, as the embarrassing warm trickle began, was a soldier.
Crassus himself had been close by and Rusca had been surprised at how the man dealt with the situation. The legate was no older than he and had only served the legions for a couple of years and yet he took control of the disaster like those Cretan bull leapers grabbed their acrobatic steeds and pulled the legion together; like a veteran commander.