“Varus: collect your cavalry and break speed records in getting to Sabinus. Tell him we’re on the way and not to do anything stupid! Balbus? You’d best take a horse and get to the fort. You’ll need to tell Plancus what’s happening a few times until it sinks in and then start the legions moving across the bridge as soon as you can. We’ll need all of you on the other side of the water where it’s flat; it’s the only terrain legionaries and cavalry can operate safely in.”
Varus grinned. As Caesar’s cavalry commander, he was aware that he theoretically outranked all the legionary legates but, for some reason, if felt natural to be ordered around by Fronto. The man had a talent for leadership. When he shouted, even the senate would stand to and obey.
“My pleasure. See you at the fort.”
Fronto turned to Balbus.
“Be careful with them. We don’t know how well prepared they are for real battle.”
Balbus smiled.
“It’s about time they got the chance to find out. Hurry along now, Fronto. You’ll have to catch us up quickly.”
As Varus and Balbus rushed off to find a horse for the legate and rejoin the cavalry, Fronto sighed. He was legate of the Tenth Legion, and here he was, deep in the campaigning season and he’d hardly spent any time with the Tenth at all. Priscus was itching to get involved in a fight, but all he got to do was the day to day tasks of legionary command. Fronto, on the other hand, was about to undertake his second hard fight of the season, commanding auxiliary troops only. He regarded the force gathering nearby and smiled. Fortunately, promotions and transfers had been delayed in the current circumstances, so at least he knew he was fighting alongside good men.
As the units were formed up, he quickly ran back to his tent and grabbed his sword, shield and helmet. He stopped for a second and looked down at the red cloak lying outside the door. He’d ignored it and run across the fine material with muddy, hob-nailed boots twice. He smiled sadly at the messy item. What was it with him and cloaks? Jamming the helm on his head, he started to jog down to the gathering units.
There were perhaps three or four thousand men there altogether. Mostly Numidians, either armed with short bows or spears, along with the familiar Cretan archers and the deadly Balearic slingers. Much like the force he had at Bibrax, but more than three times the size.
“Decius!”
The prefect turned and grinned as Fronto bounded up the gentle incline towards him.
“D’you know, when I was told all the auxiliary foot troops were being called to service, I had a feeling I’d see you shortly, sir!”
Fronto laughed.
“You remember those Belgae we fought off? Well now we get to kick them and all their mates around a bit.”
He squared his shoulders and straightened his sword by his side before addressing the force gathered around him.
“Senior officers to me!”
A dozen or so prefects rushed out of the press of men and came to attention at the front, saluting. Fronto noted the knowing looks on the faces of Galeo and Pansa. What was this reputation he seemed to have acquired?
“Men? We’re about to go into action alongside the Thirteenth and Fourteenth legions and the Cavalry against more Belgae than you can wave a shitty stick at. I need to see the same kind of strength and bravery I saw at Bibrax. But we need to run to get there in time to save Sabinus and his men.”
He took a deep breath.
“So no dawdling! Prefects? Get your units back to the main camp at a run and form up above the river.”
The officers in front of him saluted and started bellowing commands at their men. Fronto watched as the lightly-armed and completely unarmoured men began to move off at a steady jog toward the south. As the nearest unit of Cretans started to run, Fronto sprinted alongside and fell in next to their prefect.
“Enjoying life in the limelight, Decius?”
Momentarily, he concentrated on the turf in front of him as he felt that familiar twinge in his ankle. Damn it. Almost two decades of fighting with the legions and he’d sustained no lasting injuries. Then one bloody fight last year and he gets bitten in the ankle by a mad German woman and almost hamstrung. That ankle had never been quite right since. He became aware that Decius had replied while he concentrated on the ground. Ah well. At least his nose felt good these days.
“I’ll need brilliant ideas from you lot before we engage. The way I reckon it, there’s going to be a hundred and fifty thousand mad, bloodthirsty Belgae on the other side of the river, and all we’ve got will be a couple of thousand veteran legionaries under Sabinus, ten thousand green, untried legionaries under Balbus and Plancus, maybe five thousand cavalry under Varus, and three thousand missile troops. That’s… what? Twenty thousand against a hundred and fifty? Slightly unnerving odds, eh?”
Decius grinned as he stared off into the distance.
“Maybe, but we’ve got fortified defences, a narrow bridge to defend and the height of the northern bank for advantage.”
He turned his grin on Fronto.
“And, of course, we’ve got us!”
Laughing, the two men ran on alongside the Cretans with their bows.
* * * * *
By the time Fronto reached the camp, standing on the high ground and overlooking the bridge and Sabinus’ fort, the action had clearly already begun. In this lofty position, Fronto swallowed hard as he viewed a disaster of epic proportions in the making.
Sabinus had his cohorts secure yet trapped behind the walls of the small but defensive fort. There was no hope of him being able to sally forth and do any damage at this time, as the near side of the fort was bounded by the river, quick flowing and the darkness of the water suggesting dangerous depths. The other three sides were being assailed at close range by a veritable sea of shouting Belgae. There were, indeed, so many barbarian warriors that the observers had to look carefully to make out the fort walls under the press of bodies. The rearguard force that Sabinus had been left with fought desperately over their defences, stabbing and slashing madly at anyone they could reach. In Fronto’s professional opinion, Sabinus’ force would be gone in half an hour and the fort left as kindling. From the look of things, the Belgae had moved faster than Varus had expected. They must have been here before the other Romans arrived.
Balbus’ reserve force would be precious little help. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth Legions were still mostly on the north bank, a small group desperately trying to create a bridgehead at the far side in the face of many thousands of barbarians. They were failing dismally. If Crassus or Caesar had been here, they would likely have placed the blame firmly with the new, green, Gallic legions. Fronto, on the other hand, could see this for what it was. Two legions crammed into a narrow space, desperately attempting to break out in the face of impossible odds, most of them still trapped on the bridge or the near side. The Eighth or the Tenth would be doing no better in these conditions. Had Fronto been in charge of the Belgae, he’d now be trying to collapse the bridge, but at least that thought seemed to have escaped the barbarian chieftains. The bridge was big and strong, but not big enough to carry out a battle on.
Varus had clearly arrived just in time to get himself cut off and trapped. His cavalry had made it across the bridge in the face of the charging barbarians and were now milling about in the middle distance on the edge of the Belgic army, too isolated to try anything truly useful. As Fronto watched, he could see them doing what they could to harry the enemy, skirmishing and casting javelins into the middle of the mass, but little they could achieve would make any real difference without infantry support. At best they would annoy the Belgae and whittle down their numbers a little.
The way things were currently going, the fort would fall to the Belgae in around thirty minutes, the dead would pile up at the far end of the bridge and the legions would remain blocked up until it finally occurred to the barbarians to destroy the entire structure, drowning a few hundred legionaries and rendering the rest ineffective. The cavalry would engage in quick bursts, but once the Belgae completely held the far bank and had rendered the river uncrossable they would turn and massacre Varus and his men before waiting for Caesar to arrive.