“Thought you’d never get here, Marcus!”
Fronto breathed deeply.
“We nearly didn’t. Clever engineers, eh?” He gestured back across the river.
“Indeed. What’s your plan?”
Fronto blinked. He hadn’t got as far as a plan. Just getting here had been his plan.
“Well Caesar’s on his way with the other legions. We need to drive a wedge between the Belgae and the river, so that the Thirteenth can form a bridgehead and secure the bank. Once that’s done, we can marshal the men and begin to actually do the job. You need to get runners out around the Belgae somehow to pass instructions to Varus, and others back across to the missile troops. If Varus can start trying to help thin them out towards the bridge and the prefects above can concentrate their fire on the area where the Belgae are thickest, we can divide the men between maintaining the defences here and joining up along the bank with the Thirteenth at the bridge.”
Sabinus laughed.
“Oh… nothing simple, then?”
Fronto shook his head.
“We’re still up against enormous odds, but now we can actually start to bring tactics into play.
Sabinus nodded. “I’ll get the messengers out and get back to the walls. You concentrate on things by the river, yes?”
Fronto nodded. As the next group of men crossed the bridge, he called them over. Their centurion stepped to the front.
“I need you to head along there between the wall and the river and when you get to the end start to push out into the Belgae. Don’t try and engage properly. I just want a shield wall that moves slowly outwards. Reserves will be coming up to support you. We’re going to keep pushing them back until we control the whole bank and meet up with the Thirteenth at the bridge, alright?”
The centurion saluted and nodded. Without a word, he and his men picked their way along the difficult terrain towards the open ground on the river bank. Fronto watched them go and then turned his attention back to the bridge. The next century had just arrived. The legate pointed into the fort.
“To the walls!”
The men saluted and ran off into the fort. Fronto turned back to the bridge and smiled. Plancus was coming across with the next group, stepping lightly as a dancer, as though there were sea monsters beneath the surface. As the young man, visibly relieved, arrived on the bank, Fronto clasped hands with him.
“Plancus… can you take over here if I join in the action? I’m sending alternate units into the fort or along to the bridgehead.”
The young man nodded, letting out a deep breath. With a quick glance at him, Fronto gestured to the centurion who had just crossed.
“You men are with me!”
Without waiting for a reply, he started to make his way speedily along the river bank. Ahead, he could see the legionaries fighting desperately at the edge of the river. As he ran he saw with dismay one of the men slip in the midst of combat and drop into the river like a stone. Weighed down with chainmail and helmet, there was no hope for the man. Fronto gritted his teeth as he saw how hard the men were fighting for such little ground. He and his reserves finally reached the rear of the century of men, now already whittled down to a third of their number.
“Push!” he yelled, and threw himself in among the soldiers, clearly greatly to the surprise of the Gaulish legionaries. The reserves joined the line and the extra weight began to press back the Belgic warriors. With grim satisfaction, as they slowly heaved the line forward, Fronto noted how the victorious faces of the barbarians slipped to uncertainty as they found themselves being pushed backwards into the press of their own men. Fronto grinned. An idea was forming, but he’d have to be fast. These bastards were vicious. The Roman numbers in the push had almost halved again already. He leaned across to his right and barked hurried instructions at the centurion nearby. Behind them, another century of men joined the fight.
“Push them back!” he bellowed to the Roman force in general. He was almost at the front now. Almost close enough to reach one of the hairy bastards with his gladius.
Spotting the centurion that had accompanied him into the fray, he quickly leaned across and repeated his instructions. The man nodded and began to move off to the left. Fronto waited a full minute for his instructions to have been disseminated among the men present, during which another century joined the rear. Their ranks were now growing faster than they were being whittled down and they were forcing the Belgae back, but the push was getting ever harder, since the barbarians were being heaved into the press of their fellows.
“Now!” he cried.
Simultaneously, two thirds of his force changed direction and pushed off to the left, in line with the fort’s western wall, while the other third pulled back from where they had been pushing along the riverbank. The whole Roman front line swung like a gate, back along the shore to the fort wall. The sudden push deep in their lines and the opening space next to the river caused a natural momentum unfortunate for the Belgae. Unable to hold their ground, pushed back by the inland advance and their own great press, a large number of the Belgae found themselves pushed out of the force, into the open space and then beyond, where the shoving carried them straight on, over the bank and into the fast current of the river.
A cheer went up on the bridge several hundred yards downstream as over a hundred Belgae washed past beneath them, screaming as they were carried away from the field. The few wealthier barbarians who wore the heavy armour and helmets of the Celtic noblemen, splashed briefly before disappearing without trace.
“Reform!” Fronto called.
As suddenly as they had changed direction before, the Roman left pulled back and the right pushed out once again to their original solid line. Now, the diminished force of Belgae by the river gave Fronto’s force sufficient room to begin pushing in earnest. Laughing like a maniac, Fronto launched into the front line, hacking and stabbing with his sword, lost in the simplicity of combat where complicated thought could be replaced by instinct.
Bolstered by a continual supply of legionaries from the rear, Fronto’s force continued to expand the line in an arc, pushing the Belgae back. Stepping back from the action for a moment, Fronto smiled with satisfaction. They had now fought their way almost half way along the fort’s wall, allowing Sabinus to redeploy a number of his men from that side. As he watched, the nearest gate opened, just behind his advancing line, and more reserves poured from the fort. The press of Belgae in the narrowing area of riverbank they controlled were now shouting desperately. As their concentration had been drawn toward Fronto’s vicious assault, Balbus had taken the advantage of their lack of attention and finally broken away from the bridge, the Thirteenth pouring into the field and forming an arc like Fronto’s, pushing the barbarians further back from the river.
As the minutes passed, Fronto grinned. The advancing forces from the bridge and the makeshift crossing were close now, the Belgae pushed back to the flat land on the other side of the fort. With a deep breath, he once more threw himself into the front line, shouting encouragement at the legionaries to either side. A roar went up and the advance redoubled in effort, Belgae now trying to turn and flee among their own ranks.
‘Lucky’, Fronto thought to himself. For all the Romans had finally gained the riverbank and forced the Belgae back, they were still outnumbered by at least five to one. The Belgae had descended into chaos. Had they the discipline of the Roman army, they would right now be driving Fronto back into the water, instead of trying to get out of the way. The number of casualties Fronto’s advance had suffered spoke volumes about how dangerous a foe these barbarians could be when they had the bit between their teeth.
He clenched his teeth and offered a small prayer to Nemesis that the bastards kept on running.