A moment later, the two officers had retreated from the men desperately defending the low, partially-constructed rampart against the tremendous force that had swept down the hill and across the river. Even though that central army was the largest concentration of the enemy on the field, Crispus could see the reserves of the Belgae waiting on the north bank to see where they were needed.
“It would appear that these barbarians will not break, unlike the Belgae we’ve faced before.”
Balbus nodded.
“They’re a hardy lot and I think we’ll have to kill the lot of them. There’ll be no surrender.” He sighed. “My main worry is that this could go either way. There’s a lot more of them than us, but we’ve got experience, equipment and formation. It’s worryingly possible that we’ll all just keep hacking at each other til there’s nobody left on either side.”
Crispus nodded.
“We’ve got to do something. We have to turn the tide and start pushing them back rather that just holding them off.”
Balbus shrugged.
“There’s precious little hope of that. The Twelfth are pinned down and unlikely to hold unless the reserves arrive, and we’re facing a large force, with another behind it. Even Rufus and Fronto are too beleaguered to do anything.”
The younger legate shook his head thoughtfully.
“Not necessarily. That’s why I pulled out of the line and came to find you. I’ve been scanning their ranks and I noticed the standards.”
“What about them?” Balbus asked, intrigued.
“Those facing us are not Nervian ones, but the wolf standards of the Viromandui.”
“How in the name of Minerva do you know that?”
Crispus shrugged.
“I spent some time with the Remi auxiliary officers early in the campaign, talking to them about their countrymen. It seemed wise.”
“Alright, so we’re facing the Viromandui then.”
“Mostly, though there are, I believe, Nervii supporting them; and the reserve across the river are Nervii. I don’t know what tribes Fronto and the others are facing, but that’s not my point.”
“Then what is?” Even Balbus, a tremendously patient man, was beginning to become tetchy with the loquacious young legate.
“Well, my friend, as our centurions wear crests for identification and are accompanied by the signifers, the Belgae leaders wear gold and armour and tend to be found around their own standards.”
Balbus frowned.
“So we know where their leaders are, then.”
Crispus smiled.
“And if we know where their leaders are and we can manage to get to them, there’s a possibility that we can break the spirit of the tribe.”
Balbus’ face split slowly into a wide grin.
“The Twelfth can’t do much with that information, but we have to tell that to Fronto and Rufus. Come on.”
The two legates almost ran across the empty interior of the camp toward the Ninth and Tenth, who were deeply embroiled in combat.
* * * * *
Varus stared down the slope at the horrible events unfolding across the water. The legions were clearly in trouble. As he watched, he saw a unit pull away from the flank and run to aid the baggage train that had suddenly come under attack. He growled and looked around himself. He and the thirty six surviving cavalrymen on this side of the Belgae’s barrier had rushed to the wooded edge of the slope during the initial confusion and hidden themselves from the view of the enemy.
Thousands of Belgae lay between them and the river, let alone the legions beyond. There were still thousands of cavalry beyond the hill where they had charged blindly, but the part of the Belgic reserves that had formed the fence from the spiked barriers were now manning it with long spears to prevent Varus’ men from rejoining the battle.
He couldn’t see what was going on, but he knew his officers. By now the alae would have reformed out of sight over that hill and would be moving either east or west along the river to find a way to bypass the reserves, cross the river, and rejoin the battle.
But in the meantime, that left thirty seven horsemen in a perilous position, hidden from the view of the enemy reserves and cut off from their compatriots. He ground his teeth and nudged the trooper next to him.
“Did you see that?”
“Sir?”
Varus pointed at the far side of the battlefield.
“Those men who attacked the wagons and got driven back? Most of them rejoined their nearest group, but a few fled into the woods.”
“I didn’t see sir. But they’ll eventually get caught. Even hiding in the woods.” The man sighed. “Unless we lose, of course…”
Varus grunted.
“This is the narrowest and shallowest stretch of the river for miles, yes?”
The man nodded. “That’s what I heard, sir.”
“Think we can find another way across?”
The trooper looked unsure. “Who knows, sir? But we could have a look? Better than sitting here and waiting for them to see us.”
Varus nodded. That was certainly true. They were hidden here, but for how long?
“Pick a direction. Upstream or down?”
The trooper shrugged.
“Down, I guess, sir. That way, if we can get across, we might be able to find those runaways you saw.”
“Then downstream it is.” Varus turned and addressed the assembled riders in tones just loud enough to hear but quiet enough to not provoke the interest of the Belgic reserves.
“Alright lads. We’re going to pick our way through these woods. I know it’ll be tough, but if the Belgae can hide great log contraptions in there, there’s likely room for us to work our way through. And once we reach the far side, we’re going to descend the slope to the water’s edge and head downstream until we can find a way to cross.
There was a silent chorus of nods. None of the men wanted to wait in the eaves of the wood to be spotted by wandering barbarians. As quietly as possible, the three dozen cavalrymen began to step their mounts through the woodland.
The trees were well spaced and the undergrowth almost entirely removed or trampled down by the Belgae. The going was surprisingly easy, as long as they kept their heads down and watched where they walked.
The journey seemed to last forever, each man holding his silence and most holding their breath. Gradually the sounds of desperate battle faded with distance and the dampening effects of the trees, until Varus decided they’d travelled far enough west and turned to move down the slope. All was eerily quiet, save the whispering of the leaves and the rustling of the occasional creature.
The trooper behind Varus risked speaking in a low voice.
“What do we do if we break cover and they’re there waiting for us, sir?”
Varus shrugged.
“We fight like madmen, and we die like Romans.”
The gradient gradually increased as they descended and slowly the trees began to thin out until finally Varus stepped his horse out onto open turf and looked up to the blue sky. Behind him the other troopers quickly and quietly left the woodland, dropping down towards the water.
The commander frowned as they approached the barrier and he examined the river with an eye to its crossing. It was deeper and faster here; that was clear from one look at its dark, glassy surface. But it was also too wide to jump. They would have to find another place further downstream to try.
He scanned the riverbank, but further ahead the woods came down to the water’s edge and barred the path to cavalry. He growled. No way forward and no point in sneaking back up through the woods to where they had been trapped in the first place. They’d have to make their way slowly back along the water’s edge toward the battle and hope they could find a crossing point before they ran into the Belgic reserves.
Today was turning out to be a very bad day. Maybe Fronto was right, placing his faith in Nemesis, rather than Fortuna.