Chapter 16
(Battle of the Selle)
“ Pilus Prior: The most senior centurion of a cohort and one of the more senior in a legion.”
Fronto grinned at Balbus and Crispus.
“It’s stupid. It’s dangerous; even suicidal and totally stupid.”
Balbus smiled at his friend.
“You like it.”
“You’re damn right I like it. We’ve got to do something to break this, or we’re going to end up just overwhelmed by sheer numbers.”
He frowned.
“Are you going to try the same thing?”
Crispus shook his head.
“I don’t think so. We’ve got the reserve force facing us as well. If we break the Viromandui, they’re going to turn and run straight into the Nervian reserves and then we’ll end up fighting both lots at once. We have to wait until you succeed, then you can get behind the reserves and we can push the Viromandui. If it all works we can end up surrounding them and pushing them into the river.”
Fronto nodded.
“Then I’ll see you when it’s over.”
As his two fellow legates turned and headed back toward their struggling legions, Fronto strode across to the small force of reserves from the Tenth who were standing tensely waiting to plug any desperate gaps.
“Find the primus pilus and centurion Velius and tell them I need to speak to them immediately.”
As men saluted and pushed off through the crowd to find the officers, Fronto spotted Labienus and waved to him. The commander strode over.
“I was thinking perhaps I ought to be getting my hands dirty, Fronto, rather than standing here like a fifth wheel.”
“I’ve a more important request for you. I’m about to do something suicidally reckless and you need to take command of the Tenth again for a while.”
Labienus frowned.
“What are you up to?”
Fronto laughed. “I hate repeating myself, so I’ll wait until Priscus and Velius are here. I can see them coming now.”
The two centurions pushed their way out of the press of men and marched up the gentle incline to the waiting officers. Fronto looked them up and down. Hardly an inch of them was not dented, dirty and covered in blood. Velius strode with his hands behind his back. Fronto frowned and, as the centurion came to a halt in front of him, he drew his hands out in front.
“Can I give you a hand, sir?”
Fronto and Labienus stared at the severed appendage in the grizzled veteran’s hand as Priscus exploded into laughter. Velius grinned and cast the article to the ground nearby before straightening to attention.
Fronto sighed.
“Your sense of humour leaves something to be desired, Velius. I’ve got a plan.”
Priscus raised an eyebrow.
“And naturally, whatever idiocy you have in mind includes us?”
The legate nodded.
“I’ve been speaking to Crispus and he’s come up with an idea. We can see the standard of the enemy. He says they’re the Atrebates on this flank. Don’t know how he knows that, but he does. There are three groups of standards out there, and that means their leaders are likely beneath those animal heads. We think that maybe, if we can wipe out their commanders, we can break their spirit and make them run. The standards are relatively close to our lines, so we’ll have to go straight head-on, rather than try to flank them and come from behind.”
Priscus shook his head.
“It’s bloody dangerous. It relies on men actually getting through the enemy, surviving long enough to kill what will likely be tough royal bodyguards, and then the Belgae actually being sensitive enough about it to run. Even if we succeed, it might just make them angrier.”
Fronto nodded.
“That is a possibility, as is death. But the thing is: we’re screwed anyway if we don’t do something. Three groups, each led by one of us, while Labienus takes over the Tenth.”
The commander stared.
“The whole reason we have a chain of command, Fronto, is so that vital officers can delegate this kind of thing to the people who are trained and paid to do it.”
Fronto grinned.
“There are precisely three people in the Tenth that I trust to pull off this kind of manoeuvre, and I am one of them.” He turned to the chief training officer of the legion. “I’d have liked to choose the most dangerous men we have, Velius, but there isn’t time. What do you think?”
Velius shrugged.
“Pick any century. They’re all full of madmen. You’re infectious, you know.”
Fronto nodded.
“Then pick a century each. Velius, you take the standard on the far left; Priscus, the centre. I’ll take the right, as I want to signal Balbus and Crispus when we’re done.”
Labienus shook his head.
“You know this is mad, Fronto.”
The legate nodded.
“Mad and necessary. Have fun.”
He turned and strode off to the right flank of the Tenth. Scanning up and down the ranks for a centurion, he spotted the familiar white hair of Lucretius wiping his brow, his helmet off. Lucretius’ century were in the rear line and currently unoccupied.
“Lucretius!”
The centurion turned and saluted, coming to attention.
“You and your century want to join me on a suicide mission?”
“Is that really a choice, sir?”
Fronto laughed.
“Not really. We’re going to break out of the line, make for the nearest enemy standard, and kill their leaders.”
The centurion grinned.
“That’ll shake ‘em, sir.”
Without waiting for orders, he turned.
“Sixth Cohort, First Century: Report to the rear!”
The seventy or so remaining members of Lucretius’ century fell out of the line and assembled in formation and at attention in the open space of the camp’s interior. As they did so, Fronto strode to the rear line directly opposite the standard he could see wavering, bronze and shining, above the enemy, and accosted the closest legionary.
“In a minute, the whole line will have to part to let a century through. We’re going to push out of the line. Pass the word down to be ready.”
The soldier saluted and spoke hurriedly to the men around him, as Fronto turned back to the century behind him. Lucretius was standing to attention with his men.
“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do” he announced. “The line’s going to open as we march through towards the front. As soon as we’re three men back from the enemy, I want the century to drop into testudo formation, four men wide. Lucretius and myself will take central positions at the front. The moment we’re in formation and the front line opens, I want a charge, maintaining that formation. We can’t afford to open any gaps, as we’ll be surrounded by the enemy. That means the rear will have to take position and walk backwards…”
He gestured at the optio. “That’s your position. Bear in mind you’re going to have to charge backwards. Can you do it?”
The optio shrugged.
“Can’t guarantee the line will stay closed while we charge, sir. We’ll do our best, but I can guarantee that as soon as we slow to a march, any gap will close.”
Fronto nodded.
“Do whatever you have to. They’re a dense mass, so they probably won’t have room to drop to the ground and attack under the shields. We just need to get there. Once we’re there we kill anyone well-dressed, armoured, or holding a standard. If we can do that, we form up and hold tight until the legion marches to meet us. If this works, Labienus will push the legion forward as soon as he sees the standards go down. If we’re lucky, we’ll still be alive when they get to us.”
The soldiers of Lucretius’ century continued to stand, stony faced, not a single man showing a hint of fear. It always made Fronto proud to see the quality of his men.
“Alright. Form up, four abreast.”
He collected one of the spare shields from the armament piles behind the ranks of men, stepped next to the centurion and smiled.