Arius, the young optio in front of Fronto, craned his neck and addressed his commander again.
“Sir? Why aren’t the cavalry coming forward to engage the enemy horse?”
Fronto smiled.
“The cavalry are here to provide support. They had a hard fight yesterday while we supported them.”
“So we’re facing the cavalry on foot?”
“Don’t worry lad. Just listen out for your centurion’s orders.”
The young man turned back to face the enemy as Fronto watched the cavalry getting closer. Soon they would crash into the front ranks of the legions. He judged the distance. A little closer perhaps…
“Priscus, now!”
All along the front rank, centurions called out orders and the front rows of legionaries separated out, leaving gaps. In the spaces between, the Balearic slingers attached to the legions stepped into the field and fired off hundreds of lead bullets that crossed the intervening space at head height. Most of the German footmen were lagging a little behind and few of them were struck by the shot. Most of it struck horses on the chest and shoulders, making the animals rear.
All across the line, men were thrown or forced to hold on for dear life as their horses bolted madly from the field. It was a small blow really to the German army and even to their cavalry, but they would be a lot more cautious with future charges. At a further order from Priscus, the lines closed up once more and the slingers clambered out from between the ranks into the intervening gap between lines of cohorts.
Fronto scanned the field. Far more cavalry were coming at the sides, but they would be caught by Longinus’ men and herded into the melee. There were still a number of horsemen in the field, but the majority of the centre were now warriors fighting on foot. In his head he counted ‘Three… two…” Before he reached one, the volley was released.
Several thousand javelins arced out over the field and came down among the mass. The hissing sound of the flying missiles disappeared to be replaced with the metallic and organic noises of their impact, along with a great deal of screaming. Moments later the second volley was released, too early for Fronto’s liking, but the effect was still good. The mass had barely moved beyond the initial line of javelin casualties when they were struck by a second rain of deadly points.
Fronto watched the carnage from his mounted position with satisfaction. The initial volley was a shock tactic designed to terrify the enemy and break their spirit. In this case, it had also done a great deal of damage.
The German warriors were still coming on, but were now advancing with a slower and much more reluctant gait.
“Steady lads. We’ve shaken them, and when they hit the shield wall they’ll break. Just hold the line.”
The front runners of the German horde had now come within a few feet of the Roman line. They seemed reluctant to launch an attack on the shield wall and only once there were a reasonably large number of them did they turn, screaming, and run at the Romans.
The first point they hit was up by the Eleventh. Fronto could hear Crispus’ precise and well-educated tone even over the vast noise of the clash.
“Maintain formations everyone! Rufus! Be sure your boys don’t break out forwards. Keep the line. Rear ranks move forward and support!”
Fronto smiled. The man was young and very inexperienced for a military commander, but his innate good sense and his knowledge of military history gave him more of an edge than many of the experienced commanders he’d known. Moreover, Crispus had taken a newly-formed green legion with an officer corps drawn from all over the provincial military and had given them self-respect and honour. In no engagement since their formation had the Eleventh run or failed. Fronto felt confident with them on his flank.
Drawing his eyes back from the Eleventh, he paid a great deal of attention to the front ranks of his own. They had been hit fairly hard in a number of places but, even where the initial shield wall had buckled under the onslaught, the second or third row of men had pushed the enemy back out or maimed them and let them fall beneath.
All in all, the line was holding very well and already in places the Germans had given up on the assault and were drawing back toward their camp. The legions were, of course, very lucky in that they had made their way early and taken up the perfect position. The Germans had had precious little warning and had marshalled a small force to try and drive the Romans away. Had they been prepared or committed their whole army, things could have been very different.
Fronto became aware of someone calling him. He turned to see Tetricus waving and pointing to one side. Following his gesture, the legate could see one of the Ballistae still on its cart. Tetricus shrugged. Fronto shook his head.
“We’ve driven off the first assault. By the time they’re ready to come again, you should have the bank built. Nice thought though.”
He turned back to see most of the Germans now pulling back from the shield wall. Somewhere off to the right there was a disagreement going on within the German attackers. A particularly large and well-dressed warrior was halting fleeing Germans in their tracks. Though he couldn’t understand what the man was shouting at his fellow warriors, Fronto could easily imagine what it was. The German warrior was unsuccessful in rallying the men and shouted something at them in a derisive manner. Turning, he stamped resolutely on toward the Roman line.
Fronto was impressed with the courage of the man, but his lack of foresight and common sense would be his undoing. He hesitated for a moment, toying with the idea of ordering the man be brought down with javelin or arrow. It would be ignominious and teach a very pertinent lesson, but a better lesson awaited.
The German stopped his advance around five feet away from the tips of the Roman swords. Holding his sword high above his head, he bellowed something at his enemy. A challenge, obviously.
One of the centurions called out “He’s mine!”
The man barely got to move out of the shield wall before Priscus’ voice, harsh and powerful, carried along the line.
“Flaminius, if you so much as think of moving out of line, I’ll take your vine staff and wedge it in your arse. This is the Army of Rome, not some Greek heroic epic!”
The eager centurion faltered and then stepped back into his position. The German grinned at him and then bellowed his challenge at the legions again. Along the Roman front, centurions called out “Hold the line.”
After a minute more of shouting, the German warrior seemed to be shifting between dejection and derision. He appeared to be undecided as to whether he should attack the line on his own or return to his own camp.
Velius’ voice could be heard from the left.
“Castus, you still got that unsightly boil on your arse?”
There was a small outbreak of laughter and an affirmative from among the Second Cohort, followed by muttered planning. Fronto didn’t generally like being left out of any tactical discussion, but Velius was a special case. Fronto trusted him implicitly and was intrigued.
Moments later, a rather chubby legionary stepped out to face the huge German and, turning to face the shield wall, raised his tunic and dropped his breeches. The warrior, who had been expecting a challenge, stopped in his tracks, faced with a legionary’s afflicted rear end.
He dithered for a moment longer, undecided, and then gestured derisively at the Romans, turned away, and walked back to his camp. Fronto grinned.
“Alright, lads. We can hold anything they throw for now. A few more hours and we’ll be back inside the wall and protected by artillery. Velius, have that man report to the medicus!”