Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate (41 page)

"Ad Signa!" he bellowed. "Fall in to the standards. Enemy in sight!"

The reaction from his veterans was gratifying. The individual centurions, standard bearers and signifers immediately relayed the orders and started gathering their men into formation. Would they have time to beat a retreat to the walls of the fort? Would there be few enough of the bastards for a single cohort to face? The latter question was answered first as the number of men approaching along the flanks increased and he began also to pick out shapes in the woods ahead.

Retreat or die, then. Only an idiot put the honour of the legion above its survival.

Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the ramparts perhaps a quarter of a mile away up a gentle rise. A routing run would be suicidal, but a standard orderly falling back would be equally fatal. If they ran, they presented open targets to all comers, particularly missiles and cavalry. If they formed into a shielded formation and began a step-back retreat, keeping a solid front to the enemy, they would go so slowly they could easily be flanked by the enemy.

A quandary - and one that lasted in Balventius' head for only a blink of an eye. This was why a legion or vexillation needed one commander and not two: decisions needed to be made at the snap of a finger.

After all, if democracy worked, Athens would now be master of the world, not Rome.

Turning, he bellowed the orders for the cohort to form up in a single block, loose at the centre and shieldwall tight at the edge. It was a formation he had used a few times before in similar circumstances - a formation not to be found in any military treatise but devised by he and the legate Balbus. The best in flexible protection and speed.

In two dozen heartbeats the 'box' - as Balbus had called it - was complete.

No retreating shieldwall in a standard formation could hope to achieve the 'full pace' in ordered retreat without becoming entangled with the other lines of men. Barely could they hope to match even the standard military pace in those conditions. The 'box' however, called for a single line of men to create a shieldwall in a square, the rear and right sides of the formation facing in the direction of travel and the front and left still facing the enemy in retreat, so as to provide shield-facing on every front. With only a single line of men, the shieldwall could retreat without danger of colliding with their fellows and this way the entire square could maintain the full pace which would see them back at the ramparts in around the count of three hundred.

The beauty of the formation was that while the shieldwall was extremely weak with only a single line of men enforcing it, the interior of the square was open and loose enough for officers and men to move to wherever they were most needed, even at a run, and react to any pressure on the unit. Moreover, the standards could be kept at the centre and well away from the enemy.

As the cohort began to move - each centurion was now shouting their orders - Balventius eyed the enemy pouring out from the edges of the woodland and appearing among its sun dappled centre. Just over four hundred men formed the 'box', with over a quarter of those - two centuries - in the external shieldwall and the rest jogging loosely in the centre, ready to react, swords gripped tight - pila had not been brought on the foraging mission. Balventius had already estimated about twice that number of barbarians just on the northern slope, let alone those at the far side and those coming through the woods. If the enemy numbers were evenly split it would come down to a six-to-one fight. He had done well to instigate the fall back. Despite the weariness of men who have been at manual labour for over an hour, the cohort was retreating at speed and every shield and weapon was raised and ready.

At his estimate, they would cover over half the distance to the camp before the enemy were upon them, unless they suddenly produced cavalry from some gaping orifice. Briefly, he wondered whether Sabinus and Cotta had stopped arguing long enough to set up the artillery.

One hundred. At the centre of the square, in the most open space and close to the signifers, Balventius took his eye from the ground, risking the rabbit holes and undulations of the gentle slope in order to take in the general situation.

He had underestimated the speed of the enemy. The Germanic warriors were almost on them already.

"Second century to the front, Third to the rear, Fifth and Sixth to left and right respectively. Prepare to repel."

As the men at the centre of the box reordered themselves to face the incoming threat, Balventius glanced once more at the charging enemy. Were they crazed? There could be as many as three thousand of them out there, and certainly no less than two thousand. Even if they had the support of a cavalry unit as yet unseen, while there were clearly enough warriors in the band to swamp his cohort, they must be out of their minds to attack them this close to the legion's winter quarters. Just a few hundred measly paces back up the slope lay a fortified position manned by over seven thousand professional killers, all well-equipped, rested and dug in. Yes, the Germanic lunatics could cut off their cohort, and might just manage to do so before they reached safety, but they must be aware of the danger so close. The chances of them managing to leave the scene of their small victory were miniscule. Were they really so blood-crazed as to throw away their lives to destroy a cohort?

Still, the
causes
for the attack were moot at this point. What mattered was the battle itself.

"Ready the shieldwall on the left flank. Here they come!"

Balventius cast up a short, sharp and fervent prayer to Mars and Fortuna. The tactic that he and Balbus had prepared for such a situation was a serious gamble and untried against such a sizeable foe. He was about to either buy them a few more paces and cripple the initial attack, or hand the cohort's heads to the barbarians on a platter.

"Ready! Three… two… one… give!"

The timing was perfect, which was a necessary factor in the manoeuvre.

As the front wave of warriors threw themselves at the shieldwall in a group of perhaps twenty five men - ahead of the main bulk of their force - determined to batter down the defences and open the box, every third man in the line put all his body weight into his shield, leaning outwards even as he marched. The men to either side of him withdrew from the shieldwall and fell in behind, opening huge sections of the line to the enemy.

Surprised at the wall they were about to hit opening up the warriors howled triumphantly, some of them smashing into the one-in-three men still in position and coming up dead against their immobile shields. The rest ran, stumbled, tumbled and even fell through the line and into the interior of the box, where the legionaries of the Fifth century awaited them, swords at the ready.

As the surprised and apparently victorious warriors staggered around trying to right themselves and choose a target, they were already being systematically butchered by the legionaries awaiting them. Behind them, the left flank shieldwall had already reformed, sealing them in, the legionaries who manned it bracing themselves as they moved against the attacks of those still outside.

The primus pilus smiled with satisfaction. Still performing his three-hundred count, he realised he'd not even passed twenty numbers between the shieldwall opening up and every interloper being downed. By a count of twenty more the formation - which had never paused its run - had moved on, leaving the dead and dying barbarians on the grass in their wake, the rear line of legionaries taking the opportunity to stamp on them with hobnailed boots as they passed.

No time to check that flank once more. He'd have to leave that to the centurions there. The right was about to come under pressure. Had the enemy there seen the manoeuvre? Most likely not - a square of Romans had obscured their view.

"Ready the shieldwall on the right flank. Prepare to receive!"

The same prayer was offered up once more to the two deities who would be watching the fight.

"Ready! Three… two… one… give!"

The back-stepping right flank mirrored the actions of the left, stepping in and opening great holes in the shieldwall to allow the barbarians ingress. As unprepared for the tactic as their brothers had been, the nearest warriors of the barbarian force leapt at the shieldwall and found themselves miraculously and unexpectedly falling through it and into a forest of steel blades awaiting them within. Precious few managed to turn with the hope of fleeing the trap, only to find the wall shutting behind them.

By the time Balventius passed two hundred and ten on his count, a fresh swathe of forty or so bodies littered the slope behind the mobile box.

The problem was that the tactic would not work again. Now, the barbarians were coming at the shieldwall more carefully, not charging headlong. Ever-increasing blows rained down on the shields from warriors running alongside, free to attack without thought for their neighbours.

The killing began.

Unable to keep up the pace and fight back, the majority of the legionaries were forced to merely shift their shields fractionally to take the blows as best they could, no opportunity presenting itself to actually attack their foes.

This, of course, was where the unusual 'box' tactic fell down. Balbus' original plan had called for the men in the centre to now keep the attacking enemy at bay with regular casts of their pila. Due, however, to their nature as a foraging party, the retreating cohort lacked their throwing weapons. There was the faint possibility that the interior defenders could deal with the worst threats through judicious use of the gladius, but even to attempt that was to put the formation in peril, men interfering with the shieldwall and trying to fight through it endangering the stability and pace of the outer line.

Two hundred and fifty three.

The turf rampart with its timber palisade was tantalisingly close now. The square was making for the gate at the centre, directed by the centurion at that side. They would make it, but they would lose a few men. Indeed, the cries of pain were on the increase and a simple glance around was enough to tell him that the shieldwalls were on the verge of collapse. Every fifth or sixth man was falling to barbarian swords, axes and spears and every count of three he saw another body drop into the square's interior, to be instantly replaced by one of the running soldiers within.

Better that than standing and fighting at the woods, though. Twenty per cent casualties would be high for the number of kills they made, but had they stood and taken the attack, there would be precious few left at the end to tell the tale.

Why were the ballistae and onagers at the camp not firing?

Surely they were close enough now for the Fourteenth and the rest of his own men to be launching a counter attack? What were Sabinus and Cotta thinking?
Were
they thinking, or just gainsaying one another in the command tent?

The gate in the defences was still resolutely shut and, while the number of men at the rampart was increasing with every heartbeat, preparing a defence, there was no sign of missile attack and no sign of the legions opening a way into the camp for them. Were they to be sacrificed for the safety of the rest? Surely not?

The call to halt from the leading centurion came, echoed down the line along both sides. Balventius glanced past him to see that they were now only a few dozen paces from the closed gate.

"Contract the square; three lines."

Around him every other man stepped back and the square closed to half the size, second and third lines taking position behind the shieldwall, forming a more traditional defensive unit with much less open space at the centre. Suddenly, the attacks of the barbarians were causing far fewer casualties and, now immobile and free to fight, the men in the wall began the butchery that was the Roman legion in open ground facing a rabble.

Again, Balventius' gaze wandered around. He itched to get stuck in to the hairy, disorganised bastards that were slaying his boys, but the situation was not yet apposite. He had to be on hand to modify the cohort's tactics, depending on the changing status of the fight. At least the standards were all secure and safe. Even if the entire cohort fell, the enemy would never get away with them, with a camp full of legionaries looming above them.

Again, he wondered why that camp was so still. Why the ballistae were not firing? They would have a job to miss the enemy at this range, so densely packed.

His answer came even as he pondered on the next possible move. Over the din of sword on sword and sword on shield, the rumble was the first hint. As he felt his pulse quicken, the ground began to tremble, the turf responding to the pounding of hooves.

"Have at 'em lads!" he bellowed, as the cavalry rounded both corners of the camp, having issued from the gates along those sides, undetected by the enemy. At least the two senior officers had put
some
damn thought into it, then.

Only a tiny portion of the cavalry forces available in Caesar's army had been assigned to this location, of course. The cavalry these days - mostly Gallic auxiliaries - numbered almost as many men as the legions. But even the fifteen turmae of Bellovaci horsemen with three years' experience in the Roman military, now eschewing much of their own gear, armoured in Roman mail shirts and with lances and shields, presented a frightening sight. More than two hundred riders appeared from each side, smashing into the outer edge of the Germanic force, picking off the rear ranks and then riding away, having landed a heavy blow to the attackers. Riding off along the turf away from the fight, they wheeled. Those whose spears remained intact and in hand prepared for a second charge; the rest drew their own traditional Celtic long swords and prepared to sweep them low and take heads.

The attack faltered. Like the ripple of a stone dropped in a pool, word of the cavalry attack on their rear swept forwards through the mass and finally reached the men hammering down blows on the shield wall.

"They're breaking!" Balventius bellowed. "Give 'em a good reason!"

With renewed vigour the legionaries, given heart by the change in their fortunes, started to kill with the viciousness and fury of wronged men.