Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (24 page)

“How are you, Valgus?” Vitruvius asked.

“Given that the cursed spear missed my balls by a matter of centimeters, I’m doing alright,” Valgus replied. He started to laugh, but then clenched his teeth as pain shot through his hip. “Damn it, I should have known better.” He shook his head, upset with himself.

“We were in a bad spot. You did the best you could.”

“And now the war is over for me,” Valgus replied. “Hell, my whole damn career is over, even if I do survive this.” Tears of frustration were starting to show in his eyes.

“Would you rather we left you to drown in the marsh back there?” the
sergeant asked. “Vitruvia would have killed me.”

Vitruvius was referring to his sister, whom Valgus had grown close to over the last couple of years, to the point where she now lived in the small community outside the fortress in order to be with him. He had intended to make their union official once he had either risen to
centurion or retired. Valgus smiled at the mention of the woman he loved. He would stay alive, if only to see her again. “Just do me a favor,” he said, “don’t get overrun tomorrow. If I plan on seeing Vitruvia again, I can’t very well do it if you get wiped out.”

Vitruvius smiled.
“Agreed. Just don’t go getting that wound infected and dying on us either.”

Both men laughed, though there was no mirth in it.

As Vitruvius left the hospital area, he wondered whether or not they would get overrun on the morrow. He felt like a rat trapped in a cage. For the first time in many years, the invincible sergeant was afraid.

The warriors tore through the Roman supply wagons, each man trying to carry off as much plunder as he could. Arminius looked on
, amused at the spectacle. He then turned to the council of war chiefs that he had summoned. There were many of them, all gathered around in a circle, awaiting the orders from their supreme commander. Many were older than Arminius, and these bore the scars of previous campaigns against the Romans; campaigns, that before Arminius, had been fought with little to no success.

“Friends, brother warriors,” he began
, “as you can see, once again we have the Roman Army on the run. They have walked into our trap and will soon be at our mercy. As soon as they move out from their camp, we will hunt them down and destroy them.”

“Why should we wait for them to leave their camp?” Ingiomerus asked. “They are already within our trap. If we attack now, there is little chance of any of them escaping. Brother warriors, we have already won this battle
. Let us strike now and take what plunder there is to be had while it is all in one place.”

Many of the war chiefs
shouted in agreement.

Arminius turned to his uncle.
“The Romans are headed back to winter quarters; it is unlikely they will stay in their fort for very long. It would be better if we ambushed them on the road rather than attack a fortified position.” “We do not fear death nor do we fear the Romans any longer,” one of the war chiefs said, standing up. “An attack on their fort will show they can neither run nor hide from us.”

All the war chiefs were now standing and chanting for an attack on the Roman fort. Arminius was troubled. Yes, the Romans were reeling from the skirmishes of that day, along with the loss of their baggage trains. He also knew they were far from beaten. A direct assault on a fort containing four
legions would be suicidal. Many would perish for certain. He looked at the faces of his brother war chiefs. These men were brave, but they were reckless. He also realized they were determined to go through with the attack. He would have no choice but to relent.

“
Shit,” he said quietly to himself; then to his fellow chiefs, “we will attack the Roman fort tomorrow at first light. Tonight we celebrate our pending victory. There shall be much in the way of celebration and the beating of war drums. Let us deny the Romans any sleep, and let their last night on this earth be spent cowering in fear.”

The war chiefs all shouted in exultation
and shook their weapons in the air.

“A word, Uncle,” Arminius said as he and Ingiomerus walked away from the jubilant crowd. “By the gods, have you lost control of your senses? Do you realize that by your actions you have sent a large number of these warriors to their death? This war does not end with this action. If our losses are heavy tomorrow, we will be hard pressed to continue in this campaign.”

“You still continue to deny these brave men the fruits of their labors,” Ingiomerus replied. “These hit and run tactics of yours, while effective, are causing you to lose credibility among the other war chiefs. There have been mutterings amongst many of them that you have lost your warrior spirit and you have lost your will to fight. These men need a real battle.”

Arminius looked his uncle in the eye. “Then you shall lead them tomorrow. Let the glory and honor be
yours.” With that he walked away.

Artorius stood on top of the wall, staring at all of the campfires in the distance. Suddenly he was cold, and he wrapped his cloak around him. He did not really mind being on sentry duty, since sleep would be impossible to come by on this night. The drums and war chants could be heard clearly. He wondered what it was they were saying.

“How many do you think there are?” he asked Magnus.

“I don’t know. A lot more of them then there are of us, I’m certain.”

“I just hope Severus has a plan to get us out of this. To be honest I’ve been wondering if this is how Varus’ men felt, when they knew they were cut off and surrounded.”

“Yes, but they didn’t have Severus leading them,” Magnus said. They looked back to see
scorpion crews unpacking their wagons.

“About time we got some use out of them,” Artorius observed, averting his gaze back to his front.

The war chants were growing louder, though it did not look like the Germans were getting any closer.

“Think there’s any chance of them attacking us tonight?” Magnus asked.

“I doubt it,” Artorius answered. “They’ll wait until daylight. These barbarians love to put on a show for all to see. Besides, even disciplined armies have difficulty fighting at night. They would all get lost and probably end up killing each other.”

Magnus laughed quietly at the last remark. Praxus and Decimus came walking over to their position. Though they were not on duty, it seemed curiosity had gotten the best of them.

“I wish they would shut up already,” Decimus growled.

“
It’s not like we don’t know they’re here,” Praxus added. He surveyed the vast numbers of campfires and torches in the distance. He whistled softly as he took it all in. “Damn, there are a lot of them.”

“
There will be a lot fewer after tomorrow,” Decimus retorted with a grim look.

The others looked at him in curiosity.

“Know something we don’t?” Magnus asked with eyebrows raised.

“Oh
, yes,” Decimus replied. “I overheard that Severus has a plan to trap the bastards tomorrow. The reason we are prohibited from making fire and any kind of noise is because that is part of the bait.”

“Lure them in, thinking we are docile and ready for the slaughter
, and then hit them with everything we have,” Artorius observed, gazing into the fire lights in the distance.

“I hope dawn comes soon
. I’d just as soon get it over with,” Magnus replied as he yawned and stretched. “Not that we’ll be able to get any sleep tonight as it is.”

Just then they heard a great commotion as dozens of men made a mad dash to the main gate. They were in an
absolute panic, and some could be heard shouting that the barbarians had breached the wall and they had been overrun.

“What the hell is wrong with
them?” Magnus asked, extremely irritated. “We haven’t been overrun.”

“
Something sure as hell spooked them,” Artorius observed.

As the frightened s
oldiers closed on the main gate, Severus could be seen running from the other direction and dove onto his stomach in front of the mob.

“
Surely none of you will trample your commander.” they heard him shout.

The men stopped in their tracks. Even their overwhelming fear would not allow them to commit such
gross disrespect.

As everyone waited to see what would happen next, a voice could be heard shouting, “It’s just a damn horse that got loose
.”

At that moment,
a centurion ran in between the soldiers and their commander. He was swinging his vine stick violently at anyone in reach.

“
What the hell is this?
You bloody cowards run from a
horse?
By fucking Hades, I’ll give you something to be afraid of!” A wave of profanity spewed forth from his mouth as he beat and chastised those unfortunate enough to be in range of his blows.

The s
oldiers who had fled started running back to their camps, ashamed and humiliated by their conduct. Severus had gotten to his feet and caught up to the enraged centurion. He grabbed the man by the shoulder before he could pursue the fleeing legionaries. The men exchanged a few words, and the centurion seemed to have calmed down some. He gave Severus an affirmative nod as the legate gave him a good-natured smack on the shoulder and walked back to his tent.

“
There’s something you don’t see every day,” Magnus observed.

Artorius snorted
an irritated reply. “I just hope they don’t panic tomorrow when we have a real fight on our hands.”

Chapter XIII: The Trap is Sprung

***

Dawn finally came. As it did, Severus called a meeting of all of the senior officers in each
legion. All Cohort Commanders were present. He sat mounted on his horse as he gazed into the faces of his men. He saw weariness in their eyes from lack of sleep, but also a fierce determination. The embarrassing events of the night before forgotten. Severus swore that he would never mention it in front of his men, especially when, at that moment, they needed inspiration.

“Today the
undisciplined warriors of our enemy, Arminius, will try and do to us what they did to Varus. We will not share their fate. I predict that the Germans will think us beaten and cowering in fear. I look at you, and I look at your men. I see no cowards here. I see men ready to face the barbarians and ready to send those bastards straight to Hades’ door.

“Each
legion will take a side of the perimeter. We will offer only token resistance with
our archers, allowing them to think they have us beaten. Once they close on the wall, we will withdraw our archers. Each legion will have cohorts designated for assault and javelin throwers. As the barbarians come over the walls, we will hammer them with as many javelin volleys as we can. Scorpions will be placed directly behind each gate and behind the javelin throwers. Once the barbarians have been beaten back from the walls, the assaulting elements will open the gates, fire two volleys from the scorpions, and attack. Our best equestrians will lead the attack which they will execute in wedge formation, breaking the German ranks and allowing the infantry time to form up. All officers are hereby ordered to give their horses to the equestrian ranks. To show that I myself will not flee from the battle should things go wrong, I will be the first to hand over my horse.” With that he dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting soldier.

“Whatever happens today, I will share your fate.”

Ingiomerus stood at the head of the horde. All were tense with anticipation. The Roman fort seemed small and insignificant compared to the intimidating might of his warriors. He looked over at the men he commanded. Most carried wicker or wooden shields, with spears or clubs as their primary weapons. Only a few of the more wealthy, like him, carried swords. His was a two-handed broadsword. It was heavy, which he hoped would help him crack through the Roman shields and armor. While his warriors were not as well equipped as their enemy, they were brave and would not falter.

The Romans, on the other hand, were already beaten. There was not a sound coming from their camp. It was as if it were already a tomb. Their hastily thrown up earthworks would do little to slow down the Cherusci and their allies. A few archers could be seen on the
dirt walls. They would be but flies to be swatted away. Ingiomerus raised his sword high and turned to address his warriors.

“The Romans, in their arrogance and recklessness
, have returned to the land of the Cherusci. Today they will join the legions that we vanquished six years ago. Your courage and your strength will carry you today; much plunder and glory will you reap. Destroy everything, leave no one alive.”

The
Cherusci erupted into a series of battle cries as they beat their weapons against their shields, working themselves into a frenzy. Ingiomerus turned back towards the fort, and with a cry of his own, started to run. He was older than most of the other warriors and was slowed down by age and old wounds. It mattered not. Though many of his warriors surged past him, his purpose had been served. He had rallied the Cherusci into a blinding rage. They would surge over the walls of the Roman fort and annihilate their presence, once and for all.

Arminius sat on his horse, watching from the wood lines on the ridge well behind the
band of warriors that were now rushing towards the fort at a dead run. “And so Uncle, how many will perish today because of your recklessness?”

Artorius stood waiting with anticipation. The Twentieth Legion occupied the west wall of the fort and the Third Cohort had been designated to be part of the assault element. They had been directed to give their javelins
to the soldiers behind the ramparts. With the multitude
of barbarians attacking the fort, they would need all the javelins they could get. Artorius could hear the beating of drums and the chants of the barbarians. They were getting close. He stroked the pommel of his gladius.

The cavalry wa
s formed up to their direct front, with a dozen scorpions lined up in front of them, about ten meters
from the gate. Pilate and Dionysus were pacing back and forth behind their machines which were loaded and ready to fire.

The sound of the approaching
enemy grew even louder. Artorius tried to visualize in his mind the sight of their teeming numbers, waves of men coming at them like a tide; a tide that would soon break on the rocks of their shields and swords.

“Archers…draw!”

He looked over to see the archers pull back on their bowstrings. On command, they all loosed their arrows.

What a
sight it must be from their vantage point!
He thought.

Twice more they unleashed their arrows. Artorius wondered how many barbarians had fallen already. It was impossible to know. The noise of their attack was becoming deafening.

“Archers…fall back!”
The command was given as throwing darts and the occasional arrow started to fly from the German ranks.

The archers quickly dismounted the rampart and fell back to their supplementary positions behind the infantry. Several were not fast enough and were felled by the German missiles. Artorius watched as one poor fellow fell off the wall with a spear running through his back and coming out of his chest. The shouts of the barbarians
were enough to chill his blood. He could hear the loud clambering as they stumbled through the ditches and scrambled up and over the rampart.

“Javelins
…ready!”

He heard the command echoed from the
cohorts behind the wall. The legionaries gave a loud shout as they hefted their javelins. It was the first audible sound they had made since coming to the fort. As the Germans came over the rampart, many froze in their tracks at what they saw. Instead of being cowed and frightened, ready for the slaughter, here was an entire army ready to fight. The warriors were suddenly struck with fear as they looked at the wall of armored soldiers, all with javelins ready to unleash. A general panic ensued as the warriors in the back pushed the ones up front forward to their doom.

“Front rank…throw!”

The first volley flew straight into the swarm of barbarians on the wall. They were so densely packed together it was impossible for any of the javelin throwers to miss. Jubilant battle cries were replaced by screams of agony and terror as the first group of warriors fell, skewered on the Roman javelins.

“Second rank…throw!”

Another volley flew home, killing or maiming another wave of barbarians.

“Third rank…throw!”

“Fourth rank…throw!”

“Fifth rank…throw!”

“Sixth rank…throw!”

As each successive wave of barbarians pushed their way to the front, a volley of javelins quickly cut them down. Bodies started to pile up on the wall, many of the
wounded falling off the wall and into heaps on the ground. Seeing the fate of their brethren, the warriors on the wall tried to force their way back through the waves following behind them. Those attempting to smash through the gate were equally confused and dismayed by the repulse of the warriors on the wall. They were completely shocked when suddenly the gates were thrown open.

Ingiomerus could not see what was happening in front of him. The shouts and cries of his warriors sounded different. No longer
did they sound confident and assured of victory. Instead they sounded frightened and confused. There were cries of pain and anguish as well. As he closed on the rampart, he stumbled into the ditch the Romans always dug around their fortifications. He watched as his warriors continued to surge forward, yet there was definitely something wrong. They seemed to be stalled on the rampart. He began to see some fall from the wall, having been stricken by Roman javelins.

“What is happening in there?” he asked himself as he climbed out of the ditch.

As he started up the wall, he was knocked down when a body of a warrior fell on top of him. The man was still alive, though he was ran through the stomach with a javelin. He clawed at the javelin as bile and blood seeped from the wound. Blood erupted from his mouth as he tried to cry out in pain. Ingiomerus could not believe the Romans were mounting any kind of resistance. He
had
to get to the top. He pushed the dying man off of him and started to scramble up the slope. He watched, horrified, as an entire wave of men was suddenly cut down by a volley of javelins not three meters in front of him. Most fell forward into the fort; others collapsed onto the wall or fell back down the slope. Archers and scorpion ballistae added to the carnage.

“No!”
he cried as he saw his warriors starting to waver.

It seemed like every time a group reached the top, they were immediately
felled. With a hoarse cry, he raised his sword and surged to the top. As he gazed over the rampart, the sight was unbelievable. The Romans were anything but beaten. They were formed up in six ranks, all bearing javelins, all looking for a fight. He stared in horror as an entire rank threw their javelins as one. Unable to move, he watched a javelin coming right at him. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his side as his flesh was pierced. Warriors fell all around him. He dropped his sword and grabbed the javelin, knowing if it were allowed to bend, his side would be ripped open. Suddenly he lost his footing and fell down the slope.

The javelin had not gone completely through.
Aware it would make the wound worse, but not knowing what else to do, he wrenched it from his body. Ingiomerus howled in pain as his side was torn asunder. Before he could do anything else, another slain warrior collapsed on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Helpless, he watched as the nearby gates were flung open.