Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (23 page)

Chapter XII: At the Ahenobarbi Bridges

***

“This is absolute
shit!
” Valens swore as he sank up to his waist in the foul smelling swamp. The marshes surrounding the Ahenobarbi bridges were unusually flooded, which made working on the bridges themselves an even bigger chore.

“They don’t pick the best terrain for us to travel, now do they?” Magnus mused as he handed Valens a piece of timber to replace a sodden brace on the underside of the bridge.

“This is worse than that crap we had to slog our way through in Teutoburger,” Valens continued, taking the timber support from Magnus.

“What I don’t get,” Artorius said as he waded through the marsh with a coil of rope over his shoulder, “is the rivers are not
swollen above their banks. There hasn’t been an excess amount of rain this summer, so there is really no reason for the area to be this swampy.”

“I know, it’s like we’re walking through a damn lake,” Praxus said as he and Decimus brought more timber up.

They looked over to see where the sentries were posted. They were nearly up to their knees in water, and all looked nervous about their predicament.

Praxus shook his head. “If we come under attack here, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

“If we do, I hope it comes after the fort is done,” Valens said, looking across the river to where other working parties were digging the ditches and building the palisades.

They continued to work on the supports underneath the bridge until they ran out of supplies. As they crawled out from underneath the bridge a war horn sounded in the distance. All paused, as if stricken.

“You have got to be kidding,” Magnus said.

The horn sounded again, this time accompanied by the sounds of battle cries.

“Afraid not,” Artorius said, as he reached for his helmet, javelin, and shield.

All s
oldiers had stacked their arms by sections where they could quickly be reached. Unfortunately, there was no dry place for them to do this, so most of their shields were soaked through the bottom half by the time they picked them up.

“O
nline…two ranks!”
Centurion Macro shouted.

In spite of the difficulty in slogging
through the swampy water, all soldiers were soon formed up, shield to shield, one rank directly behind the other. Artorius stood behind a soldier from Sergeant Ostorius’ section. He knew that in a defensive engagement if the enemy used missile weapons, his job would be to provide overhead cover for both himself and the soldier in front of him. The man in front would provide frontal protection.

Suddenly the Germans were
in sight. They mostly carried slings, throwing spears, and a few bows. All were stripped practically naked. This was a harassment attack. As they surged forward, they unleashed a torrent of sling stones, arrows, and spears.

“Down!”
Macro shouted.

As one, the s
oldiers in the front rank dropped to one knee, keeping their shields in front, linked together. The soldiers in the back rank raised their shields overhead, dropped to one knee and placed their shields over their own heads, as well as those of the soldiers in front of them. As Artorius dropped down, the water level was up to his chest. He heard stones and arrows skip off their wall of shields. He looked to his right and saw other units similarly engaged.

“Up! Javelins
… ready!”

As the
century rose to its collective feet, the Germans turned and ran back out of range.

“Damn!” Macro
swore under his breath. “Is anybody hit?”

Decani
immediately checked their men before replying back.

“We’re alright
.”

“We’re good
.”

“Nobody’s hit
.”

“Here they come again
.” Optio Valgus called out.

Another wave of missile throwers came at the
century.

“Javelins
… ready!”
Macro shouted.

The Germans were closing fast.
It would be a matter of timing: release their javelins and drop back down behind their shield wall before the Germans could unleash. The swampy terrain had to be factored in since it would impede movement and their javelin throwing abilities. Macro thought about all of these things in the few seconds before the Germans were within range of their javelins.

“Front rank…throw!”
He shouted.

The men in the front rank raised their javelins and stepped forward as they threw.

“Down!”
Macro yelled as the Germans loosed their own volley.

There was no time to see if their javelins struck home or not. The Romans had barely dropped down and raised their shields as the German missiles rained down upon them. Artorius heard a cry of pain from somewhere to his left. Somebody had been hit
. There was no time to think about it. A second rank of barbarians, all carrying spears and shields, charged past their companions with the missiles.

“Up!”
The centurion ordered.
“Second rank…throw!”

Artorius slogged through the marsh past
the soldier in front of him, quickly picked out a target, and threw his javelin. The Germans were right on top of them. His javelin flew in a short arc, scoring a precise hit on a warrior not five meters in front of him. The javelin had pierced the man’s heart, and he was dead before he hit the water. Artorius barely had time to draw his gladius before the barbarians collided with their lines.

A burly German crashed into his shield, trying to knock him down. His balance was completely off as he struggled in the marsh. The bottom of his shield dragged through the water, making it nearly impossible for him to punch his opponent. He rapidly jabbed with his gladius, but the barbarian was keeping his distance, and his weapon skipped off the man’s shi
eld. All up and down the line, legionaries were having similar difficulties. A barbarian slammed his body into Carbo’s shield, knocking him down. Fortunately, it also offset the German, and a soldier in the second rank quickly stepped forward and stabbed the barbarian in the throat. Then, as suddenly as it began, the Germans retreated. The Romans watched as the barbarians formed up in the tree lines and started waving their weapons and shouting insults that the Romans could not understand.

Artorius stood
panting and frustrated. Three soldiers had been wounded in the exchange. Macro quickly gave orders for them to be evacuated across the bridge to the fort. The ground over there was relatively dry and even; a much better place to fight a battle, if only they could get their damn wagons across. He looked around, wondering who was hurt. Then he heard a voice call out.

“Valgus is down!”

Statorius and Vitruvius struggled to lift the wounded optio out of the murky water. He had been relaying orders and too slow in dropping down behind his shield. A spear had plunged into his hip, and he was bleeding badly. He groaned in pain as he fought to remain conscious. As they lifted him up, one overzealous barbarian ran forward in an attempt to finish him off. As he did, Vitruvius snarled and wrapped an arm in a choke hold around the German, gave a horrific jerk, and snapped his neck.

“Get him to the fort
.” Macro ordered.

“Sir
.” Statorius acknowledged.

Vitruvius and Statorius took their sections to act as
escorts as they carried the wounded away. Valgus was by far the worst off. As they got to the fort, doctors were already setting up tables and had their instruments ready. Valgus had passed out, and his skin was pale and clammy. The doctors worked frantically to stop his bleeding. Artorius stood watching as Statorius grabbed him by the collar.

“Come on
!” the decanus yelled. “We have to get back to the line.”

The rest of the morning passed in relative quiet as the Romans quickly tried to finish the work on the bridges while the Germans watched and taunted. Soon
, orders were given to form the entire army up into a hollow square. First Legion was to take the front, Fifth and Twenty- First the flanks; the Twentieth took the rear. All wagons were placed in the center. Slowly the cumbersome formation started its move towards the bridges. On the other side, the fort awaited their occupation. Artorius watched as the Germans slowly started creeping towards them. Shit, there were a lot of them. More than twenty thousand legionaries were formed up in the hollow square, yet Artorius could not help but feel they were hopelessly outnumbered.

Without warning, Cornicens on the flanks sounded the call to double-time.
The Fifth and Twenty-First Legions started to take off at a run towards the bridges; their move very deliberate and organized. Artorius wondered if there had been a mix up in the orders.

“What the hell are they doing?” Magnus swore.

“They’re leaving the baggage trains exposed,” Praxus replied.

“Not to mention our backsides
.” Artorius observed.

War horns sounded
, and the Germans charged. Legate Severus was riding amongst the baggage trains, trying to restore order. Artorius looked in horror as their commanding general was suddenly swarmed by the enemy. Quickly, Master Centurion Flavius rode up on his horse.

“First, Second
, and Third Cohorts to the commander.”
He shouted as he drew his gladius.

With a loud cry, the three
cohorts formed up in battle lines and rapidly advanced towards the Germans attacking their legate. The barbarians, upon seeing the Romans bearing down on them, gave up their assault on the legate and his bodyguard cavalry, and instead quickly grabbed what they could from the supply wagons, killed the pack animals, and fled.

As they approached their
commander, Artorius saw that Chief Tribune Strabo was with Severus. His face and his sword were covered in blood, and he was breathing heavily. Severus nodded in thanks when Flavius rode up to him.

“We cannot save the baggage trains,” he told Flavius. “Get your men across and over to the fort. Thankfully
, most of the rations and all of the artillery made it across. We just may end up sleeping on the ground tonight.”

“Yes
, sir,” Flavius answered.

As they marched into the fort, everyone knew right away where to head. The layout of a legionary fort was always the same, and every soldier from the legate down to the lowest legionary knew exactly where his place was within her. This time there was a conspicuous lack of tents and other baggage. The barbarians had taken full advantage of the time they had been given to make off with much of the Romans’ supplies and equipment.

It’s going to be a long night,
Artorius thought. He looked around and saw that most of the legionaries were obviously distraught, though he doubted it was because they would be sleeping on the ground without a tent. No, there was something more to it.

“Dear gods, did you see how many of them there were?” Carbo said, staring at the ground.

“I didn’t know there were that many souls in this entire festering hellhole of a land.” Valens added.

Just then
, Flaccus came walking up to talk with Statorius and the other decani. With Valgus down, it fell upon Flaccus to temporarily take over his duties. Even though Camillus was technically senior to the tesserarius, his position as signifier was too crucial for him to vacate. It was still understood should Macro fall, he would take command of the century. Artorius heard them talking about how no fires would be permitted that night, and noise discipline was to be enforced to the utmost.

“Well
, I guess we get to eat our supper cold tonight,” he muttered.

“
No fireside banter either,” Carbo mused.

“Like we need to hear more stories about tavern wenches and their mythical sisters,” Gavius scoffed.

“Alright, everyone gather around,” Statorius said. “As you have already heard, no fires tonight, and absolute noise discipline will be enforced. You can bet the Germans will be making all sorts of racket tonight to try and unnerve us. That’s fine, let them. In the morning, we will lay a little trap for them. Macro is getting all of the details right now. Suffice it to say, I think we may soon get the chance to inflict a little payback on these bastards.”

Artorius smiled at the thought.
“How’s Valgus?”

“The doctors think he’ll live,” Statorius said, “but with the extent of his injuries and the loss of blood alone, I doubt that we’ll be seeing him back
any time soon; they had to cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding, and I fear his leg muscle will never be the same.” 

The thought of their
optio lying in a pile of rags soaked in his own blood and fluids, barely clinging to life, left a somber attitude on them. It was a sight that contrasted greatly with that of the strong, confident man who had drilled them through recruit training.

Vitruvius went to visit his old friend that night. Valgus lay on a cot, one of the few that had not been taken by the barbarians when their baggage trains
were raided. He had fresh bandages on his wound, a change from the blood soaked rags from earlier. He was awake and in obvious pain. He smiled at the sight of Vitruvius as he came walking up. Valgus reached out a hand and clasped Vitruvius’ with surprising strength. There was still a lot of fight left in the optio.