Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (25 page)

“The Turani
are about a half day’s march from here,” the trooper replied. “They are encamped on high ground, though their maneuverability is severely restricted by the forests and rough terrain.”

“
Aside from directly on the road, are there any practical avenues of approach?” Proculus asked.

The cavalryman shook his head.
“None. The rocks and trees will break apart our formations and slow any advance to a crawl.”  Proculus let out a sigh of frustration. With his forces already outnumbered, attacking an enemy entrenched on high ground would be supreme suicide. He was severely pressed for time, yet he would not do Calvinus any good if his cohort was rendered ineffective by excessive casualties.

“And with clear skies and a full moon, our chances of a surprise attack, even at night, are nonexistent,” Centurion Dominus observed.

Indus and Proculus both nodded their heads in acknowledgment.

Macro sat with his chin resting in his hand, deep in thought.
At length he spoke. “Do the Turani even know we are coming?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” the trooper replied, “though they definitely know our cavalry our close by.
We have not risked any kind of sortie against them because of their numbers and advantage of terrain.”

“How many do they have?”
Indus asked.

“About five thousand,” was the reply.
“Our defections were low, and we still have around twelve hundred men ready to fight.”

“That still leaves us in a
sticky predicament, especially if they have the high ground,” Proculus remarked.

“And since
time is not our ally here, we cannot afford to wait them out,” Macro added. “What about a diversionary attack, one that would draw them down from their position?”

“
It’s possible,” Indus answered. “As long as they don’t know about your troops and think their only threat is my cavalry.”

“What do you have in mind, Macro?”
Proculus asked.

“I think we should scout ahead and see just how close we can get to their position before we risk being spotted.
If we get close enough, we can have Indus’ cavalry strike against the Turani. Have them engage just long enough to bait them into pursuit. With no other threats in the area known to them, they will see it as an opportunity to smash the Treveri cavalry and eliminate any chance of being pursued further. Once we have the terrain advantage, we can sweep them.  If we strike hard and quickly enough, we may be able to induce them to panic; they are not professional soldiers.” Macro cracked his knuckles.  “And they do not know our true numbers.”

“
Such a brazen attack may make them think we actually have
them
outnumbered,” Proculus nodded approval. “Alright, a couple of us need to conduct a leaders’ reconnaissance of the enemy positions. Who is coming with me?”

“I’ll go,” Vitruvius immediately answered.

“So will I,” Macro added. “Though I think you should stay, Proculus. If something goes wrong, we cannot very well afford to lose our cohort commander. We will take a couple of men with us.”

“Very well,” Proculus replied.
“It is almost midday. I want you back before nightfall. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Just scout out their positions and find out where we need to stage our forces.” He then turned to the cavalry trooper. “Can you make it back to your regiment without being seen?”

“It took me all night in the dark to
navigate my way around, but in the daylight I’ll be alright.”

“Whatever you do, do
not
allow yourself to be spotted,” Indus emphasized. “The enemy needs to think that all Roman forces are confined to the northeast of their position. Have our men advance towards the Turani. At midday tomorrow we will sortie against them and lure them into the low-lying areas.”

“And once we have taken over their positions, a
cornicen will sound the order for them to come about and attack,” Proculus added.

The trooper nodded in reply and rode off towards the thick forests that covered the hills to their right.

“Artorius!” Macro waved the decanus over to him. “You can ride well enough, can’t you?”

“
Yes, sir,” Artorius replied.

“Good.
You’re coming with us.”

At
that, Artorius removed his helmet and started unlacing the straps of his armor.

“What are you doing?”
Vitruvius asked.

“We won’t get within five miles of the enemy wearing armor and helmets that reflect the sunlight,” he
explained.

Vitruvius frowned.
He and Macro removed their armor and helmets as well. Sergeant Rufio was also selected to accompany them, as were two legionaries from Vitruvius’ century.

The six men kept their eyes and ears open as they rode up the mountain road.
It was steep on both sides, with the right-hand side going up the mountain and the left into the valley below. Both sides were covered in trees and tall grass. Rufio noticed smoke from cooking fires in the distance. He grabbed Macro by the shoulder and pointed towards them. Macro signaled for his contingent to move off the road to their right, into the trees. They moved up the steep slope until it leveled off, allowing their mounts to traverse more easily. Through the mass of trees, they were still able to make out the smoke from the fires. When they were almost parallel to what they surmised was the enemy camp, they dismounted. Rufio and one of Vitruvius’ legionaries stayed with their horses while the rest of the men moved slowly towards the enemy positions.

About fifty meters before where the
tree line opened up, the ground rose sharply. The legionaries got down on their hands and knees and crawled up the embankment. At the top they found they had a perfect vantage point with which to observe the Turani camp. The forest road rose up sharply before leveling off for about three hundred meters. It then dropped back down, continuing on its winding way through the base of the Alpes. Off to their right they could barely make out the camp of Indus’ cavalry, at the base of the next ridgeline. They were keeping their distance, but staying close enough to let the Turani know they were there. With no horsemen of their own, the Turani knew any attempts at smashing the Roman cavalry would be futile.

Directly to their front, on the opposite side of the forest road, was a large meadow that the rebels were encamped in.
It was filled with tall grass and flowering plants, but devoid of the masses of trees. Though the conditions looked cramped, it was indeed large enough for all five thousand of the Turani to camp. Macro noticed a figure wearing a gleaming bronze cuirass and Greek helmet with a magnificent purple plume, walking across the meadow. He immediately recognized the man as Julius Florus, given he had worn the same audacious attire during their skirmish against the Andecavi.

The
centurion felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to his left to see Artorius pointing towards a bend in the forest road. It was about four hundred meters short of where the ground rose up sharply. Six men could be seen milling about; pickets tasked with keeping an eye out for any potential threats. Macro nodded and pointed this out to Vitruvius. Macro then produced a wax tablet and stylus and began making diagrams of the enemy positions. Once he was satisfied, he signaled for them to leave. After linking up with Rufio and their mounts, they made their way slowly back towards their positions. Just out of the enemy pickets’ field of vision, Macro led them back onto the forest road. He then took a piece of red cloth and tied it to one of the trees.

“Here will be the staging point,” he explained in a low voice.
“This is about as close as we can get without running the risk of being spotted.” At about a mile down the road, he stopped and tied off another piece of cloth to a tree.

This particular marker would show where the
cohort would ground all of its gear and the men would ready for battle.

Proculus had the
cohort on the march, and it did not take Macro and the others long to reach them. The cohort commander came out to meet them.

“How far?” he asked
, as the contingent dismounted and gathered around.

“Not five miles,” Macro replied.
“I have sketched out their location and positions. Everything tomorrow hinges on Indus’ cavalry being able to draw them down from their camp.”

“They are not expecting us, however they have posted a small group of pickets to warn against any pending attack,” Artorius added.

Proculus looked over Macro’s scribing in contemplation.
“We will be ready to march at two hours after sunrise,” he said at last.  “We will get into position with plenty of time for the cavalry to execute their diversion.” “Where is Indus?” Vitruvius asked, looking around.

“I sent him back to his regiment.
His task with us was done, and his troopers need him. Alright, go ahead and brief your men on tomorrow’s engagement. Have them start the rotating sentry watch and then get some sleep.”

Artorius lay his head down on his pack. It was a cloudless night, and the moon shone brightly. He placed his hands behind his head and took a deep breath. He was nervous about the pending engagement with the Turani.

Magnus, who had just
returned from sentry duty, picked up on his sergeant’s mood. “Talk to me,” he said as he removed his helmet and sat down.  “You’ve got something on your mind. I can see it in your face.” Artorius continued to stare at the stars, lost in thought

“Oh
, come off it,” Magnus persisted. “Artorius, we have been friends for too many years for you to be able to hide stuff from me. We are all nervous about tomorrow, and it is not just the normal anxiety that comes before combat.”

“I know,” Arto
rius answered. “The entire outcome of this engagement hinges on the ability of Indus’ cavalry to goad the Turani off the high ground. Some of the cavalry have already defected, and I wonder about the loyalty of the rest. They take a great risk by allowing themselves to be used as bait.”

“I think they will do what they can,” Magnus replied.
“Proculus seems to have faith in Indus; otherwise, he would not have allowed him to return to his regiment before the battle.  My worry is whether or not the Turani will take the bait.

“I will be honest with you, Artorius.
This is kind of a weird feeling I have. It is not the sense of dread like what I had before we stormed the Angrivarii stronghold at the end of the Germanic wars. I cannot explain it. Something tells me things are going to go really well tomorrow, and we will rout the rebels without difficulty, or else it will be a complete disaster.”

“Not many probabilities in between” Artorius replied.
He then sighed and rolled onto his side. “Whatever happens next, the die has been cast. Tomorrow we will know if it rolled
Venus
or not.” With that he closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep. He could faintly hear Magnus removing his armor and giving a grunt as he removed each of his sandals.

His friend then gave a loud sigh as
he lay down and stretched his legs. Artorius took another deep breath and let himself be taken by sleep.

The die has been cast.

Chapter XIII: The Die is Cast

***

“General Florus, the Roman cavalry appear to be moving to sortie against us.”

Fl
orus sat up from his nap and waved the warrior off.
About time,
he thought to himself.  Having the Treveri at his heels was slowing his progress, and he needed to get to Augustodunum as soon as possible.  He was angered that so few, less than twenty, had defected in spite of his lavish offers of gold.  He was still licking his wounded pride from having his horse snatched away by the indignant troopers.  He relished the idea of thrashing Indus’ horsemen once and for all, for they were not Treveri warriors, as he was.  Their blind loyalty to Rome deprived them of their heritage and status in Florus’ mind.  They were no longer kin to him. He donned his helmet and walked over to the edge of the camp, where a large number of his warriors were rallying. He gazed down the hill and saw that, indeed, the Treveri were on the move towards them. All were adorned in mail shirts and legionary helmets, each carrying an oblong shield and seven-foot lance. Florus scowled in disgust when he saw Indus himself at the head of the formation.

“So the mighty Julius Indus has betrayed us,” he muttered.
“Form up the rest of the army!”

Aides immediately went about rallying the rest of the Turani force.
As they started to mass along the ridgeline, one of Indus’ equestrians blew a loud note on a cornicen’s horn.

The legionaries of the Third Cohort heard the sound of the horn. All were immediately on their feet, shields and javelins at the ready. Centurions and options signaled for their men to stand easy.

“Easy lads,” Macro said in a low voice.
“We do not move until the second trumpet sounds.”

As he leaned against his shield, Artorius reviewed in his head
, once more, how it all was supposed to work. The forest road allowed for no more than a dozen men abreast, and the entire cohort found itself stretched out in a very long column. Artorius’ section happened to be at the very front of it all, and their job would be to take out the pickets and breach the entrance to the camp. Once inside, the cohort would form up into battle formation and sweep through. Once the camp was cleared, they would launch the brunt of their attack on the Turani, who would hopefully be off the high ground and engaged with the cavalry.

“Indus, you are a traitor and a coward!”
Florus bellowed. “You have sold your very soul to the Roman occupiers!”

“I hav
e come to finish this, Florus!” Indus’ shouted back. “I will not sit back and let a rabble such as yours sow the seeds of rebellion!  Gaul has been at peace for more than seventy years, and you look to unravel it all! Let us settle this and be done!
Archers!
”

At his command, approximately thirty men carrying short bows rode briskly to the front of the formation.
As soon as they halted, they started firing towards the Turani formation. Though the rebels were at the furthest range of the short bows, as well as being uphill, some of the arrows managed to find their mark. A man standing next to Florus gave a high-pitched scream as his upper arm was punctured. Another took an arrow straight through the side of his neck. He fell to the ground in a thrashing heap, clawing at the flights of the arrow as blood gushed from his jugular and spewed from his mouth. Florus seethed in rage at Indus’ audacity.

“General Florus, we must attack!” one of the sub chiefs shouted.

Florus drew his sword and pointed towards the Roman cavalry.
“
Destroy the traitors
!” he roared.  “Leave none alive!” With a battle cry that had not been sounded since their ancestors stood against Julius Caesar, the Turani charged.

Indus gave a grim smile as he braced himself for the pending onslaught.
His archers continued to pick off small numbers of rebels as the distance between the two forces rapidly closed.

“Lances ready!”
Besides Indus, only his senior officers carried swords.

Their men lowered their lances and braced themselves.
The trumpeter had just enough time to sound the second order before the Turani smashed into their ranks.

Proculus and the rest of the cohort stood up as they heard the second trumpet call. Artorius closed his eyes briefly and breathed a sigh of relief. Without a word, they started to quick step towards the battle.  As they rounded the bend in the road, the cohort increased its pace and stared to move at a jog. Artorius was surprised to see that all of the pickets had their backs to them, intention trying to listen to the battle between their forces and Indus’ cavalry. By the time they were aware of the sound of Roman soldiers rushing towards them, it was too late.

Decimus loosed his javelin just as one turned around.
It impacted the man square in the chest, penetrating through his heart. The man was dead, his eyes hollow and lifeless, yet he stood there still, his hand clutching the shaft of the javelin, which had stuck itself into the ground.

Carbo threw his just as one of the pickets started to turn and run.
It struck the rebel in the back of the leg, knocking him to the ground, where he lay screaming in pain and terror. Carbo drew his gladius and, without missing a step, swung his weapon hard in an underhand slash. His blow cleaved through the man’s jugular, as well as his esophagus. The remaining pickets fled at a dead run, quickly outdistancing the advancing legionaries, who continued to move together at a fast jog.

Indus swung his sword in desperation and rage. His men were better trained and equipped than their adversaries; however, they were getting overwhelmed. He brought his sword down and crushed the exposed head of one of the Turani, bone and brain matter spraying everywhere. He felt his shield arm quiver under the blow of another enemy before one of his men ran the rebel through with his lance. Indus knew they had to pull back soon, as his men were starting to fall under the force of the wave of Turani warriors. He brought his sword around in an underhand swing. He felt the sickening crunch as it cleaved through the neck of a Turani rebel. His horse reared up in the face of enemy spears, nearly throwing him.

“Fall back!”
he shouted.

His cavalrymen started to turn their mounts around and ride away from the battle.
He prayed that the Roman infantry had timed their attack well and would be right behind them.

Broehain ran his sword through one of the Treveri cavalrymen that had fallen from his horse. His pent up rage and aggravation was boiling over as they fought the traitors of Indus’ cavalry. His last battle had been a complete disaster and he wished to atone for it. His warriors had been ambushed and slaughtered by the Romans in what was supposed to be a ruse, those who survived goaded into continuing to fight for Sacrovir and Florus.

They had rallied even more of their men, along with numerous Treveri,
and had hoped to subvert Indus’ cavalry. The gall of those bastards, not only refusing to return in fealty to their heritage but also attempting to hunt them like animals, was insufferable. They should have been in Augustodunum a week ago! Now, at least, they were able to take their revenge on the traitors. The Treveri started to retreat, their losses mounting.

“Come on!”
he shouted, waving his men towards their fleeing enemy. He did not care that his foe was mounted; they would catch many of them before they could escape.

The guards at the far entrance to the Turani camp were completely surprised when their own pickets rushed past them in a panic. They, too, had been listening to the sounds of the battle and were oblivious to the threat fast approaching them.

“The Romans are coming!”
one of the frightened pickets shouted as he ran for his life. 

The guards turned around and gasped in horror as they saw a host of Roman
legionaries bearing down on them. The lead guard opened his mouth to sound the alarm when a Roman javelin slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. It had been a perfect hit, directly through the heart. His makeshift breast plate had done little to stop the force of the blow, his punctured heart convulsing in death as it shot spurts of blood through the gaping wound.

Artorius threw his javelin as hard as he could and watched as it slammed into the chest of one of the Turani guards. The force of his throw knocked the man completely off his feet. As he drew his gladius, he watched Gavius throw his javelin with even greater force, skewering one of the rebels through the neck and pinning the twitching corpse to a nearby wagon.

“Nice!” he
said in genuine admiration.

The rest of the men out front unleashed their javelins on the hapless rebels as a skirmish ensued over by the cluster of wagons staged near the camp entrance.

“Macro, secure this area!” Proculus ordered.  “I’ll take the rest of the cohort and push through.”

“Sir!” the junior
centurion acknowledged.

As the remainder of the
cohort started to push through the camp, killing whatever stragglers they found, the Second Century proceeded to finish off those poor souls who had been tasked with defending Florus’ precious cargo in his wagons.

“The Romans have breached the camp!” one of the terrified pickets shouted to Florus as he ran up to him, out of breath and at his wit’s end.

“Impossible,” Florus replied, casually.
“We have the Roman cavalry on . . . the . . . run . . .” His words died off as he looked in horror at the sight of Roman legionaries sweeping through his camp. What drove him to madness was the handful of soldiers who could be seen milling about his wagons.

“My money!” he despaired.
He then started to grab whoever was nearest and pointed them towards this newest threat. “Save the wagons!”

Any rebels not directly engaged with Indus’ cavalry turned about to face this new threat.

“There aren’t supposed to be any bloody legionaries in this region!” one despaired.

“I don’t care about the money,” another stammered.
“It does me no good if I am dead.”

Florus grabbed the man by his shock of unkempt hair and cuffed him on the ear.

“Well I care about the money, you fucking coward!” he shouted at the man. “You sorry cocks wanted to fight the legions, well now is your chance!”

He shoved the Turani towards the wagons where several dozen of his companions were attacking; a sense of desperation
overcoming them.  Florus was so fixated on his precious treasure that he scarcely acknowledged the legionaries that were ransacking his camp.

Artorius stopped and caught his breath as he surveyed the action going on around them. The cohort had almost finished clearing the main camp and was starting to sweep towards the road and the main battle. As he looked down the road itself, he saw a number of Turani rushing towards them. His eyes grew wide as he turned around and butted Valens with his shield.

“Form it up!” he ordered.

“Oh shit!” Valens swore as he caught sight of the enemy coming towards them. He immediately started rallying the rest of the section. “Online!”

Artorius
gave a shout towards two of the other sections that were close by.
“Rufio, Ostorius, on me!”
  As Artorius set into his fighting stance, the rest of his section fell in on his left.

“Section set!”
he heard Magnus shout.

In his peripheral
vision, he could just make out Rufio’s and Ostorius’ sections forming up to the left of his. He took a deep breath, knowing that by placing himself on the extreme right he was in a precarious position.
“Advance!”
he shouted. As the three sections moved towards their enemy, those with javelins disgorged them as soon as the Turani were in range. Their impact made the rest of the rebels halt in their tracks, their uncertainty apparent. Already they were rattled by the mere presence of legionaries; the sights and screams of their dying companions causing their fear to overtake them.

Artorius smiled sinisterly as he issued his next order.
“Charge!”
The Romans hit the Turani at a run, their shields linked together, smashing into the rebels like a human battering ram. As waves of Turani were felled by the force of their onslaught, legionaries quickly slew them.

Artorius plunged his gladius into the throat of a stricken rebel.
This was a favorite target for him; it ensured a quick death and was usually not as well protected as the heart. The sight of gushing blood reassured him subconsciously that his foe was dying and no longer a threat. The mass of rebels scrambled away, reforming in time to watch their less fortunate friends butchered and disemboweled by legionary blades. Tears of anguish filled many an eye. For the majority, this was not the first time they had been lulled into a massacre by the legions of Rome. Most had fought in Sacrovir’s mock battle and been taken prisoner after the Romans attacked them from behind. And now, seemingly out of thin air, more legionaries had descended upon them; inflicting suffering and death. One particularly young man lost all control of his fear and sobbed loudly in despair.