The scout nodded at his commander’s gesture and cupped a hand to his ear meaningfully.
Quadratus tried to steady his thumping heart and listened carefully. The general mob noise of battle was all he could hear, and it sounded exactly the same to him as it had the past three times they had paused to listen since nearing their objective.
No. Different, now that he concentrated. The main clash of battle had become more distant, muted by the tense bulk of the army gathered between. The other cavalry force had drawn the Gallic riders away to the far side of the field as they had intended. It was the only explanation.
With a nod, Quadratus had his signifer wave the standard and ready for the advance. The unit would move up the slope as quietly as possible to maintain the element of surprise until the very last moment, and would then break into a charge as soon as they could see the command party and target the Treveri leader.
With quiet speed, the horsemen urged their mounts up the rise, which at this point seemed to be so much higher than when they had descended to the river, perhaps twice as high in fact. Logic dictated that the same plateau could only be the same height above the same river, but clearly something about the landscape had thrown out that particular bit of logic and the rise was difficult on horseback. Quadratus was immensely grateful, though, that he was climbing it rather than trying to coax a horse safely down it.
He was impressed with the Gauls in his small force on two counts: firstly their surprising level of control over their mounts. The ease with which the auxiliary volunteers mounted the slope took him quite by surprise, and a number of them could have taught his regulars a thing or two — though in fairness, when it came to the act of joining battle, the reverse would certainly be true.
The second was that the units were not vying with each other for prime position in the coming fight, which was the normal Gallic way, each man desperate for the most glorious and prestigious kill. Instead they were holding to their given formations almost as tightly as his own regular ala, each unit staying in position behind his lead.
If he were to be uncharitable, he might suspect that to be a matter of letting him and his men fall into the shit first…
Quadratus was the first to crest the slope, with his regulars arrayed behind him and his signifer by his side, standard lowered so as not to give any more advance warning than necessary
‘Oh, shit.’
It had been the signifer that had spoken, but he had voiced Quadratus’ own thoughts.
Certainly most of the enemy cavalry had been committed to the far side of the plateau to deal with the more major cavalry feint. Only a few hundred at most had stayed with the command group and that would not have been a great issue. The problem was that the Gallic commanders were fleeing the field, with that remaining cavalry about them. And that meant riding for the ford.
The result was that Quadratus crested the ridge at a steady pace only to see several hundred Gallic cavalry, along with their chieftains, musicians and signifers, bearing down on him at breakneck pace. A little more worrying than that was the fact that behind them, he could see the bulk of the Treveri force turning and taking to their heel in his direction too.
The other cavalry attack had been extremely effective. Over-effective, in fact. It had totally broken the already-flagging spirit of the Treveri army, and the entire force was now turning to leave the field, only to find Quadratus — and his roughly two hundred and fifty men — directly between them and the ford.
Desperation gripped the commander. Suddenly things looked rather worrying, and they had perhaps a count of thirty at best before the Gallic cavalry reached them. Would the Treveri slow to engage, or…?
A slow smile spread across his face as he realised the approaching riders, rather than slowing down, had increased their pace! They were moving to charge the Romans. Idiots.
He was suddenly filled with a smug sense of relief that over the past day he had given the auxiliary cavalry extensive tuition in the various calls, orders and standard relays for different manoeuvres, not knowing what Labienus had planned. The result was that he could be relatively confident that he had a good Roman command over the native force behind him.
‘Sound the ‘halt’ and the ‘form line’.’
The signifer had the effrontery to look puzzled, but his professionalism prevented any real insubordination, and he waved the standard madly. For a moment, Quadratus worried whether the Gauls under his command would manage to form up as intended, but their control over their beasts was truly excellent, and in a matter of heartbeats the bulk of his force was forming a line only two riders deep at the crest of the ridge, others still arriving up the slope behind them and falling in to make a third line where the terrain allowed.
He remembered with a smile that the native scout was still close by, and explained his plan in a few short words, which was then relayed with shouted orders in both directions along the line.
‘Shields forward, spears out!’ he bellowed.
The signifer and the native scout relayed the command. A count of ten…
‘Ready!’
Eight…
‘Signifer!’
Six…
The man nodded, fingers ready on the standard.
Four…
‘Now.’
Simultaneous with his call, the scout relayed it in the local dialect and the signifer waved the flag, giving the command to form squares by ala. It was an infantry-style manoeuvre usually carried out with precision in drills or with the leisure of awaiting the call to attack an enemy.
But not usually with only two heartbeats before a rabid charging enemy crashed into you.
All along the line, the formation disintegrated as men moved into their new positions. With thirty two men in each ala — the Gauls had been befuddled at being organised into Roman unit sizes — the square was perhaps six men wide and near the same deep. Of course, the native levies could not be expected to form with the same sort of precision as his regulars, who created a good solid forward edge and powerful wings, but left the centre and rear less compact, yet their efforts were laudable and more controlled than he would have expected.
Quadratus would have laughed out loud, had he not been suddenly thrown into deep combat as the fleeing Treveri cavalry charged him. The sudden forming of a line had led the enemy to believe that they had an easy — and stupid — kill awaiting them. But as the line reformed into blocks the enemy suddenly discovered that the majority of their number were racing at unstoppable speed over the crest of a slope that disappeared at a steep gradient towards the fast, icy torrent of the Mosella below.
More than half the Treveri cavalry charge swept helplessly through the empty space where the Roman forces had been only moments before. While the odd one managed to regain some sort of control and slow themselves or direct their descent and a few found themselves engaged with Quadratus’ men who had not quite got out of the way, most of those charging Gauls instead found themselves hurtling unstoppably down the hill, faster and steeper than their mounts could cope with.
The result was carnage.
Quadratus knew what it would look like, though he could hardly turn to see the slope covered in fallen riders and downed, injured horses. Of the perhaps one hundred and fifty horses that had passed between the Roman squares, they would be lucky if two dozen made it to the river bank alive. The slope would be an appalling sight.
The cavalry charge of the Treveri had failed dismally, and those who had still found themselves facing an enemy had crashed into a solid block of riders rather than a wavering double line, only to grind to a halt in a brutal horseback melee.
Quadratus hacked and chopped with his blade, his shield held forward and moving up and down with the enemy’s strokes in an attempt to protect his torso or legs and steed as required. The cold, damp air was supplemented with a faint drizzle of pink as the numerous blows from both sides sent arterial spray up into the morning atmosphere. Half a Gaul’s hand whirled past lazily in the air — victim of some stroke Quadratus never even saw.