Trebonius was an unknown quantity to all.
And as for this Caninius, who was all-but new to Caesar’s army? Well, no one knew what to expect. Still, now everything was down to him — Quadratus. If only these damned Eburone warriors would show up.
‘Centurion? Sound unit recalls for half the men. I want the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth centuries to start pulling back and secure the entrance to the valley. The First, Second and Third can move on for another half mile or so, and then turn back and rejoin the rest. We’re chasing shadows here.
The unit musicians blasted out on their cornus and buccinas, directing the different centuries and Quadratus sighed deeply. This damned forest was killing him by degrees. It had started with his sense of humour, then abraded his enthusiasm, finally chipping at the veneer of his confidence, and was starting to work on hollowing out his will to live. Eight days the army had been assigned to the forest, and he was only on the morning of day five. There would be another three days of this nightmare before they returned to legate Cicero’s camp. And unless someone else was having a lot more luck than Quadratus, all they’d have to show for it was a lot of dead farmers and burned huts, and still no lead on the lunatic Ambiorix. Which meant, of course, given what everyone knew of Caesar’s vow to kill the man, that the legions would almost certainly be given only a momentary breather and then sent back into the forest for a second shift.
‘Bollocks!’ he said to himself, with feeling. The senior centurion smiled knowingly at him.
A strange honk turned into a squeak in the middle of the chaos of musical calls and centurions’ whistles, and Quadratus scanned the various musicians to identify the discordant culprit. As his eyes fell upon the cornicen responsible, he was already reaching out to grab the centurion’s shoulder.
‘Ambush!’ he bellowed, watching as the musician fell, his long, curved instrument tipped and a stream of blood pouring from the end, choked through the mouthpiece while the arrow through his neck pumped blood into his throat.
Now other missiles were thrumming from the various hollows and cave mouths in the sandstone valley walls.
‘Ambush!’ he yelled again, the senior centurion taking up the call to arms. Other centurions and optios began to issue orders and within a matter of heartbeats the centuries were reforming into testudos, their shields forming boxes to protect them from the arrows and sling stones.
Quadratus scanned the cliffs and threw himself urgently to one side as an arrow whipped past.
‘Move! Each century make for the nearest cave or the cliff edge. Get inside under cover if you can!’
The call was repeated and Quadratus’ cohort split into six groups, the various native scouts and officers straggling along, not part of the defensive formations. Taking advantage of the fact that he carried no pilum or shield, Quadratus ducked nimbly behind a tree and then, keeping his eyes on the cliff, moved from bole to bole towards the sheer red-brown valley wall, keeping pace with the armoured units further along. Behind him there was a cry of agony and he turned to see the senior centurion, already sporting two feathered shafts, lifted by a third and hurled into the river, where he disappeared from sight.
This would never have happened under Labienus’ command, he grunted through gritted teeth while he scurried to the edge of the valley. As the centuries reached the cliff, their shields went above their heads, creating a solid roof, worrying less about the possibility of ground shots as their assailants began to drop rocks from the cliff entrances. Some of the luckier units managed to find wide cave entrances and moved into them.
Quadratus ducked along the edge of the cliff, eyeing the pitted surface with interest, until he reached another group of soldiers. ‘Did you notice how many caves?’ he asked as he ducked under the shield roof.
‘Several dozen, sir,’ the optio answered, ‘but only maybe ten that were wide enough for a man.’
Above Quadratus, rocks, stones and arrows pounded the shelter, and a narrow iron arrowhead punched through, emerging a few finger widths from his nose. He tried to stop shaking.
‘There are handholds carved in the rock,’ he said quietly. ‘I ran past two sets between here and those trees. That’s the only way in to the higher ones.’
‘We could starve them out?’ the optio asked hopefully.
‘Unlikely. This is a bolt-hole, so it’s probably well-stocked, and we have nothing. They’d have us dead to hunger before they emerged. We’ve only got one option as I see it, since we’ve no missile troops with us.’
The optio listened nervously, blinking occasionally as Quadratus outlined his thoughts.
‘Alright, sir. We’ll have to be quick, though.’
‘Give the preparatory order,’ the commander said quietly. The optio turned and passed on the orders, seeing them repeated down the lines, so that each man in each century knew what they were doing.
‘Let’s hope I do’, thought Quadratus, eyeing the score of dead legionaries out across the narrow grass strip of the valley. Above, yet more rocks pounded the shield roof, the occasional squawk announcing where they had penetrated the defence. Under the shield-shelter, every other man passed his pilum to a tent mate and, as soon as all six centuries had called their readiness, the optio looked at Quadratus.
‘Do it!’
Like the ground parting in an earthquake, the shield roof split in half, three centuries’ worth of legionaries taking half a dozen sharp steps back and pulling back their arms, pilum readied. Without waiting for an order, they each released, every man having picked a target from among the wide, weathered holes in the sandstone wall.
With a clatter and crash, accompanied by a surprisingly — and satisfyingly — high number of pained shrieks, the pila arced up and into the cave mouths. Even before they struck, though, the rest of the men, abandoning their shields to the ground, began to clamber quickly up the handholds towards the caves above, other soldiers crowding around the bottom, eagerly awaiting their turn.
The legionaries out on the grass hurriedly extricated the extra pilum from their spare hand, where it was held behind the shield, and readied it for a second wave. Quadratus was kicking himself for having agreed to leaving the spare pila back with the supplies for ease of movement in the woods, but at least they’d brought one each. Some of the cohorts had elected to travel without pila at all for speed.
Pausing, Quadratus counted to six. No good aiming the second volley too quickly — targets would be fewer and the climbing soldiers in more danger. On six, he gave the wave to the centurion out with the lines of men, who dropped his arm. The second wave of two hundred pila rose into the air just as — satisfyingly — the heads of the defenders emerged once again, preparing to drop more rocks. The pila wreaked a terrifying toll on the Eburones, and Quadratus smiled in relief as he saw the first legionary haul himself up into the mouth of a cave and realised he had time to draw his sword before moving in.
Devoid of further pila, the men back across the grass ran forward. Raising their shields, they formed a roof over the legionaries who waited to climb as the Belgic missile attack began again, though much lighter and in dribs and drabs. A number of the cave mouths were now being contested by angry legionaries.
Quadratus sighed and stepped back as he watched an Eburone archer, bow still in hand, suddenly appear from a cave mouth, mid-fight, stumbling backwards into the abyss, the legionaries below opening up their shield roof to allow him the room to plunge to the ground and land in a crack of splintering bones.