Observing the action from atop his horse behind the ranks, General Fabius, the legate of the Tenth Legion, considered that the action was going very well. With the Belgic ranks repulsed, at least temporarily, the frontline legionaries had the opportunity to dress ranks and cut the throats of any wounded Belgae at their feet. They only had to contend with the ineffectual arrow barrage that had not stopped throughout the engagement. The Ninth and Tenth were holding. How things were going over on the right side of the line, nearly three miles away, was anyone's guess. That part of the line was hidden from view by a tall row of hedges that ran along the road marking the center of the battlefield. Fabius assumed the other four legions were meeting with similar success. These Belgae really weren't as fearsome fighters as the stories hyped them up to be, Fabius thought, as he observed the mass of men skulking in the river shallows. Several hundred of the Belgic rabble had already fallen to the javelins, and he still had two lines that had not yet engaged. Let the bastards try to rush the line again, and he would give them another taste of the pilum barb. His men could stand here and fight until no Belgae remained brave enough to charge up that hill.
At that moment, a cluster of riders reined in beside him. He was not particularly surprised to see Caesar among them. The proconsul was probably darting all over the battlefield that he might claim his generalship won the day.
"How do you fair, Fabius?" Caesar asked, the long plume of his helmet stretching out behind him as he got control of his mount. The Belgic arrows were making the beast nervous.
"We can stand here all day, General, if that is what you desire."
Fabius saw the Gallic bodyguard ride up now, followed by Senator Valens, who examined the lines once and then took on an expression of grave concern.
"They appear to be forming again, Caesar," the senator said to the proconsul. "Hadn't you best order a withdrawal, while there is still time?"
Caesar shot him a brief look of disbelief before turning his attention back to the enemy. "Are you mad, Valens? I have them where I want them, now," turning to the legate he said, "Fabius, take your legion and the Ninth and assault the enemy. Push them back across the river."
"Begging your pardon, Caesar, but we hold the advantage in our present positions. By all appearances, they mean to come at us again. Would it not be wiser to stay on the defensive?"
"And let them melt into the forest only to fight us again someday? I hardly think so, General. They are ready to break. Take your legion and break them. Let your javelins fly, and then drive them, Fabius! Drive them! Kill as many as you can."
"Yes, Caesar."
Valens observed Caesar with trepidation as the smug proconsul watched his orders being relayed to the cohorts, and then put into execution. The bastard was nearly salivating. And why shouldn't he? By all appearances, this was shaping up to be another great victory. The Ninth and Tenth legions had lost but a few men, and now the two legions advanced down the slope, the front liners brandishing the tips of crimson-stained gladii before their shields. Shrinking at the approaching Romans, the Atrebates ignored the pleas of their officers and made for the river in a confused rush. At this, the second and third Roman lines released their javelins deep into the ranks of the retreating foe. Four thousand barb-tipped pila fell amongst the panicked conscripts, piercing blue-painted backs and knocking warriors by the hundred face-first into the muddy shallows. Flailing bodies and wooden shafts hindered the escape of those closest to the oncoming Romans. Then, like a storm of metal, the legionaries were upon them. The gladii wrought their terrible harvest, maiming and killing the out-matched spearmen until the river ran red. Commius, too, fell under the gladius, whilst trying to reform his men, his last breath cursing Boduognatus's blunder and calling for his son, Commius the younger, also fighting in the ranks, to avenge his death.
Valens watched hopelessly as the Belgic formations, now little more than a mob, disintegrated before the Ninth and Tenth Legions. This was far from the ignoble defeat he had expected. At that moment, a giant bolt hummed over Valens's head and landed squarely in the center of the Belgae ranks, skewering two men, and sending those in the immediate vicinity into a panic. The senator looked to the rear and saw that some of the artillery had managed to disentangle itself from the impedimenta, and were now assembled and fully operational, launching their giant projectiles over the Roman ranks to wreak havoc among the packed Belgic lines. Valens glanced over to the center of the battlefield where it appeared that the enemy massed before the Eleventh and Eighth legions were also faltering.
Valens cursed his own stupidity for trusting the battle to Boduognatus. The Nervii fool could not fight his way out of the Vestal Virgins’ house. Could he not see that speed and concentration of force were the only means to victory? Valens had foregone giving the Belgic chieftain a military advisor, fearing the presence of a Roman on Boduognatus's staff might have caused a ripple in the Belgic alliance, but now he wished he had done otherwise. The Ninth and Tenth legions were pushing onto the opposite bank now, the Belgic warriors before them nothing more than a confused mass. Most struggled to get away. A few stood firm only to be cut down by the indomitable thrusts of the gladii. Once these troop had routed, the Belgic center would be in jeopardy, too.
"We have them, Valens!" Caesar exclaimed gleefully. "We have them! Did you ever see finer legions?"
At that moment, a cluster of Roman officers arrived from the rear, their horses lathered from hard riding. The officer at their head grimaced with something akin to disgust.
"Hail, Labienus!" Caesar said, cheerfully, but with sarcasm. "I am overjoyed that you could make it before there are no more enemy left to kill."
Labienus face was set in a scowl. "I come at your bidding, just as I went to the rear at your bidding."
A puzzled look crossed Caesar's face. "I don't know what you are referring to. Why in Jupiter's name would I have given you such an order?"
"Aye, why indeed?" Labienus retorted, his anger getting the better of him. "Lest it was to ensure that Caesar, and Caesar alone, is given credit for the victory, and that you may add to your report that Labienus sat in the rear commanding the baggage!"
Caesar's face turned beet red. "I tell you plainly, I gave no such order, damn you!"
A flaming scorpion bolt swooshed over the heads of the gathered officers, momentarily frightening the horses. Each man instinctively turned to see the ball of fire land amongst the retreating Belgae, the burning pitch setting several men ablaze. The burning men ran this way and that, their comrades moving away from them. Their shrieks could be heard above the din of the battle.
This seemed to temporarily calm the tempers of the two men.
"Who gave you the order, Labienus?" Caesar asked amicably. "Tell me what incompetent is responsible for removing my best general from the battlefield at such a crucial moment, and I will have him flogged, were he even the son of Crassus. I swear to that, my friend."
Labienus now appeared somewhat conciliatory. "I'm not exactly sure who he was. A young knight, definitely. He handed me a message, ordering me to see to the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Legions, at the rear of the column, and to see that they were in good order." Labienus then produced a paper from his saddle and handed it to Caesar. "Is this not your hand?"
Several paces away, Valens watched in silent trepidation as Caesar turned the document over several times. Valens's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his own sheathed sword, but he then forced himself to take his hand away and assume an indifferent expression. He cast a glance at the three Gallic horsemen in the front rank of Caesar's bodyguard. Their swords were drawn, as were those of the other horsemen, as would be expected when the enemy was so close. Caesar and Labienus were entirely focused on the document, discussing it now in low voices that Valens could not overhear. Valens had not wanted Labienus to die. The man at least knew something of the art of war, and would have been useful when Valens took command of the army. Now, he would have to die alongside Caesar. But Valens knew it could not be helped. He had to act now. The battle was won, and if he waited any longer, even the Gallic swordsmen might betray him, in order to ingratiate themselves with the victorious proconsul.