Up on the wall, Frisian warriors fought savagely to try and mass their numbers and allow more of their companions to climb to the top. Knowing their predicament, the legionaries were fighting with equal ferocity. They understood that if the Frisians were able to gain any kind of a foothold on the wall, it would spell their doom. A stalemate had ensued with neither side gaining a decisive advantage.
Tabbo’s face twitched in a quick grin as he watched a hapless legionary get pulled over the wall and fall screaming to his death. His joy was short-lived as another Roman smashed the bottom edge of his shield into the face of a warrior who was upended over the wall. Both sides excelled at close quarters combat, though the Romans’ superior armor and weapons gave them the advantage. Legionaries from other parts of the fort were rushing quickly to support their companions and relieve them before fatigue overtook.
“Send one of the reserve regiments to the right and take them in the flank,” Tabbo ordered a nearby warrior.
The man nodded and rushed off, shouting orders to one of the two regiments that waited impatiently in reserve. Tabbo was impatient himself, wishing desperately that he was with his brave men storming the wall. It was not to be. King Dibbald had placed him in charge of the attack, and therefore, his place was to coordinate the assault, not lead it. He reasoned that once a breach was made, he could then take part in the battle.
The Romans had left the minimal amount of legionaries on each of the remaining walls, and these quickly shouted back to their leaders that the Frisians were moving on one of the other walls. Tabbo noticed a Centurion shouting orders and pointing with his gladius. The archers who had fallen back now reestablished themselves on the right flank and started shooting at the Frisians who were coming at them. This group had only half as many ladders as the main effort, and Tabbo hoped they would be enough. The Romans were scrambling to place another pair of scorpions on the corners of the right wall while a handful of legionaries stood ready to repel this latest threat. The number of casualties they had sustained upset Tabbo deeply, though he knew they were necessary if the fort was going to fall.
Overall, the assault was not going badly. The Romans were losing men too, and they did not have the numbers to spare. His men were feverishly building more ladders, and he knew if they were able to assault one more side of the fort the Romans would not have the numbers to repel them. He doubted they would even be able to hold for much longer under the onslaught against just two of the walls.
Frisian warriors were now over the second wall, and it looked as if the Romans had committed the last of their reserves against them. Scorpions continued to fire at both assault groups, though their reload times were mercifully slow. Tabbo then saw the same Centurion who had been shouting orders earlier, run over to the wall with a bucket. The contents he threw at one of the ladders. It looked like oil, and Tabbo’s fears were confirmed when a legionary came forward with a lit torch and ignited the ladder. Warriors screamed in panic as the flames swept over them, most jumping or falling off. One poor bastard had taken a splash of oil to the face, which was now consumed in flames. He screamed as he fell head first from the ladder. It was a merciful end when he snapped his neck on a large boulder below.
“How many more ladders do we have?” Tabbo impatiently asked a nearby messenger.
“Three, my chief,” the man replied. “They are working on five more as we speak.”
“It will have to do,” Tabbo said. “I will take the last reserve regiment to the left. Once the other ladders are complete, have the remainder of our men assault the fort from behind.” He then cursed himself under his breath. He had not waited until all the ladders were complete and attacked all four sides of the fort at once. He was certain that it would have already fallen. Just then a scout rode up, frantically, on his horse.
“The Romans are coming!” he shouted with an air of desperation in his voice. “The Army of the Rhine approaches, my chief!”
“How far are they?” Tabbo asked, even more aggravated at this point.
“About two hours’ march,” the scout replied. “They have a regiment of cavalry screening their front; Indus’ Horse from the looks of them. Behind that are three legions plus an equal number of auxiliaries.”
Tabbo scowled but knew there was nothing more that could be done. Julius Indus was the greatest cavalry officer of the age, and this regiment had become legendary both during the Germanic Wars, as well as the Sacrovir Revolt in Gaul. Part of Tabbo’s plan was to avoid facing the auxilia cavalry, in particular Indus’ Horse.
“I doubt that the fort will fall within that time,” he sighed, admitting defeat.
“Our warriors are making progress,” a nearby sub-chief stated, “but you are right. They will not have the fort completely taken before the rest of the Roman army arrives.”
Tabbo then turned to a horn blower who had remained by his side the entire time.
“Sound the order to retreat,” he told the man. “Get our warriors off the wall.”
“Some of our men will be captured,” the sub-chief said as the ominous tone of the war horn echoed through the valley.
“A risk they all knew they were taking,” Tabbo replied coldly as he watched his men scramble down the ladders. The archers and skirmishers stayed by the wall, attempting to cover those who still fought on the ramparts as they withdrew.
It took some time to get the survivors who were able to escape away from the fort, and Tabbo refused to leave until the last man had been saved. The ladders were abandoned, their usefulness gone. As the archers rushed back towards the woods Tabbo could just make out the standards of the legions approaching from the west across the open plain. The red shields and gleaming armor stood in stark contrast to the lush green fields they trampled through. They were advancing quickly, and he knew they would be upon him within minutes.
Up in the fort a loud cheer erupted. Tabbo looked up and scowled at the sight of legionaries holding their weapons high in triumph, as if they had withheld the siege on their own. Their vexilation flag was waved back and forth from one of the corners where the man stood atop one of the scorpions, supported by his comrades.
Gaius was disappointed when he heard that they were going to push past the fort at Flevum. Even if he had not taken part in the battle, he still wished to see some dead warriors. He had never seen a Frisian before and had little idea as to what they looked like. He reasoned it would be just as good to get a view of a dead one as a live one.
The path went right by the fort, and the young legionary tried his best to catch a quick glimpse of the battle’s aftermath without falling out of formation. There was little to see. The First Legion had been the first to arrive, and the Frisians had already retreated before them. Gaius could just make out in the distance what he surmised was a pile of dead Frisian warriors. Legionaries were stacking timber on and around them, attempting to burn the bodies before they started to stink and draw more flies to the gaping wounds. Everything was damp from the recent rainfall, though Gaius reasoned, nothing a bit of oil and Roman ingenuity could not resolve.
“The Romans have overtaken Flevum,” Tabbo reported to the King. Dibbald nodded. He was not surprised and had figured that his warriors would not be able to take the fort before the Rhine Army arrived.