“You came closer to taking the Roman fort than I expected,” the King said. “Normally I would never order our men to conduct an assault unless I knew they could take it. However, our warriors needed to bloody themselves against the Romans. Their anger is now at its peak. It is on the wings of rage that we will drive the legions from our lands forever.”
“Century…halt!” Artorius shouted, with a raise of his hand. He was at the southernmost bridge, the far half of which was partially shrouded in fog. The sky was cloudy, and the cold air had trapped the haze on the ground even through the afternoon. Instinctively, his Principal Officers and Decanii merged on where he and Rufio stood.
“Well, would you look at that,” a Decanus said.
“At what?” another questioned. There was a break in the clouds, and the sun cast a soft glow where the men stood. Across the river was a contrast of darkness in the thick woods.
“Exactly,” Artorius replied with a nod. “What fate awaits us beyond the mist?”
Chapter XVII: Wings of Rage
At the Bridge over the Rhine, Braduhenna Wood, Frisia
June, 28 A.D.
The Frisians knew it was all about timing, knowing the Romans would have to cross here. The only other choices were a ford twenty miles upstream and another bridge even further. The Roman army was staged on the far side overlooking the long bridge; three legions, plus massive numbers of auxilia and cavalry. It had already been a long day when they arrived. The deep fog and mist making the opposite shoreline seem to disappear. Tribunes and Centurions were debating whether to cross before it got too late or encamp on their side of the river.
Unbeknownst to the Romans, the undersides of the bridges were treated with straw and pitch and their support ropes weakened. A simple but brilliant trick: allow the legions to start their crossing and then destroy the bridges out from under them.
The Frisians knew they could not torch the bridges too soon because the Romans would still have the bulk of their forces intact and would simply march twenty miles north to the ford and cross there. And yet if they waited too long …well, the legions were a fearsome enemy and if allowed to mass their numbers they would smash through the Frisians and trample them into dust. One legion was maneuvering for the crossing, followed by their auxiliaries. It appeared the Romans were going to cross this afternoon, rather than waiting until the next morning. These particular troops looked to be strictly infantry, the Germanic auxiliary cavalry was somewhere in the distance.
Hidden in a thicket, a Frisian archer waited impatiently. It had rained recently, and he prayed the tinder and kindling he brought wrapped in many layers of cloth was still dry. His companion knelt next to him, flint and steel in hand. There were many such pairings in the thick undergrowth along the river bank. They would let the first wave of legionaries cross, and then hit the bridges with flaming arrows while the auxilia crossed. That would trap a significant portion of their force, an entire legion at that, on the Frisian side of the river. The archer licked his lips in nervous anticipation.
There was a deepening fog on the far side of the river, which made Centurion Artorius apprehensive. Scouts had reported that the rebel army was huge, far larger than anticipated. One report had the enemy strength in the tens-of-thousands, though between the fog and dense woods this was impossible to verify. If it was true, Artorius had doubts as to whether or not their force would be large enough to defeat the Frisians even under ideal conditions. He also knew that whether they crossed here or at the ford to the north meant little. They would still be stretched thin and could only cross so many soldiers at a time. Speed would be the key; get enough men across to hold the far bank and allow the rest of the army to deploy.
With the possibility of battle being joined as soon as they crossed, all Centurions and Options had been ordered to leave their horses with the baggage trains. The Frisians had to know the legions would pursue them after breaking the siege around Flevum, and what better place to set up an ambush!
“I don’t like this,” he said as he was joined by Centurion Vitruvius.
His superior made an assessment of the situation and shook his head. “Neither do I,” he replied. “These people aren’t stupid. They knew better than to engage us in force when we liberated Flevum. No matter where we cross it’s going to be a real bitch if they are waiting for us on the other side.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Artorius added. “And with this damn fog we can hardly see each other, let alone what may be on the far side.”
“I suspect they’ll hit us with everything they’ve got as soon as we’re across,” Vitruvius continued. “It’s like we are at the River Styx assaulting Hades itself.”
The air was damp, and Artorius felt his skin crawl as a feeling of unease came over him. He then took a deep breath.
“Well, if we’re going to die storming the pits of hell, we might as well get it over with,” he said with a grin.
Vitruvius returned the grin and grunted in acknowledgment.
“Vitruvius!” shouted Master Centurion Calvinus, who was still on his horse, coordinating final movement orders. “The Third will cross here and anchor the right flank. Make sure you leave enough room for everyone else to fall in on your left. And be sure you get across as quickly as you can; this place gives me the fucking creeps!”
“Yes, sir,” Vitruvius nodded before turning back to Artorius, his grin returning. “Well, old friend, since I’ve already got you here, why don’t you do the honor of leading us to the other side.”
“It would be an honor,” Artorius replied as he clasped his Cohort Commander’s forearm.
Vitruvius became somber once more.
“Get over that damn bridge as fast as possible and start pushing out to the right,” he ordered as he clutched Artorius’ arm harder. “Dominus will follow you with the Fourth; I will take the center, all other centuries on my left.”
He then released his junior Centurion’s hand and rendered a salute, which Artorius returned. Vitruvius then nodded to his Signifier, who waved the Signum to let the rest of the legion know they were set. In the distance, the Legion’s Eagle was tilted forward, the signal to advance.
Artorius stepped onto the bridge, drew his gladius, and swept it in a high arc towards the far side. He turned back to see Rufio directly behind him with the Century’s Signum, the rest of his men but a few paces behind, anxiously eyeing their Centurion. He cocked a half smile to reassure them before sounding the order in his loudest command voice.
“Second Century… follow me!”
The Frisian watched in apprehension as he saw the first of the Roman troops moving across the bridge. At the head of the formation was a rather large Centurion, his crested helmet distinguishing him from his men. The archer swallowed hard and kept his head down as more legionaries crossed at the run behind their Centurion. It was nerve racking, knowing that the Romans would soon be behind him and have him trapped between them and the river. Too late to wish he had chosen a larger bush to hide in! Still, he reminded himself again that once the bridges were burning it would be utter chaos. The legion on this side of the river would immediately be facing the onslaught of the entire Frisian nation.
Still more soldiers crossed, and yet he waited. They were told to allow this particular legion to cross in its entirety, along with some of their auxiliaries. Once he saw the Germanic and Gallic infantry on the bridge he knew it was time. Huddled over his precious tinder, his companion frantically struck the flint with his knife and prayed it would ignite.