Artorius expected to be beset by enemies at any moment, yet all was silent, too silent. The fog and the silence grated on him. It was cool, and he could almost see his breath in the air. And yet his body remained warm through the heat of exertion and anticipation. Everything was drenched that he could see. He almost tripped over a fallen log and raised his weapon up to signal the obstacle to his men. The only sounds he heard were his own breathing and the footfalls of his legionaries. He could hear Rufio clearly as the Signifier hefted the Signum while keeping up with the Centurion. He then skirted to the right of a high rock outcropping, about twenty meters high and wide, that jutted straight up from the ground. From there the ground sloped and led to a large sandy bar by the river.
Just then he heard a loud commotion to his rear. He turned back to see dozens of flaming arrows shooting forth from the bushes along the riverbank towards the bridge. Though he could not see very well through the thick undergrowth, the loud clambering and disorder told him what affect they were having.
“They’ve torched the bridge!” Optio Praxus shouted as he raced towards his Centurion. “Just as the first wave of auxiliaries got across those bastards started firing into the bridges. The underside must have been treated with pitch, because even in this fucking damp it immediately ignited.”
A loud snapping sounded as the weakened ropes holding the supports of the nearest bridge gave way, accompanied by the crash of timbers, echoing the Optio’s assessment.
On the bridge, auxiliary troops were rushing forward or back, trying to reach safety as the structure keeled over onto its side as the support ropes snapped. Numerous troopers fell into the raging current, their heavy armor pulling them under to a watery grave. Legionaries on the far side of the river desperately looked back to see what was causing such havoc.
“Eyes front damn it!” Magnus shouted. Legionaries quickly refocused their attention to the front where they knew the bulk of the Frisians would come. Artorius stole a glance through the bushes and saw several dozen Frisian archers jump into the current, allowing it to carry them downstream and away from the Romans. Lightly equipped and as good swimmers as most of them were assured them a far greater chance of survival. Auxiliary archers on the other side of the river took sporadic shots at them, trying to exact at least some retribution for the loss of their friends. Though several were struck down this way, the majority soon floated out of range to safety.
“Damn, this sucks,” Artorius growled.
“That it does, sir,” Rufio concurred quietly.
Artorius looked back to see the Signifier had never left his side. “Where would you like me to post?”
“Good question,” the Centurion replied. He then shouted to Praxus, “The rest of the Cohort cross okay?”
“Looks like it,” the Optio called back from his end of the line. “They’re forming up just to our left.”
“Cohort…halt!” The order had originated from Vitruvius and was echoed up to the front of the column by the senior officers of each century.
“Shit,” Artorius swore under his breath as he turned back and surveyed the terrain on the flank. From his vantage, this was the worst place he could have halted his century. He shook his head and turned to Rufio.
“Hold here.” The Signifier raised up the Signum, and then planted it in the ground, signaling the rest of the Century to hold in place. Artorius quickly made his way back up the line, past the faces of his puzzled legionaries.
Just past the rocky knoll, the rest of the cohort was forming up into battle formation, shields interlocking. They were stretched out in a long, thin line. At best they were only able to form up four ranks deep. He quickly made his way over to Centurion Vitruvius, who was directing the placement of the cohort.
“Still no sign of the enemy yet?” the cohort commander asked.
Artorius shook his head.
“None, which surprises the hell out of me. We know they are here, I just cannot understand why they haven’t attacked us yet.” He then motioned for Vitruvius to follow him. “With the way the cohort is set I’m in a shitty position.”
Artorius then guided Vitruvius back to the end of the line. The Second Century had formed a partial square of three sides, providing security in case the Frisians chose this moment to attack.
“Oh, this isn’t good,” Vitruvius spoke, his eyes scanning the terrain rapidly. The Fourth Century’s line ended right at the rocks, and the sloping ground with its steep grade and lack of proper footing would be impossible for the Second to effectively fight off of. The Centurions then quickly walked past where Rufio had planted the Signum. Vitruvius then looked back up the slope and grimaced as he made his decision.
“Alright, I’m placing you there,” he said as he pointed to the end of the short spur that jutted downward from the rocks. “This area here is our extreme right flank, and you will hold and protect it. Your Century will form up at a right angle and secure our flank.”
“You have got to be fucking me,” Artorius said in a low voice. “Look how wide this gap is! We’ll be in two ranks at most. I cannot effectively hold this position!”
“Look,” Vitruvius spoke, his patience waning, “the rest of the Cohort is already stretched as it is, and we will be taking the brunt of their attack. I don’t have troops to spare. You’re going to have to make do with what you have. Gods willing they won’t even know you’re here.” He saw the doubt in his young Centurion’s eyes, and he knew Artorius’ fears were well-founded. “I will see what I can do about getting some troops over here to reinforce you, but with the bridge cut it’s a right fucking mess back there.” With that he turned and ran back towards where the rest of the Cohort was forming up.
“Gather the men around,” Artorius said to Praxus as he watched his friend and mentor scramble up the incline. Once the Century was gathered in a semicircle, Artorius turned to speak with them. Theirs was a precarious position, for he knew the Frisians would find the weak point in the line and hit it with everything they had. To hold the flank would result in a blood bath. As Artorius gazed into the faces of his men, he wondered how many would survive the day.
“Men,” he started, “if you will look to our left you will see that the rest of the Cohort is forming up on what is the only defendable terrain on this side of the river. Here we will anchor the flank. We will form up in two ranks, extending all the way back to the river.” He heard a few audible gasps and low words of discouragement.
“Artorius, the Frisians are not stupid,” Praxus replied. “They will see this as the weakest point before they even engage the main body. We cannot hold this!”
“If we don’t, they will roll right up behind the rest of the Cohort and take them in the flank and rear,” Artorius replied, his voice calm. “The entire Legion will collapse as a result. That is what we can’t allow to happen. We face a disciplined and determined enemy. They will hit us with everything they have, but we must hold them long enough for the rest of the army to cross.
“If we are to die today, it will be so that our brothers may live! For every one of us who falls, five…no, ten of them may yet survive! What greater honor is there than that we sacrificed ourselves so our brothers may live? As long as one of us draws breath, the line will hold. Today we earn our name…Valeria!”
“Valeria!” echoed the rest of the Century as all raised their weapons in the air.
Artorius saluted his men with his gladius, then turned and bounded down the rocky slope to the river. He would be the last man on the entire line, with only the rushing current to protect his back. As his soldiers scrambled into position, he gazed through the lifting fog and dense trees. He could not see the Frisians yet, but he could hear them in the distance. The fog masked just how close they were. Artorius found himself breathing deeply as his body sought to overcome the twisting in his guts that had gripped him just moments before. He would not be part of the formation, instead keeping himself out front at all times. He knew that his was by far the most dangerous position to be in, which he knew was the purpose of a Centurion. Praxus would cover the rest of the line.