“They’re pretty banged up, but holding,” the Cohort Commander replied. “They hit the center hard, trying to take out the leadership of the Legion. They almost succeeded, too, if not for the quick thinking of Master Centurion Calvinus. He and Draco pushed the Frisians back with a storm of javelins followed by a hasty charge from the wedge. Still, the Chief Tribune was killed in the exchange. Camillus and about a dozen men held off the enemies’ attempts to take the Eagle.”
“I can’t believe they even got that close to it,” Dominus remarked.
“Today was a rough one,” Vitruvius concurred. “And if we’re being honest with ourselves, tomorrow will be much worse. But before we let the hand of doom take us, let your men know that there is hope. One of the unsteady old bridges on the far left of the line, past where the Legion crossed, was not completely destroyed. The Fifth Legion is working through the night to repair it. Gods willing, they will be able to cross sometime tomorrow. Failing that, Tribune Cursor has taken all of the cavalry and a large number of the auxiliary infantry and headed north to the ford twenty miles upriver. If he force marches his men through the night, they could be here by midmorning.”
“Let’s hope they have the strength to fight after that,” Statorius remarked as all of the men huddled in close.
The lone torch was the only source of heat, and the dozen men tried to get as close as they could. An Optio blew into his hands, trying to keep them warm.
“It’s not just fatigue and hunger that are hurting our men,” Artorius observed.
“I know,” Statorius replied. “I’ve got my soldiers who are not on watch sitting back-to-back against each other. That will at least keep them from having to lie down in the mud. They might at least be able to save some body heat.”
Vitruvius took a deep breath and looked into the faces of his Cohort’s leadership once more.
“I need to get a total count of your dead and wounded once you return to your centuries,” he stated. “I know you didn’t have time to accomplish this before I summoned you. Take heart, men. Between the Fifth Legion and Cursor’s ten thousand auxiliaries, there is hope for us yet.”
As soon as he returned, Artorius walked down the line getting accountability of his men. Four were dead, including two of his Decanii, which was a terrible stroke of bad luck. Though the line had held, two of the auxilia were dead as well. Another twelve legionaries and four auxiliaries were wounded, though three of the legionaries would still be able to fight once their wounds were bound. Material for bandages was in short supply, with soldiers using their rags that they kept in their belts for wiping down their weapons, as well as parts of tunics. None had worn their cloaks, nor had any brought any food with them. The only items of sustainment they had brought were their water bladders. With the river behind them, water was in ample supply and legionaries were drinking as much as they could to try to fill their stomachs and at least partially quell their hunger. Artorius noted the rumbling in his own stomach as he called for a meeting of the Century’s leadership. As he was short two squad leaders he took a glance at his legionaries on the line and made a quick decision.
“Valens, Felix!” he called.
The two soldiers quickly rushed over to their Centurion and stood at attention.
“Sorry, I don’t have time for formalities, but you are both hereby promoted to Decanus, Sergeants of Legionaries. We’ll take care of the orders when we get back.”
“Provided any of us survive tomorrow,” an eavesdropping legionary mumbled nearby.
“Yes, sir,” both men answered together with a nod.
Congratulatory voices were heard from the line as a number of men had also heard the Centurion’s order. In any other circumstance, Felix would have been ecstatic by the promotion. Valens had been avoiding promotion for years, though he said no words of protest. As it was, both men were very somber and determined to do what was necessary to see that their men survived the onslaught they knew would come with the dawn.
“How is the rest of the Legion holding, sir?” one of the Decanii asked.
“They held,” Praxus answered, “though they are in just as bad shape as we are.”
“The entire Fourth Cohort has gone missing,” Artorius added, leading to some audible gasps and confusion from his section leaders.
“How the hell did we lose an entire cohort?” another Decanus asked, flabbergasted. Artorius could only shake his head.
“Damned if I know.” He then explained the situation as Vitruvius had relayed it to him. “But we cannot worry about them just yet. Right now we must look to our own survival, and the survival of the rest of the Third Cohort which is depending on us.”
Just then they were joined by the section leader of the archers from the rocks.
“Sir, I should tell you our arrows are completely expended,” he stated. “We need to try to retrieve what we can tonight, or we won’t be of any use come morning.”
“We should also recover as many of our javelins as we can,” Sergeant Felix added.
The Centurion nodded in reply.
“I agree,” he acknowledged. “I doubt we’ll get any sleep tonight so straightening javelins will at least give the men something to keep themselves occupied. Plus it will give our enemies a bit of a shock when we throw them into their faces once again.”
This got a smile and chuckle from the assembly, then Artorius was serious once more.
“Keep an eye on your men tonight. Place them in shifts, and see if we can at least try to get some rest tonight. The Frisians will undoubtedly be well rested for tomorrow’s battle, and we need to salvage as much of our strength as we can.”
“Sir, what about a relief?” Sergeant Valens asked. “Is there help coming?”
“The cavalry and rest of the auxiliary infantry headed north for the ford as soon as the bridges were torched,” Artorius replied. “The other legions are trying to get the northernmost bridge repaired so that they can relieve us, though given the conditions I think we have a better chance of the cavalry reaching us first. Make no mistake, Tribune Cursor has forty miles to cover before he reaches us; and he cannot overly rush his advance lest his forces be too exhausted to carry the fight. Just know that they will come. All we have to do is stay alive until they get here.”
The fog was thick and the terrain uneven as Cursor led his men on their desperate mission. Not once did he stop thinking about the gravity of the situation and the need for his men to be able to carry their attack with shock and surprise. With but a single legion and the few hundred auxiliaries who had managed to cross before the bridges collapsed, Cursor knew that he had nearly twice as many men under his command than those under Legate Apronius, who had been fighting all evening until dark. As he guided his horse over some slippery rocks he then wondered if any of their friends were even still alive.
There was no path running parallel to the river on this side and with their vision severely hampered, his men moved at a virtual crawl. The moon broke through the mist just enough to cast an eerie glow about them. All Cursor could see was his horse, the few feet of moss covered rocks and trees to his front, and maybe three or four of his men that were closest to him. It was hard to believe that he had ten thousand with him; at least he hoped they were all still with him. The sound of their march was muffled by the fog and slowness of their advance.
“All these men under my command, and yet I cannot see, much less control, any of them,” he grumbled as his foot slipped on a rock and nearly caused him to fall into the small stream that jutted out from the river.
“We’re all with you, sir,” Centurion Rodolfo replied through the darkness. His words at least gave Cursor some comfort. To his front he saw one of the auxiliary infantrymen he had sent forward ahead of him. There were three others with the man, and they were acting as the guides and pace counters to see how far their force had traveled.