“You have much wisdom and experience, sergeant,” Felix replied, “but yet you look so young.”
Artorius laughed at that. “That is because I am young,” he remarked. “I am probably scarcely any older than you are. I joined the legions the day after I reached the age of maturity. I took part in two campaigns in Germania, under Germanicus Caesar. They were brutal, savage, and beyond civilized man’s comprehension of barbarism and cruelty. I may appear youthful in both face and body, but my mind and heart are that of an old man.”
Chapter X: A Bloody Skirmish
The Turani were mustered on the plains of a low-lying valley. There were perhaps ten to twelve thousand men dressed for battle, most bearing spears or short swords with small, circular shields. There were about the same number of troops amongst the Romans and Sacrovir’s forces. The legionary cohorts were behind the auxiliaries, who were arrayed in three lines of battle, with their heavy troops out front.
“We’ll teach these legionaries how to fight!” a gladiator spat.
Heracles snorted at the remark. He knew full-well that this army of thieves and gladiators were amateurs compared to the legions. However, it was not through battle that he intended to defeat the Romans.
“We will hold in reserve behind this ridge,” Calvinus said to Sacrovir.
The Gaul seemed taken aback. “Your men do not wish to take part in the glory of this battle or the plunder to be had?” Calvinus smirked and shook his head. “Let the glory fall upon your men. This will be a good test for them, a chance to allow them to prove their worth. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Sacrovir nodded briskly, drew his sword, and rode towards his restless army.
Calvinus turned to face his cohort commanders. “As soon as they move to join battle, we will step off at the double-time, moving around these small hills on our right. Once clear, we’ll maneuver the entire task force online and hit those bastards in the rear.” “What of Sacrovir?” Aemilius asked.
“What of him?” Calvinus replied. “We do not work for him. Besides, I foresee Sacrovir only making this a token engagement; whether out of trepidations regarding his army or something darker, I don’t know. All I do know is something is just not right. I think he intends to engage just long enough for the enemy forces to retreat. Well, I intend to teach these rebels a lesson they will not soon forget!”
Farquhar and Alasdair stood in the shade of a large oak, watching the battle unfold in the valley below. A large hoard of men was massed in the valley floor, the first of many who would look to free Gaul from the oppression of Rome. On the far slope they could see the auxiliary forces and mercenary troops of the noble Sacrovir.
“Where are the Romans?” Farquhar asked aloud. “Supposedly there were at least four cohorts with Sacrovir’s men.”
“I don’t know,” Alasdair replied. “Perhaps they have already gone home?” There was an air of levity and giddy excitement in his voice. “If my sources are correct, this will be only a minor skirmish, rather than a real battle. The Turani know they are not supposed to win. They will withdraw with only minimal losses, and once the Romans are lulled into complacency, they will join with Sacrovir!”
Suddenly, Farquhar’s hand was on his shoulder. Alasdair’s eyes followed to where his friend was pointing. Both lads’ eyes grew wide in horror as they saw coming around the base of the small hills on their left a contingent of Roman soldiers.
“Dear gods, the Turani will be trapped!” Alasdair despaired. “The Romans will chop them to pieces! They must be warned!”
Farquhar’s hand restrained him as he sought to run towards the battle below. “It’s too late,” he replied. “The battle is more than three miles away. You will never get there in time.”
Alasdair looked into his friend’s face. Farquhar’s eyes were wet, fear and emotion overtaking him as he cringed in anticipation of the Turani’s pending annihilation. Both lads turned towards the scene below. The Romans were now clear of the hills, maneuvering their way into formation. They blocked the entire width of the small valley, legionaries stacked up six ranks deep. Farquhar closed his tear-stained eyes as the Romans unleashed a storm of javelins upon their unseeing prey.
Sacrovir watched eagerly from atop his mount as his forces clashed with the Turani. Ironically, both sides were working for him, and they all knew it. They looked to this battle as nothing more than a bloodied drill that would prepare them for possible battle with the real enemy-Rome. Sacrovir had even gone so far as to remove his helmet, so as not to be a target for missile weapons.
The Turani knew they were not supposed to win this battle and, in fact, were ordered to begin a mock retreat should they end up pressing the issue too hard. Both sides came together in a clash that resembled more of a sporting match than a life and death struggle. Granted, men were dying. However, that was a necessary evil if the Romans were to be fooled. The Turani allowed Sacrovir’s men to come down from the high ground and engage them on the level plain.
Sacrovir was pleasantly surprised with the way his gladiators were fighting. His mercenary troops were amateurs at best, a menace to themselves at worst. They would take the brunt of his losses. Several units of these had been outfitted with circular shields and eight-foot spears, which Heracles tried to teach them to use in a phalanx. Their formations were loose and sloppy. Sacrovir knew this exercise would give them the opportunity to learn their lessons more poignantly, as the price for lack of discipline could be serious injury or death.
Sacrovir gave a sadistic grin as the battle ground its way along. He glanced over his shoulder to see if the Romans were observing or not. Oddly enough, there was no sign of them, not even their standards. His face creased into a frown as he searched for any sign of his so-called allies.
Where could they have gone? He thought to himself.
Sacrovir rode back to where the ridge crested and sloped down into the defilade behind them. He was horrified to see the Romans were nowhere to be seen. A dark feeling of realization came over him as he wheeled his horse around, back towards the battle. At the end of a small spur that shot off the hillside on his right-well behind the ranks of the Turani-the Romans could be seen moving at a dead run. Within minutes, they were arrayed in battle formation, advancing on the Turani and Andecavi, who were completely oblivious to their presence. Sacrovir closed his eyes and raised them to the heavens. He had anticipated only minimal casualties from both sides and expected to enlist perhaps another ten thousand Turani and Andecavi into his army as a result. His plan was quickly unraveling as the Romans unleashed a storm of javelins upon their hapless victims.
“Front rank. . throw!” Proculus shouted.
At the sound of the order, the Turani turned around and were stricken with abject terror at the sight of Roman soldiers bearing down on them. A volley of javelins tore into their bodies, an entire wave falling in the torrent. Blood splattered everywhere as javelins punctured and tore bodies asunder.
“Second rank. . throw!” Macro ordered.
The Romans waited until they were very close to the Turani before unleashing their javelins. This increased precision and shock as more of their enemies were skewered from behind.
Artorius was surprised to see the enemy was only a matter of feet in front of him as he let his javelin fly. It burst through the back of one of the rebels, exiting through his heart and pinning him to one of his companions in front of him. The man in front gave a scream of pain and horror as the javelin struck through the back of his ribcage. He was then wrenched to the ground by the corpse of his friend.