“I think they will do what they can,” Magnus replied. “Proculus seems to have faith in Indus; otherwise, he would not have allowed him to return to his regiment before the battle. My worry is whether or not the Turani will take the bait.
“I will be honest with you, Artorius. This is kind of a weird feeling I have. It is not the sense of dread like what I had before we stormed the Angrivarii stronghold at the end of the Germanic wars. I cannot explain it. Something tells me things are going to go really well tomorrow, and we will rout the rebels without difficulty, or else it will be a complete disaster.”
“Not many probabilities in between” Artorius replied. He then sighed and rolled onto his side. “Whatever happens next, the die has been cast. Tomorrow we will know if it rolled Venus or not.” With that he closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep. He could faintly hear Magnus removing his armor and giving a grunt as he removed each of his sandals.
His friend then gave a loud sigh as he lay down and stretched his legs. Artorius took another deep breath and let himself be taken by sleep.
The die has been cast.
Chapter XIII: The Die is Cast
“General Florus, the Roman cavalry appear to be moving to sortie against us.”
Florus sat up from his nap and waved the warrior off. About time, he thought to himself. Having the Treveri at his heels was slowing his progress, and he needed to get to Augustodunum as soon as possible. He was angered that so few, less than twenty, had defected in spite of his lavish offers of gold. He was still licking his wounded pride from having his horse snatched away by the indignant troopers. He relished the idea of thrashing Indus’ horsemen once and for all, for they were not Treveri warriors, as he was. Their blind loyalty to Rome deprived them of their heritage and status in Florus’ mind. They were no longer kin to him. He donned his helmet and walked over to the edge of the camp, where a large number of his warriors were rallying. He gazed down the hill and saw that, indeed, the Treveri were on the move towards them. All were adorned in mail shirts and legionary helmets, each carrying an oblong shield and seven-foot lance. Florus scowled in disgust when he saw Indus himself at the head of the formation.
“So the mighty Julius Indus has betrayed us,” he muttered. “Form up the rest of the army!”
Aides immediately went about rallying the rest of the Turani force. As they started to mass along the ridgeline, one of Indus’ equestrians blew a loud note on a cornicen’s horn.
The legionaries of the Third Cohort heard the sound of the horn. All were immediately on their feet, shields and javelins at the ready. Centurions and options signaled for their men to stand easy.
“Easy lads,” Macro said in a low voice. “We do not move until the second trumpet sounds.”
As he leaned against his shield, Artorius reviewed in his head, once more, how it all was supposed to work. The forest road allowed for no more than a dozen men abreast, and the entire cohort found itself stretched out in a very long column. Artorius’ section happened to be at the very front of it all, and their job would be to take out the pickets and breach the entrance to the camp. Once inside, the cohort would form up into battle formation and sweep through. Once the camp was cleared, they would launch the brunt of their attack on the Turani, who would hopefully be off the high ground and engaged with the cavalry.
“Indus, you are a traitor and a coward!” Florus bellowed. “You have sold your very soul to the Roman occupiers!”
“I have come to finish this, Florus!” Indus’ shouted back. “I will not sit back and let a rabble such as yours sow the seeds of rebellion! Gaul has been at peace for more than seventy years, and you look to unravel it all! Let us settle this and be done! Archers!”
At his command, approximately thirty men carrying short bows rode briskly to the front of the formation. As soon as they halted, they started firing towards the Turani formation. Though the rebels were at the furthest range of the short bows, as well as being uphill, some of the arrows managed to find their mark. A man standing next to Florus gave a high-pitched scream as his upper arm was punctured. Another took an arrow straight through the side of his neck. He fell to the ground in a thrashing heap, clawing at the flights of the arrow as blood gushed from his jugular and spewed from his mouth. Florus seethed in rage at Indus’ audacity.
“General Florus, we must attack!” one of the sub chiefs shouted.
Florus drew his sword and pointed towards the Roman cavalry. “Destroy the traitors!” he roared. “Leave none alive!” With a battle cry that had not been sounded since their ancestors stood against Julius Caesar, the Turani charged.
Indus gave a grim smile as he braced himself for the pending onslaught. His archers continued to pick off small numbers of rebels as the distance between the two forces rapidly closed.
“Lances ready!” Besides Indus, only his senior officers carried swords.
Their men lowered their lances and braced themselves. The trumpeter had just enough time to sound the second order before the Turani smashed into their ranks.
Proculus and the rest of the cohort stood up as they heard the second trumpet call. Artorius closed his eyes briefly and breathed a sigh of relief. Without a word, they started to quick step towards the battle. As they rounded the bend in the road, the cohort increased its pace and stared to move at a jog. Artorius was surprised to see that all of the pickets had their backs to them, intention trying to listen to the battle between their forces and Indus’ cavalry. By the time they were aware of the sound of Roman soldiers rushing towards them, it was too late.
Decimus loosed his javelin just as one turned around. It impacted the man square in the chest, penetrating through his heart. The man was dead, his eyes hollow and lifeless, yet he stood there still, his hand clutching the shaft of the javelin, which had stuck itself into the ground.
Carbo threw his just as one of the pickets started to turn and run. It struck the rebel in the back of the leg, knocking him to the ground, where he lay screaming in pain and terror. Carbo drew his gladius and, without missing a step, swung his weapon hard in an underhand slash. His blow cleaved through the man’s jugular, as well as his esophagus. The remaining pickets fled at a dead run, quickly outdistancing the advancing legionaries, who continued to move together at a fast jog.
Indus swung his sword in desperation and rage. His men were better trained and equipped than their adversaries; however, they were getting overwhelmed. He brought his sword down and crushed the exposed head of one of the Turani, bone and brain matter spraying everywhere. He felt his shield arm quiver under the blow of another enemy before one of his men ran the rebel through with his lance. Indus knew they had to pull back soon, as his men were starting to fall under the force of the wave of Turani warriors. He brought his sword around in an underhand swing. He felt the sickening crunch as it cleaved through the neck of a Turani rebel. His horse reared up in the face of enemy spears, nearly throwing him.
“Fall back!” he shouted.
His cavalrymen started to turn their mounts around and ride away from the battle. He prayed that the Roman infantry had timed their attack well and would be right behind them.
Broehain ran his sword through one of the Treveri cavalrymen that had fallen from his horse. His pent up rage and aggravation was boiling over as they fought the traitors of Indus’ cavalry. His last battle had been a complete disaster and he wished to atone for it. His warriors had been ambushed and slaughtered by the Romans in what was supposed to be a ruse, those who survived goaded into continuing to fight for Sacrovir and Florus.