They had rallied even more of their men, along with numerous Treveri, and had hoped to subvert Indus’ cavalry. The gall of those bastards, not only refusing to return in fealty to their heritage but also attempting to hunt them like animals, was insufferable. They should have been in Augustodunum a week ago! Now, at least, they were able to take their revenge on the traitors. The Treveri started to retreat, their losses mounting.
“Come on!” he shouted, waving his men towards their fleeing enemy. He did not care that his foe was mounted; they would catch many of them before they could escape.
The guards at the far entrance to the Turani camp were completely surprised when their own pickets rushed past them in a panic. They, too, had been listening to the sounds of the battle and were oblivious to the threat fast approaching them.
“The Romans are coming!” one of the frightened pickets shouted as he ran for his life.
The guards turned around and gasped in horror as they saw a host of Roman legionaries bearing down on them. The lead guard opened his mouth to sound the alarm when a Roman javelin slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground. It had been a perfect hit, directly through the heart. His makeshift breast plate had done little to stop the force of the blow, his punctured heart convulsing in death as it shot spurts of blood through the gaping wound.
Artorius threw his javelin as hard as he could and watched as it slammed into the chest of one of the Turani guards. The force of his throw knocked the man completely off his feet. As he drew his gladius, he watched Gavius throw his javelin with even greater force, skewering one of the rebels through the neck and pinning the twitching corpse to a nearby wagon.
“Nice!” he said in genuine admiration.
The rest of the men out front unleashed their javelins on the hapless rebels as a skirmish ensued over by the cluster of wagons staged near the camp entrance.
“Macro, secure this area!” Proculus ordered. “I’ll take the rest of the cohort and push through.”
“Sir!” the junior centurion acknowledged.
As the remainder of the cohort started to push through the camp, killing whatever stragglers they found, the Second Century proceeded to finish off those poor souls who had been tasked with defending Florus’ precious cargo in his wagons.
“The Romans have breached the camp!” one of the terrified pickets shouted to Florus as he ran up to him, out of breath and at his wit’s end.
“Impossible,” Florus replied, casually. “We have the Roman cavalry on. . the. . run. .” His words died off as he looked in horror at the sight of Roman legionaries sweeping through his camp. What drove him to madness was the handful of soldiers who could be seen milling about his wagons.
“My money!” he despaired. He then started to grab whoever was nearest and pointed them towards this newest threat. “Save the wagons!”
Any rebels not directly engaged with Indus’ cavalry turned about to face this new threat.
“There aren’t supposed to be any bloody legionaries in this region!” one despaired.
“I don’t care about the money,” another stammered. “It does me no good if I am dead.”
Florus grabbed the man by his shock of unkempt hair and cuffed him on the ear.
“Well I care about the money, you fucking coward!” he shouted at the man. “You sorry cocks wanted to fight the legions, well now is your chance!”
He shoved the Turani towards the wagons where several dozen of his companions were attacking; a sense of desperation overcoming them. Florus was so fixated on his precious treasure that he scarcely acknowledged the legionaries that were ransacking his camp.
Artorius stopped and caught his breath as he surveyed the action going on around them. The cohort had almost finished clearing the main camp and was starting to sweep towards the road and the main battle. As he looked down the road itself, he saw a number of Turani rushing towards them. His eyes grew wide as he turned around and butted Valens with his shield.
“Form it up!” he ordered.
“Oh shit!” Valens swore as he caught sight of the enemy coming towards them. He immediately started rallying the rest of the section. “Online!”
Artorius gave a shout towards two of the other sections that were close by. “Rufio, Ostorius, on me!” As Artorius set into his fighting stance, the rest of his section fell in on his left.
“Section set!” he heard Magnus shout.
In his peripheral vision, he could just make out Rufio’s and Ostorius’ sections forming up to the left of his. He took a deep breath, knowing that by placing himself on the extreme right he was in a precarious position. “Advance!” he shouted. As the three sections moved towards their enemy, those with javelins disgorged them as soon as the Turani were in range. Their impact made the rest of the rebels halt in their tracks, their uncertainty apparent. Already they were rattled by the mere presence of legionaries; the sights and screams of their dying companions causing their fear to overtake them.
Artorius smiled sinisterly as he issued his next order. “Charge!” The Romans hit the Turani at a run, their shields linked together, smashing into the rebels like a human battering ram. As waves of Turani were felled by the force of their onslaught, legionaries quickly slew them.
Artorius plunged his gladius into the throat of a stricken rebel. This was a favorite target for him; it ensured a quick death and was usually not as well protected as the heart. The sight of gushing blood reassured him subconsciously that his foe was dying and no longer a threat. The mass of rebels scrambled away, reforming in time to watch their less fortunate friends butchered and disemboweled by legionary blades. Tears of anguish filled many an eye. For the majority, this was not the first time they had been lulled into a massacre by the legions of Rome. Most had fought in Sacrovir’s mock battle and been taken prisoner after the Romans attacked them from behind. And now, seemingly out of thin air, more legionaries had descended upon them; inflicting suffering and death. One particularly young man lost all control of his fear and sobbed loudly in despair.
“I cannot fight anymore!” he wailed as he dropped his weapons and fell to his knees.
Carbo snarled at the pathetic wretched and stepped towards him; both sides ceasing in their attack to watch the legionary.
“Then die a coward’s death,” he hissed as he buried his gladius into the man’s side.
The Turani’s mouth was agape, yet he was unable to make a sound. Carbo growled and sliced his weapon across his enemy’s stomach; blood and entrails spilling from the slash.
“Carbo, formation!” Artorius shouted as the legionary stepped back into the ranks.
The rest of the rebels stood appalled at what had transpired.
“You will not have me so easily!” an older Turani shouted.
His companions renewed their war cries and charged into the legionaries.
Macro felt at ease for the first time in many days. The camp was cleared; the rest of the cohort acting as the hammer to Indus’ anvil. The plan had worked, and at last he felt like he could release the tension that had been causing him many a sleepless night. His fears were renewed when Camillus grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed to the fray behind him.
“Dear gods,” he whispered.
Nearly a third of his men were fighting off a hoard of Turani rebels by themselves and in a single rank. The centurion looked to his right to find the nearest decanus. Praxus had noticed the commotion himself and was running up to investigate; the same look of horror crossing his face when he realized what Artorius and the others were up against.