The enemy horsemen were, as previously, supported on a one-to-one basis by footmen armed with swords or spears and there were a great number of riderless horses and dismounted cavalry littering the field. The prefect’s attention was drawn back to the current predicament as the shaft of a spear drove past his shoulder. With a twist of his wrist, he flipped his sword and neatly cut the tip from the spear. Turning back to the man assailing him, he slashed twice in wide arcs, cutting the man across the chest and face. The German toppled from his horse, adding to the numerous bodies strewn across the grass, mostly Roman. He spotted one of the decurions nearby and shouted to attract his attention.
“Keep the line closed. No-one’s to be a hero. Just protect yourselves until help arrives. I’m going to see the commander.”
The decurion gave a barely perceptible nod and went back to fighting for his life, shouting orders out above the noise. Shaking his head with anger, Varus wheeled his horse and rode away from the danger toward Crassus, alone at the rear on his horse. The primus pilus of the Seventh was controlling the infantry while his legate dealt with the cavalry.
“Sir?”
“Yes, prefect?”
Varus came to a halt in front of the commander.
“Sir, you must pull in the third line of the legions; the reserve. We need them.”
“I won’t have cowardice in my cavalry, prefect. We match them in strength.”
Varus growled audibly, the tip of his sword dipping dangerously toward his superior.
“If we weren’t in battle, I’d kill you for that. We don’t match them in strength. We’re nowhere near. They outnumber us almost three to one with their infantry. We need to learn from them! We need infantry support!”
Crassus sneered.
“You are dismissed, prefect. You may leave the field.”
Varus growled again.
“You should leave the field, you puffed up, inbred, ignorant lunatic. I’ve got to look after my lads until support arrives.”
“There will be no support, prefect. I’ll not beg for help.”
Varus wheeled his horse back toward the enemy.
“You don’t need to call for help. I’ve already sent someone.”
And with that he charged off into the melee again.
Crassus watched with a rising fury as the prefect waded in among the enemy again. The man was brave, he had to admit, but he was just an equestrian. He’d have to pay for talking like that to a superior officer; to one of the Patrician class. After the battle, Varus would have to be removed from command, and beaten of course. He’d have to speak to Caesar about the man.
Taking a deep breath, he scanned the rear of the field. He couldn’t let another officer save his skin. He’d have to do something himself. He looked around until he saw one of the irregular riders that carried messages.
“You. Go and find the commanders of the Seventh and tell them that their legate has ordered them to pull back and support the cavalry.”
The rider stared at the commander, a confused look on his face. Crassus sighed. The army would never be truly effective while they relied on barbarians for so many of their numbers.
“You go find big men in Seventh Legion!” He held his hands out showing seven fingers to emphasise the point.
“Tell them to come here!”
The rider grinned and said something unintelligible in his own language.
Another voice cut in.
“Belay that order.”
Crassus turned to see Caesar astride his white horse.
“General. We need my legion in support.”
Caesar smiled.
“I’ve heard. I’ve brought you half of my cavalry and the third line of infantry is wheeling left. They should be with you in a few minutes.”
He gestured to the edge of the field, where hundreds of horsemen were appearing from behind a copse.
Crassus glared at Caesar.
“General, when I need reinforcements, I can call them myself, and I would have started with my own legion. I dismissed prefect Varus from the field and he insulted me and disobeyed my order. I shall be requesting the harshest of punishments for him.”
Caesar sighed and pointed into the distance.
“D’you see that, Crassus? That is a dangerously thin front line, near to breaking point. If you fail to hold that line, the German cavalry will have a clear run at our flank and our rear. Have you any idea what that means?”
“General, I…”
“It’s a rhetorical question, Crassus… I’m known for my rhetoric. You’re an able enough legionary commander I suppose, though too harsh. In time, you could even be a great commander, but you need to forget your pride, swallow your fear of failure and trust in your men. You’re in danger of losing me half my cavalry and that man,” he pointed at Varus, hacking away among the Germans, “is the only one holding that line together. Take the reserve cavalry into battle; I’m going back to push our advantage on the right. Win me the left, Crassus.”
Grinding his teeth, Crassus nodded curtly. Behind him, he could see several thousand heavy infantry. He’d have to risk everything now to save face. As Caesar cantered back toward the remains of his wing, Crassus shouted out to one of the regular cavalry officers with the reserve force.
“Prefect! Order the reserve forward, then take charge of the infantry support and bring them up to the front as fast as you can.”
“Yes sir.”
The prefect saluted, turning to the reserves, as Crassus squared his shoulders and drew his sword. Nodding to the servant who held his gear for him, he retrieved his shield. With a deep drawn breath, he rode for the front line.
He saw Varus straight away. His attention was, however, drawn by an impressive fountain of blood and an airborne lower arm. He grumbled again, knowing that he had to make a magnanimous show here, or he was in danger of losing all the men’s respect to Varus. Gritting his teeth, he rode directly for the prefect. The urge to ‘accidentally’ remove the man from the grand picture flashed momentarily through the legate’s mind, but then professionalism took over. Waiting a moment for a gap to open, the legate hefted his blade and rode in alongside the prefect.
“Varus. Take all the men to your right and reform. I’m taking the left and the reserves are going to bolster the centre.”
Varus heard the legate’s voice and glanced around in surprise in time to see Crassus lean forward over his horse’s neck and drive his blade through a German footman. The prefect grinned maniacally.
“With pleasure, sir.”
The legate pushed forward, his bright, ornate armour now spattered with viscera. Looking out across the line, he saw the reserves almost upon them and the third line of infantry closing at the back. Turning his horse, he rode along the line toward the edge of the field.
“Left flank! Reform on me!”
Slowly the cavalry detached and withdrew to the commander. The Germans tried desperately to make the most of the gap left by the two forces separating, but those who rushed ahead to widen the breech merely came face to face with the reserve cavalry, fresh from the opposite wing. Not enough of their countrymen had seen the opportunity and rushed to seize it. As the few who had sought the advantage met their fate at the hands of cavalry swords, the third line reached the scene. Eight thousand heavy infantry; the trained elite of the Roman world, marched in unison, bearing the standards of six different legions. For the first time on the left of the field, the Germans knew panic.
Varus grinned as his men hacked, stabbed and slashed at the enemy, trying to carve an inroad into the main force. While he was under no illusion that Crassus actually trusted him, the legate had once more authorised his command. He raised himself as high as he could in the saddle and tried to look over the immediate area. The German wing was gradually beginning to give ground. He couldn’t see the other wing, but the presence of half of Caesar’s cavalry on this side could only mean that the right had punched through Ariovistus’ defence. From here, Varus could see the centre and the advancing Roman line. The German infantry were giving ground with every moment and only a few hundred cavalry lay between him and them. He shouted to his men.