Not giving the Gauls time to pull their army into a sense of order, Balbus spoke quietly but hurriedly to the trumpeter by his side. The signal blared out across the field and crews in the centre of the Roman army pulled the leather covers off the Ballistae, anchored to four wagons for stability. The crews took positions, protected by their own personal shield walls provided by the Eleventh and Twelfth. Long iron bolts began to whiz through the air, pounding into the Gauls, pinning warriors to the ground and occasionally to other men.
Another horn blast rang out and, as the first of the fleeing Gauls reached the top of the rise, Longinus’ cavalry hove into view, swords out and swinging; spears levelled. With nearly four hundred mounted legionaries and over a thousand auxiliaries drawn from Cisalpine Gaul, armed and armoured in much the same manner as the enemy, Longinus’ unit was an awesome sight. Moving like heated metal through snow, the cavalry cut their way through the fleeing barbarians, though not pushing down too far into the mass for fear of rendering the Roman missile fire ineffective. Longinus had been clear; his job was to prevent the army fleeing the field.
In the centre of the army, three Gauls clearly showed above the mass, mounted on powerful horses. Fronto singled them out from his position by the Tenth. With a shout, he had a runner take a message to Balbus. The messenger reached the legate and there was a sudden bout of activity below the siege engines. Balbus climbed up onto a baggage cart behind the shield wall.
“The leaders are in the centre, on the horses. Earn your pay, men, and pick those barbarians off before they can do anything.”
The Ballista crews reloaded and began to fire with more accuracy and less speed, gradually gauging the distance and drop to reach the mounted men, picking off a number of warriors in the process.
After a minute or so of firing, the deadly iron bolts found their first target, the barbarian chieftain plucked from his horse with the strength of the blow and hurled ten feet back into the mess. Cries of dismay rose among the remaining Gauls, doubling in force and volume as a second bolt struck its target. Another chieftain, caught in the shoulder, was spun bodily into the air and thrown from his horse.
Fronto and Balbus both looked up to a crag behind the Tenth, where Caesar and the staff officers stood surveying the battle. Fronto waved an arm above his head, a red scarf clutched in his hand.
Caesar nodded and a staff officer next to him repeated the gesture. Fronto turned to his trumpeter and issued another order. As the short call rang out over the battlefield, the Ballistae ceased their deadly rain, Longinus reined his cavalry in on the crest of the hill, and the legions broke off their brutal task and pulled back in a line.
Caesar surveyed the battlefield. There had been hardly any loss among the legions, and all the shield walls had held. The Gauls were a different matter entirely. With perhaps a third of their army intact, they had nowhere to turn and no way to escape. Their one surviving chieftain sat astride his horse, desperately issuing commands and trying to pull his force into order.
The general smiled. His legions and their commanders had worked well together, and Balbus and Fronto had even come up with the idea of using the siege engines in situ, which Caesar had not even considered. He climbed onto his white charger and rode to the edge of the hill. The field was now deep in an eerie silence: the only sound the moaning of the wounded and dying.
Raising his voice so high that his throat gave him discomfort, he addressed the Gauls.
“Barbarians, you have lost the battle. Must the butchery continue until no one is left, or will you surrender your arms?”
The Gaulish chief shouted back.
“What assurances would you give us if we surrender?”
Caesar smiled. He had been ready for this.
“Many of your countrymen will be mobilising against us, though many others fight for us. You chose to side with the Helvetii, a people who launched an attack on the forces of Rome. That was your mistake. We do not have the time or the resources to make prisoners or slaves of you, and I will not set you free to rouse your allies against us. There are only two paths open to you. Join us, or die where you stand.”
A groan rose from the Gauls as Caesar went on.
“If you hold this recent alliance with the Helvetii so dear to your hearts, you must accept what honour demands and die on this field. If you are willing to accept Roman command, you will be divided and dispersed between our existing auxiliary units. You will fight for us, among units of Gauls who follow the path of Roman civilisation, and you will have the honour of fighting under trusted Gaulish commanders. You have a minute to make the choice before I order the slaughter to begin. Choose wisely, Gaul, for not only your life, but the lives of your people rest on your shoulders.”
To emphasise Caesars words, Fronto and Balbus gave signals. The front ranks of the legions locked shields once more and levelled their swords. The artillery crews reloaded the Ballistae and aimed them into the centre of the army. The rear ranks of the legions hefted their javelins and stood poised ready for the throw. And on the crest of the hill, Longinus’ cavalry formed up in a line four deep. The Gauls knew; had to know that they were staring death in the face, with no uncertainty.
The Gaulish army shuffled their feet and muttered among themselves. Tense seconds passed. Caesar held his hand up, his ornately decorated sword in hand, ready to drop and give the signal.
With seconds to go, the Gaulish chief held his spear and his broad-bladed sword high in the air.
“Death to Rome!”
The Gaulish army surged in four directions at once, slamming into the Roman legions and sweeping toward the deadly cavalry.
Shaking his head sadly, Caesar let his arm fall. Four thousand javelins swept through the air and into the mass. Bolts from five heavy Ballistae flew into the crowd, two taking the leader from his horse, the other three carving a path through both flesh and metal, often taking more than one target at a time in the press of warriors. The initial volley thinned the crowd by about ten percent, felling men across the field. The Seventh and Eighth Legions pressed forward between the arms of the other legions, carving their way and pushing the mass of Gauls into the waiting cavalry of Longinus on the hill. The Eleventh and Twelfth Legions came behind them, surrounding the artillery and the baggage trains and taking the place of the shield wall, javelins at the ready.
Fronto, leaving the mop-up to Priscus, joined Balbus and the two of them rode up the hill to where Caesar stood sadly, watching the obliteration of the barbarian army.
“Such a waste” he sighed. “Why will they not accept the inevitable? We must make more of an effort to win them over.”
Fronto smiled a grim smile.
“Don’t waste your sympathy, sir. They had their chance, but the Gods are with us. This is a glorious victory. It’ll enhance our reputation at home, strike fear into the hearts of the Gauls, and make our legions proud and strong. That’s value beyond a few auxiliary troops.”
Balbus nodded, standing next to Fronto.
Caesar sighed. “I suppose you’re right Fronto, but I don’t like to waste resources.”
Words shared in other times made Fronto and Balbus cast a sidelong glance at each other. This was a man who thought of the military as a tool. Would he be as cold when it came to his own?