“Tough. That’s the job you’re doing, so that’s what I’ll call you. Spread the line out to meet up with the other legions, and march up to the crest of the hill. I want you to stop before you’re visible down below. We’ve got a quarter of the tribe trapped before the river. Time to cull some barbarians.”
Priscus nodded and turned to face the Tenth while Fronto rode to the top of the hill and dismounted. Creeping forward, he took a brief look. The Helvetii were marshalled in a huge force on the other side of the river, though a large group remained on the near shore.
He could see why the Helvetii had chosen this as their crossing point. While other parts of the Saone would have been narrower, here the river flowed so slowly that the wake from the boats was the only disturbance he could see on the surface. He looked up. A few clouds dotted the night sky, but the moon was bright and late, hanging over the horizon like a distant lighthouse. Dawn was not far off, and the light would be useful, but by the time the conditions were perfect, the tribe would be across the river and gone. Now or never, he thought.
Looking back, he surveyed the landscape and saw the last of the troops falling into position. Waiting for the line to join, he waved a signal at the trumpeter close by. The horn sounded and the legions moved forward at a fast but steady pace, the line solid as they advanced.
The panic among the Helvetii was phenomenal and expected. The sight of over fifteen thousand heavily armed men moving in perfect unison over the crest of the hill would terrify any adversary, but the Helvetii had more to fear than most. The legions came down in a horseshoe shape, advancing on the tribe from all three sides, pressing them towards the river. Those boats that had reached the far side were sent back urgently, and the archers and spearmen among the Helvetii began to cast their missiles across the river to aid their unfortunate, abandoned colleagues; a useless gesture at best since few of the shots actually managed to cross the river and those that did occasionally found a target among their own tribe. The army on the near bank hurriedly formed a battle line, chanting and shouting. Searching for a weakness in the Roman attack, a small group of them broke formation and ran for the woods.
Longinus’ cavalry spotted them and made for the trees.
The legions picked up speed as they descended the slope, casting their javelins and then drawing their swords. They hit the defending line of barbarians with incredible force, sending men hurtling into the air, flailing arms broken by the heavy shield-bosses. Once the initial charge was over, the Roman front line broke up into personal, brutal combat, allowing the next few ranks to move between them and into the fray. Fronto surveyed the scene and was pleased with what he saw. He had never commanded an army before, and could see now how much of the individual tactics became the province of the legate and the centurions. Scanning the combat and looking for a way to usefully influence the action, he smiled. Calling one of the dispatch riders over, he pointed to the far side of the battlefield.
“Most of their baggage train is already across, but there’s still a sizeable amount here. They’re trying to get it loaded onto rafts. Get to Longinus. Tell him to get cavalry over to those rafts and stop them taking the packs. He can bring up the infantry afterwards and secure them for us.”
The rider nodded, saluted and rode off in search of Longinus.
Things were going well. The Twelfth had already carved an arrowhead through the tribe and the entire legion was now engaged. Roman outnumbered barbarian by around six to one, and the outcome was inevitable. In a few moments more, the Twelfth would reach the riverbank, and the Helvetii would be divided in two. Moreover, at that point the boats could no longer continue their transport.
A cavalry officer rode up to Fronto.
“Sir, about a hundred or so of them made it into those woods, and the cavalry can’t manoeuvre well enough in there to catch them. What do you want us to do?”
Fronto scratched his chin.
“How big is that wood?”
“It goes on for about a half mile, sir.”
“Alright, take the unengaged cavalrymen and keep the woods covered from every direction. They have to come out sooner or later. As soon as your legate is finished with the baggage trains, I’ll get him to come and help with the rest of the cavalry.”
“Sir.” The soldier saluted and rode back in the direction of his unit.
Looking back at the field, Fronto could see that it was all but over. Few pockets of barbarians remained on the field. A few were surrendering; others were unaware that their army had gone and were fighting on in the face of hopeless odds. How would Caesar handle this?
A figure on horseback rode up the hill toward him. In the first glimmering light of dawn, Fronto recognised the stocky shape and dark features of Galba, legate of the Twelfth.
“Glorious morning sir. What shall we do with them? Do we kill them or take slaves?”
Fronto smiled his most wicked of smiles. “Round them all up and disarm them. I have an idea.”
As Galba rode off, Longinus reined in his horse. Steam rose from its flanks and from the blood-spattered legate. All done sir.”
Fronto smiled. “I need you to go and join the rest of your cavalry and pen in the group that fled into the woods. Don’t kill them. I might need them shortly.”
Longinus smiled back. “Very well, but I think you should see this.” He handed a standard to Fronto, a staff with a burnished bronze dragon at the top and various streamers attached to it. Examining the decoration below the dragon, Fronto’s eyes widened.
“Is that what I think it is?”
Longinus grinned. “Oh yes. And the rest is in those carts. I’ll leave you to preen if you don’t mind while I go check on my unit.”
Fronto stared, stunned, at the standard in his hand. Shaking his head, he turned to the remaining four dispatch riders as Longinus left.
“Ride hard to Caesar and tell him what’s happened.” He handed the standard to one of the riders. “Give him this, and tell him that his advance on what remains of the Helvetii will be much faster accomplished if he comes this way.”
The riders saluted and rode off.
“What was that then?”
Fronto started. He hadn’t realised that Priscus had joined him.
“That, my friend, is payback. A Helvetii standard maybe, but made from a Roman one. One of the standards of Cassius’ army to be exact. There are several different sub-tribes of the Helvetii, and these ones are the miserable bastards that murdered Cassius. Caesar will want to see what else we dig up from their baggage.”
Priscus gawped.
“Hell, we’re going to be heroes. Is that why we’re taking prisoners? You know we can’t keep them on the march.”
Fronto gritted his teeth.
“That’s part of it, certainly, but we’re going to need a lot of free labour.”
“Why?”
“For the bridge.”
Priscus was totally lost.
“What bridge?”
Fronto pointed out toward the river.
“The one we’re building there. We’ve got at least five or six hours until Caesar and the army get here. We’ve got some damn good engineers right here, a copse of solid building lumber, and a whole bunch of slaves that we don’t know what to do with. The Helvetii have all their worldly goods with them, so we should find axes, saws and so on in their baggage, hopefully.”
He pointed into the distance, where the rest of the Helvetii were moving away from the river as fast as possible.
“We can have a bridge well under construction by the time he gets here and if we work fast we can have the entire army on the other side of the river by sunset. We’ll be a day behind the enemy at most. I think Caesar’s going to change his plans when he sees that standard, and we need to be prepared when he gets here. Get the prisoners roped up and ready to cut wood. Make sure they have a guard, but don’t hamper their work. You can promise them they won’t be harmed while they’re under my command, so long as they work. Tell Galba to get their baggage train searched thoroughly and separate all the usable goods out for us. I’m going to see Longinus.”