Longinus and his men were obviously equally struck with disbelief. The unit milled about in confusion as the cavalry troopers stared at the unusually strategic Helvetian advance. Unfortunately, as they dithered too long, the front ranks of enemy spearmen met the cavalry with enough force to remove some of the men from their horses. With a quick shout, Longinus drew the cavalry away from the front of the phalanx. The riders split into two groups that peeled off in opposite directions and cantered around the lowest slope of the hill to take up a reserve position for when they may later be needed to flank the enemy.
As soon as the cavalry had cleared the front of the massed legions, the cornicen began to play at the summit of the hill, relaying commands from the general and his staff. Caesar himself stood on one of the wagons, high and visible, shouting words of encouragement that precious few on the battlefield would be able to hear. Fronto, standing in the back row of the Tenth, listened to the call and gave the order for his men to sheathe swords and heft their javelins. Caesar had requested Fronto’s presence among the staff on the crest of the hill, but he had fought for his position as commander of a legion. He had after much argument been allowed to take a place with his men, though not to fight, but purely to lead, direct and encourage. To this end, he carried a sword with his left hand and no shield. This was an important fight, and Fronto needed the best possible morale among the Tenth, hence his camping the previous night among the men.
The Gaulish phalanx closed inexorably with the front lines of the legions, thousands of long spears thrust from behind a wall of the Gaulish shields. The legions took a few steps forward on the command of the officers, reaching the lower levels of the slope, where a slight ledge allowed the legionaries to defend at a slightly advantageous though not unfeasible gradient. The Helvetii reached the initial slope just as the order was given for javelins to be released.
Each legionary throughout the army on the slope took a firm grip of one of the two javelins they carried as standard kit. The whole bulk of men shifted position slightly and, as the final cry went out, twenty thousand javelins arced out from the four front legions and into the phalanx moving toward them. The impact was phenomenal. The Helvetian shield wall at the front shattered and disintegrated like painted wall plaster. Javelins tore through shields, sometimes crippling the bearer but always making the shield useless, the soft metal neck of the missile bending and becoming lodged as it passed through the wood and leather.
As the front lines of the Helvetian offensive collapsed under the hail of missiles, the four legions repositioned, drawing their short swords once more. At the top of the hill, the Eleventh and Twelfth reacted to the signal and released another volley of javelins, arcing way over the heads of the lower units and crashing among the mass of Gaulish warriors.
As the Tenth moved forward, the other three legions keeping pace to the sides, Fronto settled into step. The Helvetii ahead of them were disorganised and in something resembling a state of panic. Realising that a wall of Roman steel was closing on them, the non-wounded men in the nearest group of Gauls desperately pulled themselves into as solid a front as they could manage. Few had managed to retain their shields due to the javelin volleys; most had cast them aside as useless. The front ranks of the armies met with a crash that shuddered across the Roman lines, but smashed the Gaulish wall. The order to break ranks came from Caesar’s staff cornicen on the summit, and was relayed by each legion’s musicians. By the third note, the shield-wall of the Tenth had broken and the true melee had begun.
Priscus led the First Cohort from the front of the army, and they spearheaded into the enemy. Once the front line of the Gauls had been broken, the ranks behind were disorganised. Discipline and command passed away from the generals and became the province of the centurions, who controlled their individual groups of eighty men according to a grand plan but with a great deal of individual freedom. Priscus raised his head as high as he could above the men of his century and looked around. The First Cohort was in danger of getting cut off if the enemy managed to organise themselves again. He could see the rest of the Tenth some distance behind, and could hear Fronto’s cornicens relaying commands, but there were now pockets of Gauls between the First Cohort and the rest of the legion.
Realising the danger, Priscus called his signifer and gave the command for defensive formation. The entire cohort pulled in as close as possible, forming a solid square, with shield walls facing outwards on all sides. Once the formation was complete, he relayed a second set of signals to the senior centurions of the other cohorts to inform them that the First Cohort would hold where it was.
Suddenly, there was a crashing sound behind him. A number of Helvetian warriors had banded together to try and break through the cohort’s outer wall. The first two came hurtling over the shield wall and crashed onto the heads of the men behind, bringing a whole section down in a heap. The two barbarians, who must have been thrown bodily by their fellows, died within seconds of landing but the damage to the formation had been done. Following on in their wake came a dozen burly Gauls. Having dropped their broad-bladed swords, they were armed only with a dagger in each hand. They smashed through the collapsed shield wall and cut and shredded their way in among the tightly packed Romans at the centre. The legionaries immediately started their work with the short thrusting swords, but the lack of manoeuvring room left them unable to put up an effective fight. While those few barbarians cut at and stabbed whatever they touched in the press of men, other Helvetii were attacking the hole in the shield wall, trying to widen it.
Priscus bellowed at the top of his voice
“Close the damn gap, you arseholes.”
Other centurions within the First Cohort delivered orders and the various centuries on that side of the wall pushed to close the gap. Meanwhile, the centre of the formation was gradually regaining control of the situation and the barbarians were being whittled down until the threat was gone. Unfortunately, due to the large number of dead in the centre of the square there was now a considerable open space, littered with prostrate bodies, and the few remaining Gaulish warriors were making good use of it.
Priscus raised his head to make out what was happening and saw one of the three remaining warriors, who had rescued shields from among the dead Romans, making straight for him in the press. It was always a dangerous situation; centurions led from the front, and their high visibility made them an obvious target. The centurionate bore a ridiculously high mortality rate, and Priscus was determined not to become just another statistic in the legion’s paperwork. He eyed the wounded, blood-stained warrior who clutched a dagger in one hand, a large Roman shield in the other.
Reaching out, he gripped the shaft of a standard that one of his signifers held.
“Give me that.”
The signifer relinquished the tall, heavy and unwieldy standard reluctantly. It was an honour, though a dangerous one, to carry the standard.
Swinging the weighted pole above the heads of the men, he brought it down and angled it like a spear. Indeed, there was a spear head on the very tip, above the golden laurel wreath. Bracing himself, he pulled it back. The barbarian sneered and held the large shield over his torso, looking over the top in the manner of a legionary, and picked up pace into a charge. The legionaries held back. Though they could probably have tackled the barbarian, none of his men would dare dishonour the primus pilus like that. The barbarian pushed the shield out forward to ward off the spear head and laughed.