Finally, after what felt like an age of plunging through ordered chaos, accompanied by the carnyxes and war cries of enemy forces seemingly all around, the six horsemen crossed one of the temporary plank bridges that carried the fortifications across the Osa River and left the flat of the plain, climbing the very lowest slopes of Mons Rea.
Already the other end of the camp — to the north and at the higher elevation — was clearly under serious attack and Fronto was surprised, as he looked up at the southern gate of the camp, to see a full complement of legionaries strung out along the rampart and above the gate. As the six of them approached and gave the day’s watchword, the gate swinging open to admit them, Fronto ground his teeth at the idiocy of it. The north wall of the camp was under attack by probably a third of the entire Gallic reserve army, and yet the camp’s garrison had spread their forces across all the walls evenly.
Angrily, Fronto rode inside and looked around until he spotted a centurion among the men behind the gate, overseeing the distribution of supplies and equipment along the walls and into carts for the plains sector. Leaving his friends to enter behind him, Fronto walked the impatient, snorting Bucephalus over to the officer. ‘What in the name of Juno’s greasy shit is going on?’
The centurion saluted with a confused frown. ‘Sir?’
‘Your northern wall is hard pressed, man, yet you’re concentrating men on every front. Explain?’
‘The signals, sir. Maintain positions and hold. Legate Caninius had told us that the general gave the order to hold and not redeploy, and all the legions are signalling that order.’
Fronto stared at the man. ‘The signals were to stop the redoubts and camps around the circumvallation sending their needed men to the plains sector, not to keep every man rigidly in position no matter what was happening around them. Use your damn common sense, man.’
‘Sir?’
Fronto resisted the urge to give the man a slap. ‘You’re wearing half a dozen decorations, so you should know better than this. Unless you have a serious fear that you’re about to come under attack from your sister legions, get these men up to the north wall and try not to let thousands of Gauls walk across it.’
‘Sir… respectfully, you command the Tenth. I can’t give that kind of order against the commands of my own legate.’
Eyes narrowed, Fronto scanned the other men nearby. Behind the centurion’s right shoulder stood a veteran legionary with a scarred face, holding the tablet and stylus that contained the watchwords. The Tessarius — the third in command of a century. The man was trying very hard to conceal an expression of mixed contempt and disbelief at his officer.
‘You. What’s your name?’
‘Statilius, sir. Tessarius. Second cohort, Third century.’
‘Congratulations, Statilius. This is a field promotion. You’re now an acting centurion. I’ll clear it with your legate when we’re not under attack and hip deep in the shit. Now take command of this shambles and get these men to the north wall.’
The veteran legionary saluted in a business-like manner and turned, immediately issuing the required orders, taking two men in every three and sending them up the slope towards the distant sounds of combat. Fronto looked at the centurion whose face was rapidly purpling, but who had finally found the sense not to explode in front of a legionary legate.
‘You can argue this out with your own legate when — if — we make it through this almighty cock up. For now, command your nice safe south wall.’ With a malicious smile, he kicked his horse and rode off towards the east gate, his singulares in tow, leaving the centurion on the verge of eruption, his face a marbled puce colour.
‘I wonder how many others are having similar problems with the calls and the orders,’ Masgava mused as he trotted alongside.
‘I don’t know, but blind obedience is only useful if you temper it with a bit of common sense. Look!’
The situation was clearly the same at the eastern rampart, though at least here there seemed to be an excuse. The incline upon which the camp sat gave the riders a good view across the defences down towards the no-man’s-land between here and the oppidum, and a small enemy force was rushing for the camp’s wall. Not many — perhaps four hundred, maybe four fifty — they were essentially the extreme right flank of the trapped rebel force that had sallied forth along the entire length of the walls.
Fronto looked across at the centurion commanding the gate guard and rode towards him, sliding from the saddle and clambering up the slope to the gate top. ‘Tell me you’re not going to keep a full complement of men here against a few hundred while many thousands attack the north wall.’
The centurion turned an embarrassed look on the legate. ‘Orders, sir, though I can’t say as I like it.’
‘Good. As a senior officer of Caesar’s staff, I am giving you a direct order. Take half your forces, including the reserve century, and reinforce the north.’
An expression of profound relief crossed the centurion’s face and he saluted and ran off, shouting for his signifer and musician. Mere heartbeats passed before the calls went up and every other man stepped back from the palisade, hurrying down the slope to form up on the standard.
Fronto looked along the line, having to lean past the bulk of Masgava who had taken the centurion’s place at his side. Another centurion, clearly of a lesser century, stood a dozen paces further down the rampart.
‘I am Marcus Falerius Fronto, legate of the Tenth Equestris, and I’m taking command of this wall’s defence.’ The centurion saluted and Fronto nodded his satisfaction. Better officers than at the south wall, then. Their shields bore the bull emblem of Caesar as well as the XV of Reginus’ Fifteenth legion. He looked down at the defences. While the double circumvallation consisted of a towered fence atop a rampart protected by sharpened branches, twin ditches, lilia pits, metal spikes, caltrops and pointed stakes, this was a standard camp. A timber palisade protected by a rampart and single ditch. If ever there was a weak spot begging to be attacked…
‘Hold the wall top, Centurion. There aren’t many of them, so you should have no difficulty. Use your discretion. If you manage to thin out the enemy enough to be sure they pose no further threat then send more men to the north. I leave that decision to you.’
‘And where will you be, legate?’
‘The gate. It’s potentially a weak point. There’s an unprotected crossing of the ditches there, so you can be sure a few of them will try for it.’
The centurion nodded and gestured to two of his men. ‘Calatorius? Nilus? Take your contubernia down below and support the legate at the gate.’
The men saluted and sixteen legionaries stepped back and descended, the soldiers at the rampart shuffling along to fill in the gaps they left. Fronto smiled again in recognition of the efficiency of the men around him. He had no qualms about leaving the upper rampart in this centurion’s hands, though as he approached the gate he was concerned to note that it was formed of only a single thickness of oak slats, bound and hinged with rope and barred with only a single light beam.
‘Whoever was in charge of this construction should be beaten with his own gate!’ he grumbled as he stepped close. ‘This wouldn’t hold long against a breathless old woman.’ The four men who were already here had the grace to look at the floor at the comment. ‘Apologies, sir. Not our construction, though.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Nothing we can do now. We’ll just have to hold it.’ He looked around at the force he commanded. Twenty legionaries, five singulares and himself. Twenty six men. A double-leaved gate some eight feet in width. He turned to look inside the camp and rubbed his purpled cheek.
‘We can’t keep this gate shut against them. It just won’t hold. So all we can do is form an inner redoubt. See those three carts?’ He gestured to the two contubernia who’d joined him from the walls. ‘Get them over here and form a ‘U’ around the inside of the gate with them. Tip them on their sides and form a rampart. Use any barrels, crates, sacks and ropes you can find to strengthen it.’ He looked at the four men who had been on guard here. ‘You four go get as many pila as you can. If any of you can use a bow, requisition one. Get the stuff and get back here before I have time for a long fart. Got it?’