The ‘U’ of the gate was still full of the enemy. Beyond, he could see many, many more swarming at the rampart, which that same centurion was still defending with steady strength and control, and yet more were flooding the circumvallation defences where they touched the camp, attempting to break through there as well. Units of the Fifteenth and the Ninth held that sector desperately. Only the enforced enclosure of the gate had kept Fronto’s barricade from falling through sheer numbers, funnelling the enemy to him and limiting his opposition at any given time.
Yet the large piles of dead only a dozen paces inside the camp and the gathering number of wounded moaning at one another back among the tents spoke of the dreadful cost of holding the gate.
Already he would like to see more reinforcements, troop numbers here beginning to decline noticeably. He jumped back down and scanned the chaos until he spotted one of the numerous runners, clutching a wax tablet as though his life depended upon it, which it well might, of course.
‘You.’
The man stopped. ‘Sir?’
‘Tell Caesar we need more men.’
The runner gave Fronto a look that spoke volumes about how many times he’d been stopped by an officer in the last half hour with the very same message, but to his credit, he did not argue, simply saluting and running off on his errand. Wiping a mix of foul liquids from his face, Fronto jogged back to the rampart and climbed to where the centurion stood, his ears picking up distant calls from a Roman cornu as he did so.
‘Hear that?’ he asked the centurion.
‘Deployment calls,’ the officer replied, rubbing tired eyes.
‘Yes. The Eighth and the Thirteenth if I’m not mistaken, down on the plain. Caesar gathers fresh men to his own position.’
‘And to ours,’ the centurion said with audible relief, jabbing out with a finger back towards the south gate. Fronto turned and heaved in a much needed cleansing breath. ‘That’s Fabius,’ he noted, recognising the figure in the grey cloak with the white plume and the small skewbald horse. ‘And… what? Six more cohorts?’
‘I count the standards of seven, sir.’
Fronto squinted and smiled. ‘I do believe you’re right. Caesar reinforces his own position because he’s sent us more of his men. Good boy,’ he grinned, noting the look of disapproval on the centurion’s face at such an appellation applied to the proconsul. ‘I wonder how many men we’ll get this time. Should buy us some time.’
The centurion nodded sombrely, his gaze slipping back over the camp to the distant western horizon. ‘I hope the general has something up his sleeve though, sir. Another hour and a half — two at the most — and that sun’s going to sink, and with it go our chances.’
Chapter 24
Varus huffed and chewed his lip as he stood at the command post in the centre of the plains sector. Next to him, Quadratus sat disconsolately, trying with difficulty to tear apart a piece of stale, worm-eaten bread with his one good arm, the other bound up and slung at his chest. The medicus had grumbled about the cavalryman yanking out the arrow that had impaled his arm, but it seemed there was no permanent damage. Enough to keep Quadratus out of action for the rest of the season, though. It would have irritated Varus to lose his most able officer were it not for the fact that all the cavalry sat idle anyway between the Roman fortifications, nice and safe and bored, while the infantry fought for their survival.
‘Maybe you should throw your men into the wall defences?’ the sub-commander mused.
‘The general already refused that. I offered, but he wants the cavalry in reserve.’
‘No use being reserves while the defences fall, though.’
Varus grunted his agreement and watched as another of the artillery towers fell silent, Gallic archers from the reserve force outside having raked it clear of life with their constant flurries and kept the ladder under attack so that no Roman could reach the scorpion above. All along the plains sector the story was the same: hard-pressed legionaries fighting what appeared to be a losing battle. The supplies of pila had gone and few men on the walls now had any kind of missile to cast down or shoot. The Roman defenders had fallen back upon sword and shield at the fence, which meant the enemy were so close at all times that they could feel one another’s breath.
‘Soon they’ll be down to hitting each other with rocks,’ Quadratus muttered, as if reading his commander’s thoughts, and Varus sighed. ‘It’s looking bleak. And we’ve an hour perhaps 'til sunset.’
A series of calls from a cornu across the plain noted the distribution of the reserves from the Eighth and Thirteenth around the twin ramparts, and the new arrivals created a temporary reprieve for their comrades as they cast their pila straight away and pushed back the waves of attackers, only for the tide of Gallic life to immediately flow back against the fence.
The two officers scanned the area irritably and caught sight of Antonius and Caesar riding through the chaos towards them, the ever-present Aulus Ingenuus and his Praetorian horse alongside. Varus and Quadratus hauled themselves wearily to their feet and saluted the army’s most senior officers.
‘Varus,’ Caesar greeted him quietly. ‘The time has come. All reserves from the system are now committed on the plains and on Mons Rea. I have no more legions to call, and the light is leaving us. I must finish this now, before darkness falls.’
Varus nodded, sensing the call to action in the general’s words.
‘The plains are bolstered by the new arrivals,’ Caesar continued. ‘I will ride for Mons Rea, where I believe the battle will be broken one way or the other. There are two redoubts on the hill and one between here and Mons Rea. I should be able to draw four cohorts from them to take to the camp.’
‘Leaving the walls on the hill poorly-manned,’ reminded Antonius quietly, but Caesar brushed it aside.
‘I will take those four cohorts and attempt to win the day at Mons Rea. I will be taking most of the cavalry with me. They are — as you so helpfully noted — largely ineffectual between the ramparts, but word is that the enemy are already breaching the north wall of the Mons Rea camp, and if they are inside the fort, the cavalry can do their work well.’ The general looked appraisingly at Quadratus. ‘Can you ride and fight?’
‘Not well enough, general,’ Varus cut in. ‘Most of the cavalry?’
‘Yes, a good part of them. Two of the three wings.’ The general turned to the men behind him. ‘Antonius? You’re an experienced cavalryman. You command that force. Ingenuus here will commit the entire Praetorian unit alongside you.’ The bodyguard officer opened his mouth to object but Caesar overrode him. ‘No. I realise that I will be in danger, but if we lose this fight, we’re all doomed anyway, so I need to commit every man I have, and your horsemen are the best the army has to offer. You will commit to battle in the camp.’
Ingenuus nodded, looking less than happy with his lot. Varus was still frowning.
‘And what of me then, and the rest of the cavalry?’
‘You, Varus, are to be my surprise. I want you to take the remaining wing and the German cavalry and head back south, in an almost complete circuit of Alesia. When you reach Labienus’ camp to the north, you will be far from any of the action. There, you can cross the circumvallation and manoeuvre outside.’
Varus broke into a grin. ‘I like the sound of it, general.’
‘You will have to be as quick as you can and as subtle, too. It’s a long ride to get round and out of the defences unseen, and if you are spotted too early, the whole plan might fail. We will fight on as we must and wait for your hopefully timely arrival.’