by Terikel Grayhair



"They come."

The words that Niall, chieftain of the Cananefate Tribe of the Germani, dreaded had finally been spoken. Ever since he heard that the dreaded Titus Vorenus had been given command of the two legions between here and old Batavodurum, Niall knew the Roman would come against his people. He could not help it. Vorenus was known by his cognomen the Butcher – Carnifex- earned and re-earned many times over wherever he was posted. Now the Butcher was posted upon the mighty Rhein and had raised an additional two legions.

Niall rose from his squat, gave his uneaten gruel to a comrade, and stood to survey the misty lands lying between his hilltop and the river a few miles away. His six feet two inches of height allowed him to see a long ways.

"How far?" he asked the scout. Jorgen looked back across what he had just ran, thought for a second, and looked at his chieftain.

"An hour or two, father. Not more than that. They are moving quickly."

"Moving quickly in our lands means they know where they are going and fear us not, or know our strength. Which is it?"

Jorgen shrugged. He had almost caught his breath by now. "Oddmund swears they know only what we allowed them to know, having killed any Romani scout found outside the area you allowed them to see. But they come in force, father, a full legion."

Niall swore softly. Now he knew why the Romani were moving quickly. A full legion, that meant 10 cohorts of hardened veterans with supporting spearmen, archers, cavalry, and those dreaded rock-and-fire hurlers that so distressed his sturdy spearmen. No Germani had beaten a Roman legion in open battle since the days of old Herman the Cherusci who ambushed that fool Varus in Teutoburger Forest years ago. And the Romani did nothing if not learn and learn well from their mistakes. There would be no repeat of that grand melee, even if he had the men for it, which he did not.



He had but a half-dozen warbands of spearmen, four bands of cowards who use the hunting bow in warfare, one band of Unclad Lunatics with their long and terrible swords, and the advantage of knowing his native land as intimately as the insides of his own woman's thighs. Not nearly the force Herman had, but maybe enough to fend off the Romani without being destroyed in the process. For defeat meant the death of the Cananefates, either by Romani gladii or absorption by the neighboring Batavians or invading Frisians.

Niall swore again. Oddmund and his valiant horseborne were out searching for and killing the Romani reconnaissance patrols, which he admitted was necessary, yet deprived him of their crashing charges in the coming battle. And the axemen of Glam, son of Horgath, were also away, ravaging in the forest, evicting those families foolish enough to remain in the path of the Roman military machine, and scattering a few worthless silver coins among the empty villages inside circles of runes. Maybe the likeness of Drusus Germanicus, beloved of the Eagles, and the runes reminding them that Germanicus made them Friends and Allies of the Roman People for their aid in recovering the Lost Eagles of Varus, will stay the Roman greed. But then again, Vorenus will not care.

What a pile of manure to land in now- our own men dispersed with a full legion coming. Niall made the decision he knew he would have to make, much to the displeasure of his warriors.

"Break camp," he ordered. "We must buy time enough for Oddmund and Glam to return. Send runners and riders to them to meet us at the Altarstone of Vidar. The rest of us will make a ruckus and try to lead the Romani there. There, we will fight, and the fate of our people will be decided in that battle."

Jorgen nodded reluctantly. Niall was right, despite the pounding of bloodlust in his veins. Though every man wanted a battle right here and now, that would be but a slim chance at glorious death and a much larger chance at Roman slavery. With Oddmund and his riders, and Glam and his axemen in the warhost, there would be a slim chance of victory with a much greater chance at glorious death in battle. There was no other option.

*******

"Hail, Sextus Cornelius!" Quintus Livius called as he approached his commander. He reined his horse in and thumped his fist over his heart in salute.

Sextus Cornelius, a hard, cruel, and above all small man of military stature, sat upon his dark mount watching his legionaries march by. What a wonderful sight, so hard, so disciplined, so powerful. And he was their legate, commander of such might. His reverie broken by Quintus's approach, he turned away from his warhost and raised his gaze to his tribune to hear the report.

Quintus obeyed the unspoken command. "Our cavalry searched far and wide. Some did not return, but those that have report only abandoned villages and farmlets."

Sextus Cornelius nodded. The Germans knew he was coming, but then again, it was hard to move an entire legion about in the countryside without anyone noticing. His eyes narrowed at the thought, but Livius thought they narrowed for another reason.

"Yes, dominus, Titus Vorenus was correct in his assumption," he continued. "Our scouts have found several scattered coins among the dirt floors of the cottages. The Germans here are therefore indeed rich to so casually discard such wealth, and by the numbers of hovels in these flatlands, plentiful. Many slaves to send back to Rome and enrich our legions."

Sextus scoffed. "Do you really think any of the money generated by the sale of slaves will reach us, or our troops? Vorenus will keep the lot, as recompense for the extra two legions he raised."

Livius nodded. Vorenus was known as Carnifex for his rather rough treatment of locals- squeezing them dry and slaughtering the lot of them when they inevitably rebelled. It happened in Syria, it happened twice on the Dacian frontier, and now it will happen here in the backwater of the Empire. But Vorenus had just recently been posted here and had yet to face the Germans.

German children make good slaves if caught young enough, but German women are fit only for the sword. They are far from the docile, dark Syrian women who spread their legs to their conquerors upon command, or the Dacian females who do the same after a stout whipping. No, the Germans were another breed entirely. Raping a Germani wench requires four stout legionaries holding and pinning her to the ground while the fifth has his way- any fewer and the bitch will rise up to bite the throat out of her attacker. Yes, the Germans were an entirely different breed altogether. He wished his father had gotten him a posting in Britannia instead.

Livius wondered if Vorenus knew what it was to face Germans. He must have, he thought, or he would not have sent a full legion 'to punish ' the Cananefate tribe. Never mind the fact that the brigands harassing his supply lines were Batavians and not Cananefates, or the rumors that the Cananefate were once named as Friends and Allies of the Roman People, or that the Cananefate were recovering from several bad harvests and a flood to boot. The Batavians were Friends and Allies of Vorenus and fill his auxilia, while the Cananefate were weakened by the flooding and bad harvests which makes them acceptable as a supply of slaves and booty. It was just that simple.

The second tribune of the legion chose this moment to ride up. As blond-red of hair as any Cherusci or Chatti tribesman from across the Rhein, Marcus Rutilius had often passed for a Germani- a coincidence he used on more than one occasion to infiltrate German lands on scouting missions. This day was no different, except he had to discard his plaid cloak before approaching the legion, lest he be cut down by his own nervous men before they could recognize him. The loss of the cloak was well worth the price if his information got to his legate.

"Hail, Legatus Cornelius, " Rutilius announced with a salute. He was no cousin of the Cornelii to greet his commander in a friendly tone. "There are signs of a large Cananefate gathering upon yon hilltop, lord. They watched us come, then departed."

Cornelius scoffed. Of course the fools departed. A Roman legion was descending upon them, a full legion of Carnifex's Men who lust for battle and the rewards of victory in silver, women, and wine.

"Their numbers?"

"They number not more than we, legatus," Rutilius reported to Cornelius's obvious disgust. "Though I do caution you that not all of our scouts have reported back. In fact, many have not. And this entire sector seems deserted. I smell a trap."

Fool, Cornelius thought. Of course it is a trap. A trap from Vorenus- either I bring back fifty talents worth of goods, slaves, and silver from these dirt-poor tribesmen who eat wheat paste for lack of anything better, or I die trying. Rome's laws give me no other choice once a lord with propraetorian imperium gives me his command to execute.

"Do you know where they are now, tribune, or where they are headed? Are there women and children with them, or merely warriors? Can you tell me anything of military value, tribune?"

Rutilius bit back his pride at the rebuke. Cornelius had a reputation as a tough old bird, but he did ask for a report, not an opinion. "Legatus, there is a war party of Germans heading for a small shrine not far from here. They have no women or children, judging by the tracks we found at their encampment, nor have we found any slave material in the entire sector. The only things of any value found were a few denarii of Germanicus scattered upon the ground and surrounded by runes describing Friend and Ally."

The last was lost on Cornelius, who heard nothing after the word denarii. Rutilius had just confirmed Livius. So, the fools do have money. Vorenus could always smell such things, Cornelius recalled bitterly. "Good! Rutilius- take command of the vanguard and head for that shrine you mentioned. Livius, go to the rear and inform my prefect to have our non-combatants pitch a camp upon that plain we recently passed, then join us to help clean up the battlefield. Maybe a German warrior or two will survive and need to be penned for sale."

*******




"I see them, Niall! There, just beyond the forest," Heldan Braveheart called out. "I see a warband of horseborne in scattered formation leading an Eagle warhost."

Niall nodded. Oddmund had returned during the night, bringing Glam and his axemen with him. Then, bless Thor the Thunderer for his generosity, Ulf Hagar's Son joined the warhost as the sun rose. His fierce and blood-lusting nose smelled Roman blood, and not wanting to be left out of the shedding of it, came running with four score or so of his fellow mushroom-eaters to join in the fray. His warhost was more than full, though the Romani emerging from the misty, forested lowlands thought him still below their numbers. Excellent! And with Oddmund and Glam hidden far forward and to the left, the Romani will seek no further and come straight upon our spears, Woden willing!
*******

"Congratulations, Rutilius," Legatus Sextus Cornelius said with only a hint of sarcasm searing his voice. "The Germani are exactly where you said, and in the proper numbers. As a reward, you may command our Right Flank in the battle. You will assault up the hill toward the grove, then drive their warriors onto our center and left. Move, tribune!"

Rutilius blushed, his red complexion turning brighter at the unexpected honor. Command of the Right! Three cohorts of legionaries, one of auxilia, and cavalry as a bonus. He raced off to marshal his cohorts into their positions while Quintus Livius rode up to receive his own instructions.

"Rutilius seemed pleased to accept command of the right," Cornelius said with a smirk. "He will have the honor of leading our assault upon yon hilltop. You, my dear Quintus, will command our Left Flank, to include the first Cohort. Your mission is to close with their flank by marching toward that grove topping the hill, then slaughter their flank and help us surround the fools in the center, that we may have prisoners to torture for information as to the whereabouts of the slave material and wealth, as well as serving as slaves themselves. Rutilius will lead the assault, drawing their attention upon himself, thus making your task even easier. With any luck, we will be rid of that fool to a German seax as well."
*******
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"Hel's Half-white face!" Niall cursed. "The fools are deploying too early! They will discover Oddmund too soon!" Memories of the council flooded his mind- Oddmund's laugh at the thought of hiding his horseborne alone in the woods, Glam's easy assurance that his band of axemen can keep up with the horses, and the general acceptance of the posting with honor and humor. Now all will come to naught, handsome Oddmund lying dead under his horse, Glam's smile turned to a grimace of death still clutching his beloved axe. Niall jumped up, gripping his sword. Not if I can help it!

"Jorgen! Ride to the right, have the naked fools and Horgath's axemen move to the right, and Adelmund's spearmen move with them to cover. Grab the Roman attention and bring it upon you! And make sure Ulf's Crazed Ones stay hidden or its our collective ass! Move it, son!"

Jorgen ran off to carry out his orders. The German right extended to the right, and did indeed catch the Roman eye.

********


"Shift to the left," Cornelius ordered in a bored voice when he saw the German movement. "I want our center to engage theirs. And order the archers forward. The Germans have only their spears. Maybe we can whittle them down at no cost while we wait."
********


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Its working, Niall thought. They are fixed on us now. He breathed a small sigh when the Roman horseborne passed within paces of where Oddmund lay hidden and continued on without so much as a twitch of curiosity.

What's this? The fools in the center send forth cowards to skirmish. Well, let us greet them as Men of the Dark Forests greet such men. Spear to spear, sword to sword, and toothpick to toothpick.

"Heldan! Gunther! Prepare to engage those Batavian bow-wielding cowards emerging from yon Roman ranks. But only upon my sounding of my horn! Klaus! Have your hunters fill those cowards in the center with your quilled toothpicks. You may light them afire if you wish."

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Klaus grinned evilly. He raised his bow, fitted a burning arrow to his bow and sighted. His flaming brand arced outwards, followed by the arrows of 600 of his fellows, all raining down upon the center auxilia of archers. Again and again the fiery rain fell, and Batavian archers died in droves under each barrage. And the glowing firebrands falling from the sky caught all attention, drawing it away from sounds of a ram's horn and the gallant horsemen emerging mounted from behind the ranks of spearmen. The horseborne swept down in a thunderous charge into the flanking Batavian archers. Within minutes all three auxilia of Batavian archers were dead meat roasting under flaming arrows, or fleeing for their worthless lives.
*******
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"Cacat!" exclaimed Cornelius as he watched the easy destruction of his Batavian archers. Vorenus is going to be very upset at their deaths. "Onagers! They have archers who want to play with fire. Burn them, and their sacred woods around them! Legionaries! Close with those unwashed German horsemen and shower them with pila. Kill them all!"

Rutilius had seen the German horsemen charge, and had already moved to try to protect the Batavians nearest him, but his infantry was far too slow and all he could manage was galloping over Batavian bodies to catch and battle the victorious German cavalry. As he fought, more and more of his cohorts came to his aid, and together they drove the remnants of Gunther's once-proud horseborne noble streaming from the field. Yet as the Germani died, they opened the road to victory.

********

The first thump of a log against a padded stop brought Heldan's handsome head around from striking down a cringing Batavian back to the Roman ranks. He struck another Batavian head from its brawny shoulders and laughed with glee at the gap he saw opening between the Roman Right and the Roman Center.

"Follow me, Men of the Wild! Follow me to Glory and Valhalla!" he cried, raising his sword as he whirled his horse about and aimed for the widening opening in the Roman lines. His men, eager for blood and glory, followed. A German wedge pounded through the gap and into the open area beyond, where Heldan rallied his valiant warriors for a moment before charging down upon the hapless Roman artillerymen who were working feverishly to winch back their terrible arm. The Romans looked up at his approach, abandoned their onager, and drew forth their pitifully inadequate swords.

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To no avail. Heldan and his warband joyfully slaughtered them like cattle.

A pilum planted itself in his chest, causing an expression of surprise and joy to appear upon his face. Valhalla, here I come, he thought as he toppled from his saddle to the earth below. Around him, his men followed him into Death as the cohorts of the Roman center turned and destroyed Heldan's heroic band of cavalry under a shower of pila and vicious cuts of short swords.

Yet his death, like that of the noble Gunther, was not in vain either. Though dead, Heldan had sacrificed himself and his warband to deprive the Romans of their wicked hurlers of rock and the craven fools who man them. No rocks shall fall from the heavens upon German skulls this day, nor shall fire rain down upon the warbands and incinerate them as has happened so often before.

********

"This has got to stop now!" Cornelius barked. Quintus Livius was making good progress on the left, pushing the Germani there from their positions and utterly decimating those ridiculous naked fools who fought bravely but stupidly against armored Roman might. Marcus Rutilius, despite his inept failure to save the Batavians, was still far upslope and in good position to begin curling the German lines in on itself. All that was left was getting his center through that flaming barrage up to swordspoints.

He signalled his trumpeter and rode forward so his cohorts could see him clearly. As his trumpeter blew the notes for the charge, Sextus Cornelius raised his sword into the air, reared his horse back, and ordered the charge. Four cohorts of Roman legionaries, veterans of Dacia and other postings along this front, followed his command and raced uphill, led by a veteran Roman General with red cape flying and a bodyguard of the best legionary horsemen about him. This should break that German line! Two thousands! And if their families are nearby, that is many more than fifty talents worth of slaves I was ordered to bring in. Yes, Cornelius shall prevail!

********

"We are losing on the flanks, Niall!" Jorgen cried. "And the metal-clad bastards are now charging our center."

"I see that," Niall replied calmly. "I also see the Romani chieftain himself leading the charge." He raised his horn to his lips, and waited. Almost, almost. Now! The Romans were fully engaged. He blew his horn. Three blasts, followed by another two. Then he ran off to see to his right flank.

********

"That's our signal, men!" Oddmund said as he rose from the neck of his horse, Released from the weight of the man lying above him, the horse rose and shook off the leaves and twigs that had covered him. Around him, other horses rose upon shaking legs while men clambered upon their backs and drew forth steel. Still other men hefted weighty axes and moved forward from the woodline.

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Oddmund was surprised at how far Niall had let the Romans come before calling him to battle. Gods! The legion had almost encircled the men of the Cananefate, and both Gunther and Heldan lay dead in upon the field. The Roman general was charging Manfred's spearmen, and Niall himself was nowhere to be seen. Wait, there he was, rallying the flagging far flank. Oh well, his presence would help our warriors there stiffen their resolve, and draw all Roman eyes that way and away from our surprise.

"Charge!" he ordered, rearing his horse to grab the attention of his men. His father's sword in his hand, he led his two bands of horseborne and Glam's axemen into the Roman rear.

********

"Cacat!" shrieked Marcus Rutilius. His fears before the battle of a German trap had proven correct. He shouted to his center cohort to come about and his Batavian auxiliaries to set their spears, but in the din of battle and pounding of hooves and blaring of trumpets and shrieks of falling men, none heard him. Only his cavalry saw him and followed his gaze. They turned with him to stave off their own encirclement and death.

It was too little, too late. Oddmund's warriors plunged into the midst of the Roman ranks from behind, toppling men to the right and to the left with weapons while those in the path of the horses found themselves trampled under hooves. Struck from the supposedly safe rear, the surprise of the attack exploded in their minds and shattered all reason. Howling at this unfair turn of events, the men of the Roman Right found themselves in a net of Germans and the drawstring was tightening.

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Rutilius caught a shield-boss across his face from a raging, laughing blond warlord and fell stunned from his horse. Around him, his men also fell, but most of them were bleeding or missing arms or heads. Senseless, he could only watch as his honor command was reduced to raven-food with every strike of a German sword or spear into Roman entrails. His command died about him within minutes.

Cornelius did not survive the demise of Rutilius by much. His gallant and valiant charge upon German spears did not end well. Unlike the half-craven wimpering dogs of spearmen the Dacians had, or the Syrians who went into battle against Romans already defeated in their own mind, the Germans laughed as he came upon them. His charge was viewed with disdain, as if a Roman general was nothing more than an ordinary man upon a horse, or even a slave. He hardly saw the spear that pierced his armor and ravaged his entrails, though he did see the one that killed his horse and the second one that spitted his neck. Blood ran freely through the gaping hole when the nameless German pulled his weapon out to spear another Roman. Within seconds, enough blood had escaped to render Cornelius unconscious. In another minute or two he died.

*******

Niall did not witness the death of the Roman general, nor did he care. He was entirely consumed with rallying his flagging right. Those naked fools had run away, leaving Horgath's axemen to battle the Eagle-carrying legionaries alone. He ordered a warband of spearband to assist, knowing that would weaken his own center versus the charging Romani center who was now eager to avenge their fallen lord. So be it. If we lose the center, we run away and lose honor. If we lose the right, we lose all.

"Come back, cowards!" he cursed. "Hold the line!" His sword clove a crested Roman helm in twain, and the head beneath it. He parried a sword thrust away from his groin, then killed the legionary who had so tried to displease his wife. A quick glance saw the naked lunatics rallying, and the spearmen coming. He also saw that many of his bodyguard were falling. Cursing, he parried yet another sword when inspiration struck him a weak blow upon his shield. The Aquilifer of the Legion, the Eagle-Bearer, had been lanced through the chest. His dead hands let the Eagle fall, and it fell against the grandson of the chieftain who had recovered three of these from the Cherusci. Niall snatched up the Eagle from where it lay against his saddle and raising it high, ordered his remaining men to follow him towards the lunatics, then circled about behind the spearwall.



It worked. The legionaries, seeing the German chieftain flee with their beloved eagle in his grasp, turned to pursue. They followed him about, and as the dust he kicked up settled, they saw the giant swords and dangling manhood of the Unclothed Ones coming at them. Then the spearwall crashed into their ranks from the unshielded side, dropping trained veterans with every thrust of an ashen spear.

"Let loose Ulf and his men!" Niall shouted. His voice, drowned as it was in the storm of cries of dying men, was nonetheless heard by eager ears of men waiting in the woodline for such words. Yelping with glee, Ulf and his warbands descended upon the Romans when they were at their most vulnerable- fully engaged with spearmen and horseborne from all sides.

It was like swinging a sledgehammer against an ancient terra cotta urn.

"Berserkers!" rose the shout from Roman lines. Bowels turned to water and blood to ice at the cry. The most feared of Germani had appeared, men to whom death was to be sought and were blessed with the strength of giants. Madmen who gladly cast themselves upon soldiers who were ten to their one, whose only goal was to fill the afterlife with the souls of slain foemen who would be their servants, and to reign over their own deaths as quickly as possible. Such men who possessed no fear and yet possessed such strength were men to frighten any sane man.



The appearance of Ulf and his gibbering berserker gang was the final straw for many legionaries that afternoon, Tribunus Quintus Livius among them. Already tired from marching all day and battling all afternoon, and losing at that, the Romans who wished to live saw only one way out of the German cauldron. They ran. They ran as fast as their tired legs would carry them to the safety of the encampment Prefect Herrenius was to build.

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Few made it. Oddmund and his horseborne rode down all they could, decapitating a fleeing legionary with every swing of their mighty swords and trampling yet others so that the following footmen could also claim some kills. Glam and his axemen finished off those missed by Oddmund, while Manfred and his spearmen charged down and killed the rest. Of the entire II Legio Vorena Legate Sextus Cornelius led to the Altar of Vidar that day, less than one man in ten made it through the rampaging Germans to the encampment that night.

Marcus Rutilius was one of them. When his senses returned, he retained enough of them to lay still while the Germans slaughtered his countrymen about him. When the Germans charged down upon the fleeing legionaries of the II Legion, he filched a plaid cloak from a fallen axeman and ran with them, yammering in German and pretending to kill wounded Romans. And when darkness fell, he slipped away from the victorious German warhost and made his way back to Herrenius.

*******



"You have won a most heroic victory, Niall," Jorgen said with admiration soaking his voice. "A full legion dead, with almost no losses among our own. Amazing."

Niall scowled at his young runner. "Almost no losses? Tell that to Gunther, or to Heldan. We won today, but only because men like them sacrificed themselves to buy our victory. Had Heldan not slain the crews of those beasts," he said, pointing his sword to the broken remains of the onagers, "they would have stayed at the bottom of the hill and smashed us to bloody pulps with that thing. And when they run out of boulders, they would use fire while others find more rocks to hurl upon us. No lad, we had plenty of losses."

Jorgen looked ashamedly at his feet, then raised his head with a wide grin. "Lord, these are our forests. The men who live here are very much like Lord Heldan and Lord Gunther. We sacrifice ourselves gladly for our swordmates, for in doing so we win Valhalla. And with your victory this day, many many more such will come forward. They will come to serve the lord who destroyed an entire Roman legion to save his people. And with them will come their families. Lord, your victory today will bring needed strength and warriors to our villages. We will survive, thanks to your victory this day."

Niall looked down at his runner with pride. "Son, I have taught you well. Yes, we will survive, and grow strong. But there are still three legions under Carnifex there across the Rhein, and we are still few. Now, pass the word to give the mercy of the dagger to the Roman wounded, and ensure our own wounded are brought to the priestesses and shamans. Just because the enemy goes down in defeat does not mean the battle is over."

Jorgen smiled to his father. It shall be as he wished, and the ominous treading of Roman caligula over Cananefate land was staved off for the time being. It will be another battle when the Butcher of Batavodurum discovers the loss of his precious legion, but that was just more Roman meat for the Cananefate cleaver. Jorgen smiled deeper. With any luck, he may earn a spear or sword and be counted a man before Carnifex runs out of legionaries.

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To be continued...


Other chapters in this series:

1- They Come
2- Vengeance at Traiectum
3- Betrayal on the Border
4- Batavia Rises
5- Homeward Bound
6- The Long Road to Castra Vetera
7- Sunrise at Bedriacum
8- And yet, I was once our emperor
9- Midwinter Misery and Madness
10-Prophecies Fulfilled
11- The Little War
12-The Broken Bridge

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 11-01-2008 @ 08:24 AM).]