Reluctant Siege Page 2

  General Gurges studied his youngest and least experienced Tribune. If time permitted, he’d counsel the youth on not interrupting when his elders were speaking. But, Gurges was busy. Instead, he decided to remove the lad from the battlefield.

  “Tribune Peregrinus. Take charge of the reserve Centuries. And watch. Maybe you’ll learn something,” General Gurges ordered. Then returning his attention to the other Tribunes, he directed, “Prepare the cavalry to turn the barbarian line. I want this over by nightfall.”

  The plan was for the mounted Legionaries to roll the ends of the Etruscan line inward. Once constrained, the enemy front would shorten allowing the heavy infantry to concentrate the fight on a narrower front. On an open plain or even in the foothills, it was a superb use of cavalry. However, the steep slopes of Volsinii were not ideal for the Legion’s cavalry.

  “Signalman. Standby to advance the third maniple,” Gurges ordered the trumpeter as the Tribunes rode off to alert their segments of the battle line. “Then we’ll let the cavalry have a bit of joy.”

  “On your command, Sir,” the trumpeter assured his General.

  Gurges sat comfortably on his horse turning his head from side to side. He was pleased with the speed of his Tribunes. They raced from Centurion to Centurion and soon the last two Tribunes reached the cavalry units. His seventy-five mounted Legionaries on either end of the battlefield received his orders and the Tribunes waved their arms. The motion was picked up by the other Tribunes. Like a ripple in a pond, the wave rolled from the far ends of the Legion’s line until they converged on the General. With all of his units ready, he glanced down at the trumpeter.

  “Sound the advance for third maniple,” Gurges ordered. He waited patiently for the trumpets down the line to repeat the signal. Once the veteran infantrymen shifted forward to enter the battle, the General added, “Signal the cavalry!”

  ***

  For the leading edge of the Etruscī and Insubri warriors, meeting the third maniple was shocking. One moment they were battling well trained but average Legionaries. Then, spaces opened between the Legionaries and a different kind of human stepped into the gaps. The experienced, and what was left of the rookie Legionaries, stepped back. Suddenly, the tribesmen faced a many clawed monster.

  The harden veterans of the third maniple advanced. Their gladii pumping as if churning butter and their shields thrusting forward in bone breaking rhythm. By the time the trained ranks of Etruscan soldiers pushed aside their tribesmen brothers and reached the front line, the third maniple was warmed up and ready for them.

  ***

  The General wasn’t a fan of horsemen, especially for a short excursion into the foothills along the Tiber river. He couldn’t justify the expense but, to satisfy the Senate, he allotted for one hundred fifty when he presented his plan to the Senate. A few Senators with military experience voiced concerns, but in the end, the plan was approved. The Senate allowed the formation of Gurges Legion.

  Mounted troops did serve one purpose. The cost of maintaining his mounts and those of his Tribunes got distributed through the cavalry budget. Not only would he make a fortune on slaves and bounty from putting down the Volsinii rebellion, he’d do it under budget. Although the citizens didn’t care about such things, the Senate did. Certainly, he could use it as an example when he surrendered the Consulship in a couple of weeks and resumed his place in the Senate.

  Every time a would-be hero of the Republic came forward asking for gold to finance a Legion, Quintus Fabius Gurges would stand and, with the assurance of a successful General, he’d cut the adventurers budget. The General laughed at his own cleverness as his understrength cavalry units nudged their mounts forward.

  ***

  Foot soldiers responded to enemy cavalry because it was hard to defend against moving mounts. Huge numbers of fast moving hooves and long swords chopping down from on high as the horsemen passed were devastating. If the infantrymen were in formation, the ends of their lines were the most vulnerable. In an open field and out of formation, the cavalry was an infantrymen’s worst nightmare. But on steep terrain, the mounts couldn’t get speed or maneuver with any authority.

  Rather than turning a few Etruscī and Insubri inward, the mounted Legionaries confronted massed warriors. The introduction of organized Etruscan soldiers to the center of the line allowed the tribesmen to push reinforcements to both ends. There, they lowered their spears and long swords and engaged the cavalry. The Legion mounts struggled up the slope and approached in columns. Instead of a cavalry charge, it became a series of slow moving horseback sword fights. The mounted troops climbed to the fight, swung their swords a few times, then came about and descended the hill. At the bottom, they got back in the column and prepared to do another circuit.

  On the other end of the Legion line, that cavalry unit also got bogged down in a chain of passing flourishes. As the battle for Volsinii progressed, the barbarian line remained fully extended. This prevented the Legion’s infantry from forming into three ranks where they could rotate men off the shield wall and give the veterans a rest.

  Chapter 3 – Reserve Status

  Tribune Peregrinus trotted his horse away from General Gurges and the Tribunes. Although the spirited horse moved with its head held high, hooves flashing and bristling with energy, its rider displayed none of those attributes.

  Peregrinus’ cheeks flushed and burned hot at the shame of being dismissed from the battlefield. He slumped on the neck of his horse and sulked. Somewhere in the young Tribune’s misery, he began to worry.

  What would he tell his father? While the other Tribunes were riding back and forth coordinating the Legion, Pollenius Armenius Peregrinus was exiled to the Legion camp as a spectator.

  And the reserve units? A ragged collection from the Central and Eastern Legions. No doubt misfits sent by their Centurions to rid their units of problems.

  They didn’t even qualify for a maniple. He’d watched them drill. The reserve Centuries practiced squad tactics and two-line attack formations. Compared to the power of the three-line maniples, it was almost sad to watch them. Maybe they were valuable in garrisons but, here on a true battlefield, they were only fit for reserve status.

  ***

  Peregrinus jerked his horse to a stop and eyed the reserves. There should be four hundred and eighty Legionaries and officers. Yet he could only see about a third of that number. The rest were probably in the fortified camp sleeping, or off hiding, and drinking cheap wine.

  An old Centurion marched up to him and, after a cross chest salute, asked, “Orders, Tribune?”

  “Just watch. Maybe you’ll learn something,” Peregrinus spit out.

  “Yes, sir,” the Centurion replied calmly before walking away.

  Peregrinus wanted to dismount and pace, or stomp the ground, to release his frustration. But he was of the Patrician class and it would be unseemly for common citizens, let alone Legionaries, to witness his fit of temper.

  “The General committed his cavalry too soon,” announced a voice in the crowd of reserve Legionaries.

  Peregrinus’ head snapped around and he shouted, “Who said that?”

  “I did, Tribune,” admitted one of the reserve Legionaries.

  The man was just a few years older than Peregrinus but carried scars on the crown of his head, on both arms and on his thigh. Although he had a pleasant face, the scars made him look like a brawler, which only confirmed the young Tribune’s opinion of the reserve units.

  “Name?” Peregrinus demanded.

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera,” the Legionary replied.

  “Sisera. Keep your mouth shut,” Peregrinus ordered. “When General Gurges wants your opinion, I’m sure he’ll ask for it.”

  “Yes, Tribune,” the Legionary replied.

  ***

  As soon as the young Tribune turned around, another Legionary bristled, stood straighter, and opened his mouth. Before the hot-headed Legionary could say anything, Alerio jabbed him in the ribs with his elbo
w. The Legionary gasped but, the elbow worked, he didn’t say anything to the Tribune.

  “Private Drustanus. Lance Corporal Sisera. A word if you please,” called out a Sergeant.

  Drustanus and Sisera picked up their three javelins and their shields and walked over to the Century’s Sergeant.

  “In times of battle, our nerves are on edge,” Sergeant Meleager advised them. “Our blood gets up and we’re ready to lash out verbally or fight. Now, a wise man saves his ire and energy for the barbarians. As the Tribune pointed out, watch and maybe you’ll learn something. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Alerio answered.

  While the talk was aimed at the Legionaries, Tribune Peregrinus couldn’t help but overhear the comments. However, he didn’t see Sergeant Meleager and old Centurion Seneca exchange nods.

  ***

  From the Legion camp, the men fighting on the hill at Volsinii were small, almost finger sized figures. But the lines were clear as the Legionaries fought and the horsemen tried again and again to turn the barbarians.

  One simple fact of a shield wall was both sides grew exhausted. Commanders needed to feed fresh bodies into the fray to maintain momentum. Without the relief, even the ablest veteran soon wore out. And while the third maniple had been hammering the Etruscī and Insubri warriors, the failure of the cavalry to shorten the barbarian’s line required them to stay in the extended rank. When the Legion’s NCOs managed to send the newest and the experienced Legionaries back into rotation, the moves resulted in the Legion line falling back a few steps. Both sides were slowing down in their ferocity except the tight ranks of the Etruscan soldiers. They were maintaining a cycle of rotation, keeping fresh troops in the fight. The truth of a shield wall was rested troops won the battle.

  The other truth of a shield wall was an outside force could change the outcome of a conflict. Unfortunately, the force wasn’t from the Republic.

  ***

  Tribune Peregrinus sat transfixed as the Legion began back stepping. Fighting uphill against the press of bodies from above prevented the Legionaries from shoving the barbarians to make room for advancing. Plus, the extended line stunted a regular rotation. Those issues, in combination with the number of rebel tribesmen and the organized Etruscan soldiers, resulted in the Legion giving ground.

  A whistle sounded from the far-right corner of the fortified Legion camp. Peregrinus hesitated a moment before turning to look in the direction of the whistle.

  More than half the reserve Centuries were running in that direction. Behind him, three squads sprinted for the left corner of the camp.

  “Centurion. What’s going on?” demanded the young Tribune.

  “Barbarian cavalry coming from the north,” Seneca replied as calmly as if it was a parade ground exercise. “It’ll do the men good to have a Tribune present.”

  “Shouldn’t we go reinforce the General?” stammered Peregrinus.

  “No sir. The Legion will do a fighting retreat,” Seneca advised. “They need a place to retreat to more than a few extra gladii.”

  “Yes, of course,” Peregrinus declared as he turned his horse. “I’ll go review our positions.”

  “A fine idea, Tribune,” Centurion Seneca stated as the young man kicked his horse into action. Then over his shoulder, he shouted, “Sergeant Meleager. Who do you want guarding the gate?”

  “Seventh Squad, sir,” the Sergeant replied.

  “Isn’t that Sisera’s squad?” Seneca asked. “Why him?”

  “I have friends in the Southern Legion,” replied the Sergeant. “If you’re going to be out numbered, Lance Corporal Sisera is the man you want at your side.”

  “Alright, give him thirty extra bodies,” Seneca suggested. “Now I wish we’d selected a new Corporal for the Century.”

  “I agree, sir,” Sergeant Meleager answered by holding up an ink stained right hand. Without a Corporal to act as the Century’s treasurer, the reports and accounting fell to the Sergeant. He wasn’t sure what he disliked the most. The ink from writing, or the long hours of administrative work done, after a day of training his men.

  Chapter 4 – Ravine Mayhem

  “We’ll wedge it,” announced Lance Corporal Sisera.

  “Wouldn’t a straight-line formation work better?” asked another Lance Corporal.

  “For guarding the entrance, yes,” Alerio admitted. “But as the Legion comes in, they’ll break your integrity. Remember, we have to let our guys in and keep the barbarians out.”

  “My squad will take the north side of the wedge,” the Lance Corporal stated. “Because that’s the direction the barbarian horsemen are coming from.”

  Alerio nodded his approval before looking at his Left and Right Side Pivot men.

  “Cimon. Drustanus. Where do you want the squad to be?” he inquired. “It’ll be safest at the stockade wall.”

  “Where will you be Lance Corporal?” Cimon asked.

  “Seeing as Sergeant Meleager put me in charge of this detail,” Alerio stated. “I’ll be at the head of the wedge.”

  “Then I’ll be on your right,” announced Drustanus.

  “And I’ll be on your left,” Cimon reported.

  Moments later, Sergeant Meleager of the Forty-seventh Century, Gurges Legion jogged from the south end of the Legion’s fortified camp. As he approached the gate, he slowed to look over the defensive formation.

  Sisera stood at the tip of a wedge with three javelins jammed into the ground at his side. Private Cimon was on his left side two Legionaries back from the Lance Corporal. Private Drustanus stood in the same position on the other side. A double line of Legionaries on each side of the wedge stretched back in a vee-formation to the stockade’s gate posts.

  The Sergeant nodded his approval continued jogging past the wedge towards the northern defensive position. He believed in giving good men a chance and letting them do their job. Alerio Sisera was a good candidate for the Corporal position. But he was only here for the rebellion. Once the fighting was over, the Lance Corporal would take leave to visit his family’s farm before reporting back to the Southern Legion.

  ***

  Tribune Peregrinus found three hundred seventy Legionaries on the north side of the camp. They were in a double line stretching from the bank of the Tiber river to the foothills. The formation was situated to block the approaching barbarians’ line of march. Instead of a straight gallop at the Legion, or the camp, the horsemen needed to go into the foothills or through the Legionaries.

  A senior Centurion marched up to his horse and asked, “Orders, Tribune?”

  Peregrinus realized, for the first time in his life, he was in charge of something important. His chest swelled with pride and he no longer worried about what to tell his father.

  “How did you know about the barbarian cavalry?” Peregrinus asked.

  “The signal smoke from Volsinii,” explained the Centurion. “It couldn’t be for the local fighters. Centurion Seneca decided they must be sending a message to another force. He ordered the formation.”

  “What do you need, Centurion?” Peregrinus inquired while letting his eyes drift over the Legion lines.

  “A ballista or two would be nice, Tribune,” the officer replied in jest.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Peregrinus announced as he reined his horse around and kneed it towards the gate.

  The Centurion was shocked. He was only teasing the young Tribune.

  ***

  Peregrinus rode towards the stockade, guided the horse in an arc, and approached the gate from the west. His eyes on the Tiber river to his left, he didn’t look around until the steed was galloping straight for the gate.

  When he looked forward, to his horror, his horse was bearing down on a wedge of Legionaries. The reins just began to tighten when the wedge parted as would a gate. Looking back, he watched as the wedge closed behind him. Then he was through the gate and driving his horse towards the transport wagons.

  “First Engineer! First Engineer,” he y
elled as he vaulted to the dirt.

  “Tribune. What can I do for you?” the engineer asked.

  “Do you have ballistae in those wagons?” he demanded.

  “Why yes. But this is an assault, not a siege,” remarked the Legion’s First Engineer.

  “Not any more. The Legion is engaged almost a mile from here and we have mounted barbarians coming from up river,” Peregrinus explained. “We have one chance to slow them down and give the Legion a chance. We need artillery.”

  “In the field?” the Engineer asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

  Peregrinus looked at the log walls the Legionaries had constructed just a day ago. From the piled dirt to the trenches in case the walls were breached to the top of the logs.

  “No, First Engineer. From in here,” Peregrinus stated. “Over the walls. Can you do it? And I mean fast.”

  “Well, yes. But I need authorization from command staff,” the engineer stated.

  “The command staff is about to be overrun. They are out in the field fighting for their lives. If I had time, I would go and get one for you,” Peregrinus said before stopping and realizing he was whining as he did when he was a little lad. He straightened his shoulders, locked eyes with the engineer and announced, “I am Pollenius Armenius Peregrinus, a Tribune for the Legion of Consul Quintus Gurges. By my authority, you will bring your ballistae to bear on the enemy. Or, I shall execute you right here by my own hand with my own gladius.”

  Peregrinus hadn’t realized he’d rested his hand on the pummel of his weapon. The Legion’s First Engineer had and he reacted to the threat.

  “Right away, Tribune,” he shouted as he turned to the mule drivers, material handlers and his artillery staff. “That wagon and that wagon, to the north wall. You other men pull the tarps and unwrap the bolt throwers.”

  “The barbarians are coming, First Engineer,” Peregrinus challenged as he jumped onto his horse. “And the Legion is depending on you.”