Out of the corner of my eye I saw the movement of horsemen upon the ice. I touched Fabianus upon the arm. “Good luck. May fortune smile on us all. I will see you later.” I ran down the steps, mounted my horse and cantered out of the camp and up the smooth slope towards the road and the ditches where my legion now stood at arms. They cheered me as they saw me coming, and I joined Quintus on the ridge where the cavalry stood in lines, dismounted and shivering a little in the cold. “They cannot keep this up,” I said. “Oh for six legions, Quintus. Give me six legions and I would save Gaul in an afternoon.”
It was beginning to get dark now; even so I could see that the garrisons of the two remaining islands were in difficulties. Fires were burning at several points within the defences, and the enemy, aided by make-shift wooden shields, had closed in on the palisades on the east and were hurling rocks and missiles at them, while others were battering at the timber with a handheld ram.
An hour later darkness fell, and all night long we could see a procession of torches crossing the river as the tribesmen moved backwards and forwards with supplies of food, fuel and weapons. All night they kept up their attacks and I could see the fireballs hurtling outwards from the bridge where Barbatio made his stand, and hear the cries of the legionaries in the fort below me as they manned the walls, hour after hour, in the freezing cold. When dawn came I received a signal to say that the tribesmen had enfiladed the town on the south side, had been repulsed in their attacks on the old camp, but were pressing heavily against the walls of Moguntiacum. A signal from Fabianus informed me that a party of men had crept under the bridge in the night and were trying to get a fire going. Barbatio had made a sortie to dislodge them, but without success. It would not be long before he was forced to retreat.
All day they fought. Fabianus’ fort was too strong for them, so they concentrated their attacks on the islands and upon the town. By the afternoon it became apparent that the islands could hold out no longer. A message from Didius, in command of the harbour area, asked for instructions and begged for permission to withdraw. I agreed. A trumpet blew the retreat and the garrisons there broke out and backed across the ice to the harbour where an ala of auxiliary cavalry was waiting to cover them. The tribesmen massed along the edge of the river, awaiting the signal to move forward, while the horde that had captured the south island the previous day, moved against the south wall of the town and fort. Foiled in their efforts to break through the palisade and the stakes, they prowled along the walls and established themselves in the ruined theatre, seeking a weak point at which to attack, while others entered the harbour area and engaged in hand to hand fighting with the rear-guard of Didius.
Presently, a great mass of horsemen moved from behind the harbour island and came up towards the bank. They were caught in a cross-fire projected by both my own ballistae and those of Fabianus and, before they had moved a hundred yards, had lost a third of their men. Those who still remained mounted, rode on to the bank and then turned right, intending, no doubt, to head down river. They checked at the sight of the auxiliary camp and then made towards it at an easy canter.
“They think it is a dummy still, which it was,” I said to Quintus. “Now watch.”
Quintus said calmly, “Someone is going to get a big surprise.”
A cavalry ala came riding out of the camp fast, in three squadrons. The squadrons closed up smoothly and rode towards the enemy. At the very last moment they moved effortlessly into the charge and we could hear the crash of arms as the two groups met. Our men rode straight through them, turned and rode back. The Vandals broke and fled, and those that managed to reach the ice were killed by the archers in Moguntiacum fort.
“Well,” said Quintus. “How does it seem to you?”
I looked towards the east. The entire width of the river was covered with their dead and their dying, and the ravens circled ceaselessly above, waiting to keep them company.
“I would have been happier if the islands had held. We still have them contained between us, the auxiliaries and Fabianus. They won’t be able to break the two camps, and to get at us they must come up the slope.”
In the distance, across the river, we could hear shouting and see great columns of fire and smoke streaming up into the sky behind the masses patiently waiting on the bank.
“That must be Goar,” I said. “Why didn’t he attack before?”
Quintus said, “He’s going for the baggage waggons.”
Messages continued to come in. The commander at Borbetomagus had made a counter-attack with his cavalry and had destroyed the Alemanni in his rear; the enemy before Salisio and Boudobrigo had fallen back across the ice, but were still massed on the far bank; Bingium was still under attack and the native village there had been burned to the ground.
We went on waiting, and then at last the enemy moved. The mass of men who had over-run the lower islands split into two. One half turned right and rolled towards the camp of the auxiliaries; the other half, the greater, moved towards the slopes where we stood.
“Now,” I said, and the artillery opened fire. “Quintus, take the horse behind the camp and send two alae down to the help of those wretched auxiliaries. Wait with the rest of your men till I give the signal. Then hit them right-handed. Keep a tight control and don’t let any one over-ride.”
He smiled savagely. “Trust Maharbal,” he said.
They came up the snow towards us, in big wedges under their chiefs, and broke themselves against our thrown spears, our javelins and our arrows. They struggled on, but they could not close because of the ditches. Forced to stand there, helpless, they shouted obscenely till we shot them down; while those who tried to force the barriers lay broken in the snow, a hideous bundle of rag and bone. Quintus waited patiently. The alae, sent to help the auxiliaries, ran into a snow-drift and found the going difficult. By the time they had floundered out of it and re-grouped they were too late to catch the head of the column which had spread out and was trying to envelop the fort on three sides. They charged the tail of the column, however, and cut it in half, working outwards so that the two sections could not rejoin. I signalled to Quintus and he led a thousand men out and struck the enemy in the flank, just at the moment when they were beginning to tire. The snow was soft on top but firm underneath, and the enemy crumpled under the weight of his attack. I gave the order to advance and my cohorts moved out and descended the slope, shoulder to shoulder, their stabbing swords held low and their shields up. We had all the advantage; my men were fresh compared with theirs, and the ground was in our favour. The tribesmen fell back, fighting desperately, and then turned and broke and ran for the river. On the ground by the water they re-grouped, aided by more men who had crossed the ice; but though Quintus charged them twice more, his horses were blown, and the enemy held stubbornly to the settlement area by the harbour. We withdrew slowly back to our positions and I ordered the troops to fall out, by sections, to rest and to eat.
When night fell an hour later there must have been thirty thousand men contained in the snow between the area of my four forts. The Vandals set up a rough shield wall to protect themselves and made shelters out of slats of timber and spare cloaks. There were waggons on the ice now, and camp fires sprang up everywhere; on the islands where, so I believe, their chiefs camped, upon the ground by the river, and upon the ice itself. As the moon rose I held a conference in my leather tent.
“If we can hold them between these forts we shall win. All their food supplies are on the east bank and they will die of cold with no proper encampment.”
“Can we trust the auxiliaries, sir? There are only two thousand of them.” Marius sounded worried.
I said, “Fabianus is holding Moguntiacum with five hundred. Still—we can stiffen them with a couple of centuries if you like. Get Gallus out of the old fort to take over command. That will steady them. See to it, Aquila. Get them moved down while it is still dark. Now, what news from the other forts?”
A cohort commander said tiredly, “All is well, sir. The attacks all failed in the end. Even the Alemanni fell back across the river at Borbetomagus.”
A signaller came in. “There’s a man outside, sir, who says he has come from the east bank.”
“Send him in. What other news is there?”
Aquila said, “Scudilio at Bingium led a counter-attack across the river and has fortified the bridge-head. Barbatio is still in command of the bridge but has lost half his men and is short of missiles. Marius has sent half his men to give support to the auxiliaries in the town and has cleared the ground outside the north wall. I think—”
At that moment a man came in. I recognised him as one of Goar’s bodyguard. He grinned and said cheerfully, “It is good fighting.”
“Yes,” I said. “Very good. Why didn’t you stop the attacks on Bingium and Confluentes?”
“The Franks attacked us. That is why we were late in helping you. But they have lost much food from their waggons and dare not send any more men across the river for fear of us.”
“Is Goar well?”
“He is fine. I am to say that he sent the king, Guntiarus, a special present.”
“What?”
“The head of his son.” He grinned again. “Now he will know for certain that the boy is dead.” His teeth flashed in a smile. “He should be happy at being proved such a fine prophet.”
Quintus frowned, and one of the officers, who was married, put his hands to his eyes.
I said, “His treachery was well rewarded then.”
Quintus said, “Who lit the fires on the first morning?”
The man hesitated. “We did,” he said. “It was as you wished.”
Quintus stared at him. “There was fighting then on the east bank while it was still dark. Was it your people?”
The man said sullenly, “I know nothing about that. Perhaps the Vandals quarrelled amongst themselves.”
“Perhaps.”
A decurion entered, shaking the snow from his helmet. “The patrol you sent out, sir, made contact with the auxiliaries. They report that all is well in camp, but there is a lot of movement on the east bank.”
I looked at the map. “If they are moving down-stream it means they must intend to cross at the big island just above Bingium. From there they can move on Bingium itself or cut the road behind us.”
Quintus said, “We could move those auxiliaries up to block the crossing.”
“No. I need them all to hold that camp.” I turned to the Alan. “There is work for your people in this thing.”
Quintus said, “But, surely—”
“Wait a moment. Where are Goar’s men now? Are there any blocking the track down the east bank?”
The Alan nodded. “Surely. He has men everywhere.”
“Not quite,” said Quintus drily.
“Then how are the enemy getting along it?” I asked.
The man seemed put out. He said, “I do not know. Perhaps they have broken through.”
“Perhaps. Aquila, order up one cohort, with waggons to form a laagar, and send them down to the point opposite the lower island, to cover a possible crossing there. And get two centuries to these points along the Bingium road, here and here, to back them. They must move out in fifteen minutes.”
Aquila said, “The men are tired out, sir.”
“It is better to be tired than dead. Quintus, get some mounted infantry across the river to link up with Goar and hold the track between the river and the hills.”
“How many?”
“Two hundred should be enough. If they get into trouble they are to re-cross and join us. I don’t want them wiped out for no purpose at all.”
“I’ll send Didius. He has a good head.”
I looked at the map again, and fingered the east bank route up which I had led the legion only two months previously. “Goar should have held that road.” To his bodyguard, I said, “Tell your prince that this is where I want his men, not up in the hills.”
A trumpet blew the alarm and an optio thrust his head round the tent flap. “They are moving up the slope again, sir.”
“In strength?”
He said, in a scared voice, “It looks as though the whole lot are coming.”
“Why can’t they be civilised,” grumbled Quintus. “All decent soldiers fight in daylight.”
I watched the men forming up in their battle ranks, and a signaller from the camp behind ran up, breathing hard. “They are moving on the auxiliary fort as well, sir.”
Night fighting was always their speciality and this was proved through the long hours that followed. They attacked Moguntiacum too, and all night long we could see the fireballs from the ballistae, arching outwards into the snow so that the camp below seemed to be a gigantic fire that spluttered furiously and would not be put out. When the fourth attack had failed, I mounted my horse and cantered along the road to the old camp from which Marius was just about to launch a counter-attack. Here, an attempt was being made to encircle the town; but the snow lay thick on the slopes, and there were many drifts, and it provided a natural barrier that we could not have improved upon. The majority of his garrison was now inside the town and only a handful of men were left to protect the camp and the aqueduct. After a quick consultation with Marius’ second-in-command, who told me that the tribune had the situation well in hand, I returned to my command. The fighting continued until well past dawn, and when daylight came the ditches were choked with the Vandal dead, so that I began to wish that I had dug them deeper. The men stood down; the wounded were taken to the rear, and the cooks prepared food over the spluttering fires. Fresh bundles of javelins were fetched from the waggons and the armourers were busy, sharpening swords and spears and repairing damaged armour. I went to my tent and lay down on a blanket, wrapped in my cloak.
An hour later they attacked again.
Late the next afternoon a messenger came from Goar. He had crawled across the ice, playing dead, from one pile of bodies to the next. He told me the Alans had suffered fearful losses but had temporarily checked the advance of the column on the east bank. They were grateful for the help I had sent them.