Memor nodded and fished around in his documents for a moment before producing a scroll and passing it over. Varus took it, unrolled it for a moment until he located both Noviodunum and Limonum, and then showed it to Fabius, who nodded.
'Thank you, Memor. We will move immediately, and I promise you that I will send word once we have arrived at the place and every other day thereafter. I shall also leave you a few contubernia of my men to make up your numbers and ease your burden.'
The centurion looked greatly relieved and smiled as he stood. 'Thank you, sir.'
Varus reached out and clasped his hand. 'I shall also leave three of my riders. It might be useful for you to have men who can act as couriers and messengers.'
'Again, thank you, sir.'
Returning Memor's salute, the two men strode from the building and as they emerged into the pale light, Varus looked across at his fellow officer. 'Are you as confident about this as you sounded in there?'
Fabius looked a little uncertain, but he smiled. 'It's a rare occasion when a force that size gets itself in so much trouble it can't even send a messenger for help.'
Varus nodded, though his mind toyed with the memory of what had happened to Sabinus and Cotta and an entire legion up in Eburones lands a few years ago. Rare, yes, but not unknown.
'I think, regardless, we'd better move as fast as we can.'
Fabius hauled himself up into his saddle and gestured across to his guards to mount up. 'Agreed. To Limonum, then, at best speed we can manage.'
* * * * *
Varus reined in alongside Fabius once more. The scouts had been entirely accurate with their description. The land hereabouts was so uniformly flat and sporadically forested that it was difficult to find a vantage point with a view of their objective, but the scouts had found a low hill with an unobstructed view of Limonum and the armies.
The oppidum sat within a wide bend in the river, the far side protected by a ditch and a high rampart, the nearer river-wound side by little more than a ten foot wall of the usual Gallic style. Despite the defences being considerably meaner than some of those fortifications the Romans had encountered and overcome in their time in Gaul, it was still something of a difficult proposition. The far side was strong, and the weak side was protected by the river, reachable feasibly only by a native timber bridge.
The Andes and their allies had encamped in a mass at the near end of the bridge, facing the oppidum. Varus felt relieved to see, just as the scouts had described, Caninius’ two-legion force camped only a quarter of a mile from the enemy in a well-constructed turf and timber fort.
‘Why has he not engaged them?’ Fabius muttered from beside him.
‘Numbers, the centurion said. Superior enemy numbers.’
‘They look fairly evenly matched to me,’ the legate replied. ‘And that always means an advantage to Rome.’
Varus nodded. The two forces did indeed look more or less equal, but he squinted into the distance suspiciously. ‘Look there.’
‘What?’
‘Beyond the oppidum.’
Fabius followed his pointing finger and took a moment to see it. A second enemy force roughly the same size as the first was encamped along the treeline on the far side of Limonum, sealing off the settlement from the west, too. Odds of two to one, then, after all. Perhaps Caninius had been right to err towards caution. Caesar would not thank him for losing two legions at this stage in proceedings.
‘What to do, then? We could head around to the south in a wide arc, cross the river there and come up on the second enemy force, evening things out?’
Varus tapped his lip thoughtfully.
‘The enemy will have scouts out, expecting something. I doubt we would take them by surprise and, gathered at the treeline, we’d never get to meet them in open ground. You know how hampered we are by woodlands. If they retreat into there, my horse are useless and your men lose all the advantage of formation. We’d be better joining up with Caninius and outnumbering the nearer force. At least we could halve their numbers.’
‘Sir?’
Varus turned at the scout’s voice. There were few riders on this low hillock. Fabius’ legions were still a good ten miles away, crossing the flat land and heading for the siege, and the two officers had ridden out ahead two hours ago with the scouts and a small cavalry detachment to confirm the outriders’ findings. The scouts were now ranging around the locality, and two were trotting towards them now. Varus gestured to them and the riders slowed and pulled up, saluting.
‘Who are you?’ Varus frowned, not recognising the colours or insignia of one of riders as belonging to his own force, though the other scout was known to him.
‘Tonantius.
Exploratores
unit of the Fifteenth Legion, sir.’
Varus’ brow rose in surprise. One of Caninius’ scouts.
‘Well met, man. Tell me: why has your garrison back in Noviodunum heard nothing from your army if you are simply encamped here?’
It was a blunt question, but Varus had been dying to know since he’d encountered the poor understaffed centurion back at the base. The scout’s face took on a resigned, yet somehow angry, look.
‘Three times couriers have been sent, sir, but none have returned. We have assumed they did not reach the oppidum. After the third, the legate decided to stop wasting good men.’
‘Sensible,’ murmured Fabius. ‘What happened to them then?’
The man of the Fifteenth shrugged. ‘The enemy have many scouts like ours, and a far greater number of horse. Their men are all across the countryside and they know the terrain much better. Begging your pardon, sir, but our lot can’t even take a shit without the enemy knowing what it weighs half an hour later.’
Varus nodded. Rome placed a great emphasis on the heavy infantry tactics of the legions and often failed to recognise the advantages that proper cavalry could bestow. He frowned. So if the enemy knew everything that was going on…
He turned to the scene before them again and peered off into the distance, his gaze raking the countryside.
‘Do you think they’re watching us right now?’
The scout nodded. ‘I’d wager news of your arrival is already making its way back to the enemy, sir.’
Varus smiled wickedly. ‘And what are the chances they know of the two legions following on perhaps ten miles behind us?’
‘Very good, I’d say, sir. Certainly they’ll know before they’re another five miles closer, even if they don’t now. And they will have taken note of two new senior officers coming in from the east wearing red cloaks and plumes. That can only mean a relief force. Any local would recognise that.’
‘What are you digging at, Varus?’ Fabius coughed.
Varus’ grin widened and he folded his arms, still addressing the scout. ‘And if they hear that two more legions are coming and that Rome’s forces will match or exceed theirs?’
‘They’ll run, sir. No doubt about that.’
‘Back to their own lands across the Liger.’
Fabius was shaking his head. ‘No, Varus. That’s no good. If they run before we can get here, they’ll just melt away into their own lands and we’ll not get to deal with them. If that happens we’ll never be able to leave here, else they’ll just come back and do it again. We need to deal with them now and prevent a repeat of this mess.’
Varus was chuckling now.
‘You leave that to me. I have an idea.’
* * * * *
Caninius stood on the gate of his camp’s ramparts and watched the enemy.
‘It never ceases to amaze me how they can hear things before us, given that they’re further away.’
Cophus, chief centurion of the Fifth, nodded his agreement as he peered at the scene before them. They had received news from the scouts of Fabius’ legions only a quarter of an hour ago, and already the enemy force was decamping on both sides of Limonum, moving off to the north at surprising pace.
‘Give the word, sir, and I’ll get the lads moving.’
The two men stood silent for a moment. The legions, even at a fast pace, would not match the fleeing Gauls in their lightweight gear, unencumbered and with their feet given wings of fear. But at least they would catch the rear-most of the enemy. They could harry them all the way back to the Liger and maybe even catch a reasonable number of them before they crossed the river and vanished.
‘Consider the word given, centurion. Have the Fifth strip down to the essentials and give chase at speed. Try to maintain unit cohesion, though. I’d hate to have the enemy suddenly turn and form up and our boys to be all over the place in chaos. Give chase in good order and kill or capture as many as you can.’
Cophus saluted and turned to give the orders to the signifer beside him. Caninius looked the other way along the wall top. The Fifteenth’s primus pilus was elsewhere, busy with his duties, but in case of sudden changes in plan their chief cornicen stood near the commander, his curved horn over his shoulder. He gestured to the musician.
‘Have the Fifteenth form up outside the south gate. Once the Fifth have moved off to harry the enemy, have the Fifteenth in full kit sweep around to the west. The enemy have two baggage trains – one for each force – and they will meet at the crossing three miles downstream. While the Fifth are killing the Andes, the task of the Fifteenth will be to seize the enemy’s baggage and supplies and bring them back here.’
The cornicen saluted and began to blare out the assembly calls for his legion.
Caninius peered at the enemy, swarming like a kicked-over ant hill, back to their hovels in the north. Most would escape, but at least he could capture the baggage and punish them a little as they ran. Shame the news of Fabius’ legions had come so quickly, otherwise they could have won a great battle here. Instead, the Eighth and Ninth would get here too late.
* * * * *
The tribune fussed along behind Caninius, urging him to return to the camp, repeatedly overusing words like ‘duty’, ‘command’, ‘safety’ and ‘caution’. Ignoring the man, he felt nothing but gratitude for the wind on his face after three weeks of languishing in camp and watching the enemy starve his ally in the oppidum. He was a good officer but he knew he was no swordsman, and the tribune who hurtled along behind him was correct, in truth, but it felt good to be taking the fight to the enemy anyway.
Night had fallen on the ride, and danger was everywhere, but Caninius felt secure, regardless. His bodyguard were with him as well as the two turmae of horse he’d had attached to his legions. Over seventy men, all told, and the enemy were far ahead.
The Fifteenth had returned to camp with the enemy baggage after an hour-long contest at the crossing, bringing perhaps two hundred captives with them. The Fifth had chased on after the enemy and disappeared to the north. The legion had been gone for an hour when it occurred to Caninius that he had set no limit on their chase, and in the excitement he had not taken into account how far the Liger was from Limonum. Forty miles, the tribune had estimated. As the afternoon wore on, he had considered sending a small courier detachment to halt the legion and have them return to base. But the fact was that he had to kill or capture as many as possible in order to try and prevent the Andes from being able to repeat their belligerent act as soon as Rome’s forces moved on, and so he had sent no word, allowing Cophus to pursue the enemy as per instructions, all the way to the Liger.
He hoped he hadn’t been foolish. All it would take would be for the enemy to realise that they outnumbered the Fifth by such a margin and to pull out of their panicked flight and form up, and half of Caninius’ command might be wiped out. His career would never recover from that.
As the sun had begun to descend towards the horizon, he’d finally broken, unable to take another hour twitching at the rampart as he stared into the unchanging north. Giving the Fifteenth orders to leave a cohort with the baggage and the camp and to follow on even through the night as fast as they could, Caninius had gathered his meagre horse and rode out into the dusk in the hope of catching up with the Fifth.
Forty miles.
A loaded army with baggage train would take four days to reach the Liger at best.
Without
baggage, and still in full kit, a good veteran unit in full health could do it in two at a push. Cophus, watching his men move out in simple mail shirts and with swords at their sides and shields slung over their backs, had confidently informed him that by midnight his men would be paddling in the Liger, celebrating their victory.
All along the route from Limonum to the river, they had passed signs of the pursuit. It had been a running battle – quite literally much of the time. Enemy bodies, and a few Roman ones, dotted the ravaged and well-trodden landscape on their journey north, and more than once Caninius had been forced to jump his horse over a hitherto-unnoticed pile of bodies, difficult to discern in the gloom.
And now darkness was here, though in truth with the clear sky and the bright moon, full darkness was actually considerably brighter than dusk had been, and it certainly made riding horses easier.
‘Look there, sir,’ called a decurion in front, pointing, and Caninius strained to see ahead. The riders were cresting a hill, hemmed in by a copse and a small farm on their left and a cave-ridden chalky rock escarpment to their right. Ahead, the most magnificent sight awaited as he passed across the rise.