Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (28 page)

Though it was only a couple hundred meters across, Artorius was exhausted from the exertion by the time he reached the far bank. With the ropes extended and dragging in the river, they felt like they weighed a ton, and he found he could only crawl on his hands and knees up the sandy embankment. He
, at last, pulled himself upright, holding onto the branches of a leaning tree. He unbound the first cord from his waist and started pulling on it rapidly, his men on the other side keeping tension as the main rope itself started to uncoil. They managed to keep it just above the waterline, and within a minute Artorius had the first thick rope in hand. He wrapped it several times around the nearest tree that looked stable enough to support the weight of crossing legionaries without uprooting itself.

On the Roman side of the river, Magnus waited impatiently, only allowing himself to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the second coil being pulled across. This one would be tied off at a higher level, allowing legionaries a handhold as they crossed over.

“Secure the bottom rope and make sure it’s tight,” he said quietly. He then turned to Optio Parthicus. “Get your men ready to cross. Only go two to three at a time. Too much weight on those ropes and you’ll sink right into the current; never mind the possibility of uprooting whatever Artorius has the ropes secured to.”

“Understood,” Parthicus replied. He whispered instructions to his first squad of legionaries, who all strapped their shields and javelins to their backs. “Have Master Centurion Artorius’ kit ready and let him know he can come back for it as soon as the first squad is over.”

Artorius shivered in the cold as he huddled behind the large tree he’d secured the ropes to. It was a strange feeling, being on the enemy side of the river, devoid of his weapons and completely naked. And yet, despite the discomfort of the cold, he found it exhilarating, as if he were thumbing his nose to the fates and daring them to try and strike him down, exposed as he was. The tree and the ropes groaned quietly, and he sensed the added tension as the first legionaries began to make their way across. Encumbered with their weapons and heavy armor, no doubt, they were taking great care with their footing and handholds, lest they fall into the river and never rise again. Artorius stared hard into the blackness ahead of him, yet with the thick undergrowth it was difficult to see anything. He could also feel a fog rolling in, which gave him an even greater chill.

After
what seemed like an agonizingly long wait, alone on the enemy side of the river, he heard the telltale splash of the first legionary, who had misjudged where the dry ground was and landed in ankle deep water next to the embankment.

“Bloody piss!” the soldier swore quietly as he pulled himself onto the dry sl
ope, his sandals squishing.

“Over here, soldier,” Artorius whispered.

The legionary gave a grin of relief when he saw his master centurion.

“It’s going to be slow going, sir,” the soldier replied as he unbuckled his shield and javelins. “We gave each other about ten meters before s
pacing, and we’re still damn near up to our ankles in the river by the time we’re halfway across.”

Artorius gave a nod of understanding. “Once your squad is across, push up through the trees about twenty meters.”

“Yes, sir.”

A
short while later a second legionary stepped onto the bank, the master centurion pointing him over to where his friend was positioned. A quick calculation and Artorius knew they could only get, perhaps, three hundred men over every hour.

“This won’t do,” he grumbled as soon as the firs
t squad had finished crossing. He grabbed onto the rope and started to make his way back. A stiff breeze caught him about halfway across, though thankfully the wind was actually warm. He looked up at the half moon, which glowed brightly despite being socked in with clouds and permeating mist. Despite how tight they had made the lines and the thickness of the ropes, being stretched out over a long expanse made them sag substantially. Even without his weapons and armor, and being the only man crossing, Artorius could feel the splash of water on his bare feet as he reached the center of the river.

Upon reaching the Roman side, he saw Magnus and Praxus talking with their senior logistician. As soon as the master centurion stepped off their makeshift rope bridge, the next squad of
legionaries began their trek across.

“It’ll take us an entire day to get everyone over at this rate,” Artorius grunted.

“We have enough rope to make one more rope bridge,” the logistics officer said.

“We’ve already tasked men with getting these over to the other side,” Praxus added.

“Very good,” Artorius replied. “Still, with the sun rising as early as it does here, we’ve got maybe seven hours to get as many men over as possible, to say nothing of finding our way back towards the enemy camp.”

“At least we’re not the main effort,” Magnus noted.
“And what of the supply trains? We had hoped to find a bridge or passable ford with no such luck. We can’t very well send them back.”

“Nor is it wise for us to be cut off alone
in enemy territory with no hope for resupply of rations and medical supplies,” Praxus added. “We’ve played that game before.”

His last remark was in reference to the infamous Battle of Braduhenna, and they were determined to not allow themselves to be placed in such a precarious position again.

“There’s nothing for it,” Artorius sighed. “Detach two cohorts with the logistics trains and have them find a way around. There
has
to be a bridge or fording somewhere along this river. With our luck, it’s probably a few hundred meters further on, or we just missed the damn thing. Once they find it, they can follow the river back and link up with the legion then. Meantime, we’ll simply have to press forward with the assets we have. Vespasian is counting on a single, decisive engagement tomorrow, and we have to be there in order to block our enemies’ routes of escape, as well as prevent reinforcements from reaching them.”

Artorius walked back to where his kit was laid out. He was surprised to see Optio Parthicus standing with a fresh tunic for him.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but I went through your pack and found this for you, seeing as how you didn’t have a spare laid out, and your other one got soaked when you dropped it in a puddle. I would have given you one of mine, but seeing as how you’re about twice the size I am, I don’t think it would fit. And I don’t think you want to go into battle tomorrow all soggy.”

For the first time that evening, Artorius cracked a smile.
It was a relief for him, knowing that he had leaders within the legion who were capable of making decisions on their own and did not rely upon him for everything. It was even better having an optio who watched out for him when he was too preoccupied to look out for himself.

“The lads are securing the second bridge now,” Magnus said as Artorius finished lacing up the ties on his segmentata.

“Excellent!” Artorius replied as the Norseman then helped him into his phalerae harness, belt, and sword baldric. “I’ll return over that one so we can make sure it can hold the weight.”

Despite not knowing what waited for them on the other side, as well as his uncertainty over whether or not his supply trains could even get across, he was filled with confidence, knowing that in a crisis his legionaries could adapt and still execute their mission.

While the legions struggled to get their initial rope bridges in place, a detachment of cavalry, along with several hundred Batavi auxiliary infantry, achieved an even more impressive crossing of the river. Most had spent their youths swimming in even more treacherous waters, and the legionaries on the southeastern bank were awestruck as the auxiliaries leapt into the river with the same exuberance as if they were boys playing back home again.

Though a good swimmer in his own right, Tribune Cursor found himself relying heavily on the aquatic skills and tenacity of his horse, as he clutched the saddle for all he was worth. Many of the Batavi made the trek in fu
ll kit, and Cursor was impressed as he watched some of them float past him in the darkness, calmly pulling themselves along even as their weapons and armor weighted them down. Though their hamata chainmail was far lighter than the segmentata plate worn by legionaries, it was still no small feat that they made their way across, encumbered as they were.

As he made his way through the thick growth of reeds and tall grasses on the far side, the Tribune noted that the Batavi had already formed a vanguard and were pressing forward. One of their officers was waiting for him, and he wordlessly signaled for Cursor to follow him. The Tribune left his horse with one of his cavalrymen and crept along behind the man, trying his best to keep quiet
as they hunkered low through the thickets. They came up a short embankment lined with sporadic trees. As the two men hunkered down behind a large briar bush, Cursor gasped at the sight across the open plain. Hundreds of war chariots were arrayed in a massive column, with sizeable gaps between each rank in order to give room to limber up the horses when they made ready to go into action.

“This must be every damn chariot in all of Britannia!”
the officer whispered. He then observed, “They intend to let the legions get a number of their men across, and then smash into them like a giant hammer.”

“Chariots are worthless without horses,” Cursor noted. He nodded towards the east as the faintest glow of the predawn illuminated the area. “An hour until the sun rises. It is time to move, and let
us hope the legions are able to secure their pontoon bridges!”

As a veteran of Braduhenna, where he received Rome’s highest honor, the
Grass Crown
, Cursor understood the peril his men would be in, should the legions fail to emplace their bridge and make their way across. Being cut off and surrounded was the ultimate feeling of hopelessness, and while his cavalry would have a reasonable chance of breaking away and outrunning the barbarians, his Batavian infantry would have no means of escape. And honor would not allow Cursor to abandon even one of his men.

Though his plan was similar to Artorius’, Vespasian had a narrower crossing, and since his was the main effort for the coming battle, he had access to all of the rafts and pontoon bridge material.
Several squads of legionaries had gotten to the other side in a similar fashion as Artorius and his men, though the rest were now waiting for the pontoons to be placed. The Twentieth Legion would require hours to cross over, when what Vespasian required was speed once he was ready to attack. It was quite a feat of Roman engineering, to say nothing for it all being accomplished under the cover of darkness and with minimal talk amongst the soldiers carrying out the task.

The pontoons for this particular bridge were prefabricated over the previous couple days, using logs lashed together to make short rafts. The
y were large enough for a squad of legionaries to stand on. Though heavy and cumbersome, they were manageable when carried by groups of men who were used to working together. The support ropes were laid out across the water, with the pontoons going in between. As the first was laid into the water, soldiers quickly tied the ends to the support ropes, repeating the process as they formed their bridge across the short stretch of water. Within less than an hour, the bridge was in place, and although it curved substantially in the middle, where the river current dragged against it, Vespasian knew it would do the task required.