Soldier of Rome: The Last Campaign (The Artorian Chronicles) (41 page)

Artorius was further dismayed when he saw a second group of barricades no more than fifty feet behind the first.
This had not been visible to the Roman reconnaissance, and it was to here the enemy skirmishers had pulled back, and with the legionaries exposed on top of the first set of ramparts, they unleashed a torrent of arrows, sling stones, and short spears. And as the Romans were heavily engaged with the Durotriges warriors, they were unable to duck down behind their shield wall. While many enemy missiles inadvertently struck shields or bounced the soldiers’ helmets and armor, a few did find their marks on the exposed appendages. One legionary was grazed in the side of the neck by an arrow. At first he paid it no mind, but then the wound started gushing dark crimson, the artery having been severed. He collapsed to the ground, gritting his teeth as he clasped his hand over the flowing gash, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood as his life left him. Several legionaries were struck in the legs and lost their footing. They were pulled down into the mass of warriors and hacked to pieces.

“Magnus, get up here!”
Artorius shouted over his shoulder as he fought off another assailant. It was exasperating trying to give orders while also fighting against a maddened berserker who wanted to spill his guts. “Unleash your javelins; throw them over the heads of my men!”

“Sir!” the Norseman acknowledged.

The centuries of the First Cohort had kept a much deeper interval between each other to allow for greater mobility, but now those of Magnus’ century quickly closed the distance, javelins passing over and sometimes between their companions in the front rank.
A hundred and sixty pilum falling amongst the Durotriges temporarily broke their resolve as many were killed or badly maimed by the heavy javelins. Artorius’ century gave a renewed shout and as one they charged down the short embankment, smashing into their foe. Magnus’ century mounted the first rampart, quickly dropping behind their shield wall as the Durotriges skirmishers hurled another volley at them. A couple of his men were not quick enough. One taking a sling stone to the face, sending him tumbling back down the mound, his hands clutching his face. Another took an arrow to the foot, and while not fatal, it was extremely painful and the soldier was now out of commission.

Artorius jumped down into the fray, bringing the bottom edge of his shield into the chest of an enemy warrior, sending him sprawling back. The master centurion instinctively brought his shield back up as another man took his place, stabbing at him with a short spear. The man was strong and admiringly brave, but he was no soldier. Artorius quickly side-stepped the warrior’s attack before driving his gladius clean through the side of his neck. Gouts of blood erupted from both the entrance and exit wounds as Artorius wrenched his weapon free.

“The rolling terrain is working against them as much as it is against us,” Artorius noted as Magnus stumbled down into the short defilade. “They can’t seem to mass their numbers as effectively here.”

“True, but then how the fuck do we conduct passages-of-lines in this shit?” Magnus remarked.

“Bound by squads,” Artorius directed. “Let your decanii handle that. Once you’re through, advance on that second rampart. Praxus’ men, as well as the other centuries, still have their javelins. I’ll have his men cover you as you advance.”

“Understood,” the Nordic centurion replied. He then shouted down the line,
“By squads…execute passage of lines!”

As most legionaries were used to conducting line passages as an entire century, this more unorthodox maneuver would normally prove unwieldy
. Yet for the highly experienced veterans of the First Cohort, each squad conducting its own movement under the direction of their decanii proved seamless. Groups of legionaries bounded forward, driving into the wavering enemy warriors with shield and gladius. With a rapid flashing of swords, a number of their foes were quickly cut down, causing their surviving friends to panic and flee towards the next line of defenses.

As he scrambled back up the first mound to find Praxus, Artorius noted that their taking of the first line had not been without cost. A handful of his legionaries lay dead, with still many more with various injuries trying to extract themselves from the fray. As he bounded to the top, the master centurion was surprised to find Vespasian up there
, down on one knee, apparently in deep thought. The legate carried no shield, though his gladius was drawn and bloodied. Next to him lay the still-twitching corpse of a Durotriges warrior; a deep cut just beneath the ribcage was soaked in blood from where Vespasian had executed a perfect thrust below the ribs and up into the heart.

“Silly bastard tried smashing me with his large sword,” he said casually while pointing to the crude long sword that lay in the grass. “He easily had a foot or two of reach on me and could just have easily stabbed me in the face…poor
dumb amateurs.”

Artorius meant to ask what in hades Vespasian was doing there on the rampart, but then he quickly saw that his commanding general had knelt down, with one forearm resting on his knee, and was surveying the enemy fortifications to their front and adjusting his tactics accordingly.

“Look up there,” Vespasian said, pointing with his still-bloodied gladius. “There’s a third, albeit much smaller set of barricades beyond the one your men now advance upon.”

“I see it,” Artorius replied. He held up his hand as he saw Praxus and the rest of the cohort climbing the mound. “Praxus, fall in behind Magnus, use your javelins to cover him as he assaults the second line of fortifications.”

“Understood,” the primus ordo replied.

“Hold in place once you do take them,” Vespasian added. “The third line is too close to that large gatehouse
, and you’ll be well within range of their missile weapons.”

“Yes, sir,” Praxus acknowledged before signaling for his men to continue.

“Damn it all, we could not see any of this from our vantage points before now!” Vespasian spat in frustration.

“Even the lowest mounds and the gradual slope kept us blind as to their true disposition,” Artorius added.

“No matter,” the legate said as he rose to his feet. “As I told your centurion, keep the First Cohort in position once you take the second line of defenses. I’m going to bring up the siege engines and scorpions. No sense losing any more soldiers than we have to when we can simply smash apart their fortifications. Also, look on the ridge that leads into the town proper. You’ll see there are no palisades up there. Given how steep the slopes are of the overlapping ramparts, it is clear that the Durotriges do not view that as the real threat. Their numbers and resources are limited, and so they are staking everything on holding this gate.”

“Give us another artillery barrage, sir, and we’ll end this,” Artorius replied with a voice full of determination.

“You’ll have it,” the legate replied. “It’ll take some time to get the heavy weapons up, but at least the scorpions can keep the heads of those on the gatehouse pinned down. They’re also light enough that they can be placed on top of these rolling mounds. I’m going to order the Second Legion to advance on the northern and southern heights as well. The Durotriges may view them as unassailable, but if they see legionaries advancing on them, they’ll have no choice but to commit warriors to their defense.”

Without further discussion, Vespasian bounded down the first rampart and gave a quick series of orders to his cornicen. A series of trumpet blasts alerted the artillery crews to advance. Scorpions were rapidly broken down and carried by their loaders and gunners with additional soldiers tasked with carrying the baskets full of bolts. As he watched the onager and heavy ballistae crewmen start wheeling their engines forward, along with the oxcarts full of shot, Artorius reckoned it would be at least twenty to thirty minutes before they were set and back in action.

“Magnus and Praxus are engaging the second barricade,” Optio Parthicus said as he walked over to his master centurion. “As it will be a while before we’re back in the fight, I’ve got some of the lads patching up the wounded as best they can. Others I’ve told to finish off the enemy wounded, since we’re not exactly feeling merciful today.”

“Very good,” Artorius nodded, thankful that his optio was a man of initiative and common sense. “We’ll leave the dead for now. Once the artillery smashes the main gatehouse, the Fourth and Fifth Centuries will conduct the assault. Once through, it looks like the terrain will work to our advantage of fighting on a battle line. And
let’s hope the Fifth and Eighth Cohorts can achieve a breakthrough of the ramparts. It’ll allow us to hit them in the flanks, as well as the front.”

“Yes, sir.”

The advance up the steep slope in testudo formation had been slow, arduous, and particularly tedious for Metellus and the men of the Fifth Cohort. Given the large frontage they had to cover, as well as how compact the testudo formation was, Tyranus had ordered his centuries to advance individually, rather than trying to form a cumbersome single formation with his entire cohort. Further along the north face of the hill several cohorts of the Second Legion were also making their trek up the slope while being harried by enemy skirmishers.

Men in the front rank stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their shields linked together. Men in the subsequent ranks held their shields overhead, providing protection for both themselves
and those in front of them. A small handful of skirmishers looked to be their only immediate threat, though if their diversion was successful, they would draw away more warriors from the east gate, where Artorius and his men were locked in brutal combat with the defenders. Behind Metellus’ century, Achillia and half a dozen of her archers advanced, ready to provide support to the legionaries. Groups of her skirmishers walked just behind the other centuries of the cohort.

A throwing spear smacked into Metellus’ shield, causing him to jolt. Rocks and similar missiles pelted their formation;
most of their foes’ archers being committed to defending the east gate. Achillia walked beside Metellus, hunkered down so as to use the legionary testudo for protection. She quickly leaned to the side and loosed an arrow, which caught the warrior who’d thrown the spear at Metellus in the chest.

As they came within twenty meters of the top, the Durotriges defenders abandoned the rampart and sprinted away. Achillia’s archers rushed forward and unleashed several volleys of arrows on them as they sprinted up the steep incline of the second rampart.
Several cried out as they were mortally stricken or badly injured, tumbling down the hill into the defilade below.

“To hell with this,” Metellus grunted as he reached the top.

His men in the subsequent ranks lowered their shields and stretched out their arms. The centurion surveyed the defilade and the next rampart. He shouted to his cohort commander, whose century had also just reached the top,
“Sir, the next climb is too steep to scale in testudo formation!”

Centurion Tyranus gave a nod of agreement.
“Battle formation!”
he shouted. Instinctively, the men of the Fifth Cohort spread out into four ranks. Tyranus had been smart enough to leave enough space between each century testudo so that they could readily shift into battle lines. Only a handful of paces separated Metellus from Tyranus’ optio, who positioned himself on the far left of their formation.

Metellus looked over his shoulder at Achillia.
“You have us covered?”

It was a rhetorical question, but one that reassured him as she nodded in
reply and nocked another arrow, her face in a devious grin that echoed from a time when she fought as a volunteer gladiator in the east.

“Move out!”
Tyranus shouted.

Metellus waved his men forward with his gladius and the
y quickly descended into the low ground where a handful of dead and wounded warriors lay. The next incline was incredibly steep, with legionaries using their shields to help pull them up the grass-covered slope.

Achillia’s detachment formed a long skirmish line along the first rampart, waiting for enemy combatants to show themselves once more. They did not have long to wait.
The supplemental assault was having its intended effect, and the far rampart was now swarming with Durotriges warriors. Along with archers and skirmishers there were large numbers of fighting men with spears, swords, and axes. Achillia’s archers started shooting rapidly, and though they were inflicting casualties, their numbers were too few to drive the defenders to ground. Their archers and missile troops, knowing they were useless against the armored legionaries and their shield wall, instead focused their attention on the archers who harassed them from the outer ridge.