The One Who Gazes at the Stars (5)
“I wish for the general and the legion's victory.”
“The empire will triumph.”
I exchanged greetings with Governor Privus, who had come out to see us off, and swung up onto my horse. As the officers and legion commanders mounted, the drummers struck their beats.
We marched in crisp rhythm down the main avenue, wheeling at the square toward the city gates.
As our army crossed the road, a few Londinium residents rushed out to embrace their families. Heading into a battlefield where death could come at any moment, even the officers pretended not to notice.
At the gates, young women showered us with flowers to send off the legion. Most were lovers or wives of Briton legionnaires.
I waved aside the cascade of petals and said to Rubiot,
“Even so, mustering out from a great city gets us this kind of send-off. Eh? We never dreamed of such things back then.”
“If you're nostalgic, why not reenlist, Excellency?”
I laughed at Rubiot's jest.
“If you weren't my friend, I'd call you out for a duel right now. Reenlist?”
“Haha. But I reckon you'd make a go of it.”
“I'd sooner till the fields back home.”
We traded barbs as we passed through the gates.
Fine weather set our pace at twenty kilometers a day. Without the prior rains turning the ground to muck, we could've pushed harder.
I dispatched scouts to track the barbarians' path and plotted our advance with care.
Overzealous pursuit might spark clashes in the wrong place. And to keep them from realizing we'd split our forces too soon, caution was essential.
Two days out from Londinium, we reached a tributary of the Tez River. Scouts reported the barbarians had divided here, one group west, the other north.
After deliberation, I tasked Rubiot with chasing the western Hiberia host. A single, potent force like theirs was best met by one strong legion—tactically sound.
Rubiot concurred.
Once the Atillca Legion headed west, I summoned Rikius.
“Rikius.”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“You have command of the legion's cavalry. See to it no barbarian scouts get near us.”
“As ordered.”
Rikius saluted and mounted up.
As subordinates and detachments peeled off in turn, our host shrank to a pitiful shadow. We'd left Londinium with ten thousand; now fewer than three thousand remained.
If the barbarians come at us in earnest, it'll be a brutal fight. But we're riding momentum.
Even outnumbered, I was confident we could break them.
Still, for any contingency, I positioned supply wagons fore and aft. If they counterattacked, we'd form a defensive line on the spot.
We pressed up the tributary, passing a handful of villages. All were deserted—prime routes for marching armies saw to that.
Troops brought trouble, friend or foe. The locals fleeing was only natural.
Probably holed up in nearby woods.
I had soldiers strip houses for planks and straw. We could've foraged from the forest to spare the homes, but that sapped stamina. And dispatching men far afield with the enemy ahead was folly.
While they gathered, I quizzed the scouts on nearby roads and terrain.
Muddy ground I expected, but damaged roads? Barbarians' work?
Entirely plausible.
Fearing pursuit, they'd systematically wreck the routes—no surprise.
Though time constraints might've kept them from total ruin.
A nuisance.
I sent scouts to recheck the damage along the road and summoned the engineers. Pursuit was shaping up to be a slog.
Three days dragged tediously. Repairing roads, bridging streams, tailing the barbarians—it all piled fatigue on the men. Yet pursuers always fared better than the pursued; that was the way of war.
I figured the barbarians felt the pressure.
But Kariste's mind is a blank. That's the rub.
If he refused to block the gorge and turned to bite instead, we'd face a hard scrap.
Atop my horse on a rise, surveying the lay, Rikius returned from patrol ahead of schedule.
“Gorge still distant—back so soon? Trouble?”
“Barbarians loosed arrows at us.”
“Arrows?”
“Sealed dispatch here.”
Rikius handed me the missive tied to the shaft.
I will keep my promise. Therefore, speed your march and hurry to the gorge. No later than two days.
I skimmed it and scowled.
“Push that hard, and the men will drop.”
“I know.”
The intent rang suspicious.
Of course, if he honored it, victory was assured.
But if not?
We'd fight exhausted against superior numbers. No army, however spirited, battles on empty reserves.
I crumpled the parchment and tucked it away.
“Your orders, Excellency?”
“Half-trust it.”
“Meaning?”
“Send the cavalry ahead. Just convince them the legion arrived on time.”
“Tricking their eyes on numbers won't be easy.”
I grinned and nodded at the grain sacks on the wagons.
“Load 'em with dirt on the horses. Kick up enough dust, and it'll fool them.”
“Understood.”
I sent Rikius off and called key officers.
“Double pace from now. Dump unportable supplies and wagons on dry rises.”
“How many days' rations per man?”
“Three. Loot the rest from barbarians.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Arrows?”
“Archers carry sixty each. Battle won't drag.”
“As you command.”
I readied the legion for forced march.
Cavalry first, but we had to hit the field at the crux.
Two days' hell-march to the gorge vicinity. Rest there, gauge the barbarians' play against Rikius.
Simple plan, but it countered most of their moves.
“Legion! Forced march! Excess gear to the rises—move!”
Centurions echoed; engineers aside, the rest sorted kit in frenzy. Legionnaires trained for forty kilos of gear and rations, so bulk was no stranger.
Though no forced march lasted over four days.
“18th Legion ready.”
Each unit reported as they packed.
I ordered resumption and nudged my mount's flanks.
Briton legions were shadows—three combined barely topped three thousand, too thin for rotations.
But victory on the cheap, or the empire's woes endured. That's why I courted the risk.
“Waaah!”
Nearing Bellite Gorge, distant cavalry roars echoed, metal clashing. The battlefield din told me: they'd lured us into a trap.
Kariste, you fox—switched sides again.
No cause for resentment.
I'd never trusted him.
I waited for Rikius to wheel his horse out of the snare. Shouts and hooves fell silent after near five minutes.
Arms folded, officers approached.
“Excellency, shouldn't we reinforce?”
“No. We're winded from the forced march; they ambushed primed. Fight like this?”
“But our brothers—”
I cut in cold.
“Recklessness is emotion unchecked. Soldiers may indulge; commanders cannot. You bear countless lives—how dare you act rash?
Move now, and you feed the legion to them. Wait. Trust the cavalry. They'll shake free like eagles.”
Officers gnawed lips. Some stabbed earth in frustration. None argued.
I ordered retreat.
Resting with foes at our throats was suicide. Distance, regroup, strike.
Legionnaires withdrew silently five kilometers, on my hush orders.
We camped there, granting rest.
Three hours on, Rikius returned to camp.
I met him at the perimeter, taking his reins.
“Knew you'd make it.”
“Yes, but we lost a hundred fine comrades you entrusted to me.”
Bitter lines creased his face.
As he dismounted, I clapped his shoulder.
“Cheap toll. Marched blind into that gorge, we'd have lost tenfold. A hundred saves the legion.”
“I abandoned the fallen.”
“Lose your steel, lose more. Halted for stragglers, the unit shatters. You did right.”
“Excellency.”
“Those hundred aren't on you. I ordered; I knew the risk.”
He bowed.
“Chin up. If losing a hundred stings, get angry. Hate. Hone your blade. Tomorrow, take a hundred heads for payback. That's your duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rest now.”
He nodded and entered camp.
Fabius glanced after, then asked,
“Cavalry bloodied—won't morale dip?”
“Doubt it. Eyewitness terror breeds fear; hearsay breeds rage. I felt it in the 16th.”
“16th Legion?”
“Aye.”
I clasped hands behind back.
“Tomorrow's fight?”
“Kariste's treachery confirmed—won't be easy. But thinking us snared, they went all-in. Drained now.
Blind to our main force. Anxious, hasty. Haste births errors.”
I glowered gorge-ward.
“And I'll rip their throats when they err.”
(To be continued)