Chapter 96: The Final Battle. The Germans
Chapter 96: The Final Battle. The Germans
As soon as the negotiations collapsed, Caesar’s legions immediately took battle formation.
However, Ariovistus did not rush into battle, as one might have expected from his earlier display of confidence.
“Are the Suebi still in their camp?” Caesar asked.
“Yes,” came the reply. “They seem to be trying to cut off our supply lines by sending their cavalry to the flanks.”
“He’s more cautious than I thought. From his attitude during the meeting, I expected him to attack immediately. Was he pretending? No, he didn’t seem like it…” Caesar mused, perplexed by the enemy's behavior.
Marcus, knowing the reason for the delay, offered an explanation while concealing the source of his information.
“They have a custom of casting lots before battle. The result was unfavorable for them. They believe the current moon is ominous and they should wait for it to change shape. They received a sign from their gods.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Caesar replied. “No matter how brave their warriors are, they can’t escape such superstitions. Well, we’ll use their lot against them. If the moon is so ominous, we’ll provoke them into battle now and break their morale.”
Now understanding the reason behind the delay, Caesar wasted no time. He sent out his cavalry to intercept the German cavalry attempting to sever his supply lines. At the same time, he moved his entire legion and set up camp directly in front of the enemy’s position, acting provocatively.
Still, the main force of the Germans remained holed up in their camp, unmoving.
Ariovistus’ strategy became clear: he intended to use his cavalry to harass the Roman supply lines while waiting for the moon to change, buying time for a more favorable omen.
The Romans, as it was widely believed, had weaker cavalry, and the Gallic soldiers were secretly fearful of the German forces. Based on this information, Ariovistus’ plan seemed sound.
But the reality was far different from what he expected.
When the German cavalry clashed with the Roman archers and Gallic cavalry, they charged in confidently. But the Romans didn’t fight as the Germans had anticipated. Instead of engaging directly, the Roman cavalry maintained their distance, launching arrows and using hit-and-run tactics.
The Gallic cavalry played a supporting role, protecting the Roman cavalry so they could retreat when necessary.
Though swarm tactics were generally ineffective in cavalry engagements, this battle was fought near the Roman camp, preventing the German cavalry from advancing too deeply. The German forces, whose armor was less sturdy, struggled to break through the Gallic cavalry while being harassed by arrows.
While the Romans didn’t completely annihilate the German cavalry, the Germans suffered a significant psychological blow.
“They said the Roman cavalry was weak! But what are those archers on horseback?” one German warrior remarked.
“I don’t know if it’s those strange saddles they use, but their riding skills are on par with ours. In fact, they looked more stable than we did,” another soldier observed.
The Germans quickly realized their initial assessment had been wrong. Their morale, already low due to the unfavorable lot, sank further.
Ariovistus found himself torn. If he attacked now, his warriors might not perform well due to their belief in the bad omen. But if he stayed in camp, waiting for the moon to change, he risked losing anyway.
His strategy of disrupting the Roman supply lines was being turned against him by Caesar. He was being pushed back by the Roman cavalry and humiliated by daily taunts from the enemy.
The Romans, spread out in front of his camp, shouted in German—phrases Caesar had taught them. Despite their terrible pronunciation, the German warriors clearly understood the meaning.
“Ariovistus and his men are cowards, afraid to fight!”
“They’re hiding in their camp with excuses, fearing defeat!”
These taunts incensed Ariovistus and his warriors. When had they ever been treated with such contempt?
The soldiers became divided—one group wanted to fight immediately, regardless of the omen, while the other group advocated for caution.
After much deliberation, Ariovistus decided he could not stand the daily mockery. He needed to act before his men’s morale was completely shattered. The final battle was set for the next day, the fifth day since the Romans had begun their taunts.
Ariovistus prepared his men for the battle, arranging their ranks and getting ready to strike.
As he considered the duel Caesar had proposed earlier, he wondered why Caesar had suggested it. ‘A one-on-one fight would be more advantageous for the Germans. It makes no sense,’ Ariovistus thought. But he couldn't refuse the challenge.
He decided that if he won the duel, it would be a show of strength. If he lost, well, that was to be expected. But he was confident his warrior would easily defeat a Roman.
The Suebi soldiers roared with excitement as Ariovistus gave the order to march out of their camp.
“Brave warriors of Germany, let us show these donkey-like Romans our strength!”
The warriors cheered loudly, their fists raised high.
The two armies stopped at a distance of about fifty meters and sent their champions forward to engage in the agreed-upon duel.
Ariovistus selected Hermund, his best warrior, and gave him his instructions.
“You know what to do, right? Kill that Roman—brutally.”
“Yes,” Hermund replied, his tone calm and focused. He had no doubt of his victory.
The Romans, too, were preparing for the duel. Marcus gave Spartacus firm instructions.
“If the enemy is too strong, kill him mercilessly. But if not… you know what to do.”
“I understand,” Spartacus replied, his resolve unwavering.
Spartacus drew his weapon and walked steadily toward the battlefield.
The Romans, watching in unison, chanted his name in awe.
“Spartacus!”
“The invincible gladiator!”
The atmosphere felt more like a gladiatorial arena than a battlefield.
Ariovistus, hearing the chants, furrowed his brow. “Spartacus? That name sounds familiar…”
He had some knowledge of Roman politics, and the name sparked a troubling recognition. His unease grew, but he couldn’t back out now.
Hermund reached for the axe on his back, several spare hand axes tucked into his belt. Spartacus, however, was unarmed with anything but his armor, spatha, and gladius, with no shield.
“Coming to fight with just a sword?” Hermund sneered. “You don’t know your place, Roman.”
But despite his anger, Hermund kept his composure, raising his shield and preparing to strike.
It was then, as Hermund charged forward, that the air was split by a chilling whistle. The sound of breaking air—a signal that the fight was about to begin.
His instincts, honed through countless battles, screamed a warning of the impending danger.
A white flash seared into his vision, like an afterimage.
He swiftly raised his shield, positioning it perfectly to block the sword's path.
Crack!
With a sharp, chilling sound, the sturdy shield shattered instantly.
Hermund instinctively rolled back, pulling his body away.
That split-second reaction saved his life. A shard of the broken shield, sliced by the single strike, rolled to his foot.
“Wha-what is this…!” Ariovistus gasped in disbelief. But Hermund was even more shocked.
Instead of striking his fallen opponent, Spartacus snapped his fingers, as if beckoning him to rise.
Cheers and jeers erupted from the Roman camp.
Hermund’s face twisted in humiliation, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to charge once again.
Spartacus casually turned, parrying the axe that came at him diagonally.
The broken blade of the axe spun through the air, leaving a trail in its wake.
Hermund had already realized how sharp Spartacus’ sword was.
Undeterred, he swung another hand axe, this time from his belt, keeping his eyes locked on Spartacus' spatha, never losing focus on his weapon.
But he made the mistake of narrowing his attention too much on the enemy’s blade.
Spartacus used his other hand, the one without the sword, to strike Hermund’s wrist.
Hermund’s arm flew back as he dropped his axe.
He immediately jerked his head back, a wise move.
Spartacus’ sword barely grazed the tip of his nose, leaving a red line of blood.
“Ugh!”
Hermund tried to find a way to counterattack, despite his disheveled state.
Clang!
Before he could draw another axe, a crisp impact rang out.
Spartacus’ toe swept across the spot where Hermund’s right leg had been.
Hermund’s body tilted, losing balance.
Thud!
A sound like a leather drum bursting echoed from Hermund’s abdomen.
It was a terrifyingly precise combo of attacks.
Powerful and fluid, each movement seamlessly connected to the next.
Thump.
Hermund’s knees buckled, and he collapsed, unable to stay on his feet.
From the Suebi camp, there came pitiful screams. From the Roman camp, ecstatic shouts.
“Is that him? Yes, that’s him! I saw him in Rome!”
“I saw him too! He fought with the Capuan delegation! He knocked out a Gallic gladiator with that punch—and probably foamed at the mouth too!”
The soldiers shouted excitedly, pounding their weapons on the ground.
The outcome seemed almost certain, but Spartacus did not finish off his opponent.
He remembered Marcus' order to boost morale as much as possible.
Though he did not enjoy humiliating a defeated foe, this was no simple match—it was a war.
If humiliating the enemy could reduce casualties for his allies, he was ready to do whatever it took.
Spartacus raised his voice, loud enough for all the Romans to hear.
“Is this all you’ve got? The Germanic warriors' famous strength seems to be a lie.”
He shook his head, bored, causing the Roman camp to burst into laughter.
The Suebi, who did not understand Latin, could still guess the meaning of his words.
Their hands trembled in fury, but the one being humiliated was their greatest warrior.
Ariovistus could hardly believe his eyes.
“Hermund, get up! Get up and show them the pride of the Germanic warriors!”
The chieftain’s whip seemed to stir some response.
Groaning, Hermund slowly pushed himself up.
If this had been any other duel, he would have admitted defeat by now.
But this was not just any duel.
It was a battle for the honor and morale of his tribe.
The women behind the Germanic warriors cried out, their desperate pleas urging them on, giving Hermund a responsibility he could not ignore.
“Aaaah!” he roared, charging forward, but Ariovistus sensed it—this was the end.
Then, it hit him. He finally realized where he’d heard Spartacus’ name before.
It was last year, perhaps.
Ariovistus had kept an eye on the political scene in Rome, and he recalled hearing a piece of intelligence.
Marcus Crassus, a rising star in the Senate, was often seen accompanied by the strongest gladiator in Rome, Spartacus.
He had been too focused on Marcus to notice Spartacus initially.
“Damn it, why is he here?” Ariovistus thought, panic rising in him.
Spartacus' presence meant that Marcus, a key figure in the Senate, was also nearby.
That made it clear: his plan to defeat Caesar and negotiate with the Senate was doomed.
If he killed Caesar and an influential senator, Rome would never negotiate with him again.
Ariovistus did not want to sever ties with Rome completely, and his thoughts spun in turmoil.
But before he could act, a chilling sound from the front cut off his musings.
He turned to see blood splatter in the air as Hermund’s last axe flew into the sky.
Despite having lost his weapons, Hermund’s fighting spirit remained. He quickly grabbed a hand axe that had fallen nearby and threw it at Spartacus' head.
Ariovistus saw it—Spartacus’ hand moved faster.
With a diagonal slash, he severed the axe’s blade, finishing Hermund off with the next strike.
Splat!
Hermund’s chest split open with a gruesome sound.
Life drained from his eyes.
There was regret on his face, but no anger.
He knew well that his defeat was not due to mere weapon disparity.
He was outmatched, not only in weapons but in skill.
It was no disgrace to die at the hands of such a formidable foe.
He only regretted that he had met the strongest opponent of his life in a battle that determined the honor of his tribe.
“Sparta...cus...” he whispered, grateful to have at least remembered his name.
With that, Hermund collapsed.
It was the end of the warrior who had faithfully served Ariovistus for so long.
Thud!
The sound of his heavy body hitting the ground echoed across the battlefield.
For a moment, it felt like a dream.
But the roar of the Roman army quickly shattered that illusion.
Ariovistus looked down at Hermund’s sword, a bad premonition settling in his chest.
He had underestimated the enemy’s cavalry, and now, the outcome of the duel had gone against him.
Anxiety gripped him—he feared the worst defeat of his life was imminent.
On the other side, the Roman army was already in high spirits, as if they had already won.
In ancient wars, the outcome of a duel between generals had a tremendous impact on morale.
But this time, it was even more significant.
Spartacus’ victory erased the fear the Romans had once had of the Germanic warriors.
On the flip side, the Germanic warriors had lost even their most confident duel.
Spartacus wiped the blood from his sword and raised his fist high.
“I am Spartacus, the White Captain of Marcus, the great legionnaire and subordinate of Emperor Caesar! I have slain the enemy general!”
The Roman soldiers roared in response to his defiant shout.
“Uaaaaaa!”
Caesar raised his sword, rallying his army with renewed strength.
“Look, brave Roman soldiers! No matter how strong they are, these Germanic barbarians are no match for us. Do not fear their false reputation. As long as you stand with me, Mars, the god of war, will always shine upon us!”
At the same time, Marcus raised his gladius, lifting it high.
“Follow the Imperius’s command! Let’s sweep these Germans off the field!”
The roar of tens of thousands of soldiers, stomping their feet in unison, shook the plain.
Ariovistus, determined to rally his forces, gave the command to charge.
Despite being outnumbered—more than forty thousand Romans faced nearly one hundred thousand Germanic warriors—the Germans still had faith in their numerical superiority. Their morale had been dented, but their will to fight remained.
With gritted teeth, they ran toward the Romans in tight formation, axes raised.
The two sides collided with a thunderous crash, dust rising into the air.
The battle was on.
Red blood sprayed from the gladii of the Roman army, and the sound of axes crashing against shields rumbled like thunder.
As the cries of battle filled the air, the carnage intensified, and the battle’s madness escalated.