of their army across by the time we arrive. It would be best if we ferried the men back acro ss here and then pin the Sugambrians against the west side after they’ve already crossed.”
Septimus wouldn’t hear of it. He wouldn’t waste the entire night crossing back over the Rhenus on boats he considered less than perfectly stable, then marching his men south, only to finally meet the Germans in battle when his century was completely hungry and exhausted. “Legate, sir,” risked Septimus, thinking of almost any other plan on the spot.
“You’ll hold your tongue,” lashed Manilius. “No one has addressed you.”
He was right, but Drusus was in a forgiving mood, “What is it, centurion? Do you have a different opinion?”
“Yes, l ord, I do.”
“Well, don’t make me wait all day for it. I may yet grow tired of you.”
“Yes, lord, certainly the camp prefect already has grown weary of me.” Septimus waited for a bit of laughter that did not come. He continued, “On the west side of the Rhenus there are four centuries and a small Gallic auxiliary force of cavalry that have yet to cross over to us. Send them south immediately in order to hide among the brush. When the Sugambrian invaders have successfully sent five hundred men across, our four centuries and cavalry may attack them. Those Germans will be pissing themselves so much trying to get more people across, they’ll never see our entire army coming upon them with superior numbers from their rear.”
Silence reigned, except for the small metallic clatter of the general’s white horse’s bridle as the beast shook a fly away from his snout. “Centurion, do you think a Roman army must rely on tricks to defeat a band of dirty miscreants from the woods?” shouted Drusus. Manilius beamed – the first time he had seen the prefect smile.
Septimus would not be brow- beaten. “No, lord. I just know the men are eager to fight sooner than later. Better to sate them rather than have them stand in line to cross the river all night.”
“And you think I command my army for the good of the men only and not the good of Rome?” prodded Drusus.
Septimus didn’t like where this was going. He had been whipped several times in his service of the army, each time for minor offences. He had never seen a junior officer argue with a general and was beginning to imagine the resulting punishments would be much worse. Yet he stood firm, believing his direction was correct. “Lord, no. You command for the good of Augustus. You are his very eyes and arms in the field. You tend to the men only as you would care for your armor – important, but replaceable. Staying on this side of the river tonight allows us to defeat the Sugambrians, then instantly move to strike the hamlets from where these invaders hail. We may send an immediate message that Rome will not tolerate insurrection from either side of this river. We may burn them. If you say it, lord, we may burn them.”
“Manilius!” shouted Drusus much too loudly. “Cross the river on this ship. Convey to those remaining on the western shore the orders of this centurion then come back to me. You’ll have to catch up, of course, as we’ll be marching to battle through the night.”
Septimus breathed a sigh of relief. It would do his military career much good, he thought, to be friends with the general. But it would do no good, he knew, to be an enemy of the camp prefect.
. . .
Berengar’s tired horse pulled a cart laden with rafts. Wagons had been commandeered from every settlement that produced men for the war and even from some that had not so that the carts numbered nearly one hundred. Each teetering craft carried one, two, or three simple rafts that had been assembled and lashed together at a meeting point twenty miles east of the river, deep in their dark wald. Even with so many ferries taking men and beasts across, it would take all
Septimus wouldn’t hear of it. He wouldn’t waste the entire night crossing back over the Rhenus on boats he considered less than perfectly stable, then marching his men south, only to finally meet the Germans in battle when his century was completely hungry and exhausted. “Legate, sir,” risked Septimus, thinking of almost any other plan on the spot.
“You’ll hold your tongue,” lashed Manilius. “No one has addressed you.”
He was right, but Drusus was in a forgiving mood, “What is it, centurion? Do you have a different opinion?”
“Yes, l ord, I do.”
“Well, don’t make me wait all day for it. I may yet grow tired of you.”
“Yes, lord, certainly the camp prefect already has grown weary of me.” Septimus waited for a bit of laughter that did not come. He continued, “On the west side of the Rhenus there are four centuries and a small Gallic auxiliary force of cavalry that have yet to cross over to us. Send them south immediately in order to hide among the brush. When the Sugambrian invaders have successfully sent five hundred men across, our four centuries and cavalry may attack them. Those Germans will be pissing themselves so much trying to get more people across, they’ll never see our entire army coming upon them with superior numbers from their rear.”
Silence reigned, except for the small metallic clatter of the general’s white horse’s bridle as the beast shook a fly away from his snout. “Centurion, do you think a Roman army must rely on tricks to defeat a band of dirty miscreants from the woods?” shouted Drusus. Manilius beamed – the first time he had seen the prefect smile.
Septimus would not be brow- beaten. “No, lord. I just know the men are eager to fight sooner than later. Better to sate them rather than have them stand in line to cross the river all night.”
“And you think I command my army for the good of the men only and not the good of Rome?” prodded Drusus.
Septimus didn’t like where this was going. He had been whipped several times in his service of the army, each time for minor offences. He had never seen a junior officer argue with a general and was beginning to imagine the resulting punishments would be much worse. Yet he stood firm, believing his direction was correct. “Lord, no. You command for the good of Augustus. You are his very eyes and arms in the field. You tend to the men only as you would care for your armor – important, but replaceable. Staying on this side of the river tonight allows us to defeat the Sugambrians, then instantly move to strike the hamlets from where these invaders hail. We may send an immediate message that Rome will not tolerate insurrection from either side of this river. We may burn them. If you say it, lord, we may burn them.”
“Manilius!” shouted Drusus much too loudly. “Cross the river on this ship. Convey to those remaining on the western shore the orders of this centurion then come back to me. You’ll have to catch up, of course, as we’ll be marching to battle through the night.”
Septimus breathed a sigh of relief. It would do his military career much good, he thought, to be friends with the general. But it would do no good, he knew, to be an enemy of the camp prefect.
. . .
Berengar’s tired horse pulled a cart laden with rafts. Wagons had been commandeered from every settlement that produced men for the war and even from some that had not so that the carts numbered nearly one hundred. Each teetering craft carried one, two, or three simple rafts that had been assembled and lashed together at a meeting point twenty miles east of the river, deep in their dark wald. Even with so many ferries taking men and beasts across, it would take all
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