Caesar

As the legions moved forward into the southern plains of Belgae, the cavalry scouts that had been sent out to determine the enemy position rode in. Two of them were covered in blood, all sported wounds, and there were a dozen empty saddles. As they rode towards the column, Caesar galloped up to them, eager for their report. There had been no sign of the tribesmen since he had taken the wall, and the three weeks since they had left the pass had been uneventful Caesar was eager to finish this campaign, he had been away from Rome too long.

"What happened," he demanded. "Where are they?"

"Ambush, my general," one of the men replied, swaying in his saddle. "The Nervii were hidden in a wooded basin, and before we knew it, we were surrounded."

"Where was this? How long ago, how far away?" Caesar queried.

"Scarcely three hours ago, my general. No more than ten miles."

Caesar wheeled his horse. "Go and rest," he commanded the scouts over his shoulder. "And be prepared for the need to fight at any time." He rode down the hill, and once ensconced back into the leading position of the legions, ordered a halt. Summoning the officers, Caesar sketched out what the scout had told him, and then gave his orders. "The first and second legions are to advance in the spearhead formation," he stated. "Once the enemy has been encountered, reform into the square. You must hold at whatever cost. The rest of the army will be split into groups of four legions, with the auxiliaries held at the rear in order to envelop the Celts when they attack. Once the first two legions are beset, the next four will move out, two legions to each side with auxiliary backing. You will sweep out into two long arms, and then grind the Celts up against the square in the centre. The northern side will be left open, and the cavalry screens will harass and pursue any of the enemy that attempt to escape in that direction. Any questions?"

"Just one, Caesar," Brutus spoke up. "If the Celts are not ahead of us, but are instead alongside, or even behind us, they could attack the middle column, or even the auxiliaries. Half of our army could be lost." "The cavalry, until the engagement, will be riding a minimum of four hundred yards away from the army on the march. We will have a triple complement of scouts out. If any position to the rear of the line is attacked, then the front two legions will then wheel back, and join with the auxiliaries in an envelopment maneuver. Rest easy, Brutus," and he smiled. "This is a battle that we are almost assured of winning."

"Almost, my general?" one of the other officers asked.

"Nothing is definite in warfare, centurion. But our force is the stronger, and besides," Caesar looked at the centurion, his gaze level, "We have a.... small surprise for the Celts if they do manage to break the line."

The meeting dispersed, and the legions reformed into their new formation. Caesar supervised the smooth transition, then took up his chosen position with the second legion. Better, he thought, for his men to see their general at the front of the fighting, rather than skulking in the rear. And then, with a shouted cry, the army continued it's march into Belgae.


All

Zeltar crouched in a stand of trees not three hundred yards away as the legions began once again to move, this time in a new formation. He grunted. They seemed to be setting themselves up for something tricky, but he was damned if he knew what is was. Nevertheless, the pieces were now in play. Rothlin's troops would attack the legions in exactly seventy minutes from the opposite side, and the legions would be caught in a nutcracker. Then Caesar would be killed, and he would at last know peace. Zeltar crept back to his men, and gave the orders to mount up. He would play his part, and set his demons to rest at last.

* * *

Turning his gaze from the legions marching towards him, Rothlin swept his gaze back at the army lying behind him, ready for action. He still couldn't believe that he, barely twenty four years of age was in command of troops numbering in excess of one hundred thousand. He steadied. He and his army had work to do here, today. They would go down into the valley up ahead, and would create a butchers yard of such dimensions that had not been seen in the lands of the Nervii ever before. And, if the gods were kind they would prevail.

As he thought this, his eye turned to the druid who had arrived in camp the previous evening, claiming he had been directed here in a vision, to help care for the wounded and the dead. Rothlin shivered. He did not want to know what the man had seen. He would lead his men against Caesar, and he would conquer. His only regret was not killing the bastard when he had had the chance, back in the passes. But here he would rectify his mistake, and he reached down, caressing his sword hilt. Yes, soon he would appease his blade. It would soon be drenched in Roman blood.

* * *

Caesar stared, troubled at the approaching hills. He would have assumed that the Celts would have attacked by now. Icy fingers traced their way up his spine. Could Brutus have been right? Could the Nervii have set a trap for him somewhere in this accursed province? But his thoughts were steadied as he recalled the reinforcements that were coming quickly, already having left the pass. He could not help but win here, with or without the reinforcements that were soon to arrive.

His reverie was rudely interrupted by the sound of thunder, off on the western horizon. Caesar frowned, and called one of the officers, named Parsian to him.

"Surely that is not a storm, soldier?" he asked. "There is no cloud in the sky, and yet... I hear thunder."

"Truly it is a strange happenstance, my general," Parsian replied. He squinted out towards the horizon. "But then, who knows what kind of weather exists in this barbarian province?"

Caesar turned, and looked down his line, seeking the source of the noise. And then he stared in horror. Down to where his four legions and three auxiliary legions were marching on a broad front. Down to where, scarcely two hundred yards behind the auxiliaries, were charging a huge force of cavalry. Hundreds, maybe thousands of men, mounted upon horses such as the tribesmen had never been known to have.

Then they struck, cleaving through the auxiliary lines as a knife through butter, splitting the rear three legions apart and slicing their formation into ribbons. What resistance there was was crushed under the longswords of the Nervii. Caesar raised his eyes. On a hill just behind the pitched battle stood a group of cavalry, one man in the centre clad in black. Caesar clenched his teeth. So Zeltar had decided to return.

Bellowing for his troops to reform and move to the aid of his comrades, Caesar then started towards the centre of his line. It would yet hold. Soon he and his twelve thousand would reach it, and then they would take Zeltar and kill him. The murderer would yet die.

* * *

Rothlin's scouts called down the minute that Zeltar's cavalry were spotted over the ridge, and Rothlin quickly barked out the orders that sent his army, one hundred thousand strong marching towards the crippled Roman line.

As they breasted the hills separating them from the battle, Rothlin's heart began to race with excitement. Caesar was wheeling his line about, turning to meet the threat from the cavalry. He would not see the tribesmen until it was too late. Rothlin turned to his men, and commanded them to charge.

And slowly but surely, the huge mass of men rushed down the hill, towards the divided Roman legions.

* * *

Caesar galloped at the head of his force towards the pitched battle in front of him. His gaze intent, he signaled to his banner bearer to call in the cavalry screens, to have them reform and attack the Nervii troops. Gradually he slowed his pace, allowing the marching legionnaires to catch up with him. And then, as he rode, he suddenly became aware of the force in front of him properly. Swearing under his breath, he counted their numbers, and then did it again. He swore again. Scarcely a tenth of the Nervii were here. Where were the rest of them? There were at least ninety thousand men unaccounted for here.

It was then that a legionnaire at the rear of the troop glanced behind him as he marched, and cried aloud in alarm. The hillside behind him was boiling with troops, rushing towards the legions as they marched. Scarcely two miles distant, they were coming with he speed and the ferocity of an avalanche.

Caesar wheeled his horse once more, and swore again. Then he shouted at his troops, commanding them to form the square, ten ranks deep, with three hundred men on each side. Then he dismounted and hit his horse with the flat of his blade, sending it squealing off into the distance. He took up his position in the fourth rank of fighters, and waited, hoping against hope that the cavalry commanded by Brutus would see this new menace. Hoping that his army would survive this day.

* * *

Zeltar;s blade rose and fell like as hammer as he cleaved his way through the Roman auxiliaries, slicing into legionnaires left and right, touching throats and hearts, completely slicing off heads. The blade sang in his mind, joyfully screaming at this rush of blood. And then Zeltar saw that Caesar's troops had stopped and were reforming, ready to meet the rush from Rothlin's troops. And Zeltar knew that the Romans would withstand the army, despite having only a tenth of the numbers.

Calling to all of the tribesman within range, he gathered up several riders and then galloped towards the square formation, avoiding the middle legions that were arriving to encircle his troops still attacking the auxiliaries. And then he saw Rothlin's troops hit the Roman wall, and saw the legions stagger and then firm, as man after man, they locked their shields, and met the tribesmen attacking them.

Zeltar redoubled his pace, praying to all the gods of the earth and the water that he would be in time.

* * *

Caesar watched in horror as the heaving ranks of his army were turned, jostled and thrown, repelling assault after assault, front rank changing again and again in order to keep the men from growing too exhausted. Then his turn came at the front, and drawing his sword, his hacked and thrust at the wild eyed tribesman. A giant of a man wielding a huge axe came screaming towards him, but the legionnaire beside him stepped up to ram his blade into the tribesman's stomach, whilst Caesar sidestepped and then stabbed the man in the heart. Smiling his thanks at the legionnaire, he retook his position, awaiting the Nervii.

And the slaughter went on.

* * *

Brutus was racing his cavalry towards the centre of the Nervii cavalry, when he saw a sizable portion of their force peel off and charge towards the north. Turning to see them go, he spied the immense army locked in a struggle with Caesar's two legions. He barked at one of the men.

"Go down to the battle, tell the commanders to move two of the legions to the north, whilst sending the other two to wipe up the cavalry to the south before heading north as well. Ride man, the life of Caesar rests upon your speed!"

"At once, my lord," the man shouted, and galloped down to the marching legions as if Mercury himself had commanded his obedience.

Brutus wheeled his forces, and then three thousand of the best cavalry of Rome charged in a headlong gallop, back to the north, to help Caesar.

* * *

Rothlin leapt backward as a legionnaire slashed at him with his sword, then smoothly ran the Roman through. Another stepped forward to take his fallen comrades place in the line, fighting in formation. All around Rothlin were the tribesmen, many now dead or dying. Their corpses littered the ground, and the arriving warriors had to climb over piles of their fallen comrades to attack the Romans.

Rothlin swore. They were dying too quickly, this small group of the legions was too strong for his men to defeat. He signaled to one of the men at the back, bearing a horn. The man saluted back at him, and then raised the horn to his lips.

After the sound had died away, there came a rumbling noise from the hills to the east, where an additional forty thousand tribesmen began to charge towards the battlefield.

* * *

Caesar looked up after he heard the horn and was almost decapitated by a screaming tribesman. Just managing to duck in time, he stepped back into the mass of men, and then turned, scanning the hills in all directions. It was then that he saw them.

Charging down the eastern slopes towards his men was a huge army, he guessed it to be many thousand men strong. Waving spears and axes and screaming in their barbaric native tongue, they raced towards his army. He guessed that he had only three or four minutes before they arrived. it was then that Caesar also heard the thunder of hoof beats from the south. He turned, only to stare in horror at the force of Celtic cavalry, only several hundred yards away.

Quickly shouting orders the legions began to reform to blunt the charge but it was too late, too late....

And the cavalry smashed into Caesar's flank with the force of a raging storm.

* * *

Zeltar swept his sword out of his scabbard as he rode and swung from side to side, decapitating Romans on all sides. One of them stabbed his horse, and he leapt from it as it screamed and fell. He landed in front of a legionnaire, and ran his sword through the man's throat. Spinning on his heel he blocked another Roman's thrust before running him through the chest. All around him men and horses were screaming, but Zeltar was lost in a cocoon of rage, ducking and thrusting, attacking and blocking, almost faster than the eye could follow, trying to break through the Roman lines to reach Caesar.

So absorbed was he that he failed to notice the two legions of Roman cavalry bearing down upon him.

* * *

Brutus' cavalry smashed into Zeltar's weakened force, and split them in two, cutting them off and so damaging them that a cohort of Caesar's men dashed forward and began to kill them all, so demoralised they had become. Then Brutus heard the Celtic reserves scream again in rage, and turned his horse to see them bearing down upon Caesar, barely six hundred yards away.

Shouting to his men he reformed his legions and charged towards them, his men fanning out into a wedge behind him. They crashed through the Celtic reserves like a hot knife through butter, splitting their force before circling around and hitting them again. Tribesmen were dying all around him, as Brutus raised his sword again and again, killing more and more of the tribesmen. Within minutes they had turned to flee, and over a thousand of Brutus' cavalry pursued them, harrying them to the hills. They had left over twenty thousand men dead upon the field.

But most of the Roman cavalry mounts had been killed, and so Brutus quickly reformed them into the traditional wedge of the legions, and then they marched off to link with Caesar.

And to the south, now only a mile away from the field, were the other four legions of Caesar's army, hastening towards the battle.

* * *

Zeltar and his men were by now under tremendous pressure from both the men with Caesar and the remaining Roman cavalry. Although neither force was their superior in size, they were slowly being ground up against Caesar, whilst Rothlin's forces to the north failed to break the Roman line. Slowly, the tide of the battle was beginning to turn against the Celts.

And Caesar's southern legions drew ever nearer.

* * *

Caesar ran his eyes over his troops and frowned. Out of the two legions he had had originally there was less than a legion left now. He raised his eyes to the south where the force of Celtic cavalry had smashed into his rear, and a smile curved itself up his lips. He raised his hand above the heads of his legions and then made a sweeping motion to the left and right. Continuing to watch the south for a moment, he nodded in satisfaction, and then returned to the front line of the battle.

* * *

Rothlin swung his sword again and again, urging his men on to break the Roman defenses. His army was falling apart now, but the remaining troops were still as determined as ever. Even though the reserves had been destroyed, if they could break through to Caesar, they could still win the day. "Come on lads!" Rothlin shouted. "Not many of them left! One last charge should do it!" Rothlin's army pulled back slightly, reformed, and charged once more towards the Romans.

And slowly,. Caesar's line began to give way.

* * *

Zeltar could feel the line of Romans begin to buckle, and he charged in, his sword slicing through Roman flesh. He was still in the grip of battle rage, and did not notice when most of his men failed to follow his lead as they stared, gaping at the south. They turned, screaming and fled to the east, seeking refuge towards the hills. At last, hearing their screams, and Zeltar turned, and saw Caesar's legions coming towards him. Only twenty yards away now, they broke into a charge.

"Com on now, men," Zeltar said quietly to the handful surrounding him. "Time to meet old Lady Fate herself, and to dance with death." They all gripped their swords, and then leapt forward as one to meet the Romans.

Zeltar fought his way into their ranks as the men around him fell one by one. Legionnaire after legionnaire fell under his blade until at last his comrades were dead and he stood in a circle of Roman corpses. He glanced wildly around, and saw he was alone. He lifted his gaze to a nearby centurion, then reached down and picked up a second sword from one of the dead tribesmen lying nearby. He held it steady in his left hand, and then looked once again at the Romans surrounding him. He smiled.

"Time to die, my lads" he whispered, and then charged forward. An arrow hit him in the side, but he kept on going, slashing and cutting, dancing through the Roman forces as though nothing could stop him. A sword lashed out from behind him and cut off his left hand, he screamed in agony, but managed to spin and kill the man who had attacked him. Other legionnaires now attacked, and Zeltar was forced to block and parry, defending with all his might while he slowly bled to death. An axe crashed into his leg, and then a sword took him high in the side. He fell to his knees, blood bubbling out through his mouth. He almost fell, and dropped his sword. He slowly raised his eyes and through the fog of his pain he saw the centurion watching him.

"My....sword" he said in a tortured gasp. "Please....my sword..." The centurion stepped forward, leant down and picked up the blade before giving it into Zeltar's hands. Zeltar managed a grim smile. "If ... I had.....one ounce of.....strength left I would.....split you.....in two."

"I know," the centurion replied., an unreadable look in his eyes. "Well fought, tribesman. Safe journey to the spirit world."

Zeltar felt the world spin and his head swam before he at last fell into blessed darkness and knew no more.

* * *

Brutus raised his sword and bellowed a war cry as his troops thundered into the eastern flank of the Nervii. His troops smashed their way through, linking up with Caesar's diminished force. Brutus clapped his general on the shoulder, and said,

"We made it, my general!" Caesar pulled a weary smile at him.

"But we still have a small problem to deal with, Brutus," and he gestured with his sword to the seventy thousand tribesmen that still remained to the north."

"Don't worry, my general," Brutus replied. "We have a small surprise for them.

* * *

The four reserve legions fanned out and slowly began to encircle the Nervii's position. When they had reached the point that their commanders deemed most appropriate, they began to close their ring, moving closer and closer to the Nervii. Before long, they would have the tribesmen in a viselike grip.

* * *

Rothlin was almost exhausted. He had been fighting for hours now, and still they had not broken through the wall. Caesar had been reinforced, and it looked as if the Nervii were not going to be able to defeat the Romans. But then he looked behind him and saw the seventy thousand men still with him, and felt a renewed hope. "Spread out more!" he shouted to his men. "Surround him on all four sides."

Slowly the tribesmen began to shift, until one of them looked away from Caesar and to his surprise saw the reserve legions bearing down upon him. He shouted in alarm and the rest of his troop turned with him.

"Quickly!" one of the tribe's commanders shouted. "Sound the retreat. Inform General Rothlin that we are surrounded!" Soon a current of panic was running through the Nervii. They knew now that they had lost, and many of the tribesmen began to run, away from the legions, towards the still clear north. Before long the entire army was moving in a rout, leaving Rothlin and several thousand men standing not fifty yards away from Caesar's legions, and staring at them. Then Rothlin heard Caesar shout to his men.

"The Legion will advance!"

The legionnaires began to charge towards Rothlin's force. His remaining troops screamed and ran. He turned himself, and spying a horse that had escaped the carnage in the cavalry engagements quickly ran to it, mounting and galloping off to the north before the legions could reach him. Rothlin's mouth tasted of ashes and blood as he rode north, back to where Talia and the others of the tribe were waiting for news. He could not tell them of a great victory now. He had lost.

* * *

Caesar sent three of his remaining legions to pursue the Nervii, assisted by the legion of cavalry that remained. With the troops he had left, he built a fortified encampment and waited for his men to return. When they arrived several hours later, he commanded the centurions to give a full roll of men, for an accurate gauging of their losses. The officers nodded and sent men out to count the dead. Caesar watched for a while, then turned and walked to where his tent had been set up. He ducked inside, and informed one of his servants to fetch Brutus to him.

"Yes, Caesar?" Brutus asked as he stepped through the door. His armour was covered in blood and dirt, his helmet's plume was tattered and his face was weary. Nevertheless he stood strong before his general, awaiting his orders.

"Oh, my friend." said Caesar. "Please sit down. We have had quite a day, you and I," and he chuckled, sounding bone weary. "Has a count been given yet?"

"We have some figures, my general. As of yet it seems that in excess of twenty eight thousand of our men gave their lives in the battle." Caesar's face turned pale.

"So many! By the gods, this has cost Rome dear."

"Yet, Caesar, they gave good accounting. It appears that over one hundred thousand of the Nervii and their allies died on the field. It is now safe to assume that they are no longer a threat."

"And what news of their commanders? Did we take any of them?"

"Yes, my lord. It appears that your old enemy Zeltar nŽ Kerath was killed by the fifth legion. They report that before they managed to take him he killed twenty four of them alone, before by luck alone they cut of one of his hands and then defeated him."

Caesar stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "Even though he was my enemy, he was once my friend, long ago. Bring his body to the encampment. We will give him a funeral pyre, and then we will see to our dead." Brutus bowed and left the tent, to carry out his task. Caesar lay down on his folding bed with a sigh. He was so tired, so tired......

* * *

The wood was piled high, and three of the legionnaires carefully placed Zeltar's body at it's apex. At his side they laid his sword Lothržl, and then they climbed down the pile. Caesar nodded to the men bearing torches, and as one they lofted their brands into the pyre. It caught, and was soon roaring as it burned higher and hotter.

"Goodbye, my old friend," Caesar whispered as the flames consumed Zeltar's body. "Safe journey into the spirit world."