Caesarean cohorts.
The only things that differed from Carrhae, thought Romulus, were the facts that the enemy javelins didn't have the penetrative force of the arrows from the Parthian recurved bows, and that the temperature wasn't quite as hot as the Mesopotamian desert. All the same, thirst and dehydration were beginning to rear their ugly heads. The battle had been going on all day now, and most men's water carriers were long since empty. They'd had no food since dawn either.
Caesar did not disappoint Romulus. Ordering the cohorts to spread out, he had alternate units turn about so that they faced the Numidian cavalry which was attacking their rear, while the others continued to confront the waves of skirmishers to the front. Atilius and the other senior centurions were entrusted once more with the task of rallying the men's morale. Then, in a simultaneous action, both parts charged at the enemy, hurling their remaining pila. To the legionaries' surprise and delight, the Numidians retreated before the ferocity of their attack.
At once the recall sounded.
'This is the first time we've got the fuckers on the run!' Sabinus cried.
'Our energy won't last,' Romulus explained. 'When we stop, they'll turn on us again. This is our chance to get away.'
The bucinae repeated their command, and men's faces lit up at the chance of escaping the hellhole in which they'd been trapped all day. Forming up, the cohorts began retreating towards Ruspina with the remaining Gaulish cavalry formed up on the flanks as protection. They didn't get far before enemy reinforcements could be seen approaching from the south. Comprised of cavalry and infantry, the newly arrived Pompeians immediately set out in pursuit of the battered foraging party. Reinvigorated, their exhausted comrades followed close behind.
Seeing the new danger, Caesar had his men halt and turn about once more. Soon afterwards one of his messengers came in search of Atilius. 'Caesar wants six cohorts to lead a counter-attack, sir,' he panted. 'Three from the Fifth, and three from the Twenty-Eighth. Says you've earned it.'
Atilius' chest blew out with pride. 'Did you hear that, boys?' he shouted. 'Caesar has noticed your bravery.'
Despite their cracked, dry throats, the legionaries managed a rousing cheer.
'What are Caesar's orders?' demanded Atilius.
'He wants an attack three cohorts wide, two deep, sir,' came the answer. 'Push the fresh enemy troops back. Give them a bloody nose that they won't forget. We just need enough time to get back to Ruspina.' With a quick salute, the messenger was off to the next cohort.
Atilius turned to his men. 'I know you're all tired, but give me one last effort. Then we can go home.' He eyed the Pompeian reinforcements, which were descending from some high ground to the southeast. 'We'll need to send them packing back over that. Can you do it?'
'Yes, sir,' they mumbled.
'I can't hear you,' Atilius bellowed.
'YES, SIR!' the men cried, fired by his enthusiasm and the honour granted them by Caesar. Romulus was particularly stirred by their mission. With no back-up from their cavalry, it was perilous in the extreme. If anything went wrong, they'd be completely on their own. No less a man than Caesar had asked for it, though, and it was a chance to help every one of the tired soldiers in the patrol. Something Romulus had wanted to do, but could not, on the retreat from Carrhae.
The senior centurion smiled. 'Good.' Leading the cohort out of rank, he waited as two more picked from the Twenty-Eighth joined them. The Fifth's position was further to the rear, and its three chosen cohorts were already waiting to one side of the retreating patrol. The senior centurions from the units conferred with each other before Atilius' cohort took the right flank, while the centre and left flank were formed by two from the Fifth. The three remaining units assembled to their rear, and they set off.
When Atilius returned, Romulus couldn't help himself. 'How come we have this position, sir?' They were in the place normally awarded to the most experienced part of an army; he had expected one of the Fifth's cohorts to take it.
Atilius looked pleased. 'The others said that my javelin throw had earned me the honour. Now we all have the chance to win some glory.'
Romulus grinned. Atilius seemed more and more like Bassius as the day went on. It was easy to follow such an officer into battle. Fearless, tough and prepared to take all of the risks that his soldiers had to, Atilius was the epitome of a leader. Romulus had to give Caesar the same credit too. Their general had played a huge part in maintaining his legionaries' morale, and could still be seen urging on those who were falling behind. Although he was in his mid fifties, Caesar acted like a man half his age.
What more could a soldier ask for?
Determination filled Romulus that he would help drive back the advancing Pompeian troops, or die in the attempt. His leaders and comrades deserved no less.
Atilius glanced to either side, and raised an arm. 'Close order,' he ordered. 'Shields high. Draw swords.'
The distinctive sound of gladii sliding from their scabbards filled the air. Almost no legionaries had any pila left; after an entire day of combat fought back and forth over a large area, most had been damaged or were irretrievable. Their charge would hopefully lead them into close-quarters fighting for the first time. There they could use their deadly swords and the metal bosses of their scuta to exact revenge for the torture they'd been put through by the Pompeians. It was a pleasing prospect for the bitterly frustrated soldiers.
'Forward!' bellowed Atilius. He took off at a gentle trot, and six cohorts followed.
Soon they could tell that the enemy reinforcements were predominantly infantry, but were supported by a strong force of cavalry on each wing. Foot soldiers never liked facing horsemen at the best of times, yet all the men present knew of Caesar's tactic at Pharsalus sixteen months before. This stunning success had been at the root of their general's victory, and had been drilled into every one of his soldiers since. While they no longer had pila to jab at the riders' faces, the legionaries had the confidence of knowing that a charge on the enemy riders gave them a chance of breaking the attack. Horsemen were not invincible. That was the theory, anyway.
By the time they had covered a quarter of a mile, the Pompeians were closing fast. The cavalry were keeping their mounts reined in so that they didn't overtake the foot soldiers, but a swelling roar of anger could be heard from their ranks. These were men who had missed the whole day's fighting; no doubt their leaders had promised them the glory of winning the battle.
'Double time!' Atilius shouted. With an energy that scarcely seemed possible given their ordeal, he broke into a full run. In a clever move, the signifer was right beside him.
Battle madness, which had been lacking in the Twenty-Eighth all day, began to seize control of the men. Keeping silent as they'd been trained, they used the frenzy to push their tired bodies to the same speed as Atilius. It was at times like this when their mail shirts, helmets and scuta became as heavy as lead. Although the soldiers' muscles screamed for a rest, the cohort's standard meant nearly as much as the silver eagle. It could not under any circumstances fall into enemy hands. For it to do so would bring disgrace down on every man's head, a dishonour which could only be wiped away by its recovery.
Naturally, the other cohorts kept up with Atilius' men. With the safety of their comrades entrusted to their care, no one was prepared to be left behind. Caesar was watching.
The advancing Numidians were taken aback by the speed and ferocity of the Roman counter-attack. They had been told that after a long day of fighting, their enemies were exhausted and ready to break. Instead, they were confronted by the sight of six cohorts bearing down on them like packs of vengeful wolves. Foot soldiers against cavalry? Surely only madmen would take part in such an assault?
The cavalry slowed noticeably, and the light infantry did likewise.
Atilius saw the Pompeians' hesitation at once, and acted on it. 'Stay in close order! Keep your shields high,' he shouted, increasing his speed and raising his gladius. 'Remember, aim for their faces!'
Narrowing the gap between Sabinus and the man on his other side, Romulus gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles went white. His comrades were doing likewise, but their pace did not slacken. The Numidian cavalry were only about thirty paces away now, close enough for them to see the mounts' nostrils flare with nervousness at the line of approaching scuta. To pick out the features of individual riders, and the painted designs on the fronts of their shields. Charging a line of advancing horses was terrifying and Romulus gritted his teeth. If they failed, the remaining cohorts would be routed back to Ruspina. In that case, few men would survive. Everything depended on them.
