Final Campaign

simply running to form a ragged line, thefastest of them finding themselves at the front. Straining my eyes,I thought I could see two slight divisions in the forming Thracianline, assuming this to be a sign of the tribes forming up undertheir own leaders. Recalling that it is often the case thatbarbarian tribes hate each other at least as much as they hateforeign invaders, I wondered if the gap I was seeing was due tosome sort of intertribal politics. I turned my attention back tothe 13^th, pleased to see that they were close to beingready to begin the advance, at least until I spotted something.Some of the Centurions had chosen to march their Centuries to thespot where their signiferi were waiting before making themove from column to line, and I cursed bitterly, both at thoseCenturions who had chosen to do so, as well as at myself for theoversight in forbidding this very thing. Performing this maneuvertakes space; making the necessary movements to move into battleformation in the midst of the respective lines about to go intobattle meant that space had to be made by those Centuries alreadyin their battle front for those Centuries who were performing themaneuver after they reached the line. Almost instantly, thewell-oiled machine that had been the 13^th Legionperforming the most difficult maneuver known in warfare startedbreaking down in front of my eyes. Centuries became entangled witheach other, with men ordered to march to the flank running into menbeing moved into their final positions, already in their battleformation. I jerked Ocelus around, and kicking him hard, gallopedover to Flaminius, who was standing next to his aquilifer,clearly dismayed at what was happening. I was furious, but my ragewas impotent, there being simply nothing I could do at thatmoment.

“Flaminius, I want the names of those lazybastards who fucked this up, do you hear me?”

Flaminius did not answer me verbally, givingonly a curt nod as he watched the mess unfolding in front of us.Since nothing more could be done at that moment, I looked over tothe Thracians, afraid of what I would see, expecting that theywould be taking advantage of our confusion to advance on us. Luckwas with us, since I refuse to credit the gods with helping ourcause in any way, for the Thracians seemed content to wait for usto come to them, a mistake that I still do not fully understand tothis day. Seeing that matters were finally being sorted out, withthe 13^th close to being formed, I galloped Ocelus backto where the cornicen and bucinator had moved closer,preparing to give the order to sound the call to advance. To anuninformed observer, the acies duplex that was facing theThracians was the same Roman Legion formation as any other. Thespacing was the same, the Centurions and signiferi in theirsame spots, the men marching forward with their shields uncovered,javelins in their hands. What was different was the composition ofthe Cohorts in each line. Instead of the First Cohort on the right,as was traditional, it was the Third. That in fact was not so bad,since the Third is traditionally in the first line, meaning the menof that Cohort were experienced and knew what to expect. However,next to them was the Tenth, normally the last Cohort in the lastline, then next to them the Fifth, normally in the second line. TheFirst Cohort had actually been leading the 13^th, makingthem the last of the second line on the left, but Flaminius hadchosen to stay in his normal spot on the right, standing next tothe Tertius Pilus Prior. With the advance starting, only the nextfew moments would tell if the composition of the first line madeany difference in how they fought, helped by the ground that I hadchosen.

The timing of the advance had not been basedjust on how long we had resumed marching after our break. I hadlearned from our scouting party that there was a long, gradualslope coming up, coming out of a heavily wooded area, with a streamtumbling down from the slope that, while not deep, had bankssufficiently steep that it acted as a barrier that ran parallel toour line of march. Several hundred paces across from where the armyhad just passed was a forested area, so that between the stream andthis stand of trees was a natural passageway that had become themain thoroughfare in that part of the country. It was no Romanroad, but there was a well-worn path grooved by wagon wheels, thetrack leading up the hill, where the vanguard, the leading Legion,and the baggage train had just crested the top. We had theadvantage of starting our advance uphill, giving us the extraimpetus when we made the final charge, while the stream and forestmade it difficult for either side to flank the other. Given thecircumstances, this was the best I could do to give ourselves everyadvantage I could think of. In many ways, this battle was going tobe the culmination of everything I had learned during my time inthe Legions. With the 13^th now marching down the hill,in the silence that is customary to the Roman Legion, the Thraciansbegan their own pre-battle ritual, the sound of their shouting andcurses rolling up the slope toward us. I was sitting at the top ofthe slope, watching as Libo, his combined force of cavalry andEvocati, along with Scipio, Lucullus, and Silanus, moved intoposition behind the second line on the far right. The instant therewas room behind the 13^th, I had the Second and Seventhof the 8^th move to a spot roughly in the middle of thelines, in a spot where their Pili Priores could see me. I wanted tocatch Gaius’ eye, but knew I should do no such thing, leaving himto do his job while I concentrated fully on my own, so I managed torefrain. The Thracians had finished forming up themselves, if thatwas what it could be called, but they did have enough organizationthat like us, their cavalry was positioned to the rear, there notbeing enough room to put them out on one wing. The Thracianinfantry in the front ranks had formed