by R. W. Peake
“We moved all of our spare weapons to the meeting hall here,” Ivomagus explained, having to raise his voice a bit because the arrows were still slashing down, although they were blocked by the upraised shields, making a slightly different sound than when a missile struck a Roman shield. “He will bring you whatever swords we have so you can choose.”
I would have thanked him, but when I turned my head to do so, I looked over his shoulder and saw that the roof of the third building down was fully involved, lighting the street around it in several places in both directions.
“If we don’t control that, every building on this street is going to go up,” I warned Ivomagus.
It was certainly the case that there was a lot going on; we were essentially pinned in place because of their archers, although my hope was that they would exhaust their supplies of missiles soon. Since we were unable to expose ourselves to see all the way down the wall, we could not tell if the Brigantes had found one or more spots to try and exploit, so we had to rely on the alarm being sounded by the small groups of men we had positioned down the eastern wall. In moments such as this, it is impossible to estimate how much time has elapsed, but my guess is that it was about a third of a watch after the Brigantes were spotted, when, at the opposite end of the wall from the eastern gate, there was a shout that, when relayed by the men between us and the last defenders, alerted us that there was something happening. With the building that was now fully involved, it made it next to impossible to determine whether this was a real threat because we could not see far past it, and Ivomagus correctly determined this.
“I will go, Centurion,” he called to me, then indicated himself. “I am wearing armor and am armed.”
“Take your horn player with you,” I suggested. “In case I need to send some of these men to you.”
I was feeling vulnerable, and it was not a feeling I cared for at all. Unarmored and unarmed, with only the shields of men who could not understand a word I said to protect me, I alternated my attention between watching Ivomagus and his horn player rushing down the street before being forced to pause to hug the wall because of the terrible heat from the burning building, and back in the direction of the center of the town, urging Tincommius to return. I was still looking for him when, from the opposite end of the eastern wall, the horn sounded in a series of notes that, while I may not have recognized the call, the other warriors around me did, and it was obviously a call for reinforcements. I was somewhat surprised when instead of rushing off, they all looked at me, and I took advantage by holding up ten fingers and pointing to the parapet. They did as I asked, the rest of them rushing down the muddy street, flattening against the wall across from the burning house before disappearing beyond the ring of light. It was fully dark now, so it was impossible to see beyond the fire. The rain of arrows had subsided some time before, but whether it was because they were out of missiles or they did not want to waste them in the dark I did not know, and there was a barely visible dark mass that was out there, down the road from the eastern gate that I knew were Brigantes. The chariots had looped back around and returned to that spot, and my guess was that they were still there.
“Pullus!”
I turned in time to see Tincommius dismount, holding a bundle under one arm, and he ran up, dropped the bundle on the ground, and unrolled it. Even without the light from the burning house, I could identify by the sound what it was, blades clanging together, and yet I just stood there, unable to move as I stared down at the offering. It was not the quality of the blades, although it was difficult to tell with any level of precision because of the light. Instead, it was a very basic thing, and honestly, I do not know why I thought it would be any different. Simply put, every single gladius, of which there were ten, was at least a foot longer than the Gladius Hispanensis that I could handle with my eyes closed, and actually had on occasion as practice for fighting in the dark. Even worse, most of them did not even have the kind of point that would make them work as a stabbing weapon, and in frustration, I kicked at the pile. Whether it was the gods who caused me to do so, or it was just a complete accident, I learned that I had not seen all of them, because hidden under the blades on top was what, to my eyes, appeared to be almost identical to the Roman spatha, which I had trained with, albeit years earlier when I was a youth doing my exercises on the Campus Martius. I am, after all, or I was a member of the Equestrian Order, and this was the weapon that young equestrians are trained to use, and I wasted no time in snatching it up. It did feel a bit awkward, though not in the sense that it was completely unfamiliar; it was as if I was greeting an old lover and giving her a kiss after a long time apart. I made a couple of moves, feeling the eyes of Tincommius on me, and when I glanced over at him, I could see that he was not just impressed, he seemed reassured. This was the moment Diviciacus chose to unleash his final surprise.
It began with a wailing sound, not from where Ivomagus was, but from the darkness beyond the gate, although it was instantly drowned out by a roar of voices. I ran to the parapet, stumbling over the pile of blades and sending them everywhere, hopping up onto the plank. They were still too far away for me to pick out distinct and different shapes, but I could see they were closing, fast, and I heard the distinctive rumbling sound that I had observed during the first attack by the chariots. And, I thought with a sinking feeling, I’ve got ten men. With that in mind, I spun around and leapt down to the ground, running up to Tincommius, shouting like a madman.
“Go get the other men in the square! Bring them here! The main attack is here!”
Even as the words poured out, I knew that Tincommius could not understand a word, so in desperation, I thrust my arm in the direction of the center of the town, then, using my fingers, mimed men running. Thank the gods, he understood immediately, and most importantly, he did not head towards Ivomagus, but leapt on his mount, spun it about, and went galloping off into the darkness. Once I saw he was heading in the right direction, I ran back to the parapet, and we did not need to speak the same tongue for me to see these men were terrified. And, I was certain, they were looking for someone to lead them.
“All right, boys,” I did not make a conscious decision to do so, but I just spoke to them as if I was standing next to my Century. “Let’s show these cunni what a fucking mistake they’re making!” The response I got was nothing but blank stares, so I held my gladius out in the direction of the Brigantes, and roared, “Kill these bastards!”
I will say that they all responded with shouts of their own; if they were lacking in enthusiasm, I could not really blame them. But then, the first of the chariots materialized out of the darkness, but this time, there was not a man with a torch, and I could just barely make out there were only two men. It was more the sensation of motion than the movement itself I sensed, as the passenger drew his arm back and flung a short throwing spear that went slashing between the shields of two of the men farther down the parapet, but he was already throwing the next one, followed by another before the chariot flashed past. The hollow, thudding sound as one of the spears slammed into the shield of the man two down from me served to make me crouch down, just in time, hearing the slashing sound that I have experienced more times than I can count that tells me that some barbarian just missed me. Thank the gods for the dozen archers, because one of them, using his own initiative, came rushing up to the parapet and was immediately followed by his comrades, shoving their way in between the spearmen. Without any command that I heard, they began drawing and loosing in one motion, the range such that they essentially pointed the arrow directly where they wanted it to go, which encouraged me to stand up to watch, just in time to see an arrow strike a Brigantes about to hurl a missile, the shaft burying itself in his chest, sending him flipping over backward and onto the ground. His body proved to be a weapon for us, because it fell right into the path of the chariot following behind, and before the driver could react, the horse on the inside struck the corpse and went tumbling headfirst, which threw the chariot up in
to the air so violently that it flung the driver as if he had been shot from a ballista, landing at least twenty feet away, barely missing the chariot just ahead of them. Perhaps the most important thing was that this disrupted the entire attack from the chariots, as the pair of horses in the wrecked chariot were hopelessly tangled, and from the shrieks of almost human pain from one of them, it had suffered some sort of injury that immobilized both of them.
The chariot following behind the wrecked one was forced to change its path, and whether he had no choice or he made a made a bad decision, the driver came closer to the gate, and by the time it had passed by, both the driver and spearmen had more than one arrow protruding from their bodies, while the horses, no longer under control, went galloping off into the night down the eastern wall. The chariots were dangerous, there was no doubt about that, but I was more worried about what was coming next, and I kept my eyes down the road, trying to identify the next threat coming. The dark shape that came rolling towards the gate now was not moving as quickly as the chariots, but we could hear the roar of what sounded like well more than a hundred men, and within a few heartbeats they materialized out of the darkness, becoming distinct enough that we could see the individual figures of however many men Diviciacus had held back for the assault against the gate. I was switching back and forth, watching the Brigantes closing on us, and over my shoulder, silently willing Tincommius and the fifty men we had in reserve to appear from around the last line of buildings that blocked our view of the town square. When the onrushing enemy was about fifty paces away, I gave up looking for help, and I had to shout to be heard over the bellowing of the men rushing at us.
“Get ready, boys! Let them make the first move, use your shields, and shove your fucking spears down their throats!”
Even as the words were leaving my mouth, I knew they were pointless, but to my shock, and delight, this was exactly what the Parisii did, waiting for the boldest of the Brigantes to literally hurl themselves against the bottom of the wagon while blindly thrusting their spears at head level, trying to aim for the gaps between the shields. I certainly felt the impact of several bodies colliding with the wagons all within an eyeblink of the same time, but they did not budge. A spear shot through the gap between the man to my left and me, and it was only by chance I was actually looking down at that exact spot, so that before I had any conscious thought to do so, I reached out and snatched the shaft of the spear with my left hand, clamping down with all my strength. It is a move I had used before, another thing my father taught me, but I was not in a position to take advantage of the reaction of the Brigantes warrior, who I could not see, although I could feel his attempt to yank his weapon free.
“Kill that bastard!”
There is no way to know if he understood me, but I saw the Parisii next to me pull his arm back, then thrust his spear down, and I heard a high-pitched shriek of pain; most importantly, the tension on the spear suddenly vanished, so I pulled my left arm back then tossed the spear behind me. All along the makeshift parapet, I sensed as much as saw the Parisii defenders thrusting their spears, shifting their shields, and shouting at the top of their lungs, saying what I was certain were the same kinds of things we Romans do, calling their enemies’ mothers whores, their fathers dogs, and how we were about to kill them. Two men down from me to my right, alerted by a shriek of pain that drew my attention, I turned just in time to see one of the ten Parisii holding the parapet reeling backward. Whether it was because of the step down or the wound, what mattered was that he lost his balance, falling backward and leaving a gap in our defenses.
Without thinking about it, I hopped down, crossed the space, and stepped back up onto the planks into the gap, without a shield, and I was just in time to see a bearded Brigantes, one of the few wearing a helmet, attempting to crawl up onto the sideboard of the wagon, undoubtedly with help from a comrade below boosting him up. In one of those moments that often occur in a fight, our eyes met, but although he tried to bring his shield into a position up in front of him, he was too late and I thrust the spatha straight into his opened mouth as I looked directly at him. His eyes rolled back in his head, while I was forced to use my free hand to shove his head off my blade as I withdrew it, sending his helmet tumbling, but I did not use enough force, so that despite my intention to shove his body off of the wagon, his corpse was slumped over it. I was surprised that this actually worked in my favor, because it obstructed any of his comrades from trying to force themselves through what was now the only gap in the line of shields along the parapet. Before I had time to appreciate this, the corpse suddenly vanished, pulled out of the way by another Brigantes, who clearly had the idea that his comrade had of using this space as the way to penetrate our defenses. The men on either side of me were furiously engaged, shouting what sounded like curses as they made brutally powerful thrusts with their spears down into the mass of Brigantes, all of whom had now reached the makeshift gate. I had completely forgotten about Tincommius and the men he was bringing; all that existed in this moment was keeping these bastards from overwhelming the nine men still fighting to keep the Brigantes from overwhelming us. This is the only explanation I can offer for what, under any circumstances, was an incredibly foolish thing to do, which was to leap up onto the sideboard of the wagon in the space that was just vacated; I suppose my intention was to plug the hole. By doing so, I immediately exposed myself; more specifically, I exposed my lower legs to attack, and I was not even wearing greaves. Somehow, I managed to parry the first spear thrust, knocking the blade aside, and I even evaded the second, if only because I kicked it aside, but the third attempt by one of the Brigantes landed, or perhaps I should say glanced off, slicing into my right leg just above my ankle. It hurt like Dis, but it actually saved my life, of that I have no doubt, because I immediately made a hopping step backward off of the side of the wagon. Somehow, I managed to land squarely on the two planks that were our parapet, but most importantly, without having any conscious thought of doing so, I twisted my torso as one of the Brigantes executed another thrust, and I sensed more than saw the point shoot past me. This time, I was not quick enough to snatch the spear, and I was sufficiently distracted by the feeling of warm liquid running down my leg to not make any sort of offensive move. Once I checked myself to see that it was not a particularly deep gash, I began thinking about how I could use my spatha when, from behind us, there came a shout of my name. To my intense relief, I saw Tincommius approaching, still mounted, but he was leading the men of the reserve, and it was not a moment too soon, because another of the original defenders let out a shriek of agony, and I spun about just in time to see the man at the farthest end from me drop to his knees onto the pair of planks, both hands clamped around the area of his left eye. Then, the relief arrived, and I leapt down to make room since these men, like the original defenders were all equipped with a shield. Tincommius dismounted, and since there was no point in saying anything, I gave him a nod that I hoped would communicate my approval of his prompt response.
It was odd, and quite uncomfortable being in a position where the only way I could tell how the fight for the gate was going was by observing the backs of the men who were on the parapet. I suspect that it was from fatigue, but in this period where I stood with Tincommius watching, one by one the original ten men were either driven off the parapet or came staggering backward because of some wound. The thought struck me that, if this had taken place even a hundred heartbeats sooner, there would have been enough gaps in our defenses that the Brigantes could have emulated the warrior I had killed, but actually be successful. Whose slaying, I confess, I had completely forgotten when Tincommius nudged me, startling me somewhat, and when I looked at him, he simply pointed down to my blade, which I was holding loosely.
“Brigantes?”
He said another word after this, which I assumed was probably “blood,” so I nodded.
“Good,” he said in Latin, which I believe exhausted his entire vocabulary, and I gave him a smile and repe
ated, “Yes, very good.”
There had been no alarms raised anywhere else around the town wall, so I was beginning to think that perhaps, just perhaps, we would somehow prevail and somehow manage to survive long enough for Cogidubnus, wherever he was, to arrive. And, of course, this was when the gods decided not to just piss all over me, but squat and bury me under a load of divine cac.
The first indication that my hopes would founder was when, from the opposite end of the eastern wall, there was the sense of movement that attracted both Tincommius and me, but it took me a heartbeat longer to interpret the meaning of it, while the Parisii warrior reacted more quickly. That he did so by breaking into a run on foot, towards where Ivomagus and the forty warriors had headed, was what prompted me to follow him, and I was a few paces behind him when a man, carrying his shield but missing his spear, entered the pool of light from what was now two fully involved buildings, running directly for us. Even if he had not been looking over his shoulder, I would have known just by his manner that he was fleeing in panic, and it was left to Tincommius to try and stop the warrior as he shouted what sounded like a command. Which did not work to even slow the man down, although he did shout something to Tincommius as he dodged Tincommius’ attempt to stop the coward, which left me in an awkward position. If I had had time to think about it, I might have done something different, but in the moment, what I saw was a scared and broken man trying to run from the fight, and if I would not have allowed that with my Century, I was not going to allow it to happen here. That is why, using the fleeing warrior’s distraction of shouting over his shoulder to Tincommius, I simply stuck my right arm out as I took a step to the side to align myself so that he collided directly with it, and I had braced myself while he was completely unaware of my presence. Under other circumstances, the manner in which his lower body kept going while his upper body slammed into my arm might have been comical, and I confess I was irritated that I was moved back a step, but I was immobile enough that his legs flew off the ground so that he landed on his back in the mud, the air leaving his lungs in a massive exhalation that was audible even over the sounds of the fighting. He was not unconscious, and his mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water, his eyes so wide that the colored part of them looked much smaller than normal.