Avenging Varus Part II

by R. W. Peake

  “Sound the command Prepare Javelins!” Since he was expecting it, he did not hesitate, blowing the notes, but I was only looking at my Century as a guide, and when they drew back their arms, I barked, “Release!”

  Which, as I should have realized, meant that the men who could hear me did as I commanded rather than wait to hear the horn, prompting me to bellow a reminder that the next time they would wait for the horn. My attention was turned to my front, and I shouted in delight, not at the sight as much as the sound of surprise and pain, and I repeated the sequence of commands. Then, as I had warned Poplicola, I shouted the order to advance, which is different than the final charge at the enemy, and as I hoped, the entire Cohort responded, thrusting their shields out in an attempt to knock their foes backward. It is a slow, tedious, and dangerous process, but because of the javelin volleys, we began shoving the enemy backwards, as my Cohort closed with where Germanicus and Arminius were located.

  Chapter Twelve

  While I cannot deny that my decision was partially based in a desire for acclaim for myself, and for my Cohort, it was not completely selfish. I had seen that Arminius and his horsemen had managed to cut and slash their way deep into the layer of auxiliaries and were now pressing their advantage with the men of the 5th who were the last defense for Germanicus, and this was a way to relieve that pressure. That my Century was actually the farthest removed from that Cherusci threat was not ideal, but as we continued pushing our way forward, I began to see an opportunity. The Sixth, Fifth, and Fourth Century were facing the stiffest resistance, which made sense because, just as I was assessing the situation now, the Cherusci facing them were aware that these Romans were closer to reaching Arminius in the same way he was closer to reaching Germanicus. This is not to say that the other three Centuries, including the First, were unopposed, just that the mass of Germans bolstering their comrades in the front rank across from us was not as deep. And, now that the First Cohort was heading in our direction, while they were still a couple hundred paces away from aligning alongside my Cohort, it secured my flank, because any warrior who tried to get around us on my side would be trapped by the First, just as any of the Germans who had been facing the Third and Second Cohorts who tried to leave to fall on my rear would have suffered that fate themselves, opening their rear to those two Cohorts the instant they moved. My recognition of this was what spurred my decision, and once again, I shouted for men to attend to me, but this time I called for the last two ranks.

  “We’re going to form a wedge,” I told them, heartened to see the looks of grim pleasure as I explained, “I’ll be leading it, but we’re going to come from behind the Century, and we’re going to flank these cunni trying to flank us.”

  Even in the moment, with all of the noise and chaos, I experienced such an intense sense of pride in how quickly and with no hesitation the sixteen men arranged themselves behind me that I felt my eyes sting, but I turned away from them to face the front. I still was wishing I had a Legion shield, but I did not want to spare the time to go pick one up from one of my wounded, although I did manage to remember something else important.

  “Go get Saloninus,” I ordered Poplicola, “and have him take my spot and take temporary command.” Only then did I look over my shoulder, and I grinned at the others. “You boys look ready to cut Cerberus’ balls off!”

  “If that’s what you want, Pilus Prior, we’ll do it!”

  Unfortunately, I was not in a position to acknowledge this show of support from Sextus Nigidius, and it is a regret that I will carry for the rest of my days. I was already moving, at a quick walk, picking the spot where I would break into a run to go slamming into the Germans who were hovering a few paces away from the righthand edge of my Century. In the brief moment I took to pick a spot, my sense was that one of the warriors in that cluster was at least trying to do what I was about to do; rallying men to his cause in an attempt to try and shatter the cohesion of our formation before the arrival of the First Cohort made it too late. And, once again, the gods favored us; this time, it was in the form of a wave of javelins, Roman javelins, that came slashing down from the men of the Sixth of the First Cohort in the heartbeat before my small wedge smashed into them. It certainly was not coordinated; I had not even glanced over my shoulder at the men of the Sixth of the First, and given how long the javelins were in the air, slashing into the Germans who were paying attention to me and my men and not the Sixth of the First when I was perhaps just two strides away, it is probably a good thing I did not, because I would have never agreed to do what I was doing. As it happened, the German I had selected as my first target was struck by two javelins, although he managed to block one with his shield, but the other one buried itself in his chest, all the way to the wooden portion of the shaft. My momentum was such that, it was only in a reflex action that I swung the auxiliary shield in front of me so that it struck the end of the shaft protruding from his body, driving it almost all the way through him, while I felt the spatter of his last bloody breath on my face in the eyeblink before my shield struck his body, the force of our collision sending him hurtling back, either already dead or dying. His corpse served as a temporary ally as the hardened triangular point protruding several feet out his back punched into the man immediately behind him, taking him off his feet, so that before my mind could actually comprehend it, I was already two ranks deep into the Germans. Not that I was in any real danger; less than an eyeblink later came the two men who were immediately flanking me, using their shields to shove their way to a spot a half-pace behind me but protecting my flanks. Before a third man who had been knocked down by his two slain comrades could scramble to his feet, I ended him with a quick thrust, but I was forced to lean forward a bit more than was prudent. The warrior to my right did not hesitate to try and take advantage, yet before I could even really react, his face, twisted into a leering smile that expressed his certainty he was about to kill me, suddenly vanished as the ranker to my right, the Sergeant from my Fifth Section named Gnaeus Pictor, who my father had brought with him from the Third Century, thrust his shield in between us. The sound of the spear thrust as it bit into the wood was exceptionally loud in my ear, but I immediately turned my attention away from this threat, understanding that Pictor was protecting me, enabling me to launch my own first position thrust at the warrior who had just moved into the spot directly opposite me by straddling the two corpses, and which he blocked with a shield that, even in the moment, I noticed was identical to the one I was carrying, except that it was the blue of Raetian auxiliaries and not the red of Gaul that I was holding. I felt the tip of my blade bite into the shield, and out of the corner of my vision, I could see that it was buried in his shield up to where the angled part of the blade we call the ferro met the straight edge of the ore gladii, which was what inspired my next move. In its form, it was similar to the kind of loosening exercises we often perform, where we twist back and forth at the waist, slowly at first, but then with increasing speed and force. This is essentially what I did at that moment; when launching a first position thrust, the power comes from that kind of violent twisting of the hips, but the instant I felt how deeply my blade had penetrated the German’s shield, I repeated the process in the opposite direction. By keeping my right arm rigid, the combination of my size and strength served to yank my enemy’s shield away from his body, while I was coming around with my shield from his unprotected side. And, as anyone who has fought the Germans knows, while their favorite weapon, the spear, does give them an advantage with its reach, that is only true as long as it is used to keep a foe at a distance. However, once inside the arc of its point, while it is not completely useless for close quarters work, it is close to it, and while the warrior did manage to raise the shaft of his spear across the right side of his body, it made no appreciable difference in slowing my shield, snapping the hard oak shaft as if it was kindling. Most importantly, my aim was true, the iron boss that protected my hand striking exactly where I had aimed, his right ear, and I f
elt the skull give way as the boss crushed it like an eggshell. Not surprisingly, he dropped immediately, except I was prepared for the sudden tug of his dead weight on my arm; thankfully, my gladius easily slid free of the shield, while I stepped over his body, moving more deeply into the German midst. A hand grabbed at the back of my harness, and bolstered in this manner, I pushed forward, effectively driving our wedge into the Germans that was now protruding a half-dozen paces deep and at an oblique angle to the rest of my Century, where I served as the point, and I was aimed directly for the rear of Arminius and his horsemen.

  For the next span of time that I cannot judge, I became the thing that I had always been, even before I knew it, a perfect machine of death, as passed to me through blood, taught by the Legions of Rome, and honed under the tutelage of Titus Pullus, my father. My world once again shrank down to an area that encompassed only those men who posed an immediate threat, and those who were there with me, as comrades. There was no difference in rank; we all recognized Arminius, and it is a testament to the men of not just my Century, but the entire Fourth Cohort that, on their own, they divined my intentions and applied themselves with equal fervor to helping me achieve that goal. I am acutely aware how this might be viewed, as an act of almost unbelievable hubris, but I was in part fueled by my recognition and acceptance of the fact that, for men under the standard, great deeds are expected from any man bearing the Pullus name. It was certainly not foremost in my mind at that moment that this was why I felt so driven to risk my career; that only came later. Right then, I was just grimly pleased to see that our incursion into the mass of interlocked German shields had forced them to move backward. I was only vaguely aware of a second volley from the First Cohort, and what little I did know was due to my hearing the sounds that are an integral part of a barbarian army receiving a javelin volley from Rome. Shouts of warning, followed by what sounds something like a low moan, and ending with the sudden thunderous racket of hardened iron points punching into wood, and into flesh, each strike meriting a different kind of noise. So absorbed was I with the men of my small wedge, when I heard a bone whistle blow the sound of relief, I jerked in surprise, looking over to where Saloninus, wearing his distinctive eyepatch, had obeyed my order to stand in my normal spot, and he lifted his gladius in a signal that he had seen me, while I only gave a nod before shifting back to the task at hand, reminding myself as I did that, according to our training, Mus as Tesseraurius would have shifted over to the Optio’s spot, meaning I would need to use someone else for a runner if the need arose. We were closer to getting behind Arminius, but the Cherusci infantry had adjusted to our incursion by shifting their focus away from me and my two men at the point of the wedge, choosing to try and assail our small wedge from both flanks. This is not to say that I was free to move as I pleased; I was ringed by five or six Germans, arranged around us in a semicircle, their spears resting on top of their shields, ready to stab us if we tried to move. For the span of perhaps a dozen heartbeats, I was frozen in place, unsure what to do next. I had begun this move, but now it was stalled, and while I obviously made a decision to do so, I cannot recall making it; just one instant I was standing motionless, then the next I found myself suddenly separated from my men as I went charging directly at the Cherusci who was roughly in the middle of the ring of warriors blocking my path. It certainly was not a considered move, and I was nearly as surprised to find myself rushing at a handful of armed men as they were, judging by their reactions, which varied from a sharp cry of shock to, more importantly for my cause, the involuntary step backward that two of the Germans took. It was their instinctive move that gave me the opening I needed, suddenly changing my direction from my headlong charge at the Cherusci directly across from me to the warrior to my left who had suddenly been isolated by the understandable but fatal reaction from the two comrades on either side of him. Approaching from his weak side as I was, I once more took advantage of his choice of weapon, and while he did try to pivot to get his shield around, he was not quick enough. My thrust, if it could even be called that, was one that, if it had been done by a Tirone, would have earned a swipe with my vitus, but continuing their favor of me, the gods saw fit to guide the tip of my blade to the spot right under his jaw, severing the huge vessel there. I barely noticed this, because I was still moving, pulling my shield close up to my shoulder as I ran directly at one of the Cherusci whose involuntary backward step had given me the opening I needed. This man did manage to get his spear out in front of him in time, causing a terrific impact as the point punched into the wood, and I saw it come protruding through just to the left of the handle and no more than two inches from my hand. My reaction was automatic and was essentially the reverse of what I had done just a matter of twenty or thirty heartbeats earlier in using my strength and weight, except this time it was my foe’s weapon stuck in my shield rather than mine in his. Consequently, I swung my shield wide and away from my body, taking the German’s spear with him and forcing him to make the choice of holding onto it or letting go; he chose to hold on, and by doing so, immediately lost his right arm as I swept my gladius down, slicing through the two bones and muscle midway between hand and elbow, along with the spear shaft, as if there was nothing there. My momentum carried me past him, which meant my hamata was showered with his blood, something I understandably did not notice at the time, but while I had outflanked this small group, my troubles were far from over, or at least so I believed. When I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye rushing at me to my left, before I could stop myself, I felt my body pivoting to face what it clearly thought was a threat, but in doing so, I turned my back to the remaining Cherusci, and I knew that I had just gotten myself killed with that involuntary response.

  Obviously, I was not slain, although it turned out that what I had involuntarily responded to as a threat was actually the men of my First Century who had just cut down the last Germans between us. Not that it did not almost happen, and the fact that the reason I am dictating this is because of the actions of Sextus Nigidius is something that still keeps me awake at night. He was one of the men immediately behind me in the wedge, and when he saw me turn my back, then spotted the Cherusci who had been my original target and the comrade next to him rushing at me, he had not hesitated to throw himself in their path. As I mentioned, the eyeblink after I involuntarily reacted to what turned out to be the arrival of my men, I was already spinning back around, which meant that while I was in time to see Nigidius die, I was unable to do anything other than exact vengeance for it. He managed to block one spear thrust with his shield, but not the other, although his service to me did not end with his death, as the spearpoint that killed him came bursting out of his back, perfectly aligned with his spine at mid-chest. When the Cherusci who had slain him tried to recover his weapon, it obviously got lodged in the bone of Nigidius’ spinal column, and he was in the process of trying to yank it out of my ranker’s corpse, making Nigidius’ limp arms jerk wildly as he slumped over the shaft, thereby enabling me to avenge his death by feinting a low first position thrust before swinging my blade around to the third to get behind his own shield when he responded to my feint, punching the point into his body just below the ribcage. His scream as he fell away from me sounded sweet to my ears, but there was no escaping the bitter taste at the sight of Nigidius’ body sagging to the ground now that the Cherusci’s spear was not keeping him on his feet, dead though he was, but before I could turn my attention to the German who Nigidius had blocked, I saw him cut down. That it was at the hands of Nigidius’ close comrade Marcus Servilius was only fitting, but there was no time to mourn Nigidius’ loss, nor even to acknowledge Servilius with anything other than a nod. The last remnant of the men surrounding my wedge were either dispatched, or they withdrew, some back in the direction of the forest and safety, but a fair number chose to fall back to the mass of Cherusci surrounding Arminius. The breakthrough of my First in turn enabled the Second Century to achieve the same thing now that there were Romans abl
e to fall on the left flank and rear of the Cherusci opposing them. In army parlance, we refer to this as “rolling up the carpet” and while it was only with my Cohort, it quickly became apparent to our foes that standing and fighting would be pointless. Within perhaps a hundred heartbeats, the men of my Cohort found themselves temporarily unengaged, while I tried to determine whether it would be better to stop and regroup, or whether I should reorient the Cohort to a position that was roughly paralleling the rest of our army, but facing them with the Cherusci in between. The decision was taken out of my hands when I heard a man shout my name from behind me, and I turned to see a ranker I knew the Primus Pilus used as his runner, but while he saluted, I could see how nervous he looked, so I braced myself for some sort of bad news.