by R. W. Peake
“Pluto’s cock,” I heard Gemellus mutter behind me. Then, more loudly, he called out, “We’re going to have to go in there, aren’t we, Pilus Prior?”
All I could do was nod; for some reason my throat had suddenly tightened up to the point I could not speak.
Ultimately, Sacrovir had no orders for the Fourth, but that was because Germanicus was unwilling to take the time to regroup and rearrange our disposition. Instead, he sounded the order to plunge into the forest in pursuit of Arminius and his portion of the army, and by doing so, kept my Fourth separated from the other three first line Cohorts, with the Praetorians in between us. And, even when it is under different circumstances, entering a forest of this thickness is jarring, and can be disorienting as you go from bright sunshine to a level of light that is like dusk, just before the sun sets. Making matters worse, before we had gone a dozen paces into the forest, any semblance of a formation was gone, with men separated by a tree, or by thick shrubs that were large enough that they could not be stomped down.
“Try to stay in pairs, no more than an arm’s length apart!”
Frankly, it was all I could think to do; I should have heeded my own advice and kept Gemellus or even Poplicola near me, but I was so concerned about making sure that we stayed aligned with the Praetorians as they went plunging deeper into the forest, it did not cross my mind. Instead, I did my best to keep up with them while exhorting my men to stay abreast of me; I doubt we were more than a hundred paces into the forest when I glanced over and, while I could see Gemellus, and Poplicola immediately behind him, then Fulvius of the First Section and Septimus Longus who stood next to him, the only way I could tell where the others were was by the movement of the undergrowth, and the occasional glimpse of red of a shield or glint from a helmet. I was just a half-dozen paces away from two birch trees that might have started from one seed, diverging into two trunks, but with thick undergrowth around them, including vines that wrapped around the trunks to a spot higher than my head, but it was the shrubs around the base that extended several feet in both direction which served to hide a pair of Germans.
Bursting through the underbrush, they appeared so suddenly that I am afraid I actually froze for perhaps an eyeblink; not long, but enough that I have no idea how I evaded the sudden spear thrust from the warrior to my immediate left. However, while I did see the arm of the warrior next to him draw back to launch his own attack, my unconscious reaction had been to lean to my right, putting me squarely across from this second attacker, with my gladius hand closer to the ground and turned slightly away. Consequently, I did the only thing I could by swinging my vitus outward from my body in a vertical orientation, and honestly, I did it out of complete desperation. Both the sudden jarring sensation of the impact and the cracking sound made when my vitus struck the German’s shaft were welcome signs, but I could only watch helplessly as the top third of my vitus went spinning back in the opposite direction, striking my attacker in the face. It was not a damaging blow by any means, yet it served to distract him just enough that his response to my sudden lunge was delayed in a similar manner to mine a heartbeat earlier, and I threw my shoulder into his shield, using my legs to drive forward. And, as I hoped, it sent him reeling right into his comrade, who had just pivoted on one foot to orient himself for another attack, sending him staggering back a step, directly into the thrust Gemellus was performing, the point of my Signifer’s gladius bursting out of the man’s chest just below his left ribcage. The scream he gave was so shrill that it was physically painful, but it also served to once again cause his comrade to flinch in a manner similar to being struck by the remnant of my vitus, and while it was without a conscious thought to do so, I suppose it was appropriate that I used the jagged end of the portion still in my hand to thrust it directly into the German’s right eye. It takes a special kind of courage for a man to retain his wits when he is suddenly blinded, and even in the moment, my first thought was that my Optio was one of those men, but this German was not, and just that quickly, two dead men lay at my feet. I waved my blade at Gemellus in a salute of thanks, but there was not time for anything else, a sudden eruption of noise that signaled a fight involving more than a pair of combatants capturing my attention. The problem was that, while it was off to our left front, it was impossible to see who was involved, until I recognized Structus’ bellowed command.
“The Second got ahead of us,” I shouted to, or perhaps at Gemellus would be more accurate, since it made me angry that they had done so.
I moved quickly to the other side of the Century, moving in the space between the first and second rank, although I had to hop over deadfalls and weave my way past the trees that prevented us from aligning properly.
Reaching the opposite end, I stared off our left front quarter as I asked my ranker who was on the last file of the front rank, “Did you see anything? Why are they so far ahead of us?”
“I don’t know, Pilus Prior,” was the answer. “I’ve been keeping my eyes on my direct front. These cunni are good at hiding and they could pop out from behind one of these fucking trees anytime.”
While I did not look at him, I did comment dryly, “Yes, I just learned that the hard way.” Thinking a moment, I tried to determine what was happening, but while I could see flashes of movement, catching a glimpse of darting figures, it was impossible to tell whether they were friend or foe. Finally, I could not stand to remain in place, and I shouted for Saloninus, who came trotting up, moving in the same manner I had, hopping and weaving, from his spot at the back of the formation. “Take command of the Century,” I ordered him. “I’m going over to the Second to see what’s happening. From there, I’ll probably move down the line to check on everyone else.”
While Saloninus saluted, I could see the doubt in his eye, but he did drop his voice so that only I could hear. “Maybe you should take a section with you, Pullus. There’s no telling who’s between us and the Second.”
It was a valid suggestion, especially given what occurred, but I assured him that I would be fine, not waiting for him to return to take over the First from my spot as I plunged through the thick undergrowth, intent on getting to Structus as quickly as possible. And, in doing so, I walked into a small ambush of my own, and my father saved my life one more time.
As all successful ambushes are, this one was a complete surprise; one moment I was lifting my leg to step over a deadfall, my attention completely focused on the small portion of the fight taking place with the Second that I could see now that I was closer; the next, something slammed into my side with enough force to drive part of the wind from my lungs, while the impact with the ground did the rest. My head hit a thick branch that was part of the deadfall, but while it did not knock me senseless and my helmet protected me, there was still a sudden burst of tiny lights that partially obscured my vision. Being dazed and without my breath were minor inconveniences compared to the hand clamped around my throat, but even that was not the direst threat, because this German was holding a dagger in the other that he was intent on driving into my body. Honestly, I did not see it; somehow, I just knew it was there, and I also instinctively understood that before I got the hand from my throat and even before I tried to stop this man whose face I had not yet seen from plunging his dagger into me, I had to twist my body, because in that eyeblink of an instant, my left arm was trapped underneath me. And this was where my father saved me; more accurately, what he had taught me was what I put to use.
“I got the idea after we had a fight with the Taurisci by this lake, on a night when the moon disappeared,” he had explained when he broached the idea of teaching me things that most Legionaries never learn.
He went on to relate how his life was saved because of these maneuvers that he had been taught when he was a boy by Vulso, the lanista of the ludus in Arelate, when he had lost his feet during the fighting that night, which we are taught is the absolute worst predicament in which a man can find himself. Since this was before I actually read about it, I did not
have a full appreciation of what had occurred, but I still listened attentively.
“Yes, my strength helped,” he had admitted to me, “as did my size. But it was what Vulso taught me that I used that night. And,” his face had turned grim then, and I knew him well enough by that point to see the pain there, despite the fact that this had been more than a decade earlier, “a lot of men didn’t have those skills. That’s why I approached Galens to let me teach our Century what I learned from Vulso.”
And now, in the dim light caused by the heavy foliage overhead, I used a maneuver that he had taught me, which started with resisting the instinctive reaction of grabbing my assailant’s hand wrapped around my throat, instead thrusting my right arm across my body and in between his, then bringing my right elbow up and back to strike him in the side of the head, while using all the strength in my upper body to twist my torso in the same direction as my arm and elbow. By doing so, his torso followed his head, relieving some of the pressure caused by his weight that pinned me to the ground, and freed my left arm just in time to intercept the downward thrust of his dagger, although certainly not in the manner I hoped. While I caught his wrist, it was not before the edge of his dagger sliced through web of my hand between my thumb and pointing finger. I would have bellowed in pain, but even if I had had the air to do so, it could not have escaped my lips, although in an odd way, this actually helped me, because the pain cleared my mind just enough. The edges of my vision were darkening rapidly; I would liken it to being in a cave, except that you are being drawn farther away from the entrance, while the circle of light that marks safety is growing smaller with every heartbeat. I was at least able to see my attacker clearly for the first time; he was older than me by a few years, with dark blonde hair and beard, his lips pulled back in a snarl, but it was his eyes that were locked with mine that I can see even now if I choose to, alight with the battle fury. However, it was what was in them that served me in this moment, his look of triumph as he choked the life from me enough to unleash the beast from within me, giving me just enough strength to do what I needed to do to survive. My enemy was straddling me, but while I could tell he was strong enough that I could not dislodge him simply by bucking him off, by sitting on my stomach, he had actually neglected to pin my legs, so I raised my right leg up and back towards my upper body. Even if I had not been wearing armor, I knew that if this was back in camp and I had been wagered that I could have brought either leg close to my face while lying on my back, I would have lost. However, as I discovered then, when it is your life in the balance and not a few sesterces or an amphora of wine, it provides the needed incentive, so that before he could react, my leg was inserted between us, whereupon I brought it back down with all my strength, bending him over backward, and most importantly, away from me. The relief I felt as his hand was yanked from my throat that allowed me to take in a huge gasping breath was one I could not savor as he quickly recovered from the sudden surprise. Somehow, I managed to maintain my grasp on his wrist, thereby controlling his dagger, but my concern was that with my hand covered in blood as it was, and hurting as it did, my grip would likely fail. Consequently, I reached down for my own pugio; that, at least, was my intention, but while I had bent the man over backwards, his lower body still straddled my stomach, blocking my access to my baltea. What my hand found as I fumbled for my weapon I instantly understood offered the key to living to see another sunrise, and I did not hesitate, crushing the Cherusci’s testicles with one convulsive squeeze of my hand. A hand that, once my father had convinced me of the utility and superiority of the Vinician grip, I had diligently strengthened by the exercise of thrusting my splayed fingers into a bucket of sand then contracting them into a fist, which is essentially what I did in that moment. If he had still been over me in our original orientation, I have no doubt that his shrill scream would have made my ears bleed, yet it still made me bark my own cry of pain, but most importantly, his dagger dropped from his hand as he wrenched his wrist free with tremendous force. That it was not to initiate another attack but to clutch his groin with both hands also enabled me to disentangle myself and leap to my feet while he writhed on the ground in an agony that, under other circumstances, would have elicited in me a feeling of sympathy. Not now, however; as I bent down to retrieve my gladius, which had been knocked from my grasp with his attack, our eyes met as he rolled from side to side.
“K-kill me, Roman. I beg you!”
His Latin was heavily accented, but even if he had been speaking in his own tongue, I would have understood, just by the look in his eyes as he pleaded with me to end his misery. I stood there, and for an instant, I was about to do so, but then I tried to swallow, and the attempt was so painful that any shred of mercy in me vanished. This is not to say that I simply left him there; before I walked away, I swung my gladius down, hard, aiming at the spot right above the bony knob of his right wrist, severing his hand and cutting deeply into his thigh in one stroke; my thought, such as it was in that moment, was that in the unlikely event he lived to fight another day, he would not have a hand to hold his spear. If I had not heard it myself, I would not have believed that a man could scream more loudly than he had a moment before, and I was concerned that his cries would attract his comrades. Thankfully, the noise of the fighting taking place perhaps fifty paces from our private battle obviously drowned them out, and I could hear that this was a furious fight that I knew I needed to join immediately. Regardless, I had to take a moment to collect myself, let my head clear, and most importantly, try to swallow a few times, not just to make sure I could, but to get accustomed to the pain. I have spent a great deal of time trying to determine exactly how long I was engaged thusly; my best estimate is that it was perhaps a hundred normal heartbeats of time, but the worst part is that I will wonder for the rest of my days if those hundred heartbeats might have changed things.
When I resumed moving, I was faced with the choice of moving quickly or more cautiously, yet despite being fully aware that just because I had been surprised once it did not mean I would not be again, I chose to move as rapidly as possible given the ground. Within a dozen paces, I was at a point where I could see the Second better, and how they had surrounded a band of Cherusci, forcing our foes into their version of an orbis because Structus had acted quickly to cut off any avenue of escape. Approaching from the rear as I was, I was able to see that their casualties appeared to be light, but then I saw a pair of men appear out of the underbrush carrying the plank we use as a stretcher, and the direction from which they came told me they had been transporting our wounded out of the forest. However, it was the identity of one of the stretcher bearers that caught my attention, and while I wanted to get to where I could see the Century standard, I felt compelled to spend a moment with my clerk, telling myself that it was just to get information.
“Alex!” I had to shout his name three times before he turned around; the first time, it made me gasp in pain, and my voice sounded completely foreign to my ears, but finally, Alex responded, then turned back to say something to his comrade, dropping his end of the plank to come trotting over.
I did notice his face was grim, but I assumed that it was just because of the circumstances of carrying suffering men to a safer spot.
Naturally, he did not salute, but as always in public he addressed me properly, although his first concern was me, pointing to my throat as he asked sharply, “What happened to you? Is that why you sound like that?”
I began to explain, but then there was another shrill scream over the din, reminding me that time was of the essence, so all I said was, “I’ll explain later. I need to go get to Structus and see what’s what with his boys.” I had been about to ask him for an assessment of the casualties to this point, but I saw his expression change in a manner that I knew was meaningful, prompting me to demand, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Structus is down, Pilus Prior.” He had to almost shout it, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the heads of the rearmost rankers who
were bracing their comrades swivel to look in our direction, something that Alex noticed as well, causing him to grimace as he said in a lower tone, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that loudly. But that’s who Dornas and I just took back to the rear.”
“How bad is it?” I asked, yet somehow, I must have known already, probably from Alex’s demeanor, which he confirmed with a shake of his head, “Not good, Gnaeus.” I saw the bony part of his throat bob, and I understood why he had to swallow before he added, “He took a spear to the gut.”
It required a great deal of effort on my part, but I managed to behave in a manner that I know is expected of a Centurion of Rome, even when the news is so grievous and involves a man who is not just a comrade, but a friend.
“All right,” I managed to say. “I’m going to find Columella now.”
I turned and began moving towards the standard, and before I had gone a half-dozen paces, there came another shout, this time that a man was down, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Alex had rejoined his fellow stretcher bearer and was already moving in that direction. In order to provide enough men to completely encircle this group of Germans, either Structus before he fell, or Columella had reduced the depth so that the ranks were just four deep, but it enabled me to get a better sense of this fight, so that by the time I reached Columella, with Tetarfenus standing next to him, I was satisfied that the Second had the situation in hand.