I was assigned somewhere in the middle, atop a new horse and riding with three hundred horses beside me. I didn’t mind fighting in the cavalry—I was as natural on the back of a horse as I was walking—but I preferred to know the beast I rode to death with. I missed Sura just as I missed everything else back in Italy, and the horse beneath me was little more than a foal, anxious and stubborn. I ran my fingers through his hair and patted his mane. Perhaps he could sense the pending battle as well as any of us. If one listens to their beasts, they’ll find they’re generally more perceptive than we are.
The slow pace of formation was as intolerable to him as it was to me. He needed to move. To calm him, I broke formation. “Stay in line,” I called to my men.
I kicked both his haunches and he gratefully charged ahead. The scarlet cloaks and plumes of the men blurred as we zoomed past them. To the vexation of my beast, I tightened the reins when I reached the first century. I said, “Centurion Herennius. How are you?” My horse—who I now dubbed Ajax—clopped along beside the men as if he were marching.
“As good as any Roman can be. Right men?” he said as the men cheered. This is what made him the finest centurion in the legion. “And what of you? Ready to whet your blade again?”
“I’m ready to return home,” I said. “If bloodshed will expedite my departure, I’m happy to be the one to shed it.”
He smiled. “What are you looking forward to most?”
We passed underneath the shade of ancient poplars to the morning sunlight, a golden field lush with Greek sage before us.
“I’m looking forward to a woman who isn’t hairier than a Gaul,” one of the men said to the humor of his friends.
“What about wine that doesn’t taste like minotaur’s piss?” another said.
“Shut up, Dex. You’re not going home after the campaign unless you cut off one of your fingers like you’ve talked about.”
“Let’s hear what the legate says, boys.” Herennius hushed them. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
I smiled at opportunity to rib the men at least. “I’m looking forward to a hairy Gaul. My wife.”
They all laughed except the legionary who spoke first, who instead hung his head and blushed.
“What a thing to return to,” Herennius said. “The gods bless you.”
“A more fortunate man might still be with his wife.”
Herennius pushed a few of the men from his path and came closer to my side. “You look grave.”
“My wife is my homeland. My standard and eagle, the flag I’d gladly die in a rainstorm of arrows to defend. Without her I’m nothing.”
“She’s waiting on you, legate. You still fight for her.”
“Things aren’t going well in Rome,” I said, quietly enough I hoped only he would hear.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I do my best to avoid talk of politics while I’m on campaign. It makes the fighting much harder,” he said. “Better to pretend Rome is the city of heroes we were told it was as children.”
“And that’s why you’re the smarter of the two of us, Herennius,” I said. “I haven’t quite learned that yet. Perhaps I’ll grow up to be like you.”
He smiled and shook his head.
“Legate,” one of the soldiers said. “Do you think the war’ll be over if we win this battle?”
I considered how to respond. This was the sort of question leaders learn to avoid, but I hadn’t yet converted tenets to actions. “If the seventeenth legion is successful in the south. Yes,” I said. “I do believe we’ll quash this conspiracy and be ready to leave this place.” I hoped that was true. If it was a lie, I only hoped it would inspire them to fight harder.
Everyone considered what it might feel like for all the fear mongering and whispers of sedition to cease. We marched on in silence as the terrain declined sharply toward a ravine. I pushed Ajax to the water to allow him a quick drink before rejoining the men.
“Four hundred years ago, the Greeks fought the Persians at Plataea to keep their homeland safe from invasion,” I said.
Herennius placed a hand on the brim of his helm to shield out the sun, waiting for me to make a point.
“Now we are the invaders. The conquerors.”
“Greece is ours now by sacred oath.”
“You speak true,” I said. “But in their stories, they are the liberators. The heir to those noble ancestors. They believe the gods fight for them.”
He sighed. “It’s my belief that the gods care little for who wins in battle. Seems to me—after twenty some years with sword in my hand—that the strongest army wins.”
Some of the men’s eyes widened, but this sort of sacrilege wasn’t uncommon in the legion.
“It matters not. The belief is the only thing that matters. We must be prepared to fight with the same determination,” I said.
One of the men said, “We won’t let you down, legate!” The others shouted in agreement.
“And I won’t let any of you down,” I said. “We will win this battle and those that follow at any cost. I’ll ensure all of you grow old enough to marry a hairy Gaul of your own.”
Their laughter was disrupted by the sound of water sloshing in the distance. At first I believed we were coming to a waterfall or rapids, but instead it was two black stallions charging at us.
Herennius called the formation to a halt.
Even from a distance I could see the panic in the eyes of the scouts, the mud of hard riding stained on their face.
I wheeled about to find Didius charging furiously to the front of the formation. “What is it?”
“Sir,” one said, giving a pitiful salute as he struggled for air.
“Get on with it,” Didius said. “Report.”
“There is an army on the move.”
Didius inhaled and cracked his neck. “How many?”
The scouts looked to one another.
“Thousands.”
“How many thousands, you fools? That does not help me,” the Proconsul said. The scouts shook their heads. “More than the legion?”
They nodded. “Easily.”
“They have at least a thousand head of horse,” the other added.
“Sons of Dis!” Didius swore. He closed his eyes and bit his knuckle.
“How could they have this many men?” Herennius asked, slack-jawed.
“More are arriving from the east. They must have come by sea and beached at Marathon,” the scout said, still fighting for air.
“They must be the mercenaries from the east,” I said to myself.
“If we fight them in open battle…” Herennius shook his head. “We’ll lose too many men to take their fortifications at Plataea… if we can win at all.”
Didius still hadn’t opened his eyes. I knew this feeling well.
“Commander,” I said. “I have an idea.” I scanned the river and the lush forests on either side of it.
“What is it?” Herennius asked when Didius said nothing.
“Do we have rope in the baggage train?” I asked.
Herennius shrugged. “Of course.”
“Commander…” I reached over and patted his leg.
His eyes were bloodshot and violent when he looked up. “I’ve got a damned plan too. We wait here and kill them all!” he roared, his voice echoing along the treetops.
The men shifted their weight and kept their eyes on their sandals.
“We’ll sustain too many losses,” I risked to say.
I thought he was about to erupt once again, but instead he said, “And what would you propose, legate?”
“Follow my plan to the letter, and if I fail I’ll resign my commission. I’ll stand before the senate and people of Rome and accept full responsibility for our losses,” I said. “I vow it on my honor.”
He inspected me for any doubts. Finding none he said, “Aye.”
A bold claim on my part, but if we were defeated, I knew none of us would be alive long enough for it to happen.
The
re are moments in a man’s life that he can look back at in his old age and wonder how differently they might have played out. This was one such moment.
Twelve men abreast, ten cohorts deep. We’d formed our own little Thermopylae. Their best fighters against ours, Herennius at the front. I only feared their phalanx formation—with its sixteen-foot spears and heavy shields—would be too much for our men to resist.
Ajax and I waited on the high bank to the left of our line; the only three hundred allied horsemen we had at our backs.
The men waded in water almost up to their knees. Despite the sun’s heat the water was cold. I knew from experience the feeling in their feet was leaving them. Remaining balanced would be even more difficult, and I only hoped our enemy would struggle the same.
What must the fish have thought? Or the frogs, eels, turtles? I saw red deer as large as our horses in the distance; so used to friendly travelers they spectated our fate with apathy.
I observed the men and knew their lives were about to change forever if they survived at all. Some would bask in the ecstasy and power of taking life. They’d pursue that feeling until the end of their own lives, unable to experience the same thrill any other way. Others would be haunted—seeing the dismembered corpses, tasting the blood, hearing the screams—every time they closed their eyes.
One thing was certain, none of them would be the same. Killing has that effect on young men.
My pondering was interrupted by the rumble of the earth below us. Ajax snorted and whipped his head against his restraints. They were here.
The low beat of a drum carried over the misty waters, each beat matched by their thousands stomping through the water and mud. The birds on the trees above and around us abandoned their branches and scurried off squawking. The red deer vanished. We remained still and the world around us did too. Only our enemy continued to creep forward.
Not so bad, I thought when I first saw them. They looked smaller in stature, and not as numerous as the scouts led us to believe. But they just continued to appear. Their line seemed to never end. And they got larger as they drew near, the scars of their many battles becoming visible on their exposed arms.
I felt almost like I was watching the moment from above, from outside myself. The marching Greeks looked exactly how I imagined the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae had, or Alexander’s world conquerors. The stuff of myth and legend, Greek’s warriors like this were supposed to be extinct with the gorgons and cyclopes.
But this was not the plan. Where was the damn cavalry? If they flanked us, my stratagem failed before it’d began. But what could we do with only three hundred horsemen of our own?
Bile collected at the back of my throat and I threw my head around looking for any movement in the forest on either side of the river.
Then it began.
Massive and muscular horses of the Thessalian strain flooded from the woods on either side of the river, the riders’ lances aimed at our front ranks and their voices lifted high.
“Legate?” one of our allied horsemen asked, his hands shaking on the reins of his steed.
“Wait,” I said.
If it were possible, the horses increased their speed. The water flew up around them like an angry whirlpool in one of Odysseus’ adventures.
“Now!” I raised my fist and the bugle blew.
On either side of the river, the legionaries placed there did as they were instructed. With all their strength they lifted the rope, pulling it taut as it rose from the waters.
Their horsemen crashed into it, their riders flying through the air like an arrow volley into the ranks of our men and their swords. Those behind them tried to skid, but it was too late. Chaos ensued, murky water flying so high and the horses screaming so loud one could barely make sense of it. Stallions were charging in every direction but the one they intended.
I thanked the goddess Diana.
The few horsemen who remained on their steeds wheeled about and bolted off to regroup. But the phalanx still marched on, unperturbed but angry.
“Pila!” the faint voice of Herennius cried out from the front ranks.
They let loose a volley and then hunkered down as the bodies of the struck foe collapsed with them. The second rank stepped up and launched their pila. More Greeks collapsed and the water quickly reddened.
The third and forth took their turns, but the rebels marched on. Silent as shades of Hades they filled in the gaps left by their dead, one step at a time to the slow beat of their drummer.
“Sir?” the horsemen beside me asked again.
“Not yet.”
Gaia’s earth shook as the two lines crashed into one another, an eruption as when a torch is tossed on pitch.
The legions pushed forward; the front ranks batting away their spears to reach them when they could. My eyes locked on Herennius; only his horizontal horsehair plume was visible from the distance. I didn’t want to lose another friend, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
At least Castor was safe with Didius. Perhaps it was the protection of the gods that he’d scorned me. They’d be the most likely to retreat and survive if this went badly. Perhaps he’d forgive me in time and tell my story after I fell.
“Sir, the front ranks are crumbling,” the legionary said.
Herennius was a veteran and contained the prowess to protect himself. The recruits beside him were not. Line after line joined him at the front and fell beside him as the first cohort was slowly pushed back.
It was a marvel that Rome was ever able to conquer the phalanx. It was by superior cavalry that we were able to do so, and if my commander had planned better, we might have had more horsemen at our command. But we had three hundred, and three hundred we would use.
Ajax resisted at first, but eventually he followed my orders and moved a few paces forward and wheeled about to face my horsemen.
“Soldiers of Rome,” I said. “Live or die this day, we’re unlikely to find our names in the annals of history.” The wounded continued to cry out for their mothers or for death in increasing measure. “But we’ll live or die knowing we served something greater than ourselves. That we gave our lives so that others may live. Your families will honor you and sacrifice on your behalf.” Their eyes darted between me and the battle line. “And your ancestors will rejoice at your coming.” I unsheathed my sword, the sound so familiar to my ears. I held tight to his mane as Ajax kicked and reared on cue. “For Rome!”
The bugle blew again and I whipped around and charged through the forest.
The two cohorts in reserve split and climbed the riverbank.
I ducked under branches as Ajax swiveled around stumps and jumped over logs.
The standards waved and centurions roared. The cohorts formed up on either side of the river and crashed into the side of the phalanx wall.
We burst into a sunlit glade, and I jerked to the right to see we’d passed the enemy line. I swung my gladius round my head as the cavalry wheeled about, myself at the helm. Ajax pounced into the water, the enemy flank so close down the river.
“Charge!” I bellowed, and my men repeated it.
That stretch of water seemed to last a lifetime. I thought of leaving Nursia, swearing my oath, watching my brother die. I remembered Arrea stitching me up and our wedding, the first time I held Gavius and when I adopted him as my son.
And despite the speed of my heart, I was at peace.
The Greeks spun and cried out to warn their brothers as Ajax crashed into them. I cleaved through a man’s helmet beneath me while horses raced through and over bodies on either side of me.
A horn blew again and more ranks of legionaries poured through the forest and fell onto the encircled phalanx.
“Cut them down, kill them all!” I shouted like Mars possessed with the rest of my men.
Spears and shields dropped with the bodies while some scrambled to retreat. They found no mercy, for they met sword tips on the riverbanks rather than freedom.
Ajax cri
ed out and I toppled over him. And crashed into the water, my face colliding with a jagged rock. I rolled over just in time to catch a spear plunging toward my chest.
The battle faded around us. Regardless of defeat or victory, my life only came down to these next few moments.
I pushed back against the spear as the dark-haired Greek put all his weight into it. The water rushed over my head and filled my nose. The spear tip reached my chest.
Fishing with Gavius. On the balcony with Arrea. Drinking with Lucius and Equus.
Not yet.
I heard Diana’s voice and obeyed.
In a final surge of power, I wrapped my leg behind his and he slipped on the muddy rocks beneath him. I rose, gasping for air, but wasted no time climbing over him. My fist split his lips, blood mixing with the water like a potion. I pushed him under the water. I looked for my sword. I couldn’t find it. I heard the crack first as my head whipped back at the end of his fist. Blood drained from my nose. I shook the cobwebs from my eye and put both hands on his throat. Bubbles ripped from his lips as he gasped, his dark eyes staring from underneath the red water, enraptured.
He threw a thumb into my only eye and dug in hard with untrimmed nails.
I cried out and released my grip. He lifted his head from the water while I struggled to free myself, but Mars came over me then. I struck him in a torrent before he could regain balance and sent him back into the water.
No memories came to mind, no maxims of philosophy or ethics, no hopes and dreams. Only survival.
I kept him submerged with one hand and struggled for the dagger on my calf with the other. Just as my grasp weakened, I freed the blade and jammed it through his bruised throat. The breath driven out from his body, his eyes rolled back into nothing but whiteness and his body jerked.
I gasped for air and looked up to find the phalanx packed in so close they could hardly move their arms. There was nowhere to run. They could only wait to die. I dropped to my knee, my chest tight and throbbing from the exertion. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw cavalry riding. And it wasn’t mine.
They’d returned. Most of my men rode on farther, carving up anyone in their path. I was nearly alone. They couldn’t change the tide of battle, the brave fools, but they would certainly kill me.
Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4) Page 22