by R. W. Peake
Finished cleaning the blade, Porcinus started to sheathe it, then seeing that the band they were stalking had come to a halt, forming in what was a sloppy imitation of the Roman orbis, decided against it. The orbis was the formation of last resort, and Porcinus took it as a sign that whoever commanded these men had chosen to die fighting. Looking over to his left, he saw Pacuvius maneuvering the three Centuries he commanded so that they formed a rough semi-circle almost directly opposite from where Porcinus was marching his men. All around them, similar scenes were taking place; sometimes, it was just a Century that had brought to ground a small band, and the shouts and screams carried across the space in between each group as the short swords thrust and recovered, or rose and fell. The Rhaeti band Porcinus was heading for seemed content for the moment to stand and watch, but even from the distance they were, he could see them shifting about nervously, moving from foot to foot, with none of what Porcinus and other Romans considered foolishness by attempting to bolster their courage with shouted challenges and taunts. These men seemed resigned to what awaited them, and Porcinus supposed that it was understandable to an extent; it wasn't unknown that a defeated enemy was given a chance at living. He had seen it many times before, how desperately men would snatch at the chance of a life, even if it was going to be spent as a slave, rather than the unknown of death. As far as Porcinus knew, no orders about prisoners had been issued, and like all Legionaries, he was trained to obey the last order he had been given. And that order was to kill any who stood before him and his men, so when they were perhaps a hundred paces away, Porcinus had his cornicen sound the command to halt. Out of javelins, they would be going immediately to the sword, but he wanted to coordinate his movement with that of Pacuvius, and using a prearranged signal, he had his signifer raise his standard up and down three times. This was the signal to alert Pacuvius that an order was imminent, and after only a moment's pause, the signifer on the other side bobbed his standard three times in response.
"All right, boys," Porcinus shouted to his three Centuries. "Get ready to finish these bastards! We'll go on my signal!"
There was only a ragged cheer. However, Porcinus didn't expect anything more; it wasn't the most rousing pre-battle speech he had given, but this wasn't shaping up to be much of a fight. Staring over at where Pacuvius stood, Porcinus waited until he could clearly see him looking in his direction after presumably speaking to his own men. Once he saw his subordinate was paying attention, Porcinus snapped the order, and his signifer thrust the standard up into the air once, and was immediately answered by Pacuvius' own. Immediately following this, Porcinus' cornicen blew the notes launching the men of the Fourth Cohort at the waiting Rhaeti. Leading the way was Porcinus as he angled his own rush towards the enemy mass, aiming for what he assumed to be the leader of this group, a broadly built tribesman with streaks of gray in his pigtails that contrasted with the black of his long, flowing mustache. Standing next to him was a man akin to the signifer, holding a pole that carried a carved figure of a rearing stallion, but even without this telltale presence, Porcinus would have picked this warrior out as the leader. Over the years and across numerous battlefields, one leader learned to spot another, and while Porcinus' rush at the man seemed headlong and perhaps an attempt to grab glory, in the Pilus Prior's case, it was a matter of calculation. While his father would have sought out this man, in the beginning of his career to establish his reputation in the Legions, in his later years to maintain it, Porcinus' reason for doing so was based on a simple premise; cut off the head of the snake, the body dies. Although it wouldn't be completely accurate to say that grabbing his share of glory and renown wasn't part of his decision, most of it was based in the fact that Porcinus loved the men of his Century, and Cohort. Anything he could do that might help spare any of his Legionaries from being wounded or killed he would, including seeking out the warrior leading this bunch, knowing that he at the very least would be the best equipped of the enemy, if not the most skillful. And while Gaius Porcinus wasn't a swordsman on the same level as Titus Pullus, he was nevertheless very, very good, if only because he worked so hard at it. The leader of the Rhaeti warband had been turned slightly away from Porcinus as he shouted a warning to his men to brace themselves for the coming impact. However, some inner sense warned him that he had been singled out. Pivoting on one foot, he saw the Roman, wearing the transverse crest that he knew marked their Centurions, bearing down on him, his sword held just above his head, with the blade roughly parallel to the ground and arm pulled back, ready to strike.
The Rhaeti had just enough time for his mind to register the feral snarl of his opponent, the Roman's lips pulled back to show his teeth, his eyes just slits that gave the warrior no clue as to his foe's intentions or strategy. Without thinking, he raised his own sword, also parallel to the ground, but perpendicular to the point of the short, stabbing sword of the Roman, anticipating a parry whereby he would sweep his blade upward from its present position at chest level that would knock his enemy's thrust in a skyward direction. However, Porcinus' own move was a feint, and with a speed that bespoke of many full watches' worth of practice, he changed his angle of attack from one that came from above to one at waist level, the glittering point of his Gallic sword punching directly at the Rhaeti lord's midsection. It was one of Porcinus’ favorite and most effective opening attacks, and it was normally a devastating move, yet Porcinus was not particularly surprised when his opponent managed to reverse his upward sweep in time instead to knock the Roman's blade downward. Porcinus knew from long experience that the men of the Legions weren't the only ones who practiced movements and maneuvers relentlessly, particularly men who had in essence climbed through the ranks of their own hierarchy to achieve the status this man clearly enjoyed. What did surprise Porcinus somewhat was the strength behind the parry, yet he was saved from not just the shame, but danger of having his own blade knocked from his grasp, since the downward force exerted by the Rhaeti's parry put enormous pressure on his thumb. The fact he maintained his grip wasn't because the lone digit of Porcinus' hand was exceptionally sturdy; although like every man trained by Titus Pullus, he performed exercises that made his hold stronger, it was due to the fact he practiced an unorthodox grip whereby he wrapped his fingers over the thumb instead of the thumb being on top of the fingers. This grip had been taught to Titus Pullus by Aulus Vinicius, his first Optio and the weapons instructor for Pullus’ first Century, the First of the Second Cohort of the 10th Legion. Over the years, as Pullus rose through the ranks, he had required every man under his command to adopt what had come to be called the Vinician grip. Although it took getting accustomed to, the extra support meant that, as far as Porcinus had ever seen or heard about, no man trained in this manner ever had his sword knocked from his grasp. This time was no exception, although Porcinus' blade did bounce off the ground from the force of his enemy's parry. But in what seemed to be one continuous motion, using instead of fighting the momentum from the rebounding blade, Porcinus punched his sword forward, the point still aimed at the Rhaeti's midsection, this time coming from the opposite side. Again, Porcinus was frustrated, this attack foiled only by a desperate twist of the Rhaeti’s torso that saw Porcinus’ point slice forward and the edge of his blade slice along the links of the man's mail shirt. The only advantage Porcinus gained was that his flurry of attacks came so quickly that the Rhaeti had no time for his own offense. Both men understood this was a moment of incredible danger; as focused as they were on each other, it meant they were vulnerable to attacks from the men around them. Yet, as Porcinus instinctively knew, this was where he, and every Roman Legionary, had a tremendous advantage, because he trusted the man to his left in a way that none of their foes could with their own comrades. Simply put, all of Rome's enemies thought of themselves as warriors, while the Legions thought of themselves as a single entity, a machine where every part relied on the other. This gave Porcinus a level of freedom that his opponent simply couldn't afford, and the Roman was ruthless i
n exploiting this fact. All around them were the shouts and screams of men fighting to the death, yet while Porcinus' attention never wavered from his foe, the Rhaeti lord couldn't stop his eyes from flickering to the side when the edge of his vision picked up a sudden rush of movement. This was all the opening Porcinus needed, and again with a speed that was impressive, he made another lunge, low and hard. Despite the fact that the Rhaeti's distraction was for the barest instant, it was enough, and his eyes bugged out in disbelief and an agony that Porcinus could only guess at as the Gallic blade cut through the links of mail to bury itself several inches into the Rhaeti's gut. Grimacing, both from the effort and because of what he knew would follow, Porcinus twisted not the blade, but his entire body from the waist, putting his full weight behind the move that disemboweled his now-vanquished foe. That was when the Rhaeti's low-pitched groan suddenly escalated into a scream of such agony that, no matter how many times he heard it, and caused it, made the hair on Porcinus' neck stand up straight. Like with the unorthodox grip, using the force of his whole body instead of twisting his arm in the manner in which most Legionaries were taught, this was a refinement taught to him by Pullus, because it was devastatingly effective in more than one way. By using his whole body, Porcinus ensured that the razor-sharp edge of the Gallic blade sliced through not only his enemy's stomach muscles and intestines, but the links of chain mail, something that couldn't be accomplished with twisting the wrist unless one possessed the strength of a Pullus. It was not just effective, it was dramatic, and that was also Porcinus' goal since, by the time he completed his movement and withdrew his sword, the Rhaeti's inner organs, no longer constrained by the taut muscles and the security of the mail vest, came bursting forth in a sight and with a smell that anyone who saw it would never forget. Dropping to his knees, his face gone suddenly as pale as the white of a politician’s toga, the Rhaeti's scream subsided to a low moan as his eyes rolled back in his head, sparing himself the sight of watching his own intestines dropping in an obscene heap, coiled and gleaming, in front of him as his legs failed. Somehow, Porcinus didn't know how or why, the Rhaeti stayed tottering on his knees for a moment, prolonging a spectacle that had arrested the attention of every man around him, both Rhaeti and Roman, before finally falling forward, mercifully covering the pile of intestines and gore.
Just as Porcinus had hoped, the dramatic disemboweling of their leader created an instant and dramatic effect as the men immediately surrounding their lord threw down their weapons and, in an unconscious mimicking of their slain leader, dropped to their knees. Those Rhaeti slightly removed from the scene only became aware of what had happened through the actions of their comrades closer to it, causing a rippling effect as the warriors followed suit in dropping their weapons and falling to their knees, hands out in supplication. And as was usual, the killing didn't stop immediately; men whose fear and bloodlust had been aroused were not only unwilling, they were unable to suddenly stop their swords from rising and falling, so that perhaps a dozen men of the remaining Rhaeti were chopped down even as they screamed for mercy. Since Porcinus hadn't lost his vitus, he used it to bash men liberally about the arms and shoulders, his other Centurions following suit, until the killing stopped. Finally, what was left was one group of men, all of them still on their knees and moaning in fear or despair at what awaited them, surrounded by another bunch, panting and still wild-eyed with the fury of the moment. Ovidius, moving from his spot at the back of the Century, obeyed Porcinus' snapped order, stepping forward and taking the wooden standard from the Rhaeti bearer, who refused to meet Ovidius' eyes as his hands fell limply away from the status symbol of his slain lord. Thrusting it aloft so that the men of the entire Cohort could see it, Ovidius' action elicited a spontaneous cheer, yet even as they did so, Porcinus was looking about, realizing that he might have made a mistake. All over the valley, similar struggles were taking place, except it was clear that the Fourth Cohort had subdued their foes first. What worried Porcinus was that, in being the first, while other Rhaeti bands were trying to surrender, none of the Centurions commanding the Legionaries facing them seemed inclined to accept it, and no blasts from Drusus' personal cornicen had sounded that would warrant a cessation. It wasn't a huge worry for Porcinus, but he was acutely aware that there were other members of the Centurionate who viewed him as unnecessarily soft, and while he normally didn't pay much attention, neither did he want to give these critics fodder. In his attempt to keep his men from being put at more risk, perhaps he had been hasty, and while he would not only order it, but participate, he didn't relish the idea of slaughtering men who had surrendered. More importantly, he knew his men didn't care for the idea either.
The sun had traveled to less than a hand's width above the western mountains before most of the resistance from the scattered bands of Rhaeti warriors on the valley floor were subdued. Porcinus was slightly relieved to see that he wasn’t the only Centurion who had stopped the slaughter, although he and those men were definitely in a minority. Very quickly in the aftermath of this band's surrender, Porcinus had gotten the surviving Rhaeti disarmed, while those warriors suffering from anything but the most minor wound were dispatched with a quick slice across the throat. While this was going on, Porcinus took the time to look about more carefully, his experienced eye traveling the width of the valley to get a sense of the situation. All in all, it was a by-now familiar scene; Legionaries owning the field and moving about the wreckage, human and otherwise, with a practiced efficiency, busily searching bodies and grabbing the trinkets and coin that made all the marching, digging and fear created by fights like this worthwhile. There was a more substantial pile of bodies spread along a line running on a roughly north-south axis, marking where the Rhaeti had originally chosen to stand and fight. Moving in a roughly westward direction from there were other heaps of bodies, while in a couple of spots bands of Rhaeti that were either possessed of a stronger collective will, or more likely, better led, were still fighting. And at the far, western end of the valley, just on the other side of the still-smoking ruins of the station that had been Sebatum, Porcinus could just make out a swirl of movement that looked like perhaps a Cohort moving rapidly away from the rest of the army. Although it was impossible to make out much detail, Porcinus guessed that at least one band of Rhaeti had managed to fight their way to a point where they could turn and flee, and now what looked like a Cohort was in pursuit. Moving his attention nearer to his location, he began the process of trying to decide what needed to be done next. It was after he determined that there was no Legion eagle on which to move his Cohort back into their proper position that he realized it was his own First Cohort that had gone off in pursuit of the enemy. Although this was unusual; most of the time, one of the higher number Cohorts that hadn't been engaged normally conducted pursuits like this, Porcinus just assumed that Vettus had either been ordered by Drusus to chase after the Rhaeti, or had found himself in a position where his Cohort was the logical choice. Of the two, Porcinus was more inclined to think that it was the former, thinking that it was the kind of thing an inexperienced Legate would do, either forgetting or never realizing how important the presence of the First Cohort was to re-establishing order and a semblance of a proper formation.