Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  Both the First Century and the Fifth Century, which had resumed its position adjacent to the First after crossing the ditch, were in the famed testudo formation, which by necessity moved more slowly than if they were in open formation. Except, by this point, both Centuries looked more like giant hedgehogs, so many feathered shafts were protruding from the shields of almost every man in both formations. The racket produced by what had become a hail of arrows was almost deafening, but Porcinus managed to fill his lungs and bellow the command to pass the ladders, carried by men in the middle of the formations, to the front. What happened next was the product of the endless training that most Legionaries bitterly complained about during the long winter months, but at moments like this, the benefit was unmistakable. With the men of the outer files still holding their shields above their heads, the Legionaries in the center two files detached from the formation, with the men of both lines carrying a ladder. A total of four ladders would be thrown against the wall; ideally, it would have been twice as many in this section of the wall, but Porcinus had put the thought of the missing First Cohort out of his mind as something that he could do nothing about. It would be up to his Cohort, at least in this area.

  Now, speed was of the essence, so the men carrying the ladders moved as quickly as it was possible for four men, each holding a section of the heavy wooden ladder, to go. Four ladders went up against the dirt wall of the Rhaeti stronghold at the same time, and Porcinus, Corvinus, Ovidius, and Corvinus’ Optio, Tiberius Sulpicius, were the first to mount. As they did, the men standing immediately behind them were hurling their javelins up at any target that presented itself. The clattering racket of the barrage of arrows had stopped, replaced now by shouts, curses, and screams on both sides of the wall. Just as Porcinus had feared, the Rhaeti archers weren’t the only missile troops; now that they had closed the distance, even with the fog there was nowhere to hide, with only shields for protection from the enemy javelins that were being hurled down now. Although not the same as the Romans’ weapons, with the added weight and softer metal shaft, they were nonetheless formidable in their own right, and Porcinus heard first one, then another thudding into a fleshy target. Even with his own predicament, holding a shield in one hand and clutching the rungs of the ladder with the other, while trying to anticipate a javelin being hurled in his direction, he winced at the sound of at least two more men out of action. The best he could hope for was that they were only wounded, and not seriously. Putting that out of his mind, he paused for a moment, his head now just three rungs from the top, waiting for the next volley of javelins from his own men.

  Hearing the section leader left in charge of the supporting Legionaries shout the command, “Prepare javelins!” Porcinus tensed, waiting for the next shouted order. In the instant before the section leader gave the next command of “Release!” one of the Rhaeti popped up from behind the parapet that Porcinus had seen was composed of a motley collection of shields, logs, and even some rocks, to hurl his own missile directly at Porcinus. He didn’t see the man do so directly; he was just aware of a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and just as he had been trained by his father, without thinking, he flattened his body against the ladder an eyeblink before the javelin thrown by the Rhaeti went slicing down behind him. Before he could shift back to his ready position, the javelins of his men hurtled upward, two of them slamming into the body of the unlucky javelineer, throwing him backward out of sight. Porcinus knew this was his only chance, despite not being prepared as he had been an instant ago, meaning it was a clumsier ascent up the final three rungs than he would have liked. Even as his right hand released its grip on the final rung, he thrust upwards with his legs as his now-free hand reached for his sword.

  Clearing the ladder to land on the dirt parapet, in the fraction of a heartbeat of time he had to take in the situation facing him, he saw a bearded, heavyset Rhaeti to his left, his face still registering surprise that Porcinus assumed was due to his sudden appearance next to the warrior, but before Porcinus could lash out, using the boss of his shield, the man toppled backward without as much as a push from the Pilus Prior. His mind barely registered the sight of a javelin protruding from the man’s chest before he tumbled down off the wall to land with a heavy, lifeless thud on the ground. With that man dispatched, the nearest Rhaeti to his left was at least a half-dozen paces away, enabling Porcinus to whirl his head around to the right, just in time to see a snarling face, spittle flying from lips peeled back in a savage grin. As startling as the expression might have been, Porcinus was more concerned with the heavy, leaf-bladed spear that this new attacker had pulled back so that his arm was behind his ear, preparing to plunge the spear into Porcinus’ side. Once more, the watches of training paid dividends as, without conscious thought, Porcinus swept the blade of the Gallic blade upward, just as the Rhaeti brought his arm forward with massive force and a speed that Porcinus’ eye could barely track. In the instant before the point of the Rhaeti’s spear punched through the mail armor protecting Porcinus’ chest, his own blade, the one that he had spent so much time and care honing, met the wooden shaft perhaps two feet below the deadly spearhead, slicing through the oak shift as if it was a twig. Porcinus didn’t notice the sight of the now-detached spearhead spinning crazily over his shoulder, so intent was he on recovering and bringing his sword back into position to strike. And strike he did, with a hard, punching thrust that snaked past the round, wooden shield that the other man was holding with his left hand, the finely pointed blade plunging through the boiled and hardened leather cuirass as if it wasn’t there, a foot of the blade burying itself in the chest of the Rhaeti. Porcinus’ opponent let out a strangled, gurgling scream as blood showed in his open mouth. Twisting the blade, both to free it and inflict more damage, Porcinus withdrew his blade and, with his right foot, kicked the man, who managed to remain upright for another heartbeat, sending him flying backward, directly into the path of three more warriors who were rushing to the threat posed by this tall Roman. The leading Rhaeti tried to dodge the now-dead man, but instead was knocked down by the impact from the bulk of the corpse hitting him. This in turn caused the other two men to pause as they tried to maneuver around the tangled mess of flesh, giving Porcinus the chance to turn his momentary attention back to his left. He was protected on that side by his shield, which he was still holding up tight against his shoulder, but he had turned just in time to see the warrior, who had been paces away, had closed the distance and was preparing to launch his own attack. The weapon this man held was a sword, a longer one favored by the Gallic and barbarian tribes in this region, but just like the previous attacker he was poised to strike, the sword pulled over his head and ready to slash downward onto Porcinus’ head. However, even as Porcinus braced himself, raising his shield to meet the expected blow, a helmeted head popped into the corner of his vision, followed instantly by a silver-gray blur that shot out to strike this attacker in the side. Because he was wielding the sword with both hands, and the attack was so swift and unexpected, the Rhaeti had no chance to defend himself. Like the previous victim, this man issued a scream, then collapsed at Porcinus’ feet, twitching for a moment before going still. Surprised, but understandably pleased, Porcinus watched as his benefactor finished his own ascent of the ladder, joining his Pilus Prior. The man was Spurius Natalis, a veteran on his second enlistment, and he grinned at Porcinus, who grinned back.

  “Let’s sort this out,” Porcinus told Natalis, who sketched a salute.

  Without having to be told, the veteran turned to Porcinus’ left, allowing Porcinus to return his attention to the men who had just then disentangled themselves. He understood that time was impossible to judge at moments like this; his best estimate was that he had been on the parapet for the span of no more than fifty heartbeats. Risking a quick glance over the parapet, he saw that the ladder he had used was completely filled with men, one man’s head immediately underneath the heels of a comrade. Within another few heartbeats, presumably he and Na
talis would have help, and it would be sorely needed, because Porcinus could see a mass of movement along the parapet in both directions as the defenders in the area were alerted to this incursion by their enemies. Compounding matters, Porcinus could just make out a disturbance through the fog on the ground in the general direction of the lake, and while he couldn’t make out details, he was sure it meant that more Rhaeti were heading in his direction from inside the fortifications. It was impossible to tell numbers, but he understood speed was absolutely of the essence; the more men of his Cohort he could get up onto the wall, the better all of their chances of success. And to do that, these enemy on the wall had to be killed. Turning so that he was squarely in the path of those warriors who had been delayed by the body of his first kill, Porcinus dropped his hips while drawing his sword back into what the Romans called the first position, the blade held at waist level and parallel to the ground, poised to strike a gutting blow. His shield was in front of him in a perfectly vertical position; in the brief pause, he had knocked the arrow shafts from his shield with a quick swipe of the sword, but he was under no illusions that it hadn’t been weakened. Only the next few moments would tell if it was fatally so. The parapet was wide enough for two men abreast, which the trio of warriors were quick to take advantage of, a pair aligning side by side, with the third warrior just behind the first two. As worrying as the numbers were to Porcinus, his bigger concern was how they had chosen who would be in front, and to an inexperienced observer, they would have been surprised to know that it wasn’t the first two men that worried Porcinus the most, but the warrior immediately behind them. This concern was based in the fact that the leading men were armed with the long swords, along with shields, one a round shield, the other the larger kite-shaped variety also favored by warriors in this region. However, the trailing man had another weapon, the same kind of spear as the first warrior that Porcinus had dispatched, and the Pilus Prior knew he was the bigger threat, as odd as it may have seemed. He had seen it before; a Legionary would be engaged with one or two men, his shield protecting him from one attacker, and his sword the other. Except that left him vulnerable to a third attacker, and when that attacker had the superior reach provided by the war spear, he was in mortal peril. Instinctively, Porcinus knew that most men in his position would say that his best, and really only tactic was to act defensively, until one of his men could come to help. With that in mind, he did the opposite thing from what would have been the prudent course and conduct a defensive fight. Instead, Porcinus abruptly took a lunging step forward. By doing so, he threw off his attackers, with the one on his shield side preparing to bring his sword down in an overhand blow while the man directly across from his sword had his arm drawn back in a mirror image of Porcinus’ own position. Their intent was clear; force Porcinus to raise his shield to keep from having his brains splattered on the dirt wall, allowing the second man to gut him. Or, if Porcinus chose to block the lower thrust, the only protection his head would have was his helmet, and he knew very well that it would do little good against a blow with as much power behind it as this Rhaeti was about to unleash. But by taking a step towards, not away from his attackers, both enemy warriors quickly had to adjust their aiming point, which they could have done fairly easily if that was all Porcinus had done. Most importantly, Porcinus’ move had clearly been unexpected, surprising both men and causing them to hesitate for the fraction of a heartbeat Porcinus needed. Even as his body was moving, so was his shield, Porcinus punching it forward as well, aiming at the man to his left, who had been preparing the overhead attack. He had no illusions that he would land a solid blow, and as he had anticipated, the Rhaeti moved his own, round shield to meet the iron boss that protruded from the center of Porcinus’ curved rectangular one. As attacks with a shield went, it wasn’t much, but it was just enough to cause this man to pause in his own offensive maneuver and moved him back a half step, giving Porcinus the instant he was hoping for, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. In the space of time it had taken for the Rhaeti trio to close with Porcinus, his experienced eye had taken at least a partial measure of his foes, and he had seen that of the three, the weakest link in the chain was the man to his right, holding his sword low. Calling him a man was not entirely accurate; this was little more than a boy, barely old enough to shave, wide-eyed with the combination of fear, hatred, and wild excitement that Porcinus knew was the most likely expression of every man in his first battle. His stance was too closed, making it easier to unbalance him, and the way he held his sword told Porcinus that he still needed more practice. Unfortunately for him, the gods had decreed that he wouldn’t get that opportunity, or so Porcinus hoped. Feinting a thrust from the first position, but again in the same movement and with the smoothness of practice, Porcinus’ hand and arm suddenly changed direction. The Rhaeti youth was completely fooled, dropping his kite-shaped sword even lower to block what looked to him as an attempt by this Roman scum to geld him. In the timespan remaining to him, his brain barely had time to register that somehow the point of the Roman’s sword suddenly shifted position, quickly reappearing to his left, just above his lowered shield. His eyes actually never left Porcinus’ face, which was set in the grim, determined expression that he had been wearing since ascending the ladder, the face of a hardened professional, so his eyes didn’t track the point of the Roman’s Gallic blade slicing into the soft spot on the left side of his neck behind his trachea. And, just as quickly, the blade was gone, like a striking serpent, which in many ways it was, leaving a standing corpse. Porcinus didn’t wait for the young warrior to collapse, using the sudden relaxation of the Rhaeti’s body as the youth still stood, slack-jawed and seemingly oblivious to the bright shower of arterial blood spraying from his neck, shoving his victim into the man with the spear, still just behind the pair of attackers. Happening as quickly as it did, Porcinus was able to catch the spear-wielding warrior before he could make a thrust with his own weapon, and now the man had to deal with a limp body hurled against him, in a repeat of the tactic Porcinus had employed to delay the trio the first time. Then, lights of a million colors exploded in Porcinus’ head, while it felt as if his knees had suddenly lost their ability to hold him erect, and he realized with a dull horror that the first attacker had recovered more quickly than he had anticipated. He was barely aware of the heavy blow to his left shoulder that had occurred immediately after the shock to his head, staggering back as he desperately tried to keep his legs underneath him. The boy he had killed was now lying in the dirt, a pool of blood growing, and the Rhaeti with the spear had stepped over the body to join the first warrior who had landed the blow to Porcinus’ head. Everything within Porcinus’ vision was different than it had been just a heartbeat before; it seemed to him that somehow the dirt wall that he was standing on and that seemed so solid had suddenly become tilted, putting him in danger of sliding off. Although he knew it was deadly important to keep his focus on his two foes, he was almost overwhelmed with a sudden lethargy, and the detached part of his mind took note of the smile on the face of the man wielding the sword, which held nothing but evil. It was the look of the other man that arrested his attention, who even then was once more pulling his arm back, spear held at shoulder level in preparation to plunge it into Porcinus. It was an expression that seemed out of place to Porcinus, more suitable for after the battle, when men mourned their dead, a look that his objective mind recognized was one of grief, sending a spark of realization in what Porcinus was sure was the last moment of his life. The boy he had just killed had meant something to this man, and with an odd calm, Porcinus thought that it was fitting that it would be the Rhaeti with the spear taking his vengeance. Yet, even as one part of his consciousness accepted his coming demise, some other part, acting in concert with his body, rejected that notion, and it was with a stab of surprise that Porcinus felt his left arm moving his shield up in time to block the enemy’s thrust, as if it had a mind of its own. Although he felt the jolting shock run up his arm from the force o
f the blow, there was a disembodied, disconnected quality to what was happening that made it seem as if he was outside of his body, watching himself playing the part of a gladiator in the arena, facing two opponents. Again, there was a flash of silvery gray to Porcinus’ left front, as the surviving Rhaeti swordsman unleashed his second attack. This time, it was the horizontal stroke favored by barbarian warriors, with the simple aim of decapitating their enemy. Because the point of the second warrior’s spear was still buried in Porcinus’ shield, and was even then being viciously yanked as the warrior tried to both retrieve his spear and to pull the shield from Porcinus’ hand, there was no defense left, nothing that Porcinus could do, and he knew it. The sword was halfway through its swing, perhaps two hands’ width away from Porcinus’ left shoulder when, in the small space between Rhaeti sword and Roman body, there was another darting flash of movement, this one going in a perpendicular direction to that of the Rhaeti’s blade. There was a brief shower of sparks, but it was the clanging sound of metal against metal that made Porcinus flinch. Then there was the bulk of a body, and even at the edge of his vision, Porcinus could tell that the helmet and armor was Roman.