by R. W. Peake
“Good thing I got here when I did.”
Porcinus knew he should recognize the voice, but it was as if the fog that enveloped everything outside of his body had somehow managed to find its way inside his mind, making even the simple task of identifying his savior impossible. Besides which, he wasn’t out of danger, and he was alert enough to understand that. Finally, on the fourth yank, the Rhaeti’s spear came free, and as if by agreement, all the combatants paused for a moment. Only then did Porcinus risk a glance to his left to see that he had been saved by Aulus Galens, another of his veterans, who gave him a tight grin. Porcinus knew he should say something, but realized he couldn’t string together words that would make any sense, so he settled for a brief nod before turning back to face the other two men. His legs felt a little steadier, but he was aware that he had taken a serious blow to his head and he was still lightheaded and reeling a bit. He would have liked to take the time to at least reach up and feel for any damage, but his foe with the spear, driven by grief, was unwilling to wait, and with a shouted challenge, he lunged forward again. Once more, the arm moved, and the shield met the point of the spear, but above the normal, deep thudding sound came a higher pitched cracking noise, a clear signal that Porcinus’ shield was fatally weakened. This development had one salutary effect; more than anything else he could have done, that sound served to drive at least some of the fog from his mind. With his head clearing, Porcinus understood that, although the odds were evened, he wasn’t out of danger yet, because, in all likelihood, the next attack from his enemy’s spear would split his shield in two. This gave him the impetus to resume the offensive, ignoring his instincts that told him he still needed time to recover his senses. As his opponent approached, weaving the spear in an elliptical pattern, while holding his shield out in front of him, Porcinus closed the distance as well, exposing the disadvantage of the spear as a weapon. Anyone wielding it needed a bit more room than warriors armed with swords, even the longer Gallic blades. Consequently, the Rhaeti was faced with the choice of taking another step back, but when he did, his rear foot hit the body of the dead youth, who still looked up at Porcinus with the shocked expression the Roman had seen on many faces, over many battlefields. Understanding what it meant, the warrior immediately lunged forward again, and this time the two men crashed together, shield to shield, Porcinus feeling the shock of the collision travel through his body, down through his legs. At the instant they met, Porcinus’ worst fears were realized as his shield issued a resounding, splintering noise, sounding much like when breaking a board, and he could see daylight streaming through the gap running from top to bottom just to the left of where his hand clutched the handle that was protected by the boss in the center of the shield. The shield didn’t fall into pieces; for the moment, it was held together by the metal strip that ran around the edge of the shield, but his opponent, hearing the sound as well, summoned more of his strength to put even greater pressure on the shield. More out of desperation than any sense of tactics, Porcinus, who had been meeting the shoving pressure of the Rhaeti with his own strength, suddenly relented, not just moving his rear leg backward, but relaxing his entire body and leaning backward as well. It was the kind of move that no warrior with any experience would succumb to, and Porcinus would wonder later if his foe had just been so out of his mind with grief that he had lost his head. Whatever the reason was didn’t matter; what did was that it worked. The warrior stumbled headlong in Porcinus’ direction. Porcinus was now standing with almost all of his weight on his right, rearmost leg, and the look on the Rhaeti’s face told Porcinus that he knew his fate was sealed. Porcinus didn’t hesitate, thinking it oddly fitting that both this man and the youth should die the same way, with a thrust to the neck. The Rhaaeti collapsed at his feet, and although Porcinus probably felt the warm spray of his enemy’s blood splashing on his lower legs, the Pilus Prior wouldn’t take notice of that until much later, when he would try to remember how it happened as he cleaned it off.
Porcinus’ attention had immediately shifted to what was now the lone remaining warrior, but he turned just in time to see Galens, countering the Rhaeti’s attempt to take Galens’ head from his shoulders, launch a training-ground perfect thrust from the first position, burying his blade half its length into the Rhaeti’s abdomen. This Rhaeti was wearing mail, but it hadn’t stopped the Roman blade, and the man’s mouth opened as he emitted a guttural moan that was more eloquent in expressing his agony than any words he could have uttered. Seeing the effective end of the fight, Porcinus had no need, nor had he the desire to watch Galens finish in the manner he had been trained, twisting the blade, then ripping it out, bringing a gout of blood and offal with it. Only now did Porcinus take a moment, stepping away from what had become a small pile of bodies on the wall, both to check himself for damage and to take stock of the overall situation.
Between the fog in the sky and what he thought of as the fog in his head, it was impossible for Porcinus to judge how much time had passed, but what he could see was that he and Natalis were no longer alone. Perhaps half his Century had reached the rampart, and there was a brief moment when the progress of the rest of the men ascending the ladders was stopped as those on the rampart milled about. Such was Porcinus’ mental state that he began looking around, angry at this sign of disorganization, wondering where someone in charge was to straighten out the mess of confusion.
“Pilus Prior!”
While it was the first one he heard, Ovidius had shouted at his Centurion no less than three times, and was now shoving his way past the men standing on the wall, concerned at the sight of Porcinus standing motionless, seemingly with nothing on his mind but to stare vacantly up at the pale, barely visible white orb that was the sun. Finally, Porcinus jerked his head around, and despite himself, Ovidius stopped in his tracks, now very concerned at what he saw. There was a creased dent in his Centurion’s helmet that ran front to back, just below the edge of Porcinus’ transverse crest, the sight of which under other circumstances would have caused Ovidius to chuckle, so bedraggled and faded from the dunking in the river that it flopped forward. But what Ovidius was seeing was no cause for laughter, if only because of the look in Porcinus’ eyes.
“Sir! You’ve taken a bastard of a blow to the head.” Ovidius said this as quietly as he could under the circumstances. Reaching his Pilus Prior’s side, Ovidius paused to snap over his shoulder at a knot of four men, “Don’t just stand there like fucking imbeciles! Spread out and make room for the rest of the boys! And you,” he pointed to one of the men, who happened to be Natalis, “move down the wall and find Corvinus. He’s the only other Centurion up here so far. Ask him to come attend to the Pilus Prior. Now!”
Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, knowing that he would be, Ovidius turned back to Porcinus, who was looking at Ovidius with what seemed to be mild amusement.
“At least someone’s in charge,” Porcinus muttered, and it was his tone as much as what he said that caused Ovidius to laugh.
“You are,” Ovidius reminded Porcinus.
Looking at the Optio in some surprise, it took a moment for the words to register. Now that the crisis of his personal battle was over, Porcinus felt the clarity of thought he had experienced seem to slip away, and he began to shake his head in an attempt to clear it. The stabbing pain it caused stopped him in mid-shake, although the pain itself did seem to help dispel some of the cobwebs. Ovidius, seeing the gesture, mistook Porcinus’ intent.
“Right now,” he said carefully, “you are in command, sir. But….”
His voice trailed off. Porcinus looked at Ovidius, squinting and peering at his Optio as if seeing him for the first time.
“But if my brains are scrambled, I shouldn’t be,” he finished for Ovidius.
If he saw his Optio’s shoulders sag in clear relief, he gave no sign. Despite knowing what it would mean, Porcinus forced himself to shake his head back and forth, yet as unpleasant as it was, the pain lancing through his head did more to
bring him back to the present than anything he had done before. When he returned his gaze to Ovidius, his eyes were bloodshot, but the look in them was clear; at least, Ovidius thought, clearer than a moment before.
“I’m all right now,” Porcinus said, inspecting the rampart over Ovidius’ shoulder.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted Corvinus, weaving his way through the men of Porcinus’ Century, and he shot a glance at Ovidius, who shrugged.
“I wasn’t sure…” he began.
“You did the right thing,” Porcinus cut him off. “But I’m fine now. Take,” he paused for what seemed an exceptionally long time, and Ovidius thought for a moment that his Pilus Prior’s wits had left him again, but Porcinus finished, “the even numbered sections, and get them facing that direction, down on the ground.” He pointed in the general vicinity of the lake. “It’s hard to tell, but it looks like these bastards are trying to get something organized to head this way.”
When Ovidius followed Porcinus’ finger to where it was pointing, he saw that it indeed appeared to be the case that something was happening deeper inside the Rhaeti position. Because of the fog, it was impossible to make out any details, but Ovidius could see that what appeared to be a darker gray mass that hadn’t been there just moments before, and was growing wider even as he watched. That could mean only one thing; more Rhaeti were running to form a line of warriors, preparing to face the men of the Fourth Cohort. What wasn’t clear was what whoever was commanding this bunch intended, whether he would lead them to the wall to try and retake it, or if he had resigned himself to losing the wall and was going to wait. Oddly enough, Ovidius actually felt better seeing that dark line of men, because Porcinus had seen it as well, and understood what it meant immediately. This was why he was sending his Optio and half the Century down off the wall to form a line, in anticipation of what the Rhaeti over there might do, a sure sign to Ovidius that his superior was thinking clearly.
Oblivious to his Optio’s thoughts, Porcinus continued, “I’m going to take the rest of the men and head that way.” He pointed to the right, off in the general direction of where the First Cohort should have been.
As both men were gazing in that direction, they saw movement similar in nature, and obscurity, to what was going on to their front. But while the gathering line in the direction of the lake could only mean the presence of the enemy, it wasn’t the case to the right. It could be Rhaeti who were disturbing the gray curtain in that direction, yet it could also be the First Cohort. For whatever it was worth, Porcinus didn’t think it was Frontinus and his men; while the fog muffled the noise to an astonishing degree, he was relatively sure that he would have heard some sound that identified whoever was over there as Roman. By this point, Corvinus had reached the two men, and despite everything that was going on, he rendered his Pilus Prior the proper salute. Only then did he step closer, the concern on his face clear to see, embarrassing Porcinus. Corvinus let out a low whistle as he inspected the deep dent on Porcinus’ helmet.
“How are your brains not on the ground?” he asked, and while he made sure his tone was light, there was real wonder behind the question.
Porcinus shrugged because he honestly didn’t know, although he offered the only thing that had come to him as an explanation.
“Right before he hit me, I shield-punched him. I didn’t think I made a solid hit, but it must have thrown him off-balance more than I thought.”
“Well, you are stronger than you look.” Corvinus laughed, then he turned serious. “But thank the gods you are, or you wouldn’t be talking to us.”
Using that as an excuse to turn the conversation back to the business at hand, Porcinus asked for a report.
“My Century is on the wall, and we’ve extended about 100 paces that way.” Corvinus indicated back over his shoulder. “We’ve killed about a dozen of the enemy, but right before I left, we could see that a bunch of them farther down were working up the nerve to head back this direction.”
“And if that’s so, why are you standing here?” Porcinus asked crossly.
In answer, Corvinus shot a glance at Ovidius, who, for the first time, looked uneasy.
“I, well, I thought your brains were scrambled,” the Optio said.
That, Porcinus thought ruefully, was an accurate assessment of his condition, at least a few moments before. Instead of continuing on this topic, Porcinus dismissed Ovidius to gather the sections of men and descend off the wall. As the Optio moved away, back in the direction of the Fifth Century there came a shout of warning, followed instantly by the distinctive sound of metal, wood, and flesh colliding together.
“You better get back to your men,” Porcinus ordered, and Corvinus didn’t hesitate, pushing his way through newly arrived Legionaries that Porcinus recognized were men of the Second Century.
It didn’t take more than a heartbeat longer to spy Urso, the stocky man snarling orders at his Century. At the moment, Porcinus didn’t particularly want to have an exchange with Urso, not when his wits weren’t at their sharpest, but he knew it couldn’t be avoided. Before calling the Pilus Posterior to him, Porcinus quickly arranged the men of the odd-numbered sections of his Century, of which Galens was one, into a compact group, sending them off to his right.
“I want you to extend our position out 100 paces that way,” he instructed the Sergeant of the first section, “but don’t go any farther. Wait for me!”
By the time he was finished, Urso was standing next to him.
“Well, that took longer than expected.” The Pilus Posterior’s voice was cheery.
Too cheery, Porcinus thought sourly; he’s happy that it took us longer than normal.
“The fog doesn’t help much.” The time it took to say it was the only time Porcinus was willing to devote to this topic. “What’s your status?”
“My Century,” Urso took a quick glance over his shoulder, just in time to see one more man ascend the ladder to join the mass of men standing there already. Turning back, Urso finished, “is all formed up and ready to move. At your orders, of course.”
How does the man manage to make everything sound like he’s doing me a favor, Porcinus wondered bitterly, but again, wasn’t willing to dwell on matters that couldn’t be worried about at this moment.
“Good, very good,” Porcinus said briskly. Indicating the ground off the wall where Ovidius was finishing forming his men, he ordered, “Join Ovidius. Tie into his left flank and extend the line that way.” Porcinus pointed in the direction where the sounds of a small but vicious fight could be heard, where Corvinus and his men were up on the wall. “Get in a position where your men can put some javelins into whoever those cunni Corvinus and his boys are dealing with.”
“Ah, the Fifth Century needs our help.” Urso said this jovially enough, but there was no mistaking the barb in the comment. “Well, me and my boys are more than happy to lend a hand.”
“Then why are you still standing here talking?” Porcinus snapped, instantly regretting losing his composure, even if his words had the desired effect.
Urso’s face flushed, but his salute was perfect as he replied, “As you command, Pilus Prior.”
Without another word, Urso stalked back into the fog.
Once Porcinus rejoined the half of his Century that was still on the wall, he saw that, although the shapes he had seen farther down the wall were clearly Rhaeti, whoever was in charge of them had decided that even a half-Century’s worth of Roman soldiers was something that it was best to avoid, presumably leaving the wall to join the mass of Rhaeti forming up. Despite this development, Porcinus wasn’t willing to count on the fact that matters would stay this way, so once the Third Century was on the wall, he had that full Century replace him and his men. However, neither was he willing to have the Third stay put either, because there still had been no sign of the First Cohort.
“I want you to move, slowly, down the wall. Put at least a section out in front of you just to the point you can’t see them anymore in this
cac,” he instructed Munacius. “Try to find the First, and when you do, send a runner back to let me know. I need to find out what Frontinus wants us to do.”
With that done, Porcinus took his men down off the wall to rejoin the rest of his Century, and fairly quickly, the First and Second were joined by the Fourth and Sixth. Debating with himself for a moment, Porcinus decided to leave Corvinus up on the wall, for the same reason he had Munacius to the right; with this fog, it wouldn’t have been very hard for a bunch of Rhaeti to come creeping up from that direction to fall on his flank. This by far was the strangest, most confused operation in which Porcinus had ever participated, let alone held a leadership position. The only thing he was sure of was the location of his own Cohort; in fact, it could have been as if he and the Fourth were conducting this assault all by themselves. It was a world of shadows, the fog, to this point, not showing any sign of letting up, which to Porcinus was the strangest part of a strange day. However, as he would later learn, because of the fog, both external and in his mind from the blow, his perception of time had been seriously altered. By this point, barely a sixth part of a watch had elapsed since he and his Cohort had crossed the shallow river. The amount of time that had elapsed from the moment his feet touched the wall, to the moment Ovidius had reached his side numbered in the hundreds of heartbeats, no more. The only value this information would have held for Porcinus was by informing him that the assault was still in the early stages, and had not dragged on through much of the day as he originally thought. Not helping his mental state was the nagging worry that came from the isolation and lack of information, and he brutally shoved the thought that the assault had failed everywhere else and his men had been abandoned back into the recesses of his consciousness. He could only worry about what he could control; this was yet another valuable lesson he had learned, mostly through observation of both his father and his first Centurion, Pullus’ best friend, Sextus Scribonius. Pushing that idea into the front of his mind, he turned his attention to the mass of Rhaeti warriors that had begun their advance. Although they were still just an indistinct shape, Porcinus could see enough to understand that unless he did something quickly, the ends of the enemy line would overlap his own, on both ends of his formation. The ideal solution would have been to call his two Centuries from their spots on the wall, but he quickly discarded that plan. Swiftly determining not just the best course, but the only one available to him, he snapped out a series of orders. Reacting without any hesitation and with a smoothness that only came from intense practice, the rearmost four ranks of his Century began sidestepping to their right, moving quickly until they had detached themselves from the rear of his Century. Then, with a few steps forward, the detachment moved so that it was directly adjacent to their comrades of the front four ranks, while the Century on the left flank, the Sixth, performed the same maneuver. It was at moments like this that it was easier for a Centurion to see his losses, as men shifted up a file whenever a man ahead of them fell. This made the rear rank always the most ragged, and Porcinus was dismayed to see that, in fact, there were only three men in the rear of the ranks that had just moved into their new position. Seven men? His Century had already lost seven men? Recognizing this line of thought as another thing over which he had no control, he forced his mind back to the more practical issues. Helping him in this cause was, for the first time that day, the blaring of a horn, except that it wasn’t a Roman one, and the sound, even muffled as it was, clearly came from the direction of where the Rhaeti were preparing themselves for whatever they were planning. Obviously, the signal to begin the advance, the last note hadn’t died out when a great shout followed behind it, rolling across to where Porcinus and his men were waiting. Immediately, the dark mass started moving, advancing out of the gray mist, and despite the threat, there was something oddly comforting in the sight. This was the kind of fight that Romans understood and at which they excelled.