Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  “All right, boys! Prepare javelins!”

  Porcinus didn't have to turn around, knowing by the sound of creaking leather and the sudden, harsh intake of breath from the lungs of his men that every one of them had their arms pulled back, stretching as far as they could go, the points aimed skyward, waiting for the next command. They were forced to wait, however, as Porcinus refrained from giving the order, wanting the Rhaeti to advance even closer. Even now, they were closer than he would normally have allowed an enemy to approach, but there were two factors working in his favor; the first was the most obvious, and that was the limited visibility created by the heavy fog. It made judging distance difficult, but as hard as it was for Porcinus, he knew it was the same for his counterpart, whoever it was, ranging along the back of the moving mass of Rhaeti. This difficulty was the second factor that caused Porcinus to wait longer than normal because it had slowed the Rhaeti advance. Normally, by this point, a barbarian enemy would just be beginning their headlong charge at their enemy, yet not only were they still advancing at a slow walk, they hadn't stopped for their usual ritual of working themselves up into a frenzy.

  "Release!"

  Finally, men whose muscles had begun quivering from the tension swept their arms forward, while at the same time twisting their torsos to swing the entire right side of their bodies violently in the same direction as the missiles they were launching, giving every ounce of energy and momentum into their throws. As often happened, Porcinus heard a low, moaning sound rolling through the swirling gray, the sound of men who had either experienced, or had heard of the devastation that was plummeting their way. And the fog worked in Porcinus' favor even further, making it almost impossible for the enemy warriors to look skyward and pick out the javelin that was even then slicing downward that posed the most threat to them. The moan changed into a series of shouts and screams as the hardened iron points either slipped past an upraised Rhaeti shield, or punched through one with enough force to strike a fleshy target. With the howls of pain and anger rolling across the space between the two forces, to Porcinus' experienced ear it sounded like the enemy had been especially hard hit by this volley, more than normally would be expected at this range. Also, he understood that many in the Century had already thrown a javelin when assaulting the wall, meaning that a second volley might only launch twenty javelins.

  Deciding on the spot, Porcinus shouted, "Drop the javelins, boys! These cunni are ready for the slaughter now! Let's not keep them waiting!"

  If the men of Porcinus' Cohort had been less seasoned, he wouldn't have skipped that order of launching their next and final javelins, but without looking back, he began sprinting toward the Rhaeti, confident his men were behind him. Before he had gone a few paces, his faith was justified by the answering roar of his men, just a couple paces back. Dropping their javelins and drawing their swords while on the run, every one of Porcinus' men raised his voice, uttering his own war cry or, in some cases, just an incoherent howl of rage and hatred, whatever worked to stiffen their resolve and send them hurtling headlong into their enemy. Porcinus' ears hadn't deceived him; once within a dozen paces, in the handful of heartbeats of time he had once the details of the enemy line became clear enough to make out, he saw that the Rhaeti were still in utter disarray, with the bodies of the men skewered by the volley serving to impede those of the front rank remaining upright and uninjured. Those who didn't have that problem and had blocked the missiles with their shields were impaired by the soft metal shafts bending on impact, the butt end of the javelins now pointing toward the ground and rendering the shield useless. That was all the time Porcinus had, as, in full stride, he picked a man who was frantically trying to extract the point of the javelin from the kite shield that had protected him. It was almost impossible to do what the Rhaeti was trying to do, because of the hardened triangular head of the javelin, and it was absolutely impossible to do it quickly. Only at the very last instant did Porcinus see the man's eyes raise from the shield, widening just a fraction before the Roman, putting his shield, his second, hard up against his left shoulder, with his hand pulled in tight to his waist, slammed into him. The next thing that came into Porcinus' vision were the bottoms of a pair of the type of boot Gallic tribes favored, as the warrior flew backward into the Rhaeti to his right, who in turn staggered and lost his footing. Barely breaking stride, and while not taking his eyes off the Rhaeti in front of him who were still upright, he gave a hard thrust down, the point of his blade unerringly punching into his fallen victim's throat, even as the man was just beginning to try to climb back to his feet. Because of his position at the far right of the thin line of Romans, and with his order to extend his flanks, it was actually Porcinus, his signifer to his left, and the next two men of what had been the Fifth Section but were now in the front line that overlapped the Rhaeti. Without giving any orders, the other three men smoothly followed Porcinus' lead as he made a slight turn to the left, squaring himself so that he was now the one facing the left flank of the Rhaeti formation. Making this adjustment without any hesitation, and still at almost at full speed, Porcinus, Felix the signifer, and the Gregarii Mela and Bovinus were able to hit their counterparts of the four ranks of the Rhaeti before any of them were able to turn squarely to face the new threat. One moment they had been in the second, third, and fourth lines of men, waiting their turn to have at the hated Romans, and now they found their collective wish for the chance to draw blood coming true earlier than they had expected. Not surprisingly, in the short period of time these men had left, none of them found this sudden opportunity to their liking. Within a matter of another few heartbeats, the four Romans had slain or badly wounded their opponents and had begun to push into the left side of the Rhaeti formation. The deaths of their friends gave those warriors deeper in the formation the chance they needed to understand and position themselves to meet this unexpected thrust, although none of the now-dead men felt particularly happy that their sacrifice had made it possible. And while Porcinus, as the Pilus Prior, didn't have the support of a row of men behind him to grab his harness, the other three did, their comrades moving quickly around into their proper positions. Shouts of alarm and surprise sounded from the Rhaeti, the reaction to this sudden development rippling across their massed bodies, delayed a bit because of the fog. Men who were perhaps a dozen deep in the Rhaeti formation, more a tightly packed mob than a formation with proper intervals between each man, were at the outer limit of visibility because of the thick fog. A result of this handicap was that the word of what was happening had to be passed back through the formation to the Rhaeti warlord in command of this line of defense, since their use of horns was limited to very simple and basic commands, like giving the order to attack, halt, or retreat. Information like the appearance of an enemy force on the flank was just something they had never thought important, and they were paying for it now.

  Porcinus quickly saw that, while his move around the edge of the Rhaeti had been instinctive, it was the best decision he had made so far that day. Even before the rest of the three files of Romans had taken their place behind Felix, Mela and Bovinus, Porcinus and those men had cut their way deeply into the formation. When he was recalling events later, he realized that if there had been a quicker thinking Rhaeti standing in the mass of the milling barbarians who actually understood the opportunity being presented to him, he would have jumped immediately into the space behind Porcinus and the others that was only occupied by the Rhaeti dead and wounded at that moment. Fortunately, his own men had reacted so quickly that the span of perhaps ten heartbeats where this might have been possible hadn't been enough. Where the main Roman line and this new smaller line met was a death trap for any Rhaeti foolhardy enough to try and drive a wedge into that angle. If he attacked the Roman now anchoring the main line of Romans, he was completely exposed to his left to Bovinus who, despite the name given to him when he was a tiro for his placid nature and habit of chewing on blades of grass, was anything but cow-like in battle. Conversely
, if the Rhaeti had chosen to face Bovinus, he would have the same dilemma, and worse from the sixth Roman of the front rank who wouldn't even have to dodge a blade to stab him in the back. This was proven to be true very early on, and it prompted the Rhaeti to, instead of pressing against the Roman line, contract backward a step. They had finally managed to change the orientation of their formation to mirror that of the Romans, so that Porcinus and his men on the flank were now squarely facing the Rhaeti across from them. The file of men who ordinarily lined up behind Felix, even if it was normally farther back, but were now on the outer edge of the flanking part of the Roman formation, had turned to face to their immediate right, with shields up and ready for any attempt by the Rhaeti to, in effect, do what Porcinus had done, and get around them to turn the flank. Porcinus alone was the most exposed Roman, although that was nothing new to him, and he had changed his facing slightly so that he was able to keep an eye on both his rank of four men, and the file behind Felix now protecting the right. It was somewhat awkward, but when one of the Rhaeti, who had pulled back a few paces, decided that this presented an advantage, he was disabused of that notion by way of a strong thrust to the gut that left him lying on the ground in a pool of blood, gasping his last breaths as he tried to hold his intestines in with one hand. Still, Porcinus knew that the larger situation was precarious; the only way to keep the Rhaeti from enveloping this small part of his Century was to keep them occupied by cutting more deeply into the formation.

  "Come on; let's not stand about," Porcinus shouted. "Let's get this done!"

  Giving a blast of his bone whistle, blown in a distinct pattern, it was immediately taken up off to his left front, where the Fourth Century started and his ended, immediately followed by a shout from the men of the rank immediately across from the Rhaeti, signaling their acknowledgement. With a unity and smoothness that wasn't quite parade-ground perfect, but was close, the front rank leaped forward to engage their enemies, and the noise level shot up accordingly. Porcinus wasted no time in taking satisfaction in how his men were performing their maneuvers, jumping across the space the barbarians had given him, lashing out with the borrowed shield. His opponent was a short, wiry man, very agile and lightly armored, who, even with the crush of men around him, was able to take a hopping step backward so that the Roman's shield hit nothing but air, sending a jarring bolt of pain up Porcinus' arm. Frustrated, Porcinus nonetheless kept sight of where Felix was on one side, and the nearest Gregarius to his right rear, a recent replacement named Flaminius, knowing that if he pressed his foe too closely he would separate from his men and isolate himself. Fortunately, the Rhaeti seemed to accept what he clearly took as a challenge from this Roman Centurion, because almost as quickly as he had taken a step backward, he again made a hopping move towards the Pilus Prior. While doing so, he whipped his sword out from behind his shield, a large round one with a spike protruding from the boss, in the horizontal, arcing blow the Gauls favored. Where this attack was different was that it wasn't aimed at his neck; in fact, it was the opposite. Porcinus reacted, but he was caught by surprise, both by the speed and the target of the assault, so that when he dropped his shield to cover up the spot above his greaves and below his knee, he only partially deflected the blow. A searing pain came from where the edge of the Rhaeti's sword sliced into the side of his upper calf, just before it was deflected from its path. Porcinus heard a sudden hissing sound, like a serpent, and was only dimly aware that it was coming from his own lips, which were tightly pressed together. The damage had been done to his left leg, and he was reluctant to put pressure on it although he did so, but despite the pain, he didn't think it was more than superficial. Nevertheless, the Rhaeti's intent had been clear; he was going to cripple the Roman before going in for the kill, and this realization fueled Porcinus' resolve to exact vengeance. It was a dirty way to fight, at least to Romans and the Pilus Prior was now determined to make this scum pay. The Rhaeti, his hair a dirty blonde in both coloring and hygiene, had his hair in plaits, while his beard was arranged the same way, except for the small bones tied in them. They're supposed to be the finger bones of the enemies he's killed, Porcinus thought, proclaiming his status as a great warrior. That detached part of his mind was able to take in such details even when he was thusly engaged in a deadly contest. But over the years, what Porcinus had learned was that it was just as likely to be the larger bones of small animals; much conversation on this topic had gone on around the Legion fires over the years, and it had become accepted wisdom, supposedly because those animals suspected of supplying those "knuckle" bones had been dissected and compared, that it was the thigh bones of ground squirrels that supplied this supposed symbol of great prowess. Porcinus didn't have any way of knowing at this moment whether it was true, but by believing that it was, he stoked the fire of his determination to kill this man. Launching a sudden attack of his own, this time when the Rhaeti did his hopping step backward, Porcinus was ready for it, thinking with grim satisfaction that no truly great warrior would ever perform the same maneuver twice in a row. That was reserved for those men who liked sitting by the fire, drinking their disgusting ale and boasting about the men they had slain, instead of staying out in the elements, training. Like us, Porcinus told himself as he mimicked the hopping step to keep the distance closed between the two. The Rhaeti's eyes grew wide as he felt the solid press of flesh and wood behind him, hemming him in as Porcinus grimly shot his shield arm out, or at least pretended to, making his enemy commit to blocking with his own shield. By bringing his shield across his body, even though it was only partially, it created enough of a gap between the left edge of the shield and his arm that there was a little triangle of space. Even as he had thrust his shield out, Porcinus' right arm was already moving, counting on the Rhaeti to fall for his feint, and the point of his sword punched right through the mail coat and padded leather lining. If his blade hadn't already been covered with blood, Porcinus would have seen more than eight inches of the tip of his sword covered in it, and almost immediately after withdrawing the blade, small frothy bubbles appeared, oozing out from the rent in the mail coat. Blood came gushing from the man's mouth as he took a staggering step, looking at Porcinus almost accusingly, blaming the Roman for his death. Which was appropriate; that was the last Porcinus gave any attention to his now-vanquished foe, already seeking another target, and relieved that his leg hadn't given out from underneath him. Around Porcinus, his men were doing much the same as he was; engaging the Rhaeti across from them, and using their skills and teamwork, vanquishing their foe, either by killing them or inflicting an incapacitating wound. The latter barbarians, if they weren’t grabbed by one of their comrades and dragged to the rear, or were unable to move themselves, were only alive as long as it took for the Romans to occupy this newly vacated ground. Aside from bracing the man in front of him, the role of the Legionary second in line was to dispatch any enemy who was bypassed by his comrade in front, but who was still breathing. A sudden, brutal downward thrust, a blur of silvery gray, and those Rhaeti who weren’t killed immediately quickly joined their comrades who were. Step by bloody step, foot by deadly foot, Porcinus’ Cohort continued their work, grimly but with the detached professionalism that was the hallmark of the Legions. By this point in battle, all the extraneous shouting and cursing was missing, as men on both sides saved their collective breaths for the fight. The only shouts now were either orders from a Centurion or Optio, or what came from striking a telling blow, either in triumph or pain, punctuated by the hollow thud when a blade hit a wooden shield, or the sharper clang of metal on metal. Although it was normal for this phase of battle, in Porcinus’ experience it was even more subdued than normal, the fog seemingly absorbing the sound in some way, making the normal din of battle muffled, as if there was an enormous wet cloth draping the combatants.