by R. W. Peake
My unexpected slide did have one positive effect; it took me far enough downslope that there was a thin line of Romans between me and the other pursuers. Unfortunately, that was where the good news ended, because just in the heartbeat of time I returned my focus uphill, I saw one of the men of the last section, positioned to the far right of the single line, stagger backward, only stopping when he slammed into a tree. Before I could make a move to help him, my eye caught the reflection as the Colapiani who had knocked him backward used his axe one more time. The sound of an axe slamming down onto a helmeted head makes a distinctive sound, which was what I heard, although I was already moving, my legs churning as I charged back up the hill. I caught the briefest glimpse of my unknown comrade's face as he fell backward into a small patch of moonlight, his shield already tumbling downhill in my general direction, while his body hit the rocky ground as if his bones had suddenly disappeared from his body, dead before he fell. Seeing the shield out of the corner of my eye, I thought about snatching it up, but the victorious Colapiani was already turning to his right, his axe raised above his head to slash down on a Legionary who at that moment was using his own shield to block a spear thrust. Believing I was too far away to stop another man from being cut down, nevertheless, I desperately lunged with my entire body, as if I was throwing myself headlong up the slope. My foe was also carrying a shield, but he was holding it directly in front of him in anticipation of his new target making a desperate parry, since the Colapiani was approaching from his right side, out of range of the Roman's shield. This left the entire left side of the Colapiani's body vulnerable, as for the first time that night I could recall, although I misjudged the distance once more, this time it was in my favor, the Colapiani actually closer and not farther away. The point of my sword punched right through his Roman hamata, aided by my lunge with all of my weight behind it, so that at least a foot of my blade disappeared into his body. He had started to shout, I assume in anticipation of another kill of a Roman, yet what came out of his mouth was more a gurgling cough, followed by a gout of blood as he turned his head in surprise. Meanwhile, the Legionary who was his intended victim somehow managed to keep his attention on the spear-wielding barbarian, blocking another thrust that, from where I was, appeared to have been timed with the slain Colapiani's own attack. Somehow, I landed on my knees while, because he was above me on the slope, the dying warrior sagged in my direction, except this time, I managed to use my sword, still buried in his side, to steer him so that he fell beside me instead of on top of me as I once more scrambled to my feet. Wrenching the blade free again, I took a step up the slope with the aim of turning the tables on the spearman by using the same tactic he and the warrior at my feet tried, but before I could, the Legionary managed to take advantage when the spearman lunged too far forward. I heard more than saw the wet, crunching sound as the Roman's blade hit its target, but the instant my ears recognized the sound for what it was, I was already moving. Just three or four paces away, at roughly the same height on the slope I was at were four barbarian warriors left of the group I assumed had been pursuing us. Suppressing my instinct to cross the distance as quickly as possible, I forced myself to think about all that had transpired since it had gotten dark. My intent was to summon that divine rage again, thinking about the indignity and shame of being forced to drop our shields and run for our lives, and how they had essentially chased us up and down this ridge, but while I felt the anger welling up, it was not enough. There was no feeling like my blood suddenly was afire, no sheen of sweat, and no sense that I was moving faster than those around me. I was too tired; the answer came to me, and while I cannot say I was consciously thinking about a possible cause for this failure, the moment the thought crossed my mind, I knew I was right. Consequently, instead of running across the slope to slaughter the remaining Colapiani, I moved back down the slope a few paces, looking for the shield belonging to the dead Roman, knowing I would need it. It also meant I could not avoid looking at the man whose head had been split open and, honestly, I was thankful that it was dark; even in the moonlight, it was a sight I wanted to forget. Murmuring the prayer for the dead, I silently asked his blessing for taking his shield, except instead of rejoining this fight, I turned and started moving west, in the direction of my own Century. I had seen enough to know that the Tenth from the Second had matters in hand, and all I wanted at that point was to be among my friends.
What had been the longest night of my life up to that time finally came to an end, at least as far as me being forced to use my sword. Even before I managed to make my way through the trees to reach the bottom of the ravine, my ears told me the battle with the First Century was over; in fact, it had been over for some time. Corvinus' arrival had stunned the Colapiani, while Plancus' downhill attack had shattered what remained of the part of the force attacking the Century. In fact, at some point when the stragglers from the Second and I were engaging with the pursuing Colapiani, the rest of the Fourth, Seventh and Eighth Cohorts had already gone trotting west to reach the main body, whereupon they essentially did the same thing, suddenly appearing from an unexpected quarter. In fact, by the time I rejoined the First Century, the rebellion of the Colapiani had essentially been crushed. All I knew at the time, however, was that I had never been so happy to see the silhouettes of Roman helmets that actually belonged to Romans in my life. Reaching the bottom of the ravine where I did, I had to walk about a hundred paces back west, meaning I heard my Century before I saw them. But, as always, Tiburtinus kept his wits and had posted sentries, so when I got close enough for them to see that someone was coming, I heard a voice call out.
"Divus Julius!"
"Pompey Magnus," I answered wearily, and the sentry from the Fourth Section allowed me to come the rest of the way.
Despite my exhaustion, I was not unaware of the irony of being skewered by a friendly face after all I had been through this night, but thankfully, there was no threat of that. Once I got closer, however, I experienced a moment of confusion because it looked like, while Domitius and I had been away, Tiburtinus had changed his mind and actually had the men throw up a barricade. And it was, of a sort; in typical Roman fashion, Tiburtinus already had men stacking the dead barbarians, only after their bodies had been searched and anything of value taken, of course. I heard the Optio before I saw him, standing on the far side nearer to the main body, and I numbly walked in his direction, my only thought to report my presence; such is our discipline that I worried about being flogged if I did not inform my Optio of my whereabouts. All around me, men were moving about, mostly in pairs, carrying a body between them, but there were others who were bending down or kneeling beside a row of men, lying on what I assumed was each of their sagum. I did not need any more light to know what was going on there; their moans of pain and the quiet buzz of their comrades trying to comfort them told me all I needed to know. Only a few moments later did I become aware I had missed seeing another row a few paces beyond the wounded. Reaching Tiburtinus, I waited until the Optio finished giving instructions to a man from the Second Section, but when he turned around to face me, he visibly recoiled, and I saw his mouth drop open as he took a step back.
"By the gods, Pullus! Are you wounded?" Recovering, he moved back towards me to grab my shoulder plate, using it as a means to turn me a bit. "Where did it happen?" As his head bent down, I saw his nose wrinkle, and he gasped, "Were you stabbed in the gut?"
Only then did I think to look down at myself; if I had not been so exhausted, I would probably have jumped as well. The entire front of my segmentata gleamed black in the moonlight like polished ebony. Not one inch of the bare metal was visible, but I confess in that moment, I was puzzled because I could not think of when I might have gotten so thoroughly covered with blood. However, it took another moment for my fatigued mind to make sense of his question, although it was through my nose. Along with the thick, coppery smell of blood, there was a distinct odor of cac; that is when I recalled the circumstances.
"It's not mine," I mumbled, wondering why my stomach was suddenly lurching now; I had been smelling like this for some time by that point, I thought. "I gutted one of them and he fell on top of me."
Tiburtinus' head jerked in surprise.
"Landed on top of you? You mean you lost your feet in a fight? And you're still alive?" He gave the sharp, barking sound I knew was his laugh and said, "The gods are looking out for you, Pullus."
I was about to retort that I certainly did not feel that way but I refrained, mainly because I had something else on my mind.
"Where's Domitius?" I asked Tiburtinus.
The Optio's face changed, the moonlight making the sudden lines that appeared around his mouth look like black slits, while it felt like the ground suddenly shifted under my feet. I knew that look and what it meant.
"He's over there," Tiburtinus said quietly, and pointed.
It seemed to take forever for me to turn my head to follow his finger making an invisible straight line directly to where the men were lying in their row. That was when I noticed, for the first time, there were, in fact, two rows, having previously missed the one a bit farther away because there were no other men kneeling there. I also became aware that Tiburtinus could have been pointing to either one of them, and my throat suddenly closed up as I turned back to look at the Optio.
"Is he…"
"Wounded, in the shoulder," the Optio replied.
And, at last, my strength gave out, and I collapsed to the ground.
Thankfully, I did not faint, dropping only to my knees. Once more, Tiburtinus grabbed me by the edge of my shoulder plate; this time, to help me back to my feet.
"Go relieve Lutatius," he said quietly. "He's with Domitius. Tell him to come see me. I've got something for him to do."
Frankly, I do not remember if I saluted or even said anything; I just turned dumbly about and went stumbling along the line, peering down at the men next to the wounded, some of them comrades, others medici doing what they could to treat the wounded. Finally, second from the end of the line, I recognized Lutatius when he turned his face up at my approach. Relaying Tiburtinus' order, he mumbled something to Domitius, then stepped aside so I could take his place. Rather than kneel down, I collapsed onto my rear. Moonlight makes people look pale, and Domitius' face looked like bleached bone, but his eyes were open, and he was looking directly at me.
"You smell like…" he started to say, but I cut him off.
"I know," I mumbled. "Tiburtinus told me."
When I glanced down at the front of my segmentata, for the first time, I noticed there was more than just blood covering me, and my stomach lurched as I recognized there were larger gobbets of matter that I did not want to think about stuck in between the plates. Unfortunately for both of us, that was too much for my stomach, barely rolling to my hands and knees, then retching and vomiting up whatever was left in my stomach.
"That makes it worse," Domitius groaned.
"Sorry," I managed, although it did not stop me from continuing until nothing was left.
Not until I was reasonably sure that I was done did I move back next to Domitius, and it was the first time I actually examined him closely. He had already received his preliminary treatment by a medicus, so his armor was off and his upper torso was heavily wrapped, but there was already a black spot about as big around as my fist showing through the bandage. Otherwise, he seemed alert, although he was clearly hurting.
"Did they give you anything for the pain?" I asked, and he made a face.
"No, the bastards," he muttered. "Darios said that I can't have anything until the butcher examines me. If they have to go digging around in there, the wound is too close to my lung. Or," he frowned as he tried to remember, "something like that."
The news that his wound was that serious did not make me feel any better, but I tried to put a light face on matters, joking, "And you get to lie around all day and watch us work."
He did not laugh, probably because it was not that funny, or it hurt too much, but he did smile.
"All in all," he replied, "I'd rather be working."
That, I thought, was something I could understand.
Then, I asked him, "So, how did it happen?"
The ends of his mouth switched instantly, moving from an upward curve to a grimace as he said, "When Plancus and his bunch rolled down the hill, I was with them."
"Without a shield?" I gasped. "Are you mad? That was stupid!"
As usual, I spoke without thinking, but as soon as the words were out, I regretted them, remembering very well how it felt to be criticized while you were lying there with a hole in you.
Fortunately, Domitius did not seem angered, but although the smile returned, it was more rueful as he admitted, "I know that. Now. It just seemed like a good idea at the time."
The way he said it made me burst out laughing, which caused him at least to start to join in, although the sound instantly turned into a groan of pain.
"Don't make me laugh," he gasped, and, truthfully, I did feel badly at the sight of him wracked with a pain that I understood all too well.
"Me?" I protested nevertheless. "You were the one who said it."
"But I didn't want you laughing at it," he retorted.
We were quiet for a moment, then he asked me what had happened with me.
"Nothing much," I told him, but he was not fooled.
With a visible effort, he lifted his right arm to point at my segmentata and commented, "That doesn't look like 'nothing much.'"
I explained what happened and, by the time I was finished, he was regarding me with a raised eyebrow.
"And you're telling me I'm the stupid one?" he exclaimed. "How many times has someone lost their feet in a fight and lived to tell about it?"
"Not many," I was forced to admit, thinking that Tiburtinus had said essentially the same thing. "But there weren't that many of them around, and there were enough boys from the Second Century to keep the ones nearby off of me."
We both fell silent for a bit, while I watched as the rest of our comrades finished up the various tasks that must be performed after battle. One slight difference I noticed but did not think anything of at the time was that men were pulling off the hamata of every dead man wearing one, along with collecting those helmets that had caused Domitius and me such confusion, placing both in two separate piles. When I glanced over once at Domitius, his eyes were closed, and my heart suddenly raced as I leaned over to examine him closely, the relief at the sound of his breathing so powerful that he started shimmering as my eyes filled with tears. Not wanting him to see me in that state, I straightened back up, turning my face away to watch the others as, with their tasks accomplished, they were finally given leave by Tiburtinus to rest. While most of them immediately collapsed on the ground themselves, some turned and headed to where we were sitting, coming to check on friends. I recognized the figure of Caecina, realizing with some surprise that he was more visible than a short time before, and I turned to see that the eastern horizon was turning pink, signaling the end of the night. Watching him approach, I was surprised that he did not come immediately towards Domitius and me; this was my first indication that Domitius was not the only loss suffered by the First Section. Stopping at a spot farther down the line of wounded, I saw our Sergeant bend over one man, but they were too far away and it was still not light enough. Spending a moment there, I expected Domitius to be his next stop, but it was not. Just two men down from the first one, this time he squatted down; by this point, I could see his mouth moving, although the low hum of conversations and the distance precluded me from hearing anything. Once more, he stood, but again, he did not make it to us, except this time, he did not stop at another wounded man, instead walking between the wounded the short distance to the other row. I felt a gasp escape me as the meaning of his actions hit me, and I turned to ask Domitius, but not only was he still either asleep or unconscious, I realized he would have no more idea than I did. Watching our Sergeant, I saw him slowl
y walk down the row of the dead, examining each face, which are left uncovered until the final butcher's bill is tallied, and the close comrade, holder of the deceased's will comes and places the coin in the dead man's mouth. Only then is it considered official and the man's face can be covered. In this case, our sagum served not only the wounded, but as a shroud for our dead, and while I watched Caecina, I took the time to count out twenty-two bodies.