Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  Regardless of this unusual tactic, Draxo was no novice, and he had instantly divined my intention so that he dropped his head to take my blow on the metal of his own helmet. Despite his protection, I felt a surge of intense and savage satisfaction, not only at his bellow of pain as I hit him once, twice, then three times, but at the huge dents the metal stud on the pommel put into his helmet. In response, I felt him uncoil his body in an attempt to push me away from him so his axe would be useful again, but again I felt, saw and understood his next move before it happened, quickly turning my right foot sideways while flexing my knees so I could allow both my upper and lower legs to do the work. Just before he attempted to push me away, we both sensed movement, to my left or his right, and he snarled something that I could not understand, but the figure at the border of my vision retreated, so I feel sure it was one of his men he warned off, wanting the glory for himself. Even as assured in myself as I was, especially in that moment, I was thankful Draxo had the same confidence in himself, although I did not have time to appreciate his command to one of his warriors, because at the same instant, he put his own massive weight against his shield in an attempt to push me away, clearly using his bellowing as a diversion. My legs took up the tension, my thighs going as rigid as pieces of iron while my knees began to scream from the pain caused by the massive pressure Draxo was exerting. With our faces as close as they were, even if the fire was not illuminating the area, there was no way I could miss the face of the Colapiani, his lips peeled back so his remaining teeth were bared as he put all of his strength into trying to push me off him. His eyes were bulging from the effort and I could feel the wild hatred radiating from him in the same way one can stand several feet from a fire and still feel the heat. Just like our bodies, our eyes seemed to be locked together, and I can only imagine what he saw reflected in my face, spattered with what the detached part of my mind knew was in all likelihood pieces of Lutatius' intestines. I suppose this was why I was growling as I glared back at him, trying to send him my own message of his death. Only the gods know how long we were straining against each other, yet even as we were, I was still trying to land a solid blow that would do more than dent his helmet. Unfortunately, because of the awkward angle and the strain the rest of my body was under, I could not land a good punch, but as limited as I may have been in the ways in which I could use my sword once I was this close, Draxo's weapon was next to useless; at least so I believed. Being so close together meant it was impossible to see the Colapiani chieftain shifting his grip on his axe as he moved his hand almost all the way up to just underneath the head. When I had gotten my first glimpse of his axe, although I had noticed the spiked top, I did not give it much thought; my immediate concern were the huge double blades, but I was about to learn that the spike was not there just to make the weapon look more fearsome. And, frankly, I shudder to think how matters would have turned out if I was not consumed by my madness, because while I did see it coming I still barely jerked my head back in time as Draxo brought his right arm up in an attempt to drive the spike into my skull, moving faster than I had seen him doing to that point. I also learned my first impression that it was a simple, rounded, spike was incorrect. Triangular in shape, looking much like the Greek letter they call Delta, the spike came to a point only slightly duller than the tip of a Roman sword, but while the three sides could not be honed to the kind of cutting edge that would make it useful for any kind of slicing did not mean they posed no danger themselves. Frankly, what I saw as the first threat were the blades of his axe as his arm moved up from his side from where it had been out of my range of vision, and I believe the breadth of the weapon was large enough it enabled my eye to immediately pick up the movement. And yet, I cannot say how or why I knew not only to turn my face to the right, but also jerk my head back, because I really did not see the spike although I certainly felt it as it grazed my cheek, one of its three edges slicing along my left cheekbone and laying it open to the bone, though I did not find that out until later. In the moment, there was a feeling like someone had taken the end of a glowing ember, then dragged it across my face, and I roared in pain as, for the briefest instant before he was able to pull his arm back, the entire left field of my vision was blocked by the blur of the axe head crossing in front of my face. As painful as the gash was, even in the moment, I was aware enough to be thankful the wound was below my eye, because I would have been instantly blinded by my own blood and subsequently dead within a matter of heartbeats. Understanding his ploy had failed, as quickly as Draxo struck, he brought his weapon back towards him, the axe disappearing from my vision as rapidly as it had come, leaving me bloody and Draxo snarling in frustration because he had not landed a killing blow. It must be kept in mind that we were still pushing against each other shield to shield with all our might, and probably had been doing so for perhaps ten heartbeats, yet even as he roared at being thwarted, for the first time, I sensed a subtle change as suddenly, my shield moved his own backwards towards his body. Not by much; just enough to not only give me hope but infuse me with a fresh burst of energy. This is the man who just cut Lutatius in half, the one who killed Flaccus and spat on him, I thought, as I continued glaring at him while somehow increasing the pressure a bit, rewarded by the sudden movement of not just his shield arm but his entire body as he started bending backwards slightly. This is the savage who thought he could just cut his way through us to strike down our Primus Pilus, who thought so little of the men around our Primus Pilus that he thought he could just knock us aside like we were nothing more than stray curs begging for scraps! In that instant, there were two opposing forces inside me; one was the voice in my mind, screaming these thoughts at me in much the same way a Centurion bellows in the ear of a frightened tiro, while the other was the screaming of my body, particularly my lower body, begging me to relent, to ease the intensity of my effort. I ignored my body, until suddenly, his rear foot slipped and he lurched backward, but while it was not enough to put him completely off balance, for the first time, his expression changed, and I saw what I felt sure was his first flicker of doubt. This, I thought as I called on everything the gods had given me in my strength, is the man who is not just after the death of Urso, but is trying to take our sacred eagle!

  "NO!" I think this was the first articulate word I had spoken and I bellowed it at the top of my lungs. "No! No! Not now! Not ever!"

  Draxo's rear leg finally gave way as he suddenly staggered backward, and I was ready for it. Stumbling, he was forced change his grip on the axe from just under the head back to the spot where he normally held it, except rather than to use it as a weapon he had to frantically swing it behind him to thrust the spiked end into the ground and arrest his retreating movement, leaving only his shield in between us, which he extended out farther than normal to provide a buffer. For the first time, he did not look like the superbly confident, renowned warrior of a barbarian tribe; to my eye, he looked like every other man I had bested in that final instant when they understood the moment of their death had arrived, and I would be lying if I said I did not savor that look, or that it did not give me a sense of such intense and horrible satisfaction. Ultimately, however, I cannot say with any certainty that I did not take a spare heartbeat to gloat; in the moment, it did not seem like I did, yet as I was about to discover, the gods were not quite done toying with us mortals.

  Given everything that happened, there is no one to blame other than myself, but despite proving to be one of the most valuable lessons I ever learned on the battlefield, it is hard for me to justify the cost in lives of comrades it took to learn it. Making matters worse, because I still had the divine fire flowing through my veins, the events that took probably no more than a dozen heartbeats in real time seemed to me to last a full watch; in many ways, the repercussions of all that transpired continued to reverberate through the lives of the men of the 8th Legion for some time to come. And, despite the fact I possessed a heightened awareness of everything around me, as I was about to learn, this d
id not mean I was invincible; specifically, although my peripheral vision seemed wider than normal when I was in this state, I still did not possess eyes in the back of my head. Consequently, the blow across the middle of my back just as I was stepping forward while raising my sword to plunge down into Draxo's upturned face, immediately after I contemptuously knocked his shield aside, was not only unexpected, it was so powerful that I instantly lost feeling in my legs so that they collapsed from underneath me as if they had just disintegrated. As far as the blow itself, I cannot say it was particularly painful when it landed, although the pain came quickly enough as I fell, first to my knees for an instant before landing face first. However, I did not lose consciousness, yet when I tried to break my fall with my arms, despite my mind commanding them to obey, this is when I learned the paralysis was not confined to my legs. As the ground came rushing up at me, I retained the presence of my mind to turn my face so I did not land facedown, and I believe it was because my mind at least was still in the grips of my fit, so that I not only had time to think, it seemed to take quite a long time before my head slammed into the hard-packed earth. Once more, there was a burst of thousands of sparks in front of me; the difference is that unlike other times, my eyes never closed, so I had the unique experience of still seeing the outside world, except it was through what looked like a screen of stars. The only example I can think of is what happens when looking across a fire at a friend, or friends, when someone either throws another log on it or a knot in a piece of wood explodes, sending a shower of sparks upward, the difference being in this case that the sparks were descending. Of course, there was the other difference caused by being on the ground, which turned the landscape on its side and took an instant for my mind to compensate.

  "Get up! You're a dead man if you stay down!"

  Of all the strange moments in my life, this shouted command, which I naturally tried to instantly obey, felt like it was shouted directly in my ear, as if someone had bent over to warn me. The problem was that the voice I heard belonged to Lutatius, who I knew was lying just a few feet from me with the two halves of his body bending grotesquely in opposite directions so his head and feet were next to each other. Honestly, this was only the first problem; the second, and in the moment the most crucial to my survival, was that when I tried to obey the command, nothing happened. Ironically enough, I now understand this is what saved my life. Because I was unable to move, my unseen assailant, who clearly had other concerns, obviously believed he had dispatched me, thereby prompting him to step over my body. Suddenly, my vision was obscured by a foot and lower leg, as the man I was sure was responsible for my current condition stepped over me. Except that when my right eye, the one not next to the dirt, was able to focus on that leg, I felt a moment of confusion. There was no mistaking the Roman military boot and I opened my mouth to alert this unknown comrade that, contrary to appearances, I was alive. Truly, I do not know why I hesitated, but I did, stopping the call for help before it left my mouth, and this is yet another thing I have pondered often over the years. In one sense, my decision stemmed from nothing more than my awareness of all that was going on and the innate instinct for self-preservation; after all, this was in the area where the fighting was the hottest, and while this Roman stepping over my body came from the same general direction as my unseen assailant, by calling attention to myself lying helpless on the ground while unable to move, I was just as likely to get a Colapiani spear into my exposed back as any assistance from a comrade who had his own concerns for survival. Although it makes perfect sense, I cannot say this was the reason I stayed my cry; what I can say is that because I hesitated, I not only saved my life, suddenly, everything made sense. Because as the Roman continued moving past me, first his other leg then his torso and back came into my limited view; it was not until he moved a couple paces away and turned slightly as he prepared to lunge at one of the Colapiani I recognized who it was.

  I cannot say I was particularly surprised when I saw it was Caecina who did not give me a backward glance as he launched himself at a Colapiani warrior who had obviously seen Draxo in difficulty and leapt to his chief's defense. Naturally, my vision was extremely limited, even after I tentatively lifted my head slightly. Regardless of this, I still did not have possession of my limbs, and oddly enough, this was the first moment where it even occurred to me I might have been paralyzed permanently. The instant the thought entered my conscious mind, I suddenly had difficulty breathing, and the only way I could seem to draw air into my lungs was in short, panting breaths. That sensation I had first experienced a taste of at the ambush, the all-consuming, mindless black panic suddenly threatened to overwhelm me, but while I barely managed to keep it at bay, it washed away whatever vestige of my divine rage had remained. Suddenly, I was no longer angry; putting it simply, I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life. Everything happening around me; the battle that to my detached mind was reaching a fever pitch, the fact I had failed to kill Draxo, that Urso, and more than that, our Legion eagle were still under threat no longer seemed important. All I could seem to focus on was the prospect of a life where I could not use my limbs, and I cannot deny that, at this moment, I fervently prayed to the gods that, if this was indeed the case, I somehow succumb and die now rather than face a future where I was of no value to myself, or anyone else. After all, if I was not Titus Porcinianus Pullus, Legionary Gregarius, and the third generation of my family under the standard, what point was there in existing?