by R. W. Peake
“I know, boy.”
The order of intente was sounded, and we immediately snapped to, with our scuta up and a pilum in our other hand, the second pilum held along with the scutum in our left hand, which is awkward, to say the least.
Our Primus Pilus strode out to where he could be seen, and called out, “Before we start out, I want everyone in the assault elements to pass their pila down to their supporting Maniple. You won’t be able to throw them from a range where they'll do any good, and they’re going to be useless once you get on the ladders. Give 'em to the boys who'll be supporting you, and they can deliver 'em to those bastards for you.”
As weak a joke as it was, we still smiled. Passing mine off, while it felt strange to have my right hand empty, I was grateful to be able to hold my scutum cleanly. I could feel my heart thudding heavily and, when I looked down, I was surprised to see my lorica jumping slightly with every beat of my heart. As we were passing the pila, a wagon rumbled up and, in the back, there were a few dozen ladders the engineers had lashed together. Each Century in the assault elements was given two ladders with the order to place them at least three scutum’s width apart to deny the defenders massed targets.
The Pilus Prior stood in front of us and called out, “Right, I want my veterans up front to pick up the ladders." As those men like Calienus did so, he continued, "They’re going to be the ones carrying the ladders and will be between files so that the rest of you boys can hold your scuta up to cover them since they’ll have their hands full.”
Then the Pilus Prior designated between which files he wanted the men, and those files moved out a little to widen the gaps while still having enough spacing so that they could provide protection. This forced all of us over a couple of steps and we quickly adjusted.
“Now, listen and listen carefully,” Crastinus continued, oblivious to the fire of the scorpions that were just starting in preparation for our move to the walls. They make a deep twanging sound when the bolts are launched, and it was hard not to watch as they worked, but I managed to stay focused on the Pilus Prior. “I’m going first up the ladder. Normally, I wouldn’t, but since this is you boys’ first engagement, you just follow me and everything will be fine. The Optio,” he motioned to Vinicius, “will be the first up the other ladder. We’ll need one man, one very strong man to brace each ladder against the wall while the others ascend.”
Immediately, the men in my vicinity turned to me, and I could feel my face burn. The Pilus Prior looked over at me thoughtfully before shaking his head.
“Not Pullus. I want him up early after me. He’s been the best in training, and besides,” he grinned, “the very size of him is going to scare half of those bastards to death before he lifts a finger.”
I was in an agony; part of me glowed at the distinction I was being given while the other was petrified because it was clearly expected that I would perform valiantly. That feeling of pressure that was almost non-existent once we started the march came flooding back, and I struggled to maintain my composure. For a fleeting instant, the thought of screaming out the fact that I was still underage crossed my mind, sure that if I did so, I would not have to go up the ladder. Just as quickly, the shame of that idea washed over me, and I recognized that, if I were to do such a thing, while it might get me out of being killed in battle, it might not necessarily save my life. Enlisting under fraudulent circumstances is a serious crime; we had been forced to witness the execution of two men, from different Legions, whose identity as slaves were uncovered. First, they were scourged, then executed, and the sense of shame that such a death brought was more overpowering than my fear. Consequently, I just stood there as if mute, hoping my face did not betray the stark terror that I was feeling. Instead of me, Crastinus picked Didius to hold our ladder, who responded with a “Yes, Pilus Prior” that was as close to insolent as one could get and still escape the vitus. That was not lost on Crastinus, who glared at Didius before choosing the man for the second ladder, another recruit named Macro. He was shorter than I was, but built very thickly with rippling muscles. As I was turning back to face my immediate fate, Scribonius tapped me on the shoulder.
With a tight smile, he murmured, “Good luck, you lucky bastard. Try not to kill all of them before the rest of us get there.”
The smile I returned felt more like a grimace. At that moment, the cornicen from the command group sounded his call, followed by the bucina from each Cohort, with the standards dipping in acknowledgement of our order to begin the advance. Stepping off, for a moment I was struck by a sense of panic because I was still in my accustomed place at the back of the Century; how was I supposed to follow Crastinus up the ladder from the back? Glancing over to my right, I saw the Optio was next to me, also in his accustomed place, confusing me further. Despite the fact that talking was forbidden when we were advancing, I felt there was enough urgency to risk breaking the rules.
“Optio,” I hissed.
My call seemed to snap the Optio out of some sort of trance, because his head jerked around in surprise. Or maybe he was taken aback that I dare talk at a time like this.
He did not rebuke me, however, just asking, “What is it, Pullus?”
“How am I supposed to get from back here,” I motioned to our location while trying to maintain my alignment with the rest of the rank and the cover of my file, “to up there?” I indicated the spot with a jerk of my head.
“You follow the file of men with the ladder, idiot,” was his response. “The Pilus Prior'll be there at the base of the ladder while the ladder is being lifted. Then you follow him.”
“Oh.”
Chagrined that the answer was that simple, when I looked over, I was suddenly not so sure it was indeed that easy because they were three files over, putting men between me and them. I was in too much of a state for me to think it through, so I shrugged my shoulders and turned my attention back to the front. The town was looming larger, but the snapping of the bolts being fired over our heads was an oddly comforting sound. I could clearly see men on the ramparts of the wall now, only in glimpses, though, as they were forced to keep their heads down because of the scorpions. Every so often, one of them would risk a quick peek around one of the crenellations to see when we would be in range. Even as I watched, apparently either one of them was a little too regular in deciding when to peek his head out and one of our gunners noticed, or he was just the unluckiest man in the world, because the timing of when he poked his head out and the bolt arriving in the spot his head now occupied, however briefly, could not have been better. In front of my very eyes, I saw the blur of the bolt, then saw the man’s head explode, the top half of his skull shooting off to the right while the continuing blur of the bolt, now with what looked like a fine red mist trailing it, went hurtling further into the town. My eyes were riveted to the sight, and I heard the exclamations of the men around me who saw it happen as well, all of us watching as the torso, with the lower half of the man’s head still attached, totter there for a moment before collapsing back behind the wall.
“Remind me not to ever get in front of one of those things,” Scribonius muttered, and all I could do was nod.
Our front ranks hit an unseen line, marking the spot where we now came in range of their slingers. While not of the same renown as the slingers from the Balearic Islands, they were highly skilled nonetheless, and in the space of just a few moments, we would learn to respect and fear these weapons almost more than any other that the Lusitani wielded. Dozens of men appeared, whirling their slings above their heads, preparing to launch them despite weathering the bolts from a partial volley of scorpions that knocked a couple of the men off the wall.
“TESTUDO!”
That command was roared simultaneously all along the leading line and it was in this first moment that it became apparent to every new Gregarii that all of the training and the beatings that came with it possessed a value that could not be overestimated. Even before I consciously thought about it, I crouched down and lifte
d my scutum above my head, since the threat was coming from ahead and above us. If we were exposed to enfilading fire from the side, I would have held my scutum across my body, while sheltering under Scribonius’ scutum. A bare instant later, there was a sound like a sudden hailstorm as the stone shot that the Lusitani used bounced off the surface of our scuta, mostly inflicting no damage. Scattered among the rattling sounds indicating no damage done, however, there was another, a sickening thud either followed by a grunt, or worse, by a scream of pain that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Although we kept advancing, we could not move as quickly as we normally would in standard formation, so there was a tradeoff of sorts. Despite being more protected, the amount of time we were exposed to the slings was longer. The first volley did not inflict any casualties on our Century, but after the second rattling of shot, and more shouts and screams, there was a ripple in the formation as someone fell to the ground and we automatically compensated, closing up the spot where the man fell. While I could see a prone figure out of the corner of my eye, I could not see who it was, and I realized with a shock that we were now blooded. We had suffered our first casualty, but judging from the ferocity of the volleys that we were absorbing, it was not likely to be our last.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus, protect this Legion, soldiers all,” someone cried out the Legionary's prayer and, while appreciating the sentiment, I wondered whether Jupiter really cared.
Our advance hampered by the use of the testudo, the distance closed agonizingly slowly and, for the first time, I began noticing that my arm was getting a little tired from holding my scutum above my head. Glancing over at Scribonius, I saw that the sweat was pouring from him as if he were standing in a rainstorm, his face red from the exertion. Meanwhile, the smacking and thuds of the shot continued, and more times we had to adjust the formation. Then, a man two ranks ahead of me, his arm obviously tiring from holding the scutum, let it slip just a bit, enough so that I noticed the crack of daylight that allowed a beam of pure light to shine through as if shot down from the heavens. A sharp-eyed slinger saw that crack too because just a heartbeat later, there was a thwanging sound, slightly different than those I had quickly become accustomed to, and the Legionary dropped to the ground without a sound, not moving. The man in front of me, Papiria was his name, almost stumbled over the body, which would have left several men exposed, but with a curse, he managed to maintain his balance and I resolved not to make the same mistake, forcing myself to look down as I came on the body. I wish I had not; he was lying face up, with one eye hanging partially from its socket, a gaping hole showing between the orb and where the bridge of his nose had been, while his heart still pumped blood in a spray, the bone of his nose apparently carried by the shot into his brain. I felt the bile rise as the ghastly sight was burned into my memory forever and, even today, I can close my eyes and still see him, alive but not, his heart not yet receiving the message that it was no longer needed. Dragging my eyes away now that I had stepped clear of him, one detail tugged at my mind. The rim of his helmet had a huge dent in it, and for some reason, that image occupied my thoughts. Even as we were still moving forward, in formation, I thought about it and finally understood the thwanging sound I heard must have been the shot hitting the rim of the helmet, which in turn deflected it down, into his eye, and through his brain. The helmet was not penetrated and, when thinking about it later, I realized that if we were facing an enemy on the same level, and not occupying higher ground, the chances were very good that he would have been struck a glancing blow, except the projectile would angle up instead of down, and all he would have suffered from it was a headache and ringing ears. Such are the whims of the Fates.
Making it to the base of the hill, we started up, with one thing becoming clear immediately. The distance from the bottom of the hill to the base of the wall was deceptive; the Third Maniple would be forced to move higher up the hill to launch their pila than originally planned. Our Century had shrunk even more, and when I anxiously glanced over to my left, my heart sank as I saw that my rank was at least four people narrower than before. Meanwhile, the slingers continued their assault on us, the racket of missiles hitting the scuta or occasionally striking something else and scoring a hit almost continuous. I tried to determine how many of the men in my tent section were missing from the back rank simply because they moved up to replace a gap, and how many had gone down themselves. From what I could remember, at least two men in files ahead to my left had fallen, and I thought there might be a third as well, yet that still left one of my tent mates unaccounted for, and my greatest fear was that it was Vibius. What if he were right after all? Trying to shut that out of my mind, I turned my attention back to the task at hand, and, in a panic, I saw that I had dropped my scutum a fraction while thinking about something else. Quickly, I readjusted, just in time to feel my arm shudder, hearing the unmistakable strike of a shot as I cursed myself for my inattention and vowed that I would not falter again. We were beyond the base of the hill now, reaching a point where the angle between our testudo and the slingers was such that the only way for a slinger to launch a missile at us was by leaning out over the edge of the wall. A couple of them tried and almost immediately were scoured from the wall by the scorpions. That was when they turned their attention to the Third Maniple, and it was like the hailstorm suddenly stopped now that it was their turn to come under fire. From our spot, the predominant sound was now the whirring sound of the slings circling around the men’s heads, followed by the whistle of the projectiles slicing into men behind us. Reaching the base of the wall, the Legionaries carrying the ladders immediately moved into action as we moved our scuta to the side to allow them room.
Half the men got on each side, grasping the ladder, while the Pilus Prior commanded, “Didius, get your sorry ass up here.”
Didius was one of the men who had moved up, putting him a little closer to the front of the formation, but he still had to push his way past the other men of the Century, drawing curses as he jostled them and forced their scuta over, exposing them for an instant. Fortunately, nobody was struck down and it became apparent that we were relatively safe from fire, so Crastinus ordered us out of the testudo and I dropped my arm, thankful for the brief respite. The ladder team planted the feet of the ladder on the ground, while Didius was moved into position by the Pilus Prior, who grabbed him by his harness and faced him in the opposite direction from the rest of us, with the ladder between him and the Century. Then, pushing him down, he forced Didius to sit, while simultaneously the ladder team walked forward with the ladder and it started to rise. The Pilus Prior then made his way to the base of the ladder once it was raised to a sufficient height.
“Pullus, you big oaf. Get behind the Pilus Prior!”
This came from Vinicius as he made his way past me over to the other ladder team, which was doing the same thing as ours. Startled out of my observation of what was going on, I moved quickly behind the Pilus Prior, just in time for him to look behind him to see if I was there, as I gave a brief thanks to the gods that he apparently had not missed me before this, shuffling in behind him as the ladder was raised.
“Good luck,” I heard a man mutter, but I found my throat was too dry to respond, so instead I just nodded. My heart was pounding harder than if I had sprinted the whole way to the wall, and I was sure that if things continued, it would explode right then and there. A different kind of sound added to the cacophony of noise, and I sensed the rapid movement of objects heading towards the walls, looking up to see the pila thrown by the Third Maniple slice through the air and into the wall, some striking the Lusitani. Immediately after this were screams of pain, followed by dull thuds of men falling down to the ground off the rampart. Very quickly, another volley landed, with much the same effect. The Lusitani were now huddled behind their walls, unwilling to expose themselves to any more of the pila, telling us this was our moment. Didius reached out to grab the sides of the ladder, pulling it taut against the wall so that it would not
slip. While watching him do this, the Pilus Prior was already halfway up the ladder before I realized it.
“Get up there, you stupid bastard. We’re right behind you,” I could not see who it was, although it sounded like Calienus’ voice.
Gulping down the huge lump in my throat, I began climbing, taking two rungs at a time in an attempt to catch up while trying to hold my scutum above my head. There was still no sign that the Lusitani felt safe enough to peek their heads up to see what was happening, and again I offered a prayer that our luck would hold a few more moments.
It was at this moment that there sounded a horrible scream, something so inhuman that it caused all of us, Roman and Lusitani alike, to freeze. For just a moment, all activity stopped, and I looked in the direction of the noise, which was just dying out, seeing that it came from a man on the other ladder. I say it was a man, but it would be more accurate to say that what I was viewing was merely a large lump of scorched meat. What had been his face was blackened, along with every inch of his exposed skin, which was issuing a thick smoke, like when the fat in meat catches fire, and I suppose that was exactly what was happening. The part of his tunic not covered by his lorica was burning brightly, the flames licking up around his head, and covering him from head to feet appeared to be a substance that to my inexperienced eye looked like boiling honey. Immediately, I realized that it was the pitch that they were heating in preparation for just such a moment. However, as much as the scream, it was what the man was doing that I think arrested everyone’s attention, for he was still ascending the ladder, very slowly but definitely noticeably, and despite my horror at the sight, I also felt a fierce sense of exultation. This was how a Roman died! I thought. Even dead on his feet, he still advanced, and I imagined that this sight must strike fear and despair into the heart of the Lusitani. We could not be stopped, and as if in answer to that thought, I felt the ladder begin shaking again as the Pilus Prior continued his climb, even Crastinus stopping like everyone else. As Crastinus did so, the other man slowly toppled off the ladder, still in flames and smoking, and I saw the men below scatter out of the way in order to avoid being hit and burned by his body, which in a sense had become a weapon of the enemy’s on its own, since anyone touched by it would be horribly burned as well. I started climbing again too, when I was struck by the sudden thought that the man on the ladder had nobody above him. That meant that he was first, so it must have been Vinicius who I just saw incinerated. Just moments ago, I was talking to him about the very thing that killed him, and I wondered when we would next talk again in the afterlife. Maybe sooner than I think, I thought grimly as I peered up to see the Pilus Prior almost at the top. Just then, a Lusitani appeared in a gap in the wall just next to the Pilus Prior; letting out a cry in his language, he used a long spear to try and skewer the Pilus Prior. However, his war cry alerted Crastinus, who dodged out of the way, almost losing his grip on the ladder, which he now clung to with only his right hand. Without waiting for another blow and displaying a speed that astonished me, he jumped up and over the wall, disappearing from sight, then I heard the thud of his borrowed scutum as he smashed the boss against the Lusitani, followed by a wild yelp of pain. Even as Crastinus did this, I scrambled the last couple of rungs, then pulled myself up onto the wall where, for the first time, I could see into the town. The parapet of the wall was also made of wood, about ten feet across and crowded with men. All of them were armed, although there was a wide variety of weapons, some of the men brandishing nothing more than hoes and sticks with sharpened points. Nevertheless, there was also a fair amount of men in armor, and these were the men crowded around the area where we were assaulting the walls, the more poorly armed men obviously in reserve.