Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  “Where do you think you’re going you big oaf?” he growled.

  “To the fighting Pilus Prior.”

  I could barely make out the crest on his helmet moving as he sneered, “And what if this is just a diversion? That’s just what the cunni want us to do.”

  “But I thought the wall was breached.”

  He laughed. “That’s just some woman posing as a Legionary saying that. They attacked all right, but they haven’t breached anything yet and aren’t going to, unless you fall for a trap like that.”

  Chastened, I turned back in the direction of where I thought my position was, with him giving me a helping shove to get back to my post. Stumbling back over to our designated area, where those comrades already on watch were still standing, Vibius and I joined them to peer into the dark. A short distance away, we could see the winking lights of the enemy campfires, the Lusitani camping far enough away where it was impossible to determine whether there were men gathered around it.

  “Figures those bastards would pull a stunt like this and put us on full alert so we won’t get a wink of sleep. Or a bite to eat.”

  Vaguely I recognized the voice of a man in the second section, since the first five had drawn first duty, and I sympathized, but sleep was now out of the question, at least for me so I spoke up, “How about we take over and you boys go get your rations, as long as you promise to come back here quick so we all don’t get on the punishment list for deserting our posts?”

  I sensed a movement as someone turned to peer in my direction in the gloom, trying to make out who their benefactor was. “Pullus, is that you? That’s a splendid idea. May Fortuna smile on you for thinking of us and grant you long life.”

  I flushed with pleasure as they hurried by, proud of myself for what I had done.

  “You do realize that when he’s wishing you a long life, it just means that he’s wishing the same for himself, since if you live the chances are good he will too,” this came from Vibius, who always had a knack for finding the rat turd in the honey.

  “You don’t know that,” I responded indignantly, “because I may die a week from now, and he might die tomorrow.”

  “True, but first we have to get through tonight.”

  Pilus Prior Crastinus had been right; the attack was a diversion. Apparently during their council of war, they decided on a different approach than what they used during their daylight attack, instead setting out to do the worst thing that they could under our circumstances, what we had feared since we climbed the hill, or at least since Calienus made us aware of it. As they were making a demonstration on one side, the bulk of the remaining Lusitani, using their skills as hunters, climbed stealthily up to within a few paces of the wall before leaping up with a great cry. It was as if apparitions from the underworld just materialized from the ground, the kind of numen that mothers tell young children about to make them behave. Faint moonlight glinted silver on their brandished weapons as they closed the distance to the wall in a matter of a few heartbeats, with the main impact several paces away from me. Even though the Lusitani focused their attack across a narrow area, we could not afford to move to help the others trying to hold them back since the Lusitani in the rear ranks would immediately shift from their spot to flow over the deserted wall like a raging flood sweeps away an earthen barrier. Consequently, we were forced to endure the sounds of fighting, more furious than ever before, and for the first time we heard the cries of our own men dying, crying out in our tongue as they fell. Gripping my sword tightly, as if it would help me to shut out the sounds, I kept my eye on the area in front of me and I am sure that my comrades were trying to do the same thing. I heard the bellows of the Pilus Prior, along with Pilus Posterior Vetruvius, exhorting the men around them to hold, using a combination of threats and promises as a means to motivate our men to fight ever harder. For the second time that night, we heard the cry that the wall was breached, and I peered hard in that direction, trying to determine whether this was another false alarm. It did seem that this time there was more of a tumult, an impression of a flurry of movement, while the noise changed, sounding nearer than ever before. Gritting my teeth, I turned to head over in that direction, but a hand pushed at my chest.

  “You can’t leave Pullus,” this was Calienus, and I knew that I should turn back to my post, yet I had made up my mind.

  “I have to Sergeant, they need our help.”

  “Maybe, but we haven't been given orders to move yet.”

  “I think that it’s too dark for anyone to fully know what’s going on,” I replied desperately, pushing against his hand.

  “So you know better than the Pilus Prior?” This provoked a laugh from Calienus, and I could tell that he was not going to bend. But neither was I, so I used my size once again to bear over him.

  “Sergeant, I’m going over there. If you want to have me flogged for it, fine. But I know they need our help.”

  Pushing past him, I was torn that he did not try stopping me since a large part of me was screaming at myself to stay put, and I walked perhaps only ten paces when something came rolling out of the gloom to bounce into my legs. Almost tripping and falling, I just managed to catch myself then moved to kick whatever it was away, but when my foot touched something wet, warm and yielding, I peered down and again had to fight the urge to vomit. It was a head, and even in the gloom I could see that there was a Roman helmet on top of it.

  I walked into the jaws of Cerberus. It was not a false alarm; the wall in fact was breached and the struggle to contain the incursion created an inward bulge as the Lusitani pushed across the barrier. They were now feeding men into this pocket that their warriors created, trying desperately to exploit the crack in our defenses. Even as I drew closer it was hard to tell exactly what was going on as men slashed and hacked at our thin line, now reduced to a single line of Legionaries desperately holding them back. The Pilus Prior was bellowing out; locating him from the sound of his voice, I rushed to a spot in the line as far away from him as I could get. I knew I was taking a huge risk defying the latest order I was given, but I reasoned that if things were as bad as they appeared, we were all dead men anyway, and if we turned them back it would take all of us to do so.

  Picking a man, I braced him from behind, causing him to glance back. “Thanks, I was about done in,” I heard him gasp.

  “When you get a chance, I’ll relieve you,” I answered and instantly a small voice inside me began cursing myself. What was I volunteering for? Certain death? I could do my part right where I was, the voice said. You’re already in enough trouble Titus old boy, without compounding it by putting yourself in a position where you will certainly be killed. Such is the nature of that voice, one I have learned is in every Legionary, and I suspect in all of us. There seems to be a part of you whose only goal is to keep you alive, at all costs, yet what makes man different from the rest of all the animals is that we can choose not to listen to that voice. Ignoring that voice is what defines us, at least in the Legions. So when I felt the man in front of me make a huge effort, tensing up just before thrusting his shield into the body of a Lusitani to send him staggering back, I took my cue, moving quickly into his place. Panting his thanks, I felt him holding me an instant later as the man he threw off came back, sending a shock up my arm when he smashed his blade into my shield, turning my arm numb. In the darkness I could not tell much about the man except for his size, which was average despite packing quite a punch for his stature. He came at me again, his second blow as strong as the first, and I could feel my grip slipping as the numbness spread to my hand and fingers, knowing that another blow like that might knock the shield from my hand. Instead of waiting for it I took a half step forward, lashing out with the shield, using my boss as the weapon and I was gratified to hear a crunching sound accompanied by a muffled scream as I smashed his face. Stunned by the pain, he was standing there stationary, making a perfect target for the thrust of the sword that I followed up with and he toppled over, falling on top of
what appeared to be a Legionary. My first kill was immediately replaced by another man, his outline in the dark telling me he was slightly larger, except he used his body as a weapon, smashing into me and thinking to knock me back, but I was braced by my comrade behind me so when he reached out to grab hold of the rim of the shield, with a grim smile I struck, this time taking the whole hand instead of just fingers. This was the pattern for the next few moments; truthfully I have no idea how much time went by, but judging from the fatigue I felt when there was a brief respite it was a substantial period. I was satisfied that there was now a small pile of dead and dying in front of me, the wounded still trying to crawl to safety, making the tangle of limbs and torsos shift eerily in front of me in the moonlight, and if I had not known the cause, I might have thought there was something otherworldly about it. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, the man behind me asking if I wanted to be relieved. Just as I was about to say yes, I thought better of it and shook my head. Thinking back, I believe this was the first appearance of a trait and belief that I developed over the years, which was my reluctance to trust my fate to others if I was able to have any say in it. Part of it was the hubris of youth, to be sure; however, it was also based in a belief I have in myself that I am the best arbiter of my destiny and whenever possible, I should take control of the situation. I will say that he did not argue too hard about it.

  The respite lasted perhaps a span of 50 normal heartbeats, certainly no longer, before the assault was renewed and finally our wall of men protecting the pocket from expansion broke when a Legionary fell from a wound and there was nobody to step into his place. Hearing the roar of triumph from the Lusitani, I immediately sensed a flurry of movement as their men rushed to exploit the gap, accompanied by the shout of our two Centurions as they met the enemy from their spot behind us. The clash of metal and the thuds of blows to the wood of our shield wall increased as well, the growth of the pocket meaning that more men could fill it.

  “All those on relief on me, at the double!”

  This came from the Pilus Prior and the message was unmistakable; the enemy was within our thin dirt wall. Turning to my relief I gasped out, between exchanging blows with a man who stank of onions, “Here, you take my place and I’ll go.”

  He had already turned to leave, but came back readily enough, patting me on the back to let me know he was there. The onion man, wielding a huge club, swung it over his head in an obvious attempt to inflict a devastating downward blow that would split my shield and dash my brains out at one stroke but I was ready, launching a simple thrust over the top of my shield before he could bring the club down, hitting him in the throat. Feeling the grating of bone that told me the blade had exited the back of his head, I withdrew as quickly as I struck. In the time it took for him to collapse, I moved aside, breathlessly thanking my relief as I hurried to the Pilus Prior’s voice. Tripping a couple of times as I stumbled on bodies at my feet, one of them uttered a short cry before hurling curses at me as I stepped over him, while I mumbled an apology. Reaching a spot where I could make out the Pilus Prior, who was now as engaged as the rest of the men around him, I could not help admiring his form and economy, seeing his blade glint in the moonlight, making a silvery streak in the air as it struck, each blow being rewarded with a scream or gasp of pain and surprise. Then I saw another one of our men go down, alive but wounded, before attempting to pull his body under his shield, dragging it on top of himself as the victor stepped over him while drawing his arm back to drive his spear into the back of the Pilus Prior, who was engaged with another Lusitani. Letting out the loudest bellow of rage that I had ever uttered, it startled the Lusitani just enough that it stayed his hand for the fraction of the heartbeat that I needed to jump across the space between us. Crastinus was just starting to turn at the sound of my shout as, while still in mid-air, I violated the elementary rule that the point beats the edge, swinging my arm while twisting my body to add to the force, and in one smooth motion my blade sliced through the tissue and bone that composed the Lusitani’s neck. His head flew up in the air as I landed, tumbling crazily and spurting blood in all directions as the torso, the heart still sending a fountain of blood spraying several inches in the air above the stump of his neck, stood for a second as if trying to decide what to do before crumpling in a heap to the ground. When I landed, it was with one foot striking another body, so that for a sickening moment, I found my arms whirling as I tried to maintain my balance, knowing that if I went to the ground I was dead. Finally managing to restore my footing, I saw the Pilus Prior peering at me in the gloom, trying to determine who had just saved him, and I gave him a wave and a smile.

  “Is that you Pullus?” he asked, his surprise obvious.

  “Yes Pilus Prior, and you’re welcome.” I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it certainly was not what came out of his mouth.

  “Welcome, am I? We’ll see how welcome I am once I’ve striped your back you cunnus. I seem to remember telling you specifically to remain at your post.”

  “But…” I was cut off before I could finish my protest.

  “But nothing. Those were your orders and you disobeyed them. Your ass is mine.” Without another word, he turned back to face another Lusitani, parrying a blow as easily as if he were waving his vitus around. I was stunned, but I was also angry, so I turned it on the Lusitani. With another roar, I waded into a small knot of men engaged in a desperate struggle, knocking both Lusitani and Roman aside to begin thrusting, hacking, and swinging my sword about, barely registering when I scored any kind of hit except by the shouts or screams of men I wounded or killed. Disdaining the use of my shield for any kind of defense, instead I began swinging it about, smashing into both friend and foe that stood in my way. I felt myself giving way to the anger and rage I felt inside, that instead of gratitude I faced a flogging from the Pilus Prior for saving his life. It also angered me that these men were trying to kill me, that men like Didius could shirk their duties of defending Rome, it angered me that Juno picked Vibius over me, that Vibius beat me at dice just the night before, and it angered me that my father hated me because in my birth I had killed the only thing he ever loved. In that moment, I felt the rage surge through me, washing over me in a warm flood, giving me more energy than I had ever experienced in my life. Feeling the blood spattering my face, instead of my normal revulsion, I reveled in it, loving the warm sticky fluid as it started to dry on my skin. Becoming dimly aware that the roars of triumph coming from the Lusitani were turning into cries of alarm, it only fueled me to keep killing and maiming. It was in that moment that I knew I had found my purpose in life; I was a killer, a machine, and there was nothing that could stand in my way and live if I did not wish it to be so.

  My next conscious memory is standing alone, panting, my legs trembling and feeling the fatigue so greatly that I could not lift my arms, even if it meant my life to do so. I also became gradually aware that the noise of battle was gone; not totally, but certainly the furious sounds of frantic combat had disappeared. The wider world around me slowly came into focus, and it surprised me when I noticed that I seemed to be standing by myself, so I peered around in the dark until I saw several Roman helmets profiled against a lightening sky. It appeared that all heads were turned towards me as I continued my return by noting that the ground around me seemed to be piled much higher with bodies than anywhere else. With my breathing slowing, I felt a slight surge of energy coming back, so I began to move towards my original position on the wall, and was annoyed to find that I had to lift my leg like I was climbing a low fence, except this one was made of flesh and bone, some of which was still moving and emitting low moans. I was unbelievably weary, to the point that all I wanted to do was to sit down somewhere and rest, especially once the memory of the words I had exchanged with the Pilus Prior came back to me. If I was going to be flogged, I wanted to be as fresh as I could get. By this point, the fighting had almost completely ceased; I heard the clash of metal on metal and shouts over wh
ere the diversion started, except there was none of the urgency in the voices of the section leaders and the men in that spot. Very quickly I was surrounded by my comrades, two of them stepping aside to let me through without saying a word, for which I was thankful, because I was barely able to move; adding talking to the burden I felt sure would cause me to collapse. Steering myself in the direction of where my gear was lying on the ground just behind where I had been posted on the wall, I focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. A slight breeze blew except instead of being refreshed I felt clammy and was surprised to realize that every part of my body where open skin showed was wet, and as the breeze did its work to dry the moisture, I could feel my skin tighten as whatever covered me cooled. It must be blood, I thought. That did not stop me from finding my gear, feeling in the dark to count from the end of the pile to where mine would be, before collapsing more than sitting down. Not even bothering to shed my armor, I laid down my shield then arranged my sword so it was not in the way, removed my helmet and fell backwards, asleep before my head hit the ground. The fact that I was violating all sorts of regulations and had not been given leave to rest did not even cross my mind.