Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  Julionus had taken to riding at the head of the column, Karus suspected, more to avoid the churned-up sea of mud than to set an example of leading from the front. Karus only saw the legate late at night, after the last of the cohorts had safely reached the fortified marching encampment. And then, Julionus only cared to vent his anger upon his acting camp prefect for the slow pace.

  Karus looked behind him and ran his eyes over the column that stretched back through the rain. He was somewhere in the middle of the line of march, with the train. It was the most heavily protected portion of the column, the head and tail being the most vulnerable to ambush.

  The tail of the legion was perhaps two to four miles back from his current spot. The road was so churned up where he was, Karus wondered how those behind were doing. His own cohort marched just behind the train, perhaps a mile distant.

  He glanced around at the surrounding terrain. They were marching through an extremely narrow valley, perhaps three hundred yards wide at this point. Behind them, the valley widened a little more, but not much. A stream, threatening to overflow its banks with water muddied by the rain, ran parallel to the road on his right. To either side, the road was hemmed in by steep, craggy slopes and hills that almost joined together to form a continuous ridge.

  Karus could see several centuries from the auxiliary cohorts working their way along the slopes. They had climbed a short way up the steep terrain and were carefully negotiating their way forward, ever on the lookout for the enemy. Though it was difficult going for the auxiliaries, Karus knew without a doubt it was preferable to struggling through the frigid, churned-up muck in the road.

  “Karus.”

  He turned. Valens had come up behind him while he had been lost in thought. The prefect was on foot and leading his horse. Like everyone else, Valens looked worn. He had a troop of cavalry just behind him, making their way back down the column. Valens had come to a stop, holding his reins loosely. He waved his men by. They looked just as fatigued as they continued around the two officers.

  Karus eyed the troopers as they passed.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “The legate finally gave me permission for a serious probe,” Valens answered with a frown. “He’s afraid of letting us go too far forward. So, my orders are to have a look behind us, and I mean to.”

  Karus leaned to the right a little to look past the cavalry prefect, and his eyes widened. It looked as if Valens was taking the legion’s entire cavalry wing with him. To avoid complicating the march northward for the infantry, the cavalry troopers were walking their horses single file one after another in the opposite direction.

  “This … ” Valens paused with a significant glance behind him, “is a reconnaissance in force.”

  Karus said nothing.

  “He should never have hobbled us,” Valens said bitterly and gestured angrily about them before spitting on the ground. “We have no eyes beyond these slopes. You could hide an army behind any one of these hills, and we would know nothing.”

  Karus took a deep breath to say something, then let it go. Instead, he settled for nodding his agreement.

  “Let me correct myself,” Valens said. “I am sure there is an army out there. We just don’t know where it is … yet.”

  “How far are you going?”

  “Now, Karus, do you really want me to answer that question?” Valens asked him with a probing gaze, and waited.

  Karus shook his head. It was clear that Valens intended to exceed the scope of his orders. Instead of a strong probe to the south, Karus reckoned the cavalry officer would be scouting in all directions.

  “We should be back by evening.”

  “Watch yourself,” Karus said.

  “I will.” Valens led his horse around Karus, who stepped back out of the way, and farther up the slope. “If I find the main body of the enemy, I will make sure you know straight away.”

  “I would appr—”

  A distant horn ripped across the air in the direction of the front of the column. Kraus snapped his head around, as did Valens and most everyone else. The horn had an urgency to it, and sounded again in rapid succession.

  It was the call to arms.

  The entire column had ground to a halt, with men milling about stupidly. Karus could see nothing from where he was. He wanted a better view. He climbed the slope a few more feet and had to scramble a bit. Still he could see nothing useful as the horn sounded yet again, seemingly more insistent.

  Karus spied a large boulder a few feet farther up the slope. He pulled himself up and onto it. Squinting, Karus strained to see through the rain, which had gone from a drizzle to a steady downpour.

  “It seems the enemy has saved me the trouble of locating them,” Valens said as he pulled himself up toward Karus’s perch. The prefect held out a hand toward Karus, looking for assistance.

  Karus bent down and helped the cavalry officer up onto the boulder. He then looked back toward the front of the column again. The road bent sharply around a small hill, perhaps four hundred yards to his immediate front. A hundred yards beyond that one, it bent again around another hill, like an elongated snake. This second hill was much taller, and anything past that was hidden from his view.

  Between the two hills, though, a confused group of legionaries was moving back toward them. Watching them, it was clear that a gap had formed between the advance cohorts and the supply train. Karus narrowed his eyes. He could see no enemy amongst them, or, for that matter, anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Nor were they being pursued. And yet, incredibly, discipline seemed to have broken down for this cohort, likely the Third, since they were next in the line of march. The Fourth and Sixth should have been leading the column. If the enemy had struck somewhere beyond the second hill, perhaps the men from those cohorts had stood firm, unlike those of the Third, who were now rushing his way in complete disarray.

  “Sweet bloody Jupiter,” Karus breathed in growing alarm. He had to do something fast, before those from the Third reached his position and their fear infected the rest of the legion. It could mean the end of the Ninth.

  Karus glanced around, looking for a man with a horn. He spotted one of Valens’s troopers just a few feet away, a horn strapped to his saddle.

  “Valens,” Karus said, turning to the prefect. “Get your man there with the horn to sound the call to reform.” He paused and quickly surveyed the terrain. Across on the other side of the track, just beyond the small stream, there was a bit of open ground. He pointed. “I want your cohort over there, waiting in the event I need you. Send a rider down the column alerting all units. The First, Second, and Fifth should be just down the line of march. I want them up here on the double. The rest of the cohorts to the rear are to close up and form a line of battle a quarter mile that way, falling back on our position.”

  “What about the auxiliary cohorts?” Valens asked. “They’re likely spread to hell, stretching all the way from the front to the rear.”

  The horn sounded again.

  Karus thought hard. The legion needed to come together, and rapidly.

  “I want them concentrated and tightened up along our flanks. The entire column is to close up as tightly as possible. Those are my orders.” Karus paused, and then belatedly gestured in the direction of the Fourth and Sixth, somewhere ahead, beyond the second hill. “Send someone forward to find the legate. I can’t see anything beyond that hill there. I want to know what is going on up there.”

  “I will see to it.” Valens jumped down off the rock and began shouting orders to his men as he worked his way down the slope. Karus looked around. He was pleased to see the centurions who were nearby were beginning to reform their centuries, which had been broken up amongst the wagons and carts. Once Valens’s cavalry horn sounded the order to reform, things would accelerate.

  “Pulmonus,” Karus called, cupping his hands to his lips. The centurion turned at his name. Karus pointed ahead of them. “Get your men up there a bit, and tell the other centuries ahead
I need a scratch line formed across the track. Got me?”

  “Understood.” Pulmonus bellowed orders to his muddy men, who were hastily discarding the canvas covers of their shields to reveal the bright red and gold bull emblem of the legion. The sudden wash of color from the shields in this drab setting was momentarily striking.

  Valens’s trooper blew the call to reform. Those who had still been milling about jumped into action. Discipline that had literally been beaten into the legionaries took over as Eighth Cohort, with whom he had been marching, snapped to. Prodded by their officer’s direction, the cohort began to come together.

  Karus climbed down from the boulder, making his way down the slope to the road, and jogged forward, pushing through several sections of men as they moved toward his scratch line. He quickly reached the point where the line was being formed. Junior centurions and their optios were hastily slotting men into position and dressing centuries, one upon the other.

  The track at this point was only two hundred paces wide, with steep slopes rising up on either side. As more centuries came up, armor jingling and officers snapping out orders, Karus’s line slowly extended its way up those slopes.

  He stepped through the ranks to the front, counting as he went. So far, there were only four ranks of men. If the enemy was coming for them, he had to increase his depth. He stepped to the front of the line as the first of those legionaries who had broken in a panic reached the first rank of his scratch line. They streamed back through the ranks in ones and twos, but farther up the road there were several hundred panicked legionaries in a great mass coming. Many had thrown their shields, javelins, and marching yokes away. They had wild looks to their faces, and that frightened Karus more than anything else he had seen. Should this continue, it would infect everyone.

  It had to be stopped now.

  Two legionnaires, in their panic, jostled him roughly aside. Something inside Karus snapped. Enraged, he grabbed one of the legionaries by the back of the man’s armor harness, dragged him backward, and threw him roughly to the ground. The legionary hit hard, his breath whooshing out with a grunt.

  “Ready shields!” Karus roared, kicking the man roughly in the side before stepping over him. There was a clatter as the line reacted to the order. “Shields up!”

  The mass of fleeing legionaries, abruptly confronted by an impenetrable shield wall and an enraged senior officer standing to their front, stumbled in shock to an uncertain halt. There was an uncomfortable moment where they appeared unsure what to do. Then a few began moving to the sides of Karus’s scratch line.

  “Karus,” Pulmonus said. “What do you intend?”

  Karus turned to the junior centurion who had come up next to him and looked back at the broken cohort. He was enraged by what he saw.

  “Fall in!” Karus roared at the milling mass of legionaries to his front. He could see no sign of the enemy and was thoroughly pissed off. “You bloody heard me! Fall in!”

  A few of the legionaries started to form a line, but others continued edging around to the side. He did not like that one bit, and ground his teeth in frustration. Allow a few free and this might yet turn into a disaster, as their fear and panic could easily spread to the Eighth, formed up behind him. Though it killed him inside, Karus decided the time for playing nice was over.

  “Any man,” Karus said to Pulmonus, “who refuses to fall in is to be cut down. Understand me?”

  There was a momentary look of astonishment in the other centurion’s eyes, but then the man’s face hardened and his eyes narrowed with understanding. He gave a curt nod.

  “Draw swords,” Pulmonus shouted. With an ominous hiss, the line pulled out their swords.

  “Fall in,” Karus roared again at the uncertain mass of legionaries to his front. Those nearest had fallen back a few paces. “By the gods, so help me, I will send your cowardly souls into the next life if you do not heed me.”

  More men began to fall into line, which had grown before Karus’s scratch line.

  Karus looked over to his right and saw several fugitives scrambling up the slope, still intent on fleeing. He ground his teeth in frustration at what they were about to make him do. Karus took a deep breath, and slowly released it. The time to act had come. Discipline would be restored.

  “Deal with them,” Karus said to Pulmonus, pointing at the legionaries who were refusing to fall in. Pulmonus turned and moved rapidly to the right side of the track, where the fugitives were scrambling up the slope to work their way around the Eighth’s line and to the rear.

  The centurion grabbed a javelin from a legionary. He hefted the weapon confidently, took a step back, aimed at one of the fugitives, and threw it with a practiced ease. It happened so fast that those nearest could only gape, stunned. The six-foot weapon, with its triangular point of steel, punched through the legionary’s back armor with a loud crack.

  The momentum of the toss threw the fugitive forward into the dirt. He uttered a pitiful scream and flapped around like a fish out of water, his lifeblood spilling out in an astonishing gush. A handful of heartbeats later he stilled, convulsed one last time, and then moved no more.

  Every head turned toward the drama that had just played out. Pulmonus drew his sword and, with a grim expression, advanced on the next wide-eyed fugitive, who held up his hands.

  “I will fall in, sir,” the legionary said hastily, backing away from the centurion. “I will fall in, I swear I will.”

  “Then get your sorry ass in line, where it belongs,” Pulmonus said. He gestured with his sword toward the line. The man hastened around the centurion, giving him a wide berth, but never taking his eyes off Pulmonus until he was well past. The centurion turned on the next man, who, without any words, began moving to follow the first. Within a few heartbeats, all the fugitives were falling in next to their mates.

  Pulmonus watched for a moment, glanced at the man he had killed, and then returned to Karus’s side. The two exchanged a grim look. Karus had not enjoyed ordering a legionary’s death, nor had Pulmonus liked killing a comrade. To save lives, it had been necessary. Karus nodded his thanks, then stepped through the freshly reformed ranks of the broken cohort, pushing his way roughly forward. He wanted these men to know he was enraged. They should fear him and the other officers more than the enemy. Pulmonus’s recent example should have cemented that fear.

  Whether through habit or discipline, around half of these men still carried their shields. Karus stepped through the last rank to the front. Except for abandoned equipment, supply carts, and a wagon or two, the road before him was empty. It bent around the hill Karus had seen from the boulder, turning sharply to the left and disappearing out of view. Karus thought he could hear the faint din of fighting, but was not so sure. Whatever was happening ahead, the Fourth and Sixth were clearly in trouble.

  “What cohort are you from, son?” Karus turned to look at one of the former fugitives. He wanted to be sure this was the Third.

  “Third,” the man replied, his voice unsteady.

  The Third had been assigned to guard the very front of the supply train.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “They caught us by surprise, hit us from both sides, sir.” The legionary licked his lips. “We didn’t stand a chance, sir.”

  Karus nodded. It was as he suspected. He studied the newly reformed cohort. There was no one of rank present, centurion or optio. It was hardly surprising. Officers were promoted due to their aggressive nature and willingness to take risks. It was rare for one to break and run. The Third’s centurions were either dead or still fighting somewhere ahead with a part of the cohort. He felt the cohort seemed rather light, so perhaps some portion of it had stood their ground and now fought with the other two cohorts. Conversely, that part of the cohort could be lying dead at the hands of the enemy.

  “Where is your centurion?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the man said. “I think he is dead.”

  Karus glanced back up the road. Another friend, T
itus, had been the senior centurion of the Third. Karus thought it would be a sad day when that tough old bastard died. He fervently hoped that his friend still lived.

  “You men without shields,” Karus called out, loud enough to be heard. “Move to the rear ranks. I want those with shields up front.”

  There was a general shifting in the ranks as the formation quickly reordered itself. Karus glanced up the road. The Fourth and Sixth Cohorts could not be that far ahead. He was considering going to find them. Before he did that, he had unfinished business.

  Karus turned back to face the Third. He waited until the ranks had stilled.

  “There will be no more running,” Karus said, loud enough for all to hear. He paused to allow that to sink in, and briefly considered giving a rousing speech to build morale. Instead, he shook his head. These men were still frightened. An inspiring speech was not what they needed. He desired them angry, and even more scared of not holding the line. Otherwise, like poorly forged metal, they would break yet again.

  “We are deep into the enemy’s territory. If we break,” Karus took a breath, “there is nowhere to run. You know what happens to those who are caught alive by the enemy, and if you have not personally witnessed what they do to Romans … you should have heard by now.”

  There was an angry grumbling at that, which had been Karus’s intent. He hoped it was enough that they would think twice before breaking ranks again.

  “You,” Karus said to the same legionary he had spoken to moments before. “Get back to the second line and ask the centurions to come forward.”

  “Yes, sir.” The legionary stepped back through the line.

  Karus turned at the sound of the hooves. A horseman came galloping around the hill. The trooper hauled back violently, sawing on the reins when he saw the ranks of ordered men standing in the road. His horse took several sidesteps. The trooper spotted Karus and kicked his horse forward, cantering over.

  “Sir,” the trooper said, breathless, and pointed behind him after saluting. “The Fourth and Sixth are heavily engaged. They are fighting their way back to this position. The legate requests that you form a strong line here and prepare to receive them.”