Caesar Triumphant

by Peake, R. W.

  Turning to his Optio, he asked, "What did you say just a moment ago? About him?" He jerked his head in the direction of where Artaxades was still lying, barely cold.

  "What? Oh," Odysseus thought a moment, and said, "That he ran himself to death, just like Phidippides did at the Battle of Marathon."

  Felix nodded thoughtfully, then replied, "And that message was so important that it was worth dying for, I expect. Just like this one," he finished under his breath.

  And with that, Felix made up his mind.

  Caesar was pleased to see that, for the moment at least, the makeshift barricade was successfully holding the Wa at bay, and for the first time he could see real fatigue showing in the movements and faces of these barbarians who, until that moment, had seemed to be impervious to the normal draining of energy that came from such strenuous activity. But as tired as they were, Caesar and his men were no less so, and in many spots around the hodgepodge of items that had been used to create this wall, the fighting taking place was almost comically slow. A Wa would thrust a spear, and a Roman would either block or parry the blow in such a way that if Caesar hadn't known how deadly serious the fight was, he would have said he was watching one of the mime shows in Rome, where battles were recreated for the crowd. Of course, the other difference was that at the end of the "battle" in Rome, something funny would take place and the crowd would roar with laughter. Here, nobody was laughing, or, in fact, doing much shouting at all—such was the fatigue.

  Instead, the air was filled almost entirely by just the sounds of sword on sword, or spear against shield, along with the occasional blast of a Centurion's whistle that signaled the men standing on the rampart to step aside and let their relief take over. At least, when there were enough men to relieve them, Caesar thought bitterly, as he could see that in many spots there wasn't actually a Legionary standing behind the man on the rampart. The space enclosed by the barricade was jammed full of wounded men, with barely enough room for the paths that the medici and remaining slaves needed to move around, ministering to the wounded. Thankfully, now that they were back behind some sort of wall, the flow of Roman wounded being carried or dragged to the forum had slowed, but every loss was one that Caesar and his men couldn't afford. In fact, Caesar thought wearily, all he had done was buy these men perhaps a watch more of life, if that. He couldn't imagine that the commanders of the other redoubts, from whom he hadn't heard a word in only the gods knew how long, were faring any better than he was, so the idea of help never entered his mind. No, Caesar's Luck had finally run out. Of this he was sure: that today would see the final battle of his career, and the beginning of the Legend of Caesar. Shaking his head, more ruefully than with any real regret, he acknowledged to himself that perhaps this time he had overreached, that finally he had come across the one place and the one people he couldn't conquer. Standing there, surrounded by the remainder of his staff, as always, Caesar stood alone, still aloof and with every bit of his dignitas intact. Finally, Bodroges cleared his throat, jerking Caesar out of his reverie. Somewhat surprised, Caesar turned to see the man, the Pandyan Tribune next to him, both of them bespattered with blood and the Parthian sporting a ragged bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. When did that happen? Caesar wondered with a frown, trying to recall if he had seen it happen or had been told by the Parthian and had just forgotten.

  "Caesar, what are your orders, sir?" the Parthian's tone arrested Caesar's attention, the tone of it causing him an even deeper twinge, recognizing in the words that it was as much a plea for hope and encouragement as it was a request for direction. I owe these men more than this, Caesar thought with real sadness. They have performed in a manner that would make any Roman proud, no matter where they came from.

  With this in mind, Caesar answered, "We continue to fight, gentlemen. That's all we can do right now. We show these barbarians that being Roman isn't just a matter of where one is born, but what one is made of. Because both of you fought like Romans today."

  To the horror and embarrassment of both men, their reaction was a welling of tears and lumps in the throat that rendered both men speechless, for they had never been praised in such a manner by Caesar until this moment. Finally, the Parthian nodded, then straightened and offered a perfect salute.

  Swallowing hard, he asked, "Where will my sword be of most use?"

  Caesar quickly surveyed the area, then pointed to a spot.

  "It looks like Valerius' Century could use some help."

  Caesar pointed to another spot, addressing the Pandyan, "And Amulius needs you there."

  The Pandyan offered the same salute, then dashed away, sword held high, ready to lend itself to this last phase of the fight. Sighing, Caesar watched the two younger men move into position, before drawing his own sword. Looking about, he saw another spot where there was only a single line of Legionaries, one of his men just then wrestling with a Wa who had managed to throw a leg over the barricade and was slashing at the Roman. Unlike the two younger men, Caesar had neither the energy nor the inclination to run at this point. No, he would walk to his death with the same disdain for it he had always had.

  He began moving in that direction, but had to pick his way carefully among the detritus of battle, as well as taking care not to step on a wounded man. When he got to within a few paces of his destination, something happened that he was sure was a figment of his imagination, and while he faltered for a moment, he immediately resumed his progress. But before he could take more than another couple of steps, not only did it happen again, it was also accompanied by a shout from some of the men behind him. This had been happening all day and wasn't unusual, since it typically signaled some sort of trouble, but there was something decidedly different in these shouts. It was an alarm, but it sounded.....joyful? Caesar whirled around, and this time he recognized that it wasn't his imagination, as a cornu blasted a series of notes a third time. And that series of notes was used to send the Legions of Rome into battle!

  In the northern camp, Pullus and his men didn't have the luxury of falling back to a barricade of any kind, a fact that Pullus now realized was his single greatest mistake of this entire day, a day filled with them. However, armed with that knowledge, his men were giving ground even more stubbornly than Caesar’s had, so that there were still more than a hundred paces of space left between the ragged and thin rear ranks of the Roman lines and the beginning of the forum. As they continued falling back, the Wa had continuously tried to extend their own lines farther in either direction in an attempt to turn the flanks of Pullus' men. This had forced Pullus and Balbinus—who still lived and was directing the left flank of the withdrawal—to take men and send them to the edges to meet this new threat. The result was that the Roman formation was slowly bending into a semicircle, where the ends crept more closely together. Further complicating matters was the frustration the two Primi Pili felt at the sight of the reserve Cohorts that were now spread along the southern wall. In their overwhelming desire to crush the invading barbarians, by extending their own lines in an attempt to flank them, the original Wa force had turned their backs to these reserve Cohorts. Unfortunately, Tetarfenus and the Cohorts on the southern wall were obviously too heavily engaged to allow for any detachment of one or more of their Centuries to fall on the rear of the Wa.

  Pullus could see that whoever was commanding the force assaulting his position at least recognized this as a possibility, because there was a small force of Wa standing at the ready facing the reserve Cohorts. And Tetarfenus was clearly aware, because the men in the rear ranks of his force were doing the same, as these two small groups kept a wary eye on each other. While Pullus was happy that at least some of these bastards were diverted to this task, he didn't think that the reduction in numbers of men assailing his woefully thin wall of shields and flesh was going to make much difference. Still, Pullus was gratified to see the same thing that Caesar had, that these Wa were finally showing some signs of tiring. And despite the fact that the men from each Century were now ho
pelessly entangled, the cohesion of the overall formation was still holding, and they were still giving ground only after inflicting considerable damage on these yellow-skinned savages.

  Shaking himself back to the moment, Pullus blew a blast of his whistle, seeing that the men of the front line were almost collapsing from exhaustion. Along the line under his command, each Legionary dealt a savage thrust with his shield to knock whatever man was opposing him back a step, before moving quickly aside to let the man behind him take his place. Some men chose to use their swords, instead of their shields, something that Pullus normally disapproved of doing, because it robbed his men of the chance to follow up with a thrust, if the blow from the shield sufficiently staggered the opponent. At this moment, all he cared about was that it gave his men the chance to exchange places, especially now that the Wa had figured out the rhythm and pacing used by the Legions of Rome. They had learned quickly, and observing their damnable agility, Pullus had seen a number of his men fall victim to a sudden thrust or slash of a Wa who had leaped aside or backward to dodge the thrusting impact of the shield. Thankfully, his men had seen this countermove and had also adjusted, so now the Wa, when they heard the whistle blast, couldn't be sure if they would have to dodge a shield or block a sword. This time the change went smoothly, without losing a man, for which Pullus was thankful. But like Caesar, he knew that he was buying his men little more than a third or two of a watch of life and nothing more. And like his general, the idea of doing anything less never entered his mind. Titus Pullus and the men of the 10th, or at least those that remained, would never quit fighting, not until they were all dead. The idea that help would arrive was now as far from his mind as the idea of surrender. If it hadn't happened by now, it wasn't going to happen, so there was no need dwelling on it. Now all there was to do was to die well, in a manner that would make Rome proud.

  Gaius Porcinus took a breath, pausing just long enough to use his neckerchief to mop his face and clear his eyes from the stinging sweat. His head still throbbed abominably, and he found it hard to concentrate, but somehow he forced himself to continue directing his Century in the fight. While there were a number of spots at which the Wa had managed to get one or two men onto the parapet, where the fighting had the fury and frantic pace that had been present during the beginning of the first Wa assault, Porcinus' Century had managed to keep the Wa from gaining a toehold anywhere along their sector. It hadn't been without cost: Porcinus' latest count had been more than a dozen men down, although he couldn't have said who was dead and who was wounded. All that mattered at this moment was that they and their swords were missing. His Optio Oesalces was still at his spot on the opposite side of the line, his sword bloodied to the hilt and suffering a gruesome slashing wound to his cheek that had cut so deep that the flap of skin was hanging down, exposing his gums through the blood and gore. Regardless of his wound, he was cutting down any barbarian who tried to scramble up the ladder placed against the wall before him.

  The Wa had altered their tactics somewhat, trying to coordinate between their archers and warriors. Archers would launch as many arrows as they could, as the warriors began mounting the ladders, only stopping when the leading man's head was no more than a couple of feet below the parapet, forcing the Romans to stay behind their shields and robbing them of the ability to see how close the men on the ladders were. The instant the barrage stopped, the first Wa would scramble to close the remaining distance, most of them choosing to try to leap high above the parapet and land cleanly on the other side of the palisade stakes. As far as Porcinus could tell, this tactic was unsuccessful as often as it worked, but since the beginning of the attack, the barbarians had managed either to make or bring more ladders, so that the tactic almost didn't matter. All along the wall the enemy was popping up, some of them seeming to levitate in the air, before landing on the dirt parapet. But that wasn't a concern for Porcinus, as long as it didn't happen in his sector, and so far it hadn't.

  Farther down the wall, however, it was another story. Pilus Prior Tetarfenus was at that moment furiously engaged with two Wa standing side by side, backs pressed against the stakes, both of them armed with swords that alternately flickered out like the tongues of a two-headed serpent, one after the other, keeping Tetarfenus and the man next to him, one of the newest Gayan recruits, at bay. For the moment, it was a stalemate; the Wa couldn't push away from the stakes to make room for any more of their comrades, but neither could Tetarfenus or his Legionary penetrate the defenses of their adversaries. Even as he was furiously thrusting and slashing at the barbarian across from him, a part of Tetarfenus was forced to admire, albeit grudgingly, the enormous skill of this yellow bastard who, without a shield, was blocking every attempt by the Pilus Prior to kill him. The best Tetarfenus had done was score a partially deflected slashing cut, high up on the Wa's arm, just below the edge of his lamellar armor. Then, the Gayan, either through fatigue or carelessness, just after making a training manual-perfect punching thrust with his shield, returned to what the Romans called the first position. Except instead of the shield’s being perfectly vertical, the bottom was tilted inward just a bit. Not much, but the Wa instantly saw it and took advantage. He launched a feint, seemingly aiming a low thrust at the Gayan's legs, and the young Legionary responded by dropping his shield. If his shield had been in a true first position and held vertically, it was doubtful that what happened next would have worked, but because of the outward tilt at the top, this created more of a gap than it normally would have. So, it was into this gap that the Wa, with a quickness that Tetarfenus was just now coming to understand and appreciate was a characteristic of all these warriors, made an overhand thrust that plunged directly into the left eye of the Gayan, dropping him like a stone.

  Before Tetarfenus could react, the Wa, his blade still dripping the blood and brain matter from the Legionary, made an overhand slash to his left, catching the Centurion across the jaw. Fortunately for Tetarfenus, the barbarian was at the outer limit of his reach, so that it was just the tip of the sword that struck Tetarfenus. Even so, the blow had enough force not only to slice through the flesh, but also to shatter his jawbone. Tetarfenus let out a shriek of agony, reeling backward into the shield of one his men, ironically enough saving his life, as the second Wa, on seeing what happened, followed up with a vicious, disemboweling thrust of his own that hit nothing but air. In the ensuing tangle of bodies, shields, and swords on the part of the Romans, the two Wa took advantage of the confusion and stepped forward, blades flashing in front of them as they made room for more of their own comrades. In no more than the space of a couple of normal heartbeats, they were joined by two more warriors, and what had been a minor toehold now became the most dangerous incursion of the southern wall.

  "Tetarfenus is down!"

  Porcinus heard the shout even from his spot further down the wall, but at the moment he was too busy to give it more than a passing thought. Besides, there was nothing he could do about it, and surely the Pilus Posterior of the Eighth would step in, if he was still alive. If not, then it would have to be the Princeps Prior. Either way, he had his own problems, as a Wa had managed to get over the wall and was quickly being joined by a comrade of his own. This was also occurring farther down the line at one of the new ladders that had been placed between the two covered by his Century. Unfortunately, because of the rotations he had already ordered, the Legionaries facing these two Wa were men from the last section of the last Century of the Tenth Cohort. And while Caesar had done what he could to abolish the practice, it had been a tradition for longer than any Roman had been alive that the most inexperienced men were in the Tenth Cohort, and of the Tenth, invariably the most inept were moved to the rear of the formation, in the last two sections of men. In the case of Porcinus' Century, these last two sections were almost exclusively composed of the newest Gayan recruits, who, because they were in the Tenth had seen less action than every other man in the Legion. That was who faced the Wa at that moment, and Porcinus could only
watch helplessly as his men across from the barbarians flailed away with their swords, completely forgetting to use their shields in the manner in which they had been trained. Before he could make a move to push his way to their side, he saw the flash of silvery gray as one of the Wa struck; and even over the shouting and noise, Porcinus could hear the distinctive sound of a blade solidly striking flesh. The stricken Gayan staggered backward, making a gurgling sound that told Porcinus that the wound was mortal. Just like with Tetarfenus, there was a flurry of movement as the Gayan's dead body fell backward onto the comrade who had been holding his harness, creating a gap that the Wa took immediate advantage of, his blade still flashing in a blur of motion even the most experienced Legionary would have been hard-pressed to defend. Porcinus saw another of his men fall, but this time the Legionary went to his knees, clutching his throat as blood geysered between his fingers. It was because of this event that only one more Wa managed to join his comrade, before the two dead Legionaries were jerked unceremoniously out of the way in order to allow the men behind them to step forward. Porcinus had started to wedge his body between the files of men to make his way to the trouble spot, when a shouted warning made him turn just in time to see the man he had been standing next to drop his shield, an arrow shot by an opportunistic archer protruding from his chest, as he stared down at it with a puzzled expression, just before falling backward. Even as his mind registered this, the head and torso of another barbarian appeared as the Wa leapt over the palisade to land on the rampart. Porcinus was forced to reverse his course— vainly trying to step over his fallen comrade—and head directly for the Wa, who was slashing at the Legionary facing him.