Caesar Triumphant

by Peake, R. W.

  "Right on the other side of this hill, we'll be in view of the 10th's camp," Felix announced, glad that he at least had the chance to catch his breath, since he was the one talking. "And if I remember correctly, it's a little more than 3 stadia to the Porta Praetoria."

  He paused for a moment, but nobody said anything, every Centurion paying close attention to him.

  "We need to get into the camp the quickest way there is, and since we don't have ladders, and we didn't bring any hooks to pull the palisade down, we're going to have to go through the gates."

  Now a couple of the men exchanged glances, but Felix chose to ignore the dubious looks they were giving each other.

  "So I've decided that we're going to crest the hill, in a double column of Cohorts. My Cohort will be on the right, and I want the Sixth Cohort from the 14th on the left. This will give the Sixth a shorter line to the southern gate, while my Cohort heads for the eastern. Right behind me, I want the Eighth of my Legion, but I'll let you," Felix indicated one of the Centurions, a stocky, swarthy man with thick eyebrows and coarse black hair that made him look perpetually unshaved, "decide who follows the Sixth."

  His name was Aulus Frontinus, and although he nodded that he understood, he didn't look particularly happy about being given the ability to choose who would support his Cohort. Again, Felix ignored Frontinus' clear misgivings, as he continued to pass on his orders.

  "While the first two Cohorts are going through their gates, I want the next two Cohorts to head all the way to the northern gate. Ideally, I'd like to wait for them to get in place before we go, but I don't think we'll have the time. That is, I don't think the 10th and 12th have the time," he finished grimly. Looking about, he asked, "Are there any questions?"

  "Are we all going to be in this double column?"

  Felix thought a moment then shook his head.

  "No, I don't think it's as important for anyone but the first two Cohorts through each gate. The rest of you can follow us in single column. But remember, the next two Cohorts are going to the northern gate. Let's decide now who it will be."

  After a quick discussion, the identities of the next two Cohorts were determined, and all that was left was the disposition of the final two. Felix announced that one Cohort would follow the leading pair to the southern gate, the other to the eastern. Once that was decided, Felix dismissed the men to return to move into position.

  "I hope this works," he heard one of the Pili Priores mutter to another.

  "So do I," the other man replied, still moving away so that Felix could barely hear the last part. "Because if it doesn't we're all dead men, one way or the other."

  It seemed to take forever for Titus Pullus to make his way across the small remaining space behind the Legionaries still fighting, littered as it was with the detritus of the battle, including several bodies. Normally Pullus would have taken the time to say a brief prayer for his men who had fallen, but at that moment all of his attention and concentration was on meeting the barbarian that he implicitly understood was the Wa general. Whether he was the overall commander and the architect of this devastating attack on the army, or just the commander of this assault force Pullus had no way of knowing, nor did he particularly care. In that moment, all that concerned him was the challenge presented by this arrogant bastard, who even then was having his bodyguard clear a path toward the front, where the fighting was taking place. Just as Pullus had feared, the Wa general was clearly aiming at the spot where the 10th and 12th met, and before Pullus got to that spot, the first of the general's bodyguards threw themselves at the thin wall of Roman shields, three abreast and swords raised high above their heads. Pullus had noticed earlier the tendency for the barbarians to attack in this manner, and it had almost always proved fatal—to the attacker. It was a simple matter for the Legionary under assault to tilt his shield up and lift it slightly above his head as he launched an underhand thrust into the Wa's completely unprotected belly.

  This time, however, the three barbarians were clearly more skilled, because as Pullus watched, each warrior performed a different maneuver, but with the same result. The three Romans facing the Wa performed the exact tactic that Pullus had seen was so effective, except in every case the Romans ended up with their blades hitting nothing but air. Still, this wouldn't have alarmed Pullus, because he had noted with approval that they had all tilted and lifted their shields in anticipation for the sweeping, downward stroke that, even if it was blocked, would probably shatter their shields but still leave them untouched. However, one of the Wa's simply stopped dead in his tracks from his full run, a feat in itself that further demonstrated these warriors' extraordinary ability and reflexes. Predictably, the Legionary across from this man did what Pullus expected of him, launching a hard underhand thrust, the bloodied point tilted upward in a brutal arc aimed for the vitals of the Wa. But since the Wa wasn't there, for a fraction of time the Roman's arm was out in space, and even as Pullus' mind shouted a warning to his man, there was a flash of metal sweeping downward, as the Wa finished the stroke he had started with his upraised sword. Before Pullus, or the Legionary for that matter, could blink, the man's arm from just below the elbow down was lying on the ground as blood sprayed from the severed stump of the stricken Legionary's arm, the severed hand in the dirt now separated from his sword.

  While this was taking place, the second Wa, instead of stopping, made a hopping leap in the air, slightly spreading his legs so that the thrust from his opponent went harmlessly into the space between them. This Wa, as he was coming down, shot his free hand out with a speed that Pullus had witnessed only from the cobras that some of the men kept for sporting purposes, slapping the Roman's sword hand downward, and knocking the tip of the blade into the dirt. The instant his feet touched the ground, the Wa made an elegant, downward sweeping motion with his sword, while at the same time bringing the blade across his body, so that it was now on the right, unprotected side of the Legionary's body. With his sword buried in the dirt, there was no protection from the backhand cut that struck the doomed man in the middle of the neck, because he hadn't even had the time to hunch his shoulders to protect that most vital area. At about the same time as the first Legionary's arm was severed, the second Roman's head went spinning crazily into the air, the helmet flying off in one direction, as the head went in another, spraying blood and gore all over men on both sides.

  Taking all this in, Pullus' mind couldn't register the fate of the third man, although in the blur of motion and riot of noise, he was vaguely aware of a body clad in Roman armor going to its knees, right next to the headless corpse that was just tottering over to fall forward onto the ground. Then he was there, coming in from an angle into the fighting, shield up and sword held in the first position. Because the barbarians' attention was understandably focused on their immediate opponents, they were completely unprepared for the giant barbarian to come smashing into the Wa on the left, who was in the process of kicking the stricken Roman—who had just dropped his shield to clutch at his arm—out of the way. The terrific force generated by the weight and speed of Pullus sent the Wa, already off-balance, flying off his feet as if he had been hit at short range by a scorpion. Hitting the warrior at that angle, Pullus sent the first Wa careening, both legs a couple of feet off the ground, hard into the warrior to his right, just as he was stepping around the fallen, headless corpse of the second Legionary. In turn, although the Wa managed to stay upright, he still stumbled several feet to the side, hitting the third Wa, and was at that moment lifting his sword to finish his stricken opponent, who was on his knees, blood pouring down his face, blinding him from the slicing blow that had knocked his helmet off and almost scalped him. This jolt disrupted the aim of the third Wa enough that the blade, instead of cleaving the kneeling man's skull, instead went whistling harmlessly by to strike the ground next to the Roman.

  Pullus, since he was prepared for the impact, not only kept his feet, but recovered more quickly, so that he took a couple of shuffling steps
to close the gap between himself and his targets. Mindful that in doing so he was placing himself directly in the path of the barbarians that the general's bodyguard had shoved to the side, he pivoted slightly, so that he was facing their ranks, his sword lashing out in a sweeping arc that was designed more to keep any overeager warrior at bay than to strike a target. As he did this, he lifted his left arm high in the air, and risking a glance to the left to make sure he hit his target, brought his shield crashing down, using every bit of his strength, so that the metal edge struck the Wa he had knocked down and who was now on hands and knees, shaking his head, trying to clear it. The wooden shield—with its several layers of thin wood and glue, bolstered and reinforced by the strip of iron around the edge and the iron boss in the middle,—was a deadly weapon itself, and when brought down from the height that Pullus was capable of reaching, and with the huge amount of power the Primus Pilus could generate, the fate of the first Wa was sealed. Pullus' aim was off, however, because he had been aiming for the small gap between the enemy's helmet and armor, where the neck was exposed. Instead, the shield struck roughly in the middle of the back of the Wa's helmet, making a loud, ringing sound, much like striking a gong, except that it ended in a loud crack, as the helmet split into two parts. As the top half flew a foot away, Pullus was only vaguely aware that it contained the top of the warrior's skull and a good portion of his brains with it, as the dead man's limbs suddenly went limp, and he collapsed face first onto the ground, where a pool of blood began quickly forming.

  Instead, his attention was torn between his next target, the second Wa who was also trying to regain his balance, and the fact that he had generated such force with his blow that his shield shattered into too many pieces to count, leaving him with just the handle, and a ragged remnant of the center, with the boss still affixed. He didn't have the time to either worry about it or to grab a shield from one of the fallen men, because at that moment a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn back to face the rest of the Wa, just in time to see the barbarian general roughly pushing aside the remaining men of his bodyguard. As he did so, he snapped some sort of order in a low, guttural voice that to Pullus sounded very much like the growl of a dog. Nevertheless, he was clearly understood by his men, because in ragged unison they took a step backward, swords still up at what Pullus had determined was the equivalent of their first position, the swords held with two hands out in front of them. Moving quickly, Pullus dropped his ruined shield to pick up a new one from one of his men who no longer needed it. Now there was a slight pocket of space, as men were still fighting around Pullus and the Wa general. Despite not understanding the words, Pullus, and the rest of his men within earshot, clearly understood the Wa’s intent: this barbarian was claiming their Primus Pilus for himself.

  "Gut that cunnus Primus Pilus," a man shouted. "Do it for Vellusius!"

  Oh, how Pullus wished that whoever called out that name had picked another, because at the moment when he needed all of his concentration, hearing the name of one of the two remaining occupants of the first tent section Titus Pullus belonged to, and knowing what it meant, caused in him a shudder of grief at the worst possible time. Vellusius? Dead? Pullus' mind reeled at the thought, just as the Wa general, displaying the speed and ferocity of all of his warriors, launched his attack.

  Just moments after Caesar heard the three blasts of the cornu, he and his remaining men were rewarded by the sight of Legionaries streaming through the three gates, where they quickly formed up into their Century formations. Although the original plan that Statius had sketched out was to wait long enough for at least three Centuries from each of the lead Cohorts to form up and align side by side, before starting the attack, the sight of their comrades in such extremis, surrounded by what were still a few thousand barbarian warriors, quickly dispelled his best intentions. In fact, it was Statius himself who, completely forgetting his own plan, immediately led his own Century headlong into the seething mass of Wa, those in the rearmost ranks just beginning to understand the new threat and turning to face it. In the section of the Wa lines Statius had chosen, most of the warriors didn't manage to pivot, so they were either turned obliquely or still had their backs turned when the Centurion and his men slammed into their midst. Within the space of a few heartbeats, almost a dozen Wa had fallen or had been pushed backward into their comrades, who were just becoming aware of the danger. Jammed together as they were, lending their weight by leaning against the men in front of them, who were doing the same in turn, all the way up to the edge of the makeshift parapet, the Wa of the rear ranks were hampered by the man on either side, as they attempted to spin about and face the newly arrived Romans.

  Statius and his men took full advantage, and very quickly, Statius' sword was wet almost to the hilt, just like the swords of most of his men. Bashing with their shields or punching the points of their swords up and out in short, gutting stabs, Statius and his men punched a huge hole in the ranks of those Wa nearest to the eastern gate, where the Romans had entered. Even as they did so, Statius heard another roar, the same cry of "Caesar Triumphant," as the men of the Second Century—or what he assumed was the Second—got organized and threw themselves into the battle. Out of the corner of his eye, Statius got a glimpse of a row of Roman helmets, slightly behind him and to his right, the sign that whoever it was had started their own attack and were now engaged. That was the only attention he could pay to the overall situation, before he was occupied by a sudden spear thrust from one of the yellow-faced warriors across from him, the man's face contorted in a mask of fear and rage as he whipped the teardrop-shaped blade upward in answer to Statius' first parry. The move surprised Statius, and he barely avoided having the edge slice upward into his lower jaw by leaning over backwards, but he still felt the disturbed wind on his cheek as the blade slashed by in a blur. Just then, the Legionary to Statius' right sidestepped a half-step to the right, aiming his own blade at the spear-wielding Wa, who was in the process of recovering the weapon in preparation to strike again. Now it was the barbarian's turn to twist desperately to the side, but over the other noises, Statius heard the man give a shout of pain as the other Roman's blade sliced through the leather lamellar armor along the Wa's ribs. In the instant it took for the Wa to withdraw, Statius could see a long red line marking where his man had scored, and it was this small gap that he aimed for in his own attack. More out of desperation than anything else, the Wa whipped his spear around in a sweeping blow that caught Statius by surprise. Even in mid-lunge, he violently twisted his torso to avoid the slashing spearhead, but he was only partially successful. Almost simultaneously, the point of Statius' sword punched into and through the ribs of the Wa, as the edge of the barbarian's spear sliced diagonally downward, starting at a spot just below Statius' left eye. Statius' head snapped back from the impact—which ironically enough saved his life, although the blade ripped through his cheek, smashed out his front teeth, and cleaved his lower jaw in two. Staggering to the side from the blow, Statius' plight was worsened by the fact that because of the awkward angle caused by his attempt to avoid the Wa's spear, he had violated the primary rule of a thrust to the ribs: keeping the blade parallel to the ground, instead of perpendicular, like his sword now was, buried in the chest cavity of the Wa. When the barbarian collapsed, the blade was lodged firmly in the man's ribs, caught in the cartilage as if it were in a vise, and Statius felt the sword ripped from his grasp, even as he himself continued falling to the ground, a gout of blood and bits of teeth preceding him. Although he was still conscious, he suddenly no longer seemed connected to what had been taking place just a heartbeat before, as if it was no longer important. The sounds were still there, ringing in his ears, and he heard someone shout his name once, then twice, but his mouth couldn't form the answer to the call. Lying partially facedown, he saw a pool of blood slowly form around his ruined mouth, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. All around him he could see feet, some of them clad in the Roman caligae, oth
ers wearing what appeared to be some sort of sandal but with a leather strap protruding from between the toes, which Statius found strange. They were dancing about, kicking up dirt, some of which flew into his face, further clouding his vision, but he had the presence of mind to know that the only reason he hadn't felt the thrust of a blade between his shoulder blades was that he hadn't moved and the barbarians thought him dead. Consequently, he forced himself to refrain from reaching up to wipe the dirt from his face and eyes, or to check his injuries, which he knew were serious. Only after his men pushed these bastards back would it be safe to move, so until that moment came, Statius resigned himself to lying still and suffering in silence, as the fighting continued to rage around him. He was out of the fight now, and it was up to the rest of the men of these four Cohorts to save Caesar; so as he lay there, he offered up prayers to every god he could think of to make it so.