Caesar Triumphant

by Peake, R. W.

  Opening his eyes, Pullus gave a slight shake of his head, then said loudly, "I don't know why everyone's standing around, we've got work to do."

  Then he turned to Scribonius and muttered quietly, "You sound the advance. If I have to yell right now I'll faint dead away."

  Hesitating, Scribonius nodded, then did as Pullus asked, and the 10th, or what was left of it, made its entrance into the enemy capital.

  "We wait until we see the grubworm's general," the man who had been appointed leader of the disgraced nobles told the men with him. Turning to two others, he asked for what they were sure was the hundredth time, "You're sure you know what he looks like?"

  Even if either man was disposed to point out they had supplied this information more than a dozen times, the tension of the moment dispelled any impulse to do so.

  "Yes," one of them replied, "and you will know him when you see him, if only because he will be surrounded by grubworms that do not look like any of the others. They have very long hair and beards, and you can smell them before you ever see them."

  "How many of them are there?"

  The leader turned cold eyes on the man who asked the question.

  "What does it matter how many there are?" he sneered. "We know what we must do, so it could be a hundred or a thousand, it would not matter."

  Glaring at the gathered men, he dared anyone to speak, but was unsurprised when none did. The group, just shy of 300 men strong, had remained hidden when the royal guard commander gathered his men to set the ambush, and they had been alerted by the shouted alarms of the officials that the grubworms were attacking the capital. Now they were waiting for the moment they had been planning for, in a way to retrieve the honor they had lost because they hadn't died with the rest of the Wa army in the battle. In much the same way that the royal guard commander had arrived at his conclusion, their reasoning was simple. Having experienced firsthand the might and power of the grubworm army, their only hope was to cut off the head of the beast that even now was entering their capital. To strengthen their resolve, they had made a solemn vow that they would either succeed, or they would die in the attempt. From their viewpoint, they were already dead, for all intents and purposes, and had brought shame to their respective families and clans. The only way to retrieve their honor, as far as they were concerned, was with this last-ditch attempt, but now that the moment was at hand, the smell of fear sweat hung rank in the air of the enclosed space as they waited. For their hiding place they had selected a temple that was the central feature of a small park to the south of the imperial residence. Normally, this temple, and the park itself were restricted to only imperial staff and the emperor himself, but these weren't normal times, and because the only protection offered from an advancing army was the presence of the few trees that had been allowed to grace the grounds and a border of low shrubbery around the boundary, it was completely deserted. However, it lay directly in the path of the army if, that is, the grubworms headed to the imperial residence took the shortest route.

  The group of men were crouching, and although the temple was large by Wa standards, it was never designed to accommodate that many men, and they were all jammed together shoulder to shoulder, as their leader watched through one of the low windows facing the imperial palace. If he was right, the grubworm general would come into his vision from the right, heading across the small park to the line of buildings that marked the outer residences of the imperial residence. These buildings, while made in the same manner and style as the other structures, were of clearly better construction and materials, marking them as different from the neighborhoods ringing the imperial grounds. Beyond the first line of buildings was another, much smaller park for the private use of the emperor that was completely enclosed by buildings. Nobody other than the palace staff had even seen it, but it was rumored that there was a spring bubbling up from the ground. On the far side, directly opposite the first line of buildings, was the residence itself, and while to the Wa it was a truly impressive structure that was massively huge, to Roman eyes it was at best the size and grandeur of a villa belonging to a modestly wealthy merchant. One feature of the building style of the Wa that had struck Caesar and the rest of the Romans was that instead of building upward, they built outward. There were no multi-story buildings on the islands, and the imperial residence was no exception. Where it did differ, however, was in the height of its single story, and in the amount of space the dwelling occupied. Because it was several feet taller than the surrounding buildings, and those trees that had been allowed to grow within the imperial compound were carefully trimmed so that their height didn't exceed that of the residence, the building was plainly visible from any direction. The leader of the disgraced nobles was sure that as barbaric as these grubworms were, they were intelligent enough to understand the significance of this, and he kept his gaze fixed at the point he believed would give him the first glimpse of the enemy. He could hear the blaring of horns and recognized from the earlier battle that these belonged to the barbarians. After an interminable amount of time, with the tension growing with every breath, the leader caught movement at the very edge of his vision through the window.

  A moment later, the leading rank of the grubworm army appeared, a long line of pale but terrifying creatures, dressed in a style of armor and carrying shields that, while he had heard they were carried by the barbarians of the mainland, he had never seen before. Even stranger and more unsettling was that as more and more ranks came into sight, they were all marching in unison. This was something else that was completely unknown to the Wa, who still thought of their army, or any army for that matter, as simply a collection of individual warriors who were united in a common cause. That, however, was as far as their unity went; the type of unit drilling that was such a fundamental part of the Roman army was unheard of, even on the mainland. For the space of several moments, the leader could only stare as the first line of the 14th Legion marched by, the left flank of their formation passing no more than 200 paces away from the temple. A small group of grubworms suddenly broke from the formation, trotting out to arrange in a line directly facing the temple, forcing the leader to duck his head below the window. Deprived of any chance at being alerted, in case this group of the enemy approached the temple, the leader whispered to the others to prepare themselves, causing a rush of whispering he was certain would be heard. He gave a fierce, hissed warning, and only then did the noise subside, as he watched and waited, heart pounding so loudly that he could barely hear the sounds of tramping feet. Risking a peek, his relief was palpable as he saw that the group of grubworms were still in their original spot; and even as he watched, they suddenly turned and went running after the leading ranks of the enemy, rejoining the formation. His relief was short-lived, however; before he lowered his head again, he saw that another group of grubworms—this one from the second line—came running to replace the first. Rather than risk discovery, he dropped back down, repeating the prayer to his gods that these men be content to stand there, just like the first group. After a period of time that strained the leader's patience, he slowly raised his head so that just his eyes were above the bottom of the window, and only then did he understand that the enemy was merely taking a precaution. While he watched, a group from the third line exchanged places with the men facing the temple, telling him that this had to be a standard way these barbarians did things. Then, the third line of the enemy went marching by, the sound of their feet stamping the earth, creating a rhythmic sense of foreboding in him that took a great force of will to suppress. No matter how much he tried to shove it down, the thought that kept forcing its way into his mind was that any army that worked with such precision couldn't be of this world.

  The first three lines of men continued heading towards the imperial residence, and there was a brief pause, where nobody and nothing appeared in the leader's range of vision. Alternating his gaze between the backs of the marching enemy and the spot where any new forces would appear, he had the thought that th
is would be a good time to strike, when the grubworms had their backs to him and his men. Just when he began to think that he had seen the entirety of the force invading his capital, another line of barbarians appeared, but he instantly saw that there was something different about this group. The most obvious thing was how much smaller it was compared to the first two, looking about half the size in number. This difference puzzled him, because up to that point, the enemy army had been remarkably uniform. Not only had they all been in step, but their ranks had been almost exactly the same width, with the same number of men. Now came these grubworms, and while they were marching in step, they looked decidedly more puny in numbers. The other oddity was that, at the far end of the line, were two of the grubworms who wore distinctively different helmets, with the feathers arranged from ear to ear, unlike the plumes of the regular barbarians. From what the leader had seen, such men wearing such helmets marched by themselves, not side by side, and the sight of two such creatures together made him wonder about the meaning. But even more astonishing was the size of one of them. Although the other grubworm was almost as tall, even from the temple the leader could see that one of them was much, much broader through the chest and shoulders. Fixing his attention on this one grubworm, the leader also noticed that he didn't seem to be quite right; there was something in the way he carried himself that seemed odd to him, as if there was something wrong.

  Dimly aware that the sight of this second group of men, organized in the same way as the first, even if they were smaller in number, was significant, the leader's thought process was that the grubworms must be organized by clans, like the Wa, meaning that the first group he had seen had to be one clan, followed by another. However, he had never seen any clan group that could field that many warriors, and this thought gave him great pause. He didn't know how many clans the grubworms had, but if each one could field so many warriors, was it even possible to defeat them? As daunting as the sight was, he also recognized that the only hope his people had of defeating these pale creatures was to remove their leader, meaning that he and the others crammed inside the temple were the only hope of their people. This idea filled him with a resolve that, up to this moment, had been missing, and he took a deep breath before resuming his vigil. He was greeted by the sight of the leading ranks of the first group coming to a halt, a couple of hundred paces short of the line of buildings between his position and the palace. They were undoubtedly preparing to attack the buildings, and for a brief moment the leader of this group wondered where The Chosen Ones were, hoping that they were between the grubworms and the imperial residence. The day before, he had overheard some of the palace officials discussing the removal of the emperor, and he was sure that by this time they had carried out the plan and that the emperor was somewhere safe. To think otherwise was so horrific that he found his mind couldn't even touch on that idea. And even if the emperor was safe, that didn't remove the burden he and the other disgraced nobles carried to retrieve their honor. If, at the same time, they could end the threat to their islands, to their emperor, to their very existence, the glory would be even greater, and who could truly ask for more? Therefore, even as the unwelcome thoughts assailed him, he clung to the hope that victory could still be attained and he returned his attention back to the second group. So absorbed was he in his examination of this large grubworm that he almost missed the presence of a group of men on horseback who went trotting past the first line. Reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the giant, he cast a quick glance at the mounted men, more out of habit than anything else, and was turning his attention back to the line of grubworms when he suddenly snapped his head back to examine the horsemen more closely. There were perhaps a dozen of them, and they all looked very much alike, almost indistinguishable from each other to the Wa. Except for one man, a tall, slim man who, in marked contrast to the other horsemen, was clean-shaven. It took a moment for the significance to dawn on the leader, but then his body stiffened as he recognized that there in front of him was the grubworm general!

  With the 14th aligned and waiting to enter the cluster of buildings and the 10th moving into a supporting position, Caesar decided it was time to enter the capital himself with his staff and bodyguard. Jumping his horse over the unfinished ditch he, like the men who had preceded him into the capital, was jarred by the seemingly deserted and peaceful atmosphere. However, despite the capital’s giving every appearance that the city was completely undefended, he was sure that the barbarians were there somewhere, waiting for the right moment to strike. Nothing that he and his army had experienced to this point in the campaign gave him any confidence they weren't there somewhere, and when they struck, it would be with the same ferocity and single-mindedness they had exhibited before. Although he was confident that both of the Legions that had entered first, the 14th moving north and the 30th moving to the west, had thoroughly swept the areas they had passed through, he was equally convinced that an assault was coming. Riding through the ranks of the 12th Legion, which had just entered the capital themselves, Caesar acknowledged the men cheering him, calling out to some of the rankers he recognized, sharing a quick exchange that exemplified his gift for connecting with his Legions. Reaching the third line of the 10th, Caesar repeated the same scene, until he reached the leading rank of the first line, only slowing down from the trot when he reached the eagle standard of the Legion.

  Looking down at the sight of his Primus Pilus, face pale and drawn from the effort he was making to lead his men, Caesar's tone was a combination of concern and exasperation as he asked, "Well Pullus? Haven't you made your point yet? I think it's time for you to go back to the wagon."

  "What, and miss this?" Pullus' grin was genuine, but it was also twisted from pain. "There's no place I'd rather be, Caesar. Especially not in that bouncing death trap. Now that I'm out in the fresh air walking about, I feel a lot better than if I was stuck in there."

  Instead of answering Pullus, Caesar looked over at Scribonius with a raised eyebrow, but the other Centurion merely gave a shrug and slight shake of his head in reply. Receiving and understanding the message Scribonius was sending, Caesar gave a resigned sigh.

  "Well," he echoed a theme that had been oft-repeated that day, "I hope you know what you're doing. Now, if you'll excuse me....."

  Caesar got no farther than that, interrupted by a sudden roar of men's voices coming from the left. Caesar, Pullus and Scribonius whirled about, but the Centurions' view was blocked by the bulk of their comrades in the ranks. Only Caesar, sitting higher up as he was, could see the cause of the sound, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the situation in the span of a few heartbeats.

  "It appears that we've found at least some of the barbarians," he told the two men who were looking up at him for an explanation. "And they're headed this way. Well," his tone was still conversational, "as I was about to say, if you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. It appears that they’re just in a different spot than I had planned." Spurring his horse, Caesar began heading in the direction of the attack, but he called over his shoulder, "Pullus, I expect you to stay put! Let your men handle this!"

  And with that, he was gone, his German bodyguard galloping behind him in a desperate attempt to catch up. From the moment the barbarians first appeared up to the present, the noise level had increased, as the cornicen of the Fourth Cohort, the unit closest to the temple and the onrushing threat, played the notes that told everyone the enemy was attacking. Added to this were the shouted orders of the Centurions of the Fourth as they attempted to get their men turned about to face this threat. Pullus' first action was to walk several steps away from the formation to get a better idea of what was happening, and Scribonius hurried after him, his own attention torn between his duty and concern for his friend. Although the dust raised by Caesar and his bodyguard partially obscured his vision, Pullus saw enough to assess matters, and he knew that his Legion was in trouble. The onrushing barbarians were simply moving too fast for the Fourth Cohort to change their orienta
tion to face in the right direction, although he could see that his Centurions were nevertheless trying desperately to do that very thing. Unfortunately, their actions actually made matters worse, because in the inevitable confusion of bodies and commands that was an unavoidable effect of changing their facing, the leading edge of the barbarians—all of whom Pullus could see were the dreaded sword-wielders—slammed into the Romans. Almost immediately, the scene of the fighting was obscured by dust, and the already noisy atmosphere became even louder, the air rent by the sounds of clashing metal and the short, sharp shrieks of men struck down. That was all the sign Pullus needed, and he began striding in the direction of the battle, following his general, as he had so often before.

  "Pluto's cock, are you out of your mind?" Scribonius gasped, so surprised was he that he stayed frozen in place.

  "They need me," was Pullus' only reply, but he didn't slow down.

  Stifling a curse, Scribonius snapped an order to the men of the First, who had already come to a halt.

  "Stay put until you hear the call, and keep your eyes open for more of these bastards."

  The leader of the disgraced nobles was the first to slam into the grubworms, who were scrambling about in surprise, trying to meet the attack, but he was followed immediately by more than a dozen of his swifter comrades. Within the space of a few heartbeats, he and his comrades had wetted their blades, and the sheer surprise and ferocity of their assault had pushed the closest group of grubworms backward into the second group, who was little better off in turning about to meet the onslaught. As gratifying as it was to at least partially avenge the deaths of so many comrades and friends, the leader of the Wa attack was acutely aware that their goal wasn't vengeance, but the killing of the grubworm general, so even as he slashed and hacked his way through the ranks of the barbarians, he kept his eyes on the mounted man, who was galloping in his direction. The smelly long-hairs had caught up with the general, drawing their swords as they thundered towards the Wa. Little did they know that this was exactly what he was hoping for, the leader thought, ducking a half-hearted jab from a hastily drawn sword. Although he didn't counterattack himself, one of the other nobles had reached his side and with a savage, sweeping blow caught the grubworm's arm before it could be withdrawn behind the safety of their shield, severing it at mid-elbow. And with that, he went sprinting after his friend.