by Peake, R. W.
"Follow me," the Wa bellowed, waving his own sword in the direction of the grubworm general.
Swarming behind him, the other Wa cut down the confused Legionaries, moving with great speed, all of them heading in a rough wedge for Caesar, his bodyguards and those generals of Caesar who were accompanying him: Hirtius, Pollio and Ventidius. Behind the charging Wa, the Centurions of the Fourth Cohort were frantically trying to get their men reorganized so that they could pursue the barbarians and fall onto them from the rear. The Wa leader hadn't thought to alert some of his men to be aware of this likelihood, mainly because he understood that he would need every sword he had at his disposal to achieve their goal of killing the grubworm general. Even if only one of them was left, this was all that would be needed to bury a blade into the chest of that arrogant grubworm, who even then was drawing his own sword, as he pointed the long-hair smelly beasts around him in their direction, shouting in his gibberish. The Third Cohort, with a bit more warning, had been able to get themselves in position to offer more resistance to the charging Wa, but the impetus of the charge and the already diminished numbers of the Third—now at barely a third of its original strength—meant that they only partially slowed the Wa. Caesar's German bodyguards, arranged in a single line abreast were pushing their way through the men of the Second Cohort, heading on a collision course with the running mass of men, waving their swords above their heads as they shouted at the top of their lungs. The two forces came crashing together, and despite the disparity in numbers, the Germans were aided by the sheer bulk of their horses that sent men flying backward. Not all of them, however; just by sheer numbers, there were Wa who managed to avoid being struck by a horse, and these men went darting through the inevitable gaps between mounts that resulted when the two forces met. Although the mounted Germans did their best to maintain a tight formation, it was a practical impossibility to ensure that the rider's thighs were touching together as they were supposed to be. Aiding the Wa was their smaller size, enabling several of the leading attackers to dodge the blades of the Germans as they chopped down in a futile attempt to stop them. Still at the head of his small group, the leader kept his attention fixed on the grubworm general, who was now within a hundred paces. For a brief instant, the way was clear, with nothing between the Wa and the mounted barbarian, and he felt a fierce exultation, sure that it would be his blade who would strike the arrogant grubworm down. Behind him he heard the clashing sound of metal on metal, as more of his men joined battle with the mounted Germans. Once numbering more than 500 men, over the years and fighting, they had been whittled down to fewer than 10 percent of their original numbers, and now they were being assailed from all sides by the Wa nobles. Some of the Wa, displaying the same reckless disregard that had been a feature of the assault, threw themselves bodily at a German, using their bodies as weapons and sweeping the surprised bodyguards from their horses. In this way, more than a dozen saddles were emptied and the now riderless horses—startled by something they had never experienced before—began plunging and kicking, lashing out with hooves that didn't discriminate between friend or foe. This only added to the chaos, as the other Germans were forced to contend with the attacking Wa, the riderless horses, as well as their own mounts. It was the most confused, chaotic fight any of them had ever been in and it further helped the Wa cause, as even more warriors came flooding through the ever-thinning line of Germans. In the span of just a handful of heartbeats, the remaining Germans had been annihilated, leaving nothing but open ground between Caesar and the onrushing Wa.
What Titus Pullus was doing could only charitably be called a run, more of a half-trot, half-stumble, but to Pullus it felt as if he was at a full sprint and was as fast as he could go. The pain he felt with each step was so overwhelming that he was sure he would faint, but somehow he managed to push himself on, focusing on the maelstrom of fighting just ahead. Over the heads of the woefully thin line that was the Second Cohort, Pullus could see that the mounted force protecting Caesar was already down to no more than 20 men, all of whom were furiously engaged with the barbarian warriors that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, flowing around each German like water. Horses were rearing in panic, exposing their bellies to the slashing Wa blades, and the almost human screams of animals in mortal pain punctuated the crashing noise of the fighting. Just as Pullus reached the rear ranks of the Second, they launched themselves into the melee, but between their reduced numbers and the confusion, their presence didn't do much to stem the charge of the Wa. It did allow Pullus to stop and catch his breath, however, but from his vantage point, he didn't think that his Second had even slowed the Wa down. Very quickly, the sheer ferocity of the barbarian assault blunted the reinforcing Cohorts and pushed the flanks backward towards each other, with Caesar and his rapidly dwindling bodyguard roughly in the middle. Even with the lack of numbers, each man in the group of disgraced nobles accounted for multiple casualties among the Romans. Still, Pullus could see that as his Centurions reasserted control, despite the mayhem and confusion this attack was close to spending itself, and while they had come close, Caesar was in little danger of being surrounded himself. Carefully turning about, Pullus raised his right arm and moved it in the circular fashion that was the signal for the men of his Century to attend to him, then clenched his fist, the further signal that this command was intended for the entire Cohort. Immediately, the Legionaries began trotting in his direction, shields raised and javelins at the ready.
"Well?" he demanded, and he almost sounded like the normal Primus Pilus. "What are you moving like a bunch of women for? Let's finish these bastards off!"
Without waiting for the roaring response, Pullus resumed moving in the direction of the fighting, now that the rear ranks of the Second Cohort had closed to meet those barbarians who had managed to penetrate past the shattered lines of their comrades. Pullus had no intention of doing any fighting; he was sure that in his condition even the rawest of warriors could defeat him. He hoped that his presence would be enough, but try as he might, he couldn't completely banish the itch he felt in his sword hand, which he always got just before a fight. In fact, over the years he had learned to rely on this sign that trouble or danger was nearby, and he found it slightly puzzling that he was feeling it now, when in his mind he was set on his course of only directing the fight. To that end, he forced himself to concentrate on what was going on around him, as the men of his Cohort caught and passed him by, adding their own swords to the fray. Caesar was still mounted, and despite his bodyguards' best efforts he had pushed his way past them to take part in the fighting, his blade slashing first on one side then the other.
Titus watched his general in consternation, muttering under his breath, "What does he think he's doing, risking himself like that?"
"As if you wouldn't be doing the same thing. In fact, you are doing the same thing," Scribonius had appeared at Titus' side unnoticed.
"Shut up," was Pullus' only response, never taking his eyes off Caesar.
In fact, that was probably the cause of what was about to happen; under normal circumstances there was no way that another group of armed warriors could have gotten so close unobserved.
The Wa that had been left in command of the royal guard, along with the archers detached for his use, had positioned his men in the series of outbuildings located between the palace and the small park. His plan was to wait until the last possible moment before bursting out of hiding. While he didn't think it would happen, his ideal attack would take place after the grubworms didn't search the buildings, so intent on reaching the palace that they left them for a trailing force to clear. This would enable the Wa to fall onto these savages from the rear, but in his heart, the Wa didn't think that would happen. Unknown to him, he was in an almost identical position as was the leader of the group of disgraced nobles: peering out of a crack in the shuttered window of the building he and perhaps 30 of his men were occupying, watching the advancing grubworms. The tension had been steadily mounting, as the
leading edge of the barbarians reached the far edge of the park area, and it was only through tremendous effort that he held his nerve and didn't order his force to break from hiding. However, something completely unexpected happened. From the temple burst forth the disgraced nobles; the Wa recognized the leader immediately and only then understood that they hadn't gone slinking off, but were lying in wait, just like he and his own men. Watching in astonishment for a moment, it took a small span of time for the idea to form in the Wa's head, but once it came, he didn't hesitate. Standing up, he barked orders to the waiting men to follow him outside. Using the entrance on the opposite side, so that he and his men were still screened from view by the grubworms, he called to the other warriors, spread among the rest of the buildings. Once they emerged and had assembled in a rough semicircle around him, he quickly explained the change in the situation and what he intended to do about it.
"We will approach silently, at least until one of the grubworms notices us. Until that happens, we stay together, and nobody will begin their attack until I give the command. Is that understood?"
He glared fiercely about, but the royal guards were accustomed to obeying his orders, and the archers were unlikely to go against his wishes. Satisfied, he shouldered past his men and led them around the corner of the farthest building, heading across the park. As soon as the fighting came back into his view, he saw that the nobles had succeeded in total surprise, and the impetus of their headlong rush had pushed the grubworms—who were clearly in disarray—back almost into a complete circle. He also saw that more lines of the grubworms were making their way towards the fighting, but they weren't much better organized than those barbarians who had been the first to respond. Closing at a rapid walk, understanding that a group of men running was more likely to attract attention, the Wa took in the scene before him and instinctively understood the goal of the noble force. Even from where he was, more than 300 paces away at this point, he could see that his countrymen were clearly aiming to cut their way through all the grubworms on foot to reach the group that were mounted. Fifty paces later, he could see enough details that he noticed the differences among the mounted men, spotting the ones who were clean-shaven and how they seemed to be protected by other grubworms who not only had long hair, but hair all over their face, too, reminding the Wa of some of the apes native to the northern part of the island. He didn't need to be told that one of the clean-shaven savages was the leader of these abominable grubworms who had invaded his homeland. Still refusing to break out into a run, the Wa nevertheless quickened his pace to the point where he was as close to a trot as possible. His sword was drawn, but his attention was riveted on the mounted men, understanding that the only chance for victory was located with those clean-shaven grubworms, one in particular. The Wa was cautiously relieved to see that, as of that moment, none of the grubworm infantry had noticed him and his men approaching, but knowing it couldn't last much longer, his eyes scanned the scene, looking for a sign that would tip him as to the identity of the barbarian general. It was his countrymen who gave him the answer, when he saw some of them virtually ignore the other clean-shaven grubworms to focus on one man in particular. Once his eyes fastened onto Caesar, the Wa immediately understood that this was the leader of the barbarians, his very presence informing the Wa. It was the way he rode his horse; the way he wielded his sword as it slashed down at the Wa's countrymen around him with a disdainful ease, as if this were a task that barely took his attention. Even seated on his horse, the Wa could see that he was taller than most of the other grubworms, and his hair, what there was of it, shone like spun silver in the sunlight. This must be the leader of these savages, and without saying a word, he angled slightly from his original course, not bothering to look behind him. Although a solid ring of flesh and steel was even then beginning to form around their general, the Wa was counting on the same factors the disgraced noble used to penetrate as deeply as they had up to this point. This was their last and only hope of repelling the invaders, and the Wa was counting on this knowledge fueling his royal guard warriors to unleash the savagery that would be needed to cut this arrogant grubworm down. It wasn't until they were less than 200 paces away that the Wa saw some heads turn, as the rippling motion of several hundred legs churning in their direction caught the attention of some of the grubworm infantry. The Wa now saw faces, and while they were still too far away to hear them, the Wa could tell by the pointing and sudden rush of movement that his enemy's commanders were shouting orders to meet the new threat. But, he was sure they would be too late, as he raised his sword high in the air.
"For the Emperor! For our homeland! For our ancestors!"
With this shouted exhortation, the Wa broke into a run, hearing the roaring echoes of his call behind him, as his men followed him.
"Pluto's cock, where did these bastards come from?" Scribonius gasped, he being the first to spot the Wa royal guard.
Whipping his head about in response to his friend's warning, Titus Pullus couldn't stifle the grunt of pain that even this little movement caused him. On seeing the Wa just then breaking into a run, whatever discomfort he felt was forgotten, as in the span of no more than a handful of heartbeats, his eyes took in what he was seeing, and determined what it meant. Risking a quick glance back ahead of him, where Caesar, his generals, and bodyguard were in the middle of a terrifyingly small knot of his Legionaries, he performed the calculations enabled by years of experience. Even going to the dead run, he saw that if he led his men in a straight line to reach what was in essence Caesar's right flank, they wouldn't have time to shake out into even a semblance of a formation capable of stopping this sudden barbarian onslaught. The only chance for his men—and by extension for Caesar—was to turn at an angle that allowed them to intercept the Wa at the dead run. Even so, it would be desperately close and his men weren't at their best in this kind of haphazard, fast-paced kind of action; but there was no other choice.
Pointing his sword at a spot perhaps 50 paces to the right of where Caesar and the rest of his men were engaged with the disgraced nobles, Pullus shouted, "Cut those bastards off! For Caesar!"
And with the same lurching, unsteady stride, he tried to break out into a run, completely heedless of the shooting pain his sudden movement caused. Before he had taken a dozen steps, Scribonius and the leading ranks of the First Cohort went sweeping past him, as if he were standing still.
"Don't worry Primus Pilus, we'll stop these cunni", one of the men shouted over his shoulder.
Such was Pullus' combined fatigue and level of pain that he wasn't embarrassed he wasn't at the head of his troops as they went dashing forward. Instead, he contented himself by watching as the first of his men caught up to the barbarians, just a little less than 50 paces away from Caesar and the rest of Pullus' Legionaries. Even from where he was, he felt the impact of the collision, up through his boots and into his legs. And, as usually happened, the air immediately above the lines of men became filled with an odd assortment of equipment: helmets were the most common, but there were swords or the broken parts of those blades that snapped, fragments of shields—even an occasional severed limb—tumbling in the air, mute witness to the horrific force of the impact. Unfortunately, at least from Pullus' perspective, while the Roman counterattack blunted the force of the Wa charge, it didn't stop it, and even before the Primus Pilus reached the rear ranks of his men, he saw them taking steps backward in the direction of Caesar. Legionaries were desperately grasping the harness of the man in front of them, while they dug their heels into the dirt, but it wasn't enough to stop the ferocity of the barbarian charge. Then, just when Pullus was sure they had stabilized and at least stopped their backward movement, a flurry of streaking arrows came slashing down into the ranks of his men, originating from just behind the knot of Wa warriors. Above the noise of the fighting came shouts and cries of men struck, almost all of them in the ranks immediately behind the leading edge of Romans currently engaged with the Wa. Suddenly deprived of the weight of a
substantial number of men bracing them, as they fell to the ground writhing with pain, the shaft of a missile protruding from each of their bodies, the leading edge gave even more ground. Before Pullus' horrified gaze, he could only watch as his men were pushed so close to Caesar that the next volley of arrows hurtled down into the woefully thin line of the Legionaries still battling with the disgraced nobles.
It was a situation eerily similar to what Pullus had faced in the northern camp: an assault from two sides that threatened to collapse the two groups of Romans into one disorganized, confused mass. Taking this in, Pullus instinctively found himself moving, not in the direction of the men of his Cohort, but to a point nearer to where Caesar and the men of the other Cohorts were just then turning back the disgraced nobles. The Romans had withstood the worst of the original onslaught, but Pullus saw and understood that while it had been a close-run thing, the disgraced nobles' attack had reached its zenith. They were down to fewer than half their original numbers, and while they were still fighting furiously, the numbers had tipped back in the Romans' favor. At least, on their own they wouldn't be able to finish what they started, but with this new threat, the danger to Caesar wasn't over. Seeing this, Pullus kept moving towards what was at that moment an empty spot, but even before he reached it, there was a flurry of movement to his right. Glancing over, he could only watch with horror as three of the men in the rearmost rank came tumbling backward, pushed by a knot of perhaps a dozen barbarians who had managed to penetrate that deeply into the Roman formation.