Caesar Triumphant- Chapter 6 (Cont.)

"I really wish we had brought siege spears," Pilus Posterior Balbus called to his Primus Pilus, Titus Pullus, over the raging din created by the wave of Wa warriors throwing themselves at the earthen rampart of the fortified camp holding the 10th Legion.  "Me too," agreed Pullus, standing just behind a line of his men jabbing down at the clawing warriors trying desperately to reach up and drag the wooden palisade down, the first step toward breaching a Roman camp. "But hopefully Andros got through and Caesar will be here soon." "He better be," Balbus shouted grimly as he shoved a Legionary who had just taken a spear thrust through the shoulder from one of the teardrop-shaped weapons used by the Wa out of the way and grabbed his relief to throw him into the gap before it could be exploited.
All around the perimeter of the camp similar scenes were being played out, as the Wa, having brought with them bundles of sticks to throw into the ditch, were streaming across to tear at the earthen rampart. There was a steady roar of noise, punctuated by shouts and screams, the tenor and frequency telling Pullus' experienced ears that his camp was in mortal danger of being overrun. Taking a moment to step away from his own Century and Cohort, the Primus Pilus of Caesar's most famous and feared Legion paused to look around the entire perimeter of the camp, taking in the scene before him. Unlike the normal army camp, this one was much smaller since it had to protect just one Legion, and Pullus was thankful that he had been given enough time to erect one, in a strong position. And its smaller size was both a blessing and a curse; while it allowed for his reserve, consisting of just one Cohort, to move more quickly to a trouble spot, there was also less space to maneuver if and when the walls were breached. As Pullus watched, he began the mental process of deciding when and where he would sound the call for the orbis, the formation of last resort for the Roman Legion. As it was, the 10th was already in something of an orbis because there wasn't one side of the camp that wasn't under assault. Making a decision, Pullus shouted at Balbus to take over command of this sector of the wall, which Balbus acknowledged with a sketched salute with his sword, whereupon Pullus ran down the ramp into the camp, heading for a spot on the wall that looked harder pressed. 
That part of the wall was under the control of the Quintus Pilus Prior, commander of the Fifth Cohort, Gnaeus Macrianus, a veteran of the second dilectus of the 10th, making him more than a decade younger than his Primus Pilus. Blood was streaming down the cheek of Macrianus, but he looked otherwise unhurt as he suddenly made a short hop into a suddenly opened gap, and from Pullus' position down on the ground, he could only see a pair of hands reaching out to grasp the wooden stakes of the palisade directly in front of Macrianus. Even as Pullus watched, he saw Macrianus' blade draw back, seem to hover for an instant before plunging down quickly and brutally, presumably into the face of the Wa reaching for the stake. The set of hands immediately disappeared, but just as quickly, first one then another set of hands appeared to replace the first. Seeing this, Pullus began sprinting up the ramp, reaching Macrianus' side just in time to see the contorted faces of the two Wa warriors, trying to wrench the stakes out of the ground, their eyes in such tiny slits that the detached part of Pullus' brain marveled at how they could see at all. Even as this thought flitted through his mind, his hand was moving, gripping his sword in the manner in which his first weapons instructor had taught him, with his thumb wrapped on the inside of his fingers instead of the outside. With a quick, economical but extremely powerful thrust, his Gallic blade punched down into one of the helmeted faces, the point entering the open mouth and slicing through the back of the man's throat, not only killing the Wa instantly, but severing the nerves so his hands dropped limply to his sides, his spirit fleeing before the body hit the ground. Meanwhile, Macrianus did the same to his man, but even so, there was no respite. Despite himself Pullus let out a gasp at the sight of the seething mass of warriors, men practically trampling each other in their frenzied haste as they boiled up out of the ditch and, using the bodies of those already fallen, threw ladders up and climbed the side of the earthen wall.  "There's thousands of these bastards," he muttered, catching himself too late but relieved that he hadn't said it any more loudly, and only Macrianus seemed to have heard, and he only gave a grunt in answer. 
On the opposite side of the camp, Sextus Scribonius and his Second Cohort were faring better, but not by much. To this point his men had been able to keep the Wa contained in the ditch by using their javelins, both as a missile, and as a spear to stab downward at any man who ventured too near. But for the same reason Balbus wished for siege spears, Scribonius was afraid that it wouldn't be much longer before there were no more usable javelins left. The Roman javelin was designed to be thrown, and more importantly engineered in such a way that it couldn't be thrown back, with a softer metal shaft and a wooden pin that was designed to shear off on impact. This meant that as a stabbing weapon, sooner or later the shaft would bend or the pin would break, hence the need for the broad-leafed, heavier siege spears. Scribonius could see that there were perhaps a dozen usable javelins left for the men of the front rank guarding the palisade, giving him just moments before those men would have to draw swords as well. His casualties had been relatively light, which was a blessing from the gods, but he also knew that this couldn't last once the Wa were able to close with his men and get inside the reach of their swords. Even as he thought this, he heard a choked cry to his left, and whirled about just in time to see one of his men disappear over the rampart, hands clutching at the Legionary's armor, pulling him down into the teeming mass. He had the briefest glimpse of a pair of legs straight up in the air before they disappeared, followed by a scream that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Fortunately it was short-lived, the man going immediately silent as his life undoubtedly was quickly snuffed out. But to his horror, Scribonius saw in that next instant that nobody had moved into plug the gap opened by the loss, and it took a moment for his brain to comprehend that it was because there was nobody left near that spot. Even as this registered, he saw that while he could pull a couple men from a spot farther down the wall, he was nearest, and of their own volition, his legs began propelling him quickly towards the gap, but not before a helmeted head appeared at the empty spot in the palisade, arms hands grasping and pulling the stakes. 
Pullus and Macrianus, standing side by side, were all that kept the Wa from swarming over that section of the wall, as one more time the giant Primus Pilus showed why he was one of the most famous men in the army with a sword. Using a shield he had taken from a man who no longer needed it, his sword arm was bloody to the elbow as he thrust, chopped and hacked down at the scrambling Wa, none of whom had managed to gain a purchase on the rampart, at least in Pullus' immediate area. But the Primus Pilus was desperately tired, barely able to keep his shield in the first position, the most basic defensive position, and unsurprisingly the first one taught to all Legionaries. His sword arm was little better, and he could feel the tremors in his biceps that signaled that unless he got some relief, he wouldn't be able to defend his part of the wall much longer. At the very edge of his vision, he saw a flurry of movement that told him that some Wa had at last managed to make it up to the rampart, and there was as struggle for control of the packed earthen platform. However, Pullus couldn't pay attention to that, having to count on the Legionaries in that spot to do their duty to protect their comrades, because climbing out of the ditch and scrambling up the ladder that had been thrown against the wall came another Wa, this one with the curved sword that they favored. Normally the contest would be tilted heavily in favor of Pullus, as the Wa had to concentrate on climbing the ladder while Pullus only needed to wait for him to come within reach. But between Pullus' fatigue and the fact that not three paces away from him he saw Macrianus take a thrust from a long spear that knocked him backward with such force that he went tumbling down the ramp to land in a heap on the camp floor, the Primus Pullus was distracted enough that the Wa managed to quickly scramble up, slipping under Pullus' poorly aimed thrust, to stand on the rampart. Immediately the Wa launched a furious attack, catching Pullus on the wrong foot and forcing him to take an involuntary step backward. The Wa warrior, this one wearing the lamellar iron armor and flared helmet that marked him as one of the elite of the Wa army, kept up the fury of his assault, the blade of his sword a blur as it flashed about the edges of Pullus' defenses. First blocking with the shield, then barely parrying with the sword, Pullus tried to ignore the screaming fire shooting down his arms and concentrate his energy and attention on the Wa's attack, looking desperately for an opening. Just as he had experienced in the last battle, these Wa didn't seem to tire out, keeping up the same pace in the middle of the battle as they did at the beginning and end, something that no man in the army had encountered before. Still, Pullus hadn't lived this long on just luck, and summoning on his rapidly draining reserves he lashed out with his shield immediately after the point of the Wa's blade skipped off the boss when he had attempted a straight lunge. The blow was completely unexpected, catching the Wa square in the chest and knocking him flat, but before Pullus could leap astride his body to finish him with a sword thrust, in a move Pullus had never seen before, the Wa raised his legs up by drawing his knees to his chest, then quickly thrusting them out, levered himself back upright from his supine position. Pullus was so astonished that he stood motionless for a moment, his jaw hanging slack, and barely got his shield up in time to block the next sword thrust, this one a vicious sweeping blow aimed to disembowel him.
It had often been said that the gods smiled on Titus Pullus, not as brilliantly and often as they did at Caesar perhaps, but he had been shown their favor on numerous occasions, and this was one of them. The Wa had put all of his power behind this attack, hoping to capitalize on the hesitation caused by Pullus' astonishment, but Pullus blocked the sword with his shield. The blade of the Wa's sword cut deeply into the edge of the shield, normally the type of blow that would render either the shield or sword useless, either splitting the shield or breaking the blade. But this time not only did the sword not shatter, its razor sharp edge enabled it to cut so deeply into the shield that the only thing that stopped it was the metal boss. Pullus felt a searing pain along the edge of his hand, but the Wa's sword was now trapped, caught by the friction caused by the two pieces of the shield. Using that to his advantage, Pullus twisted the shield, using his superior strength to push the sword down and away from him, but instead of using the point of his blade, which would have taken more time bringing to bear, he gave a straight punch into the Wa's face with the pommel of his sword, catching the man flush between the flaps of the helmet and in his face. Once, twice, three times Pullus punched the man with all his strength, and waning it may have been, he was still nevertheless extremely strong. The Wa's head jerked back with each impact, going limp with the third punch before Pullus dropped the shield and thus his hold on the warrior, who dropped to the ground in a heap. The huge Roman wasted no time, thrusting his blade into the throat of the Wa, whose wrecked face twitched as his life ended, gurgling blood with his last breath. 
Only then was Pullus able to turn his attention to the larger situation, and his heart almost stopped when he surveyed the walls of the camp. In more than a dozen places the perimeter had been breached, and in at least three spots that he could see, his men had been pushed down onto the camp floor, where there was savage fighting going on. Suddenly all pain and fatigue was forgotten as he realized that it was getting perilously close to the time where he would have to order the cornicen to sound the order to form orbis. He began looking for the nearest one, having left his Cohort cornicen with Balbus, spotting the Fifth's man, one of the old veterans, standing next to the Quintus Pilus Posterior, Vibius Pacius. But just as he was about to call him over, very faintly, over the sounds of the fighting, Pullus heard something he could not quite bring himself to believe he had heard. In fact, he had just convinced himself that his mind was playing tricks with him and had opened his mouth when it happened again, and this time he wasn't the only one. Several heads turned at the sound, all of them Roman, and quickly a new sound was added to the din. 
It was cheering, because what the Romans heard was a horn, but it wasn't Pullus' signal to form orbis. The pattern of notes signaled that another army approached, a friendly army.
Caesar had come to the rescue. Now Pullus had to hope that it was in time to save the 10th. 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.