Caesar Triumphant Chapter 8 (Cont.)
Just before reaching the two Wa, Titus Pullus skidded to a halt, stopping suddenly enough that both Wa, anticipating that he would careen headlong into their waiting swords, both swung their blades at the spot where they thought the giant Roman would be. And while the Wa were the fastest men Pullus, or any Roman for that matter, had ever seen, Titus Pullus himself was one of the fastest moving big men of his time, and it was with that speed that he struck now. Simultaneously lashing out with his shield at the Wa to his left, he launched a hard, low thrust with his Gallic blade, the point aimed at a spot well below where the Wa's blade was still hovering in midair, in the bare instant before he recovered. While both Wa managed to react, neither of them were completely successful in blocking their respective attacks. The boss of Pullus' shield, which he had aimed directly for the first Wa's face, was partially blocked, but it was by the Wa's shoulder as he twisted to the side. Pullus felt the jolting blow all the way up his arm, as the Wa grunted in pain but managed to hold onto his sword as he staggered a step back. In doing so, he came within range of the Roman next to the two dead men, one of the Legionaries armed with a siege spear, but the long spear was so unwieldy that by the time he moved the point from its spot protruding over the rampart, the first Wa had moved to close back with Pullus.
Even if he continued with his movement and stabbed the Wa in the back, now the Roman was faced with an enemy warrior just two rungs from the top of the ladder to his left, and who was coming in range. Understanding the greater threat, the Legionary also had utmost faith in his Primus Pilus, so he returned his attention back to the ascending Wa, stabbing down at the man the moment he came within reach. Pullus' sword thrust, meanwhile, was also partially blocked, the second Wa desperately sweeping his blade in a downward arc that managed to keep Pullus' blade from plunging deep into his gut. Instead, the point of Pullus' finely honed Gallic blade, one that he had been carrying for more than 20 years, buried itself into the meat of the Wa's left thigh. Despite how excruciatingly painful the thrust was, the Wa only let out a hissing sound through tightly clenched teeth, and before Pullus could twist the blade and do further damage, the Wa lashed out with his own blade in a wild swing that swept at an upward angle.
Now it was Pullus' turn to twist aside in desperation, and in doing so he withdrew his blade, leaving behind a relatively clean gash in the Wa's leg that, instead of spurting arterial blood, flowed a dark red. The Wa's blade struck Pullus a glancing blow right at the junction of the right shoulder, where his mail protected him from further damage as several links broke instead. Even so the force from the blow jolted Pullus, as it was his turn to let out a gasp of pain, and he felt his arm go instantly numb, the only thing saving his grasp of the sword the grip taught to him by Aulus Vinicius when he was a tiro. All three men had taken some damage in the first exchange, and they were all content to take a step backward to gather themselves, but despite the damage Pullus had inflicted, he was in essentially the same position, outnumbered two to one. All around him he heard the shouts and screams of men, and he knew that there were Wa now on the rampart, meaning that the men immediately around him were occupied. Now he had to rely on those men in relief, waiting just paces away, but this was a moment where Titus Pullus was a victim of his own legend. Too many times he had waved other Legionaries away from a private battle, his pride and never-ending drive for acclaim and glory meaning that those who had intervened in the past hadn't earned anything other than a tongue-lashing, or worse. Consequently, that meant that his men were standing there, watching and unwilling to risk his wrath, sure in the knowledge that their Primus Pilus couldn't possibly fall to barbarians. Knowing this, Pullus was spurred on by their faith in him, and was determined that even if his life was coming to an end this day, it wouldn't be at the hands of these two Wa.
Therefore, he was the first to break the slight lull, lunging again, but this time instead of placing himself roughly equidistant between the two Wa as he did in his first attack, he moved directly to his right, putting himself to the extreme left of the second Wa, and effectively putting this warrior in the path of the first Wa. It was a move that would only buy him a fraction of a moment, but he was counting on the wound this Wa carried to sufficiently slow him down, and it worked. As the second Wa pivoted to face Pullus squarely, he was forced to shift his weight onto his right leg, and while it didn't buckle altogether, it did cause him to stagger for an instant. That was all the time Pullus needed as this time he delivered a high, overhand thrust, aimed at the base of the Wa's throat. Despite the speed the blow was delivered, the Wa's reflexes were still quick enough that he was able to twist just enough that instead of hitting him in the throat, Pullus' thrust struck home high in the Wa's left shoulder, the point punching through the iron lamellar armor as if it weren't there. Pullus had struck with such force that the blade, entering just below the Wa's collarbone, punched all the way through to protrude by half a foot. This time the Wa wasn't so circumspect, letting out a shrill cry of pain that only increased in volume as this time Pullus was sure to twist the blade savagely, wrenching it back and forth as he yanked it free. Paralyzed by the pain, the Wa was standing motionless, allowing Pullus the time to lift one of his feet and give the Wa a good kick that sent him flying backward and out of sight over the rampart, still screaming until it was cut short with a gurgling cry. Fortunately for Pullus, his training and instincts had kept his shield up in what the Romans called the first position, the elbow braced against the hip and the forearm parallel to the ground. Even as he turned his attention back to the first Wa, there was a splintering, cracking sound as the Wa struck with savage force with a thrust of his own, and to Pullus' surprise and discomfort, he saw the point of the Wa sword punch through his shield just inches above his arm.
Already weakened by all the arrow strikes, Pullus noticed with horror the large, longitudinal crack running almost the entire length of the shield, where a sliver of daylight came streaming through. As the Wa yanked his blade free, almost tugging the shield out of Pullus' grasp, the crack grew even wider, and Pullus knew that it would last at most two or perhaps three more blows, if that many. His arm still tingling from the blow of the Wa he had just dispatched, Pullus nonetheless lashed out with his own blade, but not before the Wa managed to extricate his own, which he used to parry Pullus' strike. The blades clashed together in a small shower of sparks, but this time the greater brute strength the Primus Pilus of the 10th showed, as the Wa's blade recoiled backward from the force of the blow, leaving the body of the Wa temporarily vulnerable and unprotected by nothing more than his other arm. Without hesitating, Pullus stepped forward, using the rampart at the Wa's back to pin the man so he couldn't escape. This time he used his shield to pin the Wa, pushing him hard against the rampart and with every ounce of his strength, put his massive weight behind his shield. Even as he did so, he heard the wood protesting with a shrieking crack but he continued to press. No matter how strong the Wa was in his own right, he was no match for Titus Pullus, and he found himself completely pinned as the breath was crushed from his lungs. Lashing out desperately with his blade, his movement was restricted by the pressure of the shield, but even so, Pullus used his own blade across the top of his shield to contemptuously knock the Wa's blade aside.
"Thought you would do for me, huh you cunnus?" Pullus snarled into the Wa's face, several inches below his own, the saliva spraying into his enemy's face, which was turning purple as the Wa vainly tried to draw breath into his lungs.
Suddenly, the Wa brought one knee up in a savage blow, aimed at Pullus' groin, but the Roman was much too experienced and had been expecting such a move, turning his hips to the side so the knee struck him in the meat of the thigh. Still, it was painful, but by this point Pullus' battle fury was fully aroused and he barely felt the blow, only dimly aware that if he survived this day, he would awake next morning with a huge bruise, and he would try to recall the circumstances around how he had gotten it. But in that moment, as he watched the life drain from his opponent's body, the only thing that Pullus felt was the savage exultation that came from besting your enemy, in seeing him vanquished. And as tired as Titus Pullus may have grown in regards to much of army life, this was a feeling in which he never grew tired. In fact, it was what kept him marching, and fighting. Finally, the Wa gave a rattling sigh that Pullus knew from long experienced was the signal the Wa's spirit had fled his body, but even so, he continued the pressure for a moment longer before finally stepping backward. The Wa immediately collapsed as if all his bones had suddenly been removed, and Pullus stood there for a moment, chest heaving, staring down at the dead man. Then, completely unmindful of everything else going on around him, the Primus Pullus of the 10th Legion suddenly hopped up onto the body of his enemy so that he could stand higher than the rampart. Showing total disdain for the furious fighting, the still flying arrows, and all the maelstrom of battle, Titus Pullus filled his lungs.
"I am Titus Pullus, Primus Pilus and hero of Caesar's 10th Legion! I piss on you savages! I will fuck your mothers and your daughters, but not until I've waded in your guts! DO ANY OF YOU CUNNI THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME? THEN COME ON!"
As he roared his challenge, bellowing with a volume that only came from decades of shouting commands in battle, he held his arms out wide, ruined shield in one hand, sword in the other, beckoning to the Wa down in the ditch. For just the briefest instant, the action immediately around the large Roman stopped as men openly gaped, the Wa astonished, and if the truth were known, a little afraid at the apparition before them, and Pullus' men in savage pride at the sight of their Primus Pilus. Here they were, in the fight of their life, and their Centurion was mocking the enemy, daring them to do their best! How could they lose with men like Pullus leading them? In response, without any order, a low-pitched, savage growl began emanating from the Roman lines along the rampart. Without any prompting from their Centurions or Optios, the Legionaries of Rome, no matter where they came from, suddenly increased the fury of their fighting, thrusting and stabbing into the Wa as they, with equal fervor and not a little desperation, scrabbled to gain a solid foothold on the rampart of the barbarian camp. Never before, and perhaps never since, had any army of Rome fought with such savage intensity, but never before had they been so evenly matched in their fury as they were against the Wa.
All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.
