Caesar Triumphant Chapter 8-(Cont.)
At the far southern outpost, Asinius Pollio and Primus Pilus Batius still stood side by side, a short distance from the rampart, watching as the men in front of them met the attacking Wa as they threw their ladders against the turf wall and began their ascent. Unlike Pullus' camp, the archery barrage had done minimal damage, both in casualties and in damage to the shields of the defenders. There were no gaps in the line of men lining the ramparts, and for the most part their shields were sufficiently undamaged that they were able to withstand the first wave of Wa attackers that attempted to breach the defenses. While the fighting was fierce, it wasn't of nearly the same intensity as what Pullus and Balbinus were facing, though neither man had any way of knowing that.
Over the noise of the fighting, Asinius turned to Batius and asked in as close to a conversational tone as possible, "Do you think it would be a good idea to have the reserve Cohorts give their javelins to the front line men? If we need the men of the reserve it will probably be too late for them to use their javelins."
"True," Batius agreed, "they'll probably need to go straight to the sword. That's a good idea sir, I'll make sure it's done."
With a salute, Batius turned to go give the orders. Before he could, however, a lone arrow, actually loosed by a Wa in his death throes after being pierced by one of the last javelins of the last volley, causing the trajectory of the missile to arc high in the air, came hurtling down to earth, picking up even more speed than normal. Batius was just turning, so the arrow pierced his neck, the barbed tip slashing tissue as it buried itself deep in the Primus Pilus' body. He took one halting step, giving a gurgled, choking cry before collapsing, dead before he hit the ground. It took Pollio a moment before the import of what happened hit him, then he instinctively moved to kneel by Batius' body. He stopped himself, understanding that it was too late, knowing from experience when a man was killed instantly. His lips moved in a silent prayer as he interceded on the behalf of Batius, asking the gods to transport him not to Charon, but Elysium, the home of all the bravest warriors. When he was finished, he called to the nearest Centurion standing with his Century as part of the reserve. The Centurion's attention had been on the action going on in front of him, Pollio and Batius standing off to his left front.
"Centurion! Centurion!" Pollio bellowed, the man turning in surprise at the sound of his general. Pollio pointed down at Batius' body, and said in his command voice, "Your Primus Pilus has fallen! Who will carry him from the field with the honor he deserves?"
As it was with Pollio, it took a moment for Pollio's words and what it meant, but once it sunk in, he was deathly afraid his legs would collapse from under him. While Batius' status wasn't quite as legendary and covered in glory as that of Titus Pullus, he was still a formidable Legionary with a sterling record, and more importantly, he was the only Primus Pilus the Centurion had ever known. In fact, this was true for the vast majority of the men, other than a very small handful of no more than thirty men whose time in the Legions equaled his. Standing unmoving, Pollio had to repeat himself before the Centurion shook his head, and turned to call some of the men from his Century. In a small group, while the fight for the rampart continued, they marched to where Batius lie, then with a gentleness that was close to reverence and using a shield, laid him in it. Then, with a man at each corner, they lifted the shield on their shoulders, and with the Centurion leading the way, marched into the center of the camp, where the Primus Pilus would be laid in the forum, to wait the bodies of his comrades to join him on his next journey. As they did so, Pollio tore his attention away, forcing his mind back to the scene before him, where more fighting and dying was taking place.
Caesar had never experienced the emotions that threatened to take over his whole body as he did at that moment, watching the surprise attack of the Wa unfolding. Streaming across the valley floor, they were moving with a rapidity he wouldn't have believed possible of such a large body of men if he wasn't watching as it happened. Frozen in his spot, he stared, unblinking, unmoving, but his mind was reeling in shock, racing through every possibility he could think of that would salvage the situation. There was one shred of hope, or at least so he thought for a few moments, until the leading men flowed around the bulge of the ridge and into the pocket, crossing the short expanse of open ground and hitting the base of the slope, still at a dead run. This was the maximum range for the three small outposts that had been emplaced roughly halfway up the slope, and as Caesar had commanded, they immediately opened fire. Each outpost was armed with two scorpions and one ballistae apiece, with a Century, but despite several of the Wa in the leading ranks being struck down, Caesar saw with sickening clarity how this was much too little to slow down the Wa assault, let alone stop it. In fact, those outposts would in all likelihood simply be bypassed; even combined together, three Centuries attacking from the rear of such a large force would be akin to a fly hoping to take down a mosquito. Even before it happened Caesar recognized this would be the case, destroying the last shred of hope that he'd held that he could at the very least buy the time to get a warning to Pullus. As it was, with even the swiftest horse, there was no way that a courier would be able to slip past that surprise force because at the rate they were climbing the slope, they would be at the ridgetop road before the courier. Making matters even worse were the orders he had given for Bodroges to give to the courier to take to the northern camp. They authorized Pullus to use his reserve as he saw fit now that he was out of artillery ammunition, understanding as he did that if Pullus had done so, even if he had fired too early and run out sooner than he would have if he obeyed Caesar's orders to the letter, he was still hard-pressed already.
Caesar, as he did in every battle, retained the control of all reserve forces, so it would require an order on his part, although he knew that if absolutely necessary Pullus would order his reserves into battle before orders arrived and ask forgiveness later, which of course Caesar would grant, trusting his giant Primus Pilus more than any other of the Primi Pili, and second only to Pollio and Hirtius. Even with all that, knowing that it was probably futile, Caesar knew he had to try, so he called for the Pandyan Tribune since Bodroges had yet to return. Shaking himself from his malaise with a supreme effort of will, Caesar composed himself mentally, his face still the same calm, composed mask that gave nothing away, and snapped an order for the secretary to hand him another wax tablet. When none was forthcoming, he turned his head in irritation, ready to reprimand the man, one of his minor secretaries, then saw why he hadn't answered. The man had taken an arrow through the soft spot at the base of the throat, right above the chest and was laying there in a slowly growing pool of blood, eyes wide and staring up. It had obviously just happened, but Caesar had been so shaken and absorbed in his own thoughts and fears that he hadn't even noticed, and it was this that shook him more than the man's death. Still, to an outside observer he looked like his normal, composed self as he bent down, still careful to shelter behind the shields as he reached to pluck a tablet from the dead secretary's hand. But when he took hold, the dead man's hand closed tightly around the tablet, giving Caesar a start. He had been starting to look back up toward the Pandyan Tribune when grabbing the tablet, but naturally his eyes turned back to the fallen secretary, and when he did his heart suddenly jumped as the man's eyes blinked once, twice, then three times. The secretary wasn't dead, yet. His wound was definitely mortal, but whatever is in each of us that clings to life, that keeps our heart beating even when it should have stopped, was strong in the spirit of the secretary, so he stared up at Caesar with desperate pleading eyes, unable to talk because of the blood that pooled in his mouth and flowed out of the corner onto the ground. That didn't stop him from trying, and his jaw moved as he tried to form the words, and Caesar, shaken to his very core, tried to understand what the dying man was saying.
"Please........kill.......me," the man made no sounds, but Caesar could read lips better than most people, although it took the man repeating it three times before he understood.
Without hesitation, Caesar gave him a nod, and despite the fact the secretary was a slave, told him, "I will say prayers myself and have a sacrifice made so the gods accept you into the afterlife."
Truthfully, this being a minor secretary who had been captured during the Parthian portion of the campaign, Caesar was unsure what gods the man prayed to, but he silently vowed that if he lived through the day he would find out. It was the least he could do. With his free hand, Caesar placed it gently on the man's forehead while he temporarily relinquished his hold of the tablet, drawing his pugio, the Legionary's dagger with it. As he did so, his hand moved from the forehead down over the secretary's eyes, to shield them from what Caesar was about to do. With the practiced skill of an augur, Caesar made a quick but strong slash across the man's throat, the blade of the dagger cutting deeply just above where the shaft of the arrow protruded. Wiping the blade on the secretary's tunic, Caesar closed the man's eyes, then took the tablet from the now-lifeless hand, standing erect and reaching for his stylus in one motion. The Pandyan, given a shield the same way as with Bodroges, had reached Caesar's side and waited for Caesar to write his orders, orders that the general knew had almost no chance of reaching the intended recipient. Still, that didn't stop him from handing the tablet to the Pandyan, with curt instructions, whereupon the Pandyan moved as quickly as he dared, shield still held aloft. Only when Caesar saw the Tribune safely away did he turn his attention back to the fighting. Immediately he saw a spot where there were several bodies, roughly equally divided between Roman and Wa, but more importantly and dangerously, a small group of Wa had formed a pocket, their backs to the rampart facing outward in a slight bulge, with just enough space left so more Wa could climb the ladder located there and join these men. Like Titus Pullus, Caesar was at heart a warrior as well as a general, and seeing that every other Roman was occupied, and he was the closest, he drew his sword.
As he did so, he called to the three Legionaries protecting him, "It's time to earn our pay, boys. Follow me!"
And without waiting for their answer, Caesar strode toward the waiting Wa, sword in hand.
All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.
