Caesar Triumphant

Gnaeus Tetarfenus, the Pilus Prior of the Eighth Cohort of Caesar's 10th Legion, had been standing with Titus Nasica, his Pilus Posterior, speculating on what they were both sure would be the command to move up. Tetarfenus had been sending men across the forum to check on the fighting on the rampart, so he knew the situation was growing desperate, and when he saw the duty Optio returning he was sure he knew what the orders would be. In fact, when they were the exact opposite of what he was expecting, Tetarfenus made the Optio repeat himself twice more before, with a shake of his head, he called the Centurions of the reserve.
 
"The Primus Pilus has ordered us to move in the direction of the Porta Praetoria," he announced, to the obvious surprise of the assembled officers.
Still, surprised or not, they didn't hesitate when they moved back to their respective Centuries, where their men were crouched and waiting. As they shuffled themselves into position, the duty Optio hurried over to the reserve of the 12th, and they in turn began their own process of moving closer to the action. With his duty discharged, the Optio proceeded to his post, where his men were standing on the rampart. As he drew closer, the Optio saw that his men's eyes weren't facing outward, but back into the camp, towards the forum.
 
While understandable, this was a clear breach of regulations, and the moment he was close enough the Optio roared, "You there! Prixus! You bastard! Don't think I don't see where you're looking! By the gods I'll stripe you good!"

Before the words were out of his mouth, the man Prixus, along with his comrades, spun guiltily back about, knowing that they were well caught. When they did, Prixus saw something out of the corner of his eye to the southeast, back along the ridge road. It was just a flash of sun on metal, but it was enough to catch his attention. However, when he looked more closely, the only thing he saw was the dust hanging above the ridge road, right before it dipped out of sight in a fold of ground. His initial reaction was to relax slightly, thinking that the dust he was seeing was still from the courier who was now safely inside the camp. But while Prixus would never be accused of being smart, he was experienced, another of the Romans who had managed to survive this ten year campaign, and it was that experience that told him that any dust raised by the arrived courier would have been settled by that point. So he stared, hard, at the spot where the road reappeared, knowing that it would only be a matter of heartbeats before any rider on that road would reappear. The idea it could have been a man on foot didn't even occur to Prixus and his attention was now so fixed on that spot he was barely aware that the Optio had climbed the ramp onto the rampart.

"Oh, now you're going to pretend you're doing what you should have been doing all along," the Optio snapped caustically. "But it's not going to save you a flogging."
 
It was only when Prixus gave no reaction to the idea of a flogging that the Optio realized it was no act, and instantly his irritation dissolved as his attention centered on the Legionary. Prixus was a scoundrel, one of those men who could magically disappear whenever there was a work detail, or conjure his way onto a sick list. But he was a hard-bitten, veteran Legionary, and one of the best fighters in the Century, his very survival a testament to that fact, so the Optio moved immediately to his side, following his man's gaze.
 
"What is it?" he asked quietly. "What did you see?"
 
Instead of answering immediately Prixus, as he had been trained used one of his javelins to point to the now settling plume of dust.
 
"See there Optio? I didn't see a rider or anything, but....."
 
"That dust couldn't be from the courier who's already here," the Optio finished, understanding the same thing as Prixus.
For a moment they continued staring before the Optio asked, "When did you first see whatever it was?"
 
"Long enough that whoever it was would be in sight by now," Prixus replied.
 
That was when something else happened, something that while both the Optio and Prixus saw or more accurately sensed it, neither could have described it with any level of accuracy. Again, it was more the sum total of their years of experience that told them something was happening that was, at the least, noteworthy. Perhaps it was a vagary of the breeze, which in this part of the world blew from the northeast at this time of year, but for whatever reason carried a shrill cry from the south. Or maybe it was just the fleeting glimpse of an arrow that sailed through the air, and in its arc crested just above the brow of the rise that was blocking their view. Whatever it was, the Optio frowned for a moment, then made a decision.
 
"Stay here, and keep your eyes on that spot," he snapped, giving quick orders for the rest of Prixus' section to do the same. With that, he went bounding down the rampart, heading back towards Tetarfenus.

Pullus had by this time returned his attention, and his sword, back to the fighting. Even as he did so, with a sinking heart he could see that the Wa were winning. It wasn't quickly, and it was at great cost, but with more than 5 men for every Legionary, they could afford to be profligate. By this point the front rank of the Cohorts were standing just barely on the edge of the rampart, forcing the men behind them to stand lower on the ramp, making it difficult to brace their comrade. Moving back up to the front, Pullus bent down to pick up a shield, pulling it from the lifeless fingers of one of his men, a Pandyan whose throat had a gaping hole from a single thrust into the base. His eyes stared wide at the sky, his face bearing that look of surprise that Pullus had seen so many times before, and the detached part of Pullus' mind recognized the man as the Legionary that Balbus had caught trying to sneak the Wa beauty out of the town. Well, Pullus thought, he doesn't have to worry about Caesar stealing any more of his women. Hefting the shield, Pullus waded back into the fighting, welcoming the freeing of his mind as it settled into the simple needs and demands of combat. For a moment he could forget the worries of command, losing himself in the most elemental of questions; can I best my enemy?
Hesitating for just a moment, he spotted one of his men of the front rank take a staggering step back from the thrust of a Wa sword. Before the man could recover, Pullus stepped in, lashing out with his shield and, coming from an oblique angle as he was, striking the Wa's left shoulder. Now it was the Wa's turn to stagger, but like all of his comrades, he recovered quickly, making a low underhanded thrust across his body that Pullus, his shield still high from his blow to the Wa's shoulder, was barely able to block. As off-balance as the Wa was, the thrust was still able to punch through Pullus' shield just above the protective metal strip at the bottom. The force of the blow pushed the bottom of Pullus' shield towards him while tilting the top out, which normally would have left Pullus exposed. But turning what would normally be a threat into an opportunity was something Titus Pullus did very well, and he did so now, whipping the tilted edge of the shield straight out, catching the Wa a glancing blow just above the ear. Unfortunately for the Wa, a glancing blow by a man as strong as Titus Pullus was the same as taking the strongest shot from any other man, and the Wa dropped like a stone.
Without any hesitation, Pullus stepped over the body while keeping his shield up and ready, remembering to give a savage thrust down into the throat of the unconscious man. His slight advance, while putting him just ahead of the front rank of his Legionaries, also took him closer to the rampart. Now there was only a lone Wa between him and the protection that the rampart would give to his unprotected side, and it was to this man that Pullus turned his attention.

Fortunately for Pullus, or at least so he thought at first, this Wa was armed with one of the teardrop shaped spears, the butt end hovering out over the rampart and into space. However, while this normally would mean whoever was wielding it would be restricted, this Wa quickly disabused Pullus of that notion. With an overhand grip, the Wa, who Pullus was sure was barely out of his teens, although he had learned it was almost impossible to accurately tell the age of any Wa who wasn't either a child or incredibly old, suddenly whipped the butt end of the spear at Pullus with a seeming flick of the wrist. Although the blow was blocked by his shield, there was so much force behind it that the shield slammed back into his upper shoulder and took him back a step. Eying his opponent with a new respect, Pullus began moving the tip of his sword in a geometric pattern, trusting his instinct that this Wa was indeed relatively inexperienced. As he had hoped, despite himself the Wa's eyes began following the moving sword tip, giving Pullus the opportunity he had been seeking with his shield. With undeniable quickness, Pullus punched out with his shield by simply extending his left arm straight out from the shoulder.

The metal boss of the Roman shield was a deadly weapon in its own right, and with any other foe, the blow Pullus launched would have been devastating. But this Wa, like so many of the others he had faced, had reflexes that no cat would have spurned, and it was these reflexes that served him well now. The boss should have hit him in the right shoulder, and it was with enough force that it would have crushed whatever bone it came in contact with, but because of a combination of leaning backward and sweeping upward with his spear to absorb some of the force, the blow didn't cause nearly the damage it should have. But it was enough to snap the solid shaft of the spear like a twig, leaving it in two pieces. Even this didn't seem to have the effect that Pullus would expect, as the Wa simply shifted his grip on each piece before making another thrust with the business end of the spear that Pullus blocked again. As the Primus Pilus did so, however, the Wa swung the other piece of the spear like a club, and because Pullus had moved his shield across his body, it was out of position to block it. If the club end of the spear struck Pullus where the Wa had aimed, the blow was strong enough to at the very least to stun Pullus, but like so many of his enemies, the Wa wasn't used to fighting a man of the giant Roman's stature. Instead, the shaft struck Pullus a solid blow on the meaty part of his upper arm, and it was only because the heavy muscles there that it didn't break the Roman's bone. This would leave another massive bruise, but that would come later. Somehow, Pullus managed to keep hold of his shield despite the pain, but he instantly knew that his ability to use it offensively was gone for at least the next several moments. Consequently, he made a feint with the shield by shrugging his shoulder and twisting his upper body, and as feints went it was one of his weakest. Fortunately for Pullus, it was enough; reacting again with unbelievable speed, the Wa shifted his weight slightly to his left, leaning his upper body backward as he did so. This dropped his left hand, holding the blade of the spear, just a matter of a few inches, but it was enough. Pullus gave a high overhand thrust, stomping forward with his right foot as he did so, thereby extending the reach of his sword and putting the power of his weight behind it. Aiming at the Wa's throat, even as quick as the Wa was, his arm was just a little too low to sweep it upward quickly enough to deflect the blade from punching through his throat. Pullus felt the grate of the bone grabbing the blade as it sliced through it, forcing him to twist to make sure that it didn't get stuck. Over the years he had seen too many men who, in the excitement of battle, had forgotten what was an elementary move that all tirones were taught early in training, leaving them yanking the blade, desperate and defenseless to a comrade of the man they had just killed. Freeing the blade, the Wa collapsed in a heap at his feet, allowing Pullus to move a pace closer to the rampart. Now that his right side was protected, he could concentrate on trying to stem the tide of barbarians, but even as he did, he could see that it was a hopeless task.


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