Caesar Triumphant
Several paces away, the Second Century of the First Cohort was in much the same straits as the First of the First, and Balbus, like Pullus was doing everything within his power to stem the tide of advancing Wa. He wasn't as skilled as Pullus was, but he was close, and while he lacked Scribonius' intellectual ability, he more than made up for it with guile and a ferocity that perhaps even outmatched that of his Primus Pilus. Now he was standing next to the last man on the right of the leading rank, the one engaged with the Wa, and Balbus' Century was in even more trouble than the First. Whether by accident or design he would never know, but whereas the Wa had placed an average of two ladders along the length of rampart that a Century covered, the Second Century had three ladders along its front.
And there was a steady stream of smaller, wiry men clambering up, shouting in a guttural way that none of his men could make any sense of whatsoever. Although the Romans were cutting down most of the Wa who came leaping over the palisade stakes, inevitably the Romans suffered casualties as well, and in the moment that it took for a Legionary to replace the fallen man, the victorious Wa would press a step forward, standing over the body of the man he had just vanquished. Consequently, it was a grudging, hard-fought struggle, inch by inch and foot by foot, but it was one the Romans were losing. While the leading edge of the First Century was still at the very edge of the level portion of the rampart, the men of the Second Century had already been pushed even farther back.
The leading edge of the Second was halfway down the dirt ramp, and strewn in front of them were the dozens of bodies of friend and foe alike that provided testament that the men of Balbus' Century weren't giving ground without making the Wa pay. It was just a case of grim mathematics, Balbus knew; he was rapidly running out of men, no matter how many Wa they took with them. By this point the Primus Pilus Posterior estimated that he had less than half the men he had started with, a Century that was almost 30 men short of full strength already. Even accounting for Caesar's practice, ironically enough started with the 10th Legion all those years ago when he was Praetor in Hispania, of hundred man centuries, the fighting had whittled down the senior Cohorts down so that when Balbus managed to make a quick head count, there were only 34 men of his Century still left fighting. That knowledge filled Balbus with a despair unlike any he had ever faced in his entire life, let alone his career, even when his woman had died in childbirth. He was watching the destruction of what he loved more than anything else; his Century, his boys. For no matter that some of them were at least as old, to Balbus they would always be his boys, and his heart filled with a desperate, angry love.
"No," he snarled. "Not today. Not this fucking day!"
With a feral growl issuing from his throat, Gnaeus Balbus literally threw himself into a small clump of Wa who were just behind their engaged comrades, looking very much like they were gathering themselves to go charging into the Roman lines.
Sextus Scribonius was hurting, both within and without. He had taken a sword thrust all the way through his left forearm fairly early on in the fighting, and it was only through the intervention of the gods that it hadn't severed an artery. Nevertheless, it was extraordinarily painful, and he had only taken the time to wrap his neckerchief around the wound and then, gritting his teeth against the agony, had one of his men tie the ends as tightly as his strength allowed. Now it was a dull, aching throb that was manageable, but the consequence was that he had lost all feeling in his hand and was unable to hold a vitus, let alone a heavy shield. Even so, it was the internal ache that was causing Scribonius the most trouble, and like Balbus he found it hard to concentrate. For just like his second-closest companion, Scribonius was watching not just his own Century, but the entire Second Cohort being destroyed, slowly but inexorably. In terms of outright casualties, his Century was a bit better off than that of Balbus; Scribonius' last head count had yielded 42 men, but in just the bare moments since then he had seen at least 2 more men fall, although one had crawled quickly to the rear on hands and knees. Perhaps he would be back, Scribonius thought, but the lanky Pilus Prior wasn't counting on it.
As for the rest of the Cohort, Scribonius was continually being updated by runners coming from all along the Second Cohort's front, and he had been forced to have his own reserve of three Centuries enter into the rotation some time before. Since he could no longer carry a shield, he was being a bit more circumspect than Balbus, only darting in to add the strength of his sword when it was absolutely necessary or a Wa was turned away from him by one of his men. Even so, the blade of his sword was red almost to the hilt, but again like Balbus, he knew it wasn't going to be enough. Nevertheless, Scribonius resisted the temptation of looking to the rear to see if the reserve Cohorts were standing ready to assist, knowing that the sight of their Pilus Prior looking for succor would in all likelihood trigger a panic. So Scribonius willed himself to continue looking to the front, which was a good thing because in another one of those fluke moments, two Legionaries who were standing side by side were struck down at almost exactly the same time. Instantly there was a gaping hole in the front rank, and because of the way the bodies collapsed, they formed a barrier preventing their reliefs to step into their spots. Seeing this, understanding what it meant and what had to be done occurred to Scribonius in the time it takes to blink the eyes; of all the Centurions, not just in the 10th but in the entire army, Sextus Scribonius was by far the smartest man in the ranks. In fact, it could be argued that he was second only to Caesar in the prodigy of his brain, but this was something Scribonius only exhibited to a very, very few people. But while it was his brain that told him what needed to be done, the impetus to do it, to leap into the void from the side of the formation where he was standing, came from the same wellspring that had sent Balbus charging headlong into a numerically superior enemy. For like Balbus, like Pullus and like almost every Centurion, Scribonius truly loved his men, so there was no hesitation as with his own roaring challenge, he used his long legs to cross the distance, squeezing himself through the ranks, then ending his progress by hopping over the bodies of the two men to go crashing into the first of the Wa who had stepped into the gap.
Gnaeus Tetarfenus, Pilus Prior of the Eighth Cohort followed the duty Optio back up the ramp where Prixus was still standing, eyes fixed to the last spot he had seen the movement farther south along the ridge.
"Seen anything?" the Optio demanded, but Prixus' only response was a shake of his head.
"So what is this extremely urgent thing you saw?" Tetarfenus, knowing the duty Optio only by reputation since he was from the Fifth Cohort, was unable to hide his skepticism and impatience.
When asked in such a bald way, both the Optio and Prixus hesitated, exchanging sidelong glances.
Finally, the Optio cleared his throat nervously, "Well Pilus Prior, it's hard to say exactly......"
"So you didn't see anything other than some dust?" Tetarfenus interrupted.
"Well, no. Er, I mean, not exactly," the Optio amended, but Tetarfenus had heard enough.
"Then until you have something substantial to report, stop wasting my time," he snapped. "If you haven't been paying attention, we're in the fight of our fucking lives."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel to stalk back down the rampart back to his Cohort. The Optio stared at his retreating back, trying to calculate how far Tetarfenus needed to go before he could curse him without being heard. Fortunately, for everyone as it would turn out, Prixus, still smarting from his rebuke by the Optio and not sure if there was a flogging in his future, kept his eyes fixed on the spot where the ridge road reappeared. What caught his eye confused him at first, looking like slender reeds that had just popped up from the ground, but topped with flowers unlike any he had seen, because they were a dull, silvery color. Then one of the Wa carrying his spear turned the shaft in his hand so that the broad side of the distinctive tear-shaped blade was facing Prixus, causing an explosive gasp from his lips. Whirling about at the sound, the Optio took one step to gaze over Prixus' shoulder, his jaw dropping and all the blood rushing from his face.
"Pilus Prior!" the Optio called.
Tetarfenus faced about, ready to issue a sharp rebuke but the look on the Optio's face stilled his tongue. Running back to the rampart, in the few heartbeats it took Tetarfenus to cover the distance, any doubt about what was approaching had been removed, as the heads of the leading Wa suddenly appeared as if by magic, climbing the slope toward the unprotected Porta Praetoria side of the camp. They were less than a mile away, and Gnaeus Tetarfenus found himself rooted in his spot for a moment, his face a mirror of that of the Optio standing next to him. Shaking his head as if he were trying to wake himself up from a bad dream, the Pilus Prior snapped back to reality, and without a word to the two men, went sprinting down from the rampart.
"Reserve Cohorts! Rally to me!" he started bellowing at the top of his lungs. "We're under attack!"
There was a ripple of movement as men who were kneeling, their arms draped across their shields, jumped to their feet, and the air filled with a babble of questions as the men struggled to comprehend this new reality.
"What did he say?"
"Something about an attack!"
"Huh? From where? How?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
In the ensuing scramble, it was once again the fact that the men of the 10th were so experienced that the move from a position of rest to standing at intente, at the very least ready to move into position, was accomplished so quickly, even if they didn't know where they were moving to, but the Centurions had moved at a run to close the gap to their Pilus Prior, meeting him roughly halfway between the forum and the rampart.
"I don't know how, but those slanty-eyed cunni got a force behind us," Tetarfenus gasped out, his Centurions going rigid with shock.
"How many?" asked Pilus Prior Nasica.
"Enough," Tetarfenus' face was grim. "Enough to sweep us away unless we stop them at the walls. Get the men up to the walls, immediately."
"Reserve?" asked the Hastatus Posterior of the Tenth, a Roman named Gaius Porcinus, one of the youngest Centurions in the 10th, born in Baetica Province like Titus Pullus.
While he was somewhat taller than the other Centurions, he wasn't the same height, or breadth as Titus Pullus, but there was a similarity in facial features that belied the fact Gaius Porcinus was the son of Valeria, Titus Pullus' sister, and Titus' only nephew. His position in the Centurionate was achieved despite his uncle's every attempt to dissuade his young nephew from a life in the army, although he had plucked the youngster from the ranks of the 14th Legion when Gaius managed to enlist, despite his mother's objections, putting him in Scribonius' Second Cohort where his best friend could keep an eye on him. However, despite Porcinus' fresh-faced appearance, he had flourished in the Legion, and had earned the right to wear the transverse crest of a Centurion in Caesar's army. Now his nephew stood, among the other Centurions of the reserve Cohorts, waiting to hear their dispositions.
"We're not going to have any reserve," Tetarfenus answered quietly. "We're going to need every man on the wall. Now, I want the Eighth there," he pointed to the spot around the Porta Praetoria, "the Ninth there, and the Tenth there. Now move!"
As the officers went scrambling to their respective Centuries, Tetarfenus grabbed Porcinus' arm, stopping him.
"I need you to go to the Primus Pilus, tell him what's happening. Tell him that we haven't gotten an exact count yet, but my guess is that there's going to be at least 10,000 men trying to get over that wall. And tell him," Tetarfenus' tone became even grimmer, "that we're going to need the 12th's reserve as well if we're going to have any chance at stopping these bastards."
All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.
And there was a steady stream of smaller, wiry men clambering up, shouting in a guttural way that none of his men could make any sense of whatsoever. Although the Romans were cutting down most of the Wa who came leaping over the palisade stakes, inevitably the Romans suffered casualties as well, and in the moment that it took for a Legionary to replace the fallen man, the victorious Wa would press a step forward, standing over the body of the man he had just vanquished. Consequently, it was a grudging, hard-fought struggle, inch by inch and foot by foot, but it was one the Romans were losing. While the leading edge of the First Century was still at the very edge of the level portion of the rampart, the men of the Second Century had already been pushed even farther back.
The leading edge of the Second was halfway down the dirt ramp, and strewn in front of them were the dozens of bodies of friend and foe alike that provided testament that the men of Balbus' Century weren't giving ground without making the Wa pay. It was just a case of grim mathematics, Balbus knew; he was rapidly running out of men, no matter how many Wa they took with them. By this point the Primus Pilus Posterior estimated that he had less than half the men he had started with, a Century that was almost 30 men short of full strength already. Even accounting for Caesar's practice, ironically enough started with the 10th Legion all those years ago when he was Praetor in Hispania, of hundred man centuries, the fighting had whittled down the senior Cohorts down so that when Balbus managed to make a quick head count, there were only 34 men of his Century still left fighting. That knowledge filled Balbus with a despair unlike any he had ever faced in his entire life, let alone his career, even when his woman had died in childbirth. He was watching the destruction of what he loved more than anything else; his Century, his boys. For no matter that some of them were at least as old, to Balbus they would always be his boys, and his heart filled with a desperate, angry love.
"No," he snarled. "Not today. Not this fucking day!"
With a feral growl issuing from his throat, Gnaeus Balbus literally threw himself into a small clump of Wa who were just behind their engaged comrades, looking very much like they were gathering themselves to go charging into the Roman lines.
Sextus Scribonius was hurting, both within and without. He had taken a sword thrust all the way through his left forearm fairly early on in the fighting, and it was only through the intervention of the gods that it hadn't severed an artery. Nevertheless, it was extraordinarily painful, and he had only taken the time to wrap his neckerchief around the wound and then, gritting his teeth against the agony, had one of his men tie the ends as tightly as his strength allowed. Now it was a dull, aching throb that was manageable, but the consequence was that he had lost all feeling in his hand and was unable to hold a vitus, let alone a heavy shield. Even so, it was the internal ache that was causing Scribonius the most trouble, and like Balbus he found it hard to concentrate. For just like his second-closest companion, Scribonius was watching not just his own Century, but the entire Second Cohort being destroyed, slowly but inexorably. In terms of outright casualties, his Century was a bit better off than that of Balbus; Scribonius' last head count had yielded 42 men, but in just the bare moments since then he had seen at least 2 more men fall, although one had crawled quickly to the rear on hands and knees. Perhaps he would be back, Scribonius thought, but the lanky Pilus Prior wasn't counting on it.
As for the rest of the Cohort, Scribonius was continually being updated by runners coming from all along the Second Cohort's front, and he had been forced to have his own reserve of three Centuries enter into the rotation some time before. Since he could no longer carry a shield, he was being a bit more circumspect than Balbus, only darting in to add the strength of his sword when it was absolutely necessary or a Wa was turned away from him by one of his men. Even so, the blade of his sword was red almost to the hilt, but again like Balbus, he knew it wasn't going to be enough. Nevertheless, Scribonius resisted the temptation of looking to the rear to see if the reserve Cohorts were standing ready to assist, knowing that the sight of their Pilus Prior looking for succor would in all likelihood trigger a panic. So Scribonius willed himself to continue looking to the front, which was a good thing because in another one of those fluke moments, two Legionaries who were standing side by side were struck down at almost exactly the same time. Instantly there was a gaping hole in the front rank, and because of the way the bodies collapsed, they formed a barrier preventing their reliefs to step into their spots. Seeing this, understanding what it meant and what had to be done occurred to Scribonius in the time it takes to blink the eyes; of all the Centurions, not just in the 10th but in the entire army, Sextus Scribonius was by far the smartest man in the ranks. In fact, it could be argued that he was second only to Caesar in the prodigy of his brain, but this was something Scribonius only exhibited to a very, very few people. But while it was his brain that told him what needed to be done, the impetus to do it, to leap into the void from the side of the formation where he was standing, came from the same wellspring that had sent Balbus charging headlong into a numerically superior enemy. For like Balbus, like Pullus and like almost every Centurion, Scribonius truly loved his men, so there was no hesitation as with his own roaring challenge, he used his long legs to cross the distance, squeezing himself through the ranks, then ending his progress by hopping over the bodies of the two men to go crashing into the first of the Wa who had stepped into the gap.
Gnaeus Tetarfenus, Pilus Prior of the Eighth Cohort followed the duty Optio back up the ramp where Prixus was still standing, eyes fixed to the last spot he had seen the movement farther south along the ridge.
"Seen anything?" the Optio demanded, but Prixus' only response was a shake of his head.
"So what is this extremely urgent thing you saw?" Tetarfenus, knowing the duty Optio only by reputation since he was from the Fifth Cohort, was unable to hide his skepticism and impatience.
When asked in such a bald way, both the Optio and Prixus hesitated, exchanging sidelong glances.
Finally, the Optio cleared his throat nervously, "Well Pilus Prior, it's hard to say exactly......"
"So you didn't see anything other than some dust?" Tetarfenus interrupted.
"Well, no. Er, I mean, not exactly," the Optio amended, but Tetarfenus had heard enough.
"Then until you have something substantial to report, stop wasting my time," he snapped. "If you haven't been paying attention, we're in the fight of our fucking lives."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel to stalk back down the rampart back to his Cohort. The Optio stared at his retreating back, trying to calculate how far Tetarfenus needed to go before he could curse him without being heard. Fortunately, for everyone as it would turn out, Prixus, still smarting from his rebuke by the Optio and not sure if there was a flogging in his future, kept his eyes fixed on the spot where the ridge road reappeared. What caught his eye confused him at first, looking like slender reeds that had just popped up from the ground, but topped with flowers unlike any he had seen, because they were a dull, silvery color. Then one of the Wa carrying his spear turned the shaft in his hand so that the broad side of the distinctive tear-shaped blade was facing Prixus, causing an explosive gasp from his lips. Whirling about at the sound, the Optio took one step to gaze over Prixus' shoulder, his jaw dropping and all the blood rushing from his face.
"Pilus Prior!" the Optio called.
Tetarfenus faced about, ready to issue a sharp rebuke but the look on the Optio's face stilled his tongue. Running back to the rampart, in the few heartbeats it took Tetarfenus to cover the distance, any doubt about what was approaching had been removed, as the heads of the leading Wa suddenly appeared as if by magic, climbing the slope toward the unprotected Porta Praetoria side of the camp. They were less than a mile away, and Gnaeus Tetarfenus found himself rooted in his spot for a moment, his face a mirror of that of the Optio standing next to him. Shaking his head as if he were trying to wake himself up from a bad dream, the Pilus Prior snapped back to reality, and without a word to the two men, went sprinting down from the rampart.
"Reserve Cohorts! Rally to me!" he started bellowing at the top of his lungs. "We're under attack!"
There was a ripple of movement as men who were kneeling, their arms draped across their shields, jumped to their feet, and the air filled with a babble of questions as the men struggled to comprehend this new reality.
"What did he say?"
"Something about an attack!"
"Huh? From where? How?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
In the ensuing scramble, it was once again the fact that the men of the 10th were so experienced that the move from a position of rest to standing at intente, at the very least ready to move into position, was accomplished so quickly, even if they didn't know where they were moving to, but the Centurions had moved at a run to close the gap to their Pilus Prior, meeting him roughly halfway between the forum and the rampart.
"I don't know how, but those slanty-eyed cunni got a force behind us," Tetarfenus gasped out, his Centurions going rigid with shock.
"How many?" asked Pilus Prior Nasica.
"Enough," Tetarfenus' face was grim. "Enough to sweep us away unless we stop them at the walls. Get the men up to the walls, immediately."
"Reserve?" asked the Hastatus Posterior of the Tenth, a Roman named Gaius Porcinus, one of the youngest Centurions in the 10th, born in Baetica Province like Titus Pullus.
While he was somewhat taller than the other Centurions, he wasn't the same height, or breadth as Titus Pullus, but there was a similarity in facial features that belied the fact Gaius Porcinus was the son of Valeria, Titus Pullus' sister, and Titus' only nephew. His position in the Centurionate was achieved despite his uncle's every attempt to dissuade his young nephew from a life in the army, although he had plucked the youngster from the ranks of the 14th Legion when Gaius managed to enlist, despite his mother's objections, putting him in Scribonius' Second Cohort where his best friend could keep an eye on him. However, despite Porcinus' fresh-faced appearance, he had flourished in the Legion, and had earned the right to wear the transverse crest of a Centurion in Caesar's army. Now his nephew stood, among the other Centurions of the reserve Cohorts, waiting to hear their dispositions.
"We're not going to have any reserve," Tetarfenus answered quietly. "We're going to need every man on the wall. Now, I want the Eighth there," he pointed to the spot around the Porta Praetoria, "the Ninth there, and the Tenth there. Now move!"
As the officers went scrambling to their respective Centuries, Tetarfenus grabbed Porcinus' arm, stopping him.
"I need you to go to the Primus Pilus, tell him what's happening. Tell him that we haven't gotten an exact count yet, but my guess is that there's going to be at least 10,000 men trying to get over that wall. And tell him," Tetarfenus' tone became even grimmer, "that we're going to need the 12th's reserve as well if we're going to have any chance at stopping these bastards."
All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.
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