Caesar Triumphant
The only position that wasn't hard-pressed was the camp to the south of Caesar's, where Aulus Flaminius and the 30th Legion were repulsing the Wa with relative ease, and even lighter casualties. Whether the Wa commanding this force wasn't made of the same iron as the others, or his orders were simply to make a demonstration Flaminius didn't know, but he wasn't about to complain. Not only were the reserve Cohorts standing ready in the forum, but he hadn't even had to send in the relief Centuries. Walking behind the Centuries manning the ramparts, Flaminius called out encouragement to the rankers, and advice to the Centurions, and it was almost like a training exercise. Consequently, his men were in high spirits now that the initial tension of the assault was dispelled and the measure of the enemy was taken. Those on relief were bantering back and forth, yelling above the noise and placing wagers on how many of these barbarians they would kill when their turn came up. Those few wounded were quickly dragged out of the way by their comrades, down the ramp to the waiting stretcher bearers, who placed the wounded on the plank used for the purpose, carrying them to the hospital tent. When Flaminius moved up to the rampart to assess the strength of the Wa assault, he was surprised and delighted to see before him a ditch almost overflowing with bodies, particularly around the ladders the Wa had thrown up against the wall. Better still, he took a quick count of the remaining ranks of those warriors still trying to cross the ditch and saw that they were a half-dozen deep at most.
However, most importantly he could see that whatever fighting spirit was in these barbarians was quickly deserting them. Even as he watched, he saw the men to the rear, directly in front of the two ranks of archers who had stopped firing now that their comrades were at the walls, begin looking over their shoulders. Flaminius, like all the Primi Pili, was one of the most experienced Legionaries in the army, and he had seen that look, starting in Gaul and stretching across the entire known world. That look signaled victory, if his men could summon just enough of their strength to make one final push. Of course, in this case that didn't mean what it would in a pitched battle; Flaminius wouldn't have dreamed of ordering a pursuit. It would be enough to break these Wa against the walls, and after seeing the scene before him, he knew that it wouldn't be long before they did break. Returning to his spot behind the fighting, Flaminius called to his clerk standing a short distance away. Taking the wax tablet the scribe held out, he incised his report to Caesar. Once finished, he was about to snap the tablet shut and hand it to the Legionary who would dash to the waiting courier, who in turn would gallop the message to Caesar and presumably return with one. He had finished his report, there was nothing else to say, but then he stopped, bent his head down and, if truth be known looked slightly ridiculous as he added one more line, his tongue out of his mouth as he concentrated. While Flaminius knew his letters, like all Centurions he was no scholar, so he had to think carefully about what he was writing, hence the intense concentration. Finally finished, he quickly re-read it and then snapped it shut, handing it to the Legionary who, without saying a word turned and began running back toward the middle of the camp. He didn't know what the message said, nor did he care. In fact, it was better that he didn't know, because if he understood that he was essentially carrying the outcome of this battle, and the fate of Caesar's army, he might have collapsed on the spot from the sheer enormity of the task.
Caesar had somewhat recovered his equilibrium and was back to directing the men fighting for their lives and his, but even as he did a part of his mind was still occupied with what he feared was happening at the camp to the north. Like the northern camp, the Wa had managed to establish a presence on the rampart, but it was a much more tenuous affair, with the deepest penetration only two men deep and then only in a half-dozen spots. Otherwise it was a case where a Wa would leap over the parapet and down onto the rampart, fight ferociously for anywhere from a few heartbeats to several long moments before being cut down. Unfortunately, as with Pullus' position, it was a case of mathematics, because Caesar simply couldn't afford to lose men in the way the Wa commander could, and the latter had already proved more than willing to sacrifice as many as it took to overwhelm these pale creatures. So it was with increasing helplessness that Caesar saw his men fall, some of them able to move under their own power, crawling around and through the legs of their comrades until they were sufficiently far enough for one of their friends to grab them by the harness and drag them the rest of the way to safety, ignoring the screams of pain as they did so. Others weren't so lucky, either struck a mortal wound or so severely they were immobilized, and unless one of the men still in the fight noticed and did what they could, these men saw their lifeblood pour into a ground that was already soaked with it. The sounds of the fighting had been roaring in his ears for so long that Caesar no longer noticed it, his mind now registering it as part of the background. It was only when there was a change in the pitch of what had become a steady dull noise that alerted Caesar to a new development in the ongoing battle.
It started with a series of shouts and screams that were of a much higher intensity and volume, and looking in the direction of the source of the sound, in front of Caesar's horrified eyes he saw that several dozen paces away down the rampart, where the Fifth Cohort of the defending 25th Legion was located, a cluster of perhaps a dozen Wa who were now securely on the rampart. In fact, they were moving down the ramp at a run, slashing down at the unprotected backs of the men, Caesar's men, whose nerve had at last failed and were fleeing away from the onslaught. In doing so, they not only essentially sealed their fate, since the greatest slaughter on the battlefield came when men's collective nerve and courage finally broke and they turned to run, their flight threatened this whole camp. The sight caused Caesar to freeze for a moment, so unaccustomed and shocked at the sight of his men in headlong flight that it rendered him into a form that looked very much like the statues of him now spread from one end of the world to the other. It was only momentary, however, as with an abrupt shake of his head, he began heading toward the breach at a dead run, pausing only long enough to point a now-drawn sword at the small group of aides and some Legionaries who had just been relieved that were standing nearby.
"Follow me! If we don't stop this, it's over for all of us!"
And without another glance back, sure that his men were hot on his heels, a 65 year-old general rushed headlong into battle, with all the fervor of a young veteran eager to win glory.
It didn't take long for Gaius Porcinus to find his uncle; Titus Pullus was always easy to spot, for a couple of reasons. The first was his size, but it was the second that delayed Gaius from making it to his Primus Pilus' side, as the giant Centurion was still standing hard up against the palisade, forming one side of a box that was still managing to keep the Wa in that area hemmed in. But even as Gaius weaved his way through the panting men on relief, then hopped over the numerous bodies lying in heaps, despite his relative inexperience as a Centurion, he was a hardened veteran of many battles, and he took in and understood the desperate situation at a glance. The Century that Titus was assisting, although Gaius didn't recognize it, was the Fourth of the First Cohort, but what Gaius could see was that there were now no more than four men in each file standing there, ready to take their turn. Although he kept moving, Gaius did take the time to look down the ramp to where the relieving Century would be waiting, and his heart started racing even more than it had been from the exertion in getting there. He hadn't thought it possible, but the Century waiting to go back into battle was even worse off than the one currently fighting, with perhaps three men per file. And now there was a new force assaulting the camp? In the remaining time it took Gaius to reach his uncle, he came to the simple conclusion that this was going to be the day he died, along with all of his men, the Legion and probably the army. Almost overwhelmed at the thought, Gaius' stride faltered for a moment, and the feeling of impending loss that swept through him threatened to bring him to his knees. Yet, none of the thoughts racing through his head had anything to do with his own life ending and were instead focused on the tragedy faced by the families and loved ones of his men. The very thought was so painful in intensity that he gasped aloud before ruthlessly pushing it aside, spurred by the knowledge that his uncle would never let his feelings impede his ability to do his job. Finally getting to a point where he was within a few paces of Pullus, Gaius halted, knowing that distracting his uncle at that moment, when he was engaged with a Wa, could be fatal even for a man as experienced as his uncle. Waiting until he saw Pullus' blade sink deeply into the Wa's side, the warrior's mouth opening into a contorted shape by the agony of the mortal wound, although he didn't let out more than a groan that was barely audible from where Porcinus was standing, when the Primus Pilus took a step backward to take a breath, only then did Gaius move to his side.
"Primus Pilus," he called out, as always careful to refer to his uncle only by his rank in front of the men, no matter the circumstances. Pullus turned in clear surprise at the sound of his nephew's voice, the older man covered in blood, mostly that of the Wa, his eyes narrowing at not just the sight but the import of his nephew who was part of the reserve.
"What is it?" Pullus snapped, unmindful at that moment of their blood ties, seeing instead only the Hastatus Posterior of one of his Cohorts.
If Porcinus was unsettled by the reception, he didn't betray it a bit as he saluted, then in as few words as possible gave his report. Even so, he had to repeat the report once more before Pullus' mind could grasp the import of what his nephew was telling him. It was only through a supreme effort of will that Titus Pullus didn't betray the sudden anxiety, and if truth were known, the fair amount of fear that threatened his composure. Instead, he forced himself to give only a grim nod.
"Tetarfenus is in position?"
"They were moving onto the walls as I left. I'm sure that they're in place now."
Nodding again, Pullus considered.
"All right. You're dismissed. Go back and tell Tetarfenus that he must hold, no matter the cost. Although I'm sure he knows that."
Gaius waited for more, but once it was clear that his uncle had said all he was going to, in fact turning back to the fighting as he moved his sword in an easy pattern of circles as he tried to keep his aching muscles loose, he remained rooted to the spot where he was standing. Sensing this, Pullus turned back to Porcinus, his expression one of irritation at the delay of getting back to slaughtering barbarians.
"Well. What is it?"
"Primus Pilus, aren't you going to release the reserves of the 12th?"
Pullus frowned, caught clearly by surprise. How had he forgotten about that, he wondered? Was his mind so overwhelmed at what was going on that he could forget such vital details? While his first instinct was to tell Gaius to go to the Primus Pilus of the 12th and relay his orders to move them over to join the rest of the 10th's reserve, for some reason the orders wouldn't come out of his mouth. Instead, he looked carefully about him, at not just the Centuries still fighting, but the men waiting in relief. When he did, he saw the same thing that his nephew had, and with great reluctance, he shook his head.
"I can't spare them Gaius," he said quietly. "Tell Tetarfenus he's going to have to do the best he can with the men he has."
Even with the maelstrom of noise and fighting, both men could only look each other in the eyes as both of them understood what Titus Pullus was telling his nephew. There would be only three Cohorts, a few more than a thousand men, to stop what Tetarfenus was sure was ten times that number. Swallowing hard, Porcinus couldn't trust himself to speak, instead giving a curt nod before turning to go. Before he did, Titus Pullus reached out and grabbed his nephew's shoulder.
"Gaius, wait."
When Porcinus turned back to face his uncle, the older man's expression was one that would stay with Gaius for the rest of his time on earth.
"May the gods be with you Gaius," Pullus said as softly as could be managed in the din, blinking away what looked suspiciously like tears.
"And you........Uncle," Gaius' reply almost choked in his throat, but before either of them shamed themselves, Porcinus turned away, starting out at a dead run back to be with his men to face whatever fate awaited them.
Pullus stood and watched for a few moments, until Gaius disappeared between the tents still pitched and aligned in their neat rows, forcing down the lump in his throat until the man he had come to love as a son was no longer in sight. Drawing a deep breath, Pullus squared his shoulders, then called to his runner, crouched just out of the range of the fighting.
"Go to Primus Pilus Balbinus. Tell him I need his reserve. Now."
Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, Pullus turned his attention back to the fighting, looking for a spot that needed some help. Quickly seeing that every single spot where ladders were against the wall was being hard-pressed, he simply chose the spot nearest him, and headed back into the fighting.
All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.
