Caesar Triumphant

Gaius Porcinus and his Century were at that very moment hurling the second and last of their javelins into the mass of Wa who had reached just the other side of the ditch. Every one of them was roaring in their own tongue, and while not one of the men on that rampart understood the words, they needed no translation of intent. Unlike the other assaults, the commander of this contingent of Wa had decided speed would be an even better weapon than a barrage of arrow fire. And while the rear ranks, composed of archers, were firing, the intensity of the firing was nowhere near the ferocity of the barrage on the western wall. While this meant less men would fall from arrows, the other benefit was that the Roman's shields were intact when the first of the Wa came scrambling up the ladders. Since Caesar had ordered that only the ditch facing the most likely avenue of attack be sown with the lilies, the only obstacles were the sharpened stakes embedded in the wall of the ditch directly underneath the rampart and palisade. And while these stakes did their job and claimed a few Wa who were either too zealous or unlucky, the numbers were akin to catching a handful of water out of a waterfall. 

Porcinus was in his spot at the right of his Century, roughly in the middle between the main gate and the western corner of the camp. Although the initial assault of this enemy force was focused around the main gate, it was only a matter of moments before, again like a flood of water, the Wa in the middle ranks came boiling up the ditch. Porcinus, in the instant before the screaming warriors began throwing their ladders up against the rampart, was struck by how much this was like a raging flood brought on by a sudden storm, except instead of water this torrent was composed of flesh, blood and iron. Then the top of a ladder suddenly came into view directly to his left, in front of his men of the first tent section of his Century. Because this was the last Cohort, the Tenth, there was a higher concentration of non-Romans, and the man to Gaius' left was a Pandyan named Supor, but who had earned the nickname Olympus because in the winter games held every year, he had been crowned the Legion champion, and had been narrowly defeated for the title of best discus thrower in the army. But he was also a good fighter, and this was the quality that Porcinus and the rest of his comrades valued now, especially since none of the men of the relief force had siege spears. This was going to be decided one way or the other by Roman swords and shields. Since Olympus was holding his own shield and had his sword in his other hand, it was up to Porcinus to try and push the ladder away. Unfortunately, while Gaius was no weakling, it took the strength of a Titus Pullus to singlehandedly thrust a ladder now holding two or three Wa who were scrambling upward as quickly as they could away from the rampart. Knowing this, Porcinus didn't even try, deciding in that instant to add his own sword to stop the first barbarians up the ladder. He and Olympus struck simultaneously, so that the first Wa faced a choice that sealed his fate either way. As he dodged Olympus' blade, he consequently moved right into the path of Porcinus' savage downward thrust, the tip punching right into the soft space between clavicle and shoulder blade, sending the Wa toppling backward, striking the man immediately behind him and starting a chain reaction of falling bodies that swept the first few Wa off the ladder.

"We couldn't have done better if we had planned it," Porcinus shouted more loudly than he needed to than if he was just talking to Olympus, but like any good leader, he knew his men needed every small victory that came their way. "If that's not a sign that the gods haven't forsaken us, I don't know what is!"

This elicited a round of cheers, but as Porcinus knew, watching the men below untangling themselves, it would be short-lived. Even as he watched, the first men were replaced by more Wa, their yellowish faces turned up as they clambered up the rungs, eyes almost invisible and lips thinned in a snarling mien of fear, hate and bloodlust. Within a matter of a few heartbeats, Olympus and Porcinus attempted to repeat the tactic that had worked so well, but this Wa was either more experienced or had observed what happened to his comrade and come up with a countermove of his own. Instead of trying to twist backward to avoid one of the Roman's thrusts, this Wa did the opposite, suddenly throwing his body hard up against the ladder, while the Roman blades bit into nothing but empty air behind him. Because of his angle to the ladder Porcinus could see the Wa, but in order to reach him with a sword thrust he would have had to lean out over the parapet, and he had seen more than enough times what happened to men who did that. To Olympus, however, it was as if the Wa disappeared from sight and thinking that the barbarian had somehow fallen off the ladder, he made the very mistake that Gaius knew to avoid.   Counting on his own quickness, the Pandyan decided to risk a peek by moving his shield a fraction so that he could quickly lean over to make sure that the yellow bastard had indeed been dispatched.

"Olympus no! Don't....." Gaius shouted, but it was too late.

The Wa gave a simple upward thrust that was so quick that Gaius' brain barely registered the silvery flash, and Olympus never saw what killed him as the point of the Wa's blade pierced the spot where the throat and chin intersect, killing the Pandyan instantly. Losing Olympus so early was bad enough, but then somehow the Wa managed to let go of the ladder with his free hand to reach up and grab the slumping Legionary by the front of his harness and using the blade still buried in his head for added leverage, jerked the dead man up and out over the rampart. Porcinus could only watch in horror as Olympus' body fell over the side, the momentum of the Wa's tug enough to avoid hitting his comrades further down the ladder. For a moment, just the briefest of moments, there was a pause as the Wa grabbed the ladder again with his free hand, and Porcinus thought that the man immediately behind Olympus would have the time to step into the now vacated spot. But that was a vain hope; the Legionary who had been bracing the Pandyan was a Gayan, one of the newest batch of tiros and while he was now a veteran by virtue of all of the fighting this campaign had seen, he was still relatively inexperienced, the sudden death and disappearance of Olympus unnerving him so much that he froze. It was only for a matter of perhaps two or three heartbeats, but in moments like this, that is an eternity. However long a time it was, it was enough for the Wa who created the first crisis of this portion of the battle. With an explosive thrust of his legs, this warrior cleared the palisade and before his feet touched the earthen rampart he delivered a devastating, slicing blow aimed at Gaius Porcinus, who had just begun moving to fill the gap left by Olympus. The blade of the Wa's sword struck Gaius on his helmet, just above the ear, making a ringing sound not unlike a gong being struck, dropping the young Centurion, who was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Titus Pullus was still reeling from the loss of his second closest friend, a man who Titus privately considered to be his match, if not in skill, certainly in experience and in that undefinable virtue of ferocity and refusal to accept defeat. However, matters had become so precarious, the line of Legionaries holding back the Wa from flooding into the camp so thin that he had to force himself to put his grief away, despite the difficulty. Surveying the situation, what he saw was incredibly disheartening. No matter how the day ended, the 10th Legion was finished as a fighting force. From his quick survey, Pullus' estimate was that of the men still standing, perhaps one in ten were still unwounded. The rest of the men had all suffered wounds, mostly to the extremities, although Pullus could see men with hasty bandages wrapped around their heads, with some even still fighting despite part of their face being covered where a Wa sword or spear had inflicted a wound. Pullus hadn't received an update from Balbinus and the 12th for a period of time that was impossible for him to calculate, but if he stepped up to within a few paces of the base of the rampart, his front line now located on the first piece of level ground, he could look down the length of the camp at what he knew to be the remnants of the Seventh Cohort of the 12th and see that the situation was much the same as with the 10th. Despite how well the men were fighting, Pullus understood that this was the moment when the Wa's overwhelming advantage in numbers would tell. His men were fighting like the heroes of Troy and even if he died this day, a possibility that was growing in likelihood with each passing moment, this would still rank as the greatest fight the 10th had ever put up. It was just a shame that the Republic for which these men fought so bravely would never hear of what took place today, Pullus thought sadly. Even as this thought ran through his mind he was in motion, heading towards a spot near where the 10th and 12th met, where he could see a bulging pocket had been formed by a group of Wa that had pushed the Legionaries in that area almost all the way across the cleared area next to the rampart, so that the backs of the men in support were almost up against the first row of tents. Pullus began moving toward this spot, but when he turned to call to whatever men he could muster to come with him, less than two dozen men were able to answer his call. That was the moment Pullus knew what he must do, and it was with a leaden ball of shame and sadness that he grabbed one of the Legionaries by the arm, the Centurion of his Fourth Century as it turned out.

"I don't have any more tablets, or if I do all the slaves carrying them are dead," he shouted above the growing sounds of the fighting, as the Wa began to sense that victory was near and shouted encouragement to their comrades. "So you have to remember this order to take to the courier."

"What courier?" the Centurion asked. "They're either dead or trapped here in the camp now that those bastards have hit the main gate."

"I know that," Pullus snapped, the strain of the moment wearing on him. "But we have to get word to Caesar somehow, so I want you to go find out if Artaxades is still alive. If he's not, then you'll have to do it. But I think he's probably still alive because he's in the last section of his Century in the Eighth, and he's our best chance. Our only chance," Pullus amended.

Normally, a Primus Pilus wouldn't concern himself with the health or whereabouts of a lowly Gregarius in one of the junior Cohorts, but this man, a Parthian, bore the distinction of being crowned the fastest runner of the longer distances in the army.

Pullus was counting on this now, as he continued, "If he's alive, tell him to carry this message to Caesar. The camp is about to fall, and I'm ordering a fighting withdrawal to the forum, then an orbis. I doubt that we'll survive two parts of a watch, but if we do, we have a chance that Caesar can send reinforcements to hit the Wa from behind."

"That's not much of a chance."

"I know," Pullus admitted. "But it's the only one we have. So tell Artaxades to strip down. No armor, no helmet, nothing that can slow him down, not even a sword or dagger. Send him out the  eastern gate, have him head down the slope about halfway before he turns south. Whoever their general is, he's a clever bastard, but hopefully he didn't think to put some men farther down the ridge to stop the kind of thing we're doing."

As was normal, the Centurion repeated everything back except for the last thing Pullus said, knowing it wasn't necessary. With a curt nod, Pullus dismissed the Centurion, who immediately turned to carry out his orders. Before he took more than two steps, Pullus called to him.

"Tell Artaxades that he needs to run faster than he ever has in his life before. The 10th depends on him."

That piece of business done, Pullus continued toward the pocket, happy to see that as tired as the men accompanying him were, they hadn't hesitated and had already run on to bolster their comrades. All unit cohesion was gone by this point; Centuries had become irretrievably enmeshed with each other, so it was rare that men from the same section were fighting side by side. This, however, was where the grueling and harsh training of the Legions showed, as men who had never stood in the line together still knew exactly what was expected of them. Just before Pullus took his place at their head, he called the nearest cornicen to him.

"Sound the signal for fighting withdrawal," he told the man, "we're falling back to the forum."

The moment Pullus was finished, the first notes of one of the most hated horn commands began sounding, and to Pullus it was clear that it was an order that the men were expecting, because none of them turned to look in disbelief or anger at the idea of giving ground. Those men still fighting understood this was the correct, indeed the only decision at that moment. I think I left it too late, Pullus thought as he waded into the fighting, his already bloodied sword held in first position. He had done all he could do as a commander for the moment. Now it was time to fight.

Centurion Felix was at the head of the column sent by Flaminius, pushing the men under his command relentlessly north, towards Caesar's camp. Every few moments, the undulations of the ridgetop road afforded Felix and his men a view of the commander's position, but they were still too far away to make out particulars. They could see the cloud of dust hanging just above the ramparts, a sign of many, many feet shuffling about. What he was unable to determine was whether the fighting was still along the walls, or if the camp had been penetrated. With that acting as a spur, he unconsciously picked up the pace of his trot, only becoming aware of the increased pace a few moments later when the sound of his gasping became so loud he couldn't block it out. Only then did he relent a bit, the sound of the rest of his men gasping and retching soon overwhelming the sound of his own breath in his ears. Still, although he slowed he didn't stop yet, even as he recognized that he would have to do so, soon. Otherwise, he and his men would be too winded and fatigued to do anything more than vomit on those barbarians. Just a bit farther, he thought, then we'll stop, seeing ahead of him a slight slope leading to a dip in the road that would shield he and his men from view and allow them to catch their breath. Felix tried to remember the route from the times he had traveled back and forth during the hectic time that the positions were being prepared. There would be a slope of perhaps three or four stadia, then the road would be relatively level for the rest of the little more than a mile to Caesar's camp. Once they reached the top of the slope, then he would be close enough to get a good idea of what was taking place at Caesar's camp, and whether or not he would be pressing on to Pullus' position. 

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