Caesar Triumphant

Outside the walls, Centurion Felix was startled by what he recognized as Roman voices, shouting in a manner that told his experienced ears that something good had happened. He was too busy to pay it more than passing attention, since at that moment he was thrusting his sword into the gut of a barbarian with a spear who had overstepped and left himself open. His sword was wet the entire length, and there was enemy blood splashed almost up to his elbow, but Felix was still concerned. There were just so many of these bastards! With this latest man dispatched, Felix stepped aside, letting a man relieve him so that he could remove himself from the immediate fighting and move along the back of the formation to get a better idea of what was happening. Even farther away, the dust was thick enough that it was extremely difficult to determine exactly what was going on, so Felix had to use a combination of his ears, his experience, and the alignment of his Centuries to get an idea of the overall situation.

Once in position, Felix immediately saw that his Third Century was further back in the long line than they should have been, to the point where it looked as if their front rank was at a spot that put them about even with the fourth or fifth man in the file of the Century to their left, and the third or fourth man of the Century to the right. This made a dangerous bulge in the line, and if the barbarians could push them even farther back, there would be a crack that would allow some of their warriors to squeeze through on either side to attack the rear of the adjacent Centuries. Normally this would be an easy problem to fix; simply ordering one of the Centuries of the second line to add their weight to the beleaguered Century was usually enough to push the enemy back. But since Felix had put his Cohort into a single line to provide a wider front, there was no second line to provide help. Even as Felix watched, some of the more experienced Wa warriors that were removed from the immediate fight clearly saw this and were hurrying to the spot, throwing themselves at the Third Century and forcing them yet another step backward. Just as the Wa general on the other side, Felix was seeing what seemed to be a victory suddenly threatened. Unlike the barbarian commander, Felix didn't hesitate. Understanding that it would be impossible to reach one of the other Cohorts to find a Century that their Pilus Prior could spare, even if they weren't as hard-pressed as Felix was at that moment, instead the Quintus Pilus Prior ran over to where his own First Century was even then pushing forward, closer to the wall.

Pushing his way to the man fourth from the rear on the right hand side of the formation, he grabbed the man by the shoulder and shouted, "Follow me. Pass the word down!"

Then, repeating the command for each rank behind him, without waiting to see that he was obeyed, Felix trotted back to the Third Century. Within a few heartbeats, the men he had summoned had joined him.

"Sort this out!" he pointed to the rear of the Third Century, and every man immediately began moving, not needing any more direction.

Quickly lining themselves up in their normal spot in the formation, the added weight of these men pushing against the man in front of them had the desired effect. At first it stopped the backward slide, but after a moment Felix saw that the Third was taking a shuffling step forward, forcing the barbarians back toward the wall. Satisfied that this crisis was averted, Felix returned to his own Century, ready to finish the job.

Hearing the huge roar farther down the line from him, Sextus Scribonius had too much experience to let it distract him at that moment, since, like Felix, he was in the process of parrying the sword thrust of one of the barbarians. Countering this move, Scribonius responded with a thrust of his own, regretting for perhaps the thousandth time that his left arm was so useless that he couldn't hold a shield, knowing that it would have come in extremely handy at this moment. Finally, after a further exchange of blows, each man blocking the other with their blades, the barbarian overcommitted himself, his sword arm extending out far enough that the distance to his body was such that he couldn't bring the blade back in time to parry Scribonius' hard overhand thrust. Catching him high in the chest, the point of the Roman's sword punched through both the lamellar armor and the breastbone of the Wa, the point severing the Wa's windpipe. Knowing that twisting the blade was not only going to be difficult because of the hard bone of the chest, it was unnecessary, Scribonius made a neat recovery, not bothering to wipe his blade clean, knowing that it was useless.

He did take a step backward, removing himself in much the same way as Felix did, except this was to try and determine what the source and cause of the sudden burst of sound was about. Looking in the direction from which it came, at first Scribonius was sure that he was seeing things that his mind, so overcome with grief at the death of his friend, tried to protect him from by putting this apparition in his view. In fact, Scribonius reached up and using the grimy back of his hand, tried to clear his eyes. But when he looked again, his giant friend was still standing there. What told Scribonius it wasn't a vision was when Pullus turned slightly so Scribonius could clearly see the sword, still jutting from his chest and back. However, the emotion that flooded through Scribonius wasn't relief or joy at the knowledge that his friend still lived. No, it was anger that suddenly went coursing through him, in a cold wave that was as much fear as it was rage. Suddenly completely oblivious to the situation around him, Scribonius went striding in Pullus' direction, his mind filled with all sorts of choice invective. But when he reached his friend's side, all the things he had come up with suddenly fled as he stared at his friend, whose bone-white face looked at him in what Scribonius knew was Pullus' amused expression, marred as it was by the pain he was in.

"What.....what by Pluto's cock do you think you're doing?" Scribonius spluttered, causing the thin line of Pullus' grimace to twitch.

"My job?" Pullus' voice was back to a hoarseness that belied his condition, but his attempt at humor was completely unappreciated by his friend.

"If you haven't noticed, you've got a sword sticking out of you," Scribonius shot back. "And you have Centurions to do this."

"The Legion needs me Sextus," Pullus replied, but his eyes closed for a moment and he started to tilt in one direction but Artabanos was there and put a gentle but firm hand around his Primus Pilus' waist, keeping him upright.

The sight of that almost undid Scribonius, and his vision suddenly clouded, but he was past caring showing this sign of weakness in front of anyone, let alone rankers. Besides, he knew they felt much the same way from the looks on their faces as they gazed up at Pullus, their faces showing the strain of the emotions they were feeling. Scribonius imagined it was much the same as he was feeling, a combination of pride and grief in equal measure as they saw the toll this was taking on their leader.

"They need you alive, Titus," Scribonius said gently, still hoping to reach his friend with reason.

Pullus made a sound that was more groan than chuckle, but he was no less adamant than his friend.

"Alive? I'm not going to survive this Sextus and we both know it. So I might as well be useful as long as I have a breath left in me."

Words aside, Scribonius recognized the tone more than anything and knew that there was no swaying his friend, even if he had summoned an argument that Cicero would have envied. Not trusting himself to speak, Scribonius' only response was a shake of his head. Seeing that his friend had recognized the inevitable, Pullus turned slowly about, looking at the fighting going on all around him. Over where the Third Cohort was, Pullus' eye was drawn to a small group of men, slightly detached from the rest of the orbis, where about a dozen barbarians had managed to penetrate.

"Help me over there," Pullus commanded the two men. As they made their way toward this threat, Pullus called over his shoulder to Scribonius, "Go back to your men Sextus. They still need you too."

Scribonius could only stare at the back of his friend before, with a shake of his head, he did as his Primus Pilus ordered, understanding it was probably the last order he would ever receive from his friend.

Like everyone else, Porcinus had heard the roar, but had been too busy at that moment to take the time to determine the cause. The incursion that Sutra had brought to his attention had grown in size, and for the first time Porcinus' Century had started giving ground, the front rank now halfway down the dirt ramp. Glancing desperately about, Porcinus saw that he and his men were on their own; everywhere within his range of vision the rest of the reserve force was similarly engaged. Although some Centuries were still holding the wall, a number of them were in similar straits to Porcinus. Unlike Felix, Porcinus didn't have the luxury of rank, nor were their sufficient men left for him to get help from another Century to bolster his own lines. He and his men were further hampered by their almost overwhelming fatigue, and every time Porcinus made another thrust, or parried a Wa sword, he was sure it was the last time he would have the strength to do so. Yet, the next time he would feel his arm moving as if it had a mind of its own, repeating the same motions that he had spent so many watches perfecting on the wooden stakes. His men were in the same state, but inevitably one of them would be a trifle too slow with his shield, or he would overextend on a thrust, leaving him vulnerable to the slashing blades of a barbarian warrior. Just like with the fighting in the forum, there was a grim pile at the bottom of the dirt ramp that had been steadily growing from the first moments the Wa ladders had been thrown against the southern wall. Porcinus' hopes, suddenly buoyed by the sounds of the horns and the sight of the relief Cohorts, were starting to plummet yet again as he watched the continued destruction of not just his Century, but every one along the wall. He hadn't seen Tetarfenus for perhaps a watch by this point, and could only assume that the Pilus Prior was dead or wounded so severely that he was out of action. In fact, he hadn't seen his own Pilus Prior for perhaps a third of a watch, and assumed he had suffered the same fate as Tetarfenus. At that moment, all Porcinus knew was that he was almost out of men, and the Wa weren't.

"Centurion!"

Porcinus had taken a pause, stepping back down the ramp to catch his breath, and the man calling him was a Gayan, whose knowledge of Latin had almost been exhausted with that single word. Turning wearily toward the man, wondering what in Hades could be important enough to call his attention to at this moment, he saw the Gayan pointing. However, he wasn't pointing anywhere along the wall, but back behind the fighting to the right, in the direction of the Porta Principalis Dextra. Following his finger, Porcinus squinted at the flurry of movement he was seeing, and his heart suddenly threatened to seize up at the sight of men pouring through! So great was his fatigue that his initial reaction was that he was seeing their doom, so sure that the men now entering at a run had to be those yellow-skinned, black-hearted bastards. But as he stared, it slowly dawned on him that it was extremely unlikely that the Wa would have been carrying shields. Nor would they have been carrying Roman standards. As quickly as it had come, the despair was flushed out of him by a new wave of a hope that was so overwhelming that he couldn't restrain himself from letting out a shout of joy. Their troubles were over!

Somehow what looked like a full Cohort of men were coming to their rescue, and now more men were seeing this blessed sight, their shouts of joy mingling with Porcinus' voice. Yet as quickly as it had come, Porcinus' joy fled, not as much by a new onrush of despair as it was by puzzlement, as he saw the Roman relief force streaming by, seemingly ignoring the fighting going on to their right. Recognizing what it meant, Porcinus wasted no time. Shouting over his shoulder at his acting Optio to sound the relief for a line shift, he went stumbling down the rampart, hurdling the pile of corpses without a thought, intent only on intercepting the Pilus Prior of this Cohort, who he could see at the head of his men. Shouting to get his attention, Porcinus finally caused the head of the Pilus Prior to turn, and the sight of a dark face caught the young Centurion by surprise. In his confused and exhausted state, for a brief moment Porcinus thought it might in fact turn out to be a barbarian trick, since this man's skin tone had a slightly gold tint to it, and although his eyes weren't the almond shape of the men they were fighting, Porcinus supposed it was possible that there were such men fighting in the Wa ranks. But then he remembered about Pacorus, the Parthian Centurion who had caused such an uproar when he was promoted to run a Cohort, and although Porcinus had only seen him at a distance, he recognized that this was who he was looking at. Even with his fatigue and the overall situation, Porcinus had been thoroughly trained in a manner befitting a Centurion of Rome, so he remembered to render a salute, which the Parthian returned after pausing for a moment, giving a snapped order to his Optio to continue on to the spot Pacorus had pointed out as where they would form for the attack on the Wa force surrounding the forum.

"By the gods it's good to see you, sir!" Porcinus panted.

"I'm glad we could make it in time," Pacorus' Latin was extremely good, yet another reason he had come to Caesar's attention, who always had an eye out for men with a facility for languages like he did.

"I know you're heading for the forum," Porcinus wasted no time. "But we could sure use some help at the wall," he gestured with a thumb back over his shoulder.

Leaning slightly to the side so that he could see more closely, Pacorus surveyed the scene for several moments, his eyes missing nothing.

Finally he replied, "Yes, I can see that you have your hands full."

Porcinus wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but this noncommittal response completely threw him for a moment. He was about to make a sharp retort, something about how arriving so late to a fight practically guaranteed that he and the rest of the men at the wall would have their hands full, but unlike his uncle, Porcinus wasn't naturally a hothead. Besides, he understood that such a comment would only hurt his chances.

Instead, he tried to match Pacorus' tone, "That we do. I don't know what your orders are, but can you spare us at least a Century? Two would be better," he finished hopefully.

Pacorus gave a barking laugh at the younger Centurion's wording.

"Yes, I can imagine," he responded dryly, then it was his turn to jerk a thumb back over his own shoulder. "But I imagine that your Primus Pilus wouldn't take it kindly if one of his junior Centurions diverted part of the force that it looks like they desperately need as much as your bunch does."

"My Primus Pilus is dead," Porcinus replied softly, trying to keep his tone even and lower lip from trembling in an unseemly display in front of this foreigner, Centurion or not.

"Balbinus is dead?" Pacorus asked sharply, for such was the legend of Titus Pullus that it didn't occur to him that it might be the Primus Pilus of the 10th.

Porcinus shook his head in answer, not saying anything in response as his vision suddenly began swimming at the sheer enormity of what he was imparting to the Pilus Prior. For a moment, Pacorus stood there, not understanding the import of the other man's mute answer. Then his face lost its color as his jaw dropped in astonishment, and the fleeting thought passed through Porcinus' mind that suddenly Pacorus didn't look so much like a Parthian.

"Titus Pullus is dead?" Pacorus gasped, but again Porcinus could only answer with a simple nod of his head.

Unbidden, Pacorus' lips formed the prayer said for the dead to the gods of his people, for Titus Pullus' reputation demanded no less.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Centurion," Pacorus finally managed to say. "But if that's as you say, then surely the need of the men in the forum is greater?"

"If we can't stop these cunni from getting over the wall, then it might not matter," Porcinus replied.

And that was something Pacorus couldn't argue. In fact, if he didn't offer up aid to this Centurion, whose name he hadn't asked, then his own Cohort may be faced with the sudden appearance of an enemy in their rear. It might not tip the balance back in the barbarians' favor, but it wasn't a good idea to put him and his men in a position to test that idea.

"Very well, but I can only spare you one Century."

Porcinus opened his mouth to argue, but seeing the look on the Parthian's face, shut it, understanding that he was lucky to get that.

"Thank you Centurion," Porcinus said instead.

While this exchange had been taking place the men of Pacorus' Cohort had continued running past the two men, and as luck or the gods would have it, the last Century was just approaching. Waving his hand at the Centurion at their head, Pacorus signaled him to stop his Century. The panting man ran up to Pacorus, and like Pacorus rendered his salute.

"Take your Century and go with this Centurion," Pacorus directed. "You're under his command and he'll tell you what he needs."

The Centurion didn't hesitate; this had been a day of surprises and firsts, he reasoned. One more was to be expected. Porcinus thanked Pacorus again and turned to go, but then Pacorus stopped him with a question.

"Centurion, in case this all works out, who should I say helped save this day?"

"I'm Decimus Hastatus Posterior Gaius Porcinus, of the 10th Legion, Pilus Prior," Porcinus answered, prompting a frown from Pacorus.

"If I recall, Primus Pilus Pullus had a nephew by that name," Pacorus commented.

At the mention of his uncle in the past tense, Porcinus felt a stab of pain even greater than he had experienced in the moments after his recognition that his uncle was dead.

"He still does, Pilus Prior," Porcinus answered, his tone stiff with the hurt and rebuke. "And he always will."

Without another word or waiting to be dismissed, Porcinus turned and began trotting away, beckoning Pacorus' Centurion to his side as he did. Pacorus only watched for a matter of a couple of heartbeats, understanding the younger man completely. Then he turned back and began running to where even then the five Centuries of his Cohort were arraying in a line, prepared to pounce on the barbarian rear.

It was over, the Wa general now recognized. He still wasn't sure how it had happened, but he was now assured that at the very least his attempt to breach the wall had failed, and the taste of that was bitter ash in his mouth. Now the only thing he could do was to leave those of his men who had managed to get up the ladder and over the wall and were even now fighting to their fate, and pull the rest of the men gathered at the ladders to join their comrades in the fight against this new force. At this point in the battle, if this general had been Roman, Greek, or even Han, his goal would have been to fight his way out from this predicament to preserve what remained of his force, to fight another day. But this was not the Wa way. To be defeated was so shaming that no Wa with any self-respect would dare to show his face back at the capital, and no man in the rank and file would have done so either. No, what remained was only to die with as much glory as could be salvaged, and to take as many of these grubworms as they could. To that end, the general now began shoving his way to the front, no longer needing to direct matters. He was determined that he would wet his sword to the hilt, and that his gods would be so impressed with the number of his kills that they would forgive him for not bringing victory to his people. It helped that he was sure that the battle itself was won; it didn't occur to him that the force assaulting the camp holding the grubworm general would fail. So even if the strategic aim of this prong of the attack was foiled, the loss of their general would undoubtedly send these barbarians skulking back to their ships. And no matter what happened, they had crippled this invasion force to the point where it would be impossible for them to continue.

What this Wa forgot, which could be forgiven under the circumstances, was that this attack had been an all-or-nothing proposition, that the only troops left at the capital were the personal bodyguards of the emperor, and men who were too sick or still recovering from wounds received from the other engagements with these grubworms. In fact, the only hope of the Wa at this point was that the mauling the Romans had received was so savage that it removed any thought of continuing their thrust towards the capital. To help ensure this end, the Wa general made his way to the front, standing just behind the front line where his warriors were still slashing and thrusting at the shields of the grubworms, who in contrast to his own men, still stood in ordered lines several men deep. As much as he despised these pale creatures, he was nevertheless admiring of the discipline and order that they brought to a battle, and it was a pity that he wouldn't survive to try and adopt some of these practices for his own army. Seeing one of the grubworms with the device on his helmet that went crossways over the top, unlike all the rest of these barbarians whose plumes that looked like horsehair simply hung straight down, the general drew his sword and headed directly for him, determined that this would be the first of what would be many deaths he would bring.

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