Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 32
“No!” I remember shouting, over and over. “No! No! NO! I am not done yet! I am not through! I am still Titus Pullus!”
The fatigue and weakness that just a moment before had been about to engulf me and send me to oblivion vanished, a fresh spate of sweat spurting out of my body, but this time feeling like molten lava. Dropping both ladders from my right hand, I crouched to peer from underneath my shield, several arrowheads now poking through to make my vision even more obscured. I had to find a spot to put the first ladder. Seeing a likely place, I picked one ladder up and threw it down, with the spikes facing downward. Fortunately, the ladder stuck into the pile. Then, picking up the second ladder, I began walking up the first section. Immediately following my lead, the other three men did the same in their own area, except that before the one farthest to the right and nearest to the wall on that side could take more than two steps, he either let his shield slip or a Thracian made a lucky shot. Hearing a choked cry, I risked a glance in time to see him drop his other two sections of ladder to clutch at his throat, clearly seeing the feathered shaft protruding from between his fingers, already soaked with blood. There was nothing that could be done except press on, with only the ability to hope that the man behind him had the presence of mind to pick up the ladder instead of mindlessly trying to scramble up the pile. My spot was on the far left, meaning the ruined left side of the gate was immediately in front of me. The other two leading men were between me and the fallen Legionary, both of them having also placed their first section of ladder. One of them, now that he understood what was required, was moving more quickly than the rest of us. Arrows were now coming more thickly than at any other point, thudding into the rubble, glancing off the pieces of rock that were part of the pile, or embedding themselves in one of the pieces of gate sticking up. With my renewed energy, I no longer was having trouble keeping my shield up, despite it growing increasingly clumsier as the weight changed from all the arrows stuck in it. Reaching out to throw down the second section, I climbed farther up on the first, putting me closer to the wall. I knew that just a few paces away, higher up the pile, I would be too close to the wall for the archers to get a shot at me, but the men behind me still had to go through the same ordeal. Taking care not to move my shield, I looked under my arm to see a single line of Legionaries strung out behind me, all of them holding their shields up, most of them having several arrows in them as well. A few men had fallen, most of them curling up underneath their shields to wait for help while, for the most part, the Thracians ignored them. The second section was over a much more uneven piece of ground and, taking my first step, I almost lost my balance when the ladder twisted. A good length of one side was not touching anything solid, not even the spikes, so I looked about for a better piece of the pile to lay it on, but it all looked the same. Gritting my teeth, I walked farther up the ladder, feeling the flattened rungs under my feet for any change that might alert me that it was collapsing from under me. Because of my height, I could now catch a glimpse of the interior of the fortress, and it was not a heartening sight. A mass of Serdi warriors, several hundred strong in number, were waiting in the open parade ground of the fortress. The only good news I could see was that some of the collapsed wall had actually fallen backward into the fortress, so that instead of a leap down, we could descend, although the footing would be treacherous. It was time to lay down the last section of ladder, thankful that for reasons I could not immediately understand the Thracians were not moving closely enough where they could throw their spears or other missiles at us. As I was laying down the last section, watching the spikes dig into the mess more solidly than the second had, I got my answer. A stone from one of our ballistae arced over my head, and I could clearly hear the humming sound it made as it flew, landing not more than a hundred paces past me, hitting the hard packed dirt at the edge of the parade ground where the road once passed through the main gate. The stone went skipping across the ground, forcing men to scatter, while some were too slow, and I clearly heard their screams when the hard, smooth rock smashed into their bodies, causing horrific damage.
“Pluto’s cock, that’s close,” I heard someone mutter behind me, but I did not have the time to agree, even though the voice sounded familiar.
I was just glad that Flavianus had decided to keep up the barrage despite the danger, even knowing that if one of them fell short to splatter me all over the rubble I would feel differently. With my right hand now free, it was time to start inflicting some damage on the Thracians, but I had no javelins. Thracians were shaking their weapons at us, then I was joined near the top by another man, and I turned to see that it was Macrinus. He grinned at me, indicating the waiting warriors with his head.
“Are you ready to get stuck in, Prefect?”
I nodded grimly, the heat still surging through my body and I drew my sword, reveling in the feel of it in my hands. I had heard men whisper around the fires when they thought I was not about that they were certain I had been born with a sword in my hand, which was not far from the truth. The cramping that had worried me was gone as I wrapped my fingers around my thumb in the unusual but extremely effective grip that Aulus Vinicius, our Optio and first weapons instructor in the Legions, had taught us to use. I had long since become accustomed to using the grip, in fact having become second nature, also used to the slightly reduced lateral movement using the grip when turning the wrist outward. Between the fire from the scorpions and the relatively sheltered position close to the wall, we no longer had to worry about the arrows from above, but I was sure that when we dropped down, there would be archers waiting on the ramparts farther back, where they would have the angle to fire on us from there.
“Let’s soften them up first, give them a taste of their own medicine,” I said to Macrinus, who nodded.
When he shouted the order over his shoulder, men immediately behind us started gathering javelins from their comrades behind them, passing them up until we had several dozen gathered. It had been quite some time since I had thrown a javelin in anything but practice, and even in practice it had been awhile, so it felt a little awkward when I hefted one. There was now a solid, albeit thin line of Legionaries standing just near the top of the pile, positioned in such a manner that only a small part of their upper body was showing to the Serdi and, in a moment, they all held javelins. Flavianus had ceased fire, and it appeared the Thracians were beginning to sense that they were no longer in danger from our artillery. Some of the braver ones were now edging closer, hefting their own spears like they were going to throw them, but they were at a disadvantage. We were on slightly higher ground because of the rubble, increasing our range while decreasing theirs. Even so, the leading edge of the warriors waiting for us was at the very limit of our range, even from above, and I was reluctant to waste javelins. That was when things seemed to come to a momentary stop, both sides simply standing there, knowing that the next overt move on either group’s part would start the slaughter. This was turning out to be unlike any assault I had ever been part of, which I suppose was fitting.
Finally, I muttered, “Fuck this.”
Pulling my arm back, feeling the shaft of the javelin along my arm, I shouted to the Legionaries with javelins to prepare to launch them, hearing the rustle of arms sweeping back. A heartbeat later, I swept my arm forward, releasing my missile, the air suddenly filling with javelins, making their own unique sound slicing through the air. The volley did not cause many casualties, as I knew they wouldn’t, yet they did the next best thing, thudding into the Thracians’ shields, and I saw several men of the front rank forced to drop them.
“Again,” I roared, another round flying through the air.
This seemed to awaken the enemy, because on some unheard signal, a horrific howl raised from the mob, and men began running forward. I understood instantly they were trying to get underneath our javelins, and to get to the edge of the pile to wait for us.
“We’re not getting paid to stand here,” I remember yelling, taking a giant step forward and down to get to the enemy, choosing what looked like a stable piece of rock as the target for my first step. It was not, and I felt the rock give way underneath my foot when my full weight hit it, giving way beneath me to tumble farther down the slope. I felt myself losing my balance, then a hand grabbed my harness.
“Careful, Prefect, that would be a bad way to meet the enemy,” shouted Macrinus as I recovered to take another step downward.
Half stumbling, half running, on the naked edge of losing complete control to careen headlong into the onrushing Thracians, I added my voice to the roaring of men racing to kill each other.
We had the momentum of the rubble slope spilling down into the fortress, although I saw more than one man lose his footing the way I almost had, except they went tumbling down, losing their grip on their shields. I had no time to see what happened to them, but I heard at least one man unleash a horrible scream when a Thracian spear thrust into his body before he could regain his feet. Then we were smashing full force into the Serdi line and again my bulk proved to be extremely useful. Putting my shoulder behind my shield, I used it to batter into a Thracian warrior who had gotten slightly ahead of his comrades, knocking him backward off his feet. I had a glimpse of the man’s face, his mouth open in surprise as he caromed off two other men, one of whom was running forward with his spear held out in front of him. The point of his weapon went straight into the back of the man I had knocked aside. He let out a bloodcurdling scream of pain, his eyes opening wide as he was killed by one of his comrades, while the man who had inadvertently stabbed him was thrown backward as well. The third man had suffered a glancing blow, causing him to stagger a bit, forcing him to drop his shield lower to maintain his balance, giving me all the opening I needed. Using an overhand thrust across the top of my own shield, I aimed the point for the opening just above his mail shirt and underneath his chin, watching it punch through the soft hollow just below the bony lump of his throat that all men have. Before his face could even register that he had been killed, I had withdrawn my blade, the point now bloody, turning back to the second man who was just now trying to wrench his spear out of the back of his fellow Thracian. I saw his eyes catch my movement, and he yanked desperately on the shaft of his weapon, causing a gurgling scream from the man he had accidentally stabbed. Before he could recover his weapon, I had stepped forward, blade back in first position. I punched my shield forward, hitting him on the side of his head with the boss. The blow stunned him, for an instant stopping him from pulling on his spear, while my arm was a blur of movement, making another thrust, this one the classic underhand that is the first one Legionaries are taught. The point of my sword shot from underneath the lower rim of my shield, striking as quickly as any serpent, and I felt the instant of resistance of my blade punching into the man’s groin, just above his cock. He sucked in a huge shrieking breath, his face twisting in agony, letting go of both spear and shield when I twisted the blade free, causing even more damage when I did. As quickly as I had struck, I had withdrawn my blade and was again back in the first position, smelling the shit from his punctured bowel, knowing that his waste now coated the point of my blade. All along the line, men had engaged, and I could feel the presence of Macrinus to my right, holding his own shield close to my unprotected right side. I was on the far left, with the remnant of the wall just a half dozen paces to my left, and I knew that I needed to get closer to it in order to protect my left. Even so, I saw two men trying to squeeze me from that side, so, without thinking, I suddenly lunged, again putting my shoulder behind my shield before either man could react, pinning them with my weight against the wall, the man immediately next to me squeezing the man to his right, who was now smashed flat against the wall. I had moved quickly enough that neither of them could bring their arms to bear. I pushed against them with all my weight and strength, rewarded by their gasps as I crushed the breath from them. Pinning them with my weight and protected by Macrinus’ shield to my right, I twisted around to give another overhand thrust down over the top of my shield. The Thracian immediately next to me was unable to lift his shield provided I kept pressing against him, and I felt my blade’s point strike the metal of his scaled armor, resisting the pressure for an instant. I grunted from the effort, pushing down hard with my sword. My point punched through the Thracian’s armor, next striking his collarbone, breaking it as I continued to press down with all of my strength. Giving a sharp cry, his eyes rolled back in his head and I felt his body go slack, his now-dead weight pulling down the man next to him who was still pinned to the wall. Then, with a quick thrust, I removed this last threat to my left, allowing me to move so the wall was against the left edge of my shield. Macrinus was working quickly and efficiently, showing that he remembered how to use a shield as well or better than any ranker, punching out with it as an extension of his hand. We were not having it all our way, and I could hear men crying out in our tongue when they suffered a blow from a Thracian spear or sword, and by sheer weight of numbers, the Thracians were able to hold a line extending from where I stood on the far left against the ruins of the gateway. Their force was arrayed in a slightly inward crescent shape to the right, a short distance past the other side of the gateway where our men had managed to push forward a bit. More men of the First Cohort were joining the fight once they ascended the ladders to reach the breach, and I could hear the shouts of their Centurions trying to get men organized into our normal lines of relief. The Thracians were putting up a ferocious fight, however, keeping up constant pressure on all of us in the front line, making it practically impossible for a relief to start.
All three men I had dispatched had been instantly replaced, and I could see one large Thracian, waving his long, curved sword and shouting what sounded like orders pushing his way to the front. He was tall enough that our eyes met above the heads of the rest of the men and, by unspoken agreement, he began moving in my direction while I waited for him. Much younger than I was, he had a full beard, slightly unusual for a Thracian, his features showing some Greek heritage in his blood, which was not unusual at all. His armor was extremely high quality, and even through the mass of bodies, I could see it gleaming from where it had been highly polished. Just before we reached each other, another Thracian armed with a short spear and a round shield made a jabbing lunge at me, moving more quickly than I thought possible, and I barely managed to deflect his thrust with my shield. It was not an exceptionally hard blow, except that my shield had already been weakened by the number of arrow strikes it had taken, so that even above the din of the fighting, I could hear the clear sound of wood splintering, a huge crack opening in the shield. Starting just below and to the left of the boss from where I was holding it, the crack extended all the way down to the bottom, the only thing keeping it from gaping wide open the metal strip around the edge. The Thracian with the spear had recovered his weapon quickly to make another lunge at me, but because of his rapid recovery, his aim was off, the point simply glancing off the outer edge of my shield. I gave what might have seemed like a casual shrug of my left shoulder that in fact had most of my weight behind it, meaning that the natural momentum of his miss was multiplied, throwing him off balance, making him take a staggering step to his right. His spear continued on to strike the wall next to us and, for a brief instant, the point stuck in the mortar between two rocks. This gave me all the opening I needed, and I dispatched him with a quick thrust that shot through the small gap between the inner edge of his shield and his weapon hand. In the space of time no more than fifty heartbeats long, I had killed four men, but now the tall Thracian and I were facing each other with nobody between us. I sensed Macrinus, seeing this new threat, take a step forward, and I warned him off.
“I want him,” I told Macrinus, who looked disappointed before turning back to face another of the enemy.
My adversary gave a grim smile when stepping forward, holding his sword out low and to his side, telling me that he had some skill with his blade. His shield was emblazoned with a hammered bronze head that looked like a gorgon, or might have been a symbol of the rising sun, and was as polished as his scale armor. If the sun had been shining off it, I could easily see it being dazzling enough to blind an opponent, so at least luck was with me in that respect. As often happened, my vision seemed to narrow down to a tunnel where only he existed, a dangerous thing I know, yet I had the utmost faith that Macrinus would protect my weak side, and there was nothing to my left but rock. In fact, that was the one advantage I had; my Thracian opponent was limited in his lateral movement to his right, or offensive side, while the rock face of the gateway acted like an extension of my shield. This helped compensate for the fact that my shield was one sharp blow away from being useless, or so I hoped. Watching each other for a moment, looking for an opening, it was the Thracian who moved first, with a blinding speed that reminded me of my childhood friend, now dead, Vibius Domitius, who was simply the quickest man I had ever faced, in practice or in combat. I don’t know that this Thracian was quicker, but he was at least as fast as Vibius, and I honestly do not know how I parried his first thrust with my blade, yet I did. I felt the shock travel up my arm, making my hand tingle from the power behind it, once again the grip I had learned from Vinicius saving me from having my sword knocked from my hand. Just as quickly, the man recovered, and I saw a small smile playing on his lips. I returned it with my own grim smile, but I was not feeling particularly optimistic. I saw his shield drop just a bit, yet my only response was a slight shake of my head, telling him that I was much too old and experienced to fall for such a ruse. Something flashed in his eyes at my refusal just before he launched another attack, not content with a single thrust. Unleashing a series of blows, his blade flickered around my defenses, each thrust and slash like a strike from one of the heads of a Hydra, coming so quickly one after the other that they seemed simultaneous. Two more of his blows I blocked with my shield, and I could hear another crackling sound, the split opening even further. All it would take was one more solid strike to cause my shield to split in half, making it practically useless, and I could see the daylight extending up past my hand, now stopping just above the boss. Knowing that I had to do something to relieve the pressure, I unleashed my own counterattack, and despite my thrusts being slower than his; what they lacked in speed, they made up for in power. The smile on his lips disappeared as I forced him to stagger back, but I was seriously hampered because I could not use my shield the way we were trained to do, since it is just as much of an offensive weapon to Romans as defensive. Recovering quickly after parrying my blows, the Serdi tried to regain the ground I had forced him to give up. Again, my arm ached as I desperately worked to deflect all of his attacks with my blade and not my shield. Sensing that I was favoring my shield, he shifted to his right as far as he dared while still having enough room to wield his blade freely. In conjunction, he suddenly shifted from a lunging attack to an overhand downward blow, lifting his blade high above his head but still protecting himself with his shield. Bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc, I had no other choice than to use my shield to avoid being split asunder myself, meeting the blow in time and feeling the strength of the man all the way down through my legs, which shook from the impact. With one last splintering crack of protest, my shield cleaved into two pieces, the section just to the left of the boss clattering off the wall and falling to the ground. In almost every way, my shield was now useless, especially as an offensive weapon, but for some reason, habit I suppose, I did not discard it. Feeling extremely awkward, I tried to compensate by moving a bit more to my left closer to the wall, calling to Macrinus to alert him that there was a gap between us. Before the Primus Pilus could react, the Thracian seized the opportunity, stepping forward into the gap, interposing himself between Macrinus and me, his shield now covering my own sword. It was the first mistake he made, except I know why he did it, and in fact I had done something similar just a brief moment before when I had used the wall to pin the two men. He was younger than I was, and was my equal with a sword, the first man I had ever met where I could clearly say that, and almost my match in size. But he did not have that raging fire in his blood, that madness that gave me even more strength than I normally possessed, so when he made the same move that I had, he gave me the chance I needed.
