Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 47
Moving back towards where the fighting was fiercest at the original point of attack, I saw the issue was still in doubt. The cataphracts were packed into a large pocket bulging into our lines, a black mass of danger and death, desperately hacking and pushing against my men, who were pressing back with equal fervor in an attempt to contain them. In the midst of the chaos, I saw Centurions’ crests, and I could make out the distinct voices of each of them as they exhorted their men to kill as many of the enemy as they could. I do not know if the Parthians have a counterpart to a Centurion, but there are certainly officers, and though I could not understand them, I could tell that they were doing much the same. This was a battle of wills, Parthian against Roman, one side intent on destroying, the other intent on surviving. In our case, the best way for us to survive was to kill as many Parthians as possible. To help in that effort I rushed back in, realizing I had done all I could do at that moment as a Primus Pilus and now my sword was of more value than my vitus. Shoving my way past some of Nigidius’ men who had helped my Cohort thrust a small group of cataphracts back that had broken from the main body, I used my height to reach up and grab one of the Parthians around the waist, yanking him from the saddle. He had not seen me coming, yelping in surprise as he fell to the ground, but before he could make another sound, one of the men armed with a siege spear lunged with it, punching the point into the man’s unprotected face. The Legionaries next to the man with the siege spear reached out, grabbing the reins of the horse, but it sealed its own fate by doing as it was trained to do at such moments by rearing and lashing out. One of the animal’s hooves caught me across the back as I was advancing past, almost taking me off my feet, knocking the wind out of me.
Normally, I did not like killing animals, but I snarled, “Kill that fucking thing,” an order the men obeyed immediately, using their spears.
I continued pushing past my men, who had regained the normal rhythm of our way of fighting, at least as much as it was possible in such a mess of a fight, holding onto the harness of the man in front of them while waiting for the Centurion’s whistle to make an exchange.
Squeezing between the files, I continued to move up towards the thick of the fighting, as I heard someone call out, “Look there, boys. The Primus Pilus is going up there to whip those bastards by himself.”
There was an ironic cheer from the men around him, but I did not bother answering, my eyes fixed on the sight of what I was looking for. Up ahead I could see the taller transverse crest that could only be Scribonius and his Cohort. My heart, which had already been hammering, started to pound even more urgently as I saw him and a group of his men completely surrounded by Parthian horsemen, all of them intent on collapsing the fragile pocket of men gathered around Scribonius and the Cohort standard. For an enemy army, killing a Centurion is a feat that gives a man enhanced status and the right to brag around the winter fires when warriors gather. Taking a Cohort standard on top of that means a reward from their king or leader second only to the taking of a Legion standard. Now, both were under threat, so I increased my pace, trying to push my way up to them, thinking to rally some men to cut our way through. Even as I was doing so, I saw the flash of a Parthian blade as it rose into the sky, then in seeming slow motion slash down. An instant later, Scribonius’ transverse crest disappeared, followed immediately by an anguished cry that carried clearly above the din of the fight.
“Scribonius is down!”
Time seemed to stand still, the image of that moment frozen forever in my mind. The Parthian who struck the blow was raising his sword in triumph, shouting his own joy at accomplishing the feat of striking down a Centurion of Rome. The other Parthians around him, their faces partially obscured by their helmets were shouting their joy as well, yet underlying it all was a low, growling hum of anger and despair that was coming from Scribonius’ men. Unbidden, without thought, something issued from within me as well, a howl of rage as for the first time in many years I felt the surge of madness that was like the return of a long-lost friend. It was that raging joy I had first experienced on a dusty hill in Lusitania when Vibius, Scribonius and I were marching in the Second Cohort under Gaius Crastinus, and were surrounded by a force of Gallaeci greatly outnumbering us. It was on that occasion, when they made a nighttime assault on our hill that a power that I can only attribute coming from Mars himself filled my body, making my sword sing, as according to all who saw it, for I have no real memory of the actual deed, I single-handedly destroyed the attack. For my actions, I was awarded my first set of phalarae and more importantly, first came to the attention of our general, Gaius Julius Caesar.
Now, that power was coursing through my veins again as I pushed through the rest of the men surrounding the knot of Parthians that were in turn threatening to overwhelm Scribonius’ men and the Cohort standard, which still stood, defying every Parthian attempt to snatch it. I reached the first Parthian who, to be fair, was distracted by the cries of triumph from his own comrades, only at the last moment even realizing that death was coming for him. Twisting desperately in his saddle, he flailed wildly with his sword, a blow that I knocked aside with my own blade, not even feeling the impact. Reaching out with my free hand, having dropped my vitus at some point and contrary to my normal practice of not picking up a shield from a fallen man, I plucked him from the saddle. The Parthian saddle has very high cantles, fore and aft, so that a frontal or rear impact will rarely unseat the rider, yet from the side is where they are vulnerable, so that is where one could apply force, from either side, as I did on this occasion. My rage was such that I was able to hold the man up with one hand, though he was also small for a Parthian, then as he dangled in the air, I ran him through with my sword. The blade, forged in Gaul that I had paid so much for, punched through his thick armor as if it were not there. He gave one small shriek, going limp as I threw him to the side much the same way a child will discard a toy of which he has grown tired. The men around me grabbed the reins of the man’s horse, but fortunately for the beast, it did not try to fight, therefore being quickly led out of the battle. Continuing my push forward, I was intent only on reaching the Cohort standard where I knew Scribonius was lying, refusing to allow myself to believe that he had been anything but stunned. Getting to the spot where our men were facing those Parthians, I saw that there was one layer of horsemen turned outwards, protecting the rear of the cataphracts intent on destroying the remnants of Scribonius’ men in order to capture the standard. I must confess that at this point I had not allowed myself to think about the fact that Gaius was somewhere in there, afraid that the very thought would freeze me into inaction. That is what I tell myself now; perhaps it is the truth, yet it is just as likely that I was reveling in the feeling of warmth that this madness bestowed on me by Mars gave me, as it seemed as if it had been forever since I was warm, in any sense of the word. One Parthian, still carrying his lance, spotted me, given that I am hard to miss, spurring his mount forward to push against the shields of our men surrounding him, jabbing above their heads at my face. He was quick, I will give him that much; I felt the breath of air whisper against my cheek as I moved my head to avoid his lunge, but before I could react with a counter-move he had pulled the lance back. Do it again you bastard, I thought, and we will see who the better man is. As if reading my thoughts, I saw the man give a savage grin behind his helmet as he made another lunge, the point of his lance moving towards me at unbelievable speed. Now, I was never as fast as Vibius, who was simply the quickest man I have ever known. Nevertheless, for a big man I move fast, so as quick as that Parthian was, it seemed to me as if he was moving underwater, the point of his lance whistling past my left ear as I moved to the right with a purpose. I clearly remember thinking that this was for Cyclops as I reached up, grabbed the lance with my left hand, then twisting my body, gave a huge yank on it. If he had been an experienced warrior he would have simply let go, but in that small moment when our eyes met before he made his second lunge I had seen he was a young Parthian noble. Clearly intent on making his name known among his people, he paid for that desire with his life. As I said, the Parthian saddle being what it is makes it extremely difficult to unseat a man when pulled from front or rear. Still, it is not impossible and I am a very, very strong man, especially when Mars’ power is coursing through my body. It was the inexperience of the young Parthian that kept him holding onto his lance, and because of that, he went sailing over his horse’s head and over mine for that matter, though I had to duck, to land in the midst of some very angry Roman Legionaries behind me, who promptly cut him into pieces. I did not even bother worrying about the Parthian’s horse, moving past it so quickly that even if it was so inclined, it could not have struck me, having already learned my lesson.
I was into the second rank of Parthians, despite still having a distance to go to reach the Second’s standard. Not missing a step, I ducked underneath the slash of a Parthian’s sword, then without any hesitation, punched the point of my sword up and into the horse’s belly, twisting my body with all my strength, ripping down through the midsection. Offal and blood burst out and down onto my arm, but I was beyond caring, intent on only one thing at this point. The horse let out an almost human scream as it staggered sideways, hitting the mount of the man next to him. Both Parthians were suddenly thrown from the backs of their horses, one mount dying while the other, trying to cope with the smell of the death of one of its own kind, jumped away and tried to turn back towards what it thought of as safety and home. I did not worry about their respective fates, knowing that the men behind me would dispatch them, so that before the enemy horsemen were aware of what was happening, I was now among the Parthians facing the ever-shrinking knot of Second Cohort men. Before any of them could turn to address the new threat to their rear, I reached up to pull yet another man from the saddle, punching my blade through his face before he even knew that his death had arrived. I was close enough now that if I looked between the horses’ legs I could see the men of the Second, though I could not make out any man’s face, but I did not need to see faces to know that it was my nephew who was standing over the body of Scribonius and next to the signifer, surrounded by Parthians.
There is no way to describe the sensations and feelings that crackled through every fiber of my being at seeing Valeria’s only son, sword in hand, facing the Parthians. Where my body had been running hot, as if I had a raging fever, just as quickly as it had come it was now replaced by a surge of ice running through my veins, making me feel every one of my 41 years as I tried to make my way to the standard. At the same time, a fierce sense of pride surged through me at the sight of my nephew, standing as a Roman should, sword in hand, spitting defiance at his enemies with his last breath. However, I was determined that it would not be his last so I lunged, slashed and parried my way through the last group of Parthians between me and Gaius. I do not know how many of the enemy I killed in those moments, so focused was I on reaching him and Scribonius. Finally, after what seemed like a full watch but was probably only a matter of several normal heartbeats, I reached Gaius, calling to him and immediately regretting it. He was inexperienced enough to turn his head at the sound of his name and it was only a desperate lunge on my part that saved him from a Parthian lance through the face, my blade knocking it aside. Instead of hitting him, the point caught me high in the shoulder, breaking a few links of armor, cutting into my skin, though not deeply.
I let out a string of curses, then growled at him, “Keep your eyes front, damn you, or I’ll gut you myself.”
His young face flushed red, but he nodded before turning his head back toward the enemy. Scribonius was lying at the signifer’s feet, face down and I could see that his helmet had been cleaved almost in half, my stomach lurching at the sight, but I could not pay any more attention. Quickly surveying the situation, I saw that Scribonius’ Optio was still on his feet, with about three sections of men with him that were separated from the dozen men surrounding the Cohort standard by a double line of Parthians, each line facing the opposite direction. Whirling about, I looked for one man in particular, then I saw that Scribonius’ cornicen was down and unconscious, causing me to curse again. Grabbing the whistle hanging at my neck, I began blowing the same pattern of notes that the cornicen used to signal an attack, hoping that the fact that I could not change pitch would not confuse the Optio. Fortunately, he was a worthy Optio for a Pilus Prior in the Second Cohort, a post I had once held, so that after just a couple of blasts I heard him bellow the command to attack.
With a roar, his men started pushing against the line of Parthians facing them, while I turned to the small group of men with me, shouting, “Follow me, boys! Do this for Scribonius!”
Leaping over his body, I launched myself at the nearest enemy, and it was young Gaius who was next to me as we pushed forward. Without a word spoken between us, we both set our sights on the same Parthian, a thick man with closely set eyes that were almost crossed, though it did not seem to hinder his ability to see since he immediately divined what we were up to. Gaius approached from one side, I from the other, our blades held in the first position while Gaius gripped tightly to his shield, and I was struck by the thought that I should have picked one up. Instead of turning his horse to one side or another, he jammed his spurs viciously into his horse’s flanks, causing it to lunge forward, aiming the horse towards me, while simultaneously striking down at Gaius. I leapt aside, the shoulder of the horse barely grazing me and though I could not see because my view was blocked by the bulk of the horse’s body, I heard the clanging ring of metal on metal that told me Gaius had successfully parried the blow. Now it was the Parthian’s turn to be on the defensive and with a man on either side, his fate was essentially sealed. I made a lunge that he was able to parry with a glancing sweep of his sword, then underneath the horse’s belly I saw a pair of hands, one holding a sword, reach out and grab hold of the Parthian’s boot, suddenly yanking upwards. The man’s face registered the shock and surprise as he came toppling towards me, but despite grabbing the horn of his saddle and keeping his seat, it did not matter. The point of my blade punched under his free arm, and before his heart had stopped beating, I pulled him from the saddle to dump him on the ground. This was yet another moment for which I was thankful for my height because it allowed me to look over the pommel of the Parthian’s saddle, just in time to see one of the remaining cataphracts turning towards Gaius’ unprotected back.
“Behind you,” I shouted, pushing the Parthian horse aside with every ounce of strength in my body.
Fortunately, Gaius was blessed with the reflexes of youth, spinning quickly while bringing his shield up as he had been trained, so that the Parthian lance bounced harmlessly against the boss. One of the Optio’s men dispatched the attacker from behind, and like his predecessor, he also toppled from the saddle. I became aware that there were more empty saddles than men still atop their horses, and while the animals were still a threat themselves, they were not as formidable without their riders. Standing on tiptoe to see that the men of the First and Second Cohorts had surrounded pockets of Parthians, I could also tell that while the fighting was not over, the attack had failed. Turning my attention back to the matter at hand, I was in time to see young Gaius and one of his comrades wrestle another Parthian from the saddle, then my nephew’s sword arm drew back, thrusting home with a perfect stroke, killing his enemy. The situation was still a confused mess, riderless horses alternately milling about nervously, or with the better trained or more aggressive ones, rearing and lashing out at every attempt made by a Legionary to grab its reins. There were still a fair number of cataphracts clustered in small groups in the midst of our formation, but they were now more concerned with getting away than trying to break through. The largest concentration of Parthians was still located where the original assault had hit our lines to penetrate the deepest, the survivors of the initial charge now completely surrounded and isolated from their own comrades, but I decided they could wait until we eliminated the last of the Parthians around the Second’s standard. Gaius had begun to move towards another small group of Parthians. Before he could get away, I moved quickly, grabbing him by the collar.
