R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

I, along with all my tentmates twisted our heads sharply, exchanging glances, and I know we were all thinking the same thing. However, the Pilus Prior at this point was unaware of Didius’ history and merely ordered, “Then drag him over to the middle behind the breastworks. Maybe he’ll come to and be of some use.”

The man complied, taking care not to rise above the level of the parapet since the missiles were still whizzing around. Grabbing Didius by the harness, he began dragging him, prompting me to look over at my tentmate once he was at a point where I could clearly see his face. He did have a mark on his forehead, a red bump, but there was no bleeding and it did not look terribly damaging. Just as the man pulled him over the breastworks and I continued watching, my heart leapt when I swore, for just a heartbeat, that I saw Didius open his eyes before quickly shutting them again. Immediately I told Vibius what I thought I had seen, and he looked back at Didius who was still lying unconscious, or pretending to, his lips compressed into a thin line of contempt.

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all, the bastard,” he said quietly.

“Do you think I should tell the Pilus Prior?”

He considered, then shook his head. “The Pilus Prior doesn’t know about the ladder, but what he does know is that you two hate each other, so he’s unlikely to take what you say seriously.”

I nodded; he was right. Besides, there were more important things to worry about at that moment besides one coward, and it was coming up the hill towards us. After waiting a few moments for the slingers to try inflicting damage, with only Didius being brought to the breastworks, heartening as it was, the Lusitani began marching up the hill. Speaking frankly, I can use the word marching only in the loosest sense, since it was more of a shambling half-trot, replete with the usual complement of screaming and hopping. The slingers, because of their position downhill, were forced to lift their barrage almost immediately to avoid hitting their own men, and the Lusitani were rapidly approaching the range of our javelins.

“Prepare Javelins!”

At the command, we assumed the position, our right foot back, right arm pulled all the way back with the shaft of the javelin laying on the length of the arm, the hardened point aimed skyward to create the arc that helped it pick up momentum. My arm trembled a bit as I readied my body for the effort, choosing not so much a target but a spot where I wanted it to land, confident that there would be a man occupying that space when it arrived.

“Release!”

The air filled with the black lines that signaled the javelins in flight, and as I followed through, it brought me to a crouched position where I could look directly at the Lusitani. To a man, they all looked up, trying to catch the flight of our rain of death, hoping that they could isolate and focus on the one that posed the most danger to them personally. Some of them were lucky, yet most in the front rank were not, with almost every javelin finding something in which to bury itself. The thuds of our missiles hitting flesh and wood of shields were punctuated by the screams of the men hit, and in turn they caused a slight pause in the uphill climb as the wounded men crashed into one of their comrades, knocking him down or staggering him, with the dead men becoming obstacles to step over. It did not slow them long, however.

“First line kneel, second line prepare javelins!”

I immediately knelt as did the rest of the men on the parapet.

“Release!”

The javelins went whizzing just over our heads as we watched them arc and again slice into the advancing Lusitani. Another shudder of more men going down, then we in the front rank stood to fire our last salvo.

“Prepare!”

“Release!”

One of the advantages in being on the hill was that it increased the effective range of the javelin. Normally, both lines would not have been able to launch two salvos before we had to go to the sword, but we used all of the javelins we carried, to maximum effect.

Immediately after we finished throwing our second, the Pilus Prior commanded, “Front rank kneel and draw swords!” The metal made a comforting rasping sound as the blades left the scabbard, even as the second rank discharged their last volley. Quickly estimating that more than two-thirds of our javelins had hit a target and put it out of action, whether it was a warrior or a shield, it still meant perhaps 150 men were either out of action or severely hampered with no protection. This might have been enough to stop the attack, except the Lusitani by this time had learned that we only carried two javelins apiece, and if they absorbed the punishment they would be able to close the distance to fight us hand to hand. That is exactly what happened; after they took a moment to recover from the last volley, a large man wearing one of the high conical helmets and dressed in the fish scale armor that was common of their nobles, waved his sword in the air, moving it in a circle while bellowing a command in their language, before dropping his arm to point at us, the signal for them to stop their steady advance and throw themselves at us at a run.

“Here they come,” someone yelled.

“Oh, really? Thank you for alerting us Hannibal,” Calienus muttered, causing us to stifle a nervous laugh as we braced for impact.

Part of the reason for their delay in the attack was that they had gathered together bundles of wood, or were even using our sacks of forage to throw into the bottom of the ditch, allowing them to cross over without having to climb out of it. Hurling everything they gathered into the ditch delayed their charge, as the thought flashed through my mind that we would have been better served waiting to launch our javelins until that moment, and I had to grudgingly acknowledge that the Lusitani might be smarter than we thought. Crossing over their makeshift bridges, they came at us with the usual crash of shields and swords, roaring their rage at us, smashing against what was nothing more than a wall of thin wood and loosely packed dirt. The wall held, but only just as the Lusitani tried to pull our shields down, clawing at the rims to gain a purchase. A grubby hand appeared in front of my face, curling around the top as I felt the man behind it begin to pull and I suppressed a smug smile, knowing that I was stronger than he was and not worried that he would succeed. Very quickly the smugness disappeared when just a heartbeat after his hand started pulling another hand, quickly followed by another, began tugging as well, and I could feel my grip rapidly weakening under the added pressure. Gritting my teeth, I brought my sword up to hack at the hands, but even with the awkward angle, I was able to lop off several fingers, their screams of agony accompanied by my cry of disgust as the fingers went flying, one of them striking me in the face while another found its way into the gap between my tunic and armor, where I could feel it sliding down to rest above my belt. Bile rose in my throat but I could not indulge myself in vomiting since I had bought only a temporary reprieve. Immediately a spear came thrusting over the top of my shield, which I barely ducked, followed by a second thrust aimed at a different point. This one caught me a glancing blow on the helmet, causing a burst of stars to explode in my head, and for a moment I felt like I was losing my balance and falling backwards, but the man behind me braced me, shoving me back forward.

“Go on Pullus, have at 'em.”

Shaking my head to clear it, I saw the spear come at me for yet a third time, except instead of ducking, this time I grabbed the shaft, thankful that my hand was big enough to maintain the grasp on my sword at the same time even with the Vinicius grip, then gave a mighty yank. Even above the din I could hear a yelp of surprise as I relieved the Lusitani of his weapon, dropping it on the ground next to me. Their initial assault was starting to ebb a bit; we could tell both by the sound and the fact that the hammering against our defenses was slowing as the Lusitani’s energy began to flag. So far nothing had penetrated, yet even as they fell back a little way down the hill to regroup, we knew that another charge was imminent. During the interval, I debated whether I had time to get that damn finger out from under the armor and took a peek, but I saw that they were about to come back. This time they chose not to work themselves into a lather; on some signal that we did not hear or see, they simply launched themselves at us again. Once more there was the smash of bodies and metal, this time accompanied by a couple of grunts of surprise from some of the men not paying close enough attention.