R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

“True, but first we have to get through tonight.”

Pilus Prior Crastinus had been right; the attack was a diversion. Apparently during their council of war, they decided on a different approach than what they used during their daylight attack, instead setting out to do the worst thing that they could under our circumstances, what we had feared since we climbed the hill, or at least since Calienus made us aware of it. As they were making a demonstration on one side, the bulk of the remaining Lusitani, using their skills as hunters, climbed stealthily up to within a few paces of the wall before leaping up with a great cry. It was as if apparitions from the underworld just materialized from the ground, the kind of numen that mothers tell young children about to make them behave. Faint moonlight glinted silver on their brandished weapons as they closed the distance to the wall in a matter of a few heartbeats, with the main impact several paces away from me. Even though the Lusitani focused their attack across a narrow area, we could not afford to move to help the others trying to hold them back since the Lusitani in the rear ranks would immediately shift from their spot to flow over the deserted wall like a raging flood sweeps away an earthen barrier. Consequently, we were forced to endure the sounds of fighting, more furious than ever before, and for the first time we heard the cries of our own men dying, crying out in our tongue as they fell. Gripping my sword tightly, as if it would help me to shut out the sounds, I kept my eye on the area in front of me and I am sure that my comrades were trying to do the same thing. I heard the bellows of the Pilus Prior, along with Pilus Posterior Vetruvius, exhorting the men around them to hold, using a combination of threats and promises as a means to motivate our men to fight ever harder. For the second time that night, we heard the cry that the wall was breached, and I peered hard in that direction, trying to determine whether this was another false alarm. It did seem that this time there was more of a tumult, an impression of a flurry of movement, while the noise changed, sounding nearer than ever before. Gritting my teeth, I turned to head over in that direction, but a hand pushed at my chest.

“You can’t leave Pullus,” this was Calienus, and I knew that I should turn back to my post, yet I had made up my mind.

“I have to Sergeant, they need our help.”

“Maybe, but we haven't been given orders to move yet.”

“I think that it’s too dark for anyone to fully know what’s going on,” I replied desperately, pushing against his hand.

“So you know better than the Pilus Prior?” This provoked a laugh from Calienus, and I could tell that he was not going to bend. But neither was I, so I used my size once again to bear over him.

“Sergeant, I’m going over there. If you want to have me flogged for it, fine. But I know they need our help.”

Pushing past him, I was torn that he did not try stopping me since a large part of me was screaming at myself to stay put, and I walked perhaps only ten paces when something came rolling out of the gloom to bounce into my legs. Almost tripping and falling, I just managed to catch myself then moved to kick whatever it was away, but when my foot touched something wet, warm and yielding, I peered down and again had to fight the urge to vomit. It was a head, and even in the gloom I could see that there was a Roman helmet on top of it.

I walked into the jaws of Cerberus. It was not a false alarm; the wall in fact was breached and the struggle to contain the incursion created an inward bulge as the Lusitani pushed across the barrier. They were now feeding men into this pocket that their warriors created, trying desperately to exploit the crack in our defenses. Even as I drew closer it was hard to tell exactly what was going on as men slashed and hacked at our thin line, now reduced to a single line of Legionaries desperately holding them back. The Pilus Prior was bellowing out; locating him from the sound of his voice, I rushed to a spot in the line as far away from him as I could get. I knew I was taking a huge risk defying the latest order I was given, but I reasoned that if things were as bad as they appeared, we were all dead men anyway, and if we turned them back it would take all of us to do so.

Picking a man, I braced him from behind, causing him to glance back. “Thanks, I was about done in,” I heard him gasp.

“When you get a chance, I’ll relieve you,” I answered and instantly a small voice inside me began cursing myself. What was I volunteering for? Certain death? I could do my part right where I was, the voice said. You’re already in enough trouble Titus old boy, without compounding it by putting yourself in a position where you will certainly be killed. Such is the nature of that voice, one I have learned is in every Legionary, and I suspect in all of us. There seems to be a part of you whose only goal is to keep you alive, at all costs, yet what makes man different from the rest of all the animals is that we can choose not to listen to that voice. Ignoring that voice is what defines us, at least in the Legions. So when I felt the man in front of me make a huge effort, tensing up just before thrusting his shield into the body of a Lusitani to send him staggering back, I took my cue, moving quickly into his place. Panting his thanks, I felt him holding me an instant later as the man he threw off came back, sending a shock up my arm when he smashed his blade into my shield, turning my arm numb. In the darkness I could not tell much about the man except for his size, which was average despite packing quite a punch for his stature. He came at me again, his second blow as strong as the first, and I could feel my grip slipping as the numbness spread to my hand and fingers, knowing that another blow like that might knock the shield from my hand. Instead of waiting for it I took a half step forward, lashing out with the shield, using my boss as the weapon and I was gratified to hear a crunching sound accompanied by a muffled scream as I smashed his face. Stunned by the pain, he was standing there stationary, making a perfect target for the thrust of the sword that I followed up with and he toppled over, falling on top of what appeared to be a Legionary. My first kill was immediately replaced by another man, his outline in the dark telling me he was slightly larger, except he used his body as a weapon, smashing into me and thinking to knock me back, but I was braced by my comrade behind me so when he reached out to grab hold of the rim of the shield, with a grim smile I struck, this time taking the whole hand instead of just fingers. This was the pattern for the next few moments; truthfully I have no idea how much time went by, but judging from the fatigue I felt when there was a brief respite it was a substantial period. I was satisfied that there was now a small pile of dead and dying in front of me, the wounded still trying to crawl to safety, making the tangle of limbs and torsos shift eerily in front of me in the moonlight, and if I had not known the cause, I might have thought there was something otherworldly about it. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, the man behind me asking if I wanted to be relieved. Just as I was about to say yes, I thought better of it and shook my head. Thinking back, I believe this was the first appearance of a trait and belief that I developed over the years, which was my reluctance to trust my fate to others if I was able to have any say in it. Part of it was the hubris of youth, to be sure; however, it was also based in a belief I have in myself that I am the best arbiter of my destiny and whenever possible, I should take control of the situation. I will say that he did not argue too hard about it.

The respite lasted perhaps a span of 50 normal heartbeats, certainly no longer, before the assault was renewed and finally our wall of men protecting the pocket from expansion broke when a Legionary fell from a wound and there was nobody to step into his place. Hearing the roar of triumph from the Lusitani, I immediately sensed a flurry of movement as their men rushed to exploit the gap, accompanied by the shout of our two Centurions as they met the enemy from their spot behind us. The clash of metal and the thuds of blows to the wood of our shield wall increased as well, the growth of the pocket meaning that more men could fill it.