R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

Feeling the man in front of me tense at the sound of the whistle before uncoiling his body as he heaved the man he was engaged with off of him, he then stepped aside so that I could step in, and I came forward, looking over the rim of my shield into the wild eyes of a warrior who could not have been much older than me. He wore no armor other than a leather jerkin, and if he owned a shield it was gone. His only weapon was a short hunting spear, which he jabbed at me, his face a mask of fear and hatred, but it took no more than a normal heartbeat for me to assess his abilities, and little longer to take his life with a quick thrust. He was immediately replaced by an older man wearing a coat of chain mail similar to my armor except it was fully sleeved and longer. On his head was a helmet in the Helvetian style, adorned with wings of what looked like a raven, and he had both his shield and long spear. This man did not rush me immediately, and I could instantly see the reason why he had lived to see his thirties; he was no wild-eyed youth and this was not his first battle. Additionally, he wielded his spear in an unusual manner, preferring to hold it farther up the shaft than most of the men I faced who used such a weapon. I could not see the value in this until he made his first attack, a lunging blow to my right that I automatically blocked by moving my shield across my body to parry, which is exactly what he wanted me to do. With what appeared to be nothing more than a flick of the wrist, he whipped the other end of the shaft around in a backhand blow that would have smashed into my face, breaking my nose and momentarily blinding me if it had not been for my reflexive action of turning my head so that the hard wood caught me on the ear and cheek guard of my helmet. Stars of a thousand different colors burst in my head as I felt my knees start to buckle, cursing myself for my stupidity, and I believe that it was only my sheer brute strength that saved me from falling, except I now found myself frantically on the defensive, struggling to clear my head as he pressed his attack. Only the many watches of practice and repetition saved me from his onslaught, when as of its own volition, my left arm moved my shield to block his thrusts while my right made half-hearted attempts to find my own opening. Despite myself, I felt myself step back a pace, only stopped by the strong arm of the man behind me bracing me and keeping me from falling over.

“Kill ‘im Pullus. Gut that bastard.”

Hearing the shout in my ear, I shook my head again to clear it even as my opponent made a thrust that I only partially deflected, the head of the spear glancing off the metal rim of my shield. There was a slicing pain high on my left arm, just below the shoulder as he cut a deep gash into my flesh. Fortunately the pain had the effect of clearing my head, and I let out a roar as I leaped back forward, catching him full in the face with the boss of my shield. I felt his nose crunch under the metal, and he let out a muffled groan, it now being his turn to step back and go on the defensive. But I was in no mood to give him any quarter; he had almost killed me, and for that he would pay. Now he was the one desperately parrying my blows as he sought to clear his own head, except he did not have the support that I had enjoyed. Even with men crowded around him, none of them thought to brace him or help him in any way; apparently it was against some sort of code of battle they had. More fools them, I thought, making a thrust at his gut that caused him to drop his shield before I gave him another taste of his own medicine, taking the pommel of my sword to smash him in the face, hitting him again on his already injured nose. This time the pain was too much for him to bear and a scream came from his lips as he dropped his shield to grab his face with his free hand, whereupon I killed him with a quick thrust to his unprotected chest. He went to his knees then toppled to the ground, still clutching his face, while I was already wading into the next man, moving a step farther down the hill, followed by my comrades.

This was the nature of the fighting for perhaps two thirds of a watch, as we continued to chop our way through the Helvetii horde. Our front line was finally relieved by the second line, attaching their files to the rear so that one longer line was created, just in the manner we drilled it so many times, while we removed ourselves to rest. The butcher’s bill for our first shift was a half-dozen men down, although we only knew of two who were killed outright, the others being dragged to the rear. We stood there panting for breath, drinking our canteens dry as we talked about the battle.

“They’re not very good, but there's so many of them it almost doesn’t matter,” gasped Vellusius as he tried to clean the caked blood off his blade so that it would not pit the iron.

“I don’t know about that. There was one that almost did Pullus in. He damn near bashed his brains in.” I looked in annoyance at the man who said this, then bit my tongue when I saw that it was Rufio. True as it may have been, I did not want to be reminded of it. Pulling my helmet off, I gingerly touched the spot above my ear, wincing despite myself because of the pain.

“Can you tell if your skull is broken by feeling on it?” I wondered.

“The day that skull of yours is broken, I’m packing it in,” Vibius said, the lightness of his tone belied by the worried look in his eyes as he came over to examine the spot I indicated.

While he prodded on it, I felt compelled to offer some defense. “It doesn’t matter how it starts, it matters how it ends, neh? And I’m still the one standing.”

Rufio nodded. “Right enough. But you gave me a good scare there for a moment. I’ve never seen anyone handle a spear like that, and I thought you were a goner for sure. But you’re a stubborn bastard, and you ended up the victor. You’re right, that’s all that counts.”

“I don’t think you broke your skull,” Vibius announced when he was finished. “You’re just going to have a headache for a few days.” He was right about that. “You need to worry more about that cut on your arm.”

I looked down in surprise; I had forgotten all about it, and I was happy to see that the blood had clotted and despite being a little stiff, the damage was obviously not extensive. To be safe, I wrapped a strip of bandage around it then promptly forgot about it as we used our vantage point higher on the hill to watch what was unfolding.

After stubborn resistance, the Helvetii began a fighting withdrawal back down the hill in the general direction of their camp. I will say this for them, they did not just turn and run, but made a true fighting retreat, leaving the field scattered with both Helvetii and Roman bodies. Once we had rested some, we were ordered back into formation, closing up behind what was now the first line, with the third line staying in place.

“Lucky bastards, we should be in the third line now.” Even Didius said something that we agreed with from time to time, and this was one of them and I wondered why Caesar ordered this, but quickly dismissed it as one of those things that a common Gregarius did not need to know, instead just shrugging my shoulders as we moved back into position.

In doing so, we also made sure that the Helvetii laying there were not still alive; it would not do to have a group of Helvetians faking their death suddenly rising up from behind us. The battle was gradually moving in the direction of the camp while the sun continued to travel through the sky. It was now well past midday, and the fighting showed no signs of letting up, leading us to speculate what would happen when the sun went down.

“Knowing Caesar, we’ll keep on fighting,” Vibius sighed, something in his tone telling me that he did not mean it as a compliment, though I held my tongue, not wanting to argue about it. The subject of Caesar was becoming increasingly off limits to us, because in my mind Vibius had developed a totally unwarranted view of Caesar and his motives. Shuffling along behind the first line, we continued speculating on our immediate fate until the horn sounded alerting us that we were about to rotate once more, which was met by muffled groans and curses.