R. Cooke - Rome - Fury of the Legion

“What?” Porcius appeared taken aback. He instantly began to perspire even more, dabbing frantically at his neck and temples. “You would question the orders of the proconsul, young man?”

“I wouldn’t question them,” Lucius snarled, “had they come from the proconsul, and not from Senator Valens!”

The senator’s eyes grew rounder at the shock that the tribune could know of such things. He was about to speak again when a band of legionaries suddenly arrived. They were led by the same centurion Lucius had encountered down the road. The officer and his men had come up the road at the double-quick undoubtedly to see who was ordering the vehicles turned back.

Porcius caught site of them. “Centurion, you have arrived just in time. This tribune is disobeying the direct order of the proconsul. He is refusing to direct the baggage to turn about. Arrest him, and take his place. See to it that all vehicles are sent back the way they came. Don’t let a single one onto the field of battle. Is that clear?”

The centurion glanced once at Lucius and then back at the senator. “I was ordered here by General Fabius, senator, to do precisely the opposite, sir. Caesar told him to have all the baggage brought up, forthwith. I heard him say it with my own two ears. General Fabius then ordered me to see to it. Is it possible, sir, you misunderstood – “

“Damn your insolence to hell, man!” Porcius cursed, though his manner expressed his nervousness. “Don’t patronize me! Who do you think you are? I know what the proconsul ordered, and he ordered to prepare for a general retreat. Now, arrest this man, before I have you arrested!”

The centurion appeared confused, but after a moment’s consideration he seemed to have made up his mind to acquiesce to the senator’s wishes. He motioned for two of his soldiers to come over while shooting an uncertain glance at Lucius. Lucius was preparing to kick his horse to make a break for it, but a sudden shriek behind him compelled him to turn around.

A band of blue-painted Nervii, wielding axes and spears, had emerged from the hedge lining the opposite side of the road. They were rushing at the Romans, screaming a wild battle-cry. Their first victims were a team of mule drivers who had the misfortune of being too close to the hedge. Before either driver could descend from the wagon, they were stabbed repeatedly in the belly with rapid thrusts of the deadly Nervii spearpoints. Then, the Nervii rushed amongst the other carts and wagons.

Lucius drew his gladius and wheeled his horse around to join the centurion and the other legionaries bracing for the attack. They were all surprised when, instead of attacking them, the warriors began to kill the mule teams. One mule after another dropped, some of them kicking, some braying. They were packed too tightly and were restrained by their harnesses, so they had no way of getting away from the stabbing spears and hacking axes. It took Lucius a moment to realize the enemy’s intentions.

“They’re killing the teams to block the road!” he shouted to the centurion. “We must stop them!”

The centurion nodded, and then shouted to his men, “At them, lads!”

Lucius joined the rush of legionaries, steering his mount for the nearest spearman. The bare-chested warrior was trying to dislodge his weapon from the neck of a dying mule. Lucius was armed with the ornamental gladius he had taken off of Argus’s body. As he passed the Nervii warrior, he swung the gladius in a low arc at the man’s head. The short sword was not meant to be used from the back of a horse and did not have the reach for such a maneuver. Instead of beheading the man, as Lucius had intended, the tip of the sword cut a finger deep gash in the man’s helmet, knocking it off his head. Then, wheeling his mount, Lucius drove the point of the sword into the dazed man’s face. The point found and expanded an eye socket, and then drove into the man’s brain. The warrior’s body twitched uncontrollably and fell to the ground dead.

Two legionaries beside Lucius thrust their pila into both sides of a warrior, but then were cut down themselves by two more Nervii. The centurion fought nearby, too. Lucius saw him yell like a maniac as he wrenched a spear from the hands of a Nervii warrior, twirled it in the air, and then brought it down with both hands into the warrior’s foot, pinning it to the ground. As the Nervii cried out in pain, and groped to free the weapon, the centurion produced a pugio and opened the man’s throat in a single swift motion.

There were more Nervii than legionaries, and soon the numbers began to make the difference. Romans were singled out and killed by two or three spearmen at a time. Lucius used the horse to the best of his advantage, bringing his blade down hard to crush one Nervii skull after another, but eventually, a spear found his horse’s breast, and drove several feet into the animal, piercing its heart. His mount toppled to the ground and him with it. The Nervii tried to move in for the kill, but in an instant the centurion was there with two more legionaries, and drove the enemy back.

“We’re outnumbered!” the centurion called to him.

It took a moment for Lucius to realize that the centurion was looking to him for guidance, believing him to be a tribune. The man appeared young for his rank, and could not have been in his position for more than a few months.

“Keep fighting!” Lucius shouted. “They will break!”

Lucius then noticed that a great number of the mule drivers were skulking behind the carts, hanging back at a safe distance to wait and see the outcome of the skirmish. With a wild look in his eyes, Lucius glared and pointed his bloody sword at them.

“Get off your arses and fight, damn you!” he shouted.

This had the opposite effect on several of the drivers, who quickly beat a hasty retreat, but many of those who remained, either out of shame or fear of the maniacal tribune with the blood splattered face, grabbed up any weapon they could and rushed into the fray. This new threat, though minor, put the Nervii off balance, and the pressure on the legionaries let up just enough for them to regroup and renew their attack. They drove at the blue warriors, knocking axes and spears away, shoving and jabbing, varnishing their swords with fresh Nervii blood, until the stunned enemy began to falter.

A mail-clad warrior with a longsword, whom Lucius took for the Nervii officer, was trapped between the shields of two legionaries. Both Romans plunged their swords into the chest of the restrained officer, and then withdrew them simultaneously. The remaining spearmen looked on in hopelessness as their leader’s armor ran red, and he dropped to the ground, dead. They began to fall back, and soon were running full bore for the safety of the hedge from which they had come.

The centurion raised his sword in triumph and prompted his men to chase down the fleeing foe. He turned to congratulate the tribune, but the tribune was no longer beside him. The centurion looked up to see that the young officer had picked up a javelin and was now bounding over corpses in pursuit of the heavy senator, who was frantically kicking his horse to get away from the crazed man. He did not get far. With a throw as near to perfect as the centurion had ever seen, the tribune hurled the pilum at the fleeing senator. The six-foot long weapon sailed through the air straight and true, and struck the big man squarely in the small of the back, instantly knocking him from the saddle. His giant form crashed to the earth like an over-sized sack of grain, breaking off the shaft of the weapon.

In less than a heartbeat, the tribune was on top of him, rolling the large man over onto his back, disregarding his screams of pain. Then, looking down into the senator’s eyes with his gladius held at the man’s fat neck, the tribune’s face twisted in a rage.