John Stack - Ship of Rome

Septimus’s shoulders and upper arms ached as he reversed the thrust. The physical stress of the battle was beginning to take its toll on the legionaries. In a land battle the three-line, triplex acies , formation allowed for troops to be rotated from the front line to let men rest before rejoining the fight. In a demi-maniple on the deck of a Carthaginian ship, no such respite could be granted. The legionaries would have to continue fighting until the fight was done. Stamina, willpower and courage had become the foundations for the last line of defence.

A guttural war cry cut through the air and Septimus arrested his next sword stroke, his warrior instincts screaming at him to beware. The shield of the legionary to his left was struck with a force that pushed the man off his balance, exposing a small gap in the shield wall. The next legionary along the line thrust his sword into the breach but it was instantly struck down, the attack anticipated. Septimus bellowed for Drusus to cover the possible breach, unable to help the man to his left without turning and exposing the flank of the man to his right. The legionary’s shield was struck again, this time with a ferocity that caused the soldier’s legs to buckle, and Septimus was given a glance at the enemy warrior forcing the breach. His eyes widened in shocked awareness as he recognized the figure of Khalil, Scipio’s Nubian slave. The man’s face was twisted in grim determination as he bore down on the legionary, battering his sword like a hammer on the anvil of the shield. A final thrust tore through the legionary’s defence and he fell, clutching at the mortal blow to his stomach.

The Carthaginians screamed in triumph as the breach was made. Time seemed to slow for Septimus as he watched the enemy ranks swell in anticipation of exploiting the gap. Survival and victory for the Romans now depended entirely on discipline. With the line breached and their backs exposed, there was the immediate threat that the legionaries would panic. If they fled they would be cut down. If Septimus re-established order they would survive and counterattack. Everything now depended on his command. As the order formed on his lips, Septimus instinctively threw up his sword to counter a thrust from Khalil. The Nubian had not rushed through as anticipated, but instead had turned into the centurion, focusing his attack on the embattled commander.

Septimus was forced to parry another blow as Carthaginians surged through the gap made by Khalil. The centurion took another step back under the onslaught, the Nubian’s blade seeming to strike in two places at once as the speed of the blows intensified. A tiny portion of Septimus’s mind registered the need to regain control of his men, but the thought was overwhelmed by his survival instinct as he narrowly defended a counter-thrust. He raged at his incapacitation, his inability to command his men when they needed him most. As he readjusted his balance and took a further step back, he planted his feet firmly on the deck. Steady the line, he thought grimly as another blow was parried. The battle for the Carthaginian flagship might be lost but Septimus would ensure that at least his fight for the legions would be won.

‘Breach!’ Atticus roared as he pointed to the emerging gap in the Roman formation with the tip of his sword.

‘Men of the Aquila , to me!’

Atticus raced across the corvus , his men at his heels, shouting the name of their galley as they charged. The captain swerved into the line of the breach in time to see a powerful black warrior step through to engage Septimus. Atticus recognized him immediately but his mind swept the shock of recognition clear as it focused on the vital action needed to save the Roman line. Another legionary fell and the charge intensified, the breach widening.

A dozen Carthaginians were through the breach, their cries of triumph causing the Roman line to waver as the legionaries felt their backs exposed to encirclement. The men of the Aquila crashed into the charge at full tilt, their attack cutting the premature cries of success short. Atticus brought his hoplon shield high to block an overarm blow of a Carthaginian axe, driving his sword underneath into the exposed flank of his attacker. The strike knocked the Carthaginian off his feet and Atticus twisted the blade to release the weapon from the man’s ribs. His men overwhelmed the breach, their frenzied attack causing the Carthaginians to hesitate at their expected moment of success.

‘Men of the Fourth! The line is held!’ Atticus roared, his eyes scanning the backs of the Roman legionaries. The Boars of Rome roared as the tide was turned again and they intensified their defence.

The Carthaginians trapped behind the now solid line fought with the desperation of doomed men. At their centre was Khalil, his focus entirely on Septimus, their fight exemplifying the intensity of the bitter struggle. The centurion’s spirit rose as he registered the shouted acclamation of Atticus, the captain now engaged in the front line. The battle was once more finely balanced and victory was there for the taking.

Septimus stepped inside another strike from Khalil and reversed his sword to rake the Nubian’s stomach. Khalil bunched his shield into the assault, narrowly deflecting the blade against the shield edge. The men were mere inches apart, their combined skills keeping the combat close, their blades a whirl of iron. Septimus focused his mind on the movements of his attacker, searching for a weakness, a way through. With the clarity of discovery, Septimus realized his advantage over the Nubian. Khalil was using his rounded shield for defence only, his sword the only offensive weapon in the attack. The legions had taught Septimus differently.

Khalil kept his attack high, forcing Septimus back on the defensive as he parried a sequenced series of blows. The Nubian suddenly inverted the attack and Septimus cried out in pain as Khalil’s sword swept the back of his thigh. The wound itself was not mortal, but it would kill him nevertheless as his balance crumbled, his body automatically favouring his uninjured leg. Against an opponent of Khalil’s skill, the end would come swiftly. Septimus had mere seconds to react.

The centurion attacked with ferocity, forcing Khalil to throw up his shield, keeping his sword low, poised, waiting for the opportunity to counterattack. Septimus registered the stance, the coiled energy of the Nubian, waiting for his own chance to end the fight. Septimus ground his teeth against the pain and shifted his weight onto his injured leg. He could feel the severed muscle buckle under the strain, and his cry of pain mingled with a vicious roar of attack. He lunged forward with his scutum shield, striking the Nubian’s sword arm with the copper boss of the shield, the unexpected blow throwing Khalil completely off balance, causing him to stumble backwards. Septimus resisted the intense urge to ease the pressure on his injured leg and he continued the lunge, committing himself fully to the desperate attack. Khalil’s arms raised fractionally to balance himself and Septimus seized his chance. He whipped his gladius high through the opening, the blade cutting cleanly through Khalil’s arm, severing the sword hand from the wrist. Khalil screamed in pain, dropping his shield as he grasped the stump of his injured arm. He bowed over the wound and Septimus reversed his swing to bring the sword down in a killing blow. At the last instant the centurion stayed his blade and he struck Khalil on the top of his head with the iron hilt of the gladius. The Nubian collapsed, unconscious, before he hit the deck.

Khalil’s fall was registered by the front line of the Carthaginian formation and their will cracked at the loss of such a powerful warrior, the only man who had forced a breach in the Roman line. Septimus straightened up slowly as the last of the Carthaginians trapped behind the line was dispatched by Atticus’s crew.