by R. W. Peake
“Centurion? What is it? What’s wrong?”
Before he answered Alex’s question, Pullus asked, nodding towards the wagon, “How is he?”
“Getting better,” Alex answered, but there was a hesitation before he admitted, “although he started running a fever last night. I went and got Germanicus’ physician, and he gave him some willow water. That seems to be helping. Now,” he frowned up at Pullus, “what’s wrong?”
“Do you know what happened in the night?”
“That the 5th and 21st deserted us and we’re completely fucked?” Alex replied bitterly. “Yes, it’s been the only thing any of the clerks have been talking about.” Dropping his voice almost to a whisper, he said, “Most of them are out of their minds with fear, Gnaeus. And,” he hesitated a heartbeat, then added, “I’m not much better, I’m afraid.”
“We’re not going to let anything happen to our baggage train, Alex,” Pullus answered forcefully, but seeing Alex was not convinced, he pointed out, “Remember, it’s not just our wounded, and not just our rations. There are valuables in those wagons from all those villages, and you know that men will kill to protect their loot.”
As he hoped, this convinced Alex, but then it was his turn to give Pullus some information.
“I overheard something last night,” he began, “but you may already know about it.”
“Go ahead and tell me, and I’ll let you know.”
Alex did not answer immediately; instead, he walked a few paces away from the wagon with Gaesorix in it, to a spot where Pullus guessed it would be impossible for anyone in the nearby wagons to hear.
He understood why when Alex said quietly, “One of the survivors coming back with us saw Arminius leading one of the assaults yesterday.”
Pullus felt his jaw drop, while his heart seemed to freeze in motion for a moment, but then he shook his head.
“Just because he said that doesn’t make it so. He could have been mistaken.”
“He could have been,” Alex seemingly agreed, then added, “but he pointed him out to the Legate. Remember, the Legate has met him. It’s him.”
“Pluto’s thorny cock,” Pullus muttered. They were silent for a heartbeat, then he asked Alex sharply, “Who all knows about this? Have you told anyone else?”
Alex shook his head, assuring him, “No, you’re the only person I’ve told. But,” he offered a helpless shrug, “as far as who else knows about it? Demetrios was with me, so he heard it as well, and there were some others near enough that they might have heard.”
Suddenly, Pullus realized that this was the answer to the mystery, and while he kept his voice low, there was no mistaking his anger when he muttered, “Those faithless bastards in the 5th and 21st. That’s why they slunk off in the night! Once they found out it was Arminius, those mentulae lost their nerve!”
“That,” Alex nodded, “is what I guessed once I learned that they’d left.”
“Wait.” Pullus looked at him, and while his tone was not accusatory, it still made Alex look uncomfortable as he asked, “You’re closer here to the 5th than we were, and we heard them. We didn’t know they were slinking off at the time, but we could tell something was happening. Didn’t you hear them?”
“We heard…something,” Alex admitted, looking away from Pullus as he did, but while Pullus wanted to pursue this further, he realized it did not really matter; what could Alex do, after all? It also would take time that he did not really have, acutely aware that he needed to get back before Vespillo noticed. Before he left, however, he told Alex, “Listen to me now, Alex. I know that you’re worried about Gaesorix, and I know that he appreciates it. But,” his face turned hard, his voice almost harsh, informing Alex that this was his Centurion speaking, “if the baggage train does get overrun by these cunni, do not do anything stupid like try to protect the Prefect or any of the wounded, do you understand me?” He abruptly reached out with both hands to take Alex by the shoulders, holding him firmly so that he could pin the clerk with his gaze, and he said, “If you need to run…run. If you need to hide…hide. And,” he took a deep breath, “if you need to fight…you take as many of those bastards as you can before you’re done, all right?” Alex nodded, but that was not good enough. “Swear it,” Pullus demanded. “On Jupiter’s black stone.”
He swallowed, but that was all the hesitation that Alex showed, nodding again but adding the words, “I swear it on Jupiter’s stone, Gnaeus.”
“Good.” Pullus’ manner turned brisk, and he clapped Alex on one shoulder, doing it hard enough that it made Alex wince, which was his intent. However, while he was grinning as he said it, Alex knew Pullus was serious when he said, “I just learned that you’re part of my family, and I still have a lot of questions. Don’t go and die on me.”
It was a macabre jest, but it was one that was as prevalent as the salt men used to flavor their foods for men of the Legions, and it made Alex laugh, but he was equally sincere when he promised, “I won’t. Now go back before the Pilus Prior gets back from wherever he is since I know you had to sneak over here.”
Pullus laughed again, but it was over his shoulder, because he was already doing so. The humor vanished in the space of three or four strides as he tried to decide whether or not to tell his comrades about Arminius. As it turned out, he did not need to worry.
“Arminius,” Vespillo said grimly, “was spotted yesterday, by the Legate himself, who has met him several times.”
While the other Centurions, who were standing a short distance away with Pullus and their Pilus Prior, reacted with varying degrees of shock and dismay, Pullus experienced a glimmer of satisfaction, however grim, that he had actually known this already.
Vespillo clearly noticed this, because he was viewing Pullus with obvious suspicion, but the needs of the moment guaranteed that this was all it amounted to, as he continued, “I’ll leave it up to you whether you tell your boys or not, but I think it would be better if it came from you than they hear it from some idiot in the other Cohorts.” Waiting only long enough for them to acknowledge his words, Vespillo turned and pointed south with his vitus as he explained, “Our orders are to advance on line, through that muck, and stop when we get to the first solid ground we come to. The Legate is going to try and bring the baggage train through, even though the roadway is underwater.”
This was not met with the same level of acceptance, and there was a silent argument as each of them urged one of their counterparts, through the use of glares and subtle nods towards Vespillo, until finally, it was once again Cornutus who spoke tentatively, “Pilus Prior, isn’t there a danger in that? If the drivers can’t see the roadway…”
“Of course there’s danger!” Vespillo snapped. Pointing back in the direction of the command group, he demanded, “Do you want to go tell him that in case he doesn’t know it? No? Maybe he’ll appreciate one of his Centurions pointing out that it’s ‘dangerous’.”
Vespillo said the last word in a mocking imitation of Cornutus’ voice that Pullus thought was surprisingly good, but what was not surprising was that Cornutus assured Vespillo he had no desire to do so. Satisfied he had made his point, the Pilus Prior finished, “Go to your Centuries, get them up and ready to march. The cornu will be sounding shortly, and we’re going to be moving.”
Just as he had ordered the others, Vespillo turned to his Century, bawling out the command to come to their feet, and when Pullus did the same, he could not miss the lethargy, and even worse, the reluctance in their demeanor, although they did comply. Grudgingly, clearly unhappy, but when the cornu did sound, they were ready to march.
By Pullus’ estimate, they had gone barely a mile before the feet of the men of the front rank of his Century touched ground that was dry, relatively speaking. It had been slow, and it had been fraught with tension, but despite some fleeting sightings of figures darting through the underbrush along the ridge, there was not any overt attempt to stop the 1st’s progress. The reason for this became obvious quickly enough when,
finally, Arminius unleashed his attack. And, just as Pullus and every other man present had feared, it was on the exposed baggage train. The rearmost ranks of the second line of Centuries had just reached the dry ground, which was the prearranged signal to stop when, from behind them, two forces burst from their cover on the ridges as several thousand Cherusci went rushing for the baggage train, which had lagged far behind the 1st, although they had been warned this would be the case, with the 20th given the task of essentially shoving any of the wagons that became bogged down. Between his spot with his Century at the very front, and the Centuries of the second line obscuring his vision, once the alarm was raised, it took Pullus an extra moment, not to see what was happening, but why it had happened. All of them had naturally spun about at the eruption of the noise created by thousands of roaring voices, which instantly overwhelmed the shouts of alarm from the men still with the baggage train, although the command Cornicen managed to play two of the three notes sounding the alert before he was cut down by the first Cherusci to reach him. Once Pullus was in a spot where he could see back north, up the roadway, the sight of the leading wagon canted over to the point it was perilously close to tipping over told him why Arminius had chosen this moment. Complicating matters was the driver of the second wagon, reacting to the leading conveyance slipping off the submerged roadway, had either panicked or made the bad decision to try and swing around, and now both the animals and the wagon appeared hopelessly mired, while the driver of the third wagon had made the identical and equally bad decision as the second, but on the opposite side, with the same result. This was all that Pullus was able to take in before his vision was obscured by the mass of rushing bodies as the Cherusci reached the baggage train, the only thing slowing their progress being the mucky ground, cutting down those drivers who either hesitated or were frozen in fear, while the Legion slaves abandoned their mules and went fleeing, either towards the 1st, or for those farther down the baggage train, for the 20th, which was at least coming forward to try and engage the Cherusci from their spot with the rear third of the train.
“Pullus! Pullus! Attend to your Century!”
Vespillo’s voice cut through the babble of the men around them, and while he obeyed, Pullus paused long enough to offer a prayer to the gods to protect Alex and that he had heeded Pullus’ advice to flee, but even as he did so, he felt certain that his clerk would be among the dead.
Alex had returned to the wagon, but not before he went to the one that his Centurion shared with the other Centurions of the Fourth Cohort to retrieve what was now his Centurion’s spare gladius, which Pullus had purchased from Decimus Scrofa just a few months earlier that had been replaced by Titus Pullus’ Gallic blade. Before his death, his uncle had required Alex to spend at least a third of a watch at the stakes, but only once a week compared to the daily routine that Titus Porcinianus Pullus had adopted from his Avus, and now Gnaeus Pullus was emulating. Nevertheless, he had never killed a man, nor had he ever really fought in a battle, although he had certainly been close to the fighting, and he fervently hoped he would not need to test his skills in real combat. When he returned to the wagon and climbed in, only two of the occupants were awake: the Secundus Hastatus Posterior of the deserted 21st Legion, a swarthy man originally from Etruria named Lucius Considius, who was slung immediately under Gaesorix, who was the other man awake, his eyes bright with fever but equally alert, and he did not miss Alex’s expression.
“What is it, Alex?” His voice had become raspy, though he could now talk above a whisper, but before the clerk could reply, Considius spoke up anxiously, “I heard some sort of noise earlier; it sounded like men moving. What was it? Do you know?”
Alex was not normally cruel, nor was he inclined to taunt wounded men, but he felt sufficiently justified in his anger to retort, “Yes, I know. Your fucking Legion scurried away in the dark of night like rats, along with the 5th.”
“What??” Considius’ eyes went wide, but when he tried to swing his body out of the hammock, the serious leg wound he had suffered stopped him short, and he fell back with a groan, but he glared at Alex with poisonous hatred. “You’re fucking lying, freedman! If my Legion left, it was only because they were ordered to by the Legate himself!”
“And they left the baggage train to be defended by two Legions?” Gaesorix’s tone was mild enough, but his words were not, adding, “And if you call Alexandros Pullus a liar again, I’ll gut you like a fish, Considius.”
Considius’ face went even paler, although he took advantage of his position beneath Gaesorix to glare up at the hammock, but this served to shut him up.
“The 5th and the 21st were our flanking Legions,” Alex reminded Considius, deciding that his intemperate words had contributed to the tension. “And now that they’re gone, we’re going to try and press forward and get out of this muck. At least,” he allowed, “that’s what I heard the Legate’s ordered.”
And, no more than a few dozen heartbeats later, there was a muffled shout, and a few heartbeats after that, their wagon lurched into motion, throwing Alex to the floor. He regained his feet, and when Gaesorix beckoned to him, he braced himself by grabbing the pole, bending close to the Batavian to hear him because of the noise of the moving wagon.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Gaesorix whispered, searching his face, and Alex nodded.
Then, glancing down at Considius, Alex bent closer to whisper, “Arminius is leading these Cherusci who have been surrounding us.”
What Gaesorix uttered in an identical whisper he could have shouted, since it was in his native tongue and Considius would not have understood, while Alex only did because the Batavian had taught him the meaning, not that this was a source of amusement in the moment.
“What’s happened? Where did the 5th and 21st go?” Gaesorix asked, keeping his voice at the same pitch, and Alex replied in kind, “I don’t think they know with any certainty, but the Legate seems certain that they headed south for high ground.”
This made sense and would prove to be true, although it meant nothing at the moment. With Alex having imparted what he knew, he settled down on the bench, the gladius across his knees, swaying with the rhythm of the wagon as it rocked back and forth. There was no way for him to calculate how much time passed before, without any warning, the slave driving their wagon hauled on his reins, causing the animals to skid to a stop that, in turn, threw Alex against the front of the wagon. He was struggling back to an upright position when there was a muffled sound that, despite not being particularly loud, was unmistakable, the roaring of thousands of male voices, from either side of their wagon.
“It’s the Germans! They’ll fucking slaughter us!”
Despite his fear, and the fact that he secretly agreed with Considius, Alex managed to snarl, “Shut your fucking mouth, you cunnus! If your Legion hadn’t fucking run, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” Leaping to his feet, he leaned over to Gaesorix to ask desperately, “What do you want me to do, Gaesorix?”
For the rest of his days, Alex would remember the look the Batavian gave him, a half-sad, half-humorous smile, but there was no hesitation in his reply. “I want you to save yourself, Alexandros Pullus. Nothing more than that. Do not sacrifice yourself for me.”
Alex stared at Gaesorix, certain that he had not heard properly, demanding, “Are you sure?”
“Never surer,” the Batavian replied, again without hesitation. “Now,” he smiled up at Alex, “get out of this wagon. That’s your only chance to survive.”
To his credit, Sacrovir reacted immediately, without waiting for Caecina’s orders, which proved fortuitous, since the Legate’s Cornicen had been slain; even worse in the moment was that in the initial rush, Caecina had been unhorsed when his mount was struck by a hurled spear, as it quickly became apparent that the Germans were targeting horses and draft animals. He managed to scramble up to his feet and was immediately surrounded by his bodyguards, but while he was temporarily safe, he was also in no position to issue orders.
Sacrovir, unable to see his Legate through the crush of moving bodies of men and animals, did not hesitate, having his Cornicen sound two calls, the first to reverse formation. Later, after it was all over, there would be the inevitable second guessing about the Primus Pilus’ decision, some men suggesting that he did not want the second line Centuries to receive the credit for what was coming, but this did not matter in the moment. What did was that Pullus, along with the other two Centuries in the first line, dropped their packs, reversed facing, and at the bellowed command by the Centurion, countermarched neatly through the gaps between their sister Centuries. They were given no time to dress their lines; the instant Sacrovir saw the maneuver completed, he ordered his Cornicen to sound the advance, the 1st wading, literally and figuratively, into the melee. The 20th had moved from their rearmost position in the quadratum, and the Pili Priores of the flanking Cohorts attempted to swing their Centuries into a position that paralleled the roadway on either side before they closed in, but the fact that they were forced to slog over muddy ground, some of which had just been churned up by the feet of the thousands of Cherusci who had finally launched a real assault, made that movement slow enough that the Cherusci were ready for them.
