by R. W. Peake
However, before he could say anything, one of his men said, “He knew the watchword, sir. Besides, I recognize him. He’s one of the new men in the First Cohort.”
While this assuaged Verrens’ concern about the chances of the man being a spy, it also puzzled him; why would Tiberius, or Barbatus for that matter, send a new man? And more importantly, where was Paperius? By this point, the new arrival had climbed to his feet, and while the salute he rendered was proper, there was something in the man’s manner Verrens didn’t care for. Verrens shook that off; this wasn’t the time or place to worry about the man’s deportment.
“You bring a message from Tiberius?” Verrens demanded.
Philo hesitated, but it was so brief that Verrens didn’t notice.
“Yes, sir,” Philo replied.
“Good. Follow me,” Verrens said curtly, then turned about. Calling over his shoulder, he said, “Stay close to me. We’ve got a ways to go to get to the Pilus Prior.”
As it turned out, they didn’t have to go as far as Verrens assumed. Porcinus had started on another of his checks on the status of the other Centuries, and resultantly was with Munacius and the Third when Verrens called his name. He had to shout it three times before Porcinus heard, the tall Roman finally turning to watch Verrens and Philo approach. Movement was even more difficult, between the bodies of the wounded who had crawled to the middle of the formation, the pile of cracked and ruined shields, broken swords, and bent javelins, items of each scattered about. Finally, after weaving their way through, Verrens and Philo stood in front of Porcinus.
“Gregarius Philo, reporting to….”
“We can skip the formalities, Philo,” Porcinus cut him off, examining the man wearily, while Philo silently did the same out of the corner of his vision now that he had the time, much as Paperius had with Barbatus.
What Philo saw was a tall, rangy, blood-spattered Centurion, although from what Philo could see, none of the blood was his own.
“What’s your report? Is Tiberius on his way?”
Philo hesitated, but again, it was only a brief one. Except Porcinus did notice, and Philo saw the other man’s eyes narrow.
“Actually, er, no, sir,” Philo replied. “In fact, I come from Primus Pilus Barbatus. He commands that you disengage and come to our aid immediately. We’re also under attack, and the Legate has either been isolated and is under attack himself, or has been killed. The Primus Pilus says that the only way he can break out is with the help of your Cohort.”
Porcinus suddenly staggered, as if taking a physical blow, but Verrens was no less affected, so he couldn’t help steady his Pilus Prior.
“What?” he gasped. “Repeat your orders!” he snapped.
Philo repeated what Barbatus had instructed him to say, and he was prepared when Porcinus held his hand out.
“Let me see the written orders,” he demanded.
Philo regretfully shook his head, telling Porcinus another lie he had been instructed to give to the Pilus Prior by Barbatus, “I’m sorry, sir, but the Primus Pilus is out of tablets. That’s why he sent me personally. We’ve served together a long time, and he knows I can be trusted.”
The revelation that Philo was from the Praetorian Guard would have meant more to Porcinus, and might have alerted him, but his mental state was already shaken.
“Where’s Paperius?” Verrens was the one who asked the question.
“He’s dead,” Philo said. “Just before we got here, we were surprised by a mounted patrol. He held them off and allowed me to make it the rest of the way.”
That made Porcinus look sharply at Philo; more than the news that Philo was a Praetorian, this jarred him. He knew Paperius well, meaning that he had a hard time believing that the most reliable messenger would allow himself to be surprised. Philo saw the look, and he felt a trickle of sweat colder than the rest that covered his body run down his back.
Thinking quickly, he hurried on, “Actually, sir, it was probably my fault. I was following him, and they came up from behind and probably saw me.” He managed to look regretful, which was only partially feigned as he finished, “I’m sorry, sir. He seemed like a good man.”
“He was, but why would he do that? Why would he have sacrificed himself to save a man he didn’t know when he knew how important this was? Didn’t he hear the message as well? He could have given it to me.”
Porcinus was still suspicious, but Philo merely gave a shrug. Porcinus recognized the gesture, the universal sign of a ranker who has run out of answers. Consequently, he dropped what was ultimately an unimportant line of questioning. Or, at least, so he believed at the time.
“How are we supposed to do that?”
It was not only a sensible question, Porcinus knew; the fact that it came from Urso was even more comforting, albeit in a very odd way. Porcinus had called a meeting of the Pili Priores, and they were now all huddled in a crouching knot in the midst of the Third Century, recognizing that the sight of all six transverse crests in one place was liable to cause a sudden surge in the fury of the Varciani attack. If they managed to penetrate and strike down even two or three Centurions, the Cohort would be in even more trouble than they already were. As the rankers around them held the Varciani at bay, Porcinus considered Urso’s question, glancing around at the other faces, hoping that they might have some idea. Unfortunately, they all had essentially the same expression on their faces.
This forced Porcinus’ hand, but all he could do was shake his head and say, “I really don’t know.” He paused, then continued with a grimace, “Other than fight our way step by step.”
“But what about that pile of cac blocking the way? Granted, it’s not across the whole ravine, but we’d have to squeeze down to maybe three men across. Not only would that take forever, if they still have arrows that they’ve been saving, a lot of men are going to get picked off,” Verrens pointed out.
Considering his Century had already borne the brunt of the missiles, Porcinus found it hard to blame him for being so concerned; besides, what he was saying was true. When Porcinus led the sortie out to give Paperius time to slip away, he had been able to examine the rubble pile and, in his opinion, Verrens was being optimistic. There was space for perhaps two men side by side to pass the pile while still keeping their shields up to protect them from any arrows.
However, his gut instinct told him that the Varciani had exhausted their supply of missiles, and he asked Verrens, “When’s the last time they’ve loosed any at you?”
“It’s been a while,” Verrens said grudgingly, then insisted, “but that could be because they’re waiting for us to do what we’re talking about doing!”
That, Porcinus knew, he couldn’t argue.
“What about the wounded?” Corvinus asked, and this was yet another consideration.
Even as Porcinus said the words, he hated himself for them, knowing that his Centurions would like it even less, “Anyone who can’t keep up gets left behind.”
As he expected, this created a chorus of objections. Even as they protested, above the other noises came a sharp scream of pain.
“Glaxus is down!”
Munacius swore bitterly, risking standing to look in the direction of Glaxus’ spot in the formation.
“Pluto’s cock, it’s his leg. He can barely walk.”
Munacius turned to look accusingly at Porcinus.
“He’s one of my best! We can’t leave him behind.”
Porcinus sighed, rubbing his face for what he was sure was the hundredth time.
“Gaius, we can’t leave anyone behind,” Corvinus said softly.
Despite the fact that, no matter what their relationship was during off-duty hours, Corvinus had no business addressing him by his praenomen, Porcinus also knew Corvinus was right. Even if his Cohort survived this day, it would be gutted and shattered, the survivors racked with the guilt that came from leaving comrades behind who still had a breath of life in them. That was when it came to him, with utter clarity, and it s
hocked him so much that he stood upright.
“That’s what he wants,” Porcinus gasped. “That cunnus is trying to destroy this Cohort!”
“Who?” Urso was clearly confused. “Tiberius? Nonsense! Why would he want to do that?”
“Not Tiberius.” Porcinus shook his head as the sick certainty threatened to make his stomach lurch and eject whatever was in it. “Barbatus.”
In that moment, he realized that he hadn’t told the others the full contents of Philo’s message, that, according to Barbatus, Tiberius was either in mortal danger or already dead. Initially he hadn’t wanted to pass news that he knew would, if not cause a panic among the rankers, at the very least increase their worry to the point it put them one step closer to it. He knew from experience that, especially in this case where men were just four or five paces away, the rankers on relief holding onto the leathers of the man in front of them would be listening intently to everything the Centurions said. Anything to have a hint of what their future held, particularly when it was possibly so short. Despite this, Porcinus went ahead and told them the rest of the story that Philo had relayed, about Tiberius and the possibility that he was dead. He saw Corvinus shoot a glance over to Verrens, who he knew was the man to bring Philo to Porcinus. In turn, Verrens looked to Porcinus, and the Pilus Prior gave a curt nod. Although he had initially told Verrens not to divulge what Philo had said, he now realized that not only did his Centurions have the right to know, he also was certain of one thing, that this was a ruse on the part of Barbatus. Verrens confirmed what Porcinus said, and there were bitter curses all around.
“But I’m sure that Barbatus is lying. At least,” he amended, “the part about Tiberius. They may be under attack, but I don’t believe that he’s missing, or dead, for that matter.”
“But why would he lie?” Pacuvius asked. Before Porcinus could answer, someone else provided the answer.
“Because of Porcinus here,” Urso said, yet so softly he was forced to repeat it when Munacius said he couldn’t hear.
Porcinus stared hard at Urso, his mind spinning with the import of his Pilus Posterior’s words, before looking directly at Corvinus, who refused to meet his gaze. Neither Munacius nor Pacuvius seemed to have any understanding of what was happening, while Verrens looked only slightly less puzzled. Has Corvinus betrayed me? he thought bitterly. Why would he tell the man I trust the least about what happened with Barbatus? That, he realized in the moment, was a jug that was broken and couldn’t be mended, so he forced himself to put that consideration away. He began to open his mouth, but he was stopped, again by Urso.
“Our Primus Pilus is from the Praetorian Guard,” Urso explained. “And where is the Praetorian Guard located?”
“In Rome.” Munacius supplied the answer, a slow look of dawning on his face.
“Exactly,” Urso confirmed. “And it appears that our Pilus Prior has aroused the ire of someone very powerful.”
“But why Porcinus?” Pacuvius asked, still puzzled.
Urso turned and gave Pacuvius a long, level look, and whatever he silently communicated was enough.
“Ah.” Pacuvius nodded, then turned to Porcinus. “This is somehow about your unc…I mean, your father, isn’t it?”
Now it was Porcinus’ turn to sigh, wondering how much he should divulge, then quickly decided he owed these men the truth. A partial truth at least.
“Yes,” he answered at last, eliciting a groan from one of the others; he didn’t know which.
“Wait,” Verrens interjected. “So you’re saying that this cunnus is willing to drop us in the cac just because Augustus or someone close to him is still angry with Prefect Pullus?” He shook his head. “Sorry, but there has to be more to it than that.”
“Does it really matter right now?” This came from Corvinus, who turned to look at Porcinus for the first time since Urso’s revelation. “All that matters at the moment is what we need to do, not why it’s happening.”
There was no more argument after that, each Centurion tacitly accepting this as fact. Once more, they all turned to Porcinus, who was furiously thinking, only half-listening to the back and forth.
Finally, he said, “The way I see it, either way we go, we’re fucked. I don’t like the idea of leaving the Second any more than you do. But,” he took a deep breath, and continued with a grimace, hating the bitter taste of the words, “if Barbatus is telling the truth, losing the First Cohort and the Legate at the same time is a shame we’ll never be able to live with. At least, I won’t. Anyone disagree?”
He was prepared for some objection, and even more ready to override their protest, yet he was somewhat relieved to see that the other five Centurions seemed to accept this.
“Fine,” he said at last. “We’re going to fight our way to the First. Now,” he asked with a bitter chuckle, “anyone have any idea how we’re going to do it and still have more than a Century left?”
He had meant it as a rhetorical question, but Corvinus spoke up.
“I do,” he said calmly. “I don’t know if it will work, but I do have an idea.”
As plans went, it was simple, yet as the men of the Fourth Cohort discovered, it was effective. It required Verrens and his Century to detach itself from the other five Centuries, whereupon they sidestepped back to the west, until they reached the base of the muddy rubble. Their initial role was to act as bait, and for perhaps the first time that day, the gods rewarded the men of the Fourth Cohort in the form of a complete absence of missile fire. Just as Porcinus had hoped, the Varciani had run out of arrows. Once it became obvious that the Varciani weren’t simply withholding their arrow fire, the Sixth shifted its formation to form a solid line of men, only three deep instead of the more standard eight or ten, but this was done in order to provide other men for what was needed. Verrens formed them up so the line curved slightly, to prevent any Varciani from getting behind the men who would be guarding their comrades of the working party. The rest of Verrens’ Century worked frantically, hampered by the lack of tools, to widen the gap in the rubble pile to a point where a full Century could march through it. Not surprisingly, the Varciani weren’t willing to let this effort go unmolested, and one of the warriors, probably a noble, in that area of the fight, rallied a force of perhaps fifty men to throw themselves at the Romans who were defending their comrades. This was when the second piece of Corvinus’ plan went into effect, as the men of his Fifth Century, now at what was the end of the Fourth’s battle line, suddenly launched first one, then another volley of javelins at the barbarians, who were, at that moment, running into the now-vacated space where the Sixth had been, leaving behind dozens of bodies, mostly Varciani, but a distressingly large number of Romans as well. The javelins were scrounged from all the other Centuries, passed down through the compact formation, and as they so often did, proved devastatingly effective. This was particularly true because Corvinus waited until the last possible moment to give the command, so that a large number of Varciani had their backs turned to his men as they prepared to fall on Verrens’ Century. They had done so secure in the knowledge that their own comrades would wrap around the end of Corvinus’ Century now that it was the last one in the Cohort and protect their rear. But while they did keep Corvinus and his men from falling on them from behind with swords, they were completely unprepared for the volley of the heavy, weighted missiles arcing through the air to slice down into them with a terrific impact. Enough javelins had been gathered for four volleys from Corvinus, yet he quickly saw that any more than two would be wasted, as the Varciani charge at Verrens’ men was shattered almost before it got started. The survivors of that group were forced back into the main body of the Varciani, retreating to the relative safety provided by their comrades, who were still pressing the sides of the Roman formation. They did so grudgingly, shaking their weapons and shouting curses at the men of Corvinus’ Century, who jeered and hurled their own insults. By this point in the battle, the action was desultory, most men on both sides having expended
most of their energy staying alive. There was a ripple of motion up and down the entire length of both sides of the Fourth’s battle lines, as a Varciani would summon the energy to launch an attack against the Roman across from him, while the men around him only half-heartedly moved with him in support.
Porcinus, back in his spot with the First Century, wasn’t sure if the sounds of the fighting had actually subsided, or he had just become so accustomed to them he barely noticed, although he suspected it was a little of both. At that moment, however, his attention was riveted on the sight of the Second Cohort, and he realized with a peculiar mix of emotions that whoever was commanding this Varciani attack had seemed to realize that his only hope of destroying at least one Cohort was to concentrate his forces on one of them. From what Porcinus could see, that was the Second, although the Varciani commander wasn’t leaving the Fourth completely unmolested. To Porcinus, it appeared that he was leaving just enough men surrounding the Fourth to keep them occupied, but not enough to exploit a breakthrough. While this made the coming ordeal facing the Fourth easier, Porcinus couldn’t suppress the feeling of guilt at the idea of leaving Volusenus and his men to their collective fate. His hope was that he and his men could extract themselves, go to the aid of the First, then either return to rescue the Second, or what seemed more likely, that mounted couriers would be sent galloping to the east to order the other Cohorts to come to the rescue of the Second. For all Porcinus knew, Barbatus had already done that very thing, yet somehow, he doubted it. If he were being brutally honest with himself, he didn’t believe for a moment that Tiberius was either missing or dead, or that the First was in as much trouble as this Philo said. It wasn’t lost on Porcinus that he had never seen Philo before, telling him that he was one of Barbatus’ Praetorians. He was also worried about Paperius; something about Philo’s story just didn’t add up to him, but he also had more important matters to worry about. Turning away from the Second Cohort, he actually closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish what he hoped wouldn’t be the last image of the Second from being burned into his mind. Their normally ordered ranks had become hopelessly muddled, and while he wasn’t sure, it had looked to Porcinus like the Varciani had managed to penetrate the Second’s formation to a point where it appeared that there were only perhaps three or four men keeping the two forces of warriors from meeting and cutting the Cohort in half. If that happened, Porcinus knew that the Second would be doomed, as it could then be chopped up piecemeal. Regardless of this looming possibility, it wasn’t his most immediate problem, and when he opened his eyes, he was ready to command his Cohort.
