Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  Almost as if I had bidden him, one man turned to face our direction, looking up the draw, although we knew there was no way to see us. What it did was allow us to see that his helmet was identical to ours in shape, with the exception of the reinforced brow strip, and while there was a back flange to protect the neck like what we were wearing right then, it was smaller.

  "They're all wearing them," Domitius whispered. "If it was just one of them, it would be one thing. But how did they get so many of them?"

  "I don't know." I kept my eyes down on the men, who seemed to come to some sort of decision. "But I have an idea. But we can't worry about it now. We need to get going."

  Even as I said this, one of the men began to lower himself down the slope in roughly the same spot we had thrown ourselves, and that was all the sign we needed that they had no intention of giving up the pursuit. Turning, we resumed ascending the draw, but although we did not stop, I began cursing myself; I had been so worried about what kind of armor the barbarians were wearing I had forgotten to ask Domitius if he had a plan after we reached the top of the hill.

  The watercourse we were following became smaller, until about a hundred feet from the top, it was taking us so much time and effort to carefully pick up our feet and place them in the ever-narrowing channel for the water that we decided to stop trying. This turned out to be a move blessed by the gods, because if we had continued to struggle there, we would have not been in a position to see our rescue. Immediately after we clambered the few feet up the eastern bank, we stopped for a moment in a small clearing where we could see far below us, like a white ribbon with a dark stripe along one edge lay the floor of the ravine and the stream. We were perhaps five hundred feet higher and, under other circumstances, I suppose it would have been a nice view, but even in the moonlight, the visibility was excellent. We were both looking back down along the watercourse, which put us facing north and slightly west at that moment, so it did not take long to spot movement, betrayed by the glint of moonlight on helmets moving up the hill, causing both of us to curse.

  "It doesn't look like they're planning on giving up."

  "No," I agreed, "so we should keep going."

  I turned and looked back up the slope, except when I started to climb, I was so tired that I had to use my arms, pushing down on my knees to give me leverage. Domitius did not move, even as I struggled another step, and I thought he was grabbing a couple more breaths, but then he called my name. Turning around, I was not expecting him to look in essentially the opposite direction from our pursuit, yet he was.

  "Look!"

  Sighing, I negotiated back down the slope, prepared to smack him for making me expend more energy; nevertheless, I followed his finger with my gaze, eastward back along the floor of the ravine. At first, I did not see anything, but then I caught something, as a flicker of light bounced off a piece of sheer rock face on the far side of the ravine.

  "Cac," I muttered. "Probably fucking reinforcements."

  "Carrying torches?" he asked quietly, then shook his head. "Like you said a couple days ago, they know this land, so why would they need torches?"

  Despite not wanting to, I felt a flicker of excitement, but when I glanced back where we had last seen our pursuers, my heart sank.

  "They're going to spot us quick as fucking Pan," I hissed. "Come on." But when I turned to resume climbing, Domitius did not move again.

  This time, however, he simply said, "We need to head east."

  "You don't know if they're friendly," I insisted.

  "Yes, I do," he said simply, but then he added, "If you want to keep going, I understand. Maybe it would be better if you keep heading south and get to the camp."

  The thought of us separating was too much for me to bear, although I did not say that; instead, I just grumbled and indicated he should lead the way. Our pace naturally was quicker as Domitius moved into the trees at a downward angle, while I followed behind, hoping that he was right.

  Not only was Domitius right, by changing the direction of our flight across the slope, his decision bought us valuable time over the pursuing barbarians. Because they were still following our old trail, they were down in the watercourse, at least until they ascended another two hundred feet where it got shallow enough that their heads were above the plane of the slope. Even then, they would be forced to try and find some sort of sign that would put them back on our trail; my fervent hope was they would assume our goal was still to crest the ridge and continue south, and consequently only be looking for any sign of us leading uphill. Also helping us was going in our direction was easy, both in the sense of course and speed, since we knew going downhill would bring us to the bottom of the ravine. However, while our situation had improved somewhat by putting more distance between our pursuers, I was not as sanguine as Domitius seemed to be about the torch-bearing party moving west towards us being friendly. Regardless, I was right behind him, and a part of me did recognize that his point about barbarians needing torches to light their way was a good one. Despite that, neither did I want to lose sight of this party's progress so that we came bursting out of the trees right into the midst of a mass of armed men who might be friendly, but who would not react well to being surprised, no matter who we were. Unfortunately, between dropping lower and the trees, it was almost impossible for us to catch more than the faintest glimpse of light, and we were never in a place where we had a good view. Finally, when we were perhaps a hundred feet higher than the ravine, I grabbed Domitius by the harness, pulling him to a stop.

  "We don't want to just go running into the middle of them," I gasped. "Even if they are ours, what would you do if someone came crashing through the brush?"

  He did not answer, verbally anyway, but I saw his head nod, so I thought for a moment.

  "I think our best hope is to backtrack a bit to try and get ahead of whoever it is, get as close to the bottom as we can without being seen, and then wait to find out if they're ours."

  "You mean, go back in the direction of those bastards chasing us?" he asked dubiously.

  "They're higher up," I argued. "And, for all we know, they're already on the other side of the ridge, trying to stop us from getting to the big camp!"

  "Or," he countered, "they've seen the torches too and know we're going to head for them."

  "Which is another reason we should head back west. Not far," I added, "but just so we can be sure we're in a spot to see them coming. If they have seen the torches, I think you're right; they'll change direction like we did. But they're going to take the straightest line to intercept us."

  I could see that made sense to him, and he only hesitated for a moment before nodding his head.

  "All right," he agreed. "Let's go."

  We continued weaving our way through the trees, the difference being that although we were doubling back, it was still heading slightly downhill. I believed the trick was to move at the right angle that would bring us to a point about twenty feet up the slope from the bottom of the ravine, yet at a point where we had enough time to at least squat down for cover before looking back east for the approaching party, which we could now hear as their feet brought them closer. Once or twice, I thought I heard a voice, but so faintly, it could have come from any direction. Finally, I decided we were in as good a spot as we could find, behind a deadfall that lay parallel to the ravine floor, only about thirty feet higher up the slope. It was far from perfect, but it was the only spot I had seen that gave us the ability to look back east, where we could clearly see the reflection of the torches flickering against the background of the opposite slope. Almost before we were ready, though, the front of the column appeared from around a slight bend. It did not take more than an eyeblink for a feeling of relief to flood through me so intense it made me dizzy and, without thinking, I reached out to clutch Domitius by the arm, but he was no less affected. No barbarians, anywhere, marched in a series of neat ranks, even in the middle of the night over rough ground.

  "Thank you," I heard Domi
tius whisper as he looked skyward. "Blessed Fortuna! I'm making a sacrifice to you as soon as we get back to Siscia!"

  Helping each other to stand up – I was absurdly pleased to see he seemed as shaky as I felt – we stepped over the deadfall, then half-sliding, half walking, we dropped down to the floor of the ravine, splashing through the shallow water to get to solid ground. I cannot say whether it was the movement or the sound, but we heard a shout, and the column stopped.

  "We're Roman!" I shouted, completely forgetting the proper procedure. "Don't release! Don't release your javelins!"

  "There's only one idiot I know that size who'd forget the watchword."

  Torches were held aloft by a man on either side of the formation, both the front rank and rear rank, and while I did not have time to make an accurate count, I saw these flickering beacons extending back, out of sight around another bend. The reason I did not have time was that my eyes were drawn to the figure who had detached himself from the formation, although I had instantly recognized the voice.

  "Pilus Prior Corvinus," I called out, not caring that my voice was shaking from equal parts relief and exhaustion. "What are you doing here?"

  "Carrying out the Primus Pilus' plan," he replied, yet even as he did so, he had turned and waved my former comrades of the Fourth forward. "We got delayed, though. Now," he resumed marching, motioning to us to walk with him, "what's happening?"

  As expected, we heard the fighting not long after the Fourth found us, while Domitius and I tried to fill in Corvinus on everything we knew which, as we admitted, was not much. Identifying the bend in the ravine ahead where we had been perched, Corvinus called a quick halt.

  "We're going to have to go in as a column," he said grimly.

  Domitius and I exchanged a glance, and I understood we were thinking along the same lines.

  "Pilus Prior," I pointed up the slope, "Domitius and I have been back and forth over that ground…" I tried to count, but could only come up with, "...a few times. If you want, we can guide some men to cut those cunni off from behind."

  "How many were in the group that attacked your Century?" he asked.

  Domitius answered, "Not sure, but at least four hundred, maybe more."

  Corvinus grimaced and shook his head, trying to decide. The clashing of metal, deeper thudding sounds of metal hitting shields, and accompanied by shouting was clear to hear now, which, I suspect, was having the same effect on Corvinus, underscoring the need for haste.

  "The big fight is what we need to worry about," he muttered, "but if we get bogged down helping your Century, that isn't going to help anything." Evidently making his decision, he turned and beckoned to Galens, my former Optio, who had moved to the front.

  "Go get the Second," he ordered, "and tell them to follow these two up there." He pointed. "Pullus and…Domitius," I admit that, even with all that was going on, I was impressed that Corvinus had remembered the name of someone he had met just once, briefly, "are going to lead them up and across to get behind those cunni." Galens turned to go, but Corvinus grabbed him and added, "Tell Plancus," the name of the Quartus Pilus Posterior, "that I'm not waiting on the Second to hit them, but he needs to have his cornicen sound the attack when he's in place!"

  Galens saluted, then made his way as quickly as he could, while Corvinus pointed to the spot he wanted the pair of us to wait for the Second to come up. Before we could get out of the way, he had waved the First Century forward, snapping the order to throw the torches into the stream.

  "We won't need those," he said loudly, then without hesitating, spun back around to face in the direction where I imagined my comrades were fighting desperately.

  "Century," he bellowed, "forward!"

  We stood to the side, slightly higher on the slope as the men I had marched and bled with just the year before went sweeping by, intent on coming to the aid of my newer comrades.

  "Pullus!" I heard yet another familiar voice, just as the rear rank of the First passed us, followed by another, then another, calling my name, and while I recognized the voice of Appius Asinius, he was on the far side of the rank, but I saw Metellus and Bassus, both of them on what we called the "little end" of the rank, giving me a wave, albeit with their swords in their hands. Just behind them came Galens, who gave me a wave of his own, and I saw a gleam of teeth in the moonlight.

  Even under the circumstances, as fatigued and hurting as I was, I felt a swelling of pride that one set of friends was marching to the aid of another, although the man to whom I had become the closest was standing next to me. There was no time to spend savoring this moment; Plancus and his Century were immediately behind the First, prompting Domitius and me to beckon to them. Since I knew Plancus at least by sight, I was the one who spoke to him.

  "Follow us." I did not bother to salute, not wanting to waste time, and I heard him mutter a curse, but he scrambled up the slope without hesitation.

  The sound of dozens of hobnailed boots scrambling for purchase, along with the requisite curses as men slipped, and the clattering of javelins against shields was impossible to miss, but nothing could be done about it.

  I did think to tell Plancus, "The woods over there are too thick for javelins. We're going to lead you up about a hundred paces higher up, then," I pointed to the same spot Domitius and I had traversed at least twice that I could think of, "cut over that way. It'll get you going really quickly when you call for the charge, but javelins will just be in the way."

  I felt him glaring at me, but then he turned and snapped an order over his shoulder for his men to discard javelins. They did not hesitate, and I had to fight a smile, knowing how happy rankers always were to hear that order; the weapon is devastating when it is appropriate to use, but it is also cumbersome, and none of us liked holding on to two of them while doing something like what we were doing right then. Quickly, the night air filled with the clattering of wooden shafts hitting the rocky slope, competing with the gasping curses of the men forced to labor straight up the hill. We were about halfway to the point Domitius and I had identified as the spot where we would make our turn to the west to move into final position, when a sudden roar erupted down on the ravine floor to our right quarter.

  "Corvinus," I heard Plancus mutter, then he gasped, "Hurry! We don't want him to have all the fun!"

  Frankly, although we both tried to move more quickly, I do not think it was possible for Domitius and I to climb any faster; we were both close to exhaustion. Nevertheless, we reached the spot we both thought would put us high enough, taking the opportunity to stop as we pointed west.

  "About a hundred paces that way," I gasped.

  Plancus gave a curt nod; I suspect he was almost as winded as we were, but he turned west, with what I assumed was his First Section right on his heels. However, looking down the slope, I was dismayed to see that just in that short climb, the Second Century had become strung out; I could just make out what I assumed was the last section of the Second starting their ascent of the slope. Corvinus' intention of moving the Second into position quickly was evaporating in front of me, but I was a Gregarius, meaning all I could do was wait helplessly, hoping that just the First Century of the Fourth would be enough to shatter the Colapiani attack. This, I thought bitterly, was part of a plan? Domitius had paused, but then he told me he was going to take Plancus the rest of the way, while he left me to direct the straggling men of the Second where to turn. When he said this, I felt a flash of fear I instantly dismissed as irrational; we had faced this nightmare together to this point, and I was not happy at the thought of being separated; fortunately, I was composed enough to understand he was right. Standing there, reaching out with my right arm, I offered a helping hand to as many men who seemed to need it as they climbed the last few feet, while pointing to the west, feeling little better than a provost. Which, I thought bitterly, is all I deserve to be, considering how I've been spending the night running back and forth instead of fighting like a Legionary should. Not helping my state of mind were the cl
ear sounds the fight below us was reaching its climax. I felt helpless just standing there, even as a part of my mind pointed out that, not only was I at the end of my tether, my shield was gone, and my arm was still throbbing from running into the tree. Turning back to providing what help I could, I was relieved to see that it was the Tenth Section I was finally helping scramble up the slope. When a series of notes sounded, blown by what I could hear was a cornu, there were still about a half-dozen stragglers either moving in the direction of the rest of the Century, or who I was helping up, and the sudden noise made all of us jump.

  "Don't want to miss the fun!" I remember saying, except the man whose arm I was grasping at that moment to help the last few feet, never answered.

  The events of the next couple of heartbeats occurred in such quick succession that it is still impossible for me to determine their sequence. The words had just left my mouth when I had the sensation of something flashing past my head with a hissing sound and an accompanying puff of air, followed immediately by a deep, wet thudding sound as, simultaneously, the man's forearm was yanked from my grasp. An explosion of noise behind me, in the form of roaring voices followed so quickly that all of what I described might have happened at the same time. Whirling about, I only had an instant for my eyes to pick out a series of dark shapes moving quickly towards me from higher up the slope, draw my sword, then brace myself for the impact as the Colapiani pursuing Domitius and me finally found one of their prey.

  The fastest of the Colapiani pursuers was either too eager or misjudged the distance because of the darkness; his cause was not helped by my bringing up my sword in front of me so that, like the young warrior I killed at The Quarry, he ran himself onto the point. An explosive blast from his breath washed me in an odor of wine and the distinctive smell of rotting teeth as he let out a high-pitched shriek of agony, my arm shoved backward from the impact of his body. Feeling his bulk slam into the pommel of my sword, his downward momentum was such that, even as he was dying, his body still served as a weapon so that I felt myself falling backward. I hit the hard, rocky slope with a terrific force, driving the wind from my lungs in much the same way my sword had done to my attacker; the only difference is that I was able to draw in another breath. Somehow, I had managed to tuck my chin against my chest but even so, the back flange of my helmet struck the ground hard enough that a sudden shower of what looked like sparks exploded in front of my eyes, much like when one throws a log on an already roaring fire. The Colapiani was lying on top of me, his blood covering my right hand and arm, which was now pinned between us, while our combined weight started us sliding downhill, headfirst. Even worse, he was not quite dead, making a low-pitched moaning sound, his head on my chest. Without thinking, I reached out with my only free hand, grabbing at a handful of grass, or dirt, anything to stop our slide, while the panic I had managed to keep subdued instantly resurfaced. Not only is being off your feet in a fight extremely dangerous, having a dying man's dead weight on you, pinning you to the ground, was an experience I found to be alarming. I was vaguely aware of the sounds as the men who presumably had been pursuing Domitius and me smashed into the other Romans of the last section of the Second; frankly, at the moment, my only concern was getting the body off of me so I could regain my feet. Matters were not helped by another shock of pain as my left hand finally grabbed at what felt like a rock outcropping, but whether it was from the strain on my weakened arm or because I tore a fingernail off, I could not determine. Yet, somehow, I managed to stop sliding and, using my right arm, I pushed my unwanted passenger off my body, then scrambled to my feet, gasping for air as I frantically twisted the sword from the now-dead man's midsection. The fact that he was wearing what I was sure was Roman armor meant it took quite an effort to free the blade, although I managed to do so while keeping my attention focused a few feet higher up the slope.