Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  Urso turned to face me; this was the first time I had been this close to him since his ordeal with the Legate, and if I had been wary of the man before, seeing how his eyes glittered with a kind of suppressed wrath, now I was almost petrified. Is that, I wondered, how I look to others when I lose my head in battle?

  "What about it, Pullus?" Despite his expression, his tone was mild, as if he was actually interested in what I had to say. "You're not scared of a wall, are you? As tall as you are, you'll probably be able to step over it."

  As I am sure he hoped, his jibe drew some muted snickers, and I felt the heat rush to my face, but my mouth still opened to respond. For some reason, nothing came out of it, for once, and I imagine I looked slightly ridiculous with my mouth hanging open. Finally, I shrugged and said nothing more. Seeing that I had been properly put in my place, the Primus Pilus turned his attention away from me, stepping a couple paces ahead of us so he could see down the line of Centuries, at least as far as possible before the trees obscured his view. Because of the limited vision, there was no avoiding the fact that it would be Varo sounding the call to begin the charge down the slope, which would undoubtedly be heard in the village. Shifting my feet, I tried to knock any dirt or gravel lodged between the hobnails of my soles, then quickly grounded my shield to wipe the sweat from my hands, trying to ignore the fact that my palm was moister than normal. All around me, my comrades were doing the same kinds of things, their own little rituals they performed before we threw ourselves into a situation where there would be no time to do any of this, where everything happens so quickly there is no time to think, let alone make sure you do not lose hold of your shield because of sweaty palms. Urso clearly understood this, content to watch until, at last the movement stopped, whereupon we waited, ready. Turning to Varo, he gave a nod, and just before I looked back to the front, I saw the cornicen take a deep breath.

  While our bounding down the slope did, in fact, give us the advantage of extra speed, it also wreaked havoc with our alignment and cohesion. And, as had happened before, in my excitement, I forgot how much longer my legs were so that I was the first one to come bursting out of the trees at the bottom of the slope. If, in fact, there had been defenders waiting with drawn bows, I have little doubt that I would have looked like a porcupine before the rest of my comrades showed up to give the Varciani more targets from which to choose. But the gods apparently had decided I had suffered enough in the recent past; at least so I like to believe. Whatever the case, the other blessing was that not only were there no defenders waiting for us, even if there had been, there would have been no way for them to be aligned on the parapet of a wall. Oh, there was a wall there, but although I had seen just the bottom of it, our dash down the slope was so quick and the footing such that I only had eyes for where I would put my feet. Consequently, my first real look at the wall was when I entered into the sunlight, and it took a couple of heartbeats for my eyes to adjust, then relay the message to my mind that there was no threat from the wall. While I knew that Urso had been joking that I could step over it, he was not far wrong, because even from where we were, still some distance away, I doubted if the top of the wall would be higher than my head. Adding to the confusion was the roaring noise of my comrades who, it must be said, were only a half-dozen paces behind me, and with the speed they were moving, I was isolated and alone only long enough for me to recognize that the village was undefended. This is not to say there were not people; by the time we reached the bottom of the slope, those villagers who had been outside their wall were scrambling for the two gates on our side of the village. By the time we reached the clearing, I only had fleeting glimpses of the feet of perhaps a half-dozen Varciani as they scampered through the gates. Sensing my comrades had reached me, I picked my pace back up to match theirs as we ran across the clearing. Urso suddenly appeared to my right, his sword in one hand, vitus in the other, and he glanced over at me, giving me a savage grin.

  Shouting over the din we were already making, he said, "I told you that wall wouldn't be a problem, didn't I, Pullus?"

  Caught up in the moment, I know, but I was sincere when I shouted back to him, "I never should have doubted you!"

  When we got within a hundred paces, I thought for an instant the Primus Pilus would direct us to angle towards one of the gates, but instead, he kept us moving straight ahead, directly towards a section of the wall to the right of the nearest gate. A quick glance to my left allowed me to see a long, albeit somewhat ragged line of Centuries of the First, sweeping towards the wall. I was beginning to feel winded, but we still maintained our rapid running pace, and when we got within fifty paces of the wall, I was better able to judge it, understanding why Urso had not been concerned. There was not even a ditch, and we were close enough that I saw, not only was it not above my head, it would come up to about the level of my armpits. That was when I understood it was not a defensive wall, but one designed to keep the animals within the village enclosure. When we were no more than twenty paces away, Urso bellowed the command to stop our headlong charge, except I had difficulty in arresting my progress in time, forced to stick my shield out in front of me as it hit the wall, sending a shock of pain up my arm.

  "Pullus, you seem to be the most eager," Urso called out, "so you're first over the wall."

  My initial reaction was one of suspicion, sure that the Primus Pilus was going to send me over the wall, then there would be some sort of delay. With some chagrin, I realized that, in fact, he saw I was one of the only men, along with Avitus and Sido, who could actually see what awaited us on the other side of the wall, although the latter would have to stand on tiptoes. Consequently, I did as he ordered, and whatever hesitation I felt was apparently not enough for the Primus Pilus to notice. From where we were, I could see down what looked a lot like a muddy path that I knew was what the barbarians call their streets. Running perpendicular to the wall and leading deeper into the village I saw a row of the wattle huts that serve as homes on each side of the street, although I did notice at the far end of the street the houses became more substantially constructed. Most importantly, while the street was full of people, they were all running in the other direction, and with that, I hopped up and swung my right leg up and over the wall. I had to be careful because the Varciani had sharpened the tops of the logs used for the wall, but fortunately, the only casualty was my tunic, which I heard ripping as I dropped down onto the other side. Glancing to my left along the wall first, although I saw some armed men, they seemed to be concentrating around where I knew the nearest gate was located. Even above all the other noise, I could hear the crashing sound as the men of the Second Century put their shoulders into it as they attacked the gate. Calling over that it was clear, I was just turning to help Avitus up and over when two things happened simultaneously. At the very edge of my vision, from the left, I sensed a blur of movement, while Avitus, who was reaching for my offered right hand and facing me, saw the same thing.

  "Pullus! To your left!"

  Under normal circumstances, I would have grounded my shield to use my left hand to help Avitus over, but because of my wound, I had decided to sheathe my sword to offer him the other one. That choice saved my life, because before I could do more than lift my shield slightly, it was struck a terrific blow. Hitting at the angle that it did, the force twisted the shield, the pain so intense I was sure I would lose my grip, but somehow, I did not. My mind barely had time to register all that was happening, and my recollection is that this was the first glimpse I had of the attacker. More accurately, what I saw over the top of my shield was a shock of dark brown hair and perhaps a bit of the forehead, although I clearly saw a hand holding an axe raise back up to strike again. I do not remember doing so, but I had my sword in my hand as my body responded without me giving any conscious command, although it turned out that I would not need it. When the second blow landed, it hurt almost as badly, but I still kept hold of my shield and, in fact, launched a punch with it, despite not having a good view of a
target to hit. As such moves went, it was one of my worst, at least in terms of the power behind it, because I was careful to thrust my arm straight out without any twisting of the hips that would change my center of gravity so that my left arm would be unsupported by the bulk of my body. Nevertheless, I made contact, and I heard a shrill, high-pitched shriek of agony that coincided with the audible, crunching sound of breaking bones. It was not until my attacker crumpled to the ground and I lowered my shield that I saw the truth.

  "Pullus," Avitus, still hanging on the wall, laughed, "that's the fiercest ten-year-old I've ever seen!"

  Sheathing my sword, I helped Avitus over, followed quickly by Sido, then the rest of the Century, while I tried to keep my eyes averted at the sight of the Varciani child, a young boy whose skull had been crushed by the boss of my shield, lying in a slowly growing puddle of his blood.

  By the time we were through, not one building stood, all of them in ruins, some of them smoldering, while others were so flimsily constructed it only took a few men to pull them down. Not, of course, until after each one was thoroughly looted, and if the occupants were unfortunate enough to be found either within a home or close enough to assume ownership, they were beaten until they provided the location of any valuables they had hidden away. While it was almost as noisy as a fight, the sounds were decidedly different, but I cannot say I found it less unnerving that the racket was in the form of feminine screams and the coarse, harsh laughter of my comrades. Urso did allow our Cohort the chance to perform a quick sweep of the village, which numbered perhaps three hundred homes, including the hall in the center where the village headman resided before allowing the rest of the Legion to enter. The largest building, of course, was reserved for the Primus Pilus, and when he pointed to me as one of the men to stand guard over it while the rest of the Legion sacked the village, I was actually grateful. And, in a strange way, I think the sequence of events that occurred when I came over the wall had an impact on me that has governed my behavior ever since. I cannot say why, exactly, but I was shaken so badly by the sight of the Varciani boy that I immediately lost my taste for anything to do with what was taking place around me. This is not to say I did not experience a twinge of regret on missing out on what, to many men in the Legions, is their true reward for all they endure. There is something…freeing, I suppose, in the idea that, for a period of time, however brief, the Centurions relax their iron grip on us, allowing us to appease our basest emotions and needs. Standing there, I watched as a man I believed was from the Second Cohort drag a screaming, thrashing woman by the ankle, looking for a relatively secluded spot where he did not have to worry about any other men coming and demanding he share his prize. As I did so, I wondered if perhaps the charge laid against me more often than not was true; maybe I was too soft for the Legions. Thankfully, I learned I was not alone in my feelings, although I will say that I saw even those men who felt like me succumb to their wilder urges, at one time or another. As would I, but that came later. Smoke started to swirl about the village, as first one, then another of the more substantial buildings were put to the torch. While no barbarian village is organized as neatly and regularly as ours are, there is one part they have in common and that is, next to the hall of the elder, or chieftain, there is an open area similar to our forum, and the Centurions directed those villagers who were captured to be brought to this area. Fairly quickly, the area in front of me filled with weeping, fearful Varciani, and I quickly noticed that this first batch of prisoners were exclusively composed of old women, men, and a few children. I understood why there were no younger women; my ears told me the tale with them, and although I remembered seeing at least a handful of men of warrior age, I decided they must have all been cut down. The smoke was growing so thick my eyes were starting to run, and my vision beyond about fifty paces was obscured. Suddenly, Urso appeared from the smoke, his eyes as red as mine, and he dismissed those of us on guard with a wave, telling us the general area of our respective Centuries. At least, that is how he started, but then before I had gone a few paces in the direction he had indicated, he called my name.

  Returning to him, I did not know what he might want, but I certainly was not prepared for what came next. My first indication of the direction of his thoughts was when I noticed him staring at the mass of huddled prisoners who had been forced to sit on the ground, while a half-dozen men, clearly more resentful at being kept from the fun than I had been, surrounded them. Regarding the prisoners, he did not say anything immediately and I had the sense he was trying to decide something. Or, he could have been tormenting me.

  Finally, he spoke, but kept his gaze on the Varciani, saying, "The slavers in Siscia won't give a brass obol for the entire lot of those old people. And, they're going to slow us down on the march." My mouth suddenly went dry as my mind started to catch up with his words, but before I could really comprehend him, he turned to look at me and said, "Go ahead and get rid of them."

  Whereas my mouth had gone dry, now I was sure I could not swallow as I stared at him.

  "Sir?" I finally managed. "You want me to…?"

  "Get rid of them," he repeated impatiently, "and be quick about it. You're missing out on all the fun."

  Even if I could have responded, he gave me no chance, spinning about and walking in through the shattered doorway of the headman's hall, leaving me gaping at his back. Standing there, in contrast to my body, my mind was moving furiously, trying to think of a way out of this predicament. Yet, as hard as I tried, I could not find any way to avoid carrying out my order, at least without risking dire consequences for myself. And as I thought about it, I was forced to remind myself that, rather than a risk, it was a virtual certainty that, if I refused or even delayed carrying out his order, in his state of mind, the punishment he would mete out to me would in all likelihood be the harshest possible. He could not strike out at the Legate, but I would fit the role of substitute nicely. Consequently, my legs began moving me in their direction, even as men herded another handful, shoving them into the impromptu circle formed by their guards.

  "What are you doing?" One of the guards saw me approach, his tone a combination of hope and surliness, as if a part of him thought I might be coming to replace him yet knowing it was not going to happen.

  "Orders from the Primus Pilus," I replied, except I could not meet his eyes, his gaze turning curious as I stepped past him and inside the invisible barrier of captivity.

  Those Varciani on the ground facing in my direction looked up as my shadow crossed the ground at the point where their gaze was fixed. One old woman – I say "old," but she was perhaps forty – visibly flinched when she looked up and saw me standing there, although I had yet to draw my sword. Instantly, she let out a gasping moan, which in turn alerted another, older woman, who was seated next to her, to focus on me as well. Mimicking the first female, she recoiled, her mouth dropping open as she let out a low sob. Now that the rest of the prisoners, almost all of them staring dully at the ground in front of them, were alerted to some change in their immediate circumstances, their faces turned towards me. And what had been just a couple of voices instantly became fifty, while those whose backs had been to me and were closest began scooting in the opposite direction while pivoting about on their rears so they could see me.

  "Oy, Gregarius!"

  Tearing my own attention away, I turned in the direction of the Legionary who had addressed me.

  "Whatever you're going to do, be fucking quick about it," he snapped, pointing at the agitated prisoners. "Before they get panicked and do something stupid!"

  While I nodded, I remember thinking that somehow I doubted what I was about to do would act to calm them down. Turning back to the prisoners, something suddenly happened to me. Seeing their naked fear at the sight of what I understood was one of the largest Romans they had ever seen, it also hit me that my horribly scarred arm probably did not help their state of mind. And from there, it did not take much for me to feel the flare of anger, warming my belly
and working its way up from my core. You think I'm some sort of monster? I thought. You don't know anything about me! I don't want to do this, but I have orders! And now you're sniveling just at the sight of me, when I haven't even drawn my sword? If your men hadn't been so stupid to think that they could accomplish anything other than what's happening here, you wouldn't be huddled on the ground, looking up at me with your pathetic, stupid expressions. Very well, if you're expecting some sort of demon, who am I to deny you that; I'll show you the monster!

  The only time I have any recollection of the next few moments comes to me in my sleep; otherwise, all I can clearly recall is the result.

  "Pluto's cock!" someone gasped. "Are you mad? What the fuck did you just do, Gregarius? Gregarius!"

  I have no idea if anything was said before that; this is the first thing I can recall, except I was finding it difficult for me to tear my eyes away from my sword as I numbly wondered how it ended up in my hand. It was bloody from tip to pommel, and I saw that from somewhere, somehow, what I assumed was the same person's blood had splashed all the way up onto my hand and wrist.

  Finally, I managed to return to the present enough to reply, "I followed the orders of the Primus Pilus." The sound of my own voice seemed to help me return to the moment, and I turned to look coldly at the man who had challenged me. "Why? You want to go complain to him about it?"

  I saw the bony part of his throat bob once, twice, then a third time before he stammered, "N-no. No." He shook his head adamantly. "I don't need to talk to anyone. And," he added so quickly that I could not help feeling the tug of a smile, "there's no reason for you to tell him. I believe you! If he ordered you to do it, then it's fine by me. It's just…" he pointed down, "…you made a right mess."

  That I had, I recognized, looking back at the corpses lying about my feet. In the span of a few heartbeats, I had taken no less than ten lives, but frankly, what surprised me was that, somehow, I had restrained myself, only cutting the throats of those prisoners Urso had declared to be too old. That left perhaps forty shrieking, trembling prisoners who had instinctively but understandably scrambled in the opposite direction, moving as far away as the guards allowed, where they were huddled together, arms wrapped around each other as they stared in horror at me. Looking back at them, or at least in their direction, I saw that, while almost all of them had understandable looks of terror, I noticed more than one of them glaring at me with a hatred that was palpable. The fact that these were exclusively children I found unsettling and, for a moment, I thought about doing something I was sure would change their expressions to one of fear, but frankly, the anger I had felt was gone. Instead, I turned about and walked away from them. As I resumed heading in the general direction that Urso had said my Century was, I passed another four men, each of them half-carrying, half-dragging two more villagers apiece, but although I immediately noticed two of them were about the same age as those I had just slain, I did not stop. If Urso wants them slaughtered too, I thought wearily, he can find someone else to do it. And, if I'm not here, I doubt he'll take the time to send someone to find me. Fortunately, I was correct about that.