Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "Fuck this," Caecina's words came between coughs. "Let's get upwind of this cac before we all choke to death."

  Asinius agreed, and we turned to trot north until we were upwind of the smoke, but even after our eyes stopped streaming, the wind was blowing strongly enough that the smoke did not drift as much as it was driven, staying relatively close to the ground. Only now can I see how this helped the Varciani; in the moment, none of us gave it much thought, and I find it impossible to fault Asinius, or any of the Centurions of the First Cohort who were just then returning from the fields on either side of the road to reassemble so we could hurry to rejoin the column. We were all eager to catch back up, for a variety of reasons; most of us did not want to miss out on the chance to sack what we assumed to be a much richer town than the ones we had razed in the preceding time. Although this was not foremost in my mind, neither did I want us to be left behind; I suppose in the back of my mind was the knowledge that, even if we did not know exactly where they were, the Varciani were coming. Also, even if we had tarried to watch our back trail, there was no way to see anything. I suppose that, in hindsight, an armchair general like the Legate, or Paullus, could find fault with Urso's decision essentially to create a curtain of smoke behind which the Varciani could not only close with us, but actually move into a position that would cause us great difficulty. However, I will cross the river in Charon's Boat with the conviction that, had they been there, they would have given precisely the same orders. Perhaps only Divus Julius would have retained enough detachment to recognize that with a northern wind, doing something like setting fire to a line of fields that obscured a view of the likely avenue of approach by our enemy was a bad idea with potentially lethal consequences. But the jug is broken, and the gods had decreed otherwise. By the time we reattached ourselves to the end of the column, the leading element was just at the base of the hill where the tower was located, and we got our first good look at it. While it was perhaps twenty feet high, it was little more than a platform with a covering that provided a minimum of protection, but only from the elements and nothing else. If it had been a good, Roman tower with solid walls and slits that allowed the sentry a good view but narrow enough to provide him protection, it would have been difficult to dislodge him, and while the sentry would have died, he could have kept us there a bit longer. As it was, his body was lying a few feet from the base of the tower facedown, the point of one javelin protruding from his back several feet, and I assumed it was this way because he had landed on it. All that mattered was that he was dead, although he had managed to sound the warning. Up at the head of the column, since it was a slight climb, we could see the leading Cohort, the Third on this day, spreading out into battle formation. In turn, this meant the flanking Centuries actually had to array themselves along the incline on either side of the road. As this was taking place the Second, easily identified by its smaller size relative to the others, marched up the slope of the hill to arrange themselves with the Century from the Third, on the far left flank at the base of the tower, while the other two disappeared from our sight, farther along the hill as it curved slightly. The Primus Pilus did not wait long; the two Centuries of the Second had just disappeared from our sight when the cornu sounded the signal for the lead Cohorts to advance. The shout they raised as they instantly disappeared down the opposite slope rolled back to us, but the rest of the Legion was already moving, although, as always, there was a lag before we resumed our own advance. Reaching the top, I only had a moment to take in the scene before me, but what my eyes beheld was such that I was not the only one given pause.

  "By the gods," Avitus gasped, "this place is almost the size of Siscia!"

  While this was a slight exaggeration, it was certainly the largest barbarian town I had ever seen. In reality, it was perhaps three quarters the size of Siscia, but it had grown to almost ten thousand inhabitants. Bestia's description had been relatively accurate, except it hardly gave us any indication of the reality before us, although it is hard to fault him. This depression, which was, in fact, much like a bowl, but one whose edges are not uniform, measured about a mile across our front, and perhaps two miles to the far, northern hill, where if one squinted, the tiny stub of the other tower could be seen. The question of why there were no towers at the other two highest points, to the left and right from where we entered the town only seemed to be answered once we had the time to examine the heights. That, however, only came later. And it was not until I gave it any thought that I realized why this town was situated in a position where, if we had brought our heavy artillery with us, we could rain down death and fire at our leisure and bring the town to its knees without an assault; the town was older than our presence, and artillery is not used by the barbarian tribes. Following the road down into the depression, which from above looked like a slithering serpent, I understood the purpose was not only to lessen the grade but to give the defenders an advantage by delaying an attackers' descent down to the valley floor. Luckily for our Cohort, by the time we followed the rest of the Legion, the defenders manning the four smaller towers had been eliminated, and the ladders were already up in more than a dozen spots along the wall. The wall itself was, like the first village, made of wood, except this was where the similarity ended. It was a real wall, made for defense, but although it did not completely surround the town this was the case because it was not needed. At the eastern end of the wall, it was built up to the point where it met a sheer rock face of the hill creating part of the bowl. The slope of the hill just above the rock face was extremely steep, although as I examined the hill farther north towards the far end, I could see it became more gradual; it was not until later I saw the eastern wall resumed at a point where the slope of the hill was shallow enough that a force could conceivably approach from that direction. Before we could study the town more thoroughly, however, first, we had to get into it, and Asinius bellowed orders to follow him down the wall to the farthest set of ladders. The flat ground of the bottom of this bowl extended about two hundred paces from the wall until the slope began, just within bow range, although the hundred or so defenders on this portion of the wall were much too busy fighting furiously to keep our comrades from scaling it to worry about the sight of us moving across their front, no matter how fat a target we might have presented. Of course, if they had been loosing arrows at us, we would have been moving in testudo, but since there was no need, we trotted over to the ladders Asinius had directed us to climb.

  Reaching the near one himself, he ordered me to the second one, shouting, "Sections one through five on Pullus; sections six through ten on me!"

  Moving with the precision that comes from the watches of practice we put in, I did not hesitate in hopping onto the first rung to begin steadily climbing the ladder. Since we were following two other Cohorts who had already surmounted the wall and were even then in the streets of the town, I did not bother drawing my sword until I swung over the parapet. Nevertheless, I did pause for a moment, taking advantage of the height of the wall to take stock of the situation, but Asinius was not in the mood for such dawdling, shouting at me to quit fucking about and join him on the ground inside the wall. Like most such towns, especially those that have been in one spot for many, many years, there was a difference in the corresponding levels on either side of the wall. From the opposite side, the wall was about ten feet high, yet when I hopped down, it was only perhaps four feet from the parapet. The parapet, of course, is at a lower point than the top of the wall, but even taking that into account, I guessed there was about three or maybe four feet's difference, and a part of my mind occupied itself by trying to calculate how long the town had been in this spot. That, however, was all the time I gave to one of the little things a man takes notice of at the strangest time. The Century formed very quickly and Asinius did not hesitate, but unlike the first town, where there was a muddy street running perpendicular at the exact spot where I climbed the wall, he had to lead us a short distance back in the direction of the gate before w
e found one that led us more deeply into the town.

  Already, the noise was building again, the shrieks of terrified women, the cries of frightened children, and the shouts of our own men filling the air. Very quickly, we discovered taking this town was going to be more challenging, and not just because of its larger size. When we turned down that first street, because I was up front with Asinius next to me, we saw the same sight at the same time, although I will say while we uttered different curses, the level of disgust sounded the same. This street went perhaps seventy paces before it dead-ended into another street, not only blocking our view, but slowing us down because, even knowing other Legionaries had just passed this way, it was entirely possible that the few warriors in the town were moving in behind them, waiting for some foolhardy Romans to turn the corner without looking because they assumed it was safe.

  "Pullus, Avitus," Asinius ordered, pointing to the corner. "Take a look."

  "I'll take the right, you take the left?" I asked this as a question not an order, understanding this was the very sort of thing men like Caecina might use later to stir up hostility among my comrades. As I expected, he agreed immediately, mainly because it made sense, since being on the right, I was closest to that corner. Trotting down the street, we both slowed a few paces away before sidling up to the corner buildings. Unlike the first village, the structures on this short street, while not large, were made of wood, not the wattle and daub of poorer villages. Reaching the corner, I glanced over at Avitus, waiting for him to get in the same position. This is something we are trained to do; by timing it so we perform our move as close to the exact same instant, it makes it safer for both of us. If I poked my head out to look to the right but Avitus did not, I was exposing myself to a missile of some sort from his direction, while it was the same for Avitus. By timing it so we did the same thing at the same time, in effect, we watched each other's backs, but to make it even less of a risk, we both squatted down. Then I held up one, two, then three fingers before thrusting my head around the corner. Standing just a few paces away, but hard up against the adjacent wall of the same building I was peering around, I caught just a glimpse of a bearded face, a swirling cloak, and a flash of movement before I jerked my head back so violently that I fell on my ass, shouting a warning to Avitus as I did. The javelin had been well aimed, but at the spot where a normal-sized Roman's head would have been, and it went slashing across the street before hitting the building on Avitus' side at such an angle that it deflected and went skittering up the street in the direction Avitus had been looking. Like me, his head was lower than normal so that neither of us were in any real danger, and I got to my feet even as I heard the pounding of footsteps of our assailant running up the intersecting street. When I landed on my ass, I was reminded of my torn tunic, thanks to the stinking mud of the barbarian street, although it was less the feeling of wet than the smell that informed me I had managed to land where night soil was dumped. Not surprisingly, this gave me a boost of energy to leap to my feet; it also enraged me enough so that, with a roar, I turned the corner just in time to see the warrior dart out of sight as he followed the street curving to the left.

  "Pullus, you idiot! Wait for us!"

  I heard Asinius, but I am afraid any chance of me obeying vanished the instant I fell into a pile of human waste. This was just too much of an insult to my pride, so I pounded around the curve, which was not quite at a right angle but close enough I could only see a short distance ahead. Once past the curve, this street, while longer than the first one we took, ended when it ran into yet another perpendicular street. The problem for the warrior I was chasing was that what looked like the tail of the Cohort preceding us; later I would learn it was the Seventh, was still in sight at the end of the street. I did not hesitate in bellowing a warning, and I saw those Legionaries turning at the sound as the warrior I was pursuing skidded to a stop. Clearly desperate, he whirled about to see me coming at full speed, my sword out and shield in front of me, and I was sure this would be a quick kill. Then, when I was still about ten paces away, he made a sudden lunge, except instead of in my direction, to my eyes, it appeared as if he threw himself at the wall of one of the buildings. However, he immediately disappeared, and it was only because even over the noise I was making as I shouted in explicit detail the fate that awaited him, I heard the splintering sound of wood that told me he had forced open a door. Before I could really comprehend this, I was nevertheless sliding to a stop just short of the doorway, the opening now a black, yawning hole. And once more, there was a blur crossing my front, this time closely enough to feel the disturbed air caused by the flying missile like a soft puff of breath on my face. Barely conscious of the sound of the missile striking the building on the opposite side of the street, in one continuous motion, I was already moving, turning and throwing myself through the doorway into the darkened building. Because the only light was coming through the entrance, and my body being so big that what little I could see in less than an eyeblink of time was more impression than anything, I somehow knew to just let my body respond and not to try and think. Pulling my shield in tight against my body I hurtled across the small room in three steps to slam into the barbarian who had just learned his reprieve was short-lived. But although he seemed to realize he did not have time to pull open the door located at the far side of the room, he still had just enough time to face me before I smashed into him with as much force as I could muster, considering the short space between us. Even pulling my left arm back so my shield was against my armor, the impact as I crashed into the Varciani sent a jagged shock of pain up my left arm, but before I could bring my sword up and over my shield to thrust it into the warrior, there was a cracking sound and the wall I had slammed him against suddenly gave way. Falling backward with my weight on top of him, his breath left him in a great whooshing sound, except I was as unprepared for this sudden development as he was, my sword instantly rendered ineffective. Additionally, my left hand was trapped underneath my own weight, the rough main of his armor scraping against the tender flesh of my arm. What little light there was coming through the doorway was even less now that we had crashed through a wall into another room, and I was dimly aware of a feminine shriek that seemed to come from the darkest corner. Releasing my grip on the sword was not something I wanted to do, but it was too long and the quarters too close, so I did and immediately smashed my fist down, trying to punch the Varciani's face, yet he managed to throw up an arm to ward off the blow. A low-pitched but ferocious growling sound I barely heard I suppose was coming from the both of us as I continued to flail at him with my one free hand, while he tried to block me, also with one hand. We both clearly had one arm crushed between our weight, but I was not about to relent in any way, or shift my weight to allow him to extricate his other arm, because I did have one advantage; it was my weapon hand that was free, while his left was the one he was using to defend himself. Due to the darkness, the only part of his face clearly visible were the whites of his eyes as he peered up at me; I suppose he was opening them as widely as possible to take in as much light as he could in an attempt to see when and where I would land my next punch. There is no way to tell how many times my fist smashed down, but at last he started tiring, or his reflexes were growing slow, because finally one blow landed cleanly as my fist slammed into his nose, changing the growling he was doing to a sharp cry of pain. Consequently, I continued raining blow after blow down, ignoring the fatigue in my arm as I smashed his face repeatedly, while his left arm that had been successful at first started waving weakly around my face. I realized what he was trying to do just in time, tucking my chin down before his hand could grasp my throat, although it did not stop him from raking his nails down the side of my face. This was the first moment I became aware I had been growling as well, because the noise changed as I bellowed with pain from the deep gouges he had just furrowed in my face. It also fueled my rage, giving me what I needed to ignore not only the pain in my face and left arm but the fatigue in my right
as I continued to strike down again and again. I cannot honestly say when I became aware his arm was no longer waving about, nor when I noticed my fist was wet and covered in gore, but when I finally paused, I realized the harsh panting I was hearing only came from one set of lungs. Only then did I actually check to see if he was dead; even in the darkness, I could tell just by the misshapen outline of what had been his face that, even if he was not at that moment, he quickly would be since it was impossible for him to draw a breath. I tried to roll off him, but the remains of the wall prevented me, so I had to struggle to extricate myself, finally coming to my knees as I caught my breath. Outside, I heard the pounding of feet and men shouting my name, informing me that what I thought had taken a full watch was really only a matter of perhaps thirty or forty heartbeats. Calling out, I was just clambering to my feet when someone came through the ruined door, although I did not know who it was until he spoke, which took a moment before Avitus caught his breath.

  "Pluto's cock, Pullus," he exclaimed, "you should know better than to disappear like that!"

  I was bending down to retrieve my shield, and by doing so, Avitus was able to glimpse the corpse of the Varciani. "What the…?" he gasped, but I did not answer, instead turning to leave the building.

  As we passed each other, he gently pushed me aside and walked up to the body, bending over to examine it more closely. When he turned his head, the light from the doorway illuminated his face so I could see the look he was giving me, one that is hard to describe except to say it was somewhat unsettling.