by R. W. Peake
I, along with all my tent mates, twisted our heads sharply, exchanging glances, and I know we were all thinking the same thing.
However, the Pilus Prior, at this point, was unaware of Didius’ history and merely ordered, “Then drag him over to the middle behind the breastworks. Maybe he’ll come to and be of some use.”
The man complied, taking care not to rise above the level of the parapet since the missiles were still whizzing around. Grabbing Didius by the harness, he began dragging him, prompting me to look over at my tent mate once he was at a point where I could clearly see his face. He did have a mark on his forehead, a red bump, but there was no bleeding and it did not look terribly damaging. Just as the man pulled him over the breastworks and I continued watching, my heart leapt when I swore, for just a heartbeat, that I saw Didius open his eyes before quickly shutting them again. Immediately, I told Vibius what I thought I had seen, and he looked back at Didius, who was still lying unconscious, or pretending to, his lips compressed into a thin line of contempt.
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all, the bastard,” he said quietly.
“Do you think I should tell the Pilus Prior?”
He considered, then shook his head. “The Pilus Prior doesn’t know about the ladder, but what he does know is that you two hate each other, so he’s unlikely to take what you say seriously.”
I nodded; he was right. Besides, there were more important things to worry about at that moment besides one coward, and it was coming up the hill towards us. After waiting a few moments for the slingers to try inflicting damage, with only Didius being brought to the breastworks, heartening as it was, the Lusitani began marching up the hill. Speaking frankly, I can use the word marching only in the loosest sense, since it was more of a shambling half-trot, replete with the usual complement of screaming and hopping. The slingers, because of their position downhill, were forced to lift their barrage almost immediately to avoid hitting their own men, and the Lusitani were rapidly approaching the range of our pila.
“Prepare Pila!”
At the command, we assumed the position, our right foot back, right arm pulled all the way back with the shaft of the pilum lying on the length of the arm, the hardened point aimed skyward to create the arc that helped it pick up momentum. My arm trembled a bit as I readied my body for the effort, choosing not so much a target, but a spot where I wanted it to land, confident that there would be a man occupying that space when it arrived.
“Release!”
The air filled with the black lines that signaled the pila in flight, and as I followed through, it brought me to a crouched position where I could look directly at the Lusitani. To a man, they all looked up, trying to catch the flight of our rain of death, hoping that they could isolate and focus on the one that posed the most danger to them personally. Some of them were lucky, yet most in the front rank were not, with almost every pilum finding something in which to bury itself. The thuds of our missiles hitting flesh and wood of scuta were punctuated by the screams of the men hit and, in turn, they caused a slight pause in the uphill climb as the wounded men crashed into one of their comrades, knocking him down or staggering him, with the dead men becoming obstacles to step over. It did not slow them long, however.
“First line kneel, second line prepare pila!”
I immediately knelt, as did the rest of the men on the parapet.
“Release!”
The pila went whizzing just over our heads as we watched them arc and again slice into the advancing Lusitani. Another shudder of more men going down, then we in the front rank stood to fire our last salvo.
“Prepare!”
“Release!”
One of the advantages of being on the hill was that it increased the effective range of the pilum. Normally, both lines would not have been able to launch two salvos before we had to go to the gladius, but we used all of the pila we carried, to maximum effect.
Immediately after we finished throwing our second, the Pilus Prior commanded, “Front rank kneel and draw gladii!”
The metal made a comforting rasping sound as the blades left the scabbard, even as the second rank discharged their last volley. Quickly estimating that more than two-thirds of our pila had hit a target and put it out of action, whether it was a warrior or a scutum, it still meant perhaps 150 men were either out of action or severely hampered with no protection. This might have been enough to stop the attack, except the Lusitani by this time had learned that we only carried two pila apiece, and if they absorbed the punishment, they would be able to close the distance to fight us hand to hand. That was exactly what happened; after they took a moment to recover from the last volley, a large man wearing one of the high, conical galeae and dressed in the fish scale armor that was common of their nobles, waved his gladius in the air, moving it in a circle while bellowing a command in their language, before dropping his arm to point at us, the signal for them to stop their steady advance and throw themselves at us at a run.
“Here they come,” someone yelled.
“Oh, really? Thank you for alerting us, Hannibal,” Calienus muttered, causing us to stifle a nervous laugh as we braced for impact.
Part of the reason for their delay in the attack was that they had gathered together bundles of wood, or were even using our sacks of forage to throw into the bottom of the ditch, allowing them to cross over without having to climb out of it. Hurling everything they gathered into the ditch delayed their charge, as the thought flashed through my mind that we would have been better served waiting to launch our pila until that moment and, I had to acknowledge grudgingly, that the Lusitani might have been smarter than we thought. Crossing over their makeshift bridges, they came at us with the usual crash of scuta and gladii, roaring their rage at us, smashing against what was nothing more than a wall of thin wood and loosely packed dirt. The wall held, but only just as the Lusitani tried to pull our scuta down, clawing at the rims to gain a purchase. A grubby hand appeared in front of my face, curling around the top as I felt the man behind it begin to pull and I suppressed a smug smile, knowing that I was stronger than he was and not worried that he would succeed. Very quickly, the smugness disappeared when just a heartbeat after his hand started pulling another hand, quickly followed by another, began tugging as well, and I could feel my grip rapidly weakening under the added pressure. Gritting my teeth, I brought my gladius up to hack at the hands, but even with the awkward angle, I was able to lop off several fingers, their screams of agony accompanied by my cry of disgust as the fingers went flying, one of them striking me in the face while another found its way into the gap between my tunic and lorica, where I could feel it sliding down to rest above my belt. Bile rose in my throat, but I could not indulge myself in vomiting since I had bought only a temporary reprieve. Immediately, a spear came thrusting over the top of my scutum, which I barely ducked, followed by a second thrust aimed at a different point. This one caught me a glancing blow on the helmet, causing a burst of stars to explode in my head and, for a moment, I felt like I was losing my balance and falling backwards, but the man behind me braced me, shoving me back forward.
“Go on, Pullus; have at 'em.”
Shaking my head to clear it, I saw the spear come at me for yet a third time, except instead of ducking this time I grabbed the shaft, thankful that my hand was big enough to maintain the grasp on my gladius at the same time even with the Vinicius grip, then gave a mighty yank. Even above the din, I could hear a yelp of surprise as I relieved the Lusitani of his weapon, dropping it on the ground next to me. Their initial assault was starting to ebb a bit; we could tell both by the sound and the fact that the hammering against our defenses was slowing as the Lusitani’s energy began to flag. So far, nothing had penetrated, yet even as they fell back a little way down the hill to regroup, we knew that another charge was imminent. During the interval, I debated whether I had time to get that damn finger out from under the lorica and took a peek, but I saw that they were about to come back. This time, they chos
e not to work themselves into a lather; on some signal that we did not hear or see, they simply launched themselves at us again. Once more, there was the smash of bodies and metal, this time accompanied by a couple of grunts of surprise from some of the men who were not paying close enough attention.
“This would have been a good time to warn us, boy,” griped Calienus. I suppressed a smile, turning my attention to bracing myself as someone tried his best to kill me.
We managed to stop the second attack. By this time, the sun was disappearing over the horizon, apparently prompting the Lusitani to decide that their best course was to withdraw and rest for the night. Having the advantage of numbers, they could afford to actually build fires and eat, while keeping a small portion of their men on guard at any given time. Unfortunately, we did not have that luxury, instead being forced to keep half the men on watch, with the rest of us chewing our cold rations, then trying to get some sleep before relieving the men on guard. The Pilus Prior ordered no fires, both because there was little enough wood and any light could silhouette one of us who might fall prey to an opportunistic slinger. By this time, Didius, his new nickname Achilles now an open joke in the Century, helped along by Remus’ spirited retelling of the event that earned it for him, regained consciousness, if he had truly ever been out. Scribonius came to sit next to Vibius and me while we chewed on some salt bacon, quietly discussing our predicament, and we glanced at him curiously. It was not like Scribonius to horn in on others' conversations unless he had something to say, but when he did, he was not usually shy to say it, yet this time, he seemed to struggle to find the right words.
Finally, he whispered, “Did either of you happen to look at Achilles at all while we were fighting?”
We both shook our heads; the last time I remembered glancing his way was right after they dragged him to the breastworks.
“Why do you ask?” At first, Scribonius did not answer Vibius’ question, instead staring intently at the ground, his face faintly illuminated by the half moon and the usual cloudless sky. Finally, he shrugged and replied, “It’s just that I could have sworn that I looked his way and he was watching us fighting, just like he was lying in his bunk.”
This caused me to straighten up; so I was not mistaken! Excitedly, I whispered back, “I saw it too. I thought I must have been seeing something, but I swore I saw him peeking at us.”
Sitting there for a moment, all three of us were clearly unable to speak. The implications were enormous; if Didius was accused by us and was found guilty, he would be crucified in front of the entire army, but not before he was scourged first as an example to all of what happened to cowards. As much as I despised him, I was not sure that I wanted the burden of such a horrible death on my conscience.
With that in my mind, I looked at Scribonius and asked, “What do you think we should do?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think there's anything we can do.”
This did not sit well with me, or Vibius, for that matter, and we both spoke up in protest, which Scribonius silenced with a wave of his hand.
“Think about it, Pullus. It’s well known that you hate him, and he you. And it’s well known that he threatened you. I went and got Vellusius to split with him as close comrade, so there'll be suspicions about me as well.”
He paused to let this sink in, and I realized he was right.
However, I still did not feel right about it. “There has to be something we can do.”
Vibius spoke. “There is. But we can’t do it now. We’ll have to wait until we get back to the main camp.”
As I searched his face in the gloom, it bore no hint of what he had in mind, so I accepted this idea with a shrug, as did Scribonius. With that matter temporarily settled, we lay down, pulling our cloaks from our packs to keep out the evening chill, aware that getting as much rest as possible under the circumstances was vital. It was not until I lay down that I was struck by a thought, sitting bolt upright with a curse, startling Vibius and the other men around me.
“What in the name of Dis has gotten into you?” Vibius demanded.
Ignoring him, I quickly undid my harness instead, then climbed to my knees, shaking my lorica until something dropped out. Vibius obviously heard something plop on the ground, and asked curiously, “What was that?”
I did not answer; instead, I picked up the finger, then held it close enough for him to see what it was. He squinted as I moved it almost under his nose, then his eyes shot open in shock and he recoiled.
“You bastard!”
He said this loudly enough for others to drown him out with orders to shut his mouth, and I don’t think I had ever laughed that hard in my life. Throwing the finger out over the parapet and still chuckling, I lay back down, falling asleep immediately.
Suddenly awakened by the call “To arms!” I opened my eyes to chaos. Men on relief were scrambling to their feet, fumbling for their weapons in the dark, while all around us was the crashing din and cries of men fighting.
“What’s happening?” Vibius called out as we tried to make sense of the situation.
Out of the dark, the answer made our hearts drop.
“The wall's been breached!”
Whirling around, I tried to determine where the danger was coming from, but doing so was extremely difficult because of the gloom. Consequently, it took a moment before I could determine where the sounds of battle seemed to be emanating from, and I turned to Vibius who had just finished pulling on his helmet. Indicating he was ready, we began making our way to the sounds of the battle, but the bulk of the Pilus Prior suddenly appeared from the dark, and I felt his rough hand grab my arm.
“Where do you think you’re going, you big oaf?” he growled.
“To the fighting, Pilus Prior.”
I could barely make out the crest on his helmet moving as he sneered, “And what if this is just a diversion? That’s just what the cunni want us to do.”
“But I thought the wall was breached.”
He laughed. “That’s just some woman posing as a Legionary saying that. They attacked, all right, but they haven’t breached anything yet and aren’t going to, unless you fall for a trap like that.”
Chastened, I turned back in the direction of where I thought my position was, with him giving me a helping shove to get back to my post. Stumbling back over to our designated area, where those comrades already on watch were still standing, Vibius and I joined them to peer into the dark. A short distance away, we could see the winking lights of the enemy campfires, the Lusitani camping far enough away where it was impossible to determine whether there were men gathered around it.
“Figures those bastards would pull a stunt like this and put us on full alert so we won’t get a wink of sleep. Or a bite to eat.”
Vaguely, I recognized the voice of a man in the second section, since the first five had drawn first duty, and I sympathized, but sleep was now out of the question, at least for me, so I spoke up. “How about we take over and you boys go get your rations, as long as you promise to come back here quick so we all don’t get on the punishment list for deserting our posts?”
I sensed a movement as someone turned to peer in my direction in the gloom, trying to make out who their benefactor was. “Pullus, is that you? That’s a splendid idea. May Fortuna smile on you for thinking of us and grant you long life.”
I flushed with pleasure as they hurried by, proud of myself for what I had done.
“You do realize that when he’s wishing you a long life, it just means that he’s wishing the same for himself, since if you live, the chances are good he will too.” This came from Vibius, who always had a knack for finding the rat turd in the honey.
“You don’t know that,” I responded indignantly, “because I may die a week from now, and he might die tomorrow.”
“True, but first, we have to get through tonight.”
Pilus Prior Crastinus had been right; the attack was a diversion. Apparently, during their c
ouncil of war, they decided on a different approach than what they used during their daylight attack, instead setting out to do the worst thing that they could under our circumstances, what we had feared since we climbed the hill, or at least since Calienus made us aware of it. As they were making a demonstration on one side, the bulk of the remaining Lusitani, using their skills as hunters, climbed stealthily up to within a few paces of the wall before leaping up with a great cry. It was as if apparitions from the underworld just materialized from the ground, the kind of numen that mothers tell young children about to make them behave. Faint moonlight glinted silver on their brandished weapons as they closed the distance to the wall in a matter of a few heartbeats, with the main impact several paces away from me. Even though the Lusitani focused their attack across a narrow area, we could not afford to move to help the others trying to hold them back since the Lusitani in the rear ranks would immediately shift from their spot to flow over the deserted wall like a raging flood sweeps away an earthen barrier. Consequently, we were forced to endure the sounds of fighting, more furious than ever before and, for the first time, we heard the cries of our own men dying, crying out in our tongue as they fell. Gripping my gladius tightly, as if it would help me to shut out the sounds, I kept my eye on the area in front of me and I am sure that my comrades were trying to do the same thing. I heard the bellows of the Pilus Prior, along with Pilus Posterior Vetruvius, exhorting the men around them to hold, using a combination of threats and promises as a means to motivate our men to fight ever harder. For the second time that night, we heard the cry that the wall was breached, and I peered hard in that direction, trying to determine whether this was another false alarm. It did seem that this time there was more of a tumult, an impression of a flurry of movement, while the noise changed, sounding nearer than ever before. Gritting my teeth, I turned to head over in that direction, but a hand pushed at my chest.
