by R. W. Peake
“You can’t leave, Pullus.” This was Calienus, and I knew that I should turn back to my post, yet I had made up my mind.
“I have to, Sergeant; they need our help.”
“Maybe, but we haven't been given orders to move yet.”
“I think that it’s too dark for anyone to fully know what’s going on,” I replied desperately, pushing against his hand.
“So you know better than the Pilus Prior?” This provoked a laugh from Calienus, and I could tell that he was not going to bend. But neither was I, so I used my size once again to bear over him.
“Sergeant, I’m going over there. If you want to have me flogged for it, fine. But I know they need our help.”
Pushing past him, I was torn that he did not try to stop me, since a large part of me was screaming at myself to stay put, and I walked perhaps only ten paces when something came rolling out of the gloom to bounce into my legs. Almost tripping and falling, I just managed to catch myself, then moved to kick whatever it was away, but when my foot touched something wet, warm, and yielding, I peered down and again had to fight the urge to vomit. It was a head, and even in the gloom, I could see that there was a Roman helmet on top of it.
I walked into the jaws of Cerberus. It was not a false alarm; the wall in fact was breached and the struggle to contain the incursion created an inward bulge as the Lusitani pushed across the barrier. They were now feeding men into this pocket that their warriors created, trying desperately to exploit the crack in our defenses. Even as I drew closer, it was hard to tell exactly what was going on as men slashed and hacked at our thin line, now reduced to a single line of Legionaries desperately holding them back. The Pilus Prior was bellowing out; locating him from the sound of his voice, I rushed to a spot in the line as far away from him as I could get. I knew I was taking a huge risk defying the latest order I was given, but I reasoned that if things were as bad as they appeared, we were all dead men anyway, and if we turned them back, it would take all of us to do so.
Picking a man, I braced him from behind, causing him to glance back. “Thanks, I was about done in,” I heard him gasp.
“When you get a chance, I’ll relieve you,” I answered and instantly a small voice inside me began cursing myself. What was I volunteering for? Certain death? I could do my part right where I was, the voice said. You’re already in enough trouble, Titus old boy, without compounding it by putting yourself in a position where you will certainly be killed. Such is the nature of that voice, one I have learned is in every Legionary, and I suspect in all of us. There seems to be a part of you whose only goal is to keep you alive, at all costs, yet what makes man different from the rest of all the animals is that we can choose not to listen to that voice. Ignoring that voice is what defines us, at least in the Legions. So when I felt the man in front of me make a huge effort, tensing up just before thrusting his scutum into the body of a Lusitani to send him staggering back, I took my cue, moving quickly into his place. Panting his thanks, I felt him holding me an instant later as the man he threw off came back, sending a shock up my arm when he smashed his blade into my scutum, turning my arm numb. In the darkness, I could not tell much about the man except for his size, which was average, despite packing quite a punch for his stature. He came at me again, his second blow as strong as the first, and I could feel my grip slipping as the numbness spread to my hand and fingers, knowing that another blow like that might knock the scutum from my hand. Instead of waiting for it, I took a half step forward, lashing out with the scutum, using my boss as the weapon and I was gratified to hear a crunching sound accompanied by a muffled scream as I smashed his face. Stunned by the pain, he was standing there, stationary, making a perfect target for the thrust of the gladius that I followed up with and he toppled over, falling on top of what appeared to be a Legionary. My first kill was immediately replaced by another man, his outline in the dark telling me he was slightly larger, except he used his body as a weapon, smashing into me and thinking to knock me back. However, I was braced by my comrade behind me, so when he reached out to grab hold of the rim of the scutum, with a grim smile I struck, this time taking the whole hand instead of just fingers. This was the pattern for the next few moments; truthfully, I have no idea how much time went by, but judging from the fatigue I felt when there was a brief respite, it was a substantial period. I was satisfied that there was now a small pile of dead and dying in front of me, the wounded still trying to crawl to safety, making the tangle of limbs and torsos shift eerily in front of me in the moonlight, and if I had not known the cause, I might have thought there was something otherworldly about it. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, the man behind me asking if I wanted to be relieved. Just as I was about to say yes, I thought better of it and shook my head. Thinking back, I believe this was the first appearance of a trait and belief that I developed over the years, which was my reluctance to trust my fate to others if I was able to have any say in it. Part of it was the hubris of youth, to be sure; however, it was also based in a belief I have in myself that I am the best arbiter of my destiny and whenever possible, I should take control of the situation. I will say that he did not argue too hard about it.
The respite lasted perhaps a span of fifty normal heartbeats, certainly no longer, before the assault was renewed and finally our wall of men protecting the pocket from expansion broke when a Legionary fell from a wound and there was nobody to step into his place. Hearing the roar of triumph from the Lusitani, I immediately sensed a flurry of movement as their men rushed to exploit the gap, accompanied by the shout of our two Centurions as they met the enemy from their spot behind us. The clash of metal and the thuds of blows to the wood of our scutum wall increased as well, the growth of the pocket meaning that more men could fill it.
“All those on relief on me, at the double!”
This came from the Pilus Prior and the message was unmistakable; the enemy was within our thin dirt wall. Turning to my relief, I gasped out, between exchanging blows with a man who stank of onions, “Here, you take my place and I’ll go.”
He had already turned to leave, but came back readily enough, patting me on the back to let me know he was there. The onion man, wielding a huge club, swung it over his head in an obvious attempt to inflict a devastating downward blow that would split my scutum and dash my brains out at one stroke, but I was ready, launching a simple thrust over the top of my scutum before he could bring the club down, hitting him in the throat. Feeling the grating of bone that told me the blade had exited the back of his head, I withdrew as quickly as I struck. In the time it took for him to collapse, I moved aside, breathlessly thanking my relief as I hurried to the Pilus Prior’s voice. As I tripped a couple of times on bodies at my feet, one of them uttered a short cry before hurling curses at me as I stepped over him, while I mumbled an apology. I reached a spot where I could make out the Pilus Prior, who was now as engaged as the rest of the men around him. I could not help admiring his form and economy, seeing his blade glint in the moonlight, making a silvery streak in the air as it struck, each blow being rewarded with a scream or gasp of pain and surprise. Then I saw another one of our men go down, alive but wounded, before attempting to pull his body under his scutum, dragging it on top of himself as the victor stepped over him while drawing his arm back to drive his spear into the back of the Pilus Prior, who was engaged with another Lusitani. Letting out the loudest bellow of rage that I had ever uttered, it startled the Lusitani just enough that it stayed his hand for the fraction of the heartbeat that I needed to jump across the space between us. Crastinus was just starting to turn at the sound of my shout as, while still in midair, I violated the elementary rule that the point beats the edge, swinging my arm while twisting my body to add to the force and, in one smooth motion, my blade sliced through the tissue and bone that composed the Lusitani’s neck. His head flew up in the air as I landed, tumbling crazily and spurting blood in all directions as the torso, the heart still sending a fountain of blood spraying several inches in
the air above the stump of his neck, stood for a second, as if trying to decide what to do before crumpling in a heap to the ground. When I landed, it was with one foot striking another body, so that for a sickening moment, I found my arms whirling as I tried to maintain my balance, knowing that if I went to the ground, I was dead. Finally managing to restore my footing, I saw the Pilus Prior peering at me in the gloom, trying to determine who had just saved him, and I gave him a wave and a smile.
“Is that you, Pullus?” he asked, his surprise obvious.
“Yes, Pilus Prior, and you’re welcome.” I don not know what I was expecting him to say, but it certainly was not what came out of his mouth.
“Welcome, am I? We’ll see how welcome I am once I’ve striped your back, you cunnus. I seem to remember telling you specifically to remain at your post.”
“But…” I was cut off before I could finish my protest.
“But nothing. Those were your orders and you disobeyed them. Your ass is mine.”
Without another word, he turned back to face another Lusitani, parrying a blow as easily as if he were waving his vitus around. I was stunned, but I was also angry, so I turned it on the Lusitani. With another roar, I waded into a small knot of men engaged in a desperate struggle, knocking both Lusitani and Roman aside to begin thrusting, hacking, and swinging my gladius about, barely registering when I scored any kind of hit except by the shouts or screams of men I wounded or killed. Disdaining the use of my scutum for any kind of defense, instead I began swinging it about, smashing into both friend and foe that stood in my way. I felt myself giving way to the anger and rage I felt inside, that instead of gratitude, I faced a flogging from the Pilus Prior for saving his life. It also angered me that these men were trying to kill me, that men like Didius could shirk their duties of defending Rome; it angered me that Juno picked Vibius over me, that Vibius beat me at dice just the night before, and it angered me that my father hated me because in my birth, I had killed the only thing he ever loved. In that moment, I felt the rage surge through me, washing over me in a warm flood, giving me more energy than I had ever experienced in my life. Feeling the blood spattering my face, instead of my normal revulsion, I reveled in it, loving the warm sticky fluid as it started to dry on my skin. Becoming dimly aware that the roars of triumph coming from the Lusitani were turning into cries of alarm, it only fueled me to keep killing and maiming. It was in that moment that I knew I had found my purpose in life; I was a killer, a machine, and there was nothing that could stand in my way and live if I did not wish it to be so.
My next conscious memory is standing alone, panting, my legs trembling and feeling the fatigue so greatly that I could not lift my arms, even if it meant my life to do so. I also became gradually aware that the noise of battle was gone; not totally, but certainly the furious sounds of frantic combat had disappeared. The wider world around me slowly came into focus, and it surprised me when I noticed that I seemed to be standing by myself, so I peered around in the dark until I saw several Roman galeae profiled against a lightening sky. It appeared that all heads were turned towards me as I continued my return by noting that the ground around me seemed to be piled much higher with bodies than anywhere else. With my breathing slowing, I felt a slight surge of energy coming back, so I began to move towards my original position on the wall, and was annoyed to find that I had to lift my leg like I was climbing a low fence, except this one was made of flesh and bone, some of which was still moving and emitting low moans. I was unbelievably weary, to the point that all I wanted to do was to sit down somewhere and rest, especially once the memory of the words I had exchanged with the Pilus Prior came back to me. If I was going to be flogged, I wanted to be as fresh as I could get. By this point, the fighting had almost completely ceased; I heard the clash of metal on metal and shouts over where the diversion started, except there was none of the urgency in the voices of the section leaders and the men in that spot. Very quickly, I was surrounded by my comrades, two of them stepping aside to let me through without saying a word, for which I was thankful, because I was barely able to move; adding talking to the burden, I felt sure would cause me to collapse. Steering myself in the direction of where my gear was lying on the ground just behind where I had been posted on the wall, I focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. A slight breeze blew, except instead of being refreshed, I felt clammy and was surprised to realize that every part of my body where open skin showed was wet, and as the breeze did its work to dry the moisture, I could feel my skin tighten as whatever covered me cooled. It must be blood, I thought. That did not stop me from finding my gear, feeling in the dark to count from the end of the pile to where mine would be, before collapsing more than sitting down. Not even bothering to shed my lorica, I laid down my scutum, then arranged my gladius so it was not in the way, removed my helmet, and fell backwards, asleep before my head hit the ground. The fact that I was violating all sorts of regulations and had not been given leave to rest did not even cross my mind.
I was awakened by a kick to my feet, opening my eyes to a blinding sun shining right in my eyes. Jerking alert, I sat up immediately, trying to clear my head a bit as I strained to see who it was standing above me, outlined like a god coming down from the heavens with the sun behind him. It was no god, just the Optio, and his face was expressionless when he spoke.
“Get up, Pullus. The Pilus Prior wants to see you now.”
Groaning, partly from the soreness I felt as I got up, but more because of the dread of facing Pilus Prior Crastinus’ wrath, I got to my feet, swaying a little, and the Optio put out a quick hand to steady me.
“Easy, Pullus. Well," he shook his head after looking me up and down, "you’re quite a sight, but it’ll have to do. You all right now?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and led me to where the Pilus Prior was standing with the section leaders. I estimated that it was at least two parts of a watch past sunrise, and I was surprised that I was not roused earlier. All of the carnage from the night before was now clear to see, causing my step to falter as I looked around at the mangled bodies and the huge dark spots on the ground where men's lifeblood had left their body to return to the earth. Work parties were carrying corpses and throwing them into a pile of enemy dead, but I was more concerned with the bodies wearing our uniform and I looked around for a spot where they might be laid. Surveying the surroundings, I saw there was one spot with a concentration of bodies much higher than what was strewn around the rest of our makeshift walls, identifiable as well by the fact that they were on the inside of the dirt barrier. I was almost to the Pilus Prior when I frowned; while everyone was still wearing their gear, and there were Legionaries on the wall facing where the Lusitani camp was, there were still a significant number of men who were busy with other tasks. From where I was, I could not see over the wall to their camp to see what the Lusitani were doing, and I was unable to pay any more attention because I was now standing in front of the Pilus Prior.
Coming to intente, I saluted in my best parade ground fashion and barked out, “Gregarius Titus Pullus reporting as ordered, sir.”
Crastinus continued directing the section leaders as I stood there. He was clearly ignoring me, only fueling my sense of anxiety, and I tried not to fidget as I waited for him to turn his attention to me. Once finished with them, the section leaders dispersed, among them Calienus, who was sporting a bandage on his upper arm and a slash along his jaw. Meeting my eyes as he passed me, he did not say anything; the shake of his head was eloquent enough. Once they were away, I continued standing there, trying to tell myself that the shaking in my legs was because I was still tired, but Crastinus continued to ignore me, barking out orders to some of the nearby Legionaries. Finally, after what seemed like a third of a watch, but was probably no more than a hundred heartbeats, he turned his full attention to me, looking me up and down, his face expressionless, the invisible man with the turd again taking the day off. Staring at a spot above him, out of the corner of my e
ye, I could see the fatigue in his face, the lines etched by the countless days of weather and sun even deeper now than before, with the rings under his eyes making it look like he had been punched in the face. It was the first time I saw Gaius Crastinus as just a man, like me and the rest of my comrades, and not some demigod sent by Mars to torment young Legionaries. When he spoke, it was not in his command voice, but with a tone I had never heard from him before, even the one night when we were sworn in.
“You know, if I were to abide by the regulations, I should have you scourged at the very least, and scourged and crucified at the very worst.”
My jaw clenched as the fear caused by his words struck deep into my heart. Besides the pain, the shame and humiliation would be unbearable, and I was already regretting my rashness. Then, a miracle happened.
“But,” my heart did another skip, “it wouldn't be very gracious to kill a man who saved my life. Besides,” he continued, “it wouldn't help morale, seeing as how you also probably saved the lives of the rest of the Century, not to mention the Second’s as well.”
Shaking his head, he tried to suppress a smile; his words had already unburdened my soul and I could feel my chest beginning to swell with pride.
“What you did last night, boy, was one of the stupidest things I've seen in all my years under the standards, but it was also the bravest. I told you once that I thought you might have a future in the Legions, and last night didn't change my mind.”
Fighting the urge to smile, that urge was blown away like smoke in a strong breeze with his next words. Stepping close to whisper in my ear so only I could hear, there was no mistaking his tone, even at a whisper.
“But if you ever disobey me again, I don’t care how decorated or famous you are, I'll gut you myself, and I'll make it look like you were killed in battle and nobody will ever know. Do you understand me?”
