Dragons and Romans

by William David Ellis

  Much like bombardier beetles, the dragon produced hydrogen peroxide and other explosive gases inside his body combining them on demand to produce a boiling, toxic blaze. It could also belch fiery spray at will for limited times, usually limited to the time it took to blast and kill its prey, tear it to shreds with its talons, or rake it with the sharp spikes attached to its whip-like tail. The spray not only boiled forth from the creature, it also reeked of methane. The Romans were facing a flamethrower that smelled like a sewer, equipped with talons that would cut through armor like butter.

  Asdrubal looked through the eyes of the beast and manipulated its limbs. He had never flown a dragon and really did not know how best to attack the Romans. The Romans also had never engaged a monster, so they were at a loss as well. It was a formula for mayhem and slaughter, with the advantage to the dragon.

  As the dragon flew down upon its prey, Asdrubal realized that individuals were too small to target, so he focused on groups. He drove the beast over the army, swooping down within fifty feet of the first assembly. The Romans prepared for this strafing like they would a volley of arrows, in a testudo formation. In this formation, soldiers linked their shields to form a crammed structure covered with shields on the front and top. The first rank held their shields from the top of their shins to the bottom of their eyes, so as to cover the testudo’s front. The men in the back ranks placed their shields over their heads to protect the testudo against assault from above.

  What worked for arrows failed miserably in the first barrage of flame. The Roman shields had been treated to be flame resistant when constructed by scorching their outer layer with a torch and then covering them with leather, so they did offer some protection from the blast. But the heat from the dragon’s breath was devastating. If a legionnaire was caught in the center of the eight-foot wide spray, he was immediately engulfed in flames. The hand that held the shield melted, as did his whole body. Those on the outskirts of the eight-to-ten foot radius suffered severe burns, and many were blinded. The screams of the burning Romans fed the bloodlust of the dragon and its host who stopped strafing and settled on the ground to rip and tear and whip with its spiked tail. Although the butchery was fierce and the men in its path paid a terrible price, this ground attack, under the control of the dark, high priest rather than strafing the entire formation, actually saved Roman lives.

  As the dragon lit on the ground to begin tearing and ripping and feasting, the Roman weaponry fired on it. All the onagers, ballistae, and scorpions threw flaming projectiles, bolts, and larger missiles. Missile trails and sparkling explosions streaked across the night sky. In the man-made light of their explosions, the Romans watched as the dragon’s snake-like quickness batted most of the bolts away, and its breath consumed the others before they could get close enough to strike. A rare few got through the dragon’s defenses and hit it. One large projectile breached its quick defense, landing against the beast’s chest like a hammered fist slamming it back. But before anymore could break through to continue the battering, the dragon’s tail flew around and smashed into the ballista that fired, crushing it and its operator.

  To the giant beast, the missiles were like bee stings and the projectiles like getting slapped. It upset the creature. Under its own control, the dragon would have fled, but Asdrubal held it to the task and forced it to continue the battle.

  ****

  The flames of the dragon and screams of the Romans being burned, along with the rain of their own fiery missiles, scorched the ground within a hundred feet of the dragon making it a literal hell.

  Regulus could not stand watching the beast destroy his troops. Before his body guards could stop him, he ran to his horse, jumped in the saddle, pulled out his javelin, and charged into the mouth of the inferno. It was not a wise thing to do, but it was a Regulus thing to do. His horse reared as Regulus gripped the animal with his knees and drew back his javelin. Suddenly the dragon’s lightning-quick tail sliced into the horse severing its head. The blood spray bathed Regulus as he was thrown over the headless horse and fell upon the burning body of a hapless Roman soldier. He rolled instinctively, snuffing out the flames that licked against him.

  An optio saw him, grabbed him by his tunic, and screamed, “Get out of here, sir!” Manhandling the general, he shoved him into the middle of a battered testudo that covered him with their shields.

  The optio’s second in command moved Regulus toward the most protected position in the testudo, then immediately gave a report. “The only place on that beast that seems vulnerable is its eyes, sir! Everything else we throw at it breaks or bounces off, and if it does get through the serpent’s defenses, it just nicks it. We got it bleeding a couple of times, I’m sure. But we can’t hurt it enough.”

  Regulus’ rough voice came in gasps, “Then that is what we have to do. Aim for its eyes and blind the damn thing! When it looks away, we move forward!” Regulus bellowed, “When it turns back, we throw our javelins. On my order!”

  The dragon turned its head to deal with the few remaining ballistae that had been pricking it. Regulus yelled, “Forward!”

  The serpent caught their movement out of the corner of his eye and snapped his head back toward them as together they hurled their spears.

  ****

  Asdrubal had been moving the dragon’s limbs like strings attached to a puppet. He could feel the dragon resisting his influence and pressed even harder to control it. But one thing they both agreed on was the strongest threat was the testudo under the Roman general’s direction. The dragon roared, reared back his head, and in that millisecond looked Regulus square in the eye. The connection disturbed them both. Regulus was stunned at the intelligence that looked back through the giant eyes of the dragon, and for an instant faltered. The dragon was surprised by the absolute fearlessness and ferociousness of the Roman general. It had never confronted another predator. Most of the beasts it faced millions of years before had cowered and never returned its gaze. The spirit of dark Asdrubal, on the other hand, was not impressed by Regulus and forced the dragon to belch out its methane lightning toward the menacing testudo and its forceful leader.

  The men threw their javelins. The dragon deflected them with a quick sweep of its wings and then returned the favor. Rearing up on its hind legs, the spray erupted from the beast’s mouth in a horrid flow of heat and stench, but it was farther away from them than it realized, and weaker than it had been before the battle started. The spray was horrible, but it did not melt the soldiers, and their flame-hardened shields held for the worst seconds of the attack, deflecting the fire. The men were hit. The flames scorched and burnt. They screamed, but they were not destroyed.

  Some were hit harder than others. In the center of the spray deliberately targeted by the dark spirit was Regulus. The optio who had shoved Regulus into the middle of the shielded pack did not fail his general. In a final act of selflessness, seeing Regulus targeted, the man jumped between the flames and Regulus and was consumed, deflecting the fire like a living shield. Regulus caught some of the fire on his left side, and at first did not realize he had been burned. The burning body of his defender fell on him trapping him. Mercifully, Regulus passed out.

  ****

  Regulus’ testudo’s attack had saved the ballistae and bought time. Oenus had commanded five ballistae when the attack began and was now down to himself and one other. The testudo saved him, and he took advantage of the reprieve to aim and wait. Oenus grasped the testudo’s plan to target the beast’s eyes, signaled his other team to fire on his command, and watched, frustrated as he saw their spears batted away like toys. But the dragon’s attack on Regulus had positioned Oenus to be in an ideal place to fire.

  ****

  As the beast’s flames rained down on Regulus’ brave men, the dragon saw them stagger and fall. It turned its head back to unfinished business, and Oenus and his team fired. Two weapons intended to knock down walls and break iron doors, fired two twenty-pound bronze missiles straight into the right eye of
the dragon from 135 feet. The effect was gratifying. The beast shrieked, grabbed for its eye with its talons, and blew a column of flame into the air as it roared into the night. Raking its own face, grasping for the projectiles impaling its eye, it cried out and stepped back, and kept stepping back, crushing fallen Roman soldiers beneath its claws. Finally shaking its head in pain and pulling at the mote in its eye, it leaped into the sky, screaming and belching flame, but flying away from the Roman army.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The battleground clamor stilled like a storm on the sea, and only pain was left. Hundreds of troops had been wounded or killed. Immediately, the medicos and stretcher bearers headed toward the burning ground, quickly and efficiently moving the wounded to the field hospital.

  Nachum was one of the senior physicians on Regulus’ medical staff. His primary function was to keep the general healthy and happy. At the moment, he was pretty sure neither of those goals had been achieved. Nachum was frantically searching for his general, knowing the basic area Regulus had last been seen. He had observed when the dragon swiped at the general and decapitated his horse, covering Regulus in blood and knocking him off the horse onto the battle floor. He had seen Regulus run forward and then be manhandled by an optio who had literally thrown the Legate of the Legion into the middle of a tattered testudo. Moments later, that same optio perished beneath the onslaught of the dragon’s flaming spray. With those memories guiding him, Nachum made his careful way among the groaning men spread out in a broken array on the ground before him. The lightly wounded legionnaires who could walk and were not in danger of bleeding out before they could be sutured, he sent stumbling toward a holding area.

  But not all the wounded were so fortunate. In his hunt for the general, he could not ignore the men beneath his feet. The stretcher bearers that assisted him were desperately moving men to the hospital, but at this critically peak time after the battle, they could not keep up with his quick triage. In one of those moments, as he waited on the bearers and frantically searched for Regulus, he saw a soldier writhing close by. The man had been burnt and his leg shattered by the claws of the beast. Nachum reached into his pouch and brought out a leather flask of opium-laced water. He held the poor soldier’s head up and said, “Here, drink this.”

  The man, semi-conscious, rasped a whispered thank you, then looked at Nachum and asked, “Is Quintus here?” Nachum looked at the soldier, confused, then it dawned on him. The soldier was asking for his friend who he had made a blood oath with. He wanted his friend to fulfill his oath and end his life quickly rather than let him end it thrashing in pain and bleeding out on the ground. Nachum was about to answer that he didn’t know Quintus when a calloused hand touched his shoulder. Nachum looked up to see another optio kneeling down beside him. “I am Quintus.” Then to his wounded friend, “I am here, Felix. I’m here.”

  The soldier Nachum held looked at his friend, tried to focus his eyes, and said, “Please… remember your oath.” Quintus gulped and nodded, then slowly drew his sharp dagger. He looked at Nachum, who gently moved the dying man’s head into the lap of his friend. Quintus whispered, “I’ll take care of him.” Nachum closed his eyes on the fierce act of mercy, and then quietly continued his search for Regulus.

  As he looked for Regulus, he tried not to think of what he had just seen. Nachum knew better than most that Quintus’ act was not uncommon. He knew it had been the lesser of two evils, but he still struggled with the practice. I am a Jew among Roman pagans, he thought in a futile attempt to distance himself from the act, then remembered the first king of the Jews, Saul, had asked his armor bearer to run him through, and Nachum sighed. Maybe it wasn’t such a pagan act. Then his eyes fell on several Roman soldiers who were limping toward him bearing a makeshift stretcher. On it lay Regulus. Nachum took one look and immediately began giving orders.

  Regulus’ injuries were life-threatening. He had been burned. His left side had severe burns starting from the side of his face just below his eye down his neck and onto his arm. His armor had protected his chest area. The burns there were not as severe. His leather tunic had also offered some protection to his legs with is boots covering his feet. The danger was infection and shock. Regulus was reeling in horrible pain and threatening to bite through his lips to keep from screaming. Nachum quickly moved him into the field hospital. Moments later, Han Xing rushed into the tent. He moved toward Regulus and lifted his head up as he lay on a blanket.

  Regulus gasped out instructions. In a hoarse half-whisper, he groaned, “We can beat it...”

  “You crippled it, maybe blinded it. It was ripping at its eye when it turned it away,” Han replied gently.

  Regulus, ever the commander, asked, “How many?”

  Han Xing, ever the friend and knowing his general’s thoughts answered, “Unknown. Possibly 300 dead and 1,400 wounded, half of those able to be back for light duties in a few weeks.”

  Regulus, delirious but fighting for control, continued battling. “If it comes back, how do we fight it?”

  Han Xing holding his general’s head, answered,” “It will be back, and we will be prepared, but for now let the surgeons take care of you. It is going to work out. They did not destroy us, and they know it. We hurt them, and they know it.”

  Medicos appeared, ready to move the general to a surgeon’s table.

  “Will I lose my arm?” Regulus cried out as the medico moved him.

  “No sir,” the man replied calmly, “you just won’t be as pretty as you were.”

  Regulus laughed then started coughing, his body spasming.

  Then he sighed as the needles of the acupuncturist pierced the nerve endings under his burnt skin.

  “They are going to take off your armor now, general, and it is going to hurt. You will not lose any limbs, but even with the needles this is going to be hard,” one of the physicians attending Regulus warned.

  The medico was compassionate but hardened to the pain he had to cause in order to heal. His two assistants held down the commander as the physician worked quickly and effectively, peeling off burnt armor and skin. Regulus strained against the men holding him and screamed in torment. In the end, he fainted, and the work of bandaging, bathing, and removing dead skin went on into the night.

  ****

  Miriam had been in a protected place when the dragon struck. As it screeched and sprayed its foul-smelling, killing heat, she prayed for protection, not only for herself, but also for the hundreds of soldiers caught in the middle of the battle.

  When it was finally over at least for a while, and the medicos ran forth with stretchers and aid, she instinctively joined them. She pushed aside her weariness and own wounds and attached herself to a Jewish physician, aiding in whatever manner he prescribed.

  Nachum, the Jewish physician, watched as Miriam slipped and caught herself in the gore that had once been a soldier’s chest, and drew back a blood-covered hand. Miriam’s stomach revolted violently, threatening to heave its contents. She fought against it.

  Nachum saw it and said, “If you need to throw up it’s fine, just move away, take care of business and come back if you can. Sometimes it is better if you get it off your stomach quickly.”

  She tried not to heed his advice but couldn’t help herself. Nachum did not expect to see her return to help after he saw her pale, frightened expression and urgent move to get up and leave. But in a few minutes, she was back, pale but present. After that, she seemed to gain some strength.

  He addressed her in Hebrew. “I am not used to having a woman help me. But you are an instinctive healer. They quiet under your hands. Though you do not speak their language, you talk to them. They are just boys, most of them, and they are in pain, and though they are Roman soldiers and have seen battles and perhaps even been wounded before, it is extremely traumatic. Especially if they do not know if they will live or die. Once that is established, either way, they settle down.”

  “Even if they see they have no hope?” Miriam responded in the Rom
an language.

  “Yes, even then. It is the uncertainty of the affliction that panics them. Death they can prepare for, life they can receive, but the not knowing wrecks them. Our job now is to divide the living from the dead, even if they are still breathing. A mortally wounded soldier, if tended too long—and we tend to do that…it’s extremely hard to leave them—steals life from a lesser wounded man who might be saved if we can get to him. So, I have the dubious honor of being the angel of death and the herald of life as do all the other medicos out here at the moment. Each one of us can tend to twenty to thirty men at a time. With an aide, maybe fifty. This battle although terrible is manageable. We will have all these men sorted and evacuated to the Valetudinarian within two hours. We administer quick, blood-saving bandages now, and at the field hospital we start the actual suturing and cleaning of the wounds. Will you be available to help then?”

  Miriam thought about her baby boy, Issur, who was with a grizzled old supply optio named Torbernus. Gruff as a bear and gentle as a lamb with Issur, she knew the baby would be fine. “Yes, I will continue to help.”

  Nachum appeared pleased. “Good, we can, of course, use the help. And the men will appreciate a beautiful woman hovering over them instead of bandy-legged, grey-haired old men.”

  Miriam smiled at the word beautiful, and unconsciously stroked the fiery red scar on her face. Nachum spotted the action. “It is nothing. No more than a cloud passing by the radiance of the sun. Besides, they will be staring at your breast and rear end and probably won’t notice you have a face.”