'And screw the wasps as well,' he said, finishing the passphrase. 'What are you doing?' the youngster blurted as the centurion scowled at me.
I remembered the silence of the hills the day before. No animals out there, no birds singing in the verdant trees. That would be so when there is danger close, and nothing is more dangerous than a man. And how many hidden men would it take to silence a whole wood? I looked over the darkness from the ramparts, and cursed the torches that had half blinded me. I silenced the two men behind me, the centurion now with a gladius in his hand. He pulled at my cloak, and I tore it out of his grip. 'Shut the hell up!' I hissed at them, and they obeyed in stupefied silence. 'Was there a man here just now?'
'Yes,' said the soldier. 'A Germani. Went to the gatehouse. Took a torch. Knew the passphrase.'
'The prisoner has heard it all day, as the guard keeps asking it. Gods,' I said breathlessly, as I rushed for the gatehouse door of the wall. I pushed the door; it did not budge. I rushed back to the wall. A horse whinnied in the darkness, and there was a dull thump. I was not sure, but there was a cut off scream. The horsemen riding night guard around the camp should be out there.
'A torch! Give me one!' I commanded.
'Just who do you think—' the centurion started, but the young man rushed over to light a torch and handed it over to me. I took it, held my breath, and slung the burning branch with all my might from the wall, over the agger and the fossa, and landed with a crackle of sparks.
Frozen, bearded figures were revealed in the sudden pale light. They were a veritable horde of men staring up at me like a pack of feral, black wolves. They were lightly armed, with framae spears and cudgels; few had cumbersome shields, making slow progress in order not to alert the sleeping fort. Startled, some dodged out of the light, most stayed in it, looking up, realization striking them that they had to do something.
The Usipetes had arrived.
The centurion stared at them in disbelief, and I screamed from the top of my voice, 'Sound the alarm! Germani! Alarm!' I braced my shield, as I saw hundreds of shadows rush forward in the darkness, skittering and shoving each other, and dropping down to the fossa, the ditch, to clamber up the agger. A slingshot whipped past my head with a sickening, thrumming noise. I cursed and hesitated. This was an opportunity to leave the fort, but Cassia was in the camp.
The Usipetes were to take Castra Vetera, or at least our small fort, break the bridge, and destroy the precious supplies and any ships they could find, as I had thought Armin might plan to do. There were some two-thousand of them, a great number of their armed men, though not all came with their lords. Not all agreed with the plan, and some even stayed home, obstinate in their selfish ways. But, the iron-tipped flower of the war hardened, if poor, Usipetes were there, pushing up the agger doggedly, some screaming in pain as the guards started to throw torches and some pilum down. Ours was a small fort, like a speck of fly shit on the wall when compared to a full legionary camp bristling with swords, and so we felt terribly overwhelmed those first few moments of the assault, when their men rushed forward with deadly intent. However, it was a Roman fort, full of the best men of the XVII legion. They were not rattled by a nation of Germani, and would fight the enemy with skill and brutality.
On the other side of the river, sounds of battle echoed as the rest of the tribes' warriors had crossed the river at night. They were attacking Castra Vetera and the supplies, and the harbor. They had possibly used the same ruse there as they had in our fort In any case, the town and the harbor were on fire.
I rushed around the rampart, gazing at the enemy now reaching the wooden walls, finding easy hand holds on the roughly cut timbers. A face appeared on top of the wall, just near me. I rushed forward and speared the skull, the body falling forward, and the spear hopelessly entangled. I pulled the Head Taker, and aimed at the man climbing up next to the corpse. I whacked it down heartily on the startled man's visage, and the heavy blade cut his forehead in half. He fell to the darkness, and I waited for the next one to appear, which he did, and then I had to rush and hack at a tattooed hand, soon severed, only to rush to another place. Their only hope was to take the walls before the legionnaires mustered.
I cursed and spat as one man managed to vault over the wall, a huge grin on his face, but the grin was his last, as I impaled him. I stepped on him, ripped the blade out of his quivering body, and rushed to pummel a young man in the face. In the dark, I saw movement, and heard a muffled order, then a deep, rumbling cheer. In the dim light, I saw a heaving mass of men marching for the fort.
A shadowy Usipetes column armed with large red shields and framae were marching in close order up the road, led by a bearded, bald brute of a Germani. All the shields had a white moon painted on them, giving out their positions as the mass of men marched steadily forward.
Towards the gate.
I glanced down to the camp as I heard warnings. A legionnaire was pointing at the gateway, and then from the barred gatehouse a javelin flew, impaling the man's leg near the gate. He was howling and crawling away when some former prisoners and pretender slavers, tall Cherusci Germani, ran out to stab him into a quivering heap of dying flesh, and then retreated back out of sight. They had the gatehouse. They had the gate. I slammed the door on the battlement, the wooden construct as hefty as a boulder. It was too sturdy.
The young legionnaire shouted a warning. Turning, I saw several hands appear, pulling the men brazenly for the wall. I rushed to his side as the lean-faced, bearded wolves came up. The centurion, puffing and spitting blood with each breath, for he had a slash on his cheek that left his teeth in sight, joined us, and we pushed at the nearest enemy, now growling at us in anticipation of a kill, or their own death. So we shrieked and struck, one fell to a pilum, the centurion pushed one down while stabbing another in the face. The one I aimed at blanched and fell back voluntarily, but others had made it over the top, and were wildly trying to tear the shields off our arms. I impaled one, the centurion lopped off an arm from another with a savage sweep of his gladius, and they went down. Suddenly, the rampart was clear.
Elsewhere, it was not so. I saw savage struggle all along the wall, some dead guards lying in heaps, and shadows jumping down to the fort.
The centurion roared and slashed at another man, opening up a gash in a surprised face. 'Point is best, but sometimes the edge is more pleasing, turds,' he yelled and grinned. My eyes huge as the chaos churned around us. The centurion grunted, holding his face. 'Shit, they made me ugly.'
'It's an improvement,' the legionnaire said, with a grimace, as a flurry of spears flew up from below as the enemy made ready to climb again. The white moons were marching closer, and the centurion kicked at the door to the gatehouse. We grunted, and tried to break it down, but it was held closed, and we had no hope of dislodging it.
He turned me around. 'Go down, find men. I will hold here,' he told me.
I saw some of the men of the first cohort were running up in partial gear, wakened to a night of horror. The trumpets, buccina, and cornicula were sounding brazenly now in our fort, and in Castra Vetera, where a brutal fight was ongoing. A tall Usipetes fell to the gladius amidst the tents. Gods, I prayed for Cassia's safety. I cursed the fifty marching Usipetes, and saw a tall man in front of the column, raising his spear high to the air, a helmetless man in ring mail, a champion and a chief, and his men cheered, readying to take the gate. Gods knew how many men waited behind them in the dark.
I swore as the centurion grabbed a small ballista stone from a crate, took a long breath and threw it to the dark. It spun away true, descended swiftly, then smote the chief in the mouth, dropping him to his knees, as he was howling in pain, spitting teeth and blood in agony, and stopping the column for a second.
'Nice throw, huh! Now, go!' laughed the centurion, gesturing down to the yard. 'Don't let it open the gate. If it is open, get it closed.'
Woden's wild dance was pounding in my ears, as I turned to regard the gate area. I let go of my fears, heft
ed my sword, and rushed down the stairs, shouting the passphrase at some gathered legionnaires, for I was not a Roman, and the first cohort men were grim and in no mood to differentiate between the Germani. I growled at them, the berserker ready to bleed and die, and kill. I rushed around to the tents, and got a better look at the gate area. The guards were slain, and the heavy doors were open, tall Cherusci ramming pieces of sturdy wood under the gate doors, trying to block them. They kept glancing back at us, cursing as they worked. I laughed at them wildly and maliciously, as a vaettir of the deep woods and nodded at the legionnaires. 'Shield wall,' I hissed at the men around me. 'Let us go, and rip open the bastards.'
They grinned under their iron and bronze helmets, the finest men of the XVII, and made a line around me. A spear thrown from the gatehouse thudded into the shield of a man near me, and he spat as he cracked the shaft with his leg, stomping on it. We walked forward, some nine of us.
'Come, let's kick the starving bastards out!' a man yelled, and we thrummed our spears and swords on the shields, making the Cherusci stop their toil on the gate and to stare at us with concern, edging for the stairway to the gatehouse. Hobnails were slapping behind, as a dozen more veteran soldiers formed with us. With them was the standard bearer of the 1st Cohort, a wide man with hazel eyes and meaty palms, his ring mail shining, wielding a small shield.
I grinned, for to fight under such a device was a great boost. 'I am not one of you, boys,' I told them, 'but I won't dishonor that.' I pointed at the standards, as I switched the Head Taker to Nightbright.
The standard-bearer grinned and clapped my shoulder. 'You are with us today, barbarian.'
'Where is the primus pilus?' I asked him.
He shrugged, uncaring. 'Gods know. Taking a shit? The gate beckons. Let's go.'
We advanced, holding the shields up to block the spears coming down, thrown by the infiltrators. The men at the gate disappeared to the gatehouse, spitting at our direction, casting glances at the gateway, where the fifty elite warriors had not yet arrived.
'Shall we follow them up, sir?' asked a legionnaire.
The standard-bearer shook his head. 'We have to hold and close the gate, and clean the upstairs after. Come!'
We marched forward, a man next to me catching a framae in his groin, dropping like a sack. A man filled his place; there were some twenty of us now. We had time, I thought; I prayed, as Woden's rage hammered at me, and I knew I was wrong.
We came under the roof of the gatehouse at the time when the fifty grim Usipetes pushed through, and were surprised to see us there with bared weapons, standing under a standard. We both stopped for a second. Then, I growled, Woden demanding blood. 'Kill them. Kill them all. Step on their cocks, and rip them open.' The legionnaires screamed, and we rushed forward for the gate. We fought like dead men, casting aside our worldly worries in an orgy of blades and blood.
Before we reached the enemy, men pumped their arms; pilum flew with terrible strength, impaling arms, legs, and unarmored torsos, though mostly hitting shields. In one case, a spear flew and went through the face of a man, nailing him to a gatepost. Nightbright quivered in my sweaty palm, the short sword perfect for nasty stabs delivered under and over the shields. Swords flashed around me, and we hit them, toppling the first line of the enemy to the dust, the second squirming in surprise, as their shields were useless by the pilum that had broken on the leather, hanging heavily at crazy angles.
We hacked, stabbed, shields high, as the milling mass of the Usipetes growled, and the lines ground together with a series of thumps and painful gasps. The Usipetes were lean, mean fighters, with a history of terrible conflicts and little peace, and they asked for no mercy, gave none, and the gods laughed. We gritted our teeth and pushed forward, taking a step, then another, groaning as we pushed at the enemy, trying to remove them from the gate.
I could hear Fulcher yell nearby, horses whinnying, and I guessed some of the Batavi were on their horses, despite the rules against riding in a fort, rushing to our aid, though they had to dismount to join the shuddering deadlock. The Germani before us were taller, proud of their red shields with the half-moon, but the legionnaires trained every day, grimly grinding their muscles into a savage strength. We held them and moved them, step-by-step, taking wounds, giving many, men falling over corpses. We pushed for our lives; the prize was survival. More Usipetes were seen running behind these warriors.
Men behind us were stabbing spears over our shoulders at the growling faces of the Usipetes, wounding some, killing a few. They were doing the same to us with long spears, the tips punching through our shields, and some of us fell, others lost their shields. I could smell shit, piss, and gore as the man before me slipped, lifting his red, rent shield. I pushed my sword into his throat slowly, agonizingly slowly. He was nearly out of reach, but the tip was enough, and I saw life fade from his eyes. He bled to death, but the chief who had been hit by the ballista stone filled his spot, stepping up from the ranks, huge and threatening, bleeding from his mouth, eyes wild, embracing the swords and spears of his ancestral enemies.
He came on, swinging a wild axe above his head, smashing it not on my shield, but the shoulder of the legionnaire to the right of me, who went down silently, tripping the next man, and the Usipetes, eyes mocking us, beards dripping sweat, jumped on the corpses, pushed through the line, and our line buckled. A shield slammed the chief, and he fell on his back, struggling to get up. The men on my left got his shield up to block a spear snaking for me, and I grimly punched my blade through the stream of men trying to push through our line, killing them one-by-one, for their shields were in their left hands. Soon, corpses blocked the hole, but I turned to see the enemy chief again on his feet, aiming his axe, this time at me.
He missed my helmet, but the shaft hit my shoulder painfully, and I howled while the chief laughed like a hound-bitten maniac. I could smell his bloody breath, as I punched my shield forward with all the strength I had, bashing his nose flat. I cursed as I stepped forward and put Nightbright into his belly, ripping it back and forth until it went through his ring mail. He yelped like a dog, thrashing around, and finally fell back, ripping the sword from my hands. Some hands took hold of my shield and ripped it off me, and I glanced to the left. Fulcher was there, punching his gladius at the enemy, killing the shield thief and then another. I nearly fell on a corpse, and a red-shielded, lanky man tumbled at my feet, the ground awash with blood.
Then I saw her.
Cassia was there, pulling wounded Romans to the relative safety of the fort, grunting with exertion. I saw a Usipetes aim a rock her way. I growled and screamed, as I grabbed the axe shaft still dangling around my feet. I went to attack, unheeding all threats. The man who had been aiming the rock at Cassia turned his face towards me, frozen as I howled and pointed the axe at him.
Between us was a red-shielded wall of men. A thick one, still sure of victory, howling and baying to avenge their lord. I went to this wall, the axe flickering in the air. I remember laughing at their weak shields, splitting faces, breaking eyes and bones with the heavy shaft, smashing the crude axe into skulls, slicing off ears and flesh, leaving brains exposed. When two men wrestled the axe away from me, I slashed at them with the Head Taker, punching my fingers through the eyes of one of them, who had gotten too close. I did not know how long it took, but there was a new wall in the gate, one made of fallen and broken shields, shuddering wounded, silent corpses. I stood on top of that wall with the tentative Fulcher, who had been guarding me with his shield.
There were ten legionnaires with the standard still flying, locking shields behind us, and the enemy was pushed out and could not pass. They withdrew from me, muttering my name. I howled at them, blood flying from the helmet's terrible mouth hole as I mocked them, dancing over the corpses of their kinsmen and friends. 'I am Hraban! Son of Maroboodus! The Oath Breaker! The Bone Breaker. Come, and be corpses, curs!' I screamed at them, but all they did was stare at us sullenly. I flicked the Head Taker at their faces,
droplets of blood flying in the air, as the legionnaires started to kick and remove the wooden blocks from under the gates, dragging bodies to the side. Then, finally, the gate closed on the enemy faces, and the men cheered hoarsely.
I felt tired to the bone, as I walked to the corpse garden of the gateway and found Nightbright. Blood dripped from my helmet, as I regarded Cassia, who grinned at me uncertainly. I shrugged my shoulders, as I started touching myself, seeing if I was badly hurt. I had scrapes, aches, and superficial wounds, and should have been dead. I threw up, on all fours, as Fulcher crouched next to me, handing me some water.
A ballista shot screamed from the tower above us. A brutal stone hit a heavily armored Batavi rider on the yard, breaking and killing him, and burying itself in the horse. The Cherusci had figured out how to use the Roman weapon, and a sound of cranking could be heard. I struggled to get up, but Fulcher shook his head. 'I will go. Speak to Cassia.' The standard-bearer smiled at me as he took Fulcher, some grim Batavi with axes, and led some men up to the doors of the gatehouse. I walked to Cassia and held my arms open, and she stepped into them, pushing her bloodied hair aside. On the battlements, Romans were butchering the Usipetes, gladius and pilum flashing, and we were safe for the moment. She looked at me softly, her hand stroking the helmet, and I let her remove it and drop it in the dust.
There were axes hacking into a door above us, as the Romans cursed the enemy fortified in the room above, and I gazed down at her, despite the horror of war. I bent down to kiss her lips, and felt fire burn inside me, an unexplainable moment of pure bliss and admiration, like I was touching the gods. 'I do love you, woman,' I said.
'So you do,' she answered softly. 'You chose me this night.'
'Yes,' I said.' And I would again. Life was strange.
She smiled happily. 'We will marry, boy.'
'Boy,' I smirked. 'I just danced over a dozen armed men.'
'You are a champion,' she agreed, 'but you are my boy as well.'
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 47
