Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (21 page)

That command was roared simultaneously all along the leading line and it was in this first moment that it became apparent to every new
Gregarii
that all of the training and the beatings that came with it possessed a value that could not be overestimated. Even before I consciously thought about it, I crouched down and lifted my shield above my head, since the threat was coming from ahead and above us. If we were exposed to enfilading fire from the side, I would have held my shield across my body, while sheltering under Scribonius’ shield. A bare instant later, there was a sound like a sudden hailstorm as the stone shot that the Lusitani used bounced off the surface of our shields, mostly inflicting no damage. Scattered among the rattling sounds indicating no damage done however, there was another, a sickening thud either followed by a grunt, or worse, by a scream of pain that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Although we kept advancing, we could not move as quickly as we normally would in standard formation, so there is a tradeoff of sorts. Despite being more protected, the amount of time we were exposed to the slings was longer. The first volley did not inflict any casualties on our Century, but after the second rattling of shot, and more shouts and screams, there was a ripple in the formation as someone fell to the ground and we automatically compensated, closing up the spot where the man fell. While I could see a prone figure out of the corner of my eye, I could not see who it was, and I realized with a shock that we were now blooded. We had suffered our first casualty, but judging from the ferocity of the volleys that we were absorbing, it was not likely to be our last.

“Jupiter Optimus Maximus, protect this Legion, soldiers all,” someone cried out the Legionary's prayer, and while appreciating the sentiment, I wondered whether or not Jupiter really cared.

Our advance hampered by the use of the
testudo
, the distance closed agonizingly slowly, and for the first time I began noticing that my arm was getting a little tired from holding my shield above my head. Glancing over at Scribonius, the sweat was pouring from him as if he were standing in a rainstorm, his face red from the exertion. Meanwhile, the smacking and thuds of the shot continued, and more times we had to adjust the formation. Then, a man two ranks ahead of me, his arm obviously tiring from holding the shield, let it slip just a bit, enough so that I noticed the crack of daylight that allowed a beam of pure light to shine through as if shot down from the heavens. A sharp-eyed slinger saw that crack too because just a heartbeat later there was a thwanging sound, slightly different than those I had quickly become accustomed to, and the Legionary dropped to the ground without a sound, not moving. The man in front of me, Papiria was his name, almost stumbled over the body, which would have left several men exposed, but with a curse he managed to maintain his balance and I resolved not to make the same mistake, forcing myself to look down as I came on the body. I wish I had not; he was lying face up, with one eye hanging partially from its socket, a gaping hole showing between the orb and where the bridge of his nose had been, while his heart still pumped blood in a spray, the bone of his nose apparently carried by the shot into his brain. I felt the bile rise as the ghastly sight was burned into my memory forever and even today, I can close my eyes and still see him, alive but not, his heart not yet receiving the message that it was no longer needed. Dragging my eyes away now that I had stepped clear of him, one detail tugged at my mind. The rim of his helmet had a huge dent in it, and for some reason that image occupied my thoughts. Even as we were still moving forward, in formation, I thought about it and finally understood the thwanging sound I heard must have been the shot hitting the rim of the helmet, which in turn deflected it down, into his eye and through his brain. The helmet was not penetrated and when thinking about it later, I realized that if we were facing an enemy on the same level, and not occupying higher ground, the chances were very good that he would have been struck a glancing blow, except the projectile would angle up instead of down, and all he would suffer from it is a headache and ringing ears. Such are the whims of the Fates.

Making it to the base of the hill we started up, with one thing becoming clear immediately. The distance from the bottom of the hill to the base of the wall was deceptive; the Third Maniple would be forced to move higher up the hill to launch their javelins than originally planned. Our Century had shrunk even more, and when I anxiously glanced over to my left my heart sank as I saw that my rank was at least four people narrower than before. Meanwhile, the slingers continued their assault on us, the racket of missiles hitting the shields or occasionally striking something else and scoring a hit almost continuous. I tried to determine how many of the men in my tent section were missing from the back rank simply because they moved up to replace a gap, and how many had gone down themselves. From what I could remember, at least two men in files ahead to my left had fallen, and I thought there might be a third as well, yet that still left one of my tentmates unaccounted for, and my greatest fear was that it was Vibius. What if he were right after all? Trying to shut that out of my mind, I turned my attention back to the task at hand, and in a panic I saw that I had dropped my shield a fraction while thinking about something else. Quickly I readjusted, just in time to feel my arm shudder, hearing the unmistakable strike of a shot as I cursed myself for my inattention and vowed that I would not falter again. We were beyond the base of the hill now, reaching a point where the angle between our
testudo
and the slingers was such that the only way for a slinger to launch a missile at us was by leaning out over the edge of the wall. A couple of them tried and almost immediately were scoured from the wall by the scorpions. That is when they turned their attention to the Third Maniple, and it was like the hailstorm suddenly stopped now that it was their turn to come under fire. From our spot, the predominant sound was now the whirring sound of the slings circling around the men’s heads, followed by the whistle of the projectiles slicing into men behind us. Reaching the base of the wall, the Legionaries carrying the ladders immediately moved into action as we moved our shields to the side to allow them room.

Half the men got on each side, grasping the ladder, while the Pilus Prior commanded, “Didius, get your sorry ass up here.”

Didius was one of the men who had moved up, putting him a little closer to the front of the formation, but he still had to push his way past the other men of the Century, drawing curses as he jostled them and forced their shields over, exposing them for an instant. Fortunately, nobody was struck down and it became apparent that we were relatively safe from fire, so Crastinus ordered us out of the
testudo
and I dropped my arm, thankful for the brief respite. The ladder team planted the feet of the ladder on the ground, while Didius was moved into position by the Pilus Prior, who grabbed him by his harness and faced him in the opposite direction from the rest of us, with the ladder between him and the Century. Then pushing him down, he forced Didius to sit, while simultaneously the ladder team walked forward with the ladder and it started to rise. The Pilus Prior then made his way to the base of the ladder once it was raised to a sufficient height.

“Pullus, you big oaf. Get behind the Pilus Prior!”

This came from Vinicius as he made his way past me over to the other ladder team, which was doing the same thing as ours. Startled out of my observation of what was going on, I moved quickly behind the Pilus Prior, just in time for him to look behind him to see if I was there, as I gave a brief thanks to the gods that he apparently had not missed me before this, shuffling in behind him as the ladder was raised.

“Good luck,” I heard a man mutter, but I found my throat was too dry to respond, so instead I just nodded. My heart was pounding harder than if I sprinted the whole way to the wall, and I was sure that if things continued, it would explode right then and there. A different kind of sound added to the cacophony of noise, and I sensed the rapid movement of objects heading towards the walls, looking up to see the javelins thrown by the Third Maniple slice through the air and into the wall, some striking the Lusitani. Immediately after this were screams of pain, followed by dull thuds of men falling down to the ground off the rampart. Very quickly, another volley landed, with much the same effect. The Lusitani were now huddled behind their walls, unwilling to expose themselves to any more of the javelins, telling us this was our moment. Didius reached out to grab the sides of the ladder, pulling it taut against the wall so that it would not slip. While watching him do this, the Pilus Prior was already halfway up the ladder before I realized it.

“Get up there, you stupid bastard. We’re right behind you,” I could not see who it was, though it sounded like Calienus’ voice.

Gulping down the huge lump in my throat I began climbing, taking two rungs at a time in an attempt to catch up while trying to hold my shield above my head. There was still no sign that the Lusitani felt safe enough to peek their heads up to see what was happening, and again I offered a prayer that our luck would hold a few more moments.

It was at this moment that there sounded a horrible scream, something so inhuman that it caused all of us, Roman and Lusitani alike, to freeze. For just a moment all activity stopped, and I looked in the direction of the noise, which was just dying out, seeing that it came from a man on the other ladder. I say it was a man, but it would be more accurate to say that what I was viewing was merely a large lump of scorched meat. What had been his face was blackened, along with every inch of his exposed skin, which was issuing a thick smoke, like when the fat in meat catches fire, and I suppose that is exactly what was happening. The part of his tunic not covered by his armor was burning brightly, the flames licking up around his head, and covering him from head to feet appeared to be a substance that to my inexperienced eye looked like boiling honey. Immediately I realized that it was the pitch that they were heating in preparation for just such a moment. However, as much as the scream, it was what the man was doing that I think arrested everyone’s attention, for he was still ascending the ladder, very slowly but definitely noticeably, and despite my horror at the sight I also felt a fierce sense of exultation. This was how a Roman died, I thought! Even dead on his feet he still advanced, and I imagined that this sight must strike fear and despair into the heart of the Lusitani. We could not be stopped, and as if in answer to that thought, I felt the ladder begin shaking again as the Pilus Prior continued his climb, even Crastinus stopping like everyone else. As Crastinus did so, the other man slowly toppled off the ladder, still in flames and smoking, and I saw the men below scatter out of the way in order to avoid being hit and burned by his body, which in a sense had become a weapon of the enemy’s on its own since anyone touched by it would be horribly burned as well. I started climbing again too, when I was struck by the sudden thought that the man on the ladder had nobody above him. That meant that he was first, so it must have been Vinicius who I just saw incinerated. Just moments ago, I was talking to him about the very thing that killed him, and I wondered when we would next talk again in the afterlife. Maybe sooner than I think, I thought grimly as I peered up to see the Pilus Prior almost at the top. Just then, a Lusitani appeared in a gap in the wall just next to the Pilus Prior; letting out a cry in his language, he used a long spear to try and skewer the Pilus Prior. However, his war cry alerted Crastinus, who dodged out of the way, almost losing his grip on the ladder, which he now clung to with only his right hand. Without waiting for another blow and displaying a speed that astonished me, he jumped up and over the wall, disappearing from sight, then I heard the thud of his borrowed shield as he smashed the boss against the Lusitani, followed by a wild yelp of pain. Even as Crastinus did this, I scrambled the last couple of rungs then pulled myself up onto the wall, where for the first time I could see into the town. The parapet of the wall was also made of wood, about ten feet across and crowded with men. All of them were armed, although there was a wide variety of weapons, some of the men brandishing nothing more than hoes and sticks with sharpened points. Nevertheless, there was also a fair amount of men in armor, and these were the men crowded around the area where we were assaulting the walls, the more poorly armed men obviously in reserve.

All of this I took in over a matter of no more than a couple of normal heartbeats as I jumped down onto the parapet before turning to my right, barely in time to meet a wild swing of a Celtic sword with my shield. Feeling the shock of the blow move all the way down my arm, making it go numb instantly, it was only because of my size that I did not stagger backward. For the first time my opponent seemed to notice my bulk, his eyes going a bit wider. Dumbly I stood there, allowing him to recover before I did and strike once again, this time in an overhead swing, I guess to try to split me down the middle. Once more, as if of its own volition, my arm went up to block the blow, my body again vibrating from the shock.

“Pullus you stupid bastard, draw your sword and kill that
cunnus
. Quit messing about,” I instantly recognized the voice of the Pilus Prior, and only then did I realize with a great amount of chagrin that he was right; I had yet to draw my sword.

I was ashamed of myself; here I was supposed to be the star pupil and I could not even remember to draw my weapon! Grasping the handle while holding it in the manner Vinicius taught me, I unsheathed the sword and immediately dropped into the first position, my sword pulled back and parallel to the ground. Instantly, I felt a surge of confidence as my body reacted to the familiar, and my opponent must have sensed the change because he assumed a wary expression as I advanced toward him, grimly determined to retrieve my dignity, also remembering that I needed to make room for the men coming up behind me. So far no more than a dozen normal heartbeats had elapsed, and I heard other men landing behind me as I moved towards him. Suddenly, I lashed out with the shield, catching him by surprise because he was obviously expecting me to make a move with what he considered my offensive weapon, not realizing that to Romans, the shield is as much of one as the sword. He staggered back but in his attempt to regain his balance used his own shield, much smaller and round compared to our larger oval, moving it backward in an automatic movement to try and recover by counter-balance. Both of us knew in that instant that he just made a fatal mistake, because I saw the despair in his eyes as I lunged, thrusting the blade while twisting forward with my hips in a perfect, training ground thrust. My blade pierced him in the left side, in the ribcage, and he let out a short, sharp shriek before collapsing as I made a perfect recovery. Rather I tried to, yet I had not been quite as training manual perfect as I thought. One of the first things we are taught is to strike with the plane of the blade parallel to the ground, so that if we do strike in the rib area, it is more likely to slide between the ribs and not get caught in the bone. I obviously did the opposite, holding the sword with the plane perpendicular to the ground so that when I went to recover, the sword stuck in his body, causing me to almost lose my grip. At the same instant, another man, this one carrying a long spear and with the same type of shield, came charging at me, again forcing me to parry the blow with my shield, but unable to counter because I could not get the damn blade out of the other man’s body. This Lusitani lunged at me again, and again, but despite being able to block, I was having a hard time maintaining my focus on him while trying to twist the sword free. After his third strike, my blade finally came free just in time to use it to parry his lunge by knocking his spear down while stepping forward and using the boss of the shield to smash him hard in the face. I heard the bone crunch, and he made a choking cry as his mouth and nose filled with blood. I hit him once, twice then three more times, until his face was pulverized and he fell to the ground twitching. Within the first moments on the wall I made my first two kills, and I could feel the confidence surging through me as my training took over.