Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (38 page)

It took almost a sixth part of a watch for all of the Centuries of both Cohorts to get across the ditch and into place for the assault up the wall. The remaining Cohorts had made it to the first wall and were sheltered just on the other side, safe from the missiles of the men on the second wall. One disadvantage of their position was that the supporting Cohorts could not see us up against the second wall, and therefore would have to rely on the sounds of the horns to know when it was time for them to come across to make their own ascent once we had cleared the wall. While we waited, we could hear the sounds of battle going on over where the 9th was assaulting, although it was impossible to tell what was happening exactly or how it was going for them.

“They’re probably fouling it up,” Vibius sneered with the disdain one Legionary holds for a Legion not his own. “You know those
cunni
couldn’t find their ass with both hands.”

I wholeheartedly agreed with him, as did the others.

“Get ready boys,” the Pilus Prior called out to us as he returned from the other Centuries. What makes the job of the senior Centurion of a Cohort so challenging is that he not only has to run his own Century, but he has to ensure that the others are doing what they are supposed to be doing as well, requiring him to be in several places at once, a feat that Crastinus somehow always managed to pull off with what appeared to be a minimum of effort. Every one of us swore that he had eyes in the back of his head and hearing so sensitive that he could hear a gnat fart, and as I was to learn later in order for a Centurion to be good at his job, it is essential that this be as close to the truth as possible. For once I was not going to be one of the first over; instead I would be bracing the ladder, and although I was thankful that I was given a relatively easy duty, I would be lying if I said that I was not also slightly hurt. Until that moment I had not realized it, but I had gotten accustomed to being one of the first into any breach or up a wall, and in the back of my mind, I could not help wondering if I had done something to make the Pilus Prior question my ability, or even worse, my courage. However, as I was about to find out, there was another reason he made the dispositions in this manner.

After telling me I was going to brace the ladder, he turned and pointed his
vitus
directly at Didius and barked, “You there, Achilles,” he gave an emphasis to the nickname that did not imply that it was a compliment. “We’re going to see what you’re made of and if you can live up to the name. You’re going up first.”

Didius turned as white as I had ever seen him, and before he caught himself started to choke out a protest before stopping immediately when he saw the expression of not just the Pilus Prior, but of all of us. Gulping, he merely nodded and turned away so that his face did not betray his emotions. We all eyed each other, not having to say a word. The horns sounded, the ladders went up, and with another roar the men of the Second Cohort began the climb. Sitting with my back to the wall, I gripped the sides of the ladder to make sure that nobody stepped on my hands, and in this position, I got a front row seat to see Didius mount the ladder. I wish I could say that I felt some sort of pity for him, but I did not; instead, I experienced a great sense of satisfaction seeing the sheer terror on his upturned face as he climbed, his shaky legs nevertheless propelling him upwards. I very clearly felt the tremors of his body as he ascended, and it was with grim pleasure that I thought, now we’re going to see how much is talk and how much is deed.

Immediately following him was Rufio, who gave me a quick grin as he followed Didius up and he called out to me, “I think he shit himself. At least that’s what it smells like.”

I laughed, as did the others who heard him, though if Didius heard he was too terrified to give one of his normal surly retorts. Scribonius went up behind Rufio and I heard the first clash of metal, followed by a cry as Didius got to the top. Immediately, the progress up the ladder stopped and I frowned in concern, exchanging a look with Vellusius who had just stepped onto the first rung. This was not good; the key to storming a wall is to get as many men on the parapet as quickly as possible, and I wondered if this had happened when I went up the ladder the first time. Being fair, I knew that time was impossible to judge time in moments like this, so it may very well have been the same when I did it, yet it did not seem that way, and judging from the concerned looks on the others’ faces I had to believe that there was a problem.

Finally, Rufio gave an exasperated growl and forced his way up the ladder, his voice adding to the melee on the wall. In a few heartbeats, whatever had been holding everyone up was taken care of, because the flow of men began again, moving quickly this time. Finally, I was the last one left and I pulled myself to my feet, giving the job of bracing the ladder to the designated man from the Century behind us and followed everyone else up.

The sight that met my eyes was one of chaos, even more than normal in an assault like this, with the Gallaeci flowing down the hill from the town like ants, headed towards the walls, where the men of the First Century were battling the warriors who were still fanatically fighting on the parapet. They were resisting with the desperate courage of men who knew that not only were they the last line of defense protecting their families, they were the last gasps of a rebellion, and defeat would mean the destruction of their people. Caesar’s treatment of the Lusitani that he defeated was no secret by this point, and it was this knowledge that kept them fighting long after they should have been exhausted. My heart sank when I saw a number of Roman bodies littering the parapet, and I could only hope that none of them were my tentmates; it was bad enough that they were from my Century. Looking for a place to stick in and help, I saw a small knot of Gallaeci pressing hard against Calienus and Atilius, both of them with their backs to the wall, frantically parrying the blows of the Gallaeci warriors. With a shout, I rushed over to help them, catching the Gallaeci by surprise. One of them turned his attention to me, snapping something to the others, obviously an order to keep up their assault on my two friends while he would handle me. Giving him a savage grin at this sign of his hubris, I beckoned him to come at me. He had a short sword, similar to those that we used and he wielded it with some skill, but in a moment I had his measure; he was too aggressive and prone to over-commit and expose himself. Feigning a retreat after one spirited attack on his part, it gave him the encouragement to press me, which is exactly what I wanted. Once again he made a thrust and overextended himself, so that for a brief instant his throat was exposed because his arm was too far forward. It was enough, and I relished the look of shock in his eyes as my blade punched through, coming out the back of his skull, then twisted the blade to free it, kicking him out of the way as I did so. His comrades had too much faith in his ability because their attention was still turned totally towards Calienus and Atilius, so I dispatched two of them with quick thrusts to the back before the other three realized what was happening. Now they were caught between the proverbial rock and the hard place, and in an instant they were all finished.

“Thanks Pullus,” Calienus gasped and I grinned, giving a quick salute before we turned our attention to other targets. Working together, we moved along the wall, trying to link up with the other Century further down, squeezing the Gallaeci into a smaller and smaller space as we did so, giving them less room to work while increasing our chances of hitting someone as they became more densely packed. Things were beginning to swing in our favor and the Gallaeci knew it, prompting some of them to jump off the parapet to retreat up the hill to form another line of defense. Some of our men kept their heads about them and on seeing the Gallaeci warriors jumping down, snatched up their javelins, flinging them into the backs of some of the retreating warriors. As the situation on the parapet began to stabilize, I began looking around for Vibius. When I saw him, a cry of fear escaped my lips before I could stop it.

Vibius was lying on the parapet, his lower body covered in blood as he lay motionless among other bodies, both Roman and Gallaeci. Running to him, I fell to my knees beside him. He was facedown and as I reached for him to turn him over, I saw my hands trembling; I had never been so afraid in all my life about what I might find. Steeling myself, I gently turned him over, a gasp of relief exploding from me as I saw his eyes flutter. He looked up, his eyes fuzzy and unfocused before they finally rested on my face. Seeing that he recognized me, I took this to be a good sign.

“Wha….what happened? Where am I, Titus?”

“You’ve been wounded,” I replied in what I hoped was a comforting tone, but I had my doubts when I saw his eyes widen in alarm. Immediately his hands began to roam over his body, and I grabbed them, saying as gently as I could, “Don’t do that. Let me see. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I began by examining his lower torso, his tunic caked with blood underneath his armor, not bothering to hide my relief when I determined that he did not have any kind of belly wound. I found the wound when I examined lower down, a huge gash in his thigh, both in front and in back, a sign that it had been a sword thrust that had gone all the way through. The other good news was that the blade had not cut a major blood vessel, since if it had he would have been dead by the time I found him. Telling him the news, I watched his eyes flutter in relief.

“Let me go get a
medici
,” I told him, but before I left, I tore off a piece of his tunic to bind the wound, which was still oozing blood, although it was slowing down. I just hoped it was not because he had run out of blood, but he was still conscious, which I took to be a good sign. Jumping up, I looked over the wall to see if the
medici
had made their way this far along yet, then when I spotted one I called out to him. He heard me and promised to come up as soon as he finished with the man he was working on. Despite the fight raging further down the parapet, I sat down with Vibius to wait for the
medici
to arrive and talked to him, staying as cheerful as I could, teasing him that he was going to get out of all the duties for a while, yet I saw he was still worried.

“Vibius, don’t worry, you’re not going to die. I’ve seen enough wounds to know this isn’t fatal.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Titus,” he said quietly. “I’m worried that it won’t heal properly and I’ll be dismissed from the Legion.”

I had not even thought of this, and just the mention of it sent me into a near panic, since I could no more imagine being in the army without Vibius than I could grow wings and flying. Refusing to listen to him, I told him firmly that this was nonsense, and if he continued thinking like this, I was going to give him a good thrashing. After he recovered, of course, I amended hastily, and I think to the relief of both of us the
medici
arrived so I left Vibius with him to continue fighting, promising that I would come see him as soon as I could. Turning back to the sounds of battle, I looked for our Century before hurrying off to join them, leaving Vibius behind for the first time since we had been friends.

Fighting continued to rage, the accursed Gallaeci refusing to recognize the inevitable, and the battle soon degenerated into a series of smaller, more private fights involving at the most dozens of men on both sides. All sense of tactics and cohesion were gone as the situation reduced itself to its simplest denominator, that of men trying to kill each other for reasons that they could no more fathom at this point than they could express them. Finding the Pilus Prior, he was surrounded by a knot of men from my Century, so I hurried over to the group.

Catching sight of me, he called out, “It’s about time Pullus. Get over there,” he pointed to a spot where some of our men were being hard pressed by a larger group of Gallaeci, “and sort that out.”

Sketching a salute I ran over, jumping into a wild melee that resembled a tavern brawl more than any type of set battle. Men were simply bashing each other with both shield and sword, not even bothering to look for an opening or in any other way using their heads, merely trying to batter their opponents into submission. Resolving that I was going to be more logical about this, I waited as I watched two combatants who appeared to be evenly matched, looking for an opening where I could provide some help. After exchanging a series of blows, both the men stepped away from each other, panting from the exertion, their eyes only on each other. Seeing my chance, I stepped in quickly to dispatch the Gallaeci with a quick thrust. The Roman, I believe it was a man named Numerius from our Century, yelled at me in protest.

“I almost had him Pullus, you didn’t have to do that.”

I looked at him as if he had gone insane; this was not a contest or a training exercise, a point I reminded him of, not mollifying him in the slightest. “Next time, you worry about making your own kill and not wait until I soften someone up so you can just step in and take the glory,” he insisted.

I did not know how to respond, just looking at him with my mouth agape. Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the fight, wondering if I would find someone more appreciative of my help.