Turning to the two men who were still standing below the parapet, their faces blank with shock as they watched what I had done, I pointed at them with my sword and snarled, “You two bastards are on a charge. You better hope you die because I’m going to flay the both of you.” Without waiting for any reply, I ran off, looking for the next danger point.
Hearing the clanking and pounding of boots approaching before I actually saw reinforcements arriving, a total of seven Cohorts were sent to help, and they turned the tide of the battle fairly quickly. Once Vercingetorix saw that there was little chance of creating a breakout at our positions, the Gallic horns sounded again, the remainder of his force hurrying away, this time heading to the northern edge of the works, where the relief force was still furiously attacking the camp and redoubts Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three. As suddenly as it started, the fighting ceased in our sector, the sounds of battle disappearing to be replaced by the moans of the wounded and dying. Standing for a moment, I fought the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me, brought on by the combination of my exertions and loss of blood. Luckily, the bleeding finally stopped, but it had dried, caking my armor all down my side, making movement difficult and I knew that any violent movement would tear the clots free and the bleeding would start again. Regaining my breath, I surveyed the damage, feeling my stomach tighten at what I saw. Every inch of the parapet in both directions was covered with bodies, and although most of them were Gauls, it was not by much of a majority. Even as I stared at the sight, the earth of the parapet seemed to move, with wounded men either struggling to pull themselves upright, or going through their death throes before they succumbed to their wounds. For a moment I did not know what to do or what direction to head, instead trying to decide the best place to start finding all the men of my Century, since I did not see the Pilus Prior anywhere about. Finally determining that it was best, and easier on me to stay where I was and call the men of the Century to rally on me, I tried to use my command voice, yet found the effort made me extremely lightheaded. Instead, I called for our cornicen to sound the assembly, but he did not answer. Cursing, I took a few breaths then bellowed out the call to assemble, almost keeling over in the process and only then men began to gather. I was relieved to see Vibius, covered in blood not his own, along with Scribonius, Vellusius and even Didius. Atilius did not show up, nor did almost a third of the Century, and it took a moment for the import of this to register. Yet the biggest shock was yet to come; the Pilus Prior was nowhere to be found, even after I sent men to search through the bodies. We had come to respect and admire Pulcher a great deal, despite the differences between our two previous Centurions, and I hoped that he was alive. Whatever his condition, we did not have time to dwell on it, because once more the cornu sounded, this time giving the signal to advance. Looking over, I saw Caesar jump up to the parapet from Toes, and he called out to us.
“Comrades, this is the moment we have been waiting for! I know that you are tired, I know that you are hurting from your wounds and the friends you have lost, but now is the moment when we can end this! Vercingetorix has turned his back on us, and he will pay for that mistake, I swear it to Jupiter Optimus Maximus!”
Pulling his own sword, he lowered it in the direction of the enemy and called out, “Porro!”
Making our way across the ditch, we formed up quickly, trying to ignore our fatigue and our diminished numbers, because we knew that Caesar was right. It was a mark of the desperation of Vercingetorix that he turned his back on us; perhaps he thought that he had inflicted enough damage on us that we would not be willing or able to take any offensive action, and it was this idea that inflamed our anger even higher than the loss of so many men. Beginning the advance at the quick step, as I was stumbling along behind the Century, Scaevola stopped and turned, calling to me.
“Pullus, get up here! You’re the Pilus Prior now. Take your place!”
Despite being startled, I realized that he was right, so it was somewhat sheepishly that I moved up to the spot that Pulcher normally occupied. Once we closed the distance, the cornu sounded the command to begin double time, and I was concerned that the Gauls would hear it, yet they were so absorbed in their attack on the men of the 8th that they did not notice. Trotting closer, we drew within the range where we normally stopped to launch our javelins, but since most of us did not have any left and Caesar did not want to ruin the element of surprise, the command to charge with the sword was given immediately. With a roar composed of equal parts rage and triumph, we broke into a run. It was only then that the men in the rear ranks of the Gauls realized the danger that was upon them, but before they could turn to face us we slammed into them. Breaking out into a run ripped the clots in my side loose, so despite myself I let out a cry of pain, feeling warm liquid begin to run down my side again. Regardless, I gritted my teeth and started to hack and thrust my way through the now panicked Gauls.
The rout was total, and it did not take long to make happen. Within a matter of moments, the Gauls were running around the end of our lines, fleeing back to the town, most of them throwing down their weapons and shields so they could run faster. We only pursued a short distance because we were exhausted, although they needed no pursuit to keep them fleeing for their lives. While we were pressing the attack on the besieged army, our cavalry, circling around behind the relieving army, launched an attack on the rear of the Gauls on the outside of the walls. Labienus and the reinforcements he brought with him kept up the pressure in the front at the same time, so it was not surprising that the Gauls could not withstand it. The relieving army disintegrated, men being cut down by the cavalry, and Vercassivellaunus was captured, along with 74 enemy standards. Only the cavalry was in any shape to pursue the fleeing remnants of the Gallic army, the chase continuing well past midnight. The battle was over; all that was left was the aftermath of finding our wounded, burning our dead, and burying theirs. I could barely stand, my legs shaking so badly that I was worried that I was going to collapse in front of the men. Somehow, I found the reserves of strength to order them to form up, thankful that at least this last phase of the battle caused us no casualties. Marching back to our original positions, we saw that the men who worked as stretcher bearers were still busy, the medici for the Legion performing a quick assessment on our fallen men. The dead were already being laid out, waiting for their comrades to identify and claim the bodies to take them back to camp to prepare for their funeral rites. We were missing 15 men from our Century; I found six of them already laid out waiting for us, though none of them was Atilius. He was found being attended to by a medici as he sat, blood-spattered, with the faraway look one often sees in wounded men. The medici was working on his right hand and when I approached, I saw that he was missing two fingers, the little and third finger, the stumps protruding perhaps an inch from the base of his palm, the bone gleaming through the blood and torn flesh. While it may not seem like it, he was lucky; if it had been three fingers, or even his first two fingers instead of his last two, he would be discharged because of his inability to hold his sword. I called to him and for a moment he did not respond, then turning his head he saw me, a look of vague surprise on his face.