This day, the battle unfolded in a similar manner. Once we sustained the initial assault the Lusitani settled into their usual series of rushes of small groups of men, trying first one side of the square then the other, which were easily repulsed. In fact, it seemed to be much easier than it should have been, and it was Calienus who first brought it to our attention.
“Something’s not right,” he muttered from his place in the second rank.
Calienus turned to the Pilus Prior, commanding from a spot in the middle of the square. Lying at his feet were four men who had been wounded thus far, one of them looking as if he would not last the day, which he did not.
“Pilus Prior,” he called out.
“What is it Calienus?”
“Does this seem right to you? I mean, do these bastards seem like they're just trying to hold us in place more than they're trying to kill every one of us?”
The Pilus Prior looked around, taking in each side of the square, his eyes narrowed in thought. Nodding his head, he replied, “You’re right. They’re trying to keep us pinned here while they wait. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but I don’t want to find out.”
Then he leaned down to examine the wounded men, speaking softly so that what he said could not be heard over the din. One of the men shook his head, while the others grimaced as they pulled themselves to their feet. Turning my attention back to the front, I saw that it was my turn to step forward while Romulus, who had originally been directly behind me, pushed the Lusitani away before stepping to the side so that I could take his place.
“Right," the Pilus Prior's voice rang out clearly above the din, "we’re not going to wait around for whatever these bastards have planned for us, so everyone stand ready. When I give the command, we’re going to march out of these woods and try to find some better ground.”
As we exchanged nervous glances, I felt a shiver of dread; we had practiced marching in square a great deal, but this would be the first time that we would be trying to do it while in combat. As if reading our minds, the Pilus Prior called out, “Remember your training boys. This is no different than on the drill field except we have these little bastards as a nuisance. Think of them as you would a rock or a log in the way.”
This brought a nervous chuckle, one in which I did not share. I have been blessed, or cursed depending on how one looks at it, with an overly vivid imagination, but there was no stretch of it that I could make that turned these sweating, howling madmen waving spears in our faces into logs that just happened to be strewn in our path. Thinking about this evidently showed on my face, because I heard a laugh and glanced back to see Vibius smiling at me.
“By the gods Titus, did you just swallow a bug or something?”
“No, I just don’t like logs that are waving a sword at me,” I growled in irritation, which was compounded when he merely laughed again.
“You’re not turning into an old woman are you, Titus?”
I shot him a murderous glance but said nothing. We got ambushed shortly after we entered the wooded area, making the fastest way to clear and higher ground back the way we came. The problem was that the relative safety of that high ground lay in the opposite direction of our camp. However, the Pilus Prior decided this was the lesser of two evils, so we began moving toward our refuge. Vibius and the rest of us on what had been the rear of the square now became the front, so for us it was a straightforward march ahead, pushing those Lusitani who tried to stop us out of the way, or cutting them down if they tried to fight. It was straightforward in that sense only; the front rank has to make sure they are not moving too fast for the two sides of the square, who are sidestepping as they move, which is obviously more difficult than just walking forward. The biggest risk was that we would open up a gap at the junction of where our lines met, which could be exploited by the Lusitani. At this point they were still making a token resistance, losing a few men before contenting themselves with screaming imprecations at us that we could not understand though we could guess the intent because of the gestures involved. They also hurled the occasional rock, not often, just frequently enough to keep us on our toes. However, as hard as the side files had it, it was even worse for the back ranks, forced to back up the whole way. These Legionaries at the rear of the formation were put under the most pressure by the Lusitani, who were darting in and out trying to make one of the men take a careless step backwards and fall. All of these factors meant that we could not move very quickly. Meanwhile, the Pilus Prior and Pilus Posterior of the Second Century, a man named Vetruvius, along with the Optios, Signiferi and cornici of both Centuries all walked within the square, helping the wounded keep up. Pilus Prior Crastinus was calling out the count, with the rest of the officers exhorting us to keep our cohesion, warning men whose alignment was getting too far off and generally trying to make sure we stayed together. The worst part was that if a man went down and was unable to get up, he was left behind, a fate that all of us feared more than a quick death. There had been Legionaries who fell into the hands of the Lusitani during the campaign, and if the tales told about their fates were true, it was not a fitting end for a beast, let alone a man. However, I also know that these tales may have been made up, because if there is one thing that competes with gambling in the heart of a Legionary, it is gossip and lurid tales, the bloodier the better. Finally making it to the edge of the woods, we could see in the distance a large plume of dust hanging in the still air, there generally being no breeze at that time of day. Despite having perhaps a watch and two thirds of one of daylight left, it now being the height of the summer, we all knew that we were in dire straits indeed if we were forced to stay out overnight without the opportunity of making some sort of camp. Yet at that point it did not look like we were going to be given the opportunity to do anything of the sort. Once we entered the clearing, another source of misery came into our lives; while there was no breeze, when we were under the cover of the trees of the woods we at least had shade, but now there was neither. Almost instantly I felt the sweat start to form, and before we went more than a furlong it was running down my face and into my eyes, which I had trouble keeping open because of the sting of the salt in my perspiration. I could not use my arms to wipe the sweat away either; if I moved my shield I would expose Plautius, still on my left, but if I used my sword arm, the time it took to wipe my brow would obscure my vision. This was just the kind of thing the Lusitani were waiting for in order to make some sort of move or to throw a rock while I was not in a position to duck or dodge. Making matters worse, I was not the only one in this condition, as the curses I heard all around me attested to, but despite this hardship we continued to trudge along. The Pilus Prior had pointed to the small, low hill that would be where we tried to make some sort of stand about a half mile away. This may not seem like much, but when you are under constant pressure in the way we were, it is the same as making it back to Rome. It was this small hill I was completely focused on, thinking of nothing else when finally someone made a mistake. Unable to see any more, one of the men in the rear rank walking backwards took the risk of trying to wipe the moisture from his eyes, or at least so I was told later by the man next to him. I do not know why, but for some reason he stumbled and fell, but before he could scramble to his feet a rock sailed from the mass of Lusitani, hitting him square in the face.