Calienus started to rise, then Scribonius asked him quietly, “But how long are we going to have to hold this hill? I see that you’re right about the way they're going to attack, but I have to believe that it’s a good chance that there'll be other Lusitani showing up before too long.”
Calienus nodded. “You’re right, and I forgot, that’s what I was supposed to tell you before I got off course patting Pullus' ass for him,” this brought a round of laughter, and despite being the butt of the joke I found myself joining in. “The Pilus Prior wanted us to pass the word that we’ll probably have to hold this hill through the night and the first couple of watches tomorrow, but since we weren’t sent on an overnight patrol, Caesar will know that we’re in trouble. The command group also knows where we were assigned, so they’ll immediately send aid, probably the rest of the Cohort.”
This cheered us up immensely; at least having some sort of finite time where we could expect help was a tremendous boost to our morale. Once Calienus was done, we stood and took our places, ready to face the Lusitani.
Pilus Prior Crastinus had ordered us to construct our defense tightly enough that roughly only half of us stood at the parapet at any one time. Although this lowered the number of swords we could bring to bear, it meant that we were able to be relieved, and would have someone else to step in should we fall. Provided that we did not lose more men than we could replace, I remember thinking. In the center of the ring we piled all of our excess equipment, forming a last-ditch set of breastworks in the event the parapet was breached and became untenable. Naturally, we were forced to lose the cattle and forage when we marched to the hill, but that just gave us one less thing to worry about as far as we were concerned; their numbers could always be made up. Our breastworks were not much, yet perhaps they would serve, but I prayed that we would not have to find out. Once again, I had chosen to be next to Vibius, who gazed out over the waving, threatening mob with an expressionless face.
Sensing that I was looking at him, he turned to me and asked, “Is it in a safe place?”
We both burst out laughing, causing looks of disbelief and snorts of derision to be thrown our way, but we were oblivious to it, quickly finding ourselves laughing hysterically, neither of us able to stop. Finally, we heard the voice of the Pilus Prior growling behind us.
“I wonder if you two laughing boys would find it funny if I pitched both of you on the other side of the ditch?”
That immediately shut us up, so we turned back to our foe, who were just sending forth their slingers, appearing to number about 80 men.
“Slingers!”
Someone shouted the warning and we automatically lifted our shields, resting them side by side on the parapet, creating an impenetrable wall. At least as long as nobody got anxious to have a peek like last time, I thought, though hopefully everyone had learned their lesson. Recalling the pulverized face of the man I walked over during our assault on the town, I knew that I had at least. Because the slingers were intent on trying to hit all of us, they too were spread around the base of the hill, making the fire much less concentrated than what we faced attacking the wall of that first town. Still, the sound of the lead and rock missiles cracking against the faces of our shields was loud and constant enough to dominate any attempt at conversation. Instead, we were forced to content ourselves with affecting profound boredom, conspicuously yawning to show our comrades that this was now old news for us, and was nothing to give much thought or worry about. Even so, someone had to peek, except this time it was someone I knew. Didius decided to try being sly by peeking around the edge of his shield, but his effort was rewarded by a sharp crack, instantly followed by the hollow ring of something striking metal, whereupon he collapsed in a heap. Immediately, the man behind him, kneeling just a few feet away, crawled over to him, looked into his face and frowned. Despite my loathing of him, I felt a pang of sympathy, remembering that I had seen a missile do exactly the same thing as what appeared to have happened to Didius.
As all this was happening Romulus, standing next to Didius, called out, “Achilles is down!” This elicited a sharp reaction from everyone around us, since we were the only ones at that point to use the nickname.
“Who in Hades is Achilles?” snapped the Pilus Prior as he crouched over to us.
“Er…….I meant Didius, sir. Sorry.”
“You will be, trust me you little cunnus. I don’t care if you call him Aphrodite, next time use his proper name so I know who it is. I don’t have the time to learn all your pet lover’s names." Turning to the man checking on him, he asked, “Is he dead?”
Even I was somewhat relieved when the man shook his head. “No sir. It looks like it deflected off his shield first, then his helmet and hit him in the forehead. He’s out cold, but he’s breathing, and it doesn’t look like his skull is broken. In fact, there’s not much of a bump here at all.”
I, along with all my tentmates twisted our heads sharply, exchanging glances, and I know we were all thinking the same thing. However, the Pilus Prior at this point was unaware of Didius’ history and merely ordered, “Then drag him over to the middle behind the breastworks. Maybe he’ll come to and be of some use.”
The man complied, taking care not to rise above the level of the parapet since the missiles were still whizzing around. Grabbing Didius by the harness, he began dragging him, prompting me to look over at my tentmate once he was at a point where I could clearly see his face. He did have a mark on his forehead, a red bump, but there was no bleeding and it did not look terribly damaging. Just as the man pulled him over the breastworks and I continued watching, my heart leapt when I swore, for just a heartbeat, that I saw Didius open his eyes before quickly shutting them again. Immediately I told Vibius what I thought I had seen, and he looked back at Didius who was still lying unconscious, or pretending to, his lips compressed into a thin line of contempt.
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all, the bastard,” he said quietly.
“Do you think I should tell the Pilus Prior?”
He considered, then shook his head. “The Pilus Prior doesn’t know about the ladder, but what he does know is that you two hate each other, so he’s unlikely to take what you say seriously.”
I nodded; he was right. Besides, there were more important things to worry about at that moment besides one coward, and it was coming up the hill towards us. After waiting a few moments for the slingers to try inflicting damage, with only Didius being brought to the breastworks, heartening as it was, the Lusitani began marching up the hill. Speaking frankly, I can use the word marching only in the loosest sense, since it was more of a shambling half-trot, replete with the usual complement of screaming and hopping. The slingers, because of their position downhill, were forced to lift their barrage almost immediately to avoid hitting their own men, and the Lusitani were rapidly approaching the range of our javelins.
“Prepare Javelins!”
At the command, we assumed the position, our right foot back, right arm pulled all the way back with the shaft of the javelin laying on the length of the arm, the hardened point aimed skyward to create the arc that helped it pick up momentum. My arm trembled a bit as I readied my body for the effort, choosing not so much a target but a spot where I wanted it to land, confident that there would be a man occupying that space when it arrived.