“You can’t leave Pullus,” this was Calienus, and I knew that I should turn back to my post, yet I had made up my mind.
“I have to Sergeant, they need our help.”
“Maybe, but we haven't been given orders to move yet.”
“I think that it’s too dark for anyone to fully know what’s going on,” I replied desperately, pushing against his hand.
“So you know better than the Pilus Prior?” This provoked a laugh from Calienus, and I could tell that he was not going to bend. But neither was I, so I used my size once again to bear over him.
“Sergeant, I’m going over there. If you want to have me flogged for it, fine. But I know they need our help.”
Pushing past him, I was torn that he did not try stopping me since a large part of me was screaming at myself to stay put, and I walked perhaps only ten paces when something came rolling out of the gloom to bounce into my legs. Almost tripping and falling, I just managed to catch myself then moved to kick whatever it was away, but when my foot touched something wet, warm and yielding, I peered down and again had to fight the urge to vomit. It was a head, and even in the gloom I could see that there was a Roman helmet on top of it.
I walked into the jaws of Cerberus. It was not a false alarm; the wall in fact was breached and the struggle to contain the incursion created an inward bulge as the Lusitani pushed across the barrier. They were now feeding men into this pocket that their warriors created, trying desperately to exploit the crack in our defenses. Even as I drew closer it was hard to tell exactly what was going on as men slashed and hacked at our thin line, now reduced to a single line of Legionaries desperately holding them back. The Pilus Prior was bellowing out; locating him from the sound of his voice, I rushed to a spot in the line as far away from him as I could get. I knew I was taking a huge risk defying the latest order I was given, but I reasoned that if things were as bad as they appeared, we were all dead men anyway, and if we turned them back it would take all of us to do so.
Picking a man, I braced him from behind, causing him to glance back. “Thanks, I was about done in,” I heard him gasp.
“When you get a chance, I’ll relieve you,” I answered and instantly a small voice inside me began cursing myself. What was I volunteering for? Certain death? I could do my part right where I was, the voice said. You’re already in enough trouble Titus old boy, without compounding it by putting yourself in a position where you will certainly be killed. Such is the nature of that voice, one I have learned is in every Legionary, and I suspect in all of us. There seems to be a part of you whose only goal is to keep you alive, at all costs, yet what makes man different from the rest of all the animals is that we can choose not to listen to that voice. Ignoring that voice is what defines us, at least in the Legions. So when I felt the man in front of me make a huge effort, tensing up just before thrusting his shield into the body of a Lusitani to send him staggering back, I took my cue, moving quickly into his place. Panting his thanks, I felt him holding me an instant later as the man he threw off came back, sending a shock up my arm when he smashed his blade into my shield, turning my arm numb. In the darkness I could not tell much about the man except for his size, which was average despite packing quite a punch for his stature. He came at me again, his second blow as strong as the first, and I could feel my grip slipping as the numbness spread to my hand and fingers, knowing that another blow like that might knock the shield from my hand. Instead of waiting for it I took a half step forward, lashing out with the shield, using my boss as the weapon and I was gratified to hear a crunching sound accompanied by a muffled scream as I smashed his face. Stunned by the pain, he was standing there stationary, making a perfect target for the thrust of the sword that I followed up with and he toppled over, falling on top of what appeared to be a Legionary. My first kill was immediately replaced by another man, his outline in the dark telling me he was slightly larger, except he used his body as a weapon, smashing into me and thinking to knock me back, but I was braced by my comrade behind me so when he reached out to grab hold of the rim of the shield, with a grim smile I struck, this time taking the whole hand instead of just fingers. This was the pattern for the next few moments; truthfully I have no idea how much time went by, but judging from the fatigue I felt when there was a brief respite it was a substantial period. I was satisfied that there was now a small pile of dead and dying in front of me, the wounded still trying to crawl to safety, making the tangle of limbs and torsos shift eerily in front of me in the moonlight, and if I had not known the cause, I might have thought there was something otherworldly about it. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, the man behind me asking if I wanted to be relieved. Just as I was about to say yes, I thought better of it and shook my head. Thinking back, I believe this was the first appearance of a trait and belief that I developed over the years, which was my reluctance to trust my fate to others if I was able to have any say in it. Part of it was the hubris of youth, to be sure; however, it was also based in a belief I have in myself that I am the best arbiter of my destiny and whenever possible, I should take control of the situation. I will say that he did not argue too hard about it.
The respite lasted perhaps a span of 50 normal heartbeats, certainly no longer, before the assault was renewed and finally our wall of men protecting the pocket from expansion broke when a Legionary fell from a wound and there was nobody to step into his place. Hearing the roar of triumph from the Lusitani, I immediately sensed a flurry of movement as their men rushed to exploit the gap, accompanied by the shout of our two Centurions as they met the enemy from their spot behind us. The clash of metal and the thuds of blows to the wood of our shield wall increased as well, the growth of the pocket meaning that more men could fill it.
“All those on relief on me, at the double!”
This came from the Pilus Prior and the message was unmistakable; the enemy was within our thin dirt wall. Turning to my relief I gasped out, between exchanging blows with a man who stank of onions, “Here, you take my place and I’ll go.”
He had already turned to leave, but came back readily enough, patting me on the back to let me know he was there. The onion man, wielding a huge club, swung it over his head in an obvious attempt to inflict a devastating downward blow that would split my shield and dash my brains out at one stroke but I was ready, launching a simple thrust over the top of my shield before he could bring the club down, hitting him in the throat. Feeling the grating of bone that told me the blade had exited the back of his head, I withdrew as quickly as I struck. In the time it took for him to collapse, I moved aside, breathlessly thanking my relief as I hurried to the Pilus Prior’s voice. Tripping a couple of times as I stumbled on bodies at my feet, one of them uttered a short cry before hurling curses at me as I stepped over him, while I mumbled an apology. Reaching a spot where I could make out the Pilus Prior, who was now as engaged as the rest of the men around him, I could not help admiring his form and economy, seeing his blade glint in the moonlight, making a silvery streak in the air as it struck, each blow being rewarded with a scream or gasp of pain and surprise. Then I saw another one of our men go down, alive but wounded, before attempting to pull his body under his shield, dragging it on top of himself as the victor stepped over him while drawing his arm back to drive his spear into the back of the Pilus Prior, who was engaged with another Lusitani. Letting out the loudest bellow of rage that I had ever uttered, it startled the Lusitani just enough that it stayed his hand for the fraction of the heartbeat that I needed to jump across the space between us. Crastinus was just starting to turn at the sound of my shout as, while still in mid-air, I violated the elementary rule that the point beats the edge, swinging my arm while twisting my body to add to the force, and in one smooth motion my blade sliced through the tissue and bone that composed the Lusitani’s neck. His head flew up in the air as I landed, tumbling crazily and spurting blood in all directions as the torso, the heart still sending a fountain of blood spraying several inches in the air above the stump of his neck, stood for a second as if trying to decide what to do before crumpling in a heap to the ground. When I landed, it was with one foot striking another body, so that for a sickening moment, I found my arms whirling as I tried to maintain my balance, knowing that if I went to the ground I was dead. Finally managing to restore my footing, I saw the Pilus Prior peering at me in the gloom, trying to determine who had just saved him, and I gave him a wave and a smile.