“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.
Our effort to clear the second wall and move away from it took most of the day. First we would clear a section, with the Gallaeci falling back into the relative safety of the lean-tos and shacks arrayed on the slopes of the hill, but then they would reorganize and rally before we could move out from the wall. They would come rushing back, and more than once we found ourselves with our backs literally to the second wall, fighting desperately to maintain our formation and not get slaughtered piecemeal trying to claw our way back up to the parapet. After a couple of setbacks like this, we kept a reserve force standing on the parapet who would first fling whatever javelins they found to help relieve the pressure, then use the discarded longer spears that the Gallaeci favored, stabbing down at the enemy over our heads as we fought. In this manner we never had to face the prospect of trying to withdraw back over the wall, although it was a close-run thing. During one particularly vicious encounter, I was slashed down my right arm just as I was parrying a thrust from a spear, an opportunistic Gallaeci next to the man I was fighting lashing out with a short blade, scoring my arm from the elbow to just an inch or two above my wrist. While the cut was not particularly deep, it felt like someone poured liquid fire in a line down my arm; even now as I am dictating this I can see the scar clearly, although it has turned white with age. Despite myself I let out a yelp of pain, then gritted my teeth and took savage delight in gutting the man who cut me, laughing brutally into his face as he dropped to his knees, his eyes on me as he died. The blood from the wound ran freely for some time before it clotted; a wave of dizziness struck me after a few moments and I was sure that I was going to collapse on the ground, at the worst possible time. Somehow I found the reserves needed to maintain my footing, once again feeling the rage start to flow through me, giving me a burst of energy. Snarling like a wild animal, I bashed an older warrior with the boss of my shield, shoving him back to give me room to move forward while thrusting and slashing at any patch of bare flesh that I saw. The men around me began roaring their own war cries, feeding off the renewed energy as our group began pushing back away from the wall, moving steadily forward. Other smaller groups saw us and fought their way to us so that after several moments of non-stop fighting, we had gathered perhaps half the Cohort. The Pilus Prior saw our group and made his way to us, using us as a rallying point, and while he had the horns sound the command to form on the standard of our Cohort, I took the time to try binding my wound, taking the neckerchief we wore to keep our armor from chafing our necks off a dead Legionary, Plautius as it turned out, then with some help tied it around my arm. It was a bit restricting, though I was fairly confident that once we started fighting again I would not notice, which is what happened. Meanwhile, the 9th had made their way to a point where they had begun firing the shelters and other combustibles, and the wind, picking up in the day as it is prone to do in that part of the world, had begun to whip its way up the hill, sending a pall of smoke in our direction that was irritating yet not thick enough to obscure our vision. The Gallaeci, seeing us rally and form up, gave their own commands so that a large number of their warriors clustered together, ready to oppose our progress up the hill.