“Gladius draw!”
“Rah!” Two waves of javelins and the Second Century was down to using their gladii. Artorius and the men in the first rank set in their fighting stances, bracing for the initial impact of the coming storm. Those in the second rank braced their shields against their brothers to their front, each man pushing off against the auxilia step with his back foot.
As in almost every battle they had taken part in, the enemy’s momentum stalled slightly as those at the front of the charge came to grips with the sight of the legionary shield wall. It was not that the Frisians were cowards. No, it was simply a matter of instinct born into all men; the desire to survive. It took inhuman amounts of courage to overcome these instincts and throw one’s body into the mass of Roman shields and flashing swords.
That pause, which was so insignificant it was hardly noticeable, was all the Romans needed to withstand the initial shock. Frisian warriors crashed with abandon into their formation, and the chaotic frenzy ensued. As the legionaries in the first rank held their ground, braced by their comrades, they started to strike back, discipline and training taking over. Hand axes, short swords, and stabbing spears pounded the shield wall as legionaries struck back with blows from their shields and quick stabs with the gladii. The Frisians were experts at close combat, and therefore well matched against their adversaries. For a time, it seemed like neither side was gaining the advantage.
The Romans’ armor offered excellent protection against blows that did penetrate the shield wall. Conversely, the Frisians were mostly devoid of any protective armor aside from the occasional crude helmet or leather cuirass, and the strikes of legionary weapons soon started to cut down some of the warriors. A handful of bodies were already piling up in front of the line.
Artorius was frustrated that he was mostly on the defensive and was constantly tilting his shield up and slamming it into his foes to keep them off balance. Even when he did manage to stab with his gladius it was usually deflected away. In the first few minutes only one of his blows managed to draw blood, and even that was only a minor gash to the side of a Frisian. There were at least three warriors attacking him directly, and his focus on staying alive almost kept him from remembering his responsibilities to the rest of the Century.
“Set for passage-of-lines!” he shouted as he ducked low to avoid the swing of a large two-handed club wielded by an enormous warrior, which continued its swing into the face of one of his countrymen. The command was echoed down the line as he lunged forward from the crouch and stabbed the man in the stomach. A satisfied grin was fixed to his face as the once imposing enemy fell to the bloody ground, screaming in horrifying pain.
“Auxilia…now!” was his next command. With a shout, their allied troops rose up on their step and stabbed with their spears over the heads of the legionaries to their front. This caught the Frisians completely by surprise, and a number took spear thrusts to their faces and necks. As the enemy reeled, the Centurion gave his quick command of execution.
“Valeria!”
“Valeria!” the men of the second rank echoed as they charged forward to replace the front line, the short gap created by the auxilia spears giving them the momentum needed to smash into the Frisian horde.
Gaius felt as if his very soul had come unleashed. He had been in the second rank during the first part of the battle, feeling the numbing blows against his shield as the soldier to his front fought for his life. He had completely forgotten about the auxiliaries behind him and was taken aback when he felt one of them bumping up against his shoulder as he stabbed over the top with his spear. Gaius could not help but feel euphoric when he saw the spear catch a Frisian directly in the eye and saw the spurt of blood come shooting out.
Upon the Centurion’s command, he lunged past the legionary to his front and would have flown straight out of formation had the enemy warriors to his front not stopped him. He was surprised when the blow of his shield knocked a warrior onto his ass. However, before he could follow up with a stab to the man’s vitals, another warrior immediately took his place and proceeded to smash Gaius’ shield with a quick succession of blows from his hand axe. When it seemed like the man was tiring and the young legionary could strike back with his gladius, another warrior took his place and continued the assault. The Frisians were using the Romans’ own tactics against them! The only difference was that the legionaries would replace entire lines with fresh troops; the Frisians were doing it as individuals.
Tabbo continued to spur his warriors forward, though he himself was anxious to get in on the fighting. He was surprised his army had lost its momentum. He forced his way to the far left of his force and had to wade out into the raging current of the river in order to see what was happening. As he clung to a hanging branch, he was shocked when he saw that the Roman lines still held. He caught sight of the crest on top of the helm of the Centurion commanding this miniscule opposition. Tabbo growled at the realization that in the narrow gap, his forces were bunched up and his numbers meant nothing. The legions had withstood the initial shock of his charge, now there would be much hard fighting in order to break them. He cursed himself and realized he should have known better.
He then made his way back to his men and started shoving his way towards the front. Only his warriors directly engaging the Romans, and those a few ranks back, were making any kind of noise. With their momentum halted, the rest simply stood shaking their weapons in the air in restless anticipation. Those on the right kept their shields overhead as they continued to take fire from the archers on the rocks. As he got closer to the actual battle, the crowd of warriors became more spread out until he was within about a dozen meters of the Roman line. There, a force of his men, perhaps twice the number of legionaries, was furiously engaging their hated foe. The rest stayed back, knowing that bunching too close together would do them no good. Instead, they shouted words of encouragement, with small groups charging into the fray as battered and wounded warriors struggled out.
Tabbo saw three of his men engaging the enemy Centurion. Another lay dead at the Roman’s feet, his eyes open, yet unseeing. He gave a loud bark, and the three men stepped back, eyes on their war chief.
“The Centurion is mine!” he bellowed. His warriors all nodded and turned to help their friends fighting the rest of the Roman force. Tabbo was impressed at the sight of his adversary. Though shorter than himself, this Roman was big. Granted, in their heavy armor all Romans looked much larger than they were, but this man was huge. Tabbo was glad, because he did not want to slay an inadequate foe. He limbered up his right arm, in which he carried a hand axe that bore a spike on the end, as well as on the back side. As a war chief he possessed much wealth and could have easily afforded a good sword. Instead, he found his trusted axe much more to his liking. His lips were drawn back in an evil grin as he raised his weapon high, and then pointed it at the Centurion, giving a nod. The Roman returned the grin and the gesture, then settling into his fighting stance. Devoid of war cry or any other sound, Tabbo rushed forward, his axe swinging freely by his side, ready to strike.
Artorius was impressed by the ferocity and fighting skill of his enemy. He knew the man to be a war chief, or at least a leader of sorts amongst the Frisians. He was not only powerful, but very quick with his weapons. He struck hard and fast with his axe, and he also knew how to effectively use his smaller oblong shield as a weapon, much in the same manner as a legionary. Their shields came together time and again, with the Frisian following up with short, rapid slashes with his weapon. He was able to keep his shield at the ready, thereby deflecting most of Artorius’ counterstrikes with his gladius. No other warriors came at him; they were letting the two men engage in single combat. At one point, when the Frisian knocked Artorius back with a short charge and shield collision, Rufio looked to step in and assist.