“Mother,” he whispered as he longed for the maternal comforts that only she could provide. “Father…Kiana, my love.” As he lay dying, his father’s warning rang hollow in his ears. His life was coming to an end before it had even begun. He sobbed in pain and sorrow for the few seconds it took the Roman to swing his pickaxe again. He was not even aware of the subsequent blow that smashed through his helm.
Artorius stepped on the helmeted head as he wrenched his pickaxe free. His titanic strength made punching through the enemies’ armor an easy task. What threw him off was the awkwardness of having to retrieve his weapon, which became stuck with every blow. As he stumbled back, Valens rushed in and rammed his shield into another armored rebel who, impeded by the weight of his armor, stumbled to the ground.
“Go for the throat!” Artorius yelled. “There’s a gap just beneath the helm and the chest!”
Valens saw this as well and ran his gladius across the man’s neck.
Artorius watched briefly as the rebel thrashed in the throes of death, blood gushing through the gap in his armor. As he did so, another rebel came at him, screaming wildly, sword raised high. Artorius rushed forward, raised his pickaxe over his head and brought it down with a crushing blow that punctured the man’s heart. As his adversary fell dead, Artorius found his pickaxe wrenched from his hand. Before he could move to retrieve it, he had yet another armored enemy bearing down on him.
In a move that surprised the rebel, Artorius rushed him, quickly getting between the man’s buckler and sword. With his left hand he grabbed his opponent’s wrist, and wrapped his right arm around his waist. With maddening strength he threw the rebel over his hip and hard onto the ground. Rapidly he drew his gladius and fell on top of the man. He wrenched the rebel’s face mask up as he raised his weapon to strike. The face that looked up at him in terror was not that of a man, but of a boy. The lad looked to be in his mid-teens at the most; not even old enough to require a shave. Artorius was shocked; he flashed back briefly to the young German boy who had tried to fight him. He then grimaced hard and rammed his gladius into the lad’s neck. The rebel’s eyes grew wide as blood gushed from his neck and mouth. Artorius wrenched his weapon free as the boy’s eyes glazed over, devoid of life.
He looked to his left and right and saw what had become a disorganized brawl. The legionaries were working well in pairs, but they were starting to scatter amongst the mass of armored rebels. He watched as Magnus smashed his pickaxe into the back of a foe. Gavius then rammed his shield into their stricken enemy as Magnus wrenched his weapon free. Artorius then sheathed his gladius as he scrambled over to retrieve his own pickaxe from his slain adversary’s chest.
“You alright?” Valens asked as they paired up once again.
“I am. You?”
The legionary nodded in reply.
Without another word they sought out other foes to slay. Valens would tie up a rebel by hammering him with his shield, while Artorius swung around either side and slew them with his pickaxe. Macro and Camillus could be seen paired up together, the centurion electing to carry a pickaxe while the signifier protected him. As he was not carrying the century’s signum into battle, Camillus had elected to go without the wolf's skin over his helmet and shoulders. He also wielded a standard legionary scutum shield, as opposed to the much smaller circular one that he normally carried.
“Keep it up, lads!” Macro shouted. “They’re breaking!”
Proculus grasped the pommel of his gladius roughly. He watched the frenzied melee taking place to their direct front and was anxious to get the rest of the cohort into the fray. Macro and Vitruvius were doing a spectacular job of mauling the enemy’s armored troops, and Proculus knew he had to time his advance well. The main force of Sacrovir’s army was arrayed behind these men, and he needed to make certain that he was able to push his remaining centuries past the Second and Third in order to keep their formations intact once they engaged. Sacrovir’s men in the van were falling rapidly, and he knew it would not be long.
“Our armored troops are being mauled by the Romans!” Taranis growled. From their vantage it looked as if the legionaries were chopping down small trees with their pickaxes.
“The majority of their forces are holding fast,” Belenus observed. “Their front ranks are dispatching our armored men so as to keep their formations intact.”
“Taranis,” Sacrovir replied, “ready the main force to attack.”
Just then they were able to make out the dust coming from the hooves of the Roman cavalry. They formed up on either side of the legions and were moving at a slow gallop. Sacrovir was able to make out the form of Julius Indus on the right, being as he was bearing a sword instead of a lance. He scowled at the sight.
“And so the traitor Indus has returned.”
“Wedge formation. . lances ready!” Indus shouted, as his force closed with the left wing of Sacrovir’s army.
The legions were heavily engaged with the armored men in the center. All Indus and his cavalry faced were light-armed skirmishers and infantry. They grew closer. He raised his sword and nodded to the horn blower who rode next to him. As the charge was sounded, Indus gave a great cry and spurred his horse to a full sprint.
The rebel forces on the wings were in no way prepared for the ferocity of Indus’ assault. Panic swept their ranks as the wall of men on chargers raced towards them, lances pointed at their hearts.
“Set your spears, keep together!” Torin shouted.
The gallop of the Roman chargers was growing louder. Ellard swallowed hard at the sight.
“Fuck this!” he retorted. “I’m not going to stand here and get trampled by one of those beasts!”
“Nor am I,” Radek said in a low voice. He scowled and watched as Indus’ cavalry rapidly drew closer.
Many were stirring amongst the rebel ranks. All seemed to understand that in order to stop the horsemen, they would have to chance being trampled and ran through. Yet no one wished to be that man who died so that the others might live.
“Gods damn it, stay together!” Torin was in a rage. “It is our only chance of survival!”
“Like bloody hell it is!” Ellard shouted. He turned and started shoving his way back through the mob behind him. “Get out of my way!”
Ellard and Radek both threw down their weapons as they sought to escape. Their panic proved infectious. Those bearing spears and shields immediately forgot their discipline, as well as the tactics that Heracles had taught them for repelling cavalry. Instead of forming a wall of spears in the way the legions were famous for, they started to break and run; too late for most of them. The cornicen’s trumpet could be heard clearly; the pulsing sound of horses galloping and men yelling became deafening. His escape clogged by the disorganized mob that could not decide whether to fight or flee, Ellard turned back in time to see the Roman chargers bearing down upon him. He let out a resigned sigh as a lance was run through his side. He collapsed to the ground as his guts were torn from his body. His intestines were mutilated; parts of them left hanging from the Roman’s lance. He clenched his teeth as the unbearable pain engulfed him.
As the cavalry continued to smash into their ranks, men were skewered by lances, while others were trampled underneath. The Roman cavalry penetrated deep into their mass before engaging in a frenzied melee. Radek caught a lance in the back as he tried to flee. He screamed in pain as he stumbled into the dirt. As he sought to regain his feet, a Roman brought his lance straight down, catching him in the back of the leg. Another cry of pain erupted from his mouth as he slowly crawled away, seeking an escape from amongst the carnage. The body of a mortally wounded rebel fell on top of him, pinning him to the ground. The injuries to his leg and back prevented him from rolling over and removing the man. The stricken rebel thrashed about, his fist slamming into the gash on Radek’s back. The pain became too much, and he blacked out.