Once they were quiet, he began speaking. “Comrades, today is the day for which we have been striving for so long now. We can end this madness today with one more effort. Can I count on the men of the 10th?”
The men roared their promise to give our general their all. He raised his hand again, then smiled down at us, the radiance of it reminding me why he had the reputation with women that he did.
“I knew that I could.”
He turned his attention to me, our eyes meeting as he favored me with a nod of his head, then said loudly so that all the men of the leading Centuries could hear. “Here we are, Primus Pilus Pullus, together again. I remember the day I decorated you for the first time some 16 years ago. I told you then that I expected great things from you, and you haven't disappointed me. Will you give me great deeds again today, my giant friend?”
Knowing that his words were for the men as much as they were for me, I replied in a tone that matched his. “Yes, Caesar, you can count on me to do whatever is necessary to bring you victory.” I theatrically drew my Gallic blade, raising it so that everyone could see it. “I will soak this blade in Pompeian blood or I will be carried off the field, I swear this on Mars and Bellona.”
The men again roared their approval, as Caesar answered so that only I could hear, “Let’s hope that it doesn't come to that, Pullus.” He gave me a grin, started to turn away, then turned and asked me, “Have you ever thought of politics, Pullus?”
I could not suppress my surprise, nor my laugh as I replied, “Gods no. I'm sorry, Caesar, but I'm afraid that my stomach isn't strong enough.”
He laughed giving a nod of his head as he galloped away to deliver his speech to the rest of the army. I sheathed my sword, shaking my head in amusement at the thought of me in a sparkling white toga, striking the orator’s pose as I begged the masses for their vote. I would rather fall in the field than run for office, I remember thinking. I was about to get my wish.
~ ~ ~ ~
Once Caesar had finished his speech, the cornu sounded the call to advance, and we began moving towards the waiting Pompeians. When we reached the small stream, it became clear that while it was narrow, a strip of marshy ground on either side extended for several feet, which quickly bogged us down as we sank into the muck. Larger men like me were plunged mid-calf into the stinking mud as our cohesion quickly fell apart, men struggling to extricate themselves with each step. I anxiously watched the Pompeians, sure that they would see us in difficulty and try to gain an advantage by advancing on us while we were vulnerable, but they remained standing at the top of the hill. If the situation was reversed and it had been Caesar standing up there, I have no doubt that he would have seized the moment to strike.
Fortunately, Gnaeus was neither experienced nor bold enough, so we only had to contend with the sticky mud. It took several moments for us to negotiate the stream, then once on the other side, many of the men were covered in filth from where they had slipped and fallen. All of us were panting for breath from the exertion required to make it across. Caesar had moved from his accustomed spot in the center to ride at the head of the 10th, and seeing the condition of the men called a halt when we reached the bottom of the slope. There was a rumble of grumbling at the halt by some of the men, who had prepared themselves for the lung-bursting madness of the headlong assault uphill at that moment. They chafed at the delay, but Caesar had seen that we were already out of breath and wanted to give us a moment. There was an unexpected benefit as the Pompeians, mistaking our pause for fear of facing them, in turn moved a short distance down the hill towards us, closing the distance. Caesar snapped an order to his cornicen and the command to close ranks sounded, the men automatically tightening together, an order that I did not particularly agree with, because it was a blade that cut both ways. While it meant that our force was concentrated so the impact of our charge would be greater, it also meant that we would be more vulnerable to the javelins that the Pompeians were even now preparing to throw. We could hear the shouted commands of the Pompeian Centurions to ready the javelins, then saw their arms sweeping back. At the same time, Caesar’s cornicen sounded the charge, immediately echoed by the other cornu up and down the line, followed by the verbal commands of our Centurions. I turned to the 10th as I drew my sword, bellowing out something, I do not remember what, then turned back to begin the charge up the hill.
~ ~ ~ ~
We had gone only a few steps when the Pompeians released their first volley of javelins, the air turning black with missiles streaking towards us.
“SHIELDS UP!”
Javelins slammed into our front line, in a flurry as thick as any I have ever seen and most certainly had been on the receiving end of, yet somehow I was not struck, despite not having a shield. Screams of pain added to the din of the assault, and I could tell by the sounds that we were hard hit by the volley. I turned to look, dismayed to see that my front line was absolutely savaged. It seemed that at least one out of every three men was either hit outright or had their shields pierced, and it was only the first volley. The Centurions and Optios were working feverishly to restore our cohesion and alignment, while in the instant of relative quiet before the next volley, I reached down to grab a shield from one of my men who no longer needed it. We continued up the slope, the second volley slamming into us, stripping more men of their shields and inflicting more casualties. However, instead of demoralizing the men, it made them even angrier, and a low growl began to issue from the ranks. We had waited to get closer before launching our own javelins, and when the cornu sounded the command, we unleashed our own volley, the shorter range meaning that our javelins did more damage, pinning men’s shields together or even passing all the way through one man to lodge in another. Now it was the Pompeians’ turn to cry out in pain and fear, eliciting a savage shout of delight from our ranks. The slope of the hill was steeper than it had looked from a distance, and I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs as I tried to catch my breath for the final charge. Not wanting to lose the momentum gained from our first volley, Caesar ordered the cornicen to sound the final assault rather than loose another, the men dropping their remaining javelin to draw their swords. As soon as all blades were out, we sprinted the remaining distance to where the Pompeians waited for us. I picked out a Centurion standing in his place then headed for him, and we slammed together with terrific force. My weight pushed him back, but only a step before he steadied himself as we bashed at each other with our shields, looking for an opening. All around us were the cracking sounds of shields splintering or metal ringing as blades struck, interspersed with the wet, sucking sound as someone found a fleshy target, followed by howls of pain or cries of despair when the wound was mortal. Men were cursing at each other as both sides poured out their rage and frustration, and at least this time we all understood each other. My opponent was highly skilled, so neither of us could gain an advantage. I was already winded from the sprint up the hill, and I fought back a sense of panic as our private battle wore on, feeling myself growing more and more tired with the strain. The Centurion that I was facing naturally was shorter than I was, but he was older, his skin as brown as old shoe leather and as tough from the looks of it. I remember that he had extremely thick eyebrows that pointed downwards above his nose, giving him the look of a man who was always angry, and now his eyebrows were almost meeting as he did his best to end my days. He was extremely quick, though I was just a shade faster, but I was wearing down while he seemed to be maintaining his strength. It was only one of those strokes of luck that gave me an opening, when the man next to him suddenly fell sideways, crashing into my opponent, causing him to stagger. For just an instant he had to move his shield arm away from his body in order to maintain his balance, but it was enough and I was not about to let the opportunity slip away. I thrust hard with my blade, held parallel to the ground, sweeping upwards to catch him just below the breastbone, the point punching through his mail. His breath whooshed out of his mouth, blasting me with the smell of vinegary wine and garlic, his eyes widening in shock as he gave me a look I had seen so many times before. He fell backwards as I recovered back to the first position, but before I could take advantage of the hole created, the man behind him stepped over his body and in perfect training ground fashion, lashed out at me with his own shield, sending a terrific shock up my arm. I grunted, not as much in pain but in surprise as I looked over the rim of my shield into the eyes of a youngster who managed to look terrified but determined at the same time.