“Not bad,” I gasped. “But you should have followed up with a thrust.”
Before he could say anything, I launched a flurry of attacks, my blade flashing as I probed his defenses while he desperately parried every one of my thrusts. Keeping him on the defensive, I did not give him a chance to try his own offensive move, then inevitably, he made a mistake as his arm started to weaken from the constant pressure I was applying. I could have killed him easily enough, but I was impressed by his determination, if not his technique, so instead of the point, I lashed out with the pommel of my sword, catching him flush on the nose, knocking him cold with a blow. He dropped to the ground as if all his bones had suddenly been removed, and I kicked his sword out of his hand in the event that he woke up. He was not going to have the women chasing after him anymore, not with his nose smashed flat, but he would be alive. I took a step back to catch my breath and to see how the rest of the men were faring. After a quick look to left and right, I let out a curse at what I saw; we were in serious trouble.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Pompeians may have been raw youngsters, but they were not giving ground, not an inch. They were standing toe to toe with the most veteran army in the history of Rome, giving as good as they got. I do not know what infused them with such a ferocious spirit to resist as vigorously as they did; perhaps it was the knowledge that this was the final battle and all would be decided, or that their backs were literally pressed against the walls of Munda. Whatever the case, we were not experiencing the kind of success that we had assumed would be easily achieved when we started up the slope. There was not much I could do at this point except try to set an example, so taking a couple of deep breaths, I blew the whistle for the third time to signal a relief change, then stepped back into the line myself. With our numbers so depleted, all of the Centurions had to make a decision about the best way to relieve their men. Some Centurions chose to have each man fight a little longer than he would have if we were up to full strength, thereby giving the relieved men more time to rest, while others chose to have their men fight for a shorter period of time but consequently giving each of them a shorter rest period. I chose to use both methods; in the beginning of the fight I let the men fight longer, then as time wore on, I shortened the fighting period. As Primus Pilus, I could have ordered the Centurions to adopt my method, but that was not my style of leadership, as I remembered how it felt to have every decision made for me by my ranking Centurion. Plunging back into the fighting, I took my frustration out on whatever Pompeian I could close with. Still, they refused to give ground. I was growing more and more tired, and so were the rest of the men. That is when it happened. I sensed more than saw that the numbers of my men around me were thinning. When I risked a glance to either side, my heart fell to my stomach. My men, the men of the 10th, the veterans most renowned in the armies of all of Rome, had begun to take that first, tentative step backwards, and if I did not join them, I was going to be quickly cut off and surrounded. I do not believe I ever cursed so bitterly and with such variety as I disengaged from the man I was facing, bashing him with my shield to knock him off of me before stepping backwards, taking care not to trip over the bodies of the men who had already fallen. By the time I had removed myself, the rest of the Cohort, along with the other Cohorts on the front line, had moved a few paces back down the hill to stand, panting for breath. The ground between the two forces was littered with shields pierced by javelins, fallen men, some dead, but most wounded, moaning for help or crawling back to their respective lines.
“What is the matter with you bastards?” I raged at the men, none of whom dared to look me in the eye, staring sullenly at the ground as their chests heaved. “They’re children, for gods’ sakes! You’re letting yourselves be shamed by children!”
Nobody said a word, a good thing given my state of mind, as I might have run them through if they had tried to make excuses, I was so angry. Fortunately, the Pompeians seemed almost in as much shock as I was, so did not press the advantage, contenting themselves to stand there hurling insults at us. The entire attack, at least on the right wing, had ground to a halt, while no amount of my scorn and threats could make the men move. That is when Caesar proved again why he is the greatest general in the history of Rome.
~ ~ ~ ~
There was a sudden commotion in the rear ranks of the Cohort, as I saw men moving aside to make way for someone moving up to the front. When I saw who it was, I could only stand and gape; it was Caesar, who had grabbed a shield from a man in the rear and was pushing his way to the front of the formation. Following behind him was his gaggle of staff officers, all of them looking panicked. Supposedly, it was from the danger posed to our general, though I suspect that a few of them had not been this close to where the real fighting took place in a long time, if ever.
Caesar was oblivious to the danger, and when he reached my side, he was visibly furious. “Pullus, what's happening here? Why have the men stopped advancing?”
I suddenly felt as if I were a tiro all over again, standing in front of Caesar stammering and shaking, not knowing what to say. In fact, I do not remember what came out of my mouth, and he did not appear to be listening anyway.
Instead, he ripped his helmet off, throwing it on the ground, then stepped far enough away from the front line so that he could be plainly seen by everyone. “Aren’t you ashamed to let your general be beaten by boys?” he roared as he pointed up the hill.
None of us said anything, just remained standing there, panting for breath.
When he saw that his words were not having any effect, he turned to his aides, saying, “If we fail here, it will mean the end of my life and the ruin of your careers.”
Then he turned and began walking up the hill, drawing his sword as he advanced. We stood there as if we were rooted to the spot, the shock of watching our general advance against the enemy alone turning us to stone. The Pompeians seemed to be in as much shock as we were, because all motion, all activity, all noise seemed to cease as every pair of eyes watched Caesar march up the hill. Finally, one of the Pompeian Centurions regained his senses, and I heard him give the command for his men to find some javelins, causing all of us within hearing to let out a gasp.