“Leave him be; he’s all mine.”
I heard a curse, the voice familiar, but I gave it no more thought as I lunged towards the Pompeian, who whipped his shield around to block my thrust, exactly what I had hoped for, my thrust a feint without my full force behind it. For an instant, his shield was out of position, and my feint aimed low, as he dropped it just a fraction to block, leaving a gap where his throat was exposed. Whipping the blade up, as it thrust home, our eyes met and I saw the despair in them, along with the knowledge that he was bested. Usually I felt a fierce exultation when I killed a man in combat, but I felt nothing but sadness at ending the Centurion’s life. He toppled off the parapet, leaving me to stand there motionless for a moment, absorbed in sorrow that matters had come to this. If any of the Pompeians had their wits about them, they could have ended me right then, but the death of their Centurion shook them as much as it had me, and like me, they remained motionless staring at him for a moment before I heard my name called.
“Titus, you better pull your head out of your ass,” I looked up sharply at those words that could have earned a man a flogging to see Vibius standing there, looking uncertainly at me. Shaking my head, I shoved him with an elbow and quietly said, “Thanks,” then pushed past him.
We had made a breach, but we were not done by a long shot.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Pompeians had lost control of the parapet on this side, yet we still had to clear the side where the ballista was located, and I saw the Pompeians desperately trying to pull up the stakes that stabilized the piece so that they could turn it on us. The Second Century had arrived at the breach, but I saw that our opening was too narrow to feed the rest of the Cohort in with any speed. Once the Second poured through the gap, where I directed them to head for the catapult, I stopped the Third Century, pointing to another spot in the palisade.
“Open a breach there,” I directed, then indicated another spot, ordering the Fourth Century to attack that.
Finally, I turned to the bucinator and ordered him to sound the call for the Sixth Century to come to join us. I still planned to keep them in reserve, but I wanted them closer. Returning my attention back to the fight, I saw that the Pompeians were themselves busy; in the small forum of the fort, they were gathering quickly, men either coming from other parts of the wall or disengaging from the fight if they were able to trot back to where their Centurions were calling for them. Scanning the inside of the redoubt, I estimated that they had perhaps half a Cohort, seeing only two Centurions, the third lying dead at my feet. The only problem was that it appeared that they were close to full strength, meaning that they had almost as many men as we did. Despite killing or wounding quite a few, there were still a lot of them left, and we could not allow them to get organized.
“Niger, hurry your men up, we don’t have all day for you to avoid getting dirty. Tear those stakes down now!”
His face flushed with anger, but he simply nodded, turning to his men and snapping at them to hurry. I had to get as many of my men into the fort as quickly as possible and I strode further down the parapet to where the Third was doing the same, although they were making better progress, those men beginning to stream through the breach they created. The remaining Pompeians were almost formed up by this point, and I needed to have a force ready to meet them. Yelling to Longus and Priscus, most of their Centuries making it inside the fort, I ordered them to form up at the base of the parapet and prepare to face the counterattack of the Pompeians. The Second was engaged around the ballista, and it appeared that they were gaining the upper hand. I turned my attention to the group of men that were now tramping towards us, their shields thrust out in front of them as they approached. Staying on the parapet to see better, I recognized that there were times where I best served the Cohort when I did not lead from the front and this was one of those times. This was still something I was learning, but it was extremely hard to do. Even by that point in time, I was still nagged by a sense of insecurity, fueled by men like Celer that I was not up to the job of leading a Cohort. At moments like this, when I had to make the choice not to lead from the front did not help, but I had to do what was best for the Cohort. This was one of those times, so instead I stood and directed the men in front of me.
“Priscus,” I called out, pointing to the Pompeians. “Stop them,” I shouted. “Cut those bastards to pieces!”
He nodded, throwing a salute before he turned back to his men. “You heard the Pilus Prior, boys,” he roared. “Let’s get ‘em!”
With a shout, the men of the Second Cohort ran headlong towards the Pompeians, who began their own countercharge. Even from where I stood, I felt the force of the collision as the two groups smashed into each other. Each man went at the one across from them, and for a moment, I could almost imagine that this was nothing more than a training exercise, when we would engage in mock battles against each other, so familiar was the sight of Roman on Roman. Soon enough, however, I saw men fall horribly wounded or dead, and I could not fool myself any longer. The best course for my Cohort was to get this fight over as quickly as possible, with as much overwhelming force as I could bring to bear, prompting me to turn to where Crispus was standing with the Sixth Century, ordering them to enter the fray. Niger’s Century had finally made their way through their breach. I beckoned to him and he walked towards me, his body stiff with anger.
Ignoring his attitude, I pointed towards the rear of the fort, the side facing the sea and ordered him, “Take your Century around along the back of the fort and circle around and hit those bastards down there from behind. When you’re in position, have your cornu give a blast. Then wait for my return signal.”
He nodded that he understood and saluted, turning to trot back to his Century. I hoped that my rebuke was enough to ensure that he did not take his time getting his Century into position, since every moment that passed meant that more of our men were getting hurt, or worse. Turning back to the fight, I bit back a curse, not wanting to betray any sense of anxiety to the cornicen and runner standing next to me, but we were not making any headway. The fight was at a stalemate, neither side inflicting any more casualties or giving ground, despite Priscus being prominent in the front rank, cursing at the enemy and his men. Even with the addition of Crispus’ Century, the enemy was holding their own. It seemed the only way to break the deadlock was through Niger, and now we had to wait for him to get into position. Glancing over to where Celer and his Century were mopping up the last resistance on the front parapet, it looked like he was just about through with his part of the job. The parapet was littered with bodies, but from the distance I was standing, it was impossible to tell friend from foe, all of us being dressed alike, so I had no idea what his casualties were.