Flattering, to say the least.
Stopping a few feet from them both, I tapped a fist against my chests. Helena did nothing. A part of her still found this whole situation ridiculous, and scoffed at how the rest of us tried to fit in. Besides, it was even more of a boy’s world here than it was back home. Needless to say, she was finding it difficult to fit in.
“Marcus. Gaius,” I greeted them. “You two look like you’ve lost something. Forget your swords at home?”
The men chuckled, as they pulled their gladii half way out of their scabbards, proving they had in fact remembered them.
“No, sir,” Gaius answered. “We merely wished to speak with you before you went outside.”
“Battle’s not getting any younger.”
“With your permission, we would like to assist you in any way during the coming battle. Your weapons are indeed far superior to our own, but you cannot hold the enemy back forever. We would ask to serve as your sword arm when the battle gets too close.”
I looked at them. Any man willing to place themselves in one of the most dangerous parts of a battlefield, just to protect a superior, or a friend, was someone impressive indeed. I’d be a fool to turn them down, especially since the only sword handling I’ve ever done were the times my friends and I would hit each other with sticks back when we were kids.
It would be nice having someone cover our backs.
“Of course,” I answered. “Marcus, you’re with me. Gaius, don’t let anything,” I emphasized my point by jabbing a finger at him threateningly, “happen to Lieutenant Strauss.”
Marcus frowned ever so slightly, while Gaius smiled, nodded his head, and looked at my partner. She scowled at me.
It was only fair that I rewarded the guy who stepped up by letting him guard the prettier one, but I had more selfish reasons. Gaius was older, and a slightly better soldier. He’d be able to offer more protection, and I wasn’t going to take any chances with Helena.
Our bodyguards in tow, we made our way to the palace grounds to come face to face with the invading horde.
Bordeaux’s announcement of Romans scaling the walls became immediately obvious. Four had already reached the ground, while more were in the process of descending their rope ladders. The first man I targeted was the quickest on his feet, already approaching our lines. Taking a step forward, I sighted him through my ACOG, and shot him in the head. Another step, and two more men went down with three round bursts to their chests. The last man went down with a head shot from Helena. The immediate threat taken care of, we began picking off the rest of the unlucky souls descending into the courtyard or waiting on the ledges. Ten seconds later, the ropes were cleared of about twenty intruders. Smacking home a fresh magazine, I scouted the area for a good spot to post myself.
The large house boasted an equally large courtyard. Large, of course, being a relative term, as even though it wasn’t large by the opulent standards of many Roman nobles or celebutants back home, it was still big enough to easily accommodate two hundred Romans, three time travelers, and enough room for a bloodbath between twice that many.
The front facade of the home looked like a miniature version of the Pantheon, with columns, ionic in style, and a triangular centerpiece resting above. The entrance was wide, and there was a patio where the columns extended towards the ceiling, with six steps leading down towards a path through the courtyard. The gate acted as a natural funnel into the courtyard, easily the best place to bottleneck the enemy. The walls were a dozen feet high, and a foot thick of concrete, so unless the mob wanted to continue being shot off them, their best bet was to come through the gate. Once it was down, they might reattempt to scale the walls while we were distracted.
With no concealment in sight, and not wanting to use Romans as meatshields I made my way towards the nearest column, signaling Helena to follow me. Taking position behind the center-right column, I indicated Helena should stand behind the opposite one. Bordeaux came and calmly stood between us, ready to lay down suppressing fire while Helena and I chose our targets more carefully.
Even before we arrived in the courtyard, we’d heard the steady beat of a battering ram hammering against the gate. Made out of thick, wooden beams, it started to splinter at about the time we had killed the last of the climbers. By the time we took cover behind the columns, the gate faltered completely.
What took place before me was one of the most amazing sights I had ever seen.
Roman versus Roman.
It happened more times than one would think. After the fall of the Julio-Claudian family, in about thirty or so years from now, very few emperors would elevate to that position without the use of their legions. It was fascinating how willing Romans were to fight each other, their sense of honor and duty leaving little room for moral sensibilities or even peaceful negotiations. They were a barbaric and warmongering, no matter how many roads, aqueducts, poets, laws, and countless other wonders of the world they created.
I loved these guys; their contradictions being so overwhelmingly ironic.
As the gate buckled and fell, dozens of plebeians poured through the gap, a smart tactic on the part of the rogue Praetorians. Send in the cannon fodder first. The shock troops. It forced our Praetorians to expend their supply of spears on them, and wear them down as much as possible. When the two factions met, the rebels would be fresh, and able to just waltz up to the lines, literally on the coattails of their human shields. Or so they hoped.
As I predicted, the maniple of Praetorians arrayed before me unleashed a volley of pila, a Roman legionnaire’s choice spear, immediately followed by a second. The air filled with spears, and row upon row of civilians fell to the ground, bleeding and dying from numerous wounds.
I had never seen such bloodshed in all my time as a SEAL. War was so distant and impersonal back home, but not here. I watched, not fifty yards before me as men were staked to the ground by falling spears, pierced through eye sockets, abdomens, necks, and everywhere else. Some were stuck together due to the powerful force of the heavy Roman spear.
My thoughts immediately went to Homer’s, The Iliad, and the gore and bloodshed he described there. Homer, who had no issue showing war as the despicable and inhuman event it was, never left a man to die without explaining how it happened, whether he be a king or common foot soldier. He described men being impaled through their groin and genitals, ears being stripped from their heads, limbs amputated, eye balls plucked from their skulls, and sword thrusts that ran straight through men’s mouths. Unlike those Homeric men, at least these retained some of their dignity after they had fallen. Homer’s heroes would carry away their kills, all in an attempt to maximize the spoils and riches they obtained while on campaign, by stripping the fallen of their arms and armor.
None of those men even cared about Helen, the so-called face that launched a thousand ships. Not even Menelaus, her husband, or least of all her so-called “lover”, Paris, who was cavorting with Trojan handmaidens soon after Helen’s arrival. King of kings, Agamemnon couldn’t care less, nor did god-like Achilles, even crafty Odysseus, my favorite Homeric character, was there for the wrong reasons. Although, in Odysseus’ defense, he was tricked into going when he was forced to choose between going to war or killing Telemachus, his baby son.
All they cared for was money, spoils, and land, and even their so called desires for arete, or personal perfection in life, specifically on the battlefield, palled before their greed. At least the Romans were honest with each other about why they were fighting.
When the lines finally clashed, the slaughter ensued.
Our Praetorians stabbed with their short swords, adhering to their training of thrusting with the tip, as opposed to slashing wildly and cutting with its edge. The tactic worked well. Praetorians would cower behind their large shields, or scuti, before emerging to impale a nearby foe. Slowly, despite the mass of weight arrayed against them, our loyal Praetorians began pushing the enemy back towards the gate.