The First Life of Brutality - Part III

Note:

You can read part I here and, part II here.

The barbarians felled the front line of the disordered van, meeting their upraised feet, scrabbling for purchase on the embankment, with deadly force. Muddied in the middle of the swamp, I watched the ocean of green and brown, become a sea of red. With the edge of battle, where earth and water met, shrouded in boughs bearing broad, shield-like leaves, I couldn't distinguish the enemy from their surroundings. But as my guard neared the bank, their operation revealed itself. More of the legion than I supposed had attained the shelter of firm ground before the attack. Approaching the forest in a narrow marching column, the barbarians waited until the first third was ashore, before assaulting from sides of the column, in an attempt to separate the legion into two pieces, those in the marsh and those on land.

I near enough now to see the combat in detail, fighting as fierce as a pack of wild boar they gored legionaries with axe and tooth. Waving my drawn sword in an attempt to direct forces I floundered in the shallows. Our own were in the way, moving madly away from the bank, casting aside equipment, and knocking down allies without heed. I reached out, clutched the arm of a fleeing legion, and crushed him into the slime. With a firm grasp, I steadied myself upon his back, evaded the axe of barbarian, and slew my foe with a sword thrust. Another enemy approached from behind, but I'd lost my bearer, and attempting to maneuver in the muck, I faltered and fell. Encompassed and contained, movement was impossible, but I did not fear death. I’ve never feared it since my youth in the slums of Rome where survival required courage to die and to kill. In this case, the barbarian hesitated, and a javelin embedded itself in his flesh, as one plants a flag in solid soil, and the third part of the legion, led by Varius, came to our rescue. He leaned over, grimly smiling, and with a hand lifted me from my predicament.

“Sir, I don’t know where the vanguard is, but if you'll trust me, I've noticed a weakness in their position. We can break onto the ground if we chose the right point of attack.”

Spitting mud I consented.

With a few words, and I too dazed to recognize them, Varius led his legionaries at an angled assault north of the current conflict. When next I registered the situation, Varius was speaking to me again. Standing firmly with grass underfoot, and our remaining forces arrayed in a multi-layered semicircle with the swamp to our back, Varius assured me of success. I sat upon the grass, curiously observing as the barbarians heedlessly swarmed against an impenetrable shield wall. I lay down, and from my limited position saw red rain falling about the rushing feet, trampling the grass.

It happened once, and then again. I could not keep track, and soon it was impossible to see feet amid the mounds, except for those unmoving. But then I stood up, everything back in place. The barbarians were preparing for another attempt. It would be their last: as my bemused state passed I could see their exhaustion.

“This time we pursue,” I commanded Varrius. “This time, we slaughter them.”

The barbarians, bloodthirsty and agitated by our resistance, overextended and with a mighty lunge we wrecked carnage upon them. So ferocious was the legion, the barbarians fled, injuring their comrades in retreat. Desiring their annihilation, I ordered a general pursuit, but Antonius appeared from whatever hole he'd hidden in. His fate nearly caught him then, but he spoke hurriedly to me of a plan. The barbarians fled unhindered.

That night, while men of Roman birth and scarred by the lash disposed of the dead, Varius, Antonius and I huddled by a sputtering fire. We tried to ignore the moans of legionaries, wounded in battle or in punishment, but their cries pained my soul for it displayed weakness, as thunder speaks of lightning. Yet those who could not follow order must suffer, and those who obeyed must see the justice of Rome.

“The enemy is routed,” said Varius.

“But not defeated,” said Antonius. “They have only escaped and will regroup.”

“They won’t. They are no threat to Rome. Our mission is complete, and our soldiers weary.”

“And who is to blame? You lost the road in the early days of the campaign.”

I silently agreed with him.

“There is a plan,” continued Antonius, “that will drive the barbarians from Rome's border forever. We let them retreat so that they would lead us to their camp. Our scouts follow them as we speak. When we ambush them, it will be over.”

Varius looked at me, uncertain, unconvinced, and cowardly, but I still did not speak. As the fire gave its last gasp and died the sentries were posted and we retired to sleep.