Soldier of Rome: The Sacrovir Revolt (The Artorian Chronicles) (26 page)

“I cannot fight anymore!” he wailed as he dropped his weapons and fell to his knees.

Carbo snarled at the pathetic wretched and stepped towards him; both sides ceasing in their attack to watch the legionary.

“Then die a coward’s death,” he hissed as he buried his gladius into the man’s side.

The Turani’s mouth was agape, yet he was unable to make a sound.
  Carbo growled and sliced his weapon across his enemy’s stomach; blood and entrails spilling from the slash.

“Carbo, formation!”
Artorius shouted as the legionary stepped back into the ranks.

The rest of the rebels stood appalled at what had transpired.

“You will not have me so easily!”
an older Turani shouted.

His companions renewed their war cries and charged into the legionaries.

Macro felt at ease for the first time in many days.
The camp was cleared; the rest of the cohort acting as the hammer to Indus’ anvil. The plan had worked, and at last he felt like he could release the tension that had been causing him many a sleepless night. His fears were renewed when Camillus grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed to the fray behind him.

“Dear gods,” he whispered.

Nearly a third of his men were fighting off a hoard of Turani rebels by themselves and in a single rank.
The centurion looked to his right to find the nearest decanus. Praxus had noticed the commotion himself and was running up to investigate; the same look of horror crossing his face when he realized what Artorius and the others were up against.

“Praxus!” 
Macro shouted, “Take your men and flank those bastards!”

“Sir!” 
The decanus acknowledged. With a wave of his arm, he and his section rushed in a file towards the right flank of the skirmish.

“Second Century, on me!”
the centurion ordered as he started forward at a slow jog. Camillus planted the century’s signum and was at Macro’s side, his gladius drawn.

In three
ranks, the remnants of the century advanced. Macro hoped he wasn’t too late to avert disaster for his men.

Indus’ cavalry had completely broken off contact with the Turani and were gradually falling back. As he started to despair that perhaps the plan had failed, Indus saw Roman soldiers cresting the ridge of the Turani camp. A cornicen sounded his horn, drawing the attention of the Turani, as well as the cavalry.

“Come about!”
Indus shouted.

With drilled precision, the Roman cavalry wheeled their mounts back towards the Turani, who had stalled in their pursuit, aware they were being threatened from both sides.
What they did not know was that the force of Roman legionaries only amounted to a single cohort, not nearly enough men to overwhelm their ranks. All they could comprehend was that somehow the Romans had managed to send legionary troops to cut off their chance of reaching Augustodunum. And these troops were now raining javelins down upon their heads as they rapidly advanced down the hill.

Vitruvius found himself in the lead as his men stormed down the hill. He had deliberately taken up position in the very center of his men, his plan of attack dependent on it.

“Wedge formation...on me!”
he shouted. While still moving at a jog downhill, legionaries guided themselves into a massive wedge, linking their shields together. At the apex of the wedge was the powerful centurion. He braced hard against his shield as he felt soldiers on either side of him linking their shields with his. He could also feel the legionaries to his back pushing against them.

Once he sensed all were
set, Vitruvius gave a howl of rage, one which was echoed by all legionaries in the wedge, and increased his speed to an all-out sprint. Turani rebels looked back in terror as the formation slammed into them. The centurion knew that for the wedge to have full effect, he had to push as far as he could into the enemy ranks before engaging. Men were knocked down in the wake of their onslaught, trampled underneath by the legionaries behind Vitruvius and his men. Eventually their momentum slowed, and he knew the force of their charge was expended.

“Online!”
he ordered, as his soldiers unlinked their shields and started to hammer the rebels in close combat.

Many Turani were knocked down or into their companions, their ranks compressed together.
Vitruvius started to stab rapidly with his gladius, his weapon finding the vitals of a rebel with every strike. Five men had fallen to his ferocious assault before he even had to start engaging opponents in single combat. Legionaries on either side of him attacked the rebels with equal brutality. Vitruvius knew in the close confines of this battle, passages-of-lines would be impossible; therefore, everything pended on how well they carried their charged and shocked the enemy into panic.

Panic was indeed gripping the Turani. Broehain looked back to see Roman troops pouring down the road, hammering into the rear of their army. He grimaced hard, knowing the cavalry’s sortie against them had been a hoax. He turned his eyes front and watched as Indus’ horsemen wheeled their mounts around and came at them.

“Eyes front!”
he shouted to those who could hear him.

The Turani were horrified to see Indus and his troopers bearing down on them.

“Brace for impact!”

Having managed to get some distance between themselves and the rebels, Indus’ cavalry was now able to build up momentum as they charged at the full gallop.
His men lowered their lances and gave a shout of fury as they smashed over and through the Turani ranks.

At the far end of the mass of rebels, javelins were continuing to rain down, killing or crippling all who fell in their path.
The Turani had become so clustered together by the force of Vitruvius’ charge that it was impossible for the legionaries throwing the javelins to miss. Their advance gained momentum once again, the force driving them deeper into enemy ranks. Vitruvius, in particular, was a machine of terror. That a man of his size and brutal power could strike so quickly cowed the rebels unfortunate enough to find themselves in his path. One after another they fell to his fury; a wake of death left in his path.

A sense of shock and surprise gripped the whole mass of rebels, inducing them to panic.
Most fled straight into the woods on their left, leading downhill and away from the battle. As they ran, they threw down their weapons, stumbling and falling over rocks and fallen trees. Those in the immediate vicinity of the Romans started to surrender.

Proculus saw the mass of Turani fleeing into the woods.
He pointed to Vitruvius and then towards the woods. Vitruvius nodded and signaled to his men.

“Third Century, follow
me!”
Proculus signaled for the Fifth Century to do the same, both Centuries forming up in a long line, carefully but quickly making their way down the hill.

As the skirmish continued in the Turani camp, Artorius brought his shield about in a hard left hook, the boss connecting squarely on the side of a rebel’s face. He felt the facial bones crush under the force of his blow as the man collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Instinctively, Artorius brought his gladius down in a hard thrust, ramming it into the base of his throat. He then saw two more coming at him. As he was on the extreme right, his flank was completely exposed. One of the Turani saw this and elected to exploit it. Artorius sought to fend the man off with his gladius as the rebel’s companion brought the full bear of his weight onto Artorius’ shield. Sensing this threat to his sergeant, Valens sidestepped and stabbed the rebel in the side. Artorius felt the weight of the man against his shield go limp as he deflected another blow from his adversary’s sword. He then shoved the dead man off him and swung his shield around hard, catching the Turani on the shoulder. This spun him partially around, allowing Artorius to stab him beneath the ribs. He kicked the dying man away, blood dripping from his sword as several more adversaries came at him. He caught sight of legionaries running past his right shoulder towards the rebels. As he braced himself against the onslaught of one attacker, a legionary collided with the man, his shield and body knocking him down with the force of a demon possessed. The soldier fell on top of the rebel, violently slicing his throat open with his gladius. Artorius recognized him to be Legionary Felix, as the young man struggled back to his feet. He then noticed Praxus leading the rest of his men straight into the enemy flank.

As he turned back towards the remainder of their
foe, Artorius saw that those who had not been killed or maimed had thrown their weapons down and placed their hands behind their heads.

“Are we taking prisoners?”
Rufio asked.

Artorius nodded affirmatively.

“Yes. Bind their hands and start setting up a prisoner collection point.” He turned around to see that most of the century had just come up to assist.

Though it felt longer, their entire ordeal could not have lasted
more than a minute or so. As he stood catching his breath again, Artorius was mildly surprised that Rufio had deferred to him as to what should be done with the Turani who surrendered. Rufio had four years seniority over him and Ostorius probably more than that. He shook his head, not wishing to make more of the situation than what it was.

“Everyone alright?”
Macro asked, as he walked up to Artorius.

The
decanus nodded.  “I think so; surprised the bloody hell out of us, though.”

Macro turned and saw a glint of metal in the trees on their right, leading uphill.
As he focused his eyes on the sight, he was able to make out the figure of a man in a brass breastplate and helmet. Macro’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed Artorius by the shoulder.

“I see him,” he
acknowledged, grimacing as his anger rose. “Get that bastard!”

Artorius took a deep breath and waved towards the man with his gladius.

“Let’s go!” he shouted to his section as they ran after the man they knew to be Julius Florus.

Shields were grounded and gladii sheathed, as they knew they would need both hands
and feet to climb the steep slope.

Florus watched from the woods in despair as his men were crushed by the Romans. He spat in disgust as he watched a number of them surrender without as much as a fight.  He trembled in anxiety as he saw legionaries gathered around his wagons. His precious money was lost.
Lost!
He was almost sobbing in frustration when he looked to his left and saw several Roman soldiers running his way. He then looked down and saw that the sun had cast its light through the trees and was gleaming off his breastplate. He cursed himself for his vanity as he turned and started to flee up the hill. His army was routed, his fortune gone, and if he failed to get away, his life would become forfeit as well. He grabbed at tree branches and roots as he pulled himself up the side of the hill. Roman soldiers were phenomenally conditioned, however Florus hoped the head start he had would be enough to save his life.

A glare caught Indus on the side of his face. He turned to see where it came from and saw a glimpse of a man in brass armor fleeing up the side of the mountain. He could also just make out a small group of legionaries pursuing the rebel leader. Indus scowled as he realized just who the Roman soldiers were pursuing. He turned back towards his men, who were helping legionaries round up prisoners. Florus could not be allowed any chance at escape!

“Stay here and help with th
e prisoners,” he told his deputy. He then signaled for two of his men to follow him.

There was
a small path that led up the hill, arching off to their left. He hoped it would allow them to get far enough ahead of Florus to cut off his escape.

Florus’ chances of outrunning his pursuers were quickly vanishing as his lungs burned, unable to suck in enough air. His legs were cramping up in knots, his feet numb from the climb. He had become so accustomed to riding that even walking great distances had become arduous, let alone running. He threw off his helmet and struggled to work out of his cuirass. As his armor dropped, he found himself using his gilded sword as a crutch to help pull him up the steep hill. Florus could hear the sounds of the Romans struggling up the hill behind him. He was even able to make out their heavy breathing and the curses they muttered. They were getting closer. As he struggled to pull himself over a massive fallen tree, he could make out a trio of horsemen moving across his front. He then watched, horrified as they wheeled around and came at him. He lowered his eyes when he saw that Indus was one of them. With a sigh of resignation, Florus drew his sword and leaned back against a tree.

Artorius and the rest of the section slowed their pursuit when they saw Florus back against a tree with his sword out. He, too, was able to make out the riders approaching from higher up on the hill. Though the shadows of the trees prevented him from making out their faces, he was able to recognize Indus’ voice as he spoke.