It seemed to take forever for Titus Pullus to make his way across the small remaining space behind the Legionaries still fighting, littered as it was with the detritus of the battle, including several bodies. Normally Pullus would have taken the time to say a brief prayer for his men who had fallen but at that moment all of his attention and concentration was on meeting the barbarian that he implicitly understood was the Wa general. Whether he was the overall commander and the architect of this devastating attack on the army, or just the commander of this assault force Pullus had no way of knowing, nor did he particularly care. In that moment, all that concerned him was the challenge presented by this arrogant bastard who even then was having his bodyguard clear a path toward the front where the fighting was taking place. Just as Pullus had feared, the Wa general was clearly aiming at the spot where the 10th and 12th met, and before Pullus could intercept the attacking warriors, the first of the general's bodyguards threw themselves at the thin wall of Roman shields, three abreast and swords raised high above their heads. Pullus had noticed before this tendency for the barbarians to attack in this manner and it had almost always proved fatal, to the attacker. It was a simple matter for the Legionary under assault to tilt his shield up and lift it slightly above his head as he launched an underhand thrust into the Wa's completely unprotected belly. This time, however, the three barbarians were clearly more skilled because even as Pullus watched, each warrior performed a different maneuver, but with the same result. The three Romans facing the Wa performed the exact tactic that Pullus had seen to be so effective, except in every case the Romans ended up with their blades hitting nothing but air. Still, this wouldn't have alarmed Pullus because he had noted with approval that they had all tilted and lifted their shields in anticipation for the sweeping, downward stroke that, even if it was blocked, would probably shatter their shields but still leave them untouched. However, one of the Wa's simply stopped dead in his tracks from his full run, a feat in itself that further demonstrated these warriors' extraordinary ability and reflexes. Predictably, the Legionary across from this man did what Pullus expected of him, launching a hard underhand thrust, the bloodied point tilted upward in a brutal arc aimed for the vitals of the Wa. But since the Wa wasn't there, for a fraction of time the Roman's arm was out in space, and just as Pullus' mind shouted the warning to his man, there was a flash of metal sweeping downward as the Wa finished the stroke he had started with his upraised sword. Even before Pullus, or the Legionary for that matter, could blink, the man's arm from just below the elbow down was lying on the ground as blood sprayed from the severed stump of the stricken Legionary's elbow, the severed hand in the dirt still clutching his sword. Even as this was happening the second Wa, instead of stopping, made a hopping leap in the air, slightly spreading his legs so that the thrust from his opponent went harmlessly into the space between his legs. This Wa, as he was coming down, shot his free hand out with a speed that Pullus had only witnessed from the cobras that some of the men kept for sporting purposes, slapping the Roman's sword hand downward and knocking the tip of the blade into the dirt. The instant his feet touched the ground, the Wa made an elegant, downward sweeping motion with his sword, while at the same time bringing the blade across his body so that it was now on the right, unprotected side of the Legionary's body. With his sword buried in the dirt, there was no protection from the backhand cut that struck the doomed man in the middle of the neck, who hadn't even had the time to hunch his shoulders to protect that most vital area. At about the same time as the first Legionary's arm was severed, the second Roman's head went spinning crazily into the air, the helmet flying off in one direction as the head went in another, spraying blood and gore all over men on both sides. Taking all this in, Pullus' mind couldn't register the fate of the third man, although in the blur of motion and riot of noise, he was vaguely aware of a body clad in Roman armor going to its knees, right next to the headless corpse that was just tottering over to fall forward onto the ground.

Then he was there, coming in from an angle, into the fighting, shield up and sword held in the first position. Because the barbarians' attention was understandably focused on their immediate opponents they were completely unprepared for the giant barbarian to come smashing into the Wa on the left, who was in the process of kicking the now one-armed Roman that had dropped his shield to clutch at his arm, out of the way. The terrific force generated by the weight and speed of Pullus sent the Wa, already off-balance, flying off his feet as if he had been shot at short range by a scorpion. Hitting the warrior at the angle that he did Pullus sent the first Wa careening, both legs a couple of feet off the ground, hard into the warrior to his right, just as he was stepping around the fallen headless corpse of the second Legionary. In turn, although this Wa managed to keep his feet he still stumbled several feet to the side, hitting the third Wa, who was at that moment lifting his sword to finish his stricken opponent. That Legionary was on his knees, blood pouring down his face, blinded by the slicing blow that had knocked his helmet off and almost scalped him. This jolt disrupted the aim of the third Wa enough that the blade, instead of cleaving the kneeling man's skull, instead went whistling harmlessly by to strike the ground next to the Roman. Pullus, since he was prepared for the impact, not only kept his feet but recovered more quickly so that he took a couple of shuffling steps to close the gap between himself and his targets. Mindful that in doing so he was placing himself directly in the path of the other barbarians that the general's bodyguard had shoved to the side, he pivoted slightly so that he was facing their ranks, his sword lashing out in a sweeping arc that was designed more to keep any overeager warrior at bay than to strike a target. As he did this he lifted his left arm high in the air, and risking a glance to the left to make sure he hit his target, brought his shield crashing down, using every bit of his strength, so that the metal edge struck the Wa he had knocked down and who was now on hands and knees, shaking his head trying to clear it. The wooden shield, with its several layers of thin wood and glue, bolstered and reinforced by the strip of iron around the edge and the iron boss in the middle, was a deadly weapon itself, and when brought down from the height that Pullus was capable of reaching, with the huge amount of power the Primus Pilus could generate, the fate of the first Wa was sealed. Pullus' aim was off, however, because he had been aiming for the small gap between the enemy's helmet and armor, where the neck was exposed. Instead, the shield struck roughly in the middle of the back of the Wa's helmet, making a loud, ringing sound much like striking a gong, except it ended in a loud crack as the helmet split into two parts. As the top half flew a foot away, Pullus was only vaguely aware that it contained the top of the warrior's skull, as the dead man's limbs suddenly went limp and he collapsed face first onto the ground, a pool of blood quickly forming. Instead, his attention was torn between his next target, the second Wa who was also trying to regain his balance, and the fact that he had generated such force with his blow that his shield shattered into too many pieces to count, leaving him with just the handle, and a ragged remnant of the center, with the boss still affixed.

Pullus didn't have the time to either worry about it, or grab a shield from one of the fallen men, because at that moment a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to turn back to face the rest of the Wa, just in time to see the barbarian general roughly shoving aside the remaining men of his bodyguard. As he did so he snapped some sort of order in a low, guttural voice that to Pullus sounded very much like the growl of a dog. Nevertheless, he was clearly understood by his men, because in ragged unison they took a step backward, swords still up at what Pullus had determined was the equivalent of their first position, the swords held with two hands out in front of them. Moving quickly, Pullus dropped his ruined shield to pick a new one up from one of his men who no longer needed it. Now there was a slight pocket of space formed around Pullus and the Wa general men, as the men around them continued fighting. Despite not understanding the words, Pullus, and the rest of his men in earshot clearly understood the intent; this barbarian was claiming their Primus Pilus for himself.

"Gut that cunnus Primus Pilus," a man shouted. "Do it for Vellusius!"

Oh, how Pullus wished that whoever called that name out had picked another, because at the moment when he needed all of his concentration, hearing the name of one of the two remaining occupants of the first tent section Titus Pullus belonged to, and knowing what it meant, caused in him a shudder of grief at the worst possible time. Vellusius? Dead? Pullus' mind reeled at the thought, just as the Wa general, displaying the speed and ferocity of all of his warriors, launched his attack.

Titus Pullus was immediately at a disadvantage, his mind still reeling from the knowledge that an unknown Legionary had unintentionally imparted to him. Publius Vellusius, one of the two survivors of his original tent group, formed so many years ago when then-Praetor Gaius Julius Caesar had authorized a dilectus for what would become the most famous and feared Legion in the entire world, Caesar's 10th Equestris, had apparently died. Even as the giant Primus Pilus tried to process this thought the Wa general charged at the Roman, his blade slashing down in a vicious arc that Pullus barely avoided by twisting to the side. Before he could recover himself back to a proper defensive position, the Wa, his age impossible to tell because of the helmet almost completely masking his features except for his eyes, brought his blade back up in an almost exact reversal of his first stroke. Normally this would have been nothing more than quick recovery, but because the top of the barbarian's blade was sharpened for almost half its length, instead of pulling it straight back he made an exaggerated semicircular arc with the point, the tip aimed with precision just below the brim of Pullus' helmet. His intent was clear; either by cutting a gash in the Roman's forehead, or striking across the eyes, he was trying to blind Pullus. It would have worked if Pullus had done the natural thing by jerking his head backward, and in fact it might have been a killing blow if the Wa's sword tip had slashed his throat, but this wasn't the first time that Pullus had seen this move used, albeit on other men. And what he had seen was that the best of what was nothing but bad choices was to drop his head to take the blow on the brow of his helmet. In fact, that was why over the years Caesar had demanded that a strip of iron be added just above the forehead, to not only reinforce that area but to keep blades from sliding down and into the faces of his men. Still, it was far from an ideal defense and despite it being at the outermost limit of the barbarian's reach, there was sufficient force behind the sword tip to make a sound much like a bell being rung as tiny sparks shot in every direction, the Wa scoring a glancing blow. More problematically, it made similar sparks explode in front of Pullus' eyes and he heard a gasp of surprise and pain, only dimly aware that it came from him. His mind had barely cleared from the news of Vellusius, now he had to shake his head to try to clear it from the blow, but he still had the presence of mind to keep his shield up, with elbow locked tightly against his hip. It was a good thing he did, because as quickly as the Wa commander recovered his blade back to what the barbarians used as their basic offensive position, he lashed out again with his sword. In fact, the next few moments saw a flurry of thrusts and slashes, all of them from the Wa general, the man a blur of fluid, deadly motion, forcing Pullus to stay on the defensive.

However, as frenetic the pace of the attack, no less spirited was Pullus' defense, although all he could do at this point was to desperately keep his shield in front of him and move it just enough to block each of the barbarian's attacks, knowing that if he overcommitted in one direction, a man as skilled as his opponent would make him pay for the mistake with his life. Again, all of the watches spent training for times like this was what kept Pullus alive, it seeming that his head would never clear. There was still a ringing in his ears, and his vision was slightly blurred. Regardless of his current condition he was thankful that it wasn't worse; if he had experienced double vision at that moment, he would already be a corpse. Whatever shape he was in, he also knew that he couldn't stay on the defensive for much longer, the fatigue in his shield arm growing stronger with every heartbeat. Even as his shield absorbed another blow, the thudding sound was accompanied by a high-pitched cracking sound, telling Pullus that his shield was failing, giving him even less time. In fact, this attack by the savage across from him seemed to Pullus to epitomize how the entire day had gone. From the outset Caesar's army had been on the back foot, on the defensive, which was bad enough. Despite that, up until this battle even when Caesar and his men were forced to defend, they had still managed to dictate matters to a certain degree. But not today; all day Pullus had been running from one spot to another, always reacting to some new threat posed by these yellow-skinned men, and now in what he realized were the waning moments of his life Pullus was being forced to dance to the tune that this little bastard was calling.

That fact, even more than the idea of defeat, infuriated Pullus to a degree that came as a surprise to him. Another lightning-quick thrust from the Wa struck his shield, this time to the right of the boss and lower down, but it created a crack that moved diagonally up and across his shield, two spidery lines appearing on either side of the metal. Pullus instantly recognized that with the Wa's next strike his shield would fall apart and be useless, both as a defensive and an offensive weapon so, not waiting, he finally made his first offensive move. Taking a step forward that was much larger than it would be for most men, thanks to his longer legs, Pullus punched out with his damaged shield. Timing it as he did, just as the Wa general was recovering from his last attack, Pullus' opponent had no chance to cleanly dodge the metal boss that Pullus had aimed right at his face, aided as Pullus was by the barbarian's smaller stature. All the Wa could do was, just like Pullus moments before, try to minimize the damage. While Pullus had ducked his head, the enemy general tilted his head to the side slightly, taking the blow from the giant Roman's shield on the iron cheekpiece of his helmet instead of squarely in his face. Once more there was a gong-like sound as the metal from Pullus' shield struck the Wa helmet, and while it wasn't a clean blow by any means it still contained enough power behind it that it would have knocked a lesser man off his feet. But this barbarian hadn't achieved his rank just by virtue of his birth, earning his position by a combination of that and his prowess in battle. Despite it being a damaging blow the Wa kept his feet, and more by instinct than anything, since he carried no shield to protect him, he made an off-balance, wild swing in an attempt to keep his opponent from following up more than with any hope of landing a solid blow. As poorly aimed as it was, it still struck Pullus' shield, completing the destruction of the Primus Pilus' best defense, pieces of wood exploding in every direction, disintegrating so much that in the instant before he dropped it, all that Pullus was left with was the handle of the shield, even the boss falling to the ground at his feet. This paused Pullus for a fraction of a heartbeat from his advance, his sword pulled back, ready to deliver a killing blow, but it was enough. Regaining his balance the Wa general lunged forward, both hands clutching his sword as he raised it above his head.

Pullus had seen this attack more times than he could count this day, and while every other time it had seemed to be made especially for the Romans' short, thrusting counterattack into the completely exposed belly of the attacker, some instinct warned him that this was what the barbarian was expecting. More importantly it was what he was hoping for, so instead, Pullus took a hopping step to his right. While it moved Pullus' own sword farther away from his intended target it clearly surprised his enemy who, even as Pullus made this move, had altered his attack by letting go of the sword with his left hand, and by simply dropping his right elbow back down to his side, brought his blade into position for a disemboweling horizontal stroke. Like Pullus the Wa general had observed what these grubworms favored when faced with the overhead attack and had expected this grubworm, giant he may have been, to do the same thing. And indeed, if Pullus had done as so many of his men had done so often this day, taking a simple step forward while bringing his sword forward in a sweeping underhand thrust, at the very least his sword arm would have been exposed as the Wa's blade traveled along its horizontal path. Ideally, the giant barbarian would have stepped forward far enough so that the general's blade would have bitten deeply into the man's side but either way, since the man had lost his shield, the fight would have been over. Instead, his blade bit into nothing more than the air and now it was the Wa who was vulnerable, as instead Pullus had immediately brought his feet underneath him, keeping his sword at the first position and ready to strike. In the time it takes to blink an eye, Pullus did just that, the tip of his sword traveling toward the Wa at a speed that the human eye could barely comprehend. In all of the thrusts he had made, in practice or in battle, the thousands upon thousands of times, Titus Pullus was sure that he had never been faster than he was in that moment, on that day. Any other day, against any other opponent this fight would have ended right then, because Pullus was absolutely right in his belief; he had never launched a faster or more devastating attack. Against this opponent, however, while Pullus' thrust struck, it wasn't the killing blow it would have been with any other foe as the Wa general desperately twisted his body to one side, moving the part of his lower torso where Pullus had aimed a matter of a few inches. It wasn't enough to avoid being hit altogether, but instead of punching through the lamellar armor the Wa was wearing and the blade entering several inches into his abdomen, it only managed to penetrate the armor and enter perhaps an inch deep. More importantly, the Wa was moving too quickly and violently for Pullus to finish the attack in the normal manner, with either a twisting of the blade to cause more internal damage, or a strong lateral cutting move that disemboweled the victim. Therefore, despite the wound being painful and causing the barbarian to expel a sharp, hissing breath of pain, it didn't do the damage it should have.

What it did do was put the Wa on the defensive and sensing that at least it was his opponent's turn to stand on his back foot, Pullus didn't waste the opportunity. Even as he recovered from his thrust he was moving forward to close the gap between him and his opponent back to what it had been an instant before. As quickly as his arm had drawn back it lashed out again but this thrust Pullus not only aimed higher, he moved his arm out from his body a bit. Normally this was discouraged because it robbed a man of much of the force that came from using the bulk of his body; Titus Pullus was one of the few, not just in the ranks but in the upper classes, with the possible exception of Marcus Antonius, for whom this rule didn't apply. Moving his arm out in this manner meant that his blade was heading for the Wa at a slightly different angle. Coming at him from his left, this was a moment where the lack of a shield made the Wa vulnerable, as the point of Pullus' sword seemed to unerringly seek the barbarian's throat. In answer, the only move the barbarian could perform was to whip his sword up and across his body in an attempt to knock Pullus' blade off its path. In this he was only partially successful. Instead of the point of the Roman's sword piercing his throat, the Wa managed to knock the blade upward so that it struck him just above where his helmet flared out, on the rounded portion above the ear. Between the deflection and the smooth surface of the helmet, much of the blow's force was absorbed, but the point of Pullus' sword still tore a ragged gouge in the general's helmet and sliced into the top of the man's scalp. For the first time the Wa let out a howl of pain as he staggered sideways, blood almost immediately starting to flow down the side of his face. Pullus felt a savage satisfaction, but he knew that his foe was still dangerous, and determined not to give this barbarian any chance to recover, he pressed his advantage now. Taking a shuffling couple of steps forward he closed the distance caused by the Wa's staggering retreat, his blade already back at a modified first position, angled across his body slightly more than normal to compensate for his lack of shield. The Wa was weaving about; whether it was because he was groggy or by design Pullus couldn't tell but the end result was the same. It made the man harder to hit and forced Pullus to pause. For his part, the barbarian general, although he was in fact reeling from the blow, never took his eyes off Pullus, despite the blood streaming down his forehead and into his left eye. Neither man made a move for the span of a few heartbeats and while they didn't notice, the men around them had moved their own fighting slightly farther away, making a rough circle as the champions of the two army continued to battle.

Pullus' arm ached from the slashing wound he had received some time before, although he couldn't tell whether it was from the wound or the bandage being too tight. He longed to relinquish the grip of his sword, to flex his hand and arm in an attempt to relieve the ache, but that of course was impossible. During the lull the Wa, with his free hand, reached up and managed to rip the helmet off his head, only then giving Pullus an idea of the man's age. His hair was long but pulled back tightly so it lay flat against his skull, and Pullus saw that while it was just as black as every other Wa the Primus Pilus had seen before, it was also liberally streaked with gray. Now that he was helmetless, Pullus could also partially see the man's features, although one side of his face was obscured by blood, but what Pullus could see were the same seams and lines that he knew he himself carried. This was a man who had been exposed to the elements for most of his life, and was clearly as tough as the metal of Pullus' sword. As his mind made that comparison Pullus was thankful for that quality in his weapon, once more thanking the gods for this Gallic blade that he had carried for more than two decades. Now that Pullus could at least partially see the man's face, it suddenly made this fight more immediate, and more personal. This was the man who at least had a partial hand in the destruction of Caesar's army, and most importantly to Pullus, had destroyed his beloved 10th Legion, who had caused the death of one of his best friends, Balbus, and one of his longest-term comrades, Vellusius. Suddenly, Pullus felt a surge of warmth that seemed to start somewhere in his belly, uncoiling itself like some sort of serpent as it made its way up through his body and he recognized it for what it was, the return of an old friend, one that he needed now more than ever. That feeling was what distracted Pullus, just for the blink of an eye, but that was all the Wa needed as, clearly sensing this lapse in his opponent he struck with blinding speed. And it was this distraction that caused Pullus to react to the barbarian's sudden strike just a fraction slower than normal. Between these two factors, it was enough as the point of the Wa's blade snaked past Pullus' own and, even as Pullus swept his blade up in a desperate attempt to deflect the attack, the point punched through Pullus' mail, burying itself deeply in the Roman's body. 

All posts by R.W. Peake on blog.rwpeake.com are copyrighted by the author, 2012.