Soldier of Rome: The Legionary (The Artorian Chronicles) (19 page)

It was di
fficult to pick out individual soldiers. They all moved together as one well-disciplined killing machine.

Within seconds he closed the gap. He did not know how he could cut through that wall of shields and swords, but he had to try. He brought his sword down in
a powerful
slash. It impacted on the brass strip on the edge of one shield. He swung again, trying to break through, and again. As he raised his sword once more, the Roman suddenly stepped in, blocking and thrusting with his shield, and stabbed him in the belly. Just as quickly he pulled his gladius out and smashed Barholden again with his shield. The force of the blow knocked him down. He was in sudden blinding pain, his bowels ran through by the Roman’s blade. Helpless and injured, he crawled away and sat back against a tree, watching as his warriors smashed into the Roman line. His intestines oozed through his fingers from the rendered guts. He was suddenly proud of them, his brave warriors. They would fight to the last to protect their homes and families. He watched in sorrow as they were cut down in rapid succession. He saw a couple of Roman soldiers fall as some of his warriors actually managed to penetrate their shield line. This gave him some hope. But then the Roman line suddenly held fast, and the rank behind them rushed through, fresh troops smashing into the Marsi with a vengeance. Within minutes it was over. Barholden gritted his teeth in pain, blood and intestinal fluid dripping from around his fingers, as he tried to hold in his stomach. He took pride when he saw that not one of his warriors had run. All had stayed and fought till the end.

He winced again as pain overtook him. He wished to die, but did not have the strength to raise his sword and finish himself off. He saw other warriors similarly stricken.
Some sought to crawl back the way they’d come.  Others shrieked in agony, a great many lay unmoving. While the Romans’ expertise with their weapons ensured a high percentage of fatalities, not everyone died right away. Those ran through the guts took the longest to die. In spite of the horrifying pain most of the dying felt, few made a sound. Others unleashed an unholy wail. Barholden knew the Romans would slaughter any warriors still alive. He hoped it would not take them long to find him.

Artorius stood and caught his breath as the reserve
cohorts passed through their lines. They would be the ones to sack and destroy the settlements. The cohorts that had fought the battle would pick up their dead and wounded and finish off any of the enemy still alive. He’d managed to slay one barbarian with a rapid stab underneath the ribcage. It had been all too easy. The man, slow and unwieldy, had probably had no real training in close quarters combat. The ferocity of the Marsi warriors’ charge caused several gaps in the line, which they had been able to exploit, inflicting many casualties. He did not yet know how many in the Second Century had been killed or wounded. Details were sent out to dispatch the Marsi wounded while others were tasked with setting up a casualty collection point, where they would bring all their dead and wounded. The centuries that had not taken part in the direct fighting were given these tasks. As these were being accomplished, centurions and options were walking up and down the lines, getting accountability of all their soldiers.

“Artorius, are you alright?”

He was surprised to see Centurion Macro standing in front of him.

“Yes
, sir, I’m fine,” he answered.

Macro patted him on the shoulder and continued to walk down the line, checking all
of his legionaries individually. Though normally the decani would conduct the checks and then report back to the centurion, Macro was the type that, many times, wished to check things for himself. Artorius saw that everyone in his section was alive, and none seemed to be seriously wounded, though Gavius had a gash on his forearm with blood running down his arm that Praxus was applying a bandage to. He would later find out two legionaries from the century had been killed, another six were wounded, including Gavius. Only one required immediate evacuation to the rear. It was hard to determine just how many barbarians fell in their storm of javelins, but from what could be gathered later from first-hand accounts, thirty-five were killed in close combat with the century.

“Not a bad day’s work,” Magnus said as they surveyed the aftermath of the battle.

“Work”? Artorius laughed. “And to think we could have gotten real jobs in the city.”

They listened as they heard the screams
and moaning
sounds coming from the settlements up ahead. With their warriors gone, the Marsi were being slaughtered without mercy.

“
Damn, at least it’s a start,” they heard Statorius remark as he shrugged.

“Alright, form it up,” Centurion Macro ordered. “We’re going to push through and set up in reserve just short of the settlements. Once in position, we’ll wait until the assault is complete, then we’ll move back to camp.”

Without another word being spoken, the century fell in on the rest of the cohort and started towards the sounds of destruction. As they started to move out, Artorius watched Macro walk over to where a German lay suffering with his back against a tree. Macro moved as if to cut the man’s throat, but then changing his mind, sheathed his gladius and walked back to the line.

“Why didn’t you finish him?”
he heard Camillus ask.

“And grant him the mercy of a quick death? I think not,” Macro answered. “That man’s been stabbed through the bowels. It will take him hours to die
; long,
painful
hours. They refused to grant our wounded a quick death in Teutoburger Wald, so why should we oblige them? Let him die a slow and agonizing death… the slower the better.”

Artorius surveyed the scene of carnage in front of them. It seemed everything was ablaze as far as the eye could see
. The corpses of humans and livestock littered the entire area. It looked very much like what they had done to the other Marsi settlements, only on a much larger scale. With the river to their backs, the Marsi had had nowhere to run.

Milla clutched her son tightly, shivering.
She shivered not from the cold of the waters they had just crossed, but from the stabbing pain and sorrow that crippled her heart. She watched, tears flowing freely, as her village was plundered and destroyed. Somehow she could not bring herself to turn away, not yet. She watched as her friends and family were viciously cut down. The Romans were not taking any prisoners.

She nearly smothered the young boy as she watched her aged father wielding his old rusted sword. He gave a great cry
and lunged towards one of the soldiers. He was brave, but grossly outmatched. The legionary knocked him up against the side of a building, pinning him with his shield. He then repeatedly smashed the old man in the face and head with the boss of the shield. The sword fell from his hand as he slid down the wall, his face a crumpled and bloody pulp. In total contempt, the soldier slammed his gladius into his neck and then spat on him.

Milla continued to watch in horror as her sister ran towards the river, her own infant in her arms. She had given birth just days before
, and Milla knew that even if she escaped the Romans, she had no chance of surviving the torrential current. As the young woman started to splash through the water, a legionary gladius was thrust violently into her back. She gasped, her arms flinging apart uncontrollably, the child flying into the river.

There were others who had taken their chances in the river. Almost all had been swept away and sucked under the current. Milla thanked her gods her father had taught her to swim from the time she was a babe. The thought made her sob again as she saw the old man lying bloodied and lifeless. The young men, the warriors of her tribe
, might have been able to make it. Most were decent swimmers. But the warriors were all dead or soon to be.

“Where’s Papa?” her son asked as he clung to her.

A sharp pain pierced Milla as she thought of her husband. As much as she hoped, she knew Barholden was dead. He would not have run. As Marsi war chief, he would have fought till the bitter end.

“Papa’s gone to a better place,” she replied through her tears.

“Can we go see him?” the boy asked again, eyes full of hope as he smiled up at her face.

Milla fought back another sob.
“Yes, we can go see him, just not yet. I promise, you
will
see your father again, but not for a long time. Don’t worry, he will wait for you. He will see how strong you’ve grown, and he’ll be proud.”

The village
, and all in it, was burning. She knew the Romans would not have started the fires until they had taken all they wanted, and every villager was dead. Slowly, she turned away from the scene of death that had been her home and her life. There was nothing for it. She would leave these lands forever and start a new life for her son. She would tell him tales of his father’s bravery, and how he had died to protect them. She would find passage to the Isle of Britain. There she could raise him, away from the influence and threat of Rome.

It seemed like it took a long time for the assault
cohorts to finish their work and join
up with the rest of the legion. Calvinus walked through the carnage as his men started to set fire to the buildings. Near the edge of the village was a long line of small piles containing gold, trinkets, weapons, fancy goblets, anything the soldiers deemed worth plundering. Calvinus smiled and shook his head slightly. As a senior centurion, his salary allowed him much in the way of material comforts, negating any need or desire to plunder from the conquered. However, he knew how important it was to the men, and so he allowed them the extra time necessary to gather whatever they were willing to haul back to the fort.

He almost felt a pang of remorse when he came upon the bodies of an entire family slain. A mother la
y protectively over her children, but it had been in vain. Her bowels were run through, and all three of her children had been stabbed through the heart. Calvinus then watched as a young woman was stabbed from behind as she tried to make her way to the river. The infant she was carrying flew from her arms and into the sweeping current. The centurion’s face twitched as he watched.

Uncontrollably,
his mind flashed back to six years earlier. He’d seen similar sights, only then it had been Roman citizens who had been barbarically slaughtered. He remembered seeing women who had been brutally raped and mutilated, all while their stricken husbands were forced to watch before they, too, were killed. At least here all the men of fighting age were already dead. The Marsi warriors had been spared the torment of having to watch their loved ones perish in a hell of fire and steel. They had gotten off easy in the centurion’s mind. Calvinus also noted how the Romans were merciful enough to slay their victims expediently. Of course, this had little to do with compassion. They were in a rush to finish the job and get back to the fort before night fell. There simply was no time for rape and torture. Being denied the opportunity to deflower the Marsi women enraged some of the legionaries. These, in turn, unleashed their hate on the people they killed; electing to bludgeon to death many of the villagers, in particular the women, with rocks and clubs rather than killing expediently with their gladii.