The Wald by Jason Born

tactic of the tribesmen – attempting to intimidate a legion of Rome.  To make a man question his ability and believe his opponents superior is to have the battle half won.  Septimus was certain the words these foreign men cried were all sorts of drivel about Roman impotency or their commander’s weakness or even about all the injustices done by Rome to fine peoples everywhere.  Septimus didn’t care what they said, but he would not let his men break formation to cut the fools down.  To break the formation was to initiate a weakness in the link; it was to invite a collapse in the line.  His century would not be the source.
    It was a bold tactic, but it would fail.  At some point the legion had seen all sorts of this from local armies.  The men of Rome would wait until the blustering horsemen tired and returned to their ranks before they took up the march and chopped the idiots down anyway.  Or they would wait for Drusus to tire of the spectacle before them and order a host of spears sent in their direction.  In either case, their tactic was bold, but it would fail.
    . . .
    Berengar was making himself hoarse, screaming like he was at the mass of men in front of him.  He was not even sure why he did it, but Adalbern had told him to and so he obeyed.  “Gallop to that man,” his father had shouted while pointing at the centurion now next to his horse, “and scream at him.  March this horse back and forth in front of his line like a cock among hens.  Screech at them all!”
    “What will I say?” asked Berengar as he grabbed the beast’s reins from Adalbern’s giant paw.
    “Tell them they look good in their dresses!  I don’t care what you say.  Squeal, boy.  Just squeal!  You’ll know when to stop.”  With that his father had marched his horse off, clipping orders to anyone who came into his path.
    Berengar loved that man.  He was harsh, to be certain, while on these campaigns, but he must.  Men did not follow the vulnerable and a coddling father exhibited nothing if not weakness.  Adalbern was harsh, but generous to the men who came to war with him.  He was also generous to his wife and son when they were back home behind the four walls of their house in the wald.  The man had become even more loving toward Berengar when his two younge r siblings, twins, died of a fever over the previous winter.  They had barely been on the earth for a year.  Such was life in the wald in Adalbern’s home.  But that was home.  This was war.  It was no place for sentiment.
    The boy had run out of ideas for shouting within the first several moments.  He had started by calling his enemy women, which seemed a fine way denigrate them.  Soon, when it was clear they would not react to or did not understand his words, he began shouting nonsense about sheep or horses or even a hive of bees he had come across last year.  What he said didn’t seem to matter.  The morning sun would crest the horizon shortly and a battle would begin, however he slandered them.
    The moment he finished telling the Romans about a pale Cheruscan boy he had once met and fought, the centurion jolted.  The soldier’s movement made Berengar and his horse jump.  The soldier began shouting wildly to the others in his lazy tongue.  Shouts from all down the line began to answer his call and the centurion spun his head back toward the boy.  Their eyes locked for less than a single heartbeat as the soldier raised his spear to cut down Berengar.
    The boy did the only thing he could think of.  With lightning speed he drew his blade and jabbed it into the belly of his horse while simultaneously yanking back on its reins.  She reared to her back hooves, clawing at the air with the front.  The man’s spear smacked into the animal’s chest.  And thus, Berengar was protected.  When the horse came back down the handle of the spear snapped off.
    It took every bit of strength Berengar had to steer the creature back toward his people as it