The Wald by Jason Born Page A

whin nied while careening on a zigzagging path.  Two men jumped aside to let them pass while another snatched him off her back.  The two of them crashed to the ground as the horse continued on in a frothy madness.
    . . .
    Clever bastards, thought Septimus as he watched the boy and the man who grabbed him climb up out of the dirt. The bravery or stupidity of the blustering horsemen had so mesmerized the legion in the last dark minutes before dawn that most of the tribal army had fled to the forest behind them, leaving just a single line of unlucky souls who would provide the rear guard for the running men.  Even now those who had left first were probably circling around to their homes in the hills so that Drusus could not wheel his army to crush them onto the river.  Clever bastards.
    “Advance!” came the order down the line.  Septimus’ optio was already prodding the men in the back of his century with his long staff made for just such an occasion.  The prodding was not likely to be necessary today, but each man had his duty and was e xpected to perform it fully whether in the field or on the training grounds.  The optio was there to make sure the men at the rear held their courage.  He was there to push them into harm’s way.  The optio was there to cut down any legionary so inflamed with fear that he might try to flee.
    Septimus brought his gladius out of its sheath , which hung at his waist.  He preferred to use his spear to kill the first one or two men when the lines came together.  That allowed him to build an arc in which to do his work, his killing work.  But his spear’s head was lodged in a dying horse running somewhere in the woods.  The short sword would have to do.
    The Sugambrians, hidden behind their mismatched shields began poking their spears out in jabbing motions as Septimus came within two paces.  He rushed toward the nearest of the enemy in order to inspire his century.  Their shields crashed together.  Septimus’ semi-cylindrical shield immediately absorbed two spear blows, one from each side.  The centurion ignored the men who tried to kill him from his periphery, focusing all his energy on the man who dug his feet into the earth directly opposite their compressed shields.  He was confident that his legionaries, only two steps behind him, would occupy then dispatch the Sugambrians at his side.
    His enemy’ s spear was thrusting wildly over top, scraping back and forth on Septimus’ longer shield.  Septimus pushed with all his strength to create a hole in the thin German line, but his opponent was strong, butting with his shoulder time and again to knock Septimus back.  The centurion peeked downward, hoping to see a stray foot from the man, but he was smart enough to keep them back and well hidden.
    Cries and blood from both sides of the line grew as the superior numbers of the legion met the rear guard of the tribes.  The outcome was certain, but even with an obvious conclusion, some of his soldiers would be wounded or even killed.  Septimus doubted the Sugambrians would negotiate a truce at this point to save any lives.  In truth, he didn’t want them to anyway.  From his experience, he knew Drusus would not permit such a thing until the bloodlust of his men had been quenched.
    In battle, as it is in life, happenstance often prevails.  The man opposite Septimus began sliding on the slick ground around the river.  No amount of elephant-like strength could overcome his predicament.  Septimus felt the pressure against him change as the man ran in place to right himself.  In just a moment , the German fell face down into the dirt, his shield tipping back over his head.  Septimus pounced on the shield, ramming his short sword into the man’s buttock until he felt it grind on bone.
    As the centurion looked up from his wriggling work, withdrawing his blade, a blow glanced off his helmet, deflected by the b row rim.  He thanked Mars for giving the smith the idea of the