Minimus braced the rope across his shoulders and dug his feet into the roadbed. Behind him, he heard the low groaning and snapping of the great oak tree as it began its slow, ponderous fall. Pulling harder, he was rewarded with another step and more groaning from the oak.
“Hold up there, Minimus!”
Wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm, he called back, “Will do, Omani!” From behind, he heard the thwock as Omani and other members of the 4th Syracuse Pikers continued their axing of the tree. Looking up and down the roadbed, Minimus smiled to see the destruction of the Egyptian highway was proceeding quickly. Great trees had been felled across the road, blocking it and making it unusable. In some places, the ground had been oil soaked and set ablaze. Crews had been digging holes and ruts for over a week now.
“Okay, Minimus!” came the cry. “Try again!”
Once more, the beefy Roman reset his grip and pulled. His boots dug into the packed dirt. He felt his muscles flex. Blood flowed. His temples began to pound. Twisting his hand, he felt the skin on his palm itch under the coarse hemp. He panted, trying to throw his weight forward.
The trunk of the great oak crackled loudly this time. Minimus took two lurching steps forward, and two more as the rope grew more slack. “Run, Minimus! Tree!” The mighty tree was now falling rapidly, tearing through the nearby branches, snapping twigs off in all directions. Dropping the rope, Minimus turned north up the road and ran as hard as his thick legs could carry him.
With a lurching whoom, the tall oak fell across the road, smashing into the trees standing there, knocking a handful of the young saplings aside. It bounced lightly once, shaking the ground in all directions, and then settled into its new, fallen position. All the local troopers of the 4th Syracuse cheered, giving the thumbs up in Minimus’ direction. Emerging from the woods, Omani lowered his axe and gave his friend a playful jab on his thick bicep.
“Nice job there. Hey! There’s more muscle than fat under that skin.”
“Ah, go soak your ‘ead!” Minimus laughed, rubbing his arms. “I say! ‘aven’t had this much muscle on me in some time, eh?”
Omani smirked. “And you wanted to cut and run.” Taking a good look around, he added, “Ain’t no way the yellow bastards are going to use this road anytime soon.”
“Got tat right! It’s gonna take them a good 2 or 3 times the men ta fix wot we done…” Minimus frowned. Just over the rise to the north, a long single trumpet blast rang out. “Was tat an elephant? Wot’s it doin’ way down ‘ere?”
Other Romans were also listening, talking about the sound. “What the hell, in Mars’ gout bedamned foot hole, are you lazy turds just standing around for?!?” Vario, the Viper Centurion and commander of the 4th Syracuse, rode up. His leg was unable to support his weight for long from the wounding he received some weeks back, so he used one of his son’s horses, Sir Gaius, Captain of the 1st Rome Knights, to get around.
Snapping to attention, Minimus said, “Centurion, sir! We ‘eard a noise over the hill dere. Sounded like an elephant.”
“If it is, you huge worthless slime, I’m sure it doesn’t want to mate with you!” Raising his voice, he called out, “SCOUT!” A moment later, a wiry man in his 30’s came running up. Dropping his axe, he saluted. “At ease. Go check out the noise. I want your ass on that hill and ridge before I finish berating the rest of the ladies for slacking on the job!” The scout ran off, loping across the plains. “Damn it!” Vario continued, addressing the growing number of men, “Do you want those rotten Lugdunumers to wreck more decameters of road than us?!”
“No!” cried the troopers.
“Do you want Centurion Etrusicus, the Rusty Ass, to say his men are better?!”
“No!”
“Can you imagine a pimple-popping, horse-raping, dirt-eating, Lugdunumer ever beating a Syracusian in anything?!” Vario practically snarled this latest rally.
“NO!!!” The host of Roman voices cried out long on this, many of the men menacing with their axes and shovels the 3rd Lugdunum Pikers working distantly in the south.
“Then I want to see mud flying and trees crashing! Work, you dogs, work!”
Cheering, the 4th Syracusians redoubled their efforts, pillaging more of the Egyptian road works. Minimus and Omani reentered the woods, grabbing whatever deadwood and brambles they could find, dragging it back with them. They continued this for some time. By the time this section of the road had been wrecked, the Romans began working their way south to newer, undamaged sections.
Taking a short break, Omani asked, “Hey, has anyone heard from the scout yet? And don’t elephants trumpet all the time? Haven’t heard it since the beginning?”
“Yeah, I think I saw the scout come running back,” one of the troopers offered. “Said everything was fine.”
“No, you idiot,” said another, “That was Jadicles relieving himself. Scout ain’t back yet.”
Omani was about to ask another question when the man next to him crumbled to the ground. A meter long shaft quivered in his back, the man dead before he finished falling. All around, arrows fell out of the sky, landing about the ground, troops, and trees. “What the…Run! We’re under attack!”
The Romans ran as hard as they could for the tents and trenches they had established last week. From behind, the Egyptian forces came charging out of the woods. A mix of archers and armored infantry, they gave chase, firing their great longbows easily into the fleeing Romans. The bladed heads tore cloth and flesh, dropping more Romans to the ground.
Minimus found himself falling back, unable to keep up the speed of the rest of the troops. The cries and hoots of the chasing Egyptians sounded louder and louder. What Romans did fall behind, wounded, were quickly cut down amongst cheers from the yellow attackers. Something tickled his ear and the man in front of him collapsed, a shaft slamming him between the shoulder blades. Unable to turn in time, Minimus vaulted over the falling soldier, stumbling to keep his balance after his feet hit the muddy ground. Glancing back, he was surprised to see no other Romans between him and the charging Egyptians, giving chase at less than 30 meters behind.
What men were still in camp quickly pulled on their chain mail shirts and brigandine armor. Pikes were grabbed, swords were unsheathed, shield were slung. Arrows were sent off into the charging Egyptians, most of them falling harmlessly short of the attackers, the Roman bows no match for Cleopatra’s. Vario rode up and down the encampment, screaming obscenities and trying to get his men in line.
“Minimus!” Omani leapt behind a mound of earth, rolling to the bottom and dashing off for his pike and shield. He kept glancing back, seeing his still lumbering friend trying to outdistance the closing Egyptian attackers. More and more of the enemy archers took aim at the large man trying to bring him down like a bear for sport. He was already bleeding from a variety of cuts and scrapes. Omani could see the grotesque bobbing of an arrow shaft flapping in Minimus’ shoulder, proving that he had been solidly struck at least once. Even wounded as he was, the Roman Piker refused to fall, the fear and adrenaline fueling his strength faster than the pain and blood loss was draining it.
Two of the fastest Egyptian infantry had closed to within a few feet of the fleeing man, their armor clanking, weapons waving. Feeling their presence right behind him, Minimus dropped to his knees. Stopping short, his body hit the ground rolling. Unable to dodge, both Egyptians tripped over the Roman’s flailing limbs; one lost his sword, the other winding up under Minimus’ body.
The beefy Roman grabbed the flanged mace, trying to yank it out of the armored soldier’s grasp. He twisted and pulled, all the while watching the other foe race for his fallen blade. The Egyptian jammed his armored knee into Minimus’ wide gut and shoved. Feeling his grip on the mace slipping, Minimus slammed his hand down the soldier’s helm and twisted violently. Screaming in pain, the Egyptian released his weapon, trying to keep his neck from breaking. The mace rose up and down twice, crushing the life out of the fallen soldier.
A loose arrow struck the ground next to Minimus’ hand. The racing horde was now almost upon him. He tried to grab for the Egyptian’s shield, but the dead man’s companion had reclaimed his blade and tried to skewer Minimus. Side stepping, he chopped his wrist down, disarming the warrior with a mace blow to his hand. The Roman’s other hand lashed out, catching the Egyptian across the throat. Growling, he lifted him to his toes and bashed the wriggling man on the head. He dropped the stunned warrior and tore his shield from his arm.
Holding the iron shield by its dangling strap, he flung it over his shoulder and ran towards his beckoning countrymen. More arrows whistled past him, some striking the shield, others trailing fire across his body.
From the Roman line Vario charged out, the shield cart hastily strapped to his mount’s saddle. A volley of arrows arced over the Centurion’s head, landing amongst the charging Egyptians. Slowing them down, an answering volley flew from yellow clad line, landing about the Romans with more force and effect, dropping 20 or so of the determined defenders. The Viper turned his steed to intercept the tiring Minimus, the cart clattering wildly behind him in the tall grass.
“Jump on! Jump you steaming pile of human scum!”
Minimus half leapt, half fell into the jostling cart, his massive weight almost upsetting the unsteady ride. Vario’s steed gave a whinny of protest and then picked up speed, goaded by Vario’s wildly kicking legs. Minimus twined his fingers into the woven floor of the cart, trying to keep his bouncing, sliding form from falling free. He felt more arrows fall about him, clanging off shields. One of them slammed through his hand, momentarily pinning it to the cart he rode.
Vario’s steed ran up the side of the embankment and leapt over the Roman’s crouched behind it. Minimus and his ride tumbled wildly over the hill, landing with a crash and explosion of broken wheels, flying shields, and the large man’s pin wheeling form dropping two Roman pike men and tripping a third. His hand had torn free of the arrow that had struck it earlier, and the arrow in his back had been broken and dislodged during his fall down the hill.
Falling from his aching horse onto his own wounded leg, Vario hobbled over to Minimus. “You ok?! Damn it, son! Mars eat you a new gut wound! Private Minimus, are you ok?!?”
Blinking wildly to clear the pain induced spots before his eyes, Minimus squinted, focusing on the Viper’s concerned and angry face. Nodding slowly, he answered, “Yes, Centurion.” Rolling unsteadily to his feet, he reached for a fallen shield and rose to his knees. “Private Minimus, reporting for duty, sir!” The soldiers of the 4th Syracuse cheered. “I understand there’s some Egyptians to kill.” Staggering, he leaned heavily on Vario's body and pulled himself painfully upright.
Omani pushed his way through, gave his friend a quick hug, and pressed a pike in his hand. “Minimus! Thank Zeus and Mars you’re alive.” Turning to Vario, he said, “Sir, Egyptian infantry approaching. We have no time!”
“MAGGOTS!” the Viper bellowed, his cry reaching the entire encampment. “If this worthless bag of puke can drop two Egyptian whoresons with no armor and no weapons, get shot up and thrown from a cart, and then stand up looking for more…I expect no less from everyone here.” The cheers of the Roman pike men sounded again, drowning under the war cries of the attacking infantry.
Dragging himself back into the saddle and drawing his own sword, Vario yelled, “4th SYRACUSE…ATTACK!”
As the Egyptians crested the earthworks, they expected to find their enemies demoralized and unprepared. Instead they found themselves facing hundreds of ready Pike men, howling their heads off and counterattacking their expected offensive. Pikes and swords lashed out, splitting breastplates and lopping limbs. The Roman forces, somewhat decimated from the Egyptian’s surprise attack had now found ground more the their liking. The defense works and barricades made the Egyptian line waver, unable to wash over the fortified Romans.
The battle raged on, the hours passed. With no cover for over a mile back to the woods off the road, the Egyptian army could not retreat for long to regroup before the Roman arrows would fall about them and leave themselves open for a rout against their rear. Meanwhile, the Egyptian longbow men, although deadly in the open, were easy targets with their line formation and lack of armor. To be safe, they were forced to stand outside the Roman archer’s range. But this distance gave the Roman’s more than enough time to seek cover before the yellow cloth yard shafts could hit their encampment.
By mid afternoon, the 4th Syracuse was down to roughly 600 fighting men, while the Egyptian forces, although suffering twice the number of wounded, could still field 1,200.
From the south, both sides heard the cries of, “Pax Romana! 3rd Lugdunum!” Charging against the Egyptian left flank, Etrusicus and his thousand pikes raced to join the battle. Egyptian arrows filled the air, raining pain and death amongst the Lugdunum pike men. The Roman attack began to waver, slowing as the dead and wounded fell screaming.
“Right flank! Roll south!” Vario ordered. “Left flank! CHARGE! 4th Syracuse!” Over 200 Roman pike men came screaming over the northern edge of the earthworks, stabbing and slicing with their weapons. Meanwhile, some 300 men ran south, shields high, linking up with the still approaching 3rd Lugdunum. Stronger now and better protected, the mass of troops fell upon the fighting Egyptians, catching strongly across the left flank and driving them into the firmly attacking Syracuse troops.
Riding his war horse up to the Lugdunum commander, Vario yelled, “What are you doing here, Rusty Ass?! Came to see how real soldiers fight?!”
Laughing up at him, Etrusicus called back, “Dirty Syracusian! The 3rd Lugdunum ARE real soldiers!” Both Centurions laughed. “The only thing Lugdunumers enjoy beating more than Syracusian boys, are Egyptians that attack Syracusian boys!” Howling at the Egyptian infantry he was clubbing with the weighted end of his pike, Etrusicus said, “Here that, you yellow bastard?! No one attacks Roman boys and lives to tell about it! FOR ROME!!”
Gathering up the Lugdunumer’s cry, Vario roared as well, “FOR ROME!!” The Roman troops all cried out, “FOR ROME!!” They fell upon the Egyptians, pouring their determination and hearts upon them. “FOR ROME!!”
“FOR ROME!!”
“ROME!!”