Santino and Vincent had been reduced to their pistols as well, but protected within the Sacred Band’s cocoon; the four of us could pick our targets with ease. We ignored our training of aiming for a person’s center mass, and went for head shots. Moving along the interior of our lines, I would pop a shot off at the first target of opportunity, spin out the way, and find another target. It was tedious and gruesome work, but with two opposing forces deadlocked in a clash of shields, it was the only offensive gesture I could perform.
We pushed our way through the throng of bad guys as a unit, and found ourselves witnessing a spectacle one only read about in rare histories or mythology. Seated on their horses, Caligula and Claudius had engaged themselves in a duel of emperors, the death of one enough to perhaps end the war. It reminded me of Homer again, who when recording the duel between Patrocolus and Hector, amongst many other duels, indicated men on both sides simply stopped fighting, to form a protective circle around the duelists, and watched.
If only that were the case here.
Instead, a circle had indeed formed around the emperors, with a diameter of about thirty yards to fight in, but instead of the perimeter watching, it was being contested as well. As though on secret orders, the Sacred Band spread out to fortify the circle, letting no one in, or out. It would be tough to accomplish, with many enemy Praetorians from the battle with the legion turning to aid their traitorous emperor now fighting behind their lines.
Caligula had made a far bigger mess than any of us could have ever hoped to.
I settled into position along the circle, waiting to see a target pop into view, while trying to keep at least one eye on the battle. When this was all said and done, I was writing it down, and it was going to be accurate to the letter. I’d lost track of Helena once again, but she seemed to be handling the whole legionnaire thing better than I was anyway.
She’d be fine.
***
Claudius scored the first victory.
Resourcefully, he used the blue sphere as a type of shield, its round and seemingly impenetrable exterior an interesting device to turn away sword thrusts. Caligula began his attack with a downward slash of his sword towards Claudius’ wrist, but was surprised when his sword ricocheted off the orb. Claudius barked a laugh and used his foot, not hindered by a stirrup, to kick Caligula from his horse.
On his knees, Caligula waited for Claudius to run him down. Just as the emperor hoped, Claudius galloped forward recklessly. His horse gave Claudius a clear advantage, but it also bred overconfidence. As he reached the downed emperor, Claudius could never have foreseen that Caligula would wield a broken pilum like a baseball bat. Sidestepping the horse, Caligula swung at Claudius’ abdomen, dropping him to the ground as well.
As their two steeds chased each other off the battlefield, Caligula did not let up. With both men unhorsed, they were once again on an equal playing field, but Caligula’s younger and more vibrant body gave him the edge, and while he had lost his sword, he was not defenseless. He must have been paying attention during our self- defense lessons, occasionally sparring with Vincent, because when Claudius tried to slam the sphere into the side of his head, Caligula easily blocked the swipe with his broken spear. He pressed his advantage by twirling in a circle as he moved forward, using his speed to hurl a spinning backfist into Claudius’s jaw. He finished his attack by sweeping into Claudius’ body and tossing him to the ground.
With Claudius on his back, Caligula started raining soccer kicks to the usurper’s head, and bludgeoning him with his broken pilum. The melee had turned into a brawl. Hardly a limb went untouched, and when his uncle rolled over onto his back, propped up on an arm, Caligula held the spear tip at his throat.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I was distracted when I had to block an incoming sword myself, and run my attacker through the abdomen with my own. When I looked back, Caligula had already fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Claudius had thrown a fistful of dirt in his face, and Caligula dropped his spear as he staggered back, clawing at his eyes to clear his vision. Claudius struggled to his feet and came at Caligula like a drunken bare knuckled boxer, scoring a few easy punches to sternum and face. Caligula covered up like any good boxer would after taking a few more blows and countered a quick jab with an uppercut to Claudius’ jaw. The blow knocked the crazed man back a few feet and Caligula wasted no more time fooling around. In a very non-dramatic and un- heroic manner, Caligula picked up the iron spear head he’d dropped earlier, and hurled it with all his might. With no wooden shaft, the spear did exactly what every modern historian theorized it couldn’t. It hit its target square in the chest, the tip extending inches out of Claudius’ back.
Still clutching the sphere as he fell to his knees, he looked down at the pilum in his chest, randomly grabbing for the shaft. Too weak to get a grip on the spear, he looked at his nephew before falling over onto his side. He tried to offer one last sinister smile, but with death’s hold overwhelming him, so did the orb’s influence wan, and his face seemed at peace. Caligula caught him just before he fell to the ground.
Turning away another sword blow, I was distracted and could never be sure, but I thought I saw tears running down the true emperor’s eyes as Claudius uttered his last few words, his arms falling limp at his sides, and the sphere rolling a few feet away from his body.
Caligula gently laid his uncle on the battlefield, but without a second thought, pulled off his imperial purple cloak and wrapped the sphere within. He then tossed it to the nearest allied horseman and screamed for him to ride to one of the legion’s camps and deliver it to Varus, and no one else. Caligula must have known of the sphere’s corruptive elements, and thought that by distancing it from the rogue troops, they’d come to their senses.
Time would tell, but we were still outnumbered, and the horseman had barely made it past the lines.
The two Praetorian factions continued their merciless battle. The once nine thousand strong Praetorian contingent that had been wholly loyal to Caligula mere months ago must have been reduced to barely four by this point, only one thousand loyal to Caligula.
I had no way of keeping track of how many kills I had over the next thirty minutes, or how many allies and foes had fallen to their deaths around me. I’d been nicked, cut and wounded an equally unfathomable amount of times and there was no end in sight. Caligula had joined the rest of us in defending this small spot of land after his fight with Claudius, but even his presence wouldn’t be enough. I started feeling fatigue set in when I thought I saw hope arrive in the form of ugly Germans slogging their way tiredly but loyally towards their legion. Always the pessimist, I figured they were just lost individuals from the battle on the right flank who had blundered into our part of the fight.
Between Caligula’s Sacred Band and his two loyal Praetorian cohorts, I had to guess no more than seven hundred were left, and our lines began to reflect that fact. Just as the illusory Germans had come into focus, our lines started to buckle, holes opened, and more men started to die all around me. I was losing both hope and energy and knew we needed a miracle to get us out of this.
Wavering, I saw an enemy sword come swinging down towards my head. My body was too fatigued to raise my shield fast enough, but I was saved by a strong hand on my shoulder that pulled me out of the way. My savior rushed in and stabbed the man through the throat. I saw a horizontally plumed helmet, and knew it was Centurion Quintilius before he could turn to face me.
“Don’t die yet, Hunter,” he said with a smile. “This may be our last stand, but help is on the way.”
He pointed with his sword towards what had originally been our right flank, and the phantom Germans I thought I’d seen. It turned out they were real, and were indeed making their way back to the fight. At the vanguard of the formation I saw Bordeaux, still full of energy and leading the charge with his SAW blazing away.
God, I loved that Frenchman.
The enemy Praetorians realized they were being outflanked, and something in their eyes clicked, as though they were seeing the fight in a whole new light all of a sudden. All continued to fight, but many with far less vigor. Some still seemed fully affected by the orb’s influence, but the evidence that it was diminishing was obviously displaying itself.
I turned to Quintilius, ready to thank him, when I saw he was looking off towards our left, a look of worry on his face. I tracked his eyes, only to see what couldn’t possibly be happening.
Only thirty feet away, so close I could almost reach out and touch her, Helena and Marcus were engaged with three enemy Praetorians in close combat. Marcus dispatched one easily, only to be stabbed in the leg by a
