Final Campaign

asunder myself, meeting the blow in time andfeeling the strength of the man all the way down through my legs,which shook from the impact. With one last splintering crack ofprotest, my shield cleaved into two pieces, the section just to theleft of the boss clattering off the wall and falling to the ground.In almost every way, my shield was now useless, especially as anoffensive weapon, but for some reason, habit I suppose, I did notdiscard it. Feeling extremely awkward, I tried to compensate bymoving a bit more to my left closer to the wall, calling toMacrinus to alert him that there was a gap between us. Before thePrimus Pilus could react, the Thracian seized the opportunity,stepping forward into the gap, interposing himself between Macrinusand me, his shield now covering my own sword. It was the firstmistake he made, except I know why he did it, and in fact I haddone something similar just a brief moment before when I had usedthe wall to pin the two men. He was younger than I was, and was myequal with a sword, the first man I had ever met where I couldclearly say that, and almost my match in size. But he did not havethat raging fire in his blood, that madness that gave me even morestrength than I normally possessed, so when he made the same movethat I had, he gave me the chance I needed.

Using his shield in the manner of a Roman,the Thracian punched forward with it, hitting me in my right arm,making it go numb its entire length, at the same time pushing withall of his strength to pin me against the wall. The pressure of hisweight and strength was enormous, and I was struggling for breathfrom the crushing pinch. I could hear an enormous roar in my ears,and in my fevered imagination, still flush with my killing rage, Ithought it shouts of triumph from the Thracians surrounding myopponent on seeing me pinned and apparently helpless, celebratingwhat they were sure would be my death. This only fueled my rageeven further, but thinking about it afterward, I imagine that theroaring I was hearing came from my own wheezing breath and theresulting lack of air, something I had experienced before. Whateverthe source, it gave me what I needed. Despite being pinned, with myleft shoulder pushed solidly against the rough wall of the gate,trapping my arm so that my ruined shield was barely dangling frommy hand in front of me, I was far from finished. Raising his swordagain, this time for a downward thrust in the same manner in whichI had dispatched the first man I had pinned, the Thracian grinnedat me in triumph, his lips curling back in a smile that promiseddeath. Before he could deliver the fatal blow, with a bellow, Ilifted my right arm straight out from my side, pushing against hisshield with every ounce of strength I had, and then some. Imagine,if you will, trying to push a horse away from you when it ispressed against the outside of your arm, simply by pushing outward,and this should give an idea of what was required. Although notweighing as much as a horse, the Thracian was pushing against mewith all of his own considerable strength, but somehow, I was ableto lift him bodily off the ground with just my arm, yet stillmaintain hold of my sword. My opponent’s feet left the ground,hurtling backward at least two paces, only saved from falling tothe ground by the bodies of his own comrades who were still engagedwith the other men of the First Cohort. Before he could recover, Iwhipped my torso around, bringing my left arm across my body butstill holding my damaged shield, making a backhanded slash, thejagged wooden edge raking across the Thracian’s face. Letting out asharp cry of pain when a huge splinter pierced his forehead,ripping a long gash just below the rim of his helmet, he at leasthad the presence of mind not to drop either sword or shield to grabat his face, something that many men do and die for it. Still, hewas now in serious danger, blood spurting from his forehead anddown into his eyes. When he shook his head to clear the blood away,I felt the warm spray of it across my own face. Now that I had himon the defensive, I could not afford to let him recover, so with myback now facing the wall, I attacked him at an oblique angle,making it awkward for him to defend my thrusts. Between my angle ofattack and his semi-blindness, he was now the one desperatelydefending, whipping his shield about to stop my blade from reachinghim. Even at such a disadvantage, he was still very, very good, andI felt a pang of remorse when I managed to score a hit, getting injust an instant before he could raise his shield. The point of myGallic blade sliced into the scale armor, and when I withdrew myblade, I saw a scale still skewered on the point. Blood started toflow from just below his collarbone, through his padded tunic andleaking out where the scale was missing, but I knew that the bladehad not gone deeply enough. It would weaken him but not kill him,so dropping the remnant of my own shield, I reached out and quicklygave a yank on the inside edge of his, knowing that a pull in thatdirection would be extremely painful to the damaged muscles of hisleft shoulder. I was rewarded by a groan of pain, seeing his facego pale, yet he made one last attack, trying to take advantage ofmy own lack of shield. The point of his sword came at me, but thisattack was slower than his previous thrusts and slashes. I managedto twist away without having to use my own blade to parry, yet feltthe sword rasp along the links of my mail. Before he could recover,I gave a chopping slash down on his briefly unprotected arm, anddespite not having my blade sharpened the night before, the edgewas still keen enough to cut deeply