Final Campaign

sending them all sprawling, the swordsman dead beforehe hit the ground. Just as quickly, Ocelus recovered, once againspinning around, while I held both swords out at arms' length, theblades angled downward. One unlucky man, who had either not beenpaying close enough attention, or more likely thought that he couldduck and come under my sword to catch me or Ocelus, but misjudgedour speed, caught the edge of my Gallic blade across the throatinstead, falling in a heap into the dirt. Immediately after makingone revolution to the right, Ocelus reversed direction, warning meby the feeling of his muscles bunching as he prepared to swingabout, and this time I managed to wound a spearman who had clearlyexpected Ocelus to continue in the same direction. We were stillalive, and we were holding them off, but I could tell that Oceluswas getting tired, while my thighs felt as if I had poured boilingoil on them. I needed just a moment to think and decide what to do,but the Moesians were relentless, and I was reminded of a pack ofwolves and how they work as a team, especially with dangerous prey,darting in one at a time in an attempt to wear their quarry down.This was exactly what was happening now, but every time I kickedOcelus to try and break through, we were faced by a bristling rowof spears, jabbing at us. Our only advantage was that the two of ushad drawn enough blood that the Moesians were exceptionallycautious, and ironically, that is what saved us.

"Augustus!"

Ocelus had just spun about again when frombehind me I heard that name shouted, but I could not turn to seewho it was or why they were shouting, because a Moesian, perhapsseeing what was happening behind me, decided to take his chancejust then. Perhaps I was distracted; more likely, I was just slow,but whatever the reason, I could not block the thrust he made withhis spear. As had happened so often before, I seemed to be watchingit in exceedingly slow motion; the only way I can describe it isimagine the difference between the way honey pours on a very hotday, then on a freezing one. I saw very clearly the head of thespear, and even noticed that it already had blood on it, as itpierced the meaty part of my thigh and just...disappeared. It notonly vanished into my body, but it kept going, and I honestly couldnot differentiate between the sound I made and the scream of painand rage that came from Ocelus. What I could tell was that the painwas excruciating, second only to the wound I received at Munda whenit came to the agony of it. Even having my finger bitten off, thencauterized, was not as painful as that spear thrust, and I supposethat what I did next was as much of a spasm in reaction to thedistress as it was a defensive move. Whatever the case, I did notlash out at the Moesian, who was still holding onto the spear and Iknew that he was preparing to twist the blade, making what I wasfeeling right then seem like a whisper before someone shouts inyour ear. The look on his face was one I have seen often, and Iimagine I have worn often; a savage grin of triumph and hatred asyou inflict massive damage on a foe, perhaps ending their life. Butbefore he could, my blade swept downward again, not at him, but injust a general, downward motion that sliced right through the shaftof the spear. Things were still moving very slowly, and I clearlysaw him make a hard twisting motion, but thankfully for me, he wasan instant of an eye blink too late, and in fact, he looked ratherridiculous, looking much like he was wringing his hands. The impactof my blade slicing through the shaft sent a spike of an evengreater, but thankfully brief agony, except before I could evencomprehend that I had escaped even worse damage, I was suddenlysurrounded by a whirling mass of horseflesh. The one slightconsolation that I had was that my eyes were still locked on theMoesian who had wounded me, who was staring back, still puzzlingover what exactly had just happened as he stood there withessentially nothing more dangerous now than a stick in his hand,when a horse, ridden by Lucullus, as it turned out, slammed intohim at full speed. Of all the things I have seen in battle, thiswas, probably because of the circumstances, one that remains as oneof my most vivid memories, of a man suddenly disappearing fasterthan one can blink, to be replaced by a horse occupying the samespace. I never thought to ask Lucullus if he had timed it so thathis horse could slide to a dead halt right next to me, but I amthankful whether it was planned or not. I must have sensed that thedanger was past somehow, because instead of looking about to seeexactly what was happening, I looked down at the spear stillprotruding from my leg, with about two feet of the shaft stickingout at the point where my spatha had severed it. There's noblood spurting, I thought dully, but truthfully, I was more worriedabout Ocelus. I could feel him trembling beneath me, and like me,he had stopped his motion and was now standing, his head hanging. Ihad never seen him like that, and despite the pain, that worried memore than anything else.

"Prefect!" Lucullus' voice was so loud thatI thought it would make my ear bleed.

"I'm wounded in the leg; I'm not deaf, youidiot," I snapped at him, only then taking my eyes off of myleg.

The Tribune, the rivulets of sweat cuttingmuddy channels down his face, gave me a peculiar look.

"I'm sorry, Prefect," he said, thankfully ina softer tone. "It's just that I've called to you three times."

"Oh." I did not know what else to say.

Pointing down at my thigh, he said, "You'rebadly wounded."

"Really? I wasn't aware of that," Imuttered. I would have said more, but the world was beginning tospin.

Lucullus must have seen me reel in thesaddle, because he reached out a quick hand