With the breakthrough by Libo and his men,by necessity the other Thracians still fighting along the line oneither side had to make the difficult choice of continuing tofight, only to be cut down by either one of our cavalry troopersand the Legionaries of the 8th that had been part of theexploit, or turn around to try running for their lives, only to becut down by the men of the second line. Most chose the latteroption, giving into their fear of being left behind by the rest oftheir fleeing comrades, many dying as a result. This is when thereal slaughter begins, when an army breaks, and our cavalry, theEvocati and Tribunes ran men down trying to escape. Small knots ofThracians tried to make their own stand, quickly surrounded by acombination of troopers and Legionaries, with few of them escaping.Back on Ocelus, I could no longer restrain myself, and I joined thefight, using the cavalry sword that had started as a loan fromMarcus Crassus and had turned into a gift from my former Legate.Kicking Ocelus into a gallop, I picked out one group of Thraciansthat seemed to be in danger of cutting their way out of the knot ofour men surrounding them. With a roar, I straightened my arm outstiff, bracing for the shock and heading for the unprotected backof one Thracian who was engaged with another trooper. This was notabout a fair fight; this was about breaking this Thracian army sothoroughly that we would not have to face them again. My bladesliced into the Thracian’s back, hitting him low in the spine, andhe let out a shriek, throwing his hands back, sliding off his mountwhile I twisted my blade free. The air was getting thick with dust,the ground being churned by thousands of feet and hooves, and wasfilled with the screams of men and horses dying. Some of the morequick-thinking Legionaries had scrambled back up the hill a shortdistance to retrieve the javelins that had been discarded, nowloosing them at men who had managed to flee the immediate fightingin their attempt to escape. Dozens of missiles lanced through theair over our heads, and I could hear them thudding into somethingsolid, sometimes just the ground beyond, but also into flesh.Having dispatched the first Thracian, I turned my attention toanother man in the small group that was steadily being whittleddown by the constant pressure from all sides. I had to be carefulwith Ocelus, because some of the Legionaries were risking theirlives by darting in between our horses to attack the Thracianhorses’ underbellies, thrusting their short blades up into theirbowels. It was a highly dangerous thing to do, yet wasdevastatingly effective, something I had witnessed against theParthians marching for Ventidius. Now that I owned my own horse, Ifound it even more distasteful. After two or three horses weredispatched in this manner, I shouted the order for the Legionariesto fall back, ostensibly to save them from further harm, since oneman did get lashed by the flailing hooves of one of the animals,dropping like a sack of grain from a blow to the head.
My next opponent was a burly, older man,well armored and clearly an experienced veteran, wielding a swordsimilar to mine. By unspoken agreement, we chose each other, and Imoved Ocelus in a hopping circle, trying to find an opening. My foehad an advantage that I could see immediately; despite the fact Iam a competent horseman, I had honed that skill late in life, whileit was plain to see that this man had been born to the saddle.Turning his mount easily to meet my probing movement, he held hissword ready, his shield up and tight against his body. I had noshield, not thinking to grab one before I joined the fight, andfelt naked without it, especially facing this man. Like most nobleThracians, he had long, flowing mustaches, light brown in color butsprinkled with gray, like his hair, cut almost as short as mine. Iwas bigger than he was, and I had a height advantage, suggesting tome that I had a longer reach as well. When I nudged Ocelus with oneknee, he gave a short leap closer to the Thracian at the sameinstant I lunged with my sword. The Thracian blocked my blow withhis shield, but I saw him rock back in the saddle, recoveringquickly to lash out with his own blade. The tip of his sword cameup several inches short, confirming my suspicion, and I saw thelook of alarm in his eyes at his recognition of this disparity. Nowit was just a matter of keeping my distance before choosing mymoment to strike, knowing that it was not the first blow, but thesecond that was the most important. Everything depended on me beingfast enough to capitalize on his reaction to my first strike, and Iwasted no time. Launching my thrust, I lunged again, aiming high,forcing him to bring his shield up to block me, which he did, butmy point still punched a good hole in his shield. We both recoveredquickly and, anticipating my next lunge, he dropped his shield tocover his exposed leg. That was the normal thing to do; if he wouldhave been facing anyone else, he would have been right. However, Iam Titus Pullus, and I have bested more men than I can count.Gritting my teeth, more because I hated what I was doing thanbecause of the effort, instead of going for the Thracian’s body, Idrove the point of my sword into the shoulder of his horse. Unlikethe Parthians, and some German tribes, the Thracians do not armortheir horses, preferring to keep
