Hostage to Fortuna

barely make out there were onlytwo men. It was more the sensation of motion than the movementitself I sensed, as the passenger drew his arm back and flung ashort throwing spear that went slashing between the shields of twoof the men farther down the parapet, but he was already throwingthe next one, followed by another before the chariot flashed past.The hollow, thudding sound as one of the spears slammed into theshield of the man two down from me served to make me crouch down,just in time, hearing the slashing sound that I have experiencedmore times than I can count that tells me that some barbarian justmissed me. Thank the gods for the dozen archers, because one ofthem, using his own initiative, came rushing up to the parapet andwas immediately followed by his comrades, shoving their way inbetween the spearmen. Without any command that I heard, they begandrawing and loosing in one motion, the range such that theyessentially pointed the arrow directly where they wanted it to go,which encouraged me to stand up to watch, just in time to see anarrow strike a Brigantes about to hurl a missile, the shaft buryingitself in his chest, sending him flipping over backward and ontothe ground. His body proved to be a weapon for us, because it fellright into the path of the chariot following behind, and before thedriver could react, the horse on the inside struck the corpse andwent tumbling headfirst, which threw the chariot up into the air soviolently that it flung the driver as if he had been shot froma ballista, landing at leasttwenty feet away, barely missing the chariot just ahead of them.Perhaps the most important thing was that this disrupted the entireattack from the chariots, as the pair of horses in the wreckedchariot were hopelessly tangled, and from the shrieks of almosthuman pain from one of them, it had suffered some sort of injurythat immobilized both of them.

The chariot following behind the wrecked onewas forced to change its path, and whether he had no choice or hemade a made a bad decision, the driver came closer to the gate, andby the time it had passed by, both the driver and spearmen had morethan one arrow protruding from their bodies, while the horses, nolonger under control, went galloping off into the night down theeastern wall. The chariots were dangerous, there was no doubt aboutthat, but I was more worried about what was coming next, and I keptmy eyes down the road, trying to identify the next threat coming.The dark shape that came rolling towards the gate now was notmoving as quickly as the chariots, but we could hear the roar ofwhat sounded like well more than a hundred men, and within a fewheartbeats they materialized out of the darkness, becoming distinctenough that we could see the individual figures of however many menDiviciacus had held back for the assault against the gate. I wasswitching back and forth, watching the Brigantes closing on us, andover my shoulder, silently willing Tincommius and the fifty men wehad in reserve to appear from around the last line of buildingsthat blocked our view of the town square. When the onrushing enemywas about fifty paces away, I gave up looking for help, and I hadto shout to be heard over the bellowing of the men rushing atus.

“Get ready, boys! Let them make thefirst move, use your shields, and shove your fucking spears downtheir throats!”

Even as the words were leaving my mouth, Iknew they were pointless, but to my shock, and delight, this wasexactly what the Parisii did, waiting for the boldest of theBrigantes to literally hurl themselves against the bottom of thewagon while blindly thrusting their spears at head level, trying toaim for the gaps between the shields. I certainly felt the impactof several bodies colliding with the wagons all within an eyeblinkof the same time, but they did not budge. A spear shot through thegap between the man to my left and me, and it was only by chance Iwas actually looking down at that exact spot, so that before I hadany conscious thought to do so, I reached out and snatched theshaft of the spear with my left hand, clamping down with all mystrength. It is a move I had used before, another thing my fathertaught me, but I was not in a position to take advantage of thereaction of the Brigantes warrior, who I could not see, although Icould feel his attempt to yank his weapon free.

“Kill that bastard!”

There is no way to know if he understood me,but I saw the Parisii next to me pull his arm back, then thrust hisspear down, and I heard a high-pitched shriek of pain; mostimportantly, the tension on the spear suddenly vanished, so Ipulled my left arm back then tossed the spear behind me. All alongthe makeshift parapet, I sensed as much as saw the Parisiidefenders thrusting their spears, shifting their shields, andshouting at the top of their lungs, saying what I was certain werethe same kinds of things we Romans do, calling their enemies’mothers whores, their fathers dogs, and how we were about to killthem. Two men down from me to my right, alerted by a shriek of painthat drew my attention, I turned just in time to see one of the tenParisii holding the parapet reeling backward. Whether it wasbecause of the step down or the wound, what mattered was that helost his balance, falling backward and leaving a gap in ourdefenses.

Without thinking about it, I hoppeddown, crossed the space, and stepped back up onto the planks intothe gap, without a shield, and I was just in time to see a beardedBrigantes, one of the few wearing a helmet, attempting to crawl uponto the sideboard of the wagon, undoubtedly with help from acomrade below boosting him up. In one of those moments that oftenoccur in a fight, our eyes met, but although he tried to bring hisshield into a position up in front of him, he was too late and Ithrust the spatha straightinto his