The Romans came marching; the sound a constant beat against the cracked floor. Even the sound of the battle, high above on the ramparts, could not drown out their approach. They were in order; they were in union; they were one.

Metrius spun to face them even as Helius dropped the Roman traitor who scuttled away. As their leader bellowed out orders, Metrius’ unit lowered the spears, watching the enemy phalanx prepare theirs. Two walls of piercing spikes that would crash into each other.

This was it. This was the moment of truth. Now Metrius’ chest really heaved and the adrenalin, the rush, pumped into his veins. The beat of his heart matched the paces of the Romans and he raised his shield as Helius gave the order. He could see anger, hatred but most of all discipline in the eyes of their attackers and for the first time he felt truly afraid.

And once again he looked to Helius and the chill drained away to be replaced by the warm glow of courage once again. Either they would die or their enemy would. It was that simple. Snarling, summoning up determination that would see him able to advance, he prepared for the order.

“Advance!”

Forward: towards the spikes, towards the row of murder. Forward: to face death or glory, to kill or be killed. They shouted out taunts and they hurled insults back, calling up the anger that would dismiss the fear. Closer still to the spear tips; toward the fate that waited.

A few more feet.

Bracing himself, Metrius grasped his shield tight.

The collision nearly took him off his feet and he felt his spear hit home at something, the weight of his blow weakened as he fell back. The hard metal surface of a shield hit him in the back and he was thrown forwards, catching his balance and realising he was between the rows of spears. The enemy shafts were thrust over his shoulders, gouging into those behind. Putting all his bodyweight into his shield the second blow rang home as the two walls of metal met, spears on all sides puncturing the men behind who drove their mass into the push.

Grunts, roars, screams; sounds called out from all around and yet all he could think about was driving everything into his dish-shaped aspis, the shield of bronze. Nothing else mattered; the other wall had to be broken. They had to push them back. Splinters of wood and a cracking to his left signified another shaft breaking under the pressure.

“Now!”

The voice of Helius yelled out over the noise of battle and as one the whole phalanx pushed.

Their enemy resisted.

Their enemy faltered.

Their enemy fell back.

One step, two step and the crash of shield on shield a second time, the hope that this time the battle would be over.

Push!

Again the Romans wavered: they had to be seconds from defeat as they stumbled back once again.

One step, two step and a last crash of shield on shield as the enemy line collapsed, breaking under the might of the Sabines. With a roar of triumph, the victors leapt forward, cutting, stabbing, pushing, gouging as their enemy fled into the streets and alleys to escape their death.

“Hold!”

For a moment the order fell on deaf ears as eager, bloodthirsty killers leapt on their victims swinging and thrusting.

“Back in line!”

Metrius looked around, wondering why Helius called for such a quick restoration of the line. The reason was soon obvious.

The next line of Romans approached.

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http://www.xomba.com/short_story_list_metrius_and_others