6
ROSARIUS
SARASINIA
THE BASTION
Rosarius’s classmates were not happy. Phalanx training had started at daybreak, and now it was near dusk. In all that time they hadn’t stopped for so much as a sip of water or a bite to eat. Each student looked dirtier and more dishevelled than the next, all them complaining about having no time to hit the baths and rest up before the start of evening classes.
Drillmaster Minten didn’t look like he was going to dismiss them anytime soon, however. He strode up and down the practice arena, his boots squelching in the mud. “Shield wall!” he yelled, signalling to the waiting archers. “Brace yourselves!”
Rosarius saw a blur of arrows take to the air in a lazy arc, then swiftly drop. One narrowly missed him, spinning sideways and clattering against his neighbour’s helmet. The rest bounced off shields and armour in a rapid series of dull thuds.
“Terrible!” shouted Minten. “Fortunately for you lot, this is just training. The arrows are padded. If they weren’t, your shields would be bristling with them, no? And as we all saw, more than a few found the appalling gaps in your sorry excuse for defence too, didn’t they? Think your mail will save you, do you? It won’t. So, what’s the lesson here?”
No one said anything.
A dark look crossed Minten’s face. He quit pacing and planted his feet. “We’ve been over this time and again all year!” he roared, open-mouthed, white teeth contrasting against skin the colour of coal. “The lesson is this: keep your fucking shield up, that’s what! Repeat it after me, you flaccid little bitches! Keep your fucking shield up!”
“Keep your fucking shield up!” shouted the students together.
“Bullshit!” Minten waved a fist at them. “I can hardly hear you!”
“Keep your fucking shield up!”
The drillmaster spat. “You sound like little girls! Use your fucking balls!”
“Keep your fucking shield up!”
“Again!”
“Keep your fucking shield up!”
“Again!”
“Keep your fucking shield up!”
Minten snorted, then went back to his pacing. “It’s one thing to say it,” he said, “and another to do it. It might help to remember that your lives are literally in each other’s hands, no? Your shield is keeping the man on your left alive. The man on your right is keeping you alive. If you neglect your shield brother and cover only yourself, you’ll create gaps. And when you create gaps, the enemy gets through and you all start dying. A phalanx is more than just the sum of its parts, gentlemen. It is not just a bunch of men with spears. Questions?”
No one said anything.
Minten grunted. “I should fucking hope not, not this late in our training. Now, keeping your shield up is hard. You think I don’t see your bony little girl arms struggling under the weight? Of course, I don’t have this fucking problem.” He slapped his meaty bicep to emphasise the point. “Conditioning. If you want arms like mine, you’ll wear your shield on your arm the whole fucking day, every day. You hear me? Anyway, get them up, right now! Up high and proud, just like your cock when a pretty slut lifts her skirt for you! Show me! Up!”
The students obeyed.
“Appalling,” said Minten. “Fucking terrible. You’re soft as turds. Typical aristocrats! I gotta tell you, if any one of you useless girl-armed fuckers takes an arrow in the face or drops his shield even once today, I’ll fucking make you regret it. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir!” shouted the students.
“Yeah, well we’ll see.” Minten spat. “All right. Now, take a good look around you. Anybody want to take a guess where we are? That’s right–we’re in lovely Romelia. A lot of action happening over there now, as I’m sure you all know–fucking rebels everywhere. Take note of the terrain. It rains a lot in Romelia, a good deal more than it does here. The ground is flat, which is nice for us, but rain makes things slippery, which is not.
“Now, in a real fight we’d probably find ourselves butted up against other phalanxes, and we might even have some horses or something on the flanks. Behind us, we’d have archers or slingers, maybe both. Obviously, this is training so today we’re unsupported.” He gestured at the archers again, and they loosed two volleys in quick succession. Both times, arrows bounced against shields and fell away into the mud.
“Not too bad,” said Minten, sounding like he actually meant it. “In a real fight, though, you’ll have taken casualties. For the sake of training let’s pretend you did, no?” He counted out six of the phalanx’s fifty members. “You’re all wounded and can’t fight. Move back to the rear rank and reform the phalanx. Shield wall!”
Having drilled all day, the students were tired, and that tiredness now got the better of them. Stumbling in the mud, they blundered into each other, and their formation rapidly lost cohesion.
“Shit,” said Rosarius when the drillmaster ordered the archers to fire. Arrows poured in. Shields turned most of them, but some hit helmets and mail coats. One or two even found exposed flesh, though did no serious harm. The students swore.
So did Minten. “Fuck me!” he screamed. “If you show your backs to the enemy, you fucking idiots, you’ll get arrows in them! What happened to your phalanx? What happened to your shields? I don’t think you’ve been listening to a fucking thing I’ve been saying, no? Try again! Shield wall!”
Minten signalled to the archers as the students were still shuffling around and trying to get their shields to overlap. Arrows fell, but all were met with shields.
“Thank fuck,” muttered Rosarius.
“Good!” shouted the drillmaster. “Good. Now, let’s move on. We are, of course, an infantry unit. We can’t just stand around like whores out of work, no? It would make the troops on the other side very happy if we were to do that. They’d loose arrows at us until we had no one left. If we don’t advance and start killing, the battle is as good as lost, no? So, with that in mind, let’s advance on the enemy until I say stop. Remember to keep your shields up. Advance!”
The phalanx lurched forward, the students doing their best to stay in battle array in the sticky mud. The archers fired on them continuously, and as the distance between the two sides shrank to some twenty paces or so, arrows hit shields with such force that shafts began to crack and splinter.
In the front rank, Rosarius grit his teeth through the storm of missiles. A few came in low and hit his shins, which made him very glad of his greaves. The student behind him voiced those same thoughts, and others chuckled darkly.
“Fuck this bullshit training,” muttered someone. “And fuck Minten. Stupid black arsehole.”
“It’s really his black arsehole you’d like to fuck, isn’t it?” said someone else. The comment drew an indignant rebuttal and sniggers all round.
Rosarius’s shield-mate nudged him with his elbow and grinned, but Rosarius didn’t respond. He was more focussed on keeping his shield up, and not with what anyone thought of Minten. He had nothing against the man. If you wanted to learn the art of fighting in formation, the drillmaster was as good a teacher as you were likely to find.
“Right,” said Minten as the latest barrage ended. “Here we are. We’ve slogged through the wet Romelian terrain. We’ve survived hail after hail of deadly arrows. We’re getting closer to the enemy shield wall, no? We’re eager to get in there and tear them apart, but before we can do that, we’ll have to deal with something else. That something else is spears, because it’s about now the first spears will come.”
Rosarius looked up. The archers had put away their bows, and without warning, hurled training spears at the phalanx. “Motherfucker!” he yelled as they struck, a cacophonous salvo that rattled shields and glanced off helmets. Fortunately, it ended almost as soon as it had begun.
“Don’t forget!” yelled Minten. “Don’t forget this is only training. Not one of these flimsy twigs has a sharp bit of iron on the end of it. Now, I can’t truly prepare you for just how much the real thing is going to fuck you guys up. Maybe this will give you some idea, though.” He gave a signal and another rain of missiles began.
The second attack went on longer than the first. Staves slammed into Rosarius’s shield in quick succession, and he winced at the pain they sent through the boards and into his wrist and forearm. The entire phalanx swore viciously. He didn’t look back to confirm it, but Rosarius guessed from the scattered moans that some of his classmates had been hurt.
“You fucking weaklings!” Minten was seriously unhappy. “That was horseshit! Your wall is a disgrace! Half of you stupid cunts aren’t protecting the man on your left! You’ve got gaps everywhere! And stop whining like little bitches. You’re barely even bleeding! Pick yourselves up, you sons of whores, and for the last fucking time keep your motherfucking shields up! You are supposed to be a fucking fighting unit! Again! Shield wall!”
The students did a bad job of reforming the wall, and it set Minten off like nothing else. He found a fallen stave and stalked up and down the front rank with it, battering at shields and bellowing. The students responded the only way they could– by closing ranks and tightening up their formation.
Minten went on until the stave splintered in his hands. He tossed it away. “As I said,” he said, only slightly out of breath, “in a real fight, the spears will have points. That being the case, a lot of you would probably now have one stuck in your shields. Some will even have punched clean through them. You’re going to find it difficult to keep your shield up with all the extra weight, and doubly so if you’ve got a point staring at you through your forearm, no? Another thing you might come across is a javelin with a barbed shaft that bends when it hits your shield. You will not be able to pull that kind of weapon out, and it will hinder your ability to keep your shield up.
“If you’re ever in a situation where you can’t raise your shield, you’re damn near useless to the phalanx. In which case, you must move to the back and let someone else take your place. If you’re lucky, a spare shield will be brought to you. Though I wouldn’t exactly count on it, no?
“For the sake of training, let’s assume the first rank has fallen to enemy spears. On my command, that rank will filter back to the rear, moving through the others in an orderly fashion. Then reform. Shield wall!”
More staves flew as the phalanx shifted, though the students were careful to present nothing except solid wooden walls to the front. Rosarius dropped back to the rearmost rank where he found himself standing beside a familiar face.
“Hey stranger,” said the face, grinning as it poked out from beneath its conical helmet.
“Romelo,” said Rosarius without giving him a second glance.
“So, cousin,” said Romelo brightly. “We’re going whoring later. You should come.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Not interested.”
“Oh. Well, we can get some girls as well. You know, for you.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why the fuck do you think?”
His cousin finally seemed to understand. “Ah, you still mad about that business in the city?”
Rosarius sneered. “That business in the city? Is that what you just called it? That business in the city? You told Colton that I attacked you in the street for no fucking reason!”
“What?” Romelo did a piss poor job of feigning outrage. “I did not! I never said that!”
“Bullshit! You fucking liar. And why didn’t you get sent to the Hole because of what you started? Huh? You piece of shit!”
Romelo shook his head. “Look, it didn’t happen like you think...”
“Then how did it happen?”
“Well, I mean, I kinda get why you’re mad, Rosy. And I suppose I did sort of tell Colton a few tiny fibs, but–”
“You know what? Stop talking. I don’t give a fuck.”
“But you asked me to explain!”
Rosarius waved him away. “So I did, but now I regret it. People got hurt because of you. Friends.”
“Ah, look. Shit happens, eh? I can’t help it if–”
“Shit happens? You started a fucking feud with Riva over nothing, sucked half the Bastion into it, and then pinned the blame on other people when it all went to buggery? You don’t get to do all that, avoid all consequence, and then say shit happens, Romelo! Fuck you!”
Romelo seemed baffled. “Fuck me?”
“Yeah, fuck you, Romelo. You’re dead to me. Fuck off.”
“I’m dead to you? Is that what you just said to me?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“I’m dead to you? Really? Is that how you talk to family?”
Rosarius took out his practice sword and showed its point to his cousin. “Is what you did what you do to family?” He hefted the blade. “I’ve half a mind to fuck you up!”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“Shut up. I’m done with you.”
“Oh no you aren’t,” said Romelo, lashing out suddenly with his shield. “What’s your fucking problem?”
Rosarius caught the blow on his own shield. “You are. Now, fuck off.”
Romelo lunged again, but overbalanced and fell into the muck. “Augh!” he cried.
Rosarius laughed and was about to give his cousin a kick in the chops for good measure, but stopped when he saw the drillmaster coming their way. And the man looked mightily pissed. A sea of heads swivelled around, but snapped back when Minten growled at them to stay the fuck in formation and to keep their fucking eyes to the front.
Romelo had let go of his shield and was still struggling to pick himself up when Minten descended on him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, student?” asked the drillmaster, pointing at the shield.
“He pushed me,” said Romelo, giving Rosarius a baleful look, “for no reason.”
Minten dismissed the accusation with a contemptuous wave of his hand. “As if I give a shit! Why is your fucking shield not buckled to your arm?”
Romelo shrugged. “It’s stuck in the mud. I couldn’t get up without taking it off.”
Minten shoved his nose up against Romelo’s. “Your shield is your life, boy,” he growled. “It comes off when it’s a pile of splinters or the battle is over! Pick. It. Up!”
Romelo bent to obey, muttering under his breath.
Minten grabbed him by his mail shirt and drew eye to eye with him. “What did you say?”
“I said it won’t budge,” said Romelo, on the verge of tears.
“Just shut your little bitch mouth and pick it up.”
After a lot of fucking around, Romelo finally managed to get his shield out of the mud and back on his arm.
Minten gave him a scornful look. “That was the most fucking pathetic thing I’ve seen all day. Up to the front rank, both of you. Rosarius, you’re on the left and Romelo, you can have the commander’s position. And the next time you drop your shield, dickhead, I’ll shove the thing so far up your fucking arse even you won’t enjoy it. Move!”
Rosarius and Romelo marched to the front, and Minten walked away until he stood clear of the phalanx. “Oh yeah,” he said, “and that means extra cleaning duties for everyone, by the way. You can all thank fucking Romelo the Shield Dropper later.”
The students let out a collective groan.
Minten straightened. “Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, that’s right–I was saying how you poor bastards on the sides of the phalanx are probably thinking what a bad idea it is to be on the sides of a phalanx. You’re more exposed there, no? Yes, you are, and the enemy knows it, too. He will send death of every shape and colour your way because he knows it’s where you’re most vulnerable. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, ‘Well, fuck that! I’ll just avoid that problem by staying well away from the sides.’ Well, fuck you! The edge of the phalanx is a place of fucking honour! It’s not the front rank–where a true warrior belongs–but it’s still pretty fucking special.” Minten paused to smile at Romelo, only there was nothing friendly about it.
“Oh, and one final thing before we get to the good stuff. On the battlefield, a phalanx has a nasty habit of twisting to the right. Do you know why? It’s because everyone forgets their training and tries to hide not just behind his own shield, but also behind the shield of the man on his right. A phalanx that twists to the right is a phalanx full of fucking cowards. Be a coward on the battlefield and you die! It’s like I keep saying: a shield wall is more than just a bunch of guys with spears. You protect each other, and thus you protect yourself. When you stand and fight as one, you will win.” He spat. “Now get ready, because here comes the moment of truth. Behold!”
Rosarius looked over his shield to see an enemy phalanx formed up ahead of them. Their ranks were perfectly straight and their commander stood at the front, resplendent in a shining steel breastplate and purple-crested helm. “Gods,” he said to himself.
“Mark! Time!” shouted the commander.
“Haruuh!” replied his men, and they marched on the spot in perfect unison, heavy boots tramping out a slow cadence.
“Halt! Wall!”
“Haruuh!” and they stopped, every shield snapping into place and every practice spear held rock steady and pointed forward.
“Fuck me,” said someone.
Rosarius stood awestruck, felt his pulse quickening. One glance down the ragged front line of his own phalanx, however, was all it took to snatch him back to reality. He had no doubt they were all about to learn a hard lesson. He felt them shifting in anticipation, readying themselves for the trial to come. Nothing to be done apart from test the grip on your shield and get on with it. “Let’s go!” he heard himself shouting. “Let’s go!”
The enemy commander screamed, “Advance!” and his men rolled forward. Rosarius stole a final glance down his own front line again, wondering why he wasn’t hearing orders. He looked at the commander’s position, belatedly recalling that Minten had put Romelo in charge. And sure enough, he saw his cousin staring back at him, eyes burning and face twisted in hatred.
The drillmaster’s mouth opened one final time. “Prepare to get fucked!”