The horn sounded again.Deep. Slow.Like an echo dragging the weight of the dead behind it.
The Roman line closed once more. The cohorts returned to their position on the slope—reorganized, battered, but still standing. The men stared ahead, lips dry, spirits taut. There were no speeches. Only silence. Only the iron of trembling shields under weary arms.
The Helvetii were coming back.More disciplined. More furious.
Sextus stood at the front again, with a borrowed shield, a clean gladius, and wide-open eyes. Atticus was to his left. No one questioned his orders now. No one doubted his place.
"They won't come like before," Atticus muttered.
"Then they'll come harder," Sextus replied. "But not smarter."
The enemy approached like a more controlled wave. They advanced in formation, protected by round shields, long spears at the front, javelin-throwers behind. A volley of pila preceded the clash. Several struck the Roman line. A legionary fell beside Sextus with a javelin through his neck.
"Shields up! Back to back!" he shouted.
The impact was brutal. The Helvetii pushed with renewed fury. The line bent but didn't break. Sextus felt his feet sink into the mud. Everything was force. Noise. Screams. Blows. Blood.
One of the Gauls managed to break through the line—a huge warrior, tattooed to the chest, wielding a war axe. He charged straight toward a young legionary who hesitated.
Sextus didn't think.
He stepped in, deflected the axe with his shield, and drove his gladius into the base of the man's neck. The barbarian groaned, spat blood, and fell like a felled oak.
"Hold the line! Not one step back!"
The men answered with a raw roar. They were no longer peasants or fishermen or slaves. They were a wall of flesh refusing to die today.
The fight lasted as long as the evening light. When the shadow of the hill covered the slope, the Helvetii began to withdraw. Not in panic, but step by step, dragging their wounded, leaving behind the bodies of those who would not return.
The XIII Gemina hadn't moved.
Sextus took a deep breath. His arm barely responded. His shield was splintered, his tunic a tapestry of other men's blood. But he was alive. And so were his men.
"How did you know he'd come through that gap?" Atticus asked, still panting.
Sextus looked at the line."Because I would have come through there too."