The First Book of the Pure Read Online Free PDF Page B

long gone, and rightly so. By the way, we all live just long
enough. My father understood that. He told me once I was just tall
enough, because when I stood my feet barely reached the ground.”
They both laughed. “We each live our lives long enough to reach our
deaths. Seriously, my comrade.”
    The lines were drawn up as the Legion faced
its enemies across a great plain. With perhaps a mile between them,
each side looked at potential death or maiming, or potential glory
and life. “How many do you think, Maximus?”
    “Too many,” the tall Roman answered tersely.
“There are thousands more of them than of us.” He wiped sweat and
dirt from his face and neck. This armor had serious
disadvantages . We could die from the heat before we reach
the enemy. Maximus worked with his armor and tried to let some
air get into his breastplate to cool him, and not for the first
time.
    “Well, if it was going to be easy they
wouldn’t send us now, would they?” His commander and friend laughed
back at him, wondering why this great swordsman, fearless in every
way, was so uneasy. It spooked Sergius Paulus, but he shrugged it
off and returned to his duty. He led his troops with bravery and
honor. With sword raised high, and trumpets ready to relay his
command to charge, Sergius cut the perfect figure of a warrior:
hammered helmet ablaze in the sun, blood red cloak flowing over his
shoulders and the hindquarters of his mare. He leaned close to her
ear, patted the animal one more time to steady her. “Do me true,
girl.” His sword flashed high, catching the sunlight, and he
roared, “For Rome and Caesar!” The trumpets sounded the charge.
    They charged, six thousand strong, tired,
hot, sweating their salt away. Unfortunately they charged into over
eight thousand crazed barbarians, waving axes, picks, and twenty
foot pikes, roaring straight at them. Nearly fifteen thousand
screaming, cursing men and thundering horses came together in a
clash that seemed to drown out the noise itself, numbing the
hearing of those within it. Hundreds were cut down in the first
onslaught, limbs gone, hearts stopped, some knocked senseless until
someone stabbed them to make sure they stayed down. One tall,
strong Roman fought his way through the hoard, saddened by the
sudden death of his long time commander and friend, Sergius, just
two feet to his right. He slashed with such strength at the man who
had cut Sergius down that his sword shattered and the enemy’s
shield split, numbing his arm. He moved close and took a fallen
comrade’s sword, still weaving above the body it was planted in,
like a plant in the wind, and with his next stroke detached the
head of his friend’s killer from his body, which is by no means as
easy as an amateur might believe. Even a headsman, with a huge ax
and a target neck held rigidly still at execution might require
two, or even three strikes. But Maximus fought with a vengeance,
and his great strength sent this particular head flying with but
one stroke. He kept going. He would drop an enemy with the swing of
his heavy shield, while moving inside the sweep of the long blades
of another enemy, skewering him. On and on he fought, losing
himself in the bloodlust of the moment. If they’d known the terms,
they’d have called him a Tasmanian Devil amid the chickens.
    Emerging from the far side of the melee, he
chased a small group of barbarians who had decided it was healthier
to hide and come back later. He let them move faster than he did.
He could have caught them, for he could run for hours. Even though
there were several of them, he could have killed them all, such a
warrior was Maximus Palamos. Yet he continued until he was out of
sight of the battle, and went on to the caves he had recently
visited.
    After moving deeply into his hide, he lay
down and made himself comfortable. He dropped his armor in a pile
and arranged his weapons. Sad that a man such as I would
have had enough of life. He gave his leather pouch of