Chapter 2: They Came, They Saw, They Wondered Where They Were
Quintus blinked as the light around him changed. Suddenly, it was a different dawn. An earlier one. Not only that, but the sunlight was being filtered through a dense forest canopy around him.
With a start, he realized that he stood in a clearing of tall grass, its blades fluttering slightly in the breeze. It was not the open plains and former battlefield by the Metaurus River. Rather, this was scenery he'd expect to see in Gaul. Where was he? Perhaps he'd died and gone to Elysium? Perhaps some enemy had caught them unawares, putting an arrow through his skull? It seemed improbable, but what else could it be?
Looking down at himself, Quintus quickly took stock of the situation. He realized that he still bore all of his equipment, then surveyed his surroundings. On the ground nearby sat a man with a book, his jaw hanging open in surprise. It took a single glance to tell the man was not a real threat, at least not on the battlefield. He was alone and dressed like the fops that plagued Rome. Quintus put him out of his mind and focused on more relevant matters. Specifically, the animal leaping toward him and the men charging out of the forest.
The man with the book let out a shout of warning. Quintus wheeled around to face a black cat that looked like a bigger version of a female lion pouncing at him. A quick arc of his sword slashed through the cat's neck, its weight carrying him to the ground as he rolled out of the way of its claws. He bashed another aside and stabbed it in the head before looking to the next threat.
A group of half-armed figures emerged from the treeline, sporting bows and poorly-maintained swords. Despite their lacking equipment, it was at least consistent between individuals. Quintus would have guessed they were guards or soldiers of some sort. But if that were the case, they were obviously not up to the task. A city needed men to protect it. Not these half-baked, soft-armed weaklings.
One of the archers amongst the barbarians loosed an arrow, but the Primus Pilus had his scutum ready. The curved rectangle of hardened metal and wood raised to meet the shot, deflecting it. He felt a moment of surprise at its accuracy, given the sorry state of the bow, but the force was severely lacking.
Coming back to his feet, he deflected another arrow, sending it skittering to the side. He didn't have time to marvel at the scenery or the now dying cats at his feet. Right now, he was under attack.
Suddenly, Quintus heard a familiar sound at his back. With a quick glance, he confirmed it. The first rank of the Legion had appeared behind him. How or why were questions for later. Right now, they were under fire from a hostile force in an unknown location with no officer present. So the first centurion did what he was trained to do—go on offense.
"Shields!"