by C. R. May
Numerius hopped back to the ground and made his way through the phalanx. Ahead of him Caedicius was already busy checking the strength of his disposition, his back turned contemptuously to the Gauls, some of whom were little more than a dozen paces away. The big man was striding along the front of the phalanx, grasping the great lances and testing the resolve of the men by holding them with vigorous shakes. Numerius smiled as he came close enough to hear the comments that accompanied them. ‘Marcus: keep it tight. Cato, don’t think that I have forgotten the invite to your wedding. If you are brave enough to want to spend every night with Albina, these barbarians should be easy meat!’
Numerius could see nervous smiles began to appear among the men of Caedicius’ century, and he sent a prayer of thanks to Mars that the man had fallen under his command. He called out as he came up. ‘Caedicius, a word if I may?’
The centurion turned and nodded. Calling to his optio to complete the inspection, he came across and saluted as Numerius looked out beyond the men of his century. They still had a little time remaining before the inevitable return of the Gauls. Although the vast majority of their army were still pursuing the retreating Romans several hundred remained on the plain before them, dispatching the wounded and collecting the arms of the Roman dead. They appeared to be acting on the instructions of a number of druids, and Numerius felt a shiver of fear for the first time that day at the consequences of falling alive into the hands of the priests. Horrific tales had reached Rome the previous autumn of the aftermath to the fighting outside Clusium, tales of trees festooned with Etruscan dead and burning giants filled with the terrified survivors of the battle had swept Rome. Although he knew that they were likely to be wild exaggerations he was determined not to discover for himself just how much truth the stories contained.
Caedicius broke into his thoughts, and Numerius snorted at the man’s laconic description of their situation. ‘A nasty business, tribune.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘It is, as you say, a very nasty business. If we are to survive the return of the barbarian army we need to pull our position back against the river.’
Caedicius made a face. He obviously felt less than overwhelmed by the plan and waited for permission to speak. Numerius nodded his assent. ‘Feel free to make any suggestions, centurion. That is why you are here.’
‘I was thinking, sir. While the way is clear it might be a good idea to make for the woods over there – well-drilled phalanx could cross the plain in no time. Once we were hidden we could double back to the city or link up with other survivors. There must be hundreds of men scattered between here and Rome.’
A familiar voice carried to him as he weighed up the advice. ‘It’s a good suggestion, brother.’ Numerius turned to see that Quintus and Caeso had come across from their positions further down the line. Quintus continued. ‘It could be our only chance. We have just been down to look at the river; it’s wide, deep and fast flowing. A few the men would get across, but many would not.’
Numerius sighed and shook his head. ‘I think that we will have to accept those losses. The abandoned city of Veii stands only a few miles to the west. If we can reach there we can hold out for as long as we have food. I doubt that the Gauls will follow us anyway – they will march on Rome, surely, now that the city lies undefended.’
Caedicius remained unconvinced. ‘Maybe the Gauls aren’t interested in the city.’
The Fabii shot him a look of incomprehension and Caedicius shifted uncomfortably. He was, after all, merely a centurion, while each of the men before him had been elected tribune by the senators of Rome. Suddenly Numerius caught the man’s meaning. ‘You mean us?’ He blew out his cheeks as he thought on the centurion’s words. Finally, he nodded. ‘I agree, we must be high on their list of priorities. However, that makes your plan even less likely to succeed, Caedicius. If we start to move the men across the plain and the Gauls return in force we will be stranded in the open.’
Caeso had second thoughts and agreed. ‘Even if we did make it to the wood we would have to abandon our lances. They would be more of a hindrance among the trees, and it would leave a good number of the men barely armed at all.’
Numerius looked from one man to the next. ‘Are we all agreed then? We make an attempt to reach Veii?’
Quintus nodded as he saw sense in the plan. ‘It is five or six miles to the nearest crossing of the Tiberis at Fidenae. Even if the Gauls were thinking of cutting off our retreat, which I very much doubt, they would need to ride as far back again to block our route. They don’t know the lie of the land; as far as they know there may be no crossing point at all. They are enjoying themselves chasing a defeated enemy, but they have left their priests here so they must intend to return. We have no choice.’
Numerius loosened his helm and wiped his brow. The day was still hot, and he hoped that the sultry heat of the valley would sap Gaulish strength. For once their great size would work against them. ‘Let’s get back to our centuries, as soon as we can start the crossing attempt the better. Find out who the best swimmers are and use them to defend the perimeter. If the Gauls do try to interfere they will need to swim for their lives at the end.’
They dispersed and hurried back to their men as the first sounds of the returning Gauls carried across the field. Numerius looked across and was gratified to see that the heat of the day seemed to have sapped the dynamism from their movements. No longer a seething mass, the warriors were drifting back in weary groups, the twin exertions of the initial jog to the battlefield and the harrying of the defeated Roman army beneath the unrelenting sun at last beginning to exact a price. It was clear that they had overtaken the wagons containing the supplies for the army, and the amphorae had naturally been among the first items plundered. It could only help, and for the first time since he had sat in the praetorium and listened to the wail of the approaching war horns Numerius began to hope.
* * *
‘Fabii?’
The terrified man could barely tear his gaze from the blade of the sword as he racked his memory. He knew that his life depended on the right answer, but he simply did not know. As he reached the decision to give any plausible answer, his time ran out. The Roman opened his mouth to let out a cry of protest but the blade crashed down, snuffing out the sound along with his life. Caturix moved across to the next in line. ‘Fabii?’ The Roman gestured with his hands and gabbled in Latin, but the sword shot forward to take him in the throat before he could form a coherent reply. The victim’s eyes went wide with shock and horror as he fell to the dusty ground, a curtain of blood already cascading from his neck to darken the soil.
Solemis reached forward and stroked Tantibus’ neck as the horse pawed the ground. No horse, war-trained or not, really enjoyed the smell of blood. ‘I should be a little slower with your blade if I were you big brother,’ he chuckled. ‘The last one got as far as saying, “Yes, I know. They are…” before you decided to remove half of his neck!’
Caturix threw an answer without looking back. ‘He should have been quicker!’
The violent deaths had had the desired effect, and the next man in line was volunteering an answer before the question had left Caturix’s lips. ‘Fabii, flumen!’
The chieftain of the Crow glared as the desperate Roman flattened his hand and made a waving motion as he pointed to the west. The man repeated the gesture as his half dozen companions echoed the actions. ‘Flumen! Flumen!’
Caturix turned to Solemis and screwed up his face. ‘What are they on about?’
Solemis echoed his friend’s confusion. ‘River. They keep saying river.’ He raised himself in the saddle and peered across to the Tiberis. They had ridden four or five miles from the site of the battle and the valley had narrowed considerably as the hills came down to form another choke point. Shimmering in the heat haze a mile or so ahead sat the town that the stone mile markers told them was called Fidenae.
Caturix was still confused. ‘Why are they saying river? Can you see anything over
there?’
Solemis shook his head. The pale yellow hills baked under the Etruscan sun and the sweet smell of pine scented the sultry air. Suddenly his expression came alive as he realised what the men were telling them. ‘The river! The Fabii must have been defending the flank at the riverside. They would have been cut off when Brennus’ attack broke through the centre!’
Caturix thought for a moment and nodded. ‘There was a large group there, I saw them as we galloped down the hill.’
The Romans pulled nervous smiles and hoped that they had said enough, flinching as the Gaul spat and cursed in frustration. ‘Shit!’
All at once the Crow exploded in anger, lashing out with his broadsword as the captives made pathetic attempts to protect themselves with their hands and arms. The butchery was soon over and Caturix stood panting over a pitiful heap of bloodied torsos and severed limbs.
Solemis shook his head. ‘When you are finished, it might be an idea to get back to the battlefield before the men you really want to kill get away.’ As ever, Albiomaros stood at his side, and Solemis fired off an order as Caturix wiped the gore from his blade. ‘Genos, take the Horsetails and find Brennus. Tell him that we think that we have found the Fabii.’ He held the reins of the Crow chieftain’s horse out for him as the man sheathed his weapon.
Flies were already settling on the fresh corpses as Caturix mounted and pointed its head back to the north. He shook his head in disgust. ‘What a shitty country; sometimes I would give anything to be back in a cool forest of oak and elm.’
Solemis looked wistful as he moved to his side and the clansmen trotted back towards the road. ‘Or fishing for pike and trout beneath the shade of a willow.’ He glanced across as they hauled on their reins and headed back to the north. ‘Why did you kill them all?’
Caturix shrugged. ‘They should have kept their mouths shut. Nobody likes a tell-tale.’
* * *
Numerius was elated. The retreat across the Tiberis was going far better than he could have hoped, the Gauls continuing to ignore them as they looted the battlefield and finished off the Roman wounded. After several of the first men to enter the water had promptly drowned despite removing their armour, Caedicius had come up with the idea of using the horses to ferry men back and forth. They had brought twenty of the best mounts inside the perimeter rather than leave them to the Gauls, and the horses had quickly proven their worth. Three men could clutch each side of the saddle as the horse ferried them across the river, and very soon half the men were across without a single mishap.
The men in the phalanx looked on anxiously as the Gauls returned from the chase in greater and greater numbers. Already large parties of them had come across to taunt them and display their collection of severed Roman heads; dozens had come forward to issue challenges for individual combat between the opposing forces as the Romans had looked on stoically. Numerius had forbidden such duels; victory for either side would only inflame the barbarians, and they were close to achieving their aim. He snorted with delight as he watched the Gauls cavorting about the field, drunk on a heady mixture of victory and wine. He knew that if the men opposite knew just how few Romans remained behind the front ranks of the phalanx they could overwhelm the perimeter in a heartbeat. It was, in reality, a hollow nut – one smart crack would shatter it.
Caedicius moved to his side and spoke casually so as not to mark him out as a commander to any watching Gauls. ‘That is it. There are only the men of the phalanx left on this side of the river.’
Numerius kept his eyes on the enemy as he replied. This would be the hardest part of all. ‘Start to withdraw the rear rank from the flanks inwards, but make sure that they don’t shorten the line. Try to make it look like they are being relieved if you can. We can’t afford to let them see how weak we really are.’
The centurion sniffed and walked casually away, and Numerius had to suppress a small smile at the man’s demeanour. Fortuna really had smiled upon him when she placed the man’s century next to his own. Numerius turned and left the line, walking across to the riverbank to witness the evacuation for himself. His brother Caeso was already there, and he came to stand at his side. ‘Not long now.’
Caeso glanced across. ‘I shall wait until we are safe behind the walls of Veii before I celebrate, if you don’t mind.’
Numerius patted his brother on the shoulder and smiled reassuringly. ‘Nonsense. Even if the Gauls decided to mount an attack now we could just make a break for the river and leave them gaping at the bank. It would take them time to form their battle line, and by the time that they were ready we would be away. That’s the reason why I kept the strongest swimmers back until last.’ A worried looking soldier appeared at his elbow and Numerius threw him a questioning look. ‘Spit it out, man.’
‘The centurion’s compliments, sir, but the barbarian horsemen are in sight. They appear to be galloping this way.’
The Fabii exchanged a look that said all their hopes were dashed. Both men knew that even if they abandoned the position and took to the river it would be a small matter for the Gauls to ford the Tiberis and chase them down as they had the men in the main army. Numerius’ heart sank, and he was about to round on the inanely smiling soldier who had brought him the news when the man spoke again. ‘Centurion Caedicius respectfully asks that you order the withdrawal the moment that they have finished seeding the ground with tribulus, sir.’
* * *
The Crow thundered north as they chased down the men who had taken the life of their chieftain and brought war upon themselves. The valley of the Tiberis was strewn with Roman dead and the horses were forced to weave around the largest concentrations, slowing their progress as crows and vultures rose in clouds or waddled away with an ill-tempered caw. High above more of the giant birds were soaring in great circles on the sultry air as they decided which part of the field held out the greatest prospect of a rare feast.
The sun was lower in the west now and the worst of the heat was beginning to come off the land as the battlefield came into sight, and Solemis held Tantibus back as he let Caturix forge ahead with the charge. The river looped away to the west and the plain broadened before them as they left the road and galloped on. Away to their right the field was beginning to take on a sense of order as the druids directed the growing number of warriors to strip the dead and pile their weapons for the later rituals. Such a great victory at so small a cost could only be the work of the gods, and they would need to be honoured before the army could move on the city.
The stranded flank of the Roman army came into view, a hedgerow of spears and lances anchored tightly against the riverbank less than a mile away, and Caturix edged the column to the left as he prepared to lead his clansmen straight into the attack. As the Roman phalanx grew closer Solemis watched as hundreds of tiny objects sailed through the air to pepper the ground directly in the path of their charge. Tantibus had seen them too, and to Solemis’ astonishment he immediately hauled himself out of line and slowed to a canter. Bemused that the Romans had thought to release their slingshot at so great a distance from the charging horsemen and the reaction of his mount to the panicked volley, Solemis could only watch as the Crow swept past in a veil of dust, brandishing their swords and spears and screaming their war cries. Moments later, as the horsemen prepared to unleash their first volley of missiles in reply, the leading horses suddenly pitched forward, throwing their riders and bringing down those behind them in a chaotic heap. Solemis watched in horror as Caturix tumbled through the air to land within feet of the Roman spearmen, and he caught his breath as he watched one of the Romans hesitate as he pondered whether to leave the safety of the phalanx to dispatch the fallen rider. The delay had been enough to save the life of his friend as a shouted order cut the air, and Solemis watched in amazement as the Roman soldiers suddenly broke and fled to the rear like a flock of startled birds.
As the last of the enemy disappeared over the lip of the riverbank, Solemis managed to persuade Tantibus to edge forward t
owards the chaotic tangle of horses and men. His horse halted once again at the edge of a deep swathe of dark grey objects, tossing his head as he made it plain to his master that he did not intend to go on any further. Solemis lowered his gaze and saw for the first time what had caused his mount to pull out of the attack – liberally scattered in an arc surrounding the now empty Roman position, the vicious looking spikes were as effective as they were simple. Dismounting, he reached down and plucked one of the small metal objects from the ground, turning it over in his hand as he examined it closely. It seemed to be made from three sharp metal nails that were designed so that whichever way they landed, one of the spikes would always be pointing upwards. It was a new weapon to him, though clearly not to his horse, and he cursed himself that he had not brought his clansmen along with him. The Umbrians, Rodolfo and Brizio, would have known immediately what the objects had been the moment that they had witnessed the Romans hurl them into the path of the assault. What’s more, the majority of his clan now rode trained war horses similar to Tantibus; they too would have pulled up rather than blunder straight into the trap.
Despite the spectacular defeat of the Crow attack most of the warriors were already back on their feet, looking about themselves in bemusement. Solemis was relieved to see Caturix rise again, clutching his shoulder and grimacing with what he knew would be an odd mixture of pain, frustration and embarrassment. Looking around the warriors Solemis could see that several arms had been broken as they fell, but although many of the horses still writhed in pain they appeared to have got off lightly. Had the defenders not bolted for the river the Crow clan could have been wiped out where they lay.
