The Fall of Veii- Part 1

by Francis Mulhern

  “Well Rufus, what is it this time?” started Postumius, his expression showing a measure of exasperation which Rufus did his best to ignore but inwardly his blood began to boil.

  “I ask again, sir” the Centurion said in a measured tone, his eyes fixed on Postumius “that, at the men’s request, the older soldiers take Bolae as a captured city and colonise it. They have fought well here and done your bidding” he ground his teeth at this last comment as Postumius had been ineffective in the fight and without the Centurions leading the counter-attack once inside the city walls they would have been slaughtered. “And they ask your permission to start refortifying the walls and strengthening the town, sir” he finished, his jaw set firm.

  After a moments silence, in which Postumius’s vacant expression suggested he didn’t seem to recognise that Rufus was in the room and had spoken to him at all, the commanding officer leant forward and pointed to a spot on the map on the table in front of him, his finger making a thudding sound as he placed it heavily onto the vellum, a flash of anger showing in his eyes.

  “Here” he said “are twelve hundred Labici. And here” he pointed to another spot, “are the Capenates and the Falicians. They will no doubt want to re-populate this dust bowl as soon as we leave as well” he said dismissively. “If I leave a force of two hundred men here, Centurion, how long do you think you will last?”

  Rufus shifted in his seat, his anger trying desperately to get out as he held himself in check. “Sir” he started “two hundred men could hold this city for a week. New recruits from Rome could be here within four, maybe five, days and we could colonise this area, creating more land for old soldiers to move into and giving Rome a new colony from which we can control the roads here in the north and have reinforcements should Veii decide to march on Rome.”

  Postumius looked at his Centurion and shook his head slowly. “We have had nearly twenty years of peace with Veii. Why would they attack us now?” Despite the rhetorical question, Rufus answered quickly.

  “Sir, with respect, the Veientines have been stirring up the rest of the Etruscan cities for years, everyone knows that” he almost chided, quickly continuing as he saw the irritation start to rise in Postumius’s face. “But, commander,” he added the phrase as he knew Postumius liked to be named as commander of the army. “Whether they are stirring trouble or not, this position gives Rome good access to the mountains, a fortress in the north and an opportunity to reduce the burden of ex-soldiers on our City. Surely, sir, such a thing could only lead to better security for Rome?”

  Postumius sat back in his chair. The same argument, over and over again, he thought as he looked at the man sat in front of him, noting the greying hair, creases in his brow and tired expression on his face. Postumius knew he could not grant the men’s wishes, he had other plans for Bolae.

  “It’s not my decision, Centurion” he said, his voice sounding as bored as the last time they had held this conversation. “As I have said previously, such decisions are for the Senate, not for a mere field commander to make. In fact, Centurion” he added “if I hear the argument again I will personally kick the next man I hear speak of it into the latrine ditch” he said standing from the desk and waving an arm out at the front of the tent whilst staring down his nose at the frustrated look on Rufus’s face.

  “Rufus, Rufus” he cajoled as the Centurion looked up at him, his face a mask of frustration. “If I could make the decision you know I would, but I cannot.”

  “You could set a force to guard the town, Sir” replied Rufus flatly. “Two hundred good men, hand-picked” he added, looking at a spot away in front of him so as not to look his superior in the eyes.

  “No. I have spoken” Postumius finished. “Tell the men that when we return to Rome the Senate will be presented with the idea of a colony and we will see what they decide.”

  Rufus sat motionless in the chair for a moment longer before speaking. “Permission to leave, Sir?” he said in a level tone which hid his frustration.

  “Yes, yes” came the reply as Rufus saluted and turned on his heel, his helmet held under his arm as he marched stiffly from the tent to the sounds of Postumius sighing.

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  Chapter 4

  “Bastard” spat Bassano, his teeth set into a grimace as he sat next to Rufus and several of the senior Centurions of Postumius’ Legion. “What a load of crap. He could set up a colony here if he wanted to, he has the authority, and he knows it” he threw the dregs of his wine onto the floor. “Gods this wine is like latrine water” he said, his anger boiling.

  “Calm down” said Rufus, his arm resting on his friend’s shoulder as he looked him in the eyes. “He has Imperium here in the Legion so his decision is final. We have had our say and it will be recorded in the journals” he said as a few grumbles came from the men sat around him.

  “This is good land Rufus, you know it” Bassano added with a shake of his head, his eyes staring into the fire around which they sat in the dimming light of the day. The officers all sat and looked at each other for a few minutes before a short man, his left eye covered in a thick bandage, spoke above the silence.

  “A messenger went to Rome earlier for reinforcements” he said quietly, at which those who had not heard this news sat up with a look of interest. “I think he is looking for support to transport the treasure and slaves” he added with a questioning frown.

  “Bastard better not lose that treasure” Bassano spat again. “I have enough money in those spoils to be set up for ten years” he grinned at the thought, as did a number of the men around him.

  “Still doesn’t sort the problem of where you’ll be living though” added Rufus as Bassano glanced to him and shook his head with a wry smile.

  “No, but with that I can buy a plot of land somewhere. Maybe just up the Tiber” he said with a smile. “Enough for the young ones to grow and maybe for Appius and his family to move to as well. I can’t be living in Rome any more, too many people, too many beggars. I’ve had enough Rufus” he said with a dejected shake of the head. “Patres have taken everything, taxed it to the hilt and then closed every opportunity to become a magistrate and earn a good living in the City. The Plebeian leaders are not arguing our case strongly enough and we are little more than beggars to the rich” he sighed deeply. “Better to move to the provinces and see if I can get a magistrate’s role out of a local town, they always want old soldiers, especially Centurions” he added to the agreement of some of the men.

  The one-eyed man sat back with a grunt, rubbing at the patch over his eye before adding “I reckon I have enough from this campaign to see me through six winters” his grin spread across his face as he continued “how much do you reckon we will get for those slaves?”

  As the Centurions set to discussing their spoils and how they would spend it, none of them noticed the man who had been lying next to the tent away to their left in the shadows. He crawled slowly backwards into the darkness of the gap between the tents and slid on his belly until he was out of sight. Postumius would be happy to hear that Bassano was bad-mouthing him he thought as he grinned wickedly and set off to his commander’s tent.

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  “But father, the Scorpions are unbelievable” Marcus said, his voice strong but deferent as he spoke.

  Marcus’s father Lucius Furius Medullinus stood next to a small window in the exedra, the small garden room which was in the south-east corner of his villa in Tusculum. He looked at the warm sky outside as he turned to his son, his face serious as they discussed Marcus’s latest ‘invention’.

  “Undoubtedly it is a good weapon” he started, waving away a fly that buzzed annoyingly around him, “but it is the cost Marcus. You have made twenty of these things, Scorpions?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. Marcus nodded a reply, his head lowered as he knew what was coming next. “The cost has used all of your reward from the last two campaigns, every scrap of bronze and silver has gone Marcus.
If you are to bring up your children, pay for a good education and promote yourself for the position of Censor you will need money. Where do you see this coming from?” he asked, his exasperation showing that they had discussed this issue numerous times in recent weeks.

  Marcus sat quietly taking slow breaths as he fumbled for words. Why did it always come down to money, surely his father could see the benefit of the Scorpions. Over the past month, he and Potitus had re-engineered the gearing system making it easier and quicker to load, developed lighter arrow bolts and fashioned an improved range finder which gave it a level of accuracy a legionary would never be able to achieve over a throwing distance of two hundred yards, three times that of any man.

  “Father” he started, raising his chin and setting his eyes into a determined stare. “The Republic needs new weapons and new ways of fighting. With success, this could be a new income for the family. It could bring us a measure of glory as well” he almost pleaded, his voice rising slightly before he checked himself and took a deep breath. “Think what would happen if the Scorpions could send three bolts each, that’s sixty bolts every minute into a phalanx. It would devastate a line of infantry and render the phalanx useless. The new version is light and can be carried by a man, or two men, on a horse, easy to pick up and retreat if threatened by cavalry.”

  His father stopped him with a shake of his head. “Marcus” he said “you would need two hundred, not twenty. The cost of each machine is prohibitive. How would any soldier be able to afford such a thing? Only the rich families would be able to provide them, and even then, each man would need a horse or even two” he added with another shake of the head. “We cannot afford it” he said with a measure of finality. “No more” he searched for the words “contraptions” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “But father” started Marcus “the phalanx style is no longer efficient, I showed that with my Eagles. Didn’t we win every battle with my new Maniples, my handfuls of soldiers fighting in smaller groups? Didn’t our line take the phalanx at the river last year against the Capenates? With the Scorpions, we could have thinned those phalanxes to breaking point without any loss of Roman life. It is you and Lucius who are always saying that we lose too many soldiers each summer. The Scorpions are the future” he stated strongly, rising from the chair and stepping to the window, a cool breeze coming into the room from the garden outside.

  Lucius, his deep-set eyes and thin nose a mirror of Marcus’s own face, turned in exasperation and was about to begin his eulogy again when a knock came at the door and a slave entered, his eyes looking to the floor as he spoke.

  “Master, forgive my presence. Master Fabius Ambustus has arrived and I have taken him to the study and ordered watered wine and food for him. He requested your presence and that of young Master Camillus.”

  Lucius looked at his son. “We will talk of this another time” he said as he placed an arm around Marcus’s shoulder and gave him a light hug, his half smile and small shake of the head giving Marcus hope that their next conversation might go more in the direction he hoped.

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  “Fabius, an honour to see you my friend” Lucius Senior said as he clasped arms with the short, man, his wiry hair matted to his head as he had taken off his riding cap and run his hands through the tangled mess.

  “Lucius. Marcus” nodded the man seriously before sitting down heavily in a thickly carved wooden chair and continuing to drink from the cup he had been given. “Forgive my unannounced visit” he said, wiping his mouth with a small cloth. “I have news of Bolae. Postumius seems to have won the day and sacked the town, but has sent for reinforcements.” Marcus liked Ambustus, always straight to the point with no pleasantries and he smiled at the stern face of the man sat in front of him. “It seems he has Labici raiders on his tail and has requested a relief force to support the return to Rome. I have been given command of a thousand men, of which three hundred are Equites” he smiled. As leader of the horse, the Equites, Ambustus had been the first man to lead a charge on a phalanx, overwhelming the right wing of an attacking force, and his reputation in Rome had risen dramatically since that day. Marcus grinned as the memory of the fight flashed through his mind.

  “The men” he continued, “are already a day’s ride to Bolae but I have come to ask Camillus” at which Marcus turned his face with more interest to Ambustus “to join me. I think those Eagles of yours could be useful” he smiled, finishing the watered wine and standing to look at both men. Marcus flashed a grin, his heart skipping a beat as he contemplated the request.

  “I will be ready in thirty minutes my friend” he said, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder and smiling at him. “I will take Narcius and Mella if that is acceptable Father? May I use a messenger to send to Rome for the rest of the men?” he asked as his father gave a resigned nod. The Narcius family had become clients of the Furii since the day that Publius Narcius had joined Marcus’s Eagle troops at the battle of the three crossroads. Having been a poor legionary who struggled to wield the long spear in a phalanx he had taken to fighting with a sword and shield with such energy and expertise that his whole family had grown close to Marcus and allied themselves to him. As Marcus strode from the room Ambustus and Lucius sat and began discussing the latest news in Rome as they waited for him to return.

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  After half an hour of rushing around organising his equipment, Marcus had eaten a quick bowl of Satura soup and said goodbye to his wife Livia before leading the packing of the twenty Scorpions onto a cart and setting off with Ambustus and his small group of riders. After agreement with Ambustus, Gaius Potitus had been added to their group before they left, and the men rode off into the low hills with a wave back at the small huddle of family members who stood and waved at their departure. Marcus felt alive again; he was going back to war.

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  Chapter 5

  “Damn them” Postumius said as he stared at the dead men lying strewn across the ground at the river. He spat, a long drip falling onto his leg, as he stared menacingly at the men around him. “Will someone get those damned archers?” he yelled at his officers, who cowered behind him unsure what to do against the fifty Labici archers stood across the narrow, but deep, waterway. The Labici had been raiding the outposts Postumius had set around his camp beside the walls of the fallen town of Bolae and, so far, had managed to kill a number of Roman soldiers without any loss to their own.

  “Look at them” he called. “They are laughing at me” he said, his eyes searching the rows of men no more than a hundred paces away across the water, their brown leather breastplates and bronze helmets adorned with long black feathers showing which tribe they were from. “I want them dead” he said with anger as he whirled to one of his staff officers and pointed a finger. “You, Aulus Manlius, get me those feathers” he snarled, “I want them today”.

  “Sir” saluted Aulus, his face not betraying the resentment he felt for the constant jibes he received from his commanding officer. His brother had warned him that serving under Postumius might lead to some problems, but he hadn’t realised how spiteful the man could be and this was another in a long line of unachievable objectives he had received from Postumius, all of them designed to make him look foolish and inept.

  “Get on with it then, man” Postumius chided, his sneer bringing a smile to the face of his closest advisers.

  Aulus nudged his horse forwards and called to Agrippa, his Centurion, “get me twenty men with horses and meet me by the ford.” He stepped the beast slowly to the river-front, keeping as far from the bank as he could to avoid arrow-fall, as his mind ran through options for attacking the small war band.

  A thump thirty yards ahead of him showed that the archers were testing the range, their black beards split with yellow-white teeth as they grinned and jeered at him. Below him lay a man he had had supper with the previous evening, a thick brown shaft through his throat as his lifeless eyes stared into
the blue sky. A crow squawked as he neared the closest corpse, its wings lifting its heavy, well fed, body into the air as it shouted protests at being disturbed from its meal. Thump. Another arrow, this time closer. His horse edged backwards as he came to a stop as another arrow fell ten yards ahead of him.

  “Don’t stop man” came the laughing call from Postumius as he looked to his left at the commander, sat astride his large white charger. “Go on” called Postumius again “Get me my feather” he barked as he nudged his horse forwards, his eyes full of hatred.

  Every fibre of his being wanted to shout back at Postumius and tell him exactly what he could do with his feather, but he knew he could not do that and that his Virtus, his bravery, was being affronted by Postumius. There was nothing he could do except obey his commanding officer’s demand. The noise of horses behind him brought his mind back to the task in hand as he saw the approach of his riders. He looked across the river at the archers, three of whom now jumped from their horses and ran down the bank to get closer to the Romans, their long tunics flowing as they came to a stop and hefted their bows.

  Agrippa appeared at Aulus’s side, his face a mask of anger as he glanced at the archers and then back to Postumius, who was still walking his horse closer to the river. “I don’t mind dying, sir” he said with a measured tone, “but for that prick?” he shook his head as he looked at Aulus and sighed “orders, sir?”

  “The ford is further along, let’s ride hard and come back as quickly as we can. Might as well get it over with” Aulus said as an arrow whistled into the water ahead of him. “Men, let’s go” he called, waving his arm to the right and setting off at a canter, hefting the small round shield in his left hand as he gripped the reins with his right alongside his spear.

  “Aaarrrgh” came a sudden scream from behind him which caused Aulus to pull his mount to a stop, the horse snorting as it stamped its feet and turned to a great cheer from across the river bank. Aulus looked back at his commander as he slipped from his horse, a long arrow protruding from his shoulder and a great scream coming from his lungs. Almost with a smile he called to his men “to the ford, we must get that feather” and rode off at a gallop to the cheers and calls from the Labici archers who were now racing to the river front and firing into the knot of Roman officers on the other bank.