The Fall of Veii- Part 1

by Francis Mulhern

  “Is that the last of them?”

  “Yes, three dead now” came the reply.

  “Good, take the high point there, I will go to the bushes. Send the man to call them forward.” He stepped to the side before turning again and asking “which one is he again?” as he patted the thick sword hanging from his belt “I want that reward” he grinned.

  “He is the man with the Greek style beard and if they take the bait he will be leading the advance party. But we need to send a few warning signals to make sure they fall into the trap”

  “Excellent. Make sure it happens. If there is no advance party, we will retreat until they approach the river. I must get this man alone” replied the taller of the two men, his head nodding slowly as he spoke.

  *

  Ambustus stopped the column. His nerves told him something was wrong, but he couldn’t see what it was. The scout waved from up ahead, giving the signal to proceed and then turned away, trotting over the rise. Ambustus frowned, maybe he was getting too old for this, he considered as he waved the men forwards his eyes glancing at the rocky ravines on the right and low scrub bushes to the left. Had that scout taken off his helmet? Where were the other scouts? He felt an old, familiar, cold feeling creep up the back of his neck and he didn’t like it.

  “Camillus” he said quietly, an urgent look on his face which brought Marcus to his side.

  “What is it?” asked Marcus, glad to get away from Fasculus who had spent a full thirty minutes attempting to distance himself from his actions when they had last met, blaming Postumius for ‘orders’ which had to be obeyed. The man had even gone as far as to apologise to Mella, at which Mella had snorted his derision and ridden to the back of the column.

  “I’m not sure Camillus” replied Ambustus as he scoured the ground ahead of them. “Something in my gut tells me there might be a problem” he started to say before a call from behind caused both he and Marcus to turn. One of the men was pointing to the sky as a large eagle circled overhead.

  “Your bird, Camillus” said Fasculus as he watched the eagle slowly circle and then disappear behind the rocky outcrops on the right. “I wonder what portent that brings?” he asked absently as his eyes turned to rove the ground ahead again, his nerves on edge. All he could see was the rise of the path, narrow and rocky, the perfect place for an ambush. His mind considered the options. A force of fifty raiders could probably hold the ground for an hour or two he thought as he glanced around at the land around him.

  “Stop the column” said Marcus instantly, his instincts taking over. “Set out a force in front Ambustus, there is something wrong, you are right” he said quickly as Ambustus looked at him and then called a halt to the march with a stiff nod to Marcus.

  “Take fifteen men Camillus” said Ambustus as he swivelled to his left and beckoned his first spear Centurion forwards to give him orders. “But be careful, the road is tricky and it’s a good location for an ambush” he added as he tapped his sword, releasing it an inch from its scabbard nervously. The noise of the sword rasping on the scabbard made Marcus’s eyes flick to Ambustus before he jumped from his horse.

  “Narcius” he said as his Hastatus Prior, his own first spear, came forwards. “We are going to search ahead of the main column for a bit. Get fifteen of the men ready” he said, turning back to Ambustus. “Follow one hundred yards behind us, sir” he said as he slid his leather skull cap over his hair and thumped his helmet on top, tying the chin strap quickly before gripping his shield in his left hand. He hefted his sword, feeling the balanced weight as he took a deep breath and stepped forwards. “Follow me, Eagles” he called as the men trotted out behind him.

  Ambustus watched as the last man in the line trotted along without a shield and with a long sword, its shining metal glinting in the sunlight as he placed it over his shoulder as he ran to catch up with the legionaries. Ambustus frowned as he watched Fasculus join the skirmish party, wondering what the man was up to.

  Narcius called the step as the men crested the short hill, his breathing steady as he looked around at the countryside. His eyes searched the ground for any sign of disturbance or enemy. Nothing came to his view, not even the scouts. Something wasn’t right.

  “Sir” he said without looking to his right where Marcus was walking beside him. “This is a good spot for an ambush. Rocks to the right, deep gullies and that scrub bush to the left.”

  “I agree” came the reply as Marcus peered in both directions. “And it’s too quiet” he added as he strained his ears above the clinking of the men’s armour. He took a moment to glance over his shoulder, past the men in line behind him, at the forms of Ambustus and his officers who had crested the small rise behind them. “Narcius, get the men tight together...” Marcus started to say before a deep throated cry came from the roadside to his right and the blur of the shape of a man jumping from the small rocky outcrop appeared in his vision, the speed of the attack forcing him and the man to his right to twist manically to deflect the blow of a long-handled war axe. The legionary in front of Marcus caught the full force of the axe on his shield, but the blow was so forceful that it knocked him into Marcus and both men fell to the floor and scrambled to regain their feet. As the man smashed into the bodies of the legionaries another twenty men leapt from the rocks and started to hack at the Romans in front of them.

  “Form up” called Narcius, gripping Marcus by the arm and hurling him upright as the warrior with the war axe fell at his feet, a gaping wound in his neck gushing a tide of crimson that soaked quickly into the dry earth. Marcus staggered and his feet slipped in the blood of the dead warrior as another man fell across his shield, at which Marcus pushed the falling body back into another attacker.

  “Shields” called Narcius, Marcus thankful that the man’s constant training and drilling of his legionaries was paying benefits as the men clunked their shields together as a flurry of hammer blows smashed into the wood. Marcus saw a movement above him and glanced upwards quickly to see a hail of arrows shooting across the road and into the officers along the road, Ambustus raising his shield to catch three arrows as his men called for defensive positions.

  “Narcius” called Marcus “We need to retreat to the main column or we will be cut off” he said, his eyes flicking to a spear as it clattered over the top of his shield splicing a shard of wood into the air. The man who thrust his spear was grinning as Marcus moved his shield up and to the left and stabbed his shortened sword into the shoulder of the attacker, his dark leather breastplate no defence against the accuracy of Marcus’s strike as it bit into the muscle on his upper arm. With a speed born of hours of training the man pulled back his spear, yelling in pain and cursing in Etruscan, a language Marcus knew well from his youth. Without a second thought, and despite the man’s speed of movement, Marcus stepped forwards, closing the gap between the two men and sliced his sword across the man’s neck, the flesh slicing easily on his sharp sword. The warrior opened his eyes wide, unable to understand how the Roman had managed to move so quickly and cursed as he fell to his knees, his shield falling from his grip as he clutched at the bleeding hole in his neck. Marcus stepped back to his right, closing the gap and parrying another attack with his shield, his focus on threats to come, not those he had dealt with.

  “Behind you” came a scream as Marcus was pushed forwards, battering into the attacker in front of him and scrambling to retain his footing as Narcius, once again, gripped his arm and pulled him back into the line of soldiers. Whirling his head around he saw Fasculus smashing his sword with a two-handed grip at a long-haired brute of a man who had appeared from the shrubbery, followed by another handful of men. Each man wielded an axe or a long sword and small, circular, shields richly painted in reds and greens. ‘Veientines’ thought Marcus, his mind racing as Narcius called to the men to split into two fronts to face both directions.

  Fasculus fell to one knee, his efforts to stop the repeated battering from his attacker starting to flounder as his breathing rasped in
his lungs, his grunting sounding strained as he clashed swords once again with the heavy blade of the attacker from the bushes, his injured arm weakened under the constant attacks. Marcus stepped forwards, clashing his shield into the side of the tall attacker, his overly large sword rising to swing a double handed blow at him. The blow came in a cross-cut, down and around to Marcus’s side. With a deft movement of his shield he managed to deflect the blow but the ferocity of the strike took Marcus off his feet for a moment as his shield buckled against the blow, his arm absorbing the impact and instantly feeling numb. Marcus stepped in front of Fasculus as another attacker jumped across with a low stab at the prone man. Fasculus, though, was no fool and was up on his feet, his long sword flashing into the arm of his attacker, slicing the sinews across the man’s elbow as he screamed and dropped his sword to Fasculus’s delighted yell as he plunged his sword into the man’s chest, a small red line the only sign that he had struck his target as the man gasped and fell into the dirt as the strike through his heart killed him in an instant.

  Marcus didn’t have time to think, the brute in front of him pulled at his shield, his hand covered in grime as Marcus focused on the fingers gripping his shield. The man seemed to be staring at him, searching him as his eyes flickered from his face to his armour. He didn’t have time to try and stab at the man’s fingers as the man sliced his sword over the top of the shield, the deathly blade pointing directly at Marcus’s eyes as he ducked to the side and felt the blade rasp along his helmet. With a mighty shove he launched himself forwards, catching the man off-balance as he leant in for the kill, but the man was good, he shifted his weight and fell away to the side, pulling his sword arm into a swing as he did so and screaming as his sword came crashing back towards Marcus, his full body weight behind the blow.

  With a bone-crunching thud Marcus stepped under the attack and punched his short sword into the breastplate of his attacker, the speed of movement catching the bigger man off-guard, and slowing his sword arc which allowed Marcus to get his shield across his body as the blow came. The stab had been slightly off centre and baulked at the strong leather and thin bronze heart-saver the man wore, drawing only a small amount of blood as the man grinned back at Marcus and bared his teeth. Around him Marcus heard the unmistakable sounds of swords and shields clashing into each other as he stepped back into the line and peered at the black eyes of the brute that stared at him with a grin.

  “Combat” screamed the man, spit falling into his brown beard as he repeated the yell, “Combat” and pointed his sword at Marcus, his face almost laughing as the point of his sword rose and fell along with his breathing.

  Marcus froze as the sound of swords clashing and the grunts of his men started to dull until they eventually stopped, the sudden silence stretching as dust clouds settled around the standing men, all eyes turned to the Veienteine leader.

  Combat! It was the right of each leader of an army to call for single combat in the field. It usually stopped all fighting and signalled that the two leaders would fight to the death, the winner taking all the spoils, the losers giving up armour, horses and in some cases the richer men giving themselves up to ransom. To decline single combat was seen as a mark of cowardice and Marcus stared at the man in front of him who simply grinned back at him, his breathing still coming in deep lungfuls as he stood with his enormous broadsword pointing at Marcus. Around him Marcus heard soldiers muttering, curses coming to his ears as the men stepped back from each other. Up on the rocky ground Marcus heard a thunder of hooves as the archers mounted their steeds and rode away. He glanced at the man, still stood staring at him with his sword pointed in his direction. His eyes flickered as he saw other men disappear into the bushes leaving only a small force of the ambushers standing to watch the ‘combat’ and something in Marcus’s mind told him that this was a trap that they had been led into, with one purpose, to kill him.

  With a step forward the combat would begin. “No” came the voice of Narcius, followed quickly by Fasculus, who stepped beside Marcus.

  “Yes” replied Marcus. “It must be” and he stepped forwards, the grin on the man’s face stretching as he nodded to Marcus without taking his eyes off him.

  ********

  “They have a point” suggested Manlius.

  “No, they don’t” came the reply, cold and aloof as usual.

  Manlius switched the cup to his left hand and tapped the table in front of him with his right. “This marble is the solid state” he said, reaching and tapping the ornate iron legs “but this is the support, the two work together and it functions as its purpose demands. Without the top they are just legs, with only the legs it’s just a piece of marble” he postured with a smile.

  “Ha” laughed the fat face of the man sat across from him, half a bowl of eaten grapes in front of him. “Manlius, where did you learn such prose? Have you been spending time with Calvus?”

  Manlius looked at the face of the Senator and wondered whether he had his spies watching him, nodding his head as he laughed at the response. “Senator Javenoli” he said, his face a warm smile. “The plebeian council make some good points. We, as patricians must give as well as take. The senate asked me to review their thoughts before the Kalends and I have done so. You have read the report and its suggestions. I think the plebeians have good cause for anger and resentment. We should defer to their needs on many counts” he finished, sipping the wine he held in his hand as he narrowed his eyes at Javenoli.

  “You have gone soft Marcus Manlius” said an elderly man, his thick stomach extended through the folds of his toga. “Maybe you are spending too much time with these men” he added, as Manlius sat forwards in his chair with a look of anger on his face.

  “Senator Cicurinus” he replied, holding his breath and steadying his tone before he continued. “The new men work hard for their riches and they pay their taxes. All they want is a release of some powers to have a better say in the governance of the City. They are Romans too”

  “They are citizens, my friend” replied the old man, his face cold and stern. “As new Romans, they do not understand the burden we hold to maintain the Republic. It was we who deposed the old kings, not them. We must defend Rome and our Republic. They are just the sheep that provide the wool” he added with a half-smile.

  “I have to agree with Cicurinus” stated another man, his deeply lined face and bald head belying his younger years. “The problem with the plebeian council is that they do not understand the control the gods have given to the patrician families. Without the will of the gods supporting us we will have no Rome, and it is only through the patrician families that we have such links, directly through our blood lines” he smiled, a reference to the fact that many of the oldest families of Rome claimed direct family links from one Roman god or another. “And” continued the man, “how often do the plebeian tribunes simply stall every decision we make out of pure spite. They have no manners, no understanding of how things are done” he said, his head shaking at the thought.

  Manlius sat back, his face resigned to another long and boring discussion on the role of the patricians in Rome.

  Senator Atratinus, his bald head shining as the light filtered through the high window, turned to his peers. “Gentlemen, are we done? I have some business to attend to if we are” he asked in a bored tone, his eyes avoiding Manlius as he stretched his neck to look around the room.

  “Is there anything else Manlius?” asked Javenoli.

  “No, gentlemen. I thank you for your time and consideration” he replied, rising from his couch and placing the cup on the table as the men in the room shuffled from their seated positions and started to leave.

  “Manlius, may I ask you something?” Javenoli said, his light touch on Manlius’s arm making him turn to look at the shorter, rotund figure standing next to him.

  “Certainly”

  As Javenoli steered him towards the corner of the room and the Senators left a silence fell into the space, interspersed with the occasion
al laugh as the men leaving joked as they donned their outdoor cloaks despite the hot sun.

  “My good friend” started Javenoli as Manlius’s eyes narrowed once again. “Do you think that the plebeian council will accept any of the proposals you have heard today?”

  “None Senator. Every request they have made has been ignored. Personally, I feel I have been used” blurted Manlius, his anger rising now that he was alone with Javenoli, who simply stared at him with his usual calculating look.

  “What do you mean my friend, used by whom?

  “The Senate” he said with frustration. “I have given good assurance, as I believed I could, to the plebeian council and now I must return to tell them that every point has been denied.”

  “Not every point” replied Javenoli.

  “Yes, but the counter point to a relaxation of laws on land will be seen as an affront as the law has to be agreed by the Senate, marking it as null and void anyway” he added with a frustrated tone, his face turning to Javenoli who simply looked back at him blankly.

  “The tax question is very difficult Manlius. We patricians don’t earn the money as the traders do” he said. “Those who profit from Rome every day should surely help in its defence. We have paid for arms, walls, bridges, roads and even food in times of shortage over the years. Surely they see this?”

  “They see today’s problem Senator, not yesterday’s solution. To be denied the opportunity to progress their families in civil roles and to support Rome is an affront to them. They are as Roman as you or me” he added dejectedly.