The Fall of Veii- Part 1

by Francis Mulhern

  “Well, maybe there we disagree” added Javenoli as he stepped away from Manlius before continuing. “If they were to have junior roles in the Republic beyond their current limits what would they suggest?” he asked, his mind contemplating some thoughts.

  “I am not sure Senator. They have two issues. Tax and Laws. If there is a role to support the decisions, then there may be a compromise.”

  “Compromise” said Javenoli with his finger to his lips, “Yes, a good word. Leave that thought with me Manlius. I will call on you tomorrow at your home. Do you still have that lovely fruity wine you served last month?” he asked, his eyes lighting up as he looked to Manlius.

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  Marcus took a deep breath as his senses told him that every eye was looking to him.

  “Kill him Gastus” yelled a man from behind the bearded brute in front of him. “Yes, kill the dog” yelled a higher pitched voice. Marcus glanced at the second man, his young face screwed into a snarl of hatred, but the eyes were the same as his opponent, clearly the man’s brother or some other family member. The man, Gastus, grinned again, one of his front teeth showing it had been chipped as he clenched his jaw into an angry scowl.

  “Balance and footwork” he heard Mella shout, not daring to look in his direction as the two men began to circle each other. Gastus swung his sword in a circle, the action making Marcus flinch as he expected an attack, which brought a chorus of laughter from the men behind their leader. With a lazy swoop Gastus hit out at Marcus’s shield, the heavy sword clattering into the wood as he stepped back, keeping his distance. As he had been trained to do Marcus watched the man’s feet. Mella had taught him that good footwork was equally as important as a good sword arm, and he had proved this to him many times in their training sessions. Marcus smiled, the man had a loose binding on the left side, that might help him he hoped. He shuffled forwards in three quick steps, raising his shield and jabbing it forwards to test Gastus’s balance. The man moved easily aside, leaning forward and slicing his sword into the gap between the two of them as a series of shouts came from both sides.

  With a rasp Gastus took a dagger from a sheath strapped to his thigh, the long sword sweeping across his body as he raised the dagger high in the air in his left hand. Marcus had seen this move before, to try and attract the attention of the opponent’s eyes with the sword and to dart in with the dagger. He allowed his eyes to wander as the sword swirled across his body, but he prepared his feet for a step forward just in time, as Gastus swept the dagger down as he made a feint with his sword. With a flick of his shoulder Marcus parried the dagger with the top of his shield and whipped the shorter sword up to catch the retreating dagger and hand of Gastus who smiled at the parry, nodding with some respect at the movement which grazed his skin but did no damage.

  “Good Roman. I don’t want this to look like I fought a woman” he said with his deep Etruscan voice, his eyes narrow as he stepped forward and Marcus saw him take the deep breath that every man took before he made his effort.

  With a deep yell Gastus launched his sword high in the air and stepped forwards, the arc taking the weapon across to Marcus’s left as Marcus stepped forward and to his right, a two-step movement which allowed him to keep his sword close to his shield and chop at Gastus’s left thigh, missing by an inch as Gastus hit Marcus’s shield with his heavy sword, the dull slap sounding loud in the calm clearing of the road. The momentum of Marcus’s step allowed him to move right again and circle Gastus in a crouch, his eyes peering over the top of the shield as Gastus slid his dagger back in its sheath and took a two-handed grip.

  Within a heartbeat Gastus raised his sword and battered into Marcus at a run, almost knocking him to the ground as his weight smashed into the wooden shield. Keeping his feet one behind the other Marcus pushed upwards against the weight of the man and felt the movement of Gastus’s arm as the sword came around the left side of the shield, his body committed to the attack. Instantly Marcus dropped to one knee and smashed the bottom of the shield onto the foot of his opponent, using his bodyweight to twist the shield and block the sword strike, which clattered against the wood uselessly as Marcus stood and butted the larger man under the chin with the top of his helmet, a crunching sound coming as spots of blood and tooth fell in front of him to a dull groan from Gastus. With a final movement Marcus was able to shift his weight around to his right again and step clear of the man, who growled as he flicked his foot and hopped gingerly onto it, no doubt some of his toes broken by the thick wood of Marcus’s shield. The Romans cheered as Gastus roared at the crowd, spittle and blood landing on the Romans in the front line who screamed “Camillus, Camillus” back at him.

  Marcus breathed slowly and crouched again. Gastus stared at him wiping blood from a bleeding lip, a line of red held in his beard which made him look even more fearsome.

  “What is this fighting style, Roman. Hiding behind a shield. Stand tall like a man and fight me” he called, waving his sword around as blood fell onto his torso from his wounded mouth.

  Marcus remained motionless, crouching in the same position and smiled. “I fight as the eagle fights” he said slowly and with a curl of his lip. “I will snatch your life from you with my claws as I circle you” he said, as above him a screech came making several of the watchers’ heads snap upwards and search the sky, a low mumble spreading amongst the soldiers. Marcus knew the screech was Mella, he had heard him do it before, but he smiled at the deception as a momentary fear came into the eyes of his opponent, his eyes glancing at the sky, before the man took another deep breath and ran towards him, raising his sword higher to strike. Marcus stood taller for a second, the movement causing a moment of confusion which spread on Gastus’s face as his muscles twitched to re-direct the blow, before Marcus crouched and side-stepped, aiming a stinging blow at the man’s thigh before stepping back as Gastus’s momentum carried him past Marcus’s left. Before Gastus had time to scream as the wound opened on his thigh Marcus had stepped back across his body and punched the sword into the man’s ribcage, the crunch of bone resounding alongside Gastus’s scream of pain as Marcus twisted his sword and stepped back in one quick movement. In two heartbeats, he had slipped away to the right and stood behind his shield.

  “The eagle strikes” he said as he stepped forwards and Gastus, his strength seeping from his body yelled a curse and threw himself at Marcus again, the heavy sword swinging so high that Marcus had time to look into Gastus’s eyes as he stepped close to the man and punched his sword through his neck, a jolt telling Marcus when he had severed the spine as a warm gush of liquid hit his sword hand. He whipped the sword back and returned to a crouch as the man collapsed, his legs jerking as a frothy foam appeared from his throat, his eyes screaming the curses that his voice could not.

  “No!” came the yell from behind him as Marcus turned to see the younger man, the brother, launch himself at him, his sword glinting in the sunlight as it arced at his face. Whirling his shield, he batted the sword from the attacker’s hand and stepped back as the man fell to his knees and crawled to the body of the dead leader, his sword landing with a clang on the dusty ground. “Father” cried the boy as Marcus looked at the body sprawled at his feet.

  A sudden commotion behind Marcus made him turn to see a dozen or more Veienteine riders gallop away, other soldiers rushing into the bushes and scrambling up the rocks in an effort to escape as their leader collapsed.

  “Combat has been won, as your leader demanded. Honour must be obeyed. Drop your weapons” called Ambustus as he stepped forwards in front of Marcus. The Romans cheered as they started to disarm the remaining ambushers who had been too stunned at the speed in which their leader had been beaten to make an escape.

  “Brilliant” said the voice of Mella as he appeared next to Marcus and he jingled a handful of bronze and silver in front of his face. “Look what I won” he laughed aloud as Marcus stared at his beaming face. “What?” asked Mella, his bright eyes wide, slapping him on the shoulder before tu
rning and striding away to join the rest of the men.

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  Chapter 7

  Ambustus fumed. Silence hung in the air as the officers of the legion shuffled their feet and stared anywhere except at their commander.

  “It is customary in such circumstances…” Ambustus started to say before Postumius rose from his chair cutting him off with a resounding slap on the wooden table in front of him which sent several maps and goblets jumping into the air.

  “No” he said firmly, his eyes narrow and staring straight at Ambustus. Despite being the older man, Ambustus was junior to Postumius in the legion and could only offer suggestions, not give orders. Postumius stood, his shoulder wrapped in a thick bandage as he winced at the effort of moving, his free hand touching the shoulder as his eyes showed the pain he felt. Tucked into the bandage was a feather and Ambustus wondered what the black feather meant, its tendrils standing proud against the white cloth. Postumius stepped across to Ambustus and then turned to Marcus, the venom in his voice apparent to everyone as his whole body seemed to tense.

  “Camillus you seem to live a charmed life” he sneered. “But a skirmish on the road with bandits doesn’t warrant a phalera” he waved away the movement that suggested Ambustus was about to argue his point once again. “Bravery is for the real soldier, the man who stands in line with his spear, not for one-man combat, especially against what must have been a weakened opponent” he added, his insult stinging Marcus, who simply stood and stared at the far wall of the tent. “I deny your request Ambustus” he finished.

  As he finished he turned to Ambustus, his face changing to a warm smile as he said “Fabius, please do come for dinner this evening, it will be an absolute pleasure to have you join me and my senior officers, you can tell them of the cavalry charge you led into the Aequian phalanx a few years ago. Now that was bravery.” At this he glanced at Marcus with a look of loathing and grinned, his eyes betraying the friendly smile he portrayed to the assembled officers. “Don’t take this personally Camillus” he chided “I am sure there will be other chances to prove yourself” he added as he turned and said, “you may leave” with a small wave of his free hand.

  Ambustus nodded as the men began to file out of their commander’s presence. “Fasculus” said Postumius over the noise of the men leaving “stay and make your scouting report” he ordered as Fasculus saluted and turned back into the tent with a glance at Marcus which seemed to portray his apologies for his commander’s behaviour.

  As Marcus’s eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day outside the command tent he took a moment to wander across to the city walls, which were only a few hundred paces from the encamped Romans. Bolae was in an easily defensible location with ravines to one side, deep and narrow, hard to penetrate with a phalanx of men. On the other side there seemed to be a large cliff, dropping to the river which circled the city and created a natural barrier. Marcus stood for a moment wondering how Postumius had taken the city so easily. From what Mella had told him, Postumius’s army had lost only two hundred men in the assault on Bolae and the gates had been opened by somebody from inside. It seemed typical that the story they had heard of a great assault and heroic victory was a long way from the truth of the triumph.

  “It’s a good location” came a voice which startled Marcus as he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts. Turning he smiled and clasped arms with Bassano, who beamed back at him.

  “It is good to see you again Marcus, or do I call you Camillus now?” he asked, his warm smile spreading across his face.

  “Camillus is my chosen name” he responded warmly, his eyes scanning the Centurion he had not seen for a number of years and noting the better class of armour, a few new scars and how the man seemed to have grown thicker around the shoulders since he had last seen him. “You look well Bassano” he said, patting his shoulders appraisingly as he said the words and Bassano smiled in return.

  “Hard work and long marches” said the man removing his helmet to reveal his short cut greying hair. “My time is nearly up in the legions” he said absently as his eyes moved to the walls of Bolae. “A few of us asked Postumius to let us settle here” he added as his eyes glanced to Marcus to look for any reaction. After a moment’s silence he continued “he turned us down, flat. No reason, just said no. A bit like what happened in there just now”

  Marcus looked at the walls, at the ground around them and at the Centurion, whose features were set in a grimace. “He must have his reasons” Marcus replied quietly, unsure what to say.

  “Probably the same reason he didn’t give you that phalera” Bassano said before turning to look directly at Marcus. “He has a nasty streak in him that man” he said, his eyes flicking around him as he spoke to check that no more of Postumius’s spies were within earshot. “You know what he was like before?” he stated, a small nod from Marcus showing he understood the question. “Well he’s twice as bad now” he continued as he turned, placing a hand on Marcus’s elbow with a shake of his head.

  “Denying you that phalera was” he shook his head again as he searched for the words “ridiculous” he said with a shrug. “Come on, let’s get you some food and find you a place to sleep. You’ll need all your energy to keep up with things in this camp” he said with a wry smile as he led Marcus away from the walls.

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  “The commander wishes to see you in his tent urgently” said the messenger, standing to attention as he delivered the message to Ambustus, Marcus and Potitus as they sat eating in a stuffy tent which had been hastily erected in the small clearing near Postumius’s command centre.

  “Better not keep him waiting” added Bassano, who was striding past rubbing a spot of grime off his helmet with a cloth. “And make sure your armour is clean” he added as he continued on his way, his voice disappearing as he marched off in the direction of Postumius’s tent.

  Within a few minutes all the senior officers were standing within the humid atmosphere of Postumius’s command centre, his campaign desk and chair the only furniture in the room, everything else had been taken out and packed as the legion prepared to return to Rome.

  “We have interrogated the captured soldiers who attacked you on the road Ambustus, though many more, I believe, escaped” Postumius said with raised eyebrows, the slur causing Ambustus to take a deep breath and turn his face toward him. The commander masterfully looked in the other direction as he continued to speak over the angry looks of the newly arrived officers.

  “It seems” he said, with a look of confusion on his face “that someone has a bounty on your head Marcus Furius” he added, not bothering to use Marcus’s new chosen name. Marcus looked at him with a questioning glance. “Yes, it seems that the Aequians have placed a hundred bronze ingots on your head, dead or alive” he smiled. At this Marcus looked to Ambustus, who shrugged back at him. “And” continued the commander “it makes these captives hired killers; Assassins” he said as he stood from his chair “and we all know what that means don’t we?” he asked to the room at large, turning his head to Sergius who dutifully replied, “They will be sentenced to death, to be thrown from the Tarpeian Rock upon our return to Rome.”

  Ambustus looked to Postumius. “We will need to follow the correct procedure” he said, his indignant tone betraying the fact that he had been slurred moments earlier. As every Roman knew a series of legal reviews were needed to sentence prisoners to death followed by a ceremony to confer the deaths to the gods. Without such rigour, the deaths could not be ratified and agreed. Postumius looked to his officers and smiled. “Yes, I agree Ambustus. Aulus Manlius will lead the trial” he said as everyone’s eyes moved to Aulus, his face showing no change of expression. “He is qualified to do it” added Postumius. “And” his eyes roved the tent “Bassano” he said, his searching finishing on the Centurion stood away to his left behind the more senior officers. “Yes, your son Appius can detail the guards, get him to set out four men t
o hold the prisoners when he is back from his scouting. It’ll do him good to do some proper work” Postumius said as he returned to his desk and sat leaning forwards, his eyes watching Bassano closely for any signs of anger at his reproach. “Good” he said. “Then we must prepare to have the trial this afternoon and leave this forsaken place first thing in the morning.” He looked at the assembled men, their faces all impassive as he spoke. With a leer at them all he called for them to leave.

  As Marcus reached the tent flap and he moved to place his helmet on his head he heard a familiar voice call from within the tent. “Furius” came the voice “A moment of your time. I have a task for you” called Postumius as Marcus and Ambustus caught each other’s eyes and Ambustus let out a low sigh with a slight shake of his head, patting Marcus on the shoulder as he turned to return to the tent.

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  Chapter 8

  The light had faded as Marcus sat on his horse by the river, the quiet ripple of the water the only sound his ears could hear in the rapidly closing day. His eyes strained to make out the shapes in the semi-darkness which surrounded him and his troop of scouts as they sat motionless at the small ford that Fasculus’s scouts had found a few days before. He turned to look behind him at the steep climb to the thick walls of the city, their heavy stones indistinct in the dim light and wondered why he had been chosen for this sentry duty. He shook his head, knowing in his own mind that this was just another way for Postumius to show him that he was in control. A splash turned his head back to the ford where Fasculus was walking his short-legged pony back through the slow-moving water, the horse attempting to drop its head to slake its thirst as he let the reins loose.

  “Anything?” asked Marcus.

  “Nothing” came the reply. Two other horses appeared from behind Fasculus and started to traverse the ford, the slopping of hooves in the water breaking the silence. Fasculus stretched his back and rubbed at a point low down, just above his sword belt as he pulled in next to Marcus.