The Fall of Veii- Part 1

by Francis Mulhern

  “Potitus?” he asked as a thought came to him. “The thing about walls is that they are higher than the men, so we need to hide from their arrows behind our wicker screens. How could we build a structure which would make us higher than the walls so that we are looking down at them?” he asked as his friend pursed his lips and turned his head to one side with a quizzical look.

  ****

  The Comitium had been filled with wooden benches, some standing three rows high on strong wooden platforms to hold the volume of men who were expected to join the debate, other men simply standing on the dusty ground as befitted their status. The day had passed the mid-point and still people were arriving, filling the space with noisy chatter and calling across to friends they had not seen in days due to the pestilence which had kept most people indoors. The area had been cleared of the filth from the heavy rain and the standing water removed the previous day.

  “Bloody rabble” Postumius said as he shook his head angrily and looked to his right. “How can they expect to change the decision of the Senate?” he added with a huff as he shifted on his bench and turned to face Publius Cornelius Cossus. The Senator’s robe loosely fitted his frame after he had spent five days with the sickness, dragging himself from his house to the debate to support his friend Postumius.

  “They have a legal right to challenge” he said in his deep voice, his dark hair oiled forwards to hide a receding hairline. “Yet as I understand it Ahala has removed the head of the beast and sent Calvus off to Ferentium with Camillus” he added “so we should have no problems as long as that fool Manlius does as he is told” he almost growled the last sentence. Postumius looked to his friend with a momentary stare.

  “Have you paid him off?” he whispered, lowering his head conspiratorially, a fresh rush of hope coming to him.

  “Not as such, but let’s just say he has a reason to keep quiet” smiled Cossus as he nodded to his friend.

  Postumius grinned. Maybe today wasn’t going to be as bad as he had thought. He had already spent the majority of the spoils from Bolae paying off his debts and buying new favours. His latest dealings with the new magistrate Lars Herminius Aquilinus was particularly interesting and opened up a new source of revenue for him that might prove very lucrative. He sat back with a measure of satisfaction and his eyes scanned the crowd. Where was that fat fool Javenoli? There was no sign of the Senator and so Postumius turned his attention to the crowd, scanning the soldiers, many of whom were staring at him with loathing. Deep in the rows he saw Bassano, his angry postulations drowned out amongst the noise of the other soldiers, all shouting at the Senators to start the proceedings. Postumius shook his head as he sighed and looked to the skies, the gods were truly looking after him, he thought as he gripped the prophecy Marcus Furius had given him and thought of the truth of the words held on the small tablet he kept on him at all times, yes, these words were true and he would lead Rome, he thought to himself with a self-satisfied smile.

  A bell rang, the thick clapper making a dull sound as if the bell had a crack which stopped it from ringing truly. The men in the stands fell silent almost at once, a few remaining voices coming to silence as a hush fell over the proceedings. A priest stepped up onto the Rostra prepared for the speeches, his hood covering his head and spots of blood showing down the front of his robe. He held up a knife and a silver bowl, a few drips of red blood falling to the floor and landing at his feet.

  “Minerva, Justitia” he called, his voice loud and clear. “We ask for your judgement over these matters, give us the strength of wisdom in our words and justice in our hearts for your people of Rome.” A murmur went around the crowd as numerous men set to mumbling their own private prayers. He moved to the right and placed the silver bowl on a plinth which stood under a small wooden cover. Beside the bowl were three candles which the priest proceeded to light, requesting Minerva’s wisdom, Justitia’s justice and Apollo’s authority. Once the ceremony was complete, the priest turned and left the Rostra as the noise grew from the excited crowd.

  A knot of white clouds moved slowly across the sky as the buzz of the men below started to cheer as they watched the two plebeian tribunes step up onto the Rostra, their robes marking them out as the leaders of the plebeians. They quietly stepped to the left and sat on the two crudely carved wooden chairs, almost like stools, that were placed for them at the far end of the platform. Immediately behind them walked Ahala and a taller man named Fabius Vibulanus, his dark hair neatly oiled and his long nose protruding from a thin face. A series of cat-calls came from the crowd as these men turned to their right and were greeted by jeers from the soldiers sat in front of them. Postumius shook his head again, exasperated at the behaviour of the plebeians

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  Chapter 21

  “There” pointed Calvus, his finger aiming directly at a small copse of trees in the distance.

  “Good spot, sir” replied the soldier on his left, waving four of the Eques forwards, their bright tunics and long blades flashing in the hot sun.

  “Chase them off and see where they go” Calvus shouted as the four men set their heels to their mounts and the beasts kicked up a swirl of dust as they galloped into the distance.

  Marcus reined in next to Calvus. “More scouts?” he asked.

  “Yes” came the monotone reply. Marcus watched the two horses burst from the copse and disappear over a low rise as the four Roman’s headed after them.

  “Volsci?”

  “I believe so” Calvus said as he turned to look behind him at the long snake of men who were marching across the flat, dusty ground. “It seems they are intent on watching us but do not wish to engage us in the open ground” he added in his quiet-spoken, almost humble, voice. Marcus nodded but did not reply as he watched the horsemen clear the rise and wheel away to their right to follow the Volsci scouts.

  “Calvus” Marcus said as he looked at the elder statesman of the plebeian council, a man ten years or more his senior and with several campaigns under his belt. “Tell me, why do you hold your tongue in our meetings and why do you stay apart from the other officers?”

  Marcus had spent some time discussing the issue of Calvus with Scipio and Potitus, but as usual it had been Mella who had suggested that Marcus simply lay his thoughts at the feet of the man himself and gauge his reaction. What could be the worst that could happen, he had said, the man had nowhere to hide and whilst he wasn’t being disruptive it made no sense for Marcus to treat him differently to his other officers.

  Calvus turned in his saddle and waved away the soldiers who sat around them on their horses. “I wondered if you would want to have a personal moment” he said as a resigned frown came to his face. As the men walked their horses to fifty paces away Calvus nudged his horse forwards and Marcus came alongside as they walked slowly towards the head of the column of marching men, the bright golden Eagle banner reflecting in the sun. Calvus glanced to his commanding officer and appraised the younger man.

  “Camillus” he said, “Rome is a fabulous city, but one with a problem” he continued to look at Marcus, seeking signs of agreement or disagreement in his body language. None came so he continued. “The city grows fast and men who have had families in Rome for hundreds of years, such as myself, call her home. In fact we have Rome in our blood as much as men like yourself and countless of my kin have died for her in much the same way as your kin have. But the problem is that we have no say in how the City is run, we cannot command an army such as this” he waved his hand nonchalantly at the troops away to their right. “What is there for us to do Camillus but to be the puppets of the state, called to campaigns with our soldiers, our spears and our blood?” He frowned and shook his head. “I once thought that I could earn glory from being the spokesman of the people, building a reputation as a man of words, able to speak clearly and passionately whilst also remaining humble and deferent to the gods. But, Camillus, I was wrong. To gain glory you must be from the
highest ranks of the patrician families, be chosen of the gods, not just be their servant. There is no other way to gain Virtus in this world” he shrugged. “This” he said, as his voice rose slightly and his arm circled to his right at the marching men once again “and every other campaign I have fought in has shown me that leading men is easy. But they are fickle Marcus Furius Camillus” he said, calling his horse to a stop with a clicking of his tongue and a slight pull on his reins. “That” he pointed to the front rank of men, the golden Eagle carried aloft “Eagle is a sign that a god has chosen you to lead these men and they follow it because they think you are favoured. If you are favoured, then they may be too. That is the logic of the common man.” He smiled as he watched Marcus, his eyes betraying no emotion as he looked across at the golden bird glinting in the dust of a thousand marching men. “And that favour” he continued “could only be given to a Patrician. Look what happened to Dentatus” he added, Marcus’s brows closing momentarily as the thought of the reference came to his mind. Calvus saw this and smiled. “You see Camillus, you do not understand the significance of the man” he said, taking a deep breath and patting his horse’s neck as he nudged it into a walk again. Glancing at Marcus he continued as Marcus walked his horse silently beside him.

  “Dentatus was a great soldier. He won more phalera on his own than a whole army could do and he was a great champion of the people. They loved him and he was voted plebeian tribune. You know the stories?” he asked.

  “Indeed” Marcus replied, his eyes still watching the marching men but his attention totally on Calvus, who seemed to have been storing all of his words for this one meeting.

  “Well, Dentatus was the peoples’ hero and was voted the peoples tribune” he smiled at the thought. “My father was his Aedile” he added as he glanced to Marcus, who nodded, though it was clear that he had not known this. The role of plebeian Aedile had been introduced many years before as an assistant to the plebeian tribunes following the sessation in which the plebeian armies had moved to the Mons Sacer and refused to fight for Rome. It was an administrative role, but it carried very little real power, unlike the Tribune role which could veto any Senate act.

  “Dentatus rose like a giant amongst men, Camillus. His Virtus shone like a star and he started many of the reforms in the plebeian council that we have to this day. But there was a problem, Camillus” he said as he looked away to his right at the dust where the men marched. “He was not a patrician and the gods did not favour him. He burned fast and bright, but his light was snuffed out as a candle in the night” he said, his tone falling flat as he said the words. “You know how he died?” he asked, his eyes searching his commander.

  “Assassinated” Marcus said, his voice expressionless.

  “Hmm” replied Calvus. “The patricians did what the enemy could never do” he added, falling into a silence as his horse trudged on quietly. Marcus looked at the man, seeing by his face that his thoughts were wrapped in some personal battle.

  “The assassin of Dentatus was never found, Calvus” Marcus said after a moment’s silence. “It could as easily have been a beggar looking for gold as a patrician looking to remove him for his challenge to the Decemvirs” he said as Calvus raised an appraising eye and glanced across at him. “Though many people do believe there was some deceit in the death of an honest man” he added.

  “But the point, Tribune, is that as a plebeian he gained a level of power that came too close to the power of the Senators and he was removed, as one would remove a fly from one’s soup” he added. “He was sacrosanct, but his death went unanswered. Yes, there were calls for a public enquiry but they were dismissed by the Senate, another nail in the man’s coffin, another hero of the people sent to meet his gods.” He shifted on his horse so that he faced Marcus. “And do you know what the people said? They said that he must have fallen out of favour with the gods. And that became his legacy, not the great work as a citizen and a soldier, not his support to Rome, but the fact that he fell from favour with the gods.” He shook his head slowly as he breathed a long, drawn-out, breath.

  “Rome is more dangerous than this” he said as he nodded towards the army, his suggestion clear. “In some respects, I enjoy the freedom of the road” his face almost smiled as his eyes narrowed at Marcus “but I wonder when it will be my turn for the gods to become angry with me and turn off my light” he added with a strange stare at Marcus.

  Marcus wondered what the veiled meaning of the final comment was as Calvus turned his gaze forwards to see one of the four horsemen ambling over the rise ahead of them.

  “The will of the gods is unknown Calvus. As many good patricians have died as good plebeians in strange ways at the heights of their careers, whether that be military or political. If the gods have a path we must follow it and we must observe the laws and the functions of the rituals that they use to send us signs. Such things are as it has always been and always will be” Marcus replied, the absolute belief in what he said bringing a smile to Calvus’ lips.

  “Ha, Marcus Furius” he laughed “but the thing is” at this he pulled his horse to a stop and turned to face him “that the interpretation of the gods will can only be taken by a patrician. How do we know that the patrician really understands and interprets the signs as the gods will? There is no proof until after the events have taken place and clever men can re-interpret the signs and agree what they really meant. Now” he narrowed his eyes as he spoke the next words “a prophecy is a different matter.”

  Marcus fixed Calvus with a blank stare, feeling his heart jump in his chest at the mention of the word ‘prophecy’. Calvus stared at him, looking for some sign that he had taken the meaning of the words, but nothing came. Smiling more broadly Calvus kicked his horse into a walking motion, the beast snorting and flicking its tail in annoyance at this stop-start journey.

  “let’s say, Camillus, that a prophecy had been made in which a plebeian was to become a great leader of Rome. What do you think the Senate would do with that information?” he asked as he rubbed at his thigh.

  Marcus took a moment to think, knowing that if the information fell into the hands of some of the more unscrupulous patricians they would do everything in their power to remove the man. He decided to answer the question with another.

  “And what if a patrician had heard a prophecy in which he was to become a champion of the people and to give the plebeians a voice in Rome?” he asked, the question causing Calvus to frown quizzically and to cock his head to one side as he considered the question, his eyes showing that his mind was working through a number of thoughts.

  “Interesting Camillus” he responded, a smile growing across his face. “If this prophecy, if there were such a thing, were to gain public knowledge then the man in question would be in a very dangerous position” he said “and would probably end up in a similar position to Dentatus, snuffed out before his light shone brightly enough to change the course of history and the lives of the people of Rome for the better.” Calvus’s head dropped as he continued to consider the question before he turned his gaze back to Marcus. “Of course there are ways such a man could influence change, but by simply being seen as a friend of the people this causes problems in itself. Look at your friend Marcus Manlius” Calvus said.

  Marcus considered the point. Manlius had gained a following in Rome for his sudden championship of the plebeian cause, especially the call for the loot from Bolae to be returned to the soldiers. It had given him a new level of status that many thought was already going to his head as he paraded around the forum waving his arms theatrically and calling for changes to the laws to support the common soldier. Marcus had spent many hours discussing the issue with his brother Lucius and between them they could only see a sudden end to Manlius and his bravado. In many ways it was exactly as Calvus had been saying, his star was shining but it may soon be snuffed out of existence. Marcus noted that Calvus was still looking at him waiting for an answer.

  “Manlius is a good, honest, man” he
said, weakly, knowing that, in truth, he did not believe his words.

  “Manlius is growing power hungry” came the reply. “He has the patrician greed in him” he said with a level of hostility that Marcus caught and narrowed his eyes at Calvus.

  “Apologies Camillus” came the quick reply as Calvus noted the mood change in Marcus’s face. “There are many old opinions I must” he took a moment to continue “refrain from verbalising” he finished as he sat forward and stroked his horse’s ears.

  Marcus grunted acceptance of the apology and took a deep breath, the words of the prophecy ringing in his ears ‘the eagle will be a true servant of the people’ and ‘remember the plebeian poor soldier’. He looked back to Calvus, who was watching him from the corner of his eye as their horses walked slowly towards the distant ridge, the rhythmic clopping of their hooves the only sound Marcus could hear.

  “I would be interested in listening to your debate on how to solve the issues you mention, Calvus” Marcus said after a momentary silence. “We seem to have time on our hands” he added with a faint smile, unsure if the older man would give him the benefit of his wisdom. Calvus looked across at him with a frown on his face, which quickly changed to a blank, stoic, look as his eyes betrayed the quandary running though his mind.

  ****

  For the second day in succession Rome was awash with people going about their daily routines without fear of the pestilence which has kept them housebound for weeks. The deaths in the streets had almost completely passed and the markets were now full as the warm weather and thunderstorms abated to ease the population’s fears. Thousands had died over the last few weeks, with funeral smoke a constant sight on the horizon and pyres burning as loved ones wailed into the night at the untimely deaths of their kin. The rains seemed to have cleared the streets of the pestilence that had haunted them.