“Load” called Potitus as Marcus watched the Roman force begin to peel away from the defenders. The men had strict instructions to run right or left at the gates, each man informed that if he ran straight towards the Roman line he would be cut down by the death-bolts of the Scorpions.
Marcus found himself holding his breath as the defenders chased the Romans to the edge of the gate, their screams and cheers as the Romans ran sounded loud in the silence of the thousands of Romans standing watching the scene. Two of the Ferentians grabbed the gates and pulled manically at them, kicking at the long stakes to loosen them in an attempt to urgently close the gates. Calvus appeared at Marcus’s shoulder and stood in silence, his arm tapping his sheathed sword as he mumbled some quiet prayer.
“Now” Marcus mumbled at almost the exact second that Potitus called the order to fire.
**
The Ferentian leader, Sossimedes, was from a long line of wealthy Greek aristocrats who had founded this city many centuries before. His deep black hair, oiled into curls, jolted as he stopped and stared at the scene outside the gates with wide eyes. His victorious men had cleared the gates of these Roman fools with their strange machines, a trick, he spat, and not worthy of a true soldier. He shook his head as he kicked at a dead Roman, the man’s helmet covered in a deep red smudge where his blood had run from his veins. His eyes roved the ground outside his city. Why were the Romans not attacking, they had the advantage? He stepped forwards and called out “Roman’s come to your deaths we have fine spears which will strike you and send you to your worthless gods.” A great cheer of laughter came from the few hundred men standing in the narrow gateway, their spears at the ready.
Sossimedes knew he could hold this gateway for hours with this force of men and smiled, then his face fell into a frown at a line of men with three legs. No, it wasn’t men, what was it? A strange thudding sound came to his ears before he felt a sensation of flying, his legs leaping into the air, he saw his feet rising as he hit a man behind, a sudden searing pain bursting through his chest as his eyes went black.
**
The first bolt hit the king, striking him dead centre in his chest and forcing him twenty paces backwards as his body collapsed into itself at the force of the bolt which had thrown him from his feet. Another thump, then another as more bolts ripped into the spearmen standing in the doorway, their mangled bodies disappearing into the mass of confused men who were tumbling in great swathes, a sudden sound of screaming and fear rising from the gateway. Men ran, some out of the gate, others backwards into the city, but whichever way they went they screamed.
Marcus stepped forwards, squinting up at the walls to Regillensis, his archers raining arrows into the men below and the line of swordsmen holding against the strong-willed defenders. Looking back at the gates Marcus was fascinated to see lines of men still standing in deep rows despite the carnage in front of them. They simply didn’t know what to do he told himself as he looked to Potitus, his efficient machines pumping arrow bolts into the mechanism and firing three bolts per minute. He watched a long brown streak as it disappeared into the ranks of men, a slice appearing in their midst as the front men fell under the death arrow.
A movement on the wall caught his eye as a grinning Regillensis waved his sword back and forth energetically. “Attack” Marcus shouted without a moment’s hesitation gripping his sword and pointing it forwards, his legs running as Potitus called the Scorpions to halt and hundreds of men raced forwards from the Roman lines, charging at the gates of the city. The younger legs of Fabius outsprinted Marcus as the man screamed at the retreating line of Ferentian soldiers, many of them dithering as they dropped their spears and looked wildly around them for places to hide. Several legionaries were already in the gateway, the ornately carved stone standing silently as the screaming of men reverberated and echoed off the short archway. Marcus followed Fabius, a sudden sense of foreboding coming over him as the younger man launched his elaborately decorated long sword at the back of a fleeing defender, the sword slicing into his shoulder as the man fell screaming to his knees. Fabius had kicked his sword free and was hacking at the man’s head by the time Marcus reached him and gripped his shoulder.
“Quintus” he said between deep breaths. “He is dead. Here stay by my side” he added as the young man’s blood-spattered face stared vacantly back at him before he seemed to recognise who it was.
“Camillus” he said, his voice low before he nodded and grinned. “My first” he said with a mad look in his eye as Marcus glanced at the pulped head of the defenceless man at his feet. With a nod, he stepped forwards. “Come on” he said. “We need to get to the elders before the men completely wreck the city”.
Stepping past the gory mess Marcus stood tall and took in the scene around him. Everywhere was in panic and chaos, people rushing headlong into alleyways and doorways, Roman soldiers attempting to grab loot and Ferentians rushing to either defend their homes or simply to stay alive by whatever means they could.
“Narcius” called Marcus waving his sword at the first spear who was attempting to create a line of soldiers which would maintain some sense of an ordered approach into the city. Narcius heard the voice but took seconds to scan the surroundings and locate his commander. Marcus strode across, pushing two rushing soldiers back with a snarl as their excited faces changed to fear at his angry expression.
“Cover the gate, make sure no-one leaves and find Scipio. Tell him to get three sections into each of those roads” he pointed beyond the hurrying and fighting soldiers. Ahead of them were three distinct roads radiating from the entrance to the city, each wide enough for five men to march abreast. “Set guards at every road intersection and build a holding pen for any prisoners outside the main gate. I want this place locked up tighter than a money-lenders purse” he smiled as he patted Narcius on the shoulder. “And” he added with a wide grin “great job” he said, Narcius’s returning smile showing his appreciation. “You can tell me all about it later.” As he finished Virginius appeared through the gate and saluted, his men coming to a stop as Narcius called out orders to the Centurions and started to organise the lines.
“Virginius, with me” Marcus said as he turned to see Fabius stood behind him watching the men forming into lines. “Come on, we need to find the city council” he said as he moved across, stepping over the dead men strewn across the entrance, and waved to a troop of men that Narcius had singled out and sent across to him. “With me” he called as he strode away towards the central of the three roads ahead of him, moving slightly to his right as he spotted a small knot of Romans fighting furiously with a group of defenders, the defenders appearing to be getting the better of the fewer attackers.
As the men of his Eagles closed ranks Marcus edged them forwards, a wall of shields five men wide and six deep stepping into the gap in front of the road. The defenders saw the approach and an anguished cry came from the men at the front, some of the rearmost fighters turning and disappearing down the well cobbled street at this new turn of events.
“Disengage” Marcus called as he stepped forwards to the relief of one of the Roman legionaries, his arm covered in a patchwork of criss-cross red marks where he had fought for his life. Marcus stepped into the gap as a swinging sword came straight for him, the edge of the blade crystal clear in his vision as he focused on the nicks along the cutting edge, the red blood dripping along the blade and the white fingers clenching the sword hilt. The man was screaming, his eyes almost closed as Marcus dropped his weight to the right, lifting his shield with his left forearm and feeling the blade clatter along the edge of the wood. Instantly he saw his target, the man’s thigh was directly in front of him and he drove his sword straight through it, the muscle giving little resistance as the short sword punched through and rattled along his thigh bone causing the man to scream as he crumpled to the floor. At his left shoulder, Virginius hesitated, a look of surprise on his face as Marcus glanced quickly to him and then pulled his sword free before pushin
g his shield forwards into the falling body of the man. With a kick into the defender’s face Marcus quickly drove the point of his blade into the face of the screaming man, his sword arm still swinging the long blade he held up in the air as he struggled and twisted to gain some leverage.
“Don’t hesitate” Marcus roared at Virginius without looking at him, flecks of spit coming from his mouth as the lust of battle took over him. “Keep up” he called again as he stepped forwards with a shake of his head, his junior officer clattered from behind by a legionary who apologised but pushed him forwards again to keep up with the commander. Within three steps the Eagles had cleared the line of defenders and Marcus stood and looked around again. Narcius had worked his magic and a clear line of soldiers was setting up by the gateway, Scipio directing parties in various directions. Looking ahead into the roadway Marcus could see the larger town houses further along the street, knowing that the city square was beyond them he set out again, calling his men into their line and setting the pace. At his shoulder Virginius bumped his shield with Marcus who looked angrily at him and then took a deep breath.
“Sorry Virginius” he said as his eyes glanced left and right at movements from the houses, soldiers rushing out with armfuls of loot or dragging a woman by the hair, the screaming and sounds of fighting loud in the air. Marcus knew there was little he could do the stop the looting or rape until he got to the elders and gained a formal surrender, the death of the king was a blow he hadn’t expected so early in the fight. “Just keep up with the men, take second line if you wish and keep your shield high” he added with an appraising look at Virginius’ long blade, the metal a foot longer than any of the Eagles around him. He remembered how clumsy the long blades were in these tight battles and smiled across at the man as he gritted his teeth and visibly raised his shield.
Two Ferentians burst from a doorway, one with a large axe, the blade chopping into the shoulder of the soldier two places to Marcus’s right and dragging the man to the floor, his sword hand gripping the wooden handle of the axe as he screamed a deep throated curse at the Ferentian as he twisted the man in front of him to be despatched by a thrust to the throat by another legionary, the axe-man’s angry yell cut off instantly as his blood splashed onto the wooden doorframe as if his voice had somehow been trapped in the blood that left his throat. “Keep moving” Marcus called as the remaining Ferentian was sliced across the face with a quick thrust from the Romans, his head whipping to the right as he was caught by a quick parry and then a thrusting punch into his ribs. As the men in the second and third rows stepped over his body a series of kicks and sword thrusts made sure he was dead and of no danger to those further back in the Roman line. Marcus nodded approvingly at the efficiency and training of Narcius’s men.
The small force of Romans came to the last house on the road, the light of the city square ahead of them. With a glance over his shoulder, Marcus saw Scipio had sent a sizeable force of soldiers to follow behind him, the Romans marching quickly along the grey cobbled stones with hard, cold, faces as they moved quickly to his rear. As they stepped into the square it was clear that some of the earliest of the attacking Roman forces were still fighting running battles with the defenders, but here in the large square the defenders were more than holding their own.
After ten paces Marcus called a halt, his quick eyes scanning the scene and a wealth of scenarios coursing through his mind as he contemplated their next move. He couldn’t make out any distinguishing marks of nobility in the large phalanx of men who stood their ground in front of a small temple, the colourful statues looking down on the scene with their godly smiles and serene faces.
“Virginius take the next hundred men and close those two roads” he said as he whipped his sword around at the entrances around them. “Keep everything that faces the gate clear of any defenders he said again as Virginius saluted and stepped backwards with a relieved smile, his voice calling to the men arriving behind him. He turned to the legionary to his right “find me a trumpeter” he said as he stepped forwards and looked right and left, calling to a number of Romans who had arrived from various alleyways and ordering them to get into the line.
“Romans, disengage” he called into the fray ahead of him, the majority of the men stepping back quickly as their training had taught them, but some taking a moment to hear the instruction and falling to the slices of the spears or swords of the defenders. “Disengage” he called again, stepping further forwards as the Romans edged backwards to a few calls from the blood covered Ferentians.
Within moments the square was a mass of men moving into positions, the defenders lining up twelve men deep in two phalanxes, the front line bristling with eight and twelve-foot-long spears behind thickly painted wooden shields, the colours creating a bright barriers across the square. The Roman force was more than double that of the Ferentians as the soldiers appeared from all the roads and alleyways leading to the square, Scipio instantly setting up lines to face the defenders once he saw Marcus and his soldiers in position. Marcus took another deep breath, his eyes scanning the phalanxes, the helmets dull in the shadows of the tall buildings behind them and the sun shining into his face. ‘A tactical advantage to them’, he thought, if they knew they had it. He waved to Scipio and called him across.
“Is Calvus here?” he asked without taking his eyes off the rows of men in front of them, the impasse suddenly causing a silence which was spreading across the city, a few screams and the unmistakable clamour of fighting coming from deep in the roads somewhere behind Marcus.
“He’s with Narcius at the gates” Scipio replied, his quick intelligent eyes roving the ranks. “I don’t see a leader” he said, his head moving right and left looking for the feathers which stood proud from the helmets of the leaders of the city.
“No, neither do I” he replied. “Let’s see if they have one” he added with a grin as he stood tall and stepped into the space between the Roman shields and the Ferentian spears.
“Men of Ferentium” he called, his voice strong and loud as he looked slowly along the line of faces who were staring at him, some with fear and others with hatred. “Mars the war-bringer has spoken and you have lost your city” he said, his sword rising slowly and pointing to the sky as a few faces followed the movement into the heavens. “Your cause was surely unjust and your gods have deserted you” he said with a small bow of his head to show the sorrow he felt. “I am Marcus Furius Camillus, appointed by Rome to seize this city, and in the name of Apollo, Mars and the Senate of Rome I claim her as our prize.”
Voices rose in the Ferentian ranks, a sudden cacophony of deep groans and shaking of heads, some angry at the loss and others defiant. Deep in the ranks a scuffle broke out as one man was clearly trying to rush forward and attack the Romans.
“I promise leniency to any man who throws his spear to the ground and surrenders” he called as the heads of the spear bearers glanced to their comrades around them. “Any man who drops his shield will suffer slavery but not be put to death” he shouted as he moved to his right and looked at each face in the crowd in front of him, his silence causing many to mumble to their fellows, the hubbub of noise growing as each second went by.
“I will speak with your leaders and take your surrender” he called as a greater clamour grew amongst the soldiers, some throwing their swords to the floor with a metallic thud. Marcus stood for a long moment, unsure that his words were understood or were being well received as the phalanxes bristled, some soldiers calling for surrender and others calling for attack.
“Move the men into a wider line” Marcus said to Scipio as they awaited the response. “I think they have lost their leaders” he added “they must have been with the King at the gate” he shrugged “and leaderless men can do dangerous things.”
He stepped forwards again as Scipio turned to the men behind and started to issue orders, the moving Roman army causing a sudden flurry of Ferentian soldiers in the front line to drop their spears and rush forwards with arms in
the air. Behind them other men growled their anger at the cowards who had given up, but the number of men throwing their weapons to the floor grew.
“Hold there, kneel” shouted Marcus, bringing his sword out in front at the surprised faces of the weapon-less men rushing forwards, fear appearing on their faces.
“Kneel” he shouted again as the first men knelt. A sudden panic gripped Marcus, the space in front of him full of men, some of whom he could see had come to a standstill unsure what to do, and he realised he was in the no-man’s land between both armies, it would be easy to rush him.
“Kneel and we will take your surrender” he shouted as the Roman line took a step forward to be closer to their commander. A moment’s silence descended and Marcus could hear the blood coursing through his veins as the first Ferentian men knelt, their faces full of fear. Behind them a clattering sound rose amidst a deep groan from the soldiers of Ferentium as more men simply threw their spears to the floor and called for mercy as the Roman lines cheered triumphantly at the kneeling ranks of the soldiers.
*
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*
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Chapter 26
Small pockets of resistance and fighting lasted for an hour as groups of Ferentians attempted to defend their homes and stood against the Romans in the narrow streets of the city, the cobbles running red with blood. Marcus had returned to the gates where Scipio had been detailed to set the defensive lines with Narcius, both men standing looking at the heaps of bodies spread across the entrance to the city, the walled doorway seeming to frown at its downfall.
At his approach Scipio waved him across. “That’s the king” he said as he pointed to a bearded man with dark oiled hair and a white face, his eyes open wide as he stared up into the sky with a look of surprise. Marcus looked down at the dead body, a bolt still attached through his chest and a deep red, almost black, thick pool of blood underneath him.
The Fall of Veii- Part 1 Page 21
