The rope tugged and Servius turned to glance behind at the source of the sudden movement. Despite the darkness he could see three of the men attached to the rope so that they wouldn’t get lost in the darkness as they stretched behind him into the trees. Beyond them he heard a splashing sound and shook his head, if the man needed a piss he should wait until he’d been given the all clear. These men were poor, he thought to himself as he shook his head. Turning back to the darkness in front of him he nodded his head, counting to ten before tugging the rope three times to signal the men to walk again.
With a slow step he led the men to the edge of the clearing and took out his water pouch to take a few small sips as the six men appeared beside him, the first two muttering about the stupidity of their colleague. Servius made a mental note to leave the man’s body in the woods. A man who ignored the rules and put the others in danger didn’t deserve to make it home he thought as he scowled into the darkness.
“Men” he whispered. “Here” he said. The light in the small clearing through which he had seen the guards travelling allowed some visibility and he could just about make out the shapes of the men and the faces of those nearest to him. He noted that it was Felix who was the perpetrator of the sound and grinned; he didn’t like the man and certainly didn’t trust him. Losing him on the way back would be a pleasure, it was a shame he had lost two of his usual men to the plague that had hit Rome over the winter. The City certainly seemed to be having bad luck recently, with plagues and sudden spells of hot weather disturbed by thunderous rain for days before the oppressive heat came back. Maybe the patricians were right, he thought, and it was the gods telling men of their anger at the confusion over who led Rome.
The last man stepped closer and bent his ear towards Servius.
“The city is within a half mile. This ravine is narrow so you will have to hold your packs above your heads for some of the way as it is narrow at the bottom near your legs. We leave the packs at the end of the ravine as I explained to you and some of us will return to the mules to collect the rest. No stopping” he said with a glance to Felix. “We have two hours to get the sacks into the Cuniculi and get them to the foot of the wall, no longer. If you get lost I will leave you behind.” He waited a heartbeat before continuing. “Use the rope if you have a problem, two tugs to stop, three tugs to go” he said, again looking at Felix angrily.
Without waiting he turned and looked at his surroundings. The low rocks were strewn with clefts, the largest of which showed the signs of a path which disappeared into the darkness. Saying a quick prayer to Fortuna Servius picked up his sack and strung it across his back, the corn inside shifting to sit across his back as he stepped forwards. He knew from the Senators spy that there would be no guards but his heart still beat hard in his chest as he set off through the natural ravine, a great place for an ambush.
Within ten minutes he had brought the men to a stop again, the Cuniculi, the long thin water course, called rabbit holes by the locals, which led across the open fields to the walls of the city lay straight ahead of him. He marvelled at the work it must have taken to cleave these ditches from the land to water the fields as he looked across at the thirty feet high walls of Veii. Turning to the men behind him he whispered “Artius, I will take the three men back and start collecting more sacks, you know what to do” he stated coldly as he glanced at Felix, the man’s stupid face grinning in the low moonlight. “Right, let’s go” he said as some of the men untied their ropes and started to shift the sacks into a pile. “We’ll be back within the half hour” he said to Artius, patting his trusted friend on the shoulder before heading back into the woods with the remaining men.
****
“Tribune” came the strong voice of the dark haired Centurion, his dark blue tunic under a thick brown leather chest guard as he tapped the thick vellum map on the table in front of him. “The plateau is some thousand paces long and four hundred wide” he said as he drew his finger along the crudely drawn picture of the surrounding area. “Here” he looked up at the other officers “the gorges connect to the western walls which are entrenched with a mound and ditch” he nodded, his expression grim. “The walls are made of tuff , hard and strong but only the height of three men and maybe an arm’s length deep; easily scalable if we can get through that ditch” he nodded at Potitus. “There is no slope into the city and the only entrance is the main gate, here” he finished with a finger on the picture in front of him.
“A good report” Marcus replied placing a hand on Rufus’s shoulder as the older man looked at him with a smile. “Do we think they will stand and fight or will they hide behind the walls?” he asked the gathering of the senior officers who were all looking at the map with pensive faces.
“They won’t fight” Virginius replied with a cold look on his face. “My bet is that they’ll hide behind their ditch and try to see the summer out.”
“I agree” Fasculus said, his new Centurions helmet shining along with his bronze breastplate. Since coming across his old enemy in a skirmish a few years before Fasculus had become a good leader in Marcus’s army, taking the initiative and working well with the first spear, Narcius. “We need a way to bring them out of their city and face them here” he tapped the map at a low point a thousand paces or so from the walls of the city. Every head nodded except Virginius.
“They won’t come out” replied Virginius with certainty, his eyebrows raised as his lips tightened into a frustrated scowl.
Marcus looked at the officer, his brown eyes and hard face almost bitter as he looked at Fasculus. Virginius was a good soldier but he held longstanding grudges and was petulant, showing his emotions too often in Marcus’s view, a sign that he was indecisive and weak. He shook his head slightly as he edged forwards towards the map. Virginius had been thrust upon his command for the third time in as many seasons and whilst he was capable his views with regard to the plebeian officers were already causing discomfort amongst the men who led his army. There was no place for the political issues of Rome in its army Marcus thought as he glanced at Virginius and wondered how he could remove the man from his officers without offending him or his rich patrons.
Marcus had been voted Military Tribune, a great honour and one which he hoped would lead his family name to greater glory. His first command had been commissioned to seek out the supporters of the Veientines who regularly attacked the Roman lines at the walls of the city. The Falerians and the Capenates were the two main culprits and so he had set off to the closest town of Faleria, from where the scouts had said many of the raiding parties had been led.
“Potitus, how many days to fill those ditches and scale the walls?” he asked with an appraising look at his old friend. Gaius Potitus was the opposite of Virginius, his bright eyes and clever mind endearing him to his contemporaries and his men. Marcus had seen the man grow into a leader, his ‘engineers’ developing new machines and developing ideas to support the attacks of the phalanx and the Eagles to ensure the lowest possible loss of life before the decisive attack. In the past five years Potitus had been assigned to Lucius, Marcus’ brother, at Veii but as soon as Marcus had been appointed Military Tribune his first call was for his old friend to rejoin him. Scipio had been assigned to the siege works at Veii and had been stationed there for almost two years, his military bent endearing him to the rough lifestyle of the army and Marcus agreed to his wish to remain at the walls.
Potitus took a series of wooden covered wax tablets from a pouch and laid them on the table, rough sketches and words scrawled across each individual tablet. As he looked up at Marcus he smiled with a sparkle in his eyes “two days, maximum three, but I need to see them for myself rather than rely just on these reports” he said closing the tablets and placing them neatly back into the pouch. The bulk of Marcus’s four thousand foot soldiers and five hundred horses were still a half a day’s march from Faleria and were camped at the southern edge of a small hill overlooking the surrounding countryside as the sun started the slip lower
in the sky.
Spurius Caelio, his eyes darting between the officers as he licked his lips before speaking, leant forwards and pointed to the low ground which Fasculus had pointed to moments earlier. “If we set up a forward camp here with a third of the army we might entice them into an attack” he suggested with a glance to Marcus.
“You assume they don’t know that we have four thousand men heading their way” Marcus replied with a smile, his words warm as the new, young, officer nodded at the response, his eyes flicking to the others nervously. Caelio was a cousin of Senator Javenoli and as such had been presented to Marcus by his old mentor in the cold months of the winter when the patrician clans wined and dined their friends to succour votes for the coming tribuneship. Marcus had taken to the young man quickly, his eager enthusiasm was infectious and his intelligence and wit raised him above the humdrum of young men trying too hard to gain their first commission. His light brown hair and grey eyes were a throw-back to some ancestors beyond the walls of Rome but his lineage was good and his knowledge of warfare was better than most men for his age. Whilst eager he was not overly forceful in his demands, learning through his questioning rather than telling his peers as many of the more senior officers seemed to do.
Caelio grinned at Marcus’ reply and stood, his grey eyes bright against the candlelight in the tent. “I did” he said loudly, a short laugh coming from his grinning mouth as Rufus chuckled next to him and slapped his shoulder. “I’ve seen no scouts” he said to all the men around the table, his wide eyes still smiling.
Virginius shook his head in exasperation, annoyed that the young fool commanded such attentions. “Tribune, can we return to the planning?” he said coldly as he turned back to the map, stepping forward to peer down at the pictures of the city and its surrounding hills and ravines. “These ravines could be used as a strategic advantage” he said as he traced his finger along a series of small black lines drawn in front of the tuff walls and looked up at Marcus.
Nodding Marcus looked to Narcius “I agree with Virginius” he said as he looked to Caelio and then back to the handsome face of the taller man. “We should take a closer look at the defences before we decide the final plan.” He tapped his finger on his bottom lip as his brows furrowed and he glanced around the men in front of him.
Since taking the role of Tribune Marcus had found himself judging his officers more sternly than he had done previously. He had wondered whether it was the pressure which came with the role or whether he just didn’t trust all of the men under his command now that the ultimate decision over life and death was his. Virginius was certainly capable but his arrogance towards the other men and his lack of focus in battle were weak points which he knew could cause disaster if not checked with a good Centurion giving sound advice to the man. Rufus and Fuscus were good soldiers who had shown strength in command for many years. Narcius was beyond reproach; his loyalty to the Furii had been tested over and over in the years since he had first held the sword of the Eagles at the battle of the three crossroads. The candle flickered and Marcus noted that the men were shuffling as he looked around at their faces, each of the men showing traces of nervousness as their eyes flicked to Marcus and then back to the map.
“Potitus and Fasculus, take a hundred of the Eques and take the forward position. Virginius take five hundred men and follow at double speed and we will bring the remainder of the men behind.” He looked at the map and then back at the silent men, each nodding to their comrades at the command from their Tribune. “We will set up a camp here as suggested and maybe allow Caelio to set up a camp here with his slaves to entice the enemy out” he said with a serious frown as a momentary silence filled the tent. Rufus let out a deep belly laugh at the face of Caelio as his usual bright face suddenly paled at the thought that this might be a real order, his head whipping from man to man, almost appealing to them, before Marcus and the rest of the officers slapped him hard on the back and continued to laugh off the tension which had grown in the small, humid, tent throughout the meeting. Caelio blustered his reply, sticking out his thin chest and wiping a bead of sweat from his brow as he grinned at Narcius. “Ha, I could take on a whole city with 3 Eagles” he said as he held his lips tight and put his face into a fierce scowl. “No problem” he said again as the men laughed at the little peacock strutting around the tent with his chest puffed out and hand held firmly on his thick sword.
Marcus smiled. He had learned that a little humour was a good way to distract the tension of the men, but he also knew that being too soft on them would allow weakness to creep into his command. Caelio was a good distraction but he was also young and green and must be kept in check if he was to improve his skills as an officer. Virginius wasn’t smiling and Marcus found himself looking at the man again and wondering what was going through his mind. Taking a short breath he rapped the table lightly with his hand, causing all the men to look to him.
“Fuscus, Narcius” he nodded “you will be in charge of setting up the camp. Any questions?”
After a moments silence he nodded to the men “then let’s get to it gentlemen, we have a city to capture.”
As the men left the tent Marcus sat and touched the wooden eagle around his neck, his mind rushing over the words of the prophecy given to him all those years ago. He still didn’t understand what the words meant and his eyes wandered to the votive candle to Mars that he had lit before the meeting of his officers. If he was truly chosen by the Goddesses Fortuna and Mater Matuta, Juno, then surely the words of his destiny would be fulfilled, but as he creased his brow at the thought of the words ‘the eagle will be the greatest leader of Rome there has ever been’ and considered his career since the day of the prophecy he was still unsure what it meant. Each line of the prophecy was filled with riddles, words he couldn’t fathom and which he tried to interpret and use as he considered each decision he needed to make. His brother Lucius had been Military Tribune four times and was already one of Rome’s greatest generals, but he, Marcus Furius Camillus, had only now gained the highest order of military service below that of Dictator.
Dictator. The word hung in his mind as he considered the power the role commanded for the people of the Republic of Rome. He smiled inwardly at the conversations he had held with Calvus regarding the role, Calvus ridiculing the position as a way for the plebeians to be held under the foot of the patricians, another rule that the elite of Rome used to push through their own reforms in time of dire need. Marcus half laughed as he stood from the chair he had slumped into, his eyes suddenly becoming tired despite the fact that the sun had not long risen over the horizon. Outside he heard the unmistakable noise of tents being collapsed, horses snorting as they moved into position and officers shouting at their men to form into lines and prepare for the march. ‘The Eagle will lead Rome five times’ the prophecy had said. Was this the first of the five he wondered? He shook his head and considered whether his command was truly leading Rome rather than just a section of its army. Sipping some lemon infused water he looked into the candle of Mars and nodded his acceptance of the will of the gods. Lucius had said that the prophecy would be fulfilled before he really understood the words and Marcus had agreed with his sentiment. The gods planned the future and men simply lived to make the future work in their favour, but eventually fate was all powerful and all men must fall to fates designs.
Taking a final look at the map and checking that his orders were correct he blew out the candle, thanking the gods for looking over his decisions and crossed to the tent flap and stepped into the dull light of the morning. Three tunic clad legionaries were standing five paces to his right waiting to pull the tent poles from the hard ground and load his personal belongings onto his private cart and they jumped to attention as he appeared. With a nod to the three men he glanced at the activity around him, thousands of men hurrying to positions, dust clouds creeping into the air as the horses were brought forwards and noise, a noise that Marcus loved, the noise of war. He breathed the noise in as he watched
the men moving efficiently from task to task, the years of training making light of the hard work. He smiled at seeing Fuscus shouting to a troop of men to remove the final section of the marching camp, the thick poles being dragged from the earthen mound in which they had been placed.
Taking a deep breath Marcus looked to the sky and smiled, today was as good as any for seeking out Rome’s enemies.
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Chapter 3
Aulus Manlius gestured to his brother with a confused look. “A two headed calf in Retia?” he asked.
“Hmm” came the reply from his brother as he filled his mouth with dates from the bowl in front of him.
“I don’t understand its significance” he added to the fruit munching figure lying across a reclining couch in the cool air of Senator Javenoli’s garden. A small bird flew into his vision, its quick movement taking it to some crumbs of bread on the floor and away with a beak full of sustenance within seconds. He smiled. The bird had had time to cock its head at him, almost as if asking for permission to take the crumbs before flying off.
“The augurs were clear” said the voice of Javenoli as Aulus looked at him. The man had grown around the middle since they had last met, surely he couldn’t get any larger without exploding, he thought as he turned his attention to the Senator.
“The two heads are two great powers fighting for one body. The braying is the noise of war. The problem faced by the two heads is to gain control of the body. The gods have given us a clear sign that we must throw all our weight into the issue of Veii” Javenoli said in his quick, sharp voice.
The Fall of Veii- Part 2 Page 2
