The Fall of Veii- Part 2

by Francis Mulhern

  “Certainly Sir” relied Scipio. “But there is something else I wish to discuss with you first” he said as his tone made Priscus look at him more intently.

  “A problem?”

  “I’m not sure” replied the junior officer as he removed his helmet and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

  Priscus was older than Scipio and the fine lines around his eyes showed his jovial nature. He had a thick head of dark brown hair, cut short in the military style, as was Scipio’s. His short forehead and low hair line made his eyes seem more prominent as they searched Scipio for information.

  “For the past few days the soldiers have been complaining that the water in the lake seems to be getting closer to the tents” Scipio started as a frown appeared on his commander’s face. “So I placed a stake in the water and marked the level each morning” he said as Priscus nodded, his face softening at the clever actions of his junior officer. “In three days the water has risen some eight inches. I’ve checked with the local tribesmen and there has been no earthquake or tremor which may have caused a problem. The lake is not connected to the sea so cannot be affected by the tides.” He shrugged. “I calculate that within ten or twelve days the majority of the camp will be ankle deep in water. I am at a loss” he admitted as he stared into the eyes of Priscus.

  Priscus looked at the map and drummed his fingers on the table for a moment as he took in the information and considered it. “The lake is what, seventy yards across and forty wide?” he asked without looking up.

  “Yes, Sir”

  “No rivers feed the lake that we know of according to this map”

  “I’ve scouted the borders of the lake myself and there are no rivers or streams which feed the lake”

  “Hmm” replied Priscus as he breathed deeply and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “An interesting puzzle Scipio” he said as his eyes narrowed and he looked up. “How many people know of this?”

  “The majority of the soldiers know the lake has risen but I have not communicated anything yet with regard to reasons or actions” replied Scipio, his cool eyes and confidence pleasing Priscus.

  “Good” he replied. “I take it your next consideration is to appease the men by pouring some libations to spirits of the water?” he half asked and half suggested.

  “I had considered this” Scipio said “but the problem remains that if the water continues to rise it will affect the morale of the men. You know how jumpy they are at the moment. Bad winters; unseen attacks; food and supplies getting into the city which our scouts never detect. The men are convinced that this war is unjust and we have angered the gods” he finished, his eyes looking at the table as he had spoken so freely.

  Priscus agreed with every word but knew that as commander he needed to remain stoic and show the men that the gods did favour them above the Veientines. He looked at the map again, his eyes roving the pictures of hills, trees and earthworks, looking for something which he could use to take the men’s thoughts away from the issues of the rising water.

  “Ideas?” he asked.

  Scipio glanced at the map and shook his head as he chewed his bottom lip before sitting taller and speaking. “Libations will help but it will have to be a patrician officer who completes the ceremony” he said as Priscus nodded. “Keeping the men busy will also help. We could move the camp forward, closer to the city and further from the water, which will also help somewhat. We could build a barrier around the lake to keep the water back should it rise any further?”

  After a moments silence Priscus sat back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking to Scipio. “I agree with all of those ideas” he said with a smile. “Let’s see if the water has risen any more in the next two days and then we will set some of them in motion. For now I want the men to re-double their efforts on the ramp. We must get over those walls.”

  Scipio nodded as he stood and saluted. As he left the tent and felt the cool breeze on his face he turned towards the gate of the camp and wandered across to the guards, who saluted smartly as he approached. Nodding to them he climbed to the walkway and scanned the scene around him.

  Directly ahead lay the high bleached walls of Veii, their guards clearly visible as they wandered along the ramparts nonchalantly as if they were simply out for a morning walk. The fields around the city lay scorched and parched from the years of war, the Cuniculi, the long thin ditches which fed the fields, caked and dry after years of neglect. He smiled at the thought of the ditches, knowing that the longest was almost three and a half miles from start to finish, the Veientines engineering skills would please Potitus, he thought. As the lead City of the Etruscan Alliance he knew the City was well ordered, a central square around which the houses of the rich were clustered. He knew from the maps of the City that a series of roads radiated in a grid pattern from this central square, orderly and wide as the Etruscans liked, unlike the random building that had occurred in Rome in more recent years.

  He looked to the left and right at the precipitous cliffs which bordered both sides of the City, making a frontal assault against the high walls the only feasible assault tactic and he took in the remains of the small scattered buildings which had been razed to the ground outside the walls when the Romans had first attacked the city, the broken walls almost completely demolished as the soldiers had scavenged everything they could carry to build their own huts and walls.

  Away to the right and along the well made road into the city were the tombs, some of them as big as a small house in the Subura in Rome. The soldiers had avoided them, though some had written graffiti on the walls. The more richly decorated had seen a few of the terracotta statues stolen as the less concerned men had clearly taken them to sell when they returned home, which the majority had not done for several years. The city was magnificent, Scipio thought. Well supplied with water from the wells within and the lake behind him, miles of fertile land and these strange, but useful, Cuniculi to water the fields. He glanced to his right to see the area behind the wooden stakes and deep trenches of the camp where the soldiers had built their own farms, the thick foliage testament to the fertility of the soil. The river Tiber was somewhere further to his right, but with the cliffs and the trees he could not see it. He wondered if the river was unusually high and decided to go and see later that day, it might help with the lake problem.

  The ramp was enormous and had reached some three quarters of the way to the city gates, stretching some four hundred paces from start to finish and nearly as high as three men. Potitus had started the works over two years ago before he had been called back to Rome at the sudden death of his wife. Scipio shook his head at the thought. Potitus had been one of the most energetic men he had ever known. The death of his Julia had caused a hole in the man’s life which had taken some of his spirit from him. It had taken Marcus, his oldest friend, to get him out of his dark house and back into public life and Scipio smiled at the memory of the long arguments the men had held regarding the will of the gods, mortality of men and how fate dealt a bad blow to everyone at some time. Indeed Marcus and Livia had lost two children in infancy, one boy and one girl. Scipio gripped the small token to Juno he held on a chain with his wooden Eagle, a gift from Marcus, as he thought these words, his mind going to his own two boys, healthy and strong as he quickly thanked his patron goddess for their vitality.

  Turning back to the camp he saw the miles of trenches stretching across the front of the city, the high palisades bleached by years of sun. Along the walls were several forts, each holding thirty men or more and each showing signs of fire or other attack. The Etruscan alliance had continued to harass the Roman siege during winter and summer and the forts were continually being re-built after short skirmishes. Some bore the marks of recent changes, the deep brown contrasting to the bleached, older, wooden supports.

  The lake was another matter. Its fresh water and good defensive outlook made it a natural backdrop to the Roman camp. Scipio could see across the water to the far bank whe
re large fir trees were interspersed with oak. The area around the banks of the lake had been cleared for fifty steps in each direction to provide the walls of the camp, the huts some of the men slept in and firewood, of which four large log stores were sited across the camp, each one piled high with the thick wood. Scipio wondered if the loss of trees would affect the level of water in the lake but shook away the thought as the loss was minimal compared to the depth of the forest. As he looked back into the camp he considered the war at Veii and its problems. He could see no action which would complete this war other than to get into the City by scaling the walls. The ramp was wide enough to march ten men and with the will of the gods it would be complete by the late summer. Maybe this was the year to defeat the old enemy he thought as he smiled at the high walls of Veii.

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  Chapter 5

  Mella raced through the trees as another arrow struck the thick trunk of a broad pine, ducking his head under another low branch and feeling the leaves brush against his shoulder he gasped for breath. “There” he called to the remaining man of his scouting party, the other dead somewhere behind him in the thick forest. The Falerian archers had appeared from the thick undergrowth as his men sat eating from a small fire early in the afternoon, their arrows striking at the horses first and then at the men. Two horses had gone under a storm of arrows before the men had even seen the attackers, their skill evident in the heart piercing shots against the beasts. Mella had managed to release the reins from the last horse before it had bolted into the forest and he had to run for his life as the animal careered into an archer, knocking the man to the floor and no doubt saving Mella from an arrow in the back.

  Vidus, the remaining scout, crashed through the undergrowth, his breath rasping as he ran as Mella tried to get his bearings and work out which way they should go. “The gap” he shouted as he saw a dark patch between two short trees and veered in that direction.

  How the archers had crept up on him he’d never know, they were good, too good. They had appeared from the edge of the short cliff, an area he had thought was safe. How had they climbed those crumbling rocks without making a sound? He cursed as he thumped his hand against a branch as he ran past, the flare of pain coming in an instant as he winced and gritted his teeth, his eyes focused only on the dark patch between the trees ahead. Vidus was falling behind, the man labouring in the chase. He glanced back and caught his eyes, mad with terror. In that instant both men knew that their best hope was to split up and Vidus nodded to Mella as he turned and sprinted to his left, a shout coming from behind them at the movement.

  Mella pounded into the dark space, his eyes adjusting quickly as the canopy overhead thickened and drew away the light. He heard a cry behind but he kept running, the thin path he fetched upon clearly some kind of animal track. His speed improved as he was unimpeded on the path, but he knew it would help the archer’s too so he scanned the vicinity for somewhere with thicker undergrowth he could move into, but there was nothing. The trees seemed smaller, the trunks somehow thinner despite the thicker foliage, and his knowledge of woodland told him that this suggested he was closer to the edge of the forest, a bad sign; he knew being in the open would be his death. He edged to the right, a quick glance over his shoulder seeing no movement behind. A thick bush a hundred yards ahead became his next target and he forced his legs to pump despite their screaming for him to slow down. He clambered through the low branches of the bush, his eyes continually darting left and right as he strained his ears for any sounds except his own, instinctively slowing and catching his breath as the silence grew. He kept moving, but now more slowly, more aware of his surroundings than the past twenty minutes of hurtling through dense undergrowth and along animal tracks. His thoughts lurched to Vidus, had he escaped? Had he been caught? Mella had been clever enough to keep the details of the last report to himself in case any of the men were caught. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought, but he pressed on knowing it was the right thing to do, a good torturer would know that Vidus knew nothing and he would die quickly.

  Hearing no sound he came to a stop and crouched in a low bush, the leaves thick but the inner area near the knotted trunk clear of all but a few spindly branches. He scanned as much of the area as he could, hearing a cry of alarm from some distance to his right. Something told him to climb a tree and wait for darkness, but he knew that held risks of its own and indecision bit into him again as he gritted his teeth and sucked in the warm air of the forest. In a matter of heartbeats he resolved to get back to the main force and give his news to Camillus, but he still didn’t know in which direction Faleria lay.

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  “Ready?” Marcus said to Potitus as he strode forward to the front line of his deep ranks of soldiers, their spear tops glinting in the late afternoon sun. The men in the line grinned at him as he passed, the skin of their faces nut-brown from hours of marching and drilling in the sun.

  “Ready, sir” Potitus winked as Marcus grinned back at his friend.

  A short slave in his brown, knee length, tunic raced forwards and placed a wide wooden stool on the floor as Marcus, his blue cloak and long blue helmet feathers blowing in the breeze, stepped up onto the rostrum so that all the men could see him. He took a moment to gaze across the ground at the soldiers, their eager faces turned to him, some old and familiar, others young and eager. Rufus, his plebeian friend who had been a Military Tribune himself, one of six in the previous years - an enormous achievement for the plebeian movement, smiled back at him from the front line of spearmen. Narcius held a long thin line of Eagles, their new throwing javelins in their hands, behind the front two phalanxes and beyond that were the older Triarii with their heavier armour and larger shields, men like Quintus Fabius and Caelio standing with the richer patricians who made up this rank. He glanced to the left and right, the majority of his horse soldiers, the Eques, were on the right, their horses idly picking at the grass as if they were out for a morning ride back on their farms in the foothills of Rome. He had given Virginius a special role with the Eques, a high ranking position which he hoped might make the man feel more confident amongst his officers. He was an excellent horseman, but Marcus still held misgivings about his attitude towards the task and ability to act on his instincts.

  Marcus smiled as he looked out over the men, his smile bringing grins to the faces of the soldiers closest to him. Potitus grinned back from his position at the front of the men.

  “Men of Rome” he called as the clink of metal showed that each man had stood taller at his first words. “The Falerians have killed our kin every year at Veii. They have taken arms against us on the roads and have boasted that they are unbeatable.” As he said the word a series of calls and groans came from the ranks bringing a wider smile to Marcus’s face.

  “Today we will see whether they are men of honour or cowards.” He let the words sink in as silence fell in the ranks. “Today the wind of war blows on their city” he said as a few heads nodded at the words which were being relayed along the lines of men by their Centurions. “They have refused to surrender and have taken arms against us” he said, waiting until the last Centurion finished before speaking again. “I, Marcus Furius Camillus have taken the auspices” he said raising his right hand to the sky. “Mars is with us, Jupiter agrees with our cause, Justitia and Juno will look after you men of Rome as our cause is just” he said as the cheering began, starting closer as the words were relayed and then growing into the distance as the men further away heard his words. He glanced to the woods away in the distance, and took a deep breath, a slight fear mingling with the excitement he felt at the start of the offensive against the town.

  “The finger of Rome” by which he meant the phalanx, the Greek for finger, “will jab into the heart of the city.” He waited a moment until the last call had been completed. “And we will win.”

  After a moment he bowed his head, noting that most of the men did the same. “Mars, war bring
er, has ordained that all men bearing arms against us shall die today” he called as the noise of some of the horses whinnying came from far away to his right. “Men of Rome, show mercy to those who bear no arms, take them as slaves and take their possessions as they will rightly and justly be ours by custom and by the laws of the gods” he called as a great cheer started again.

  Marcus waited until silence had fallen.

  “You have your orders. Bring victory to your gods and to your families” he called as he held his sword aloft and a throaty cheer of ‘victory’ came from the ranks of men, their cheering lasting a full five minutes as Marcus looked out over their heads with occasional glances to the woods.

  Nodding to Rufus and Potitus, who set off purposefully towards the rear of the army, he stepped from the wooden rostrum and watched as a number of men raced forwards, some with wicker screens and bows, some with wooden boards and planks which would be set across the ditches which the Romans had been attempting to fill since they had asked the Falerians to surrender some hours earlier.

  Narcius stepped forwards to join Marcus in the front line of soldiers. “A good speech Camillus” he whispered as Marcus laughed at his friend, seeing the joy of war in his face.

  “Any news from Mella?” Marcus asked, already considering the plans he had set in place for the attack to his rear that had been spotted that morning.

  “Nothing since the last report” Narcius said. Mella had reported that the Falerian force seemed to be heading to Veii rather than to attack Marcus as they had supposed but that a smaller force had been sent against them in an attempt to catch the Roman scouts. Mella also confirmed he had sent a man ahead to the defences at Veii to warn them that a force may be approaching them, but he was remaining to see if they turned back and attempted to make for the men at Faleria. Marcus remained convinced that the Falerians would attempt a double attack and had set plans in place to deal with this should it occur; he hoped Virginius would be equal to the tasks he had set him and glanced nervously in his direction once again at the thought.