“What about the Augur though? He said it was just about fouling the water” he replied.
“Well, sir” Rustulus said. “The trouble is that the lads said they saw a black wolf come out of the lake and walk through the camp on the night the water rose. It sniffed at the tents, sir, honestly. I didn’t believe them, but, well, look at it now, water everywhere and” he drank quickly “no-one knows why” he finished.
Priscus looked surprised as he listened, his face remaining as neutral as he could keep it. “So what do you think the men will do now that the omens are so bad?” he asked, his voice low as his eyes seemed to scan the tent in case anyone was listening.
“Do?” Rustulus looked incredulously at Priscus. “Do” he said again, the wine really starting to catch up with his wits now. “They’ll do what you tell them, sir. You’re in charge” he said with a deep frown as if the question was one which he just couldn’t comprehend.
Priscus smiled, his fears suddenly relaxing as he leant across and grinned at the legionary. “Here” he said. “You finish this and I’ll get some more” he said. “I think we should have a night of drinking and telling old war tales. I’ll get some food. You’re a good man Rustulus” he added as he strode from the tent and nodded to himself.
****
Darting into the shadow of a tall, wooden topped, building Marcus gripped the shoulder of the man in front of him. Behind him and to his left the maniples were causing mayhem, three hundred soldiers fighting a thousand spearmen who were moving forwards and backwards like waves crashing onto the shores, their spears thrusting but missing everything as the men dashed backwards and forwards in their small groups. The man peered over his shoulder at his leader and nodded as Marcus pointed towards the gate where a fierce battle was ensuing, the defenders holding their ground against an increasing number of Roman soldiers as they appeared from the upper walkway. Glancing upwards he could see that the right hand wall was being held by his soldiers, the left was still under Capenate ownership. The gate was crucial, he thought as he gritted his teeth and charged into the right edge of the defenders, six men deep at the gate. His mind calculated the rate of loss of his own men, knowing that maybe five minutes was the maximum they could hold out and hoping that Caelio was coming to his rear through the streets with support, as he had ordered.
Taking the sword thrust of a heavily built soldier on his shield he snapped his left arm up and across his body, catching the man’s wrist with the speed of his movement. Stepping forward at the same time as his action with his shield he had already looked beyond the fear in the face of the defender to spot his next victim as his sword came up and slid effortlessly into the armpit before he dragged his body backwards, using his momentum to pull the body to the floor. Stamping hard on the man’s head he felt him judder as the legionary at his back sliced the man’s white neck, turning the sun burned brown face and milky white neck into a spray of red.
“Left” he called as a sudden movement caught his attention. The defenders had given ground as a well dressed man with a thick leather breastplate stumbled under the attack of three of the Romans, the first catching his sword arm as his life bled from a wound in his belly; the well dressed soldier letting out an ear-piercing scream as he struggled to remove the heavy weight of the Roman clinging to him. As the scream rose in intensity all eyes of the defenders had moved to their talisman, his decorations covering his thick chest, as he took sword thrusts to the arms and thighs before one sliced into his cheek as he thrashed from side to side.
The movement had given Marcus the opportunity he needed and he tensed his jaw as he took a half-running stride into the melee and smashed his shield into the Capenate defenders left shoulder taking him off his feet. A sword strike clattered along his shoulder guard but missed his exposed neck as Marcus felt a sudden fear at his impetuous movement, his mouth mumbling supplication to Fortuna as he back-handed his hilt into the face of the large man and then used his body weight to press down on his sword as it slid into the chest of the Capenate leader, the thick leather holding his sword point for a second before it jerked into his chest. Marcus felt the point smack into the floor under the prone man and stared into his eyes as he swore before the light went from his face and he choked a few droplets of blood before his head fell to the side, lifeless. Two shields had covered Marcus as he had moved forwards, the wood clattering with attacks as he tried to regain his feet, but the damage was palpable, the Capenates groaning loudly as their hero died.
Several men edged backwards, then more as they began to give way and a call of ‘mercy’ came from within the defenders thinning ranks. Marcus righted his feet and gripped his sword, double checking that the form below him was dead before stepping back and peering ahead at the gate. Behind he heard the clatter of spears and swords and without pausing he screamed “advance” as the eyes of the defenders grew wide with fear.
The Romans were brutal, slicing through every living man at the gate and viciously hacking at their dead bodies as they marched over them. Glancing behind Marcus saw that Caelio had appeared with more men and set up a line of men across the square as the phalanx of Capenates attempted to march to the gates.
“Quickly. Get it open” he screamed, his voice taking on a higher pitch than he expected, but non-the-less his command was obeyed instantly by the men. The heavy wooden beams were removed and thrown to the side as another great groan came from the defenders. Marcus dived to the side, his arms suddenly weary and his eyes blinking from the blood that dripped from his helmet. The Roman attackers charged into the space, the lead men screaming hatred as their eyes searched prey and they darted off to attack the phalanx as it started to buckle from the relentless attack of the Romans. Within a minute Marcus was leaning against the stone wall of the city, his breathing ragged as his chest rose and fell as he watched the Romans continue to stream into the Capenate stronghold, the screaming of women now mingling with the cries of men as the doors to the cities houses were kicked in by the attacking force.
“Sir” came a voice as Marcus turned to see Fuscus, his pale face seeming clear amongst the blood spattered men standing at the gate.
“Fuscus” Marcus replied with a smile.
“Any orders?” he asked as he gripped his shield tightly in his left hand.
“You have your orders. Kill all men who bear arms, make prisoners of the rest” he said before the soldier turned and trotted into the square to disappear along a side street with thirty or more men at his heel. The square was almost empty, the Capenates had fled into the roads and alleyways. Only the dead remained, great clumps of bodies, some lay in clusters, others alone. A legionary handed him a water pouch, which he gripped tightly as it was covered in a red film of blood.
Standing tall he took three great gulps and then splashed a little across his face, using his shield hand to wipe away the excess. He nodded to the man with a smile, noting a hungry and determined look in his eyes as he returned the look before glancing away quickly.
“Well done you men” he called to the six men still standing around him, the remaining men of Narcius’s own maniple. “I will tell your Centurion how well you fought” he said as he clapped one man on the shoulder and nodded appreciatively to him. As another series of Romans charged into the city from the gateway Marcus knew the look he was getting from the six men, a mix of loyalty and desire to secure spoils from the city. He glanced around and then out of the gate, above the heads of the on-rushing soldiers. Rufus was within fifty paces, the Triarii walking at a steady pace towards the gate.
“Go on” he said with a smile to the eager eyes of the six men. “But remember to get something for your Centurion” he called as the men gripped their swords more tightly and darted into the nearest roadway yelling their curses at the unseen Capenates hiding their treasures within the city.
****
“The news is indeed mixed, but I believe we have covered everything for today” said Cicurinus from his seat at the front of the Senate meeting,
his long nose pale in the mid-morning sunlight that streamed through the low windows of the temple.
“The waters at the lake may be a bad omen” he conceded as he remembered the argument from the right. “But the glorious victories of our esteemed Marcus Furius Camillus must surely outweigh this bad news?” he half questioned as silence remained in the room around him.
Priscus had sent his news three days earlier, followed soon after by the news that Camillus had gained both Faleria and Capena in short succession, the news bringing a cheer to the Senate meeting where it was announced.
Cicurinus had sent a delegation to the Oracle at Delphi to try to understand the omen and meaning of the water of Lake Alba rising, news which had caused a series of mini riots in the streets as the plebeians came out in droves and claimed the gods were showing their displeasure at the patricians retaining an all year round siege at Veii and depriving Rome of its healthy farming men. The delegation was the only way in which he could placate the plebeian tribunes and bring calm to the city.
He continued to sweep his eyes across the heads of the Senators, his cold stare forcing some to drop their eyes as he caught them with his fierce gaze.
“It is late in the season gentlemen and our next decision will secure our actions for the winter months. Your votes will be counted and agreed within two cycles of the moon” at this he pointed to the candle lit on the table in front of the senate which denoted the power of the gods overlooking their decisions with regard to the next years Military Tribunes. The names of the men put forward were scrawled on tablets around the thick white candle. “I will call the council again at this time and we will discuss the decision and, we hope” he turned to his left as a row of elderly, toga clad, gentlemen nodded “we will have news from Delphi. Until then Priscus remains in charge at Veii and all orders stand. Genucius and Titinius will control the armies in the field under his command” he said.
As the leaders of the Republic stood and, noisily, left their seats Cicurinus watched the small groups of political allies as they quickly huddled together, some of their words drifting across to him as they discussed their family members or favourites and how to elevate them in the military ranks. He shook his head as he sat and took a deep breath, a weariness coming over him as he contemplated his future. Maybe it was time to retire to the country, he thought, a short smile starting to spread across his age lined face.
“Ah Senator” came a reedy voice which pulled him from his thoughts.
“Yes.” He forced himself to smile as he spoke.
“Surely you will support the agreement to have Virginius appointed Military Tribune during the next vote” Ahala pronounced rather than asked, which took the older Senator somewhat by surprise.
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Chapter 10
It had been a cold winter, the snow coming deep and fast once again, as it had for the past three years, and the news at Veii continued to be disastrous. Raiding parties continued to harass the Romans at the walls of the city, with losses reported every day. Priscus had been taken ill, having to be removed to his home as he caught a deep fever and was at deaths door, the bleeding of his physicians not making him any better. He had been replaced by an inept patrician called Honorius who had simply thrown men in small skirmishing groups at the enemy in a vain attempt to keep the Roman line secure. As it stood the soldiers at Veii were at their lowest point, more than a hundred had been known to have run away from the siege within the last month. The plebeian council had once again called for the return of the army, but this had been vetoed by the Senate. Constant arguing filled every political meeting, arguments for and against continuing the war turning into angry shouting matches as propaganda and graffiti covered the walls of Rome accusing patricians of enslaving the people of Rome. The plebeian’s spoke of half of Rome being crippled by war tax and the other half being crippled by military service, tensions were at an all time high. And now there was even more bad news as the early part of Martius approached and Rome was awakening its population for another year of warring campaigns in the Latin Delta.
In the frozen lands beyond the Alban Lake a war band had been seen approaching the siege works to the East of the city of Veii. Honorius had sent Genucius and Titinius out to meet them, Titinius circling the attackers in an attempt to get behind them and catch them unawares. The Etrurian commander had been clever and had laid a trap for the Romans, which Genucius had paid for with his, and his men’s lives, by attacking without the support of Titinius. The attack had been caught on rocky ground and the phalanx of soldiers succumbed to the worst of fates as they were butchered by the Etrurians, a shock of cavalry appearing from Veii and riding into their rear before Titinius could come to his aide. Titinius had recovered to higher ground and defended his position for two days before the enemy had retreated in glory, music and dancing coming from within the city for days after the attack as they celebrated their success.
The news had just broken, and Marcus left the Senate house deep in conversation with Lucius, his older brother, as men scurried away to inform their masters and allies of the disaster at the hands of Veientines.
“I don’t believe it. Could it get any worse, brother?”
“Yes” replied Lucius as he scowled and his eyes darted around them to check who was close. “Virginius and Sergius are to be appointed Military Tribunes this year” he said quietly as Marcus stopped suddenly a look of absolute shock on his face.
“What?” he said loudly as two Senators turned to him with quizzical looks.
Lucius gripped his sleeve and smiled to the two men as he moved Marcus away from the temple into the empty street which ran up the hill towards Marcus’ house in the richer part of Rome’s Equestrian district.
“I heard it from Ahala” he said once they had gained some distance from the prying ears behind them. “You and I will also be called, plus Sulpicius and Servillius” he said, naming the six men who would be voted at the next meeting of the tribes.
Marcus groaned at the thought. He had promoted Virginius to Ahala in an attempt to remove him from his own line of command, but he had not expected the man to be made Military Tribune. He closed his eyes momentarily as he took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. Lucius smiled back at his exasperated face. “Wasn’t it you who said he was an excellent commander of the horse and had saved your baggage train?” he asked.
Marcus glowered as he remembered the report he had written, knowing that the truth was that less than fifty men had attacked the baggage and had been over-run by the hangers-on and traders before Virginius had done anything about the sudden raid which had happened just before the attack on Capena.
“I know” was all he could say in reply. “But Tribune” he shook his head slowly as they climbed the steep slope.
“I hope they give me Veii” Lucius said with a frown. “Or you” he added with a sideways look to Marcus. Lucius had had a sparkling military career, being Tribune on four occasions and having many successes in the field. Yet he knew that Marcus had already outshone him with his tactics and the sheer amount of booty he had won for Rome. The attack on Capena had yielded so much treasure that for months the plebeians had been quiet as the war seemed to have taken a new turn, one which included success at last.
Marcus didn’t look to his brother but caught the look in his face and the tone of his words as he spoke to him.
“I would be honoured to serve under you again, brother” Marcus replied warily. Lucius placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped them both, peering around to check the road was quiet.
“Since Uncle died we have had no-one to discuss your prophecy with” Lucius started to say as Marcus shook his head. It was always the prophecy with Lucius, always testing if he had thought through what it meant and how he could fulfil it, always asking what new links he had found that he could exploit using the words he had written in a small capsule around his neck. Their Uncle had been Pontifex Maximus but had died sh
ortly after their grandmother in the summer whilst both brothers were campaigning. It had been a sad loss and Marcus had spent many days in mourning. Uncle had no children and his wife had been given his house and country estate and Marcus had spent some time visiting them all in the winter months to ensure that everything was as it should be.
Lucius caught the shake of the head and looked deeply into his brother’s eyes, the intensity causing Marcus to flush slightly as he did so. “This is important Marcus, you know that this could raise the family to new heights and secure a future for your children” he said, almost scolding him. “You must make every effort to maximise the love the gods have shown you” he added as Marcus simply looked back at him blankly.
Marcus lowered his chin towards his chest. He knew what he was saying held a grain of truth but he still didn’t truly understand how the words of the prophecy would come to pass. His future was as grey to him as the clouds in the skies and he looked at the floor as his mind stretched through the words he had contemplated time and time again.
“Surely you have thought about the link between these waters at Veii and your prophecy?” Lucius questioned, his raised eyebrows searching Marcus’ face. “What does it say? The waters will shrink before him” he said urgently as he nudged him into a walk as another group of men appeared in the road below them. Marcus frowned as he looked to his brother, a sudden realisation coming to his mind.
The Fall of Veii- Part 2 Page 11
