“The Etruscan council has met at Voltumna” Mugillanus said slowly as his eyes wandered around the crowd of men. “They have amassed an army at Napete” he said as a few gasps came from the assembled men “and according to this messenger they will attack the camp at Veii with ten thousand men” the noise level grew as startled men looked to each other. “And then” Mugillanus raised his voice “it is said they will march on Rome.”
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Three hours later the leaders of Rome began to step into the sunlight of the forum as they left the temple, many blurry-eyed from the long debate. At their head strode Marcus Furius Camillus, a thick red cloak thrown across his shoulders as the crowd stared in disbelief at what they saw – the red cloak, the mark of a Dictator. At the sight screams came from some of the women in the crowd as they realised the appointment of a Dictator was a portent of some great peril to Rome. Men stood and shuffled forwards, pushing and jostling to get closer as Marcus stepped up to the steps outside the temple and raised his hand for silence. The past few hours had been draining. Marcus had argued that an attack on Napete was the best way forwards whilst continuing to hold the line at Veii to stop any troops coming from the city. The element of surprise would help the Romans to victory he had argued.
He had been lambasted by the plebeian leaders, who argued that the best solution was to recall the troops at Veii and give up the disastrous ten year siege which had all been in vain and seen many of their sons die needlessly and bring all resources back to defend Rome itself. The arguing had gone backwards and forwards, with Apuleius continuing to disagree with any solution that the patricians suggested. In the end Ahala had called for order and called for a Dictator to make the final decision, without it, he had stated, Rome would do nothing and lose on all fronts. He held the floor for a full fifteen minutes and challenged anyone to disagree as he stated the outcomes of years of fighting against the Veientines and other Etruscan cities, stating that Rome must endure and that Veii was finally ready to be taken, Rome must act, he called, and by appointing a Dictator they would have one firm voice and one leader. Silence had followed and agreement reached that voting must take place. The voting had been called, several men putting themselves forwards. Javenoli had called for Marcus to be Dictator, citing his excellent record and skilful tactical victories. Others had championed their own family members. As the votes were counted Marcus had been taken aback by the flurry of votes for him, his mind reeling as men he thought were enemies turned and raised their hands at his name. In his mind he glowed with satisfaction, a sense of pride and belonging rose within him which he quickly held back putting on his stoic face and nodding to the men as they called his name, but his heart beat faster as his thoughts ran through the words ‘the Eagle will lead Rome’ which had been spoken to him all those years ago.
After the correct sacrifices and tributes had been completed, the red cloak brought and draped around his shoulders and the votive candles had been blown out the Senate had discussed what action was needed, Marcus taking the lead in the debate as the new Dictator of Rome. He had felt uncertain of the position at first, his fears that he wasn’t ready for the position coming to his mind. Yet as the debate continued he grew more confident in his decisions, the words of his father coming into this mind ‘it is every patricians duty to serve Rome, and for the Dictator to be the most selfless yet most ruthless man of us all.’ The words had been spoken some twenty years earlier, but they came to his mind as if he had spoken to him that very minute.
Now it was time to tell the people of Rome and Marcus looked out across the forum, tens of thousands of men, women and children thronging the main square, every eye staring towards him as he stood tall, his chest out and his face stern. As he held his right arm in the air the crowd began to fall silent, some men looking with fear at him and others looking at him blankly.
“People of Rome” he called, his voice strong as he took a slow deep breath, the words forming in his mind. “I, Marcus Furius Camillus, come to you today not as Tribune, but as Dictator.” The silence was broken by some cheers among the crowd as his friends called his name loudly. “But I bring good news and bad” he said as he looked back at Ahala, noticing the angry look on his old friend Marcus Manlius’ face. Manlius had argued strongly that he be Dictator, calling his military record into account and stating that Marcus had done little to warrant the role. In fact it had been the vociferous nature of Manlius’ call, supported by Apuleius, that he thought had turned many of the patricians to his cause. Either way he knew Manlius was not happy. Yet he knew, as Dictator, what he must do. He also knew that this was the calling of his prophecy, to lead Rome and that Veii must be smashed never to be a city again. Juno was with him and his words must be chosen carefully.
As the crowd fell silent he continued. “I come with good news. By the labours of the men at Veii we have at last a way into the city.” He paused as people cheered, faces turning to each other, some hugging, others unsure what the words meant. “Upon my return we will lay waste to the city, taking from it the great treasures of the Etruscan alliance that it houses, for Veii is bursting with gold, silver, spices, cloth and grain.” A great cheer went up as he raised his arm again. He needed to get the people on his side and to want to go to Veii, the offer of great riches was always a good motivator and today was no different as people shouted his name and shouted that they would follow him. He waved his arm slowly, turning his face from side to side to ask the crowd to quieten. The mention of riches had stirred up a cauldron of noise and it took a few moments to silence enough of the noise for him to be heard.
“Veii will fall, but Rome needs more good men at her walls for the final assault. Good men with strong spears, sharp swords and a will of iron. The gods are with us. You know of the prophecy that protects the city” he took a moment as some heads cheered and some yelled ‘tell us.’ He smiled before continuing. “There was a prophecy spoken many years ago that Veii would not fall until the waters of the Alban Lake disappeared. I tell you, people of Rome, that this had come true. The water has gone, the spirits of the water have chosen to return with our conquering armies to Rome.” Cheering started at the front of the crowd, the words, and noise, spreading backwards across the forum like the rumbling of thunder. “People” he called, his voice hardly audible even to his own ears as the people in front of him cheered and shouted. “People. The gods are with us. I, your Dictator” he bowed his head as the noise level began to fall before looking up again. “have called on Juno, mother goddess, to give up the city of Veii and return to Rome. I have dedicated her a temple here in our great city when Rome is victorious.” The crowd played just as he expected, the women folk screaming more loudly than the men as they cheered for Juno, goddess of the Earth and of women. “Mothers of Rome” called Marcus, his energy rising as he spoke, his eyes looking around the crowd to seek out all the women. “Mothers” he shouted as the crowd began to turn its head towards the women in the forum. “Pray to Juno that your sons will bring great glory to Rome and return in safety, for Juno is my protector and will return with me to Rome” he said as some of the people in the crowd stared open-mouthed at these words whilst others went mad with delight. Marcus felt a great weight lift from his shoulders as the words were spoken. He noted Manlius shift uneasily behind him as Ahala and Atratinus looked to each other, Calvus smiled and Javenoli simply narrowed his eyes and stared at him. It was a gamble to claim patronage of the gods, but he was certain that this was what the prophecy had meant, that his time was now and that Juno must return to Rome with him. He watched the crowd as it seemed to ebb and flow like the sea, faces turning to him then looking away, some with arms raised to the heavens and others simply standing open mouthed at his words.
He took out the white garment he always kept close to him and held it up, placing the hood over his head as the people fell into silence almost immediately, many falling to their knees at the movement, arms raised to the skies.
He held his arms high. “Pythian Apo
llo” he called, his eyes closed. “Guided by your will and the love of Juno, Mater Matuta, I will go forth with your people to destroy the city of Veii. A tenth part of the spoils I devote to thee. Thee too queen Juno who dwells now in Veii, I beseech that you should follow us, after our victory, to the city which is ours and will soon be thine, where a temple worthy of your majesty will receive thee.” As he spoke a chant went up from the mothers in the forum, a high pitched chant of joy, of motherhood and birth. The men stood silently as the women waved their arms in unison and Marcus looked out over the crowd, the fear of the gods palpable in the faces of the crowd as much as the love of the same deities. Inside his chest his heart thudded against his ribs, the blood racing through his veins as his eyes almost came to tears but he blinked them back.
Removing the hood he turned to Mugillanus and nodded, the man nodding in return. “Men of Rome” he called, gaining the attention of the entire crowd once again. The sound of the chanting slowly died away, the singing sounding shrill from the back of the forum as the last group of women finished. “Men of Rome. As Dictator it falls on me to tell you the bad news as well as the good, for the gods give and they take in equal measures” he said as the faces of the men closest to him grew fearful. “The Etruscan league amasses an army as we speak.” At these words a great proportion of the crowd raised fists and called for death to the Etruscans, their calls echoed by the wailing of the women, some of whom started to sing the song to Juno once gain. Marcus waved his arms slowly once again and the silence started to fall onto the crowd.
“Men of Rome. This army is marching on Veii and will then march on Rome” a sudden gasp came from thousands of mouths as Marcus waved again for silence, the men at the front of the crowd turning to those behind and calling them to order as they waited for more details. “We, Romans, cannot let these enemies take advantage of us. I call for all men who can bear arms. ALL men” he called loudly as men realised what he meant. It was customary for men over 40 years of age to retire from active duty in the legions, yet many men remained fit and healthy from years of fighting in campaigns and maintained their armour and weapons. “Yes” Marcus called “ALL men. I call you to bear arms, march with me to Napete and destroy this army of Etruscans in the name of Apollo, Mars and Juno and then to march to Veii and take the city. The spoils will be great. Those who march with me will be rich beyond their dreams and Rome will be glorious in her victory.”
The roar of the crowd deafened him as the front rows surged forwards, cheering and waving, faces beaming as men strode forward asking when they were to march and how much food to bring with them. The cheering continued as Marcus moved back to the temple, catching Manlius’ eye as he passed, a look of animosity clear on his face, which Marcus did not understand. Javenoli appeared at his side and slapped him across the shoulder. “A great speech. A great speech. We must leave and prepare the journey. I have sent a scout to see what army is at Napete and more to Veii to give them news of the potential attack, and for your soldiers to attend you, just as you asked” he finished, smiling. Marcus nodded his reply as two more men appeared, one suddenly asking for his son to join Marcus’ service and the other pushing through to offer his own service. Javenoli brushed both men aside with a stern look saying reproachfully “you must follow the rules gentlemen, you know what to do.”
As Marcus walked into the silence of the temple the words of the prophecy went through his mind and he closed his eyes to pray to Juno that what he believed was true, was so.
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Chapter 18
Scipio grinned back at his friend in the resplendent red cloak, his eyes staring at the enormous trail of dust which followed them into the foothills.
“Can you believe it?” he asked.
“Not really” came the quietly spoken reply.
After a moment Scipio spoke again. “Dictator” he said quietly as Marcus glanced to him, the corner of his mouth tightening at the words.
“Why did I ask you to join me?” he smiled in reply as Scipio laughed at his jest.
“Because without me as your Master of the Horse you know that a bunch of old women with baskets of rotten fruit would wipe your army off the field” he grinned in reply.
Marcus huffed, his face staying serious as his eyes twinkled. One of his first actions had been to visit Scipio and retain his services as his second in command, one that his friend could hardly turn down. They had chatted through ideas for the attack on the army at Napete, scouring over maps and discussing formations. In reality none of them knew exactly what they were facing as no scouts had yet returned, but it felt good to be talking tactics with his old friend.
“How many men?” he asked.
“Just over twelve thousand with a further three thousand heading directly to Veii under Calvus” came the response, to which Marcus nodded. The call to arms, with the help of the suggestion that Veii was filled with great riches, had been too successful, Marcus having to turn down men who were clearly unfit for duty, including Javenoli, who seemed disappointed but was, Marcus felt, also relieved. The army was a mix of older men who would stand firm and younger men who had been too young for the last call to arms, the need for soldiers outweighing the short age gap. Marcus was concerned that the men would struggle with training and so had set a ratio of two older to one younger man to speed along the process, but also to keep the younger in check and stop anyone either deserting or rushing headlong to their death. He gripped the wooden eagle around his neck as Scipio looked to him and smiled.
“When will Narcius meet us?” he asked.
Marcus looked to the sun overhead and then to the shadows on the floor. “Within half a day” he said as he turned to Scipio. “We need the scout reports or there might be nothing we can do” he added as Scipio motioned for them both to walk their horses forward and join the middle of the long trail of men snaking across the countryside.
Scipio looked nonplussed. “Well they should be back soon as well. If we can intercept the army at Napete before they leave we will have a better chance than if they reach Veii” he said. Marcus grimaced at the thought that the army had left for Veii and the Roman army would have to wheel around and turn back to the north, another two days march with this many men. As they continued to speak a call went up and both men strained their necks to see two riders coming across from the woods ahead and to their right.
“Scouts?”
“I would say so” smiled Scipio. “Come on” he said, kicking his horse into a trot as several Eques followed their officers across the open ground.
“Fasculus” called Marcus as they approached and the two riders saluted. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Potitus sent me to scout the area and report back” he smiled, nodding to Scipio.
“What news?”
Fasculus looked to the rider and nodded, the youthful face of the scout swinging back to the Dictator in his red cloak. He gulped as if his tongue was suddenly too large for his mouth and swallowed hard.
“Here” said Fasculus thrusting a water pouch into the chest of the rider and shaking his head. Marcus and Scipio smiled at the man who had turned into a firm disciplinarian and who was clearly disappointed at the young man’s inability to speak. The scout drank a quick mouthful of the liquid before turning and saluting to the officers.
“Sir. I have drawn a map of the city and the camp. I would say seven thousand men, less than five hundred horse and” he glanced to Fasculus who frowned at him and nodded for him to continue. “Well, sir, they seem to be having a festival” he said as he stiffened.
“Festival?” Scipio replied as both officers looked to Fasculus.
“A festival” he replied with a firm nod of the head. “Brantilus is correct, Sir. The enemy have been partying for two days at least. It seems that Napete has a good store of wine and the men have decided to empty it before they march on Veii.”
“Do they know we are coming?” Marcus a
sked as thoughts started to run through his mind.
“Not that I know of, sir” came the reply. Scipio and Marcus looked to each other and then to Fasculus, who was already holding out a fresh tablet for Marcus’ orders. “I can be with Narcius within two hours” he smiled, knowing that that was his destination. Marcus grinned and started to scribble in the soft wax.
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Within an hour Marcus had turned the baggage train and sent it to Veii with a small escort and had gathered the officers to inform them of his plan to speed to Napete as quickly as they could travel. The officers grinned when they heard of the enemy, drunk on a feast and ready to be attacked and slaughtered. Marcus had warned that it could be a trick and that the men must stay alert and stick to the training that he had been drilling into the men as they had marched, but the word had spread quickly that the Etruscans were drunk and at the Romans mercy. The news had acted as a boost to the men who had marched at great speed towards their destination and covered the miles quickly and efficiently whilst being drilled in their new warfare at every water stop along the way. Even those who had been grumbling that the activity was too strenuous for their tired bodies seemed to work harder now that they heard the Etruscans were in disarray.
The sun was descending quickly in the sky as the men of Rome set up their marching fort and Marcus and a handful of his closest officers set off to see the camp at Napete, only four miles from their own camp. Arriving on a low hill which overlooked the valley in which the city lay Marcus stopped his horse under the shade of a clump of trees and leant forwards, patting the beast as it dropped its head and munched on the grass at its feet.
The Fall of Veii- Part 2 Page 21
