The front edge of two hundred Etruscan nobles in bright colours on the back of their horses snarled and screamed as they raced in for the kill closing to fifty or sixty yards as they raised their swords and smelt victory. A sudden explosion of dirt and the nasal scream of a dying horse was followed by another, then another, as several of the front row of Etruscans collapsed into pits dug by the Romans the night before, the confusion giving the Romans who had split from the line the time to stop, stretch back their arms and let fly a volley of iron-tipped death at the remaining horsemen. A second volley and then a third arched into the sky within a few heartbeats before the screaming Roman horsemen of Scipio crashed into the side of the Etruscans who had almost come to a standstill as the pits and javelins took their toll. Marcus grinned, his eyes almost bursting from his head as he stared at the death on the flanks before turning his attention back to the field in front of him. The sun had barely risen above the tree tops and the plains were bathed in a brown and blue dust which seemed to swirl into momentary opaque screens which then dissolved into brilliant clarity as spears thrust and swords whirled in the melee of men before disappearing again behind the wind-fed dust cloud.
“Optio” he called, as the man saluted from below him. “Send the signal” he said as the man turned and waved quickly to the trumpeters who were standing watching the scenes in front of them. Three long blasts on the trumpets caused a great roar to come from the Romans as they re-doubled their efforts and the battlefield moved inexorably forward a few paces under their renewed efforts. Marcus grinned at the sudden movement, like a wave crashing along a shore and pushing back the pebbles. The noise grew louder as the cloud of dust obscured his view and he gritted his teeth. He knew that it was the training and drilling of the men that would win this battle now, not him sitting on his horse behind the line, but he also knew that it would soon be time for Narcius to bring his men into the battle. Timing was key, he thought, it must be done at exactly the right moment and Narcius would know what the three trumpet blasts meant and would, he hoped, be acting immediately. He prayed to Juno, his mind fearful that the men hadn’t had time to prepare enough and offering her a new statue made of white marble if the men of Rome overcame their enemies this time.
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Narcius heard the trumpets, three blasts, just as they had agreed. So the left flank was free, the horses cleared and the area vulnerable. He lifted his head from the ground where he lay, his body covered by his shield which was covered in dust and dirt to hide his armour from the sunlight. As he crawled the two or three yards to the edge of the dip in the ground he blinked back the dust that was in his eyes and squinted with a furrowed brow towards the noise which was ahead of him and to the right. Ahead and to his left was the city, its walls covered in people standing watching the battle that was playing out in the plains about a half mile from their city. As he had hoped the ground to the enemy soldiers was empty, not a soul within a few hundred yards. Now was the time to strike. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, taking a moment to look at the bumps which were lying around across the dip below him and towards the river. He pulled his shield towards him as he lay on his back and clashed the sword against the metal boss in the middle, the noise low but distinguishable. Men started to appear from the ground all around him, almost like the dead coming back to life. The soldiers began to crawl forwards, the two hundred paces of the dip suddenly filled with five rows of men all armed with short swords and a variety of mostly round and a few rectangular shields.
Narcius nodded to Caelio, who pointed his sword to the left and his men jumped to their feet and slipped out of the low ground, five hundred pairs of arms and legs racing across the ground directly at the city of Napete.
An alarm bell sounded, the loud ringing turning the heads of the Etruscans in the rear line of soldiers, their leader Soticus turning at the sound.
“What is it?” he called as he played with the silver handled dagger from the back of his horse. Ahead of him the battle wasn’t going well, the Romans seemed to have taken the initiative on the right wing, the Eques lost to a series of pits which gave free rein to their foot soldiers as they seemed to be marching forwards and Vitulus stretched his men across towards the river, thinning their ranks. Not good, he thought as he turned to see a multitude of Romans headed straight for the camp at the walls of the city behind him, the heavy wooden gates closing quickly as the people within shut out the new menace. My gold and bronze he said to himself, a sudden surge of anger rising in him as his eyes flicked to the small camp that the Etruscans had left by the walls to the city. The damned Romans were attacking their spoils. He flicked his eyes back at the fight in front of him. The lines of men were at a standstill, surely he would not be needed for hours yet, everyone knew that the phalanx could take a day to move a yard forwards. Yes, he would have to take some of the older men and stop these Roman scum from taking his precious belongings. “Marciciatus” he yelled “take three lines and teach those dogs a lesson” he grinned as a thick set man a head taller than any of the men around him saluted and yelled a string of orders. Within a minute nearly half of the Triarii, the Etruscan reserve line, had set off back towards the city. Narcius watched from the land by the river and smiled, perfect he said to himself.
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“We cannot allow the people of Rome to continually be swayed by talk of treasures and spoils from campaigns; it maintains the status quo of the patricians leading the people to earn a crust in battle after battle. If we allow this to continue we will never see the plebeians rise above the status of half-slave” Apuleius said his disdain at the patricians clearly evident. “The state of affairs is simply ridiculous. Why do people simply ignore the arguments? Why can they not see that to jump when their masters call them just perpetuates the current situation, patricians tell us what to do and we jump and do it” he finished with a curl of his lip and a scowl.
The plebeian council sat in silence, the older men looking to one another unsure how to answer the question and the younger, power hungry, all nodding furiously, many vocalising their support of his statement with cheers. Apuleius raised his hand. “This Dictator” He said the word mockingly and shook his head dismissively “has the people in raptures. What is it about the people of Rome that makes them so fickle? I’ll tell you what” he added as he leant forwards on the rostra “religion, money and food. That is it brothers. Religion that only the patricians have the birth right to control. How?” He looked around the room. “How can a god choose only a patrician? Look at our forefathers like Dentatus and great men of our time. Men such as Calvus. All great men, all beloved of the gods, but each was still only a half-man, not equal to the patricians because they cannot perform the religious rituals that only the patricians can do. And” he turned to stare at the faces of the men around the room “this Dictator calls himself Camillus. A mockery of the name and meant to remind us of our inferior status, we who have no power with the gods yet this man is so beloved he has chosen his true name to be that of Camillus, a religious servant. And the people love it” he threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “I tell you gentlemen it is a trick. I have heard of this prophecy of his, that his Eagles will lead Rome to great victories, and yes he has been lucky in warfare, using trickery and new machines that deny a man his right to die honourably in battle. Yes yes I know you are all unsure, but it is propaganda and nonsense I tell you. He is no more beloved of the gods than you or I Decius” he said with a long stare at the man sitting to his right. “But he is clever” he said as his voice became calmer and lower, the sudden change making the men sit forwards as he spoke. “Yes he is clever. He uses the name to evoke his patrician birth right and flaunt it in our faces. He uses the name and his constant focus on the absolute minutia of every ceremony to show us that we are not worthy of the love of the gods. Gentlemen if you do not believe me think on this” he said as a few heads shook at his words. “A Dictator has the one voice that none of us can deny. His word is law and he is the ultimate
citizen of the Republic. But he is also the closest thing to a king that there is since the days of the tyrants” he snarled at the audience of faces. “A king, gentlemen. That is what this man wants to be. Remember the days when the kings were the only ones to complete the sacrifices, their word was law and our people” he looked slowly around the room “our people” he repeated. “They were the ones to suffer under the tyranny. This Camillus has brought himself to power through trickery and now he slams it in our faces. He reminds us that he is all powerful and it is he who the gods love. He tells us this by leaking stories of some great prophecy that we all grab like starving men at a food handout. He is clever, yes he is clever. He fights well and his plebeian Eagles win him glory. These men pledge allegiance to him and his Eagle. They even wear a charm, a lucky eagle on a chain around their necks as a sign of their loyalty. I tell you they are like the kings bodyguards from the old days, their silver talisman’s meaning they could commit any evil and the king would allow it. You remember Amilictus?” he said pointing to an elderly man whose great great grandfather had been carried off in the night for plotting against the old kings. Amilictus nodded, his eyes wide in fear at the passion in Apuleius’ words. “This man is trying to make himself our King” he said finally and sat down, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed at a point somewhere along the far wall of the building. A short silence fell before several men stood and applauded the words, Decius and others looking to each other and frowning but still showing appreciation for the strength of argument.
It took a moment before anyone else stood to speak. Decius had spent many years developing the plebeian council to be a debating stage from which the plebeians could work to improve their arguments for more political lea-way in Rome and whilst he didn’t agree with Apuleius’ words he felt he couldn’t argue against them. He looked around the room at the stunned faces, many men appearing to be convinced by the words they had heard. “Does anyone have anything to say?” he asked as men shook their heads and looked away from him to avoid his eye.
“Well gentlemen” he said calmly. “I am not so sure that the very strong words used by our brother, here, are true, though he does give a very strong argument. One I am sure some of the older Greek statesmen would have been mightily impressed with. However” he continued “we must remember that it was Marcus Furius Camillus and his family who supported the law for soldiers pay. It was also at his behest that Calvus and the rest of the great men alluded to were appointed Tribunes in recent years. He argued strongly for more plebeian tribunes despite the Senate vetoing the motion. Without his support of the people the plebeians would not have gained some of the recent changes to laws and taxation in the city. As for the claim that he wishes to be King.” As he said the word his face looked pained and he turned to the smiling face of Apuleius. “I cannot see the argument. The name was a simple choice after the saving of the Ancilia Shield from the temple those many years ago. The people called him Camillus wherever he went so it was a choice almost demanded by his own action. The prophecy” he shrugged “who knows? Yes there are rumours, but I have heard many rumours of prophecies over the years, men rising to power as they claim some god or other has given them divine support will often create such things to enhance their status. But most turn out to be trickery to steal bronze and silver from the people. He has not stolen anything that I know of and gives his clients more than any other patrician.” Apuleius snorted at the remark and Decius smiled back at him. “He is a clever man. I agree.” He paused for a moment in contemplation. “He cleverly changed the law to give soldiers pay so that their families would not starve. He has cleverly given the best armour from his vanquished enemies to his soldiers, but they fight in that armour for another the following year, not every Eagle soldier is a client of Camillus for all their years” he said with a smile. “The claim of kingly desires is a harsh one to throw at his feet. He is no more a tyrant than I am” Decius said calmly as he looked around the room “and he has no more a kingly desire than I do” he added. “I understand your anger at him Apuleius” he said as he looked at the man sat before him, his arms remaining crossed over his chest. “I know what it is like to have your strongest argument for cessation of war at Veii overturned because one patrician says ‘no’. It has been the way for many many years my friend, and I know how it hurts. You must be careful that your personal feelings do not cloud your judgement and you should think strongly about your argument that he wishes to be King. This is a claim that you must prove with evidence. Hard facts” he said as he turned to the audience. “Such claims can be the death of the man who puts them forwards as well as the man he accuses” he said as he looked coldly to the younger man.
A silence fell as Decius moved across to the table and drank a small measure of the wine he had half finished earlier. “The council will not accept your argument and we will not back such talk with our votes” he added as the men in the room shuffled in their seats. “However” he said as he turned to the room “the argument was given with passion and energy, something that the patricians will struggle to deal with when you have the rostra with a series of facts and figures behind you.” He slapped Apuleius on the shoulder and smiled at him. “Come on, let’s get some more wine and talk though the discussions to increase the defences on the walls, that is something where we can deal with, facts and figures” he said as Apuleius nodded his head and stood to clasp hands with the older man, a determined look on his face despite losing the debate.
As he took the wine cup he seethed inside at the humiliation of losing the call for soldiers to leave Veii, the first debate he had ever lost. He smiled to the men who clustered around discussing issues of no interest to him and he vowed to see Camillus fall, somehow he would gain vengeance on the patrician for besting him just when his political career was rising.
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Chapter 19
Marcus narrowed his eyes, his brow creasing as he stared into the fog of dust that was coming from the rear of the enemy lines. Were they moving? He found himself rising on his horse again to get a better view as the line of men to his left moved suddenly and caused him to look back at them urgently. Scipio and his horsemen had disengaged, the remaining Etruscan cavalry turning and fleeing. With a satisfied grin he saw only a handful of the few hundred horses remained with a man on-board, the ground heavy with their dead. Good he thought as he watched Scipio line his men up along the left flank and the foot soldiers rush to the dead to retrieve their shorter javelins from the bodies of men and horse alike. On the right he scanned the line and was pleased to see it was holding steady despite the attempt to overload that wing by the Etruscan leaders.
A roar brought his focus back to the Etruscan centre as he saw the lines of tall spears begin to march back to the city, perfect he thought as he raised a hand and dropped it, four loud blasts coming from the trumpets as the signal carried across the field.
As the signal sounded across the field the Centurions screamed their order “push”, “advance” and “kill.” The Romans heaved in the centre, pushing back the central defence of the Etruscans as the centre line buckled under the sudden surge. Legionaries fell under the sudden onslaught, their bodies stamped on by their own men as they were unceremoniously pushed out of the way by the deep lines of men behind, each one screaming at the top of his lungs as his shield pressed into the back of the man in front of him.
Marcus was holding his breath as he watched the centre of the attack move two or three paces into the Etruscans before it came to a bloody standstill, the weight of the Etruscan rear lines pressing back into the attack. As the power of the attack stalled Marcus peered to the left and watched as Scipio and his horsemen attacked the left flank which was now vulnerable after the Etruscan horse defence had fled. His glance to the right told him that, as he had hoped, the leaders of the enemy were caught in indecision and the Eques to the far line stood impassively, still remaining as the support to their own left wing.
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Scipio’s men crashed into the defensive line, a horse skewered by a long spear as the men tried to wheel into the gap. Marcus watched as the Etruscans sent forward the remaining rear guard to support the flank, their leader charging forward with hate written all across his face. He grinned and waved to the trumpeter who casually licked his lips and blew one long note, the final blast which gave the officers their final instructions.
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Narcius heard the note and stood, waving his men forward with a scream of “For Rome” and stepping over the rock strewn lip of the ridge he had been lying behind. Men jumped at his command and raced into the open ground. To their left the few hundred Romans who had left their hiding position moments earlier suddenly came to a halt and split into smaller groups of eight to ten men, turning back on the approaching phalanx of Etruscans. Narcius and his men raced at them, the faces of men in the rear line turning with fear in their eyes as they suddenly saw another threat.
Sentillius, bit his teeth together and ground them against each other with a grunt, almost in admiration, at the sudden turn of events as he twisted his head from left to right. The Roman had managed to split his rearguard troops at the same time as launching an assault in the centre of the line and from behind. Damn he was good, he spat on the ground cursing his poor leaders and shaking his head as faces turned to him for orders. Scanning the area quickly he saw his phalanx behind him were under attack from two areas, but men with shields were no match for a phalanx of men, so he turned back to the main battle in front of him. The centre was holding, the noise growing as men tired under the weight of pushing and shoving as they thrust their spears into the ranks of Romans ahead of them, but his right flank was weak. He had committed men to it, so he was happy enough with his position.
The Fall of Veii- Part 2 Page 24
