“Back” screamed Marcus as he tried to look over his injured shoulder.
“Step back you bastards” he screamed. “We need room to use our swords.” Urgent yells went up around them as the adrenaline coursed through his body and he felt a slight release from behind which allowed the body in front to slip slowly down towards the floor. The spear of the attacker was jammed in the body as it fell, the owner trying desperately to pull it back as it was yanked downwards. He stared disbelievingly as Marcus lunged over the top of his shield and plunged his sword into his cheek, the crack of bone causing all the soldiers along the line to look across as Marcus pulled his arm back and stabbed again, the sword bursting through the man’s neck and spraying blood in every direction. Marcus screamed a guttural cry as men’s eyes turned to fear and, with the press of bodies suddenly releasing he took his anger out on the man to his left, battering his shield into his spear and slicing the sinews at his elbow, the arm almost severed as Marcus thrust the short sword back and thrust it up into his arm pit, the sword bursting through his back and his body clattering into the man behind him, who stepped back at the ferocity of the attack. Marcus didn’t have time to scream as a legionary stepped into the short gap that was created on his right and hacked his sword into the face of the man next to him, his hot blood splashing the faces of both men. The soldier moved into the gap quickly, twisting his shield left and right as he sliced at thighs and shins, catching two Etruscans who turned and screamed, their backs open to attacks which other legionaries quickly dealt with. The Etruscan line buckled and Marcus stood still as the Romans stepped ahead of him. He stretched his neck to look over the heads of the defenders and grinned as he saw Manlius and his soldiers slicing into the defence on the far side of the gate, not as advanced as his men, but moving slowly forwards with guttural screams as the Etruscans squeezed more men into the area in front of the gate.
He grinned as he saw Narcius stagger and slip as he thrust forwards with his sword, the blood on the flagstones causing men to struggle with their footing. Taking three deep breaths Marcus screamed “For Rome” and stepped back into the battle, the cry echoing around the walls as he slammed into the nearest Etruscan and took him off his feet.
*
*
*
*
Chapter 23
Potitus watched as the left wall was breached by the legionaries as they scampered across a plank which was laid flat from the ramp to the wall, enough men getting across for the Romans to throw several more long planks across the gap and men to race to their support, the defenders falling to the thick bolts of the scorpions. He had called the assault as soon as the tactic had worked. The screams from within the city meant that the plan at the tunnels must have worked and he had disengaged the rear three lines of men to enter the tunnels in support just as Marcus had planned. It was working.
He waved to Fasculus and Scipio and both men called their soldiers forwards, the heavily armed men of Fasculus moving directly towards the gate and Scipio’s horse staying just out of reach of the arrows but ready to attack anything that came through the gate should an attack be launched at Fasculus’ men.
Potitus sat and waited, the minutes stretched as he watched Fasculus move to the appointed position and set his men ready to charge into the city. The screams in the city grew louder and he wondered if he should commit more men to the tunnels, but he decided that the men he had already sent were probably still working through the tunnel and into the city. He held his breath as his lips tightened at the scene in front of him. He was desperate to know whether his friends were still alive within the walls and he tapped his sword three taps at the thought, shaking his head at how superstitious he had become. The men on the wall were spreading out and waving, he lifted his head, a sudden leap coming to his heart as he heard cheers and saw more Roman hands waving. Groans and screams came from within the city as the gates started to move slowly outwards, the cheering Romans on the walls turning and throwing stones and missiles back into the city as a crescendo of screams rose as the gates widened. Fasculus had already committed his men to the march at the opening gates, velites racing ahead with javelins and stones, as Potitus looked back to see them move, his heart skipping a beat as men ran through the gates and scampered left and right looking for escape. The last of the guards? He thought as riders from Scipio’s horsemen charged into them and took them with their long spears.
Victory. He couldn’t believe it. Victory.
His eyes fell on the trumpeter to his right who had turned and was staring at him wide eyed and questioning. Shaking himself to the present he nodded and waved a hand forwards as the trumpet sounded the advance.
****
Marcus fell against the gate, his shoulder screaming in agony but still usable. His face was covered in blood and he wiped it with the back of his hand, blinking away the remains of the gore that was stuck to his eyelids. The body of Aebutius lay at his feet, the man taking a sword in the guts just as the gates began to screech open. Marcus frowned at his bad luck and remembered the old saying that things came in threes, good and bad. The poor man had dropped his helmet, been stabbed in the leg and then killed right at the end of the fighting. He momentarily considered his own wound, but dismissed it. He didn’t really believe that Aebutius was a victim of bad luck, just coincidence. The men guarding the gate screamed at the citizens as some tried to get out of the gates and others turned and fled back into the city as best they could, though the Romans now seemed to hold every road from the piazza to the square ahead of the gates.
“Gods” called Manlius as he slumped next to Marcus, his chest heaving at his exertions. He pulled his helmet from his head, a large dent in the side and threw it away as the Legions started to cram through the entrance at their side, cheering and screaming rising to a greater furore as they did. Marcus noted that Manlius was cut across his cheek and had another deeper wound along his forearm, a previous scar now criss-crossed with a new one.
“I’d forgotten how bloody hard it is to stand and fight” he rasped, his lungs clearly screaming for air as he laughed loudly. “Gods” he called again as he stood and looked straight into Marcus’ eyes. “We’re heroes now Camillus” he said with a manic glint in his eye. “There’ll be a triumph” he said as soldiers cheered as they marched into the city. Marcus started at the words. A triumph. He hadn’t even considered it. The greatest glory there was, a parade of the conquering heroes through the city of Rome with the Dictator, him, at the head. Manlius caught his look and grinned at him. He laughed aloud and turned to the remains of his party of men. “permission to find some loot” he called to Marcus as his men suddenly perked up and turned their faces to Marcus, who waved at him with a grin and then turned to watch the men marching into the city of Veii. He took a moment to compose himself and then turned to the skies and held his arms aloft as he saw Manlius running off into the city followed by several screaming men, their blood up in the hunt for gold and silver.
“Jupiter. Mars. Juno” he called as faces turned to him. “We thank you for your blessings and guidance and we will honour our prayers and devotions to you” he added as his voice faltered and the pain in his shoulder bit deeper. As he took a deep breath and winced he saw Aebutius move, his hand gripping the sand and a moan coming from his lungs as he drew his knees under his body and started to rise. Marcus looked to the skies and grinned. Veii was taken and miracles were happening.
****
Darkness had fallen and Marcus had spent some hours recuperating in his tent outside the walls of the city whilst behind him the Romans and Etruscans were still fighting running battles in the streets. Thousands of slaves had been taken, mostly women and children, though some men, injured and sick mostly were also being held captive in an enormous pen which was being continually added to by the Romans as more people were led from the city.
The soldiers had been merciless and the screams and death had carried on for hours as the Romans took out ten long years of frustra
tion on the Veientines within their walls.
Marcus had started to pace the tent, the pain in his shoulder still bad but not enough to keep him in his bed. He’d read most of the reports but had called for the officers to give their reports face to face so that he could understand their losses and the issues he faced for the logistics of returning the spoils and the slaves to Rome. He moved his arm up and down feeling the skin pull on the wound and suddenly deciding that the pain that it gave him suggested it was probably a bad idea. He clenched his fingers and released them, happy that he felt he could still hold a sword. He gripped the wooden eagle motif around his neck and closed his eyes to utter a silent prayer to his patron goddesses.
Caelio arrived with a kick at the tent pole to announce his lumbering frame had entered. His face was heavily swollen and his left eye bruised so badly his eye was closed behind a wall of purple and red bruises.
“Gods that looks bad” Marcus said as the man winced at him and laughed. “You should see the Etruscan who gave it me” he laughed before wincing again, both men chuckling at the age old joke.
Mella strolled in, his eyes glancing to both men as he smiled and held the tent flap open for Fasculus, his left arm in a sling and a fresh wound across his temple. Narcius followed, his equipment already cleaned and his new wound stitched, Marcus raised his eyes at the efficiency of the Centurion and nodded to one of the few seats, which Narcius strode to and sat as Mella looked at him indignantly. “Surely your elders should sit first” he asked with a smile as Narcius grinned back at him crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair with a smile as Mella shook his head at the Centurion.
Scipio and Potitus entered together deep in conversation, which quickly abated as they looked at the faces of the men in the tent. Marcus waited a few moments before Manlius arrived, his face flushed as he saluted and looked for a seat, of which there was none. More men arrived, Marcus nodding to each one as they arrived, noting those with fresh cuts and those with pristine, shining, armour. Marcus stood and looked to Narcius.
“Vulso?” he asked as Narcius shook his head and looked to the floor. “Fuscus?”
“With the medics, he will probably lose his left arm” he added as Marcus shook his head.
“So how many men did we lose?”
Faces turned to Narcius but it was Potitus who spoke and all eyes then moved to him. “We don’t have the full details yet, Sir” he said as he pulled a wax tablet from a pile he was carrying “as fighting is still going on in the city.” He cast his eyes along the list that was written in the wax for a moment. “Close to two thousand dead, maybe four hundred injured or wounded. No horses lost” he said with a smile as he looked up at Marcus who smiled to Scipio. “We haven’t counted the Etruscan dead but so far we have at least four thousand bodies.”
Marcus took a moment to take in the news. “Thank you” he said sombrely as the men all stood quietly. He looked at each of the men around him and nodded his head. “Manlius said to me that we are all heroes” he said as people looked to Manlius and then back at Marcus. “And he is right. We are heroes of the Republic. Our losses today were small compared to our enemies and this victory will send a strong message to all of the tribes that we are strong and will accept nobody as our equals. Rome will endure” he said firmly as heads nodded at his passionate words and the fire in his eyes.
“How are the men?” he asked as his eyes scanned the faces in the tent.
“They are mostly drunk and singing your name as loudly as they can” Mella said with a smile as a few men laughed, Marcus noticing that Manlius seemed nonplussed by the words.
“So they are in good spirits?” he asked as the officers nodded and stated that they were. “Good, good” Marcus said as he looked at them all. “You men have done a great job today” he said, his eyes catching those of each man. “What you have done nobody could do for ten long years. You have defeated Veii.” He smiled and shook his head with a glance to the floor before looking up at the officers again. “I doubted it would ever happen” he said as he looked at the back of his hands, his fingers clenching as he spoke and his voice dropping to a quiet whisper “but the gods willed it and it is so. Tomorrow we must plan our next tasks and what steps we must take to return to Rome. The city, must be purged and left to rot” he said forcefully. “I want the fields salted and the gates ripped from their hinges” he said as the officers stared at him, Manlius suddenly twitching as if a thought had come to his mind. “After the misery this city has caused us it cannot be left to be repopulated by anyone. The Etruscans have shown that with the right support this city can withstand a siege as long as Troy itself” he added as he strode along the back of the tent. “We don’t have the time or the energy to destroy the walls, but we can destroy the capability of the city to grow again, poison the wells, salt the lands and fire the wooden houses” he said as the men stared at him, nobody speaking.
Mella looked to Potitus and caught the moment of hesitation that came to his face as he glanced to Scipio, all the men unsure what to say.
“Camillus” Manlius said as his face fell into a puzzled frown. “Surely we should consider opening the city to the citizens of Rome. There are many plebeians who would welcome the opportunity such a new start could bring to them and their families. Of course we would place a few of the older families as leading citizens to ensure the correct sacrifices and procedures were carried out to maintain the love of the gods” he said as he saw Marcus frown back at him.
“Manlius speaks wisely” Scipio said, his face serious as the tension in the tent began to grow. Marcus looked to both men, but his mind was set. The words of the prophecy were clear ‘never to be a city again’ and he had to follow the words of the gods. Before he could respond Fasculus raised an arm and received a nod from Marcus to say his words.
“Many years ago it was Tribune Postumius who faced the same dilemma” he said warily as his eyes scanned both Marcus and Manlius, the history between them always causing men to worry if they would eventually come to blows. “The old soldiers wanted to populate a town not far from here to settle their families and start a new life, a life away from Rome but as a new member of the alliance of tribes” he said. “The Tribune simply said no. The men demanded reasons but he denied them even that knowledge. It was reasons that would have won over the plebeians and the soldiers and stopped some of the issues that came afterwards” he added as men glanced to each other. They all knew the issues he spoke of, the death of a Tribune at the hands of his own men in Rome.
“The issues are clear” Marcus said forcefully as he took a deep breath and glared at Manlius. “Veii has held out against Rome for too many years. What would stop another force, in a few years from now, doing the same? It is better to focus our energy and effort into building a stronger Rome, a more glorious city for our gods and goddesses. Haven’t they shown that we should destroy this place and take all of its wealth back to Rome? Juno has certainly spoken and wishes to leave this place” he said dismissively. “The gods do not wish to honour this city any more, that should be enough for any man” he said with a shrug as he moved his eyes from man to man seeing the light of agreement in some faces but hesitation in the eyes of others.
Manlius didn’t react, his face impassive as Marcus spoke but his eyes showing that he was calculating his response. A heavy silence fell into the tent, the sound of screaming and crying from outside permeating the silence as new slaves were dragged to the prison. Men shuffled nervously as the impasse seemed to grow and the silence stretched.
“Well” Narcius said as he stood, his movement catching everyone by surprise as his tall frame stood to attention and looked to Marcus. “What are your orders, Dictator, Sir?” He said, his words clear to all in the tent. Marcus’ words were the law in the camp and also in Rome. As Dictator his decision was final and no debate was to be held on the matter. Marcus nodded with a nervous flash of his eyes to Manlius as he turned and moved to the table at the bank of the tent.
“Ord
ers” he said as he handed a series of instructions to Narcius, who took them smartly and opened them, handing tablets to the officers as they started to breathe more easily under the familiar routine of taking orders from their superiors.
****
After two days the destruction of the majority of houses in the city and the fields outside was complete. Stones were piled across all the roads in the city where the houses had been pulled over, thick red spots of blood remained on the wide roads where bodies had been dragged from the city and burned in great pyres, the full religious ceremony presided over by Marcus himself as the thousands of women and children taken prisoner wailed and sobbed into the night. Everywhere Marcus looked was a picture of death and destruction, the smoky smell of death hung in the air and the half ploughed fields, filled with salt and ash were grey in the afternoon sunlight.
Thousands of carts and wagons piled high with treasures lined the dusty road which led back to Rome, the convoy having left over four hours earlier but still clearly visible on the flat road which headed across the Tiber and toward their own city. Behind them were the chained prisoners, all heading for Rome’s slave markets, their lives now in the hands of the slave masters and whichever master bought them.
Marcus stood at the centre of the Roman army, the men lined up along the front of the destroyed city of Veii as they prepared to march back home, many for the first time in years. The women of the Roman camp had swarmed all over the city as soon as the soldiers had taken anything that appeared of value, the camp followers hunting longer and more deeply amongst the rubble to find everyday items of unfound treasures. Marcus noted some of the women and camp followers were clothed in brightly coloured garments and wearing new headscarves which had clearly been brought from the city. He smiled at the thought, but a sadness came over him as he looked along the lines of men, most still bearing the signs of the battle they had fought in. He stepped forwards and moved towards the small wooden plinth that had been created as a Rostra from which he could speak to the men before they set off for Rome. As he moved a great cheer came from the ranks, the sound hitting him like a shock wave as he stepped up and looked out across the faces that cheered and yelled his name. Camillus, Camillus they cheered Beloved of the gods others cheered as he looked out over their faces, his cheeks flushing at the sudden burst of noise which had greeted him. He stood for a moment unable to speak as the crowd continued to cheer and shout, some crashing their swords into their shields. Destroyer of Veii came a call from a group of men to his right which was instantly taken up enthusiastically by all the soldiers, a new crescendo of noise assaulting his ears as the words rang out across the fields, a strange echo coming back from the walls of the city making the words almost indistinct as the noise finally began to decrease.
The Fall of Veii- Part 2 Page 30
