The Fall of Veii- Part 2

by Francis Mulhern

  It was two days since the triumph and Marcus had set out the plans to build the new temple to Juno, resurrecting an old temple that sat on the Capitoline with a new facade and some terracotta statues like the ones he had seen in Veii, gilded in bright colours and garlands of flowers as the goddess deserved. Yet Apuleius had rallied the plebeians and claimed that the people had understood that Marcus Furius Camillus had dedicated the new temple from his own wealth, not that of the people who had suffered ten years of hardship because, as he had argued, of the patricians desire to hold them from their families and enslave them at their enemies walls. Marcus had committed the cardinal sin of losing his temper with the man as his argument went on to include an accusation that Marcus saw himself as a god, wearing the cap of Apollo as if he were a god, driving the chariot of the gods and even wearing the robe of the dead king of Veii as a sign of his kingly stature. The final claim had caused uproar and the meeting had been quickly adjourned, but Marcus knew at once that he had been duped and had railed at the plebeian before he was dragged from the rostra, his voice one of hundreds which were shouting and screaming at each other as the meeting ended.

  “That son of a dog Apuleius has played me well” Marcus spat as he clenched his fists and sat forward, his face stern and angry as he was clearly grappling with the accusations that had been raised against him. Was Apuleius the friend of the people who was not their friend that the prophecy spoke of? Marcus winced at the memory of the words, knowing that once again he had not understood them until it was too late.

  Scipio simply sat and watched his friend. Since the triumph the rumours had been spread by the plebeians that Camillus saw himself as a god and wanted to be treated as such. The issue of the giving of one tenth of the spoils of Veii as a tribute to the temples and for the building of the new temple to Juno had added oil to the fire, with heated debates declining into angry shouting matches across the city. Marcus knew he had been taken for a fool by the plebeians, but so had many of the Senate, their faces full of anger as they turned their backs on Marcus and his popularity suddenly lurched. Even some his own soldiers had complained that they believed Marcus was dedicating the temple from his own funds and the angry rebukes from his loyal supporters had turned to angry scenes of jostling fisticuffs in the forum.

  Manlius had stepped into the breach, taking the claims of the plebeians and trying to act as peacemaker. His voice stood out alongside that of Marcus among the patricians as he claimed that the tenth should be returned to the treasury and a golden crown created for Apollo to appease the anger of the god which was, as he said, turning men’s minds to greed. Marcus had baulked at the accusation that even Apollo was angry at his triumph but had bit back his anger as he saw the faces of his friends begin to turn away from him.

  “You have done nothing wrong Marcus” Scipio said quietly, making Marcus open his eyes and look to his friend. “You were clear with your message and you followed every legal procedure to dedicate the temple. It is easy for men like Apuleius to twist words and find holes in every argument. When did that snake ever hold a sword against an enemy or stand next to his fellows as they died” he sat, his teeth clenched. Marcus looked at the spite in Scipio’s eyes and smiled, the old anger was coming back to his friend and he thanked him for it, his mind also adding a thank-you prayer to Juno for the sign that he was not totally forsaken. A thought came to his mind.

  “I am still Dictator and I still have the right to be heard” he said as he stood, Scipio looking to him with sudden interest. “I will call an official debate and I will make the final decision. We have several issues to resolve” he said as a curl came to his lip. “Veii will never be a city again whatever Apuleius and Manlius argue” he said as his head nodded slowly “I will make sure of that in the name of the goddess” he added. “I will dismiss this nonsense of kingly ideals and upon doing so I will resign the Dictatorship as a sign that I wish to return to being a happy citizen of the Republic.” Scipio smiled at the words. “And I will ensure that the Temple is agreed and dedicated as we the soldiers agreed at Veii” he said as he slapped the table and grinned.

  ****

  “Move them here” came the quiet voice as several men shifted the great weight across the wagon and then moved around to hold the sides. The two men on the wagons strained to lift the heavy object as the men underneath grunted at the weight.

  “Hold it there” came the urgent call from the foreman as he raced forwards and held the left edge as the tall structure, at least eight feet high, was lifted and shuffled across to lean against the wall the wooden frame bolted over the top as protection crunching as it hit the stone.

  “Good” said the leader, “now the other one” he pointed to the second large structure which was also covered by a layer of thin wood to prevent damage. The men moved across and began the same manoeuvre again, lifting the end and sliding it across to be picked up by the straining men underneath before laying the structure against the wall.

  The foreman went to the doorway and kicked the bottom of the door three times as he shifted his hair across his face, a bead of sweat dripping from the exertion of carrying the heavy objects. The door slave opened the door warily and looked at the man, clearly unused to such visitors.

  “Yes?” he asked haughtily, the foreman snarling at the slaves manners.

  “Delivery for your master. Set of doors from Veii” he said coldly as the slave leant forwards and peered at the two large wood-covered objects to his left.

  ****

  The debate in the Curiate Assembly had raged for several hours, the main protagonists arguing for the repatriation of men to Veii to alleviate the overcrowding in Rome and for the patricians to give more powers to the plebeians within the state. Marcus had sat impassively as every argument was listened to. He watched as those who had tried to better him turned purple with rage as he stood and vetoed every motion, his powers as Dictator allowing him the ultimate say. The plebeians had been outraged by his show of absolute power and were rounding on him at every opportunity to bring up any claim they could to discredit him personally, their arguments becoming more and more wild as the day had progressed.

  As Apuleius took to the rostra again to make another claim that Marcus embodied all that was against the morals of the Republic Marcus smiled to himself, the time had come to strike the final blow and to resign the Dictatorship, the City did not need him to act as protector now that he had dismissed all of the changes that the plebeians wished to put in place.

  As Apuleius prepared his next barrage, his tongue licking his lips like a snake about to strike, the doors to the Temple burst open and two men fell into the chamber, one man half dragging the other as two guards tried to lift them and bring them forward. Apuleius looked to the right and, huffing, he stepped down from the rostra, his anger showing in his eyes.

  Marcus stood, looking to the guards and the two mud-covered men and asked “What is it?”

  One of the men tried to stand, his left leg buckling before a guard caught him and held him upright.

  “Sir” he saluted. “The Falerians have launched an attack. They have defeated our soldiers at Caminitia Longina and taken a great many of the men hostage.” He stared wildly around the room as a series of gasps came from the assembled crowd, low mutterings spreading across the Assembly.

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. The gods were telling him something. They did not want him to resign his place as Dictator, he was needed again. Turning to Ahala and Cicurinus he nodded as the two men stepped forwards, Apuleius grunting audibly as he stepped back and sat heavily in his chair, his eyes raking Marcus with utter hatred.

  “We must avenge this defeat and send our glorious armies to Faleria” Ahala said loudly as cheers rang around the room alongside angry shouts. His voice was drowned as he called for Marcus Furius Camillus to avenge Rome and to take his army to Faleria at once and return with the heads of those who had dared to attack their soldiers.

  Within minutes men were scurrying from the Te
mple, messages being relayed to every part of the city and Marcus was heading home to contemplate what message the gods were giving him now. Clearly Rome had to defeat all of its enemies, and his time as Dictator was not done. He grinned as he strode along, people once again cheering him as he followed the twelve lictors that cleared a path for him. Juno and Fortuna were still gracing him, helping him to make the right decisions and he nodded his head as he walked, his mind running through what would be needed at Faleria. He knew the city, he knew it had strong walls, he almost laughed at the thought of strong walls, nothing was comparable to Veii. As he strode along he caught sight of a group of mourners heading away towards the Pons Sublicius with a small body wrapped in cloth, another victim of the continuing plague that had never yet left the city. As he walked his mind ran through thoughts of how to clean up the streets. Death came easily when filth and dirt were commonplace. The streets of Veii had been so clean, so wide and water was plentiful. Rome had a lot to learn from the Etruscans, but today his energy would be focused on force marching his army to Faleria. He grinned, he was going back to war.

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  Chapter 25

  The Falerians had retreated back to their city, its low walls surrounded by intricate ditches which were stalling the Roman attacks. Marcus had requested the return of the prisoners the Falerians had taken, but they had refused, as he had expected. With brutal force he had destroyed the farmlands surrounding the city, burning every house within two miles and laying waste to the farmsteads, the thick smoke drifting into the sky for days. His advisers agreed that until the prisoners were released it would be better not to attack the city in a full scale attack, a few weeks of starvation might change the attitude of the Falerian leaders, they said, and he, reluctantly agreed.

  As he stood watching a party of men working on the defensive ditch around their own camp he heard a shout from the watchtower and turned his face towards the approaching rider. His brow creased as he recognised Fasculus racing across the ground to the gates, his legs kicking hard at his horse as the animal sweated rings of white foam as it charged towards him. He hurried urgently towards the gate, surely this must be some terrible news if Fasculus had brought the message himself. Fasculus reined in, a thick cloud of dust rising into the air as many face appeared, all looking nervously to the rider as Fasculus saluted and spoke lowly to Marcus, both men turning and marching directly to the command tent near the centre of the camp, their voices low as Fasculus muttered words which turned Marcus’ face red with anger.

  Inside the tent Marcus pointed to a chair and handed Fasculus a cup as he took the wax tablet and cut the seal with his dagger as his jaw tightened. His eyes scanned the words as they flicked up and down, his mouth opening as he read the words.

  “What?” he said as Fasculus took another long drink, his eyes never leaving his commander. “Doors? What doors?” he asked as he stopped reading the words and snarled at Fasculus who simply shrugged and took another mouthful from the cup.

  “I don’t understand. How can this be? Who is bringing this charge?” he asked incredulously.

  “Apuleius has raised the claim” came the cold reply as Marcus thumped the table.

  “Him.? What does that man have against me to make such accusations?” he said loudly as Fasculus waved his free arm slowly and nodded his head towards the tent flap to suggest Marcus calmed down a little.

  Taking heed he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the words again. “Tell me what is behind these words and what people are saying” he asked in a calm, but agitated voice.

  Fasculus licked his lips slowly as a small trail of water dripped down his chin. He placed the cup down and started to speak, his voice hushed but firm. “Since you and the army left a few days ago the plebeian leaders have continued to challenge the issue of the tenth of the spoils to be returned, despite the fact that most of the soldiers have already done this voluntarily” he said with a shake of his head. “Apuleius asked for the documented evidence of the spoils and had his men scour them for any errors. It seems that he came across that” he pointed to the tablet “and raised it with the Senate. You know what he’s like, the man spat venom and fire at you, claimed you had taken more than your share of the spoils from Veii and then affronted the gods and the people of Rome by claiming that they should give back their share of the spoils when you have cheated them yourself.” Fasculus took a deep breath and held up his hand at the angry face that stared at him. “That is what he said” Fasculus replied to the stony glare.

  Marcus seethed. How could this be? “I know nothing of the bronze doors of which he speaks” he added coldly as he looked at the words of the legal summons and then back to Fasculus. “And how can I return to Rome to fight this case when I am needed here? The man is a fool” he added with an angry sigh.

  “I’ve been to your house and discussed it with your wife” Fasculus said. “The slaves say that these very doors were delivered to your back gate on the day that the riders arrived to tell of the attack by Faleria. The men who delivered it have disappeared, nobody knows who they were or who sent the doors” he added, his eyes wide as he spoke. “The doors are solid bronze, thick with details of the war at Troy and scenes of battles, they must be worth a fortune.”

  “Bastards” spat Marcus in a low grumble as he stood and paced the tent. “I remember Lucius telling me of just such doors” he added quietly as he returned to the desk, his eyes darting across the words on the tablet once again. “I cannot return to the trial, we have work to be done here. I will reply to the lawyers and tell them that my work here is too important.” He looked at Fasculus as he spoke, the man nodding at his words “and they will have to wait until this war is concluded” he finished.

  ****

  The morning had reached the point where men were tiring of their duties and wished to eat and relax when a sudden series of shouts split the air, a trumpet calling men to arms. Marcus jumped from his chair and raced to the tent entrance as he heard more shouts from the gateway. Glancing to his right he saw the Centurion of the watch running across towards him, his hand holding his sword in place as he jogged meaningfully directly to him.

  “Sir” the man saluted as soldiers appeared from their tents and began to form loose lines facing the gate as they had been trained to do. Cheers and calls came from the gateway as the Centurion raised his voice so that Marcus could hear him. “There is a” his lip twitched as a puzzled look came over his face “deputation coming towards the gate” he added as he stood smartly to attention and stood as if to allow Marcus to pass him.

  “A deputation?” Marcus said as he started to walk forwards. “Call the officers” he ordered as he walked toward the centre of the ground where the men were forming lines, long spears and thick shields now set in ranks as the junior officers called men into their formations.

  As Marcus looked towards the gate he saw several men stomping into the gateway, their shields locked as if penning whatever, or whoever, was being escorted into the camp within their square barrier. The leading soldier caught Marcus’ eye and instantly called the square forwards towards him as a strange noise came to his ears, was it crying?

  As the soldiers arrived and the leading edge of the square split Marcus’ jaw fell open. Within were several children, some as young as five or six years, others in their early teens, all male. A dark robed, long bearded figure stepped out from the square, his light eyes beaming as his eyes darted around the soldiers and fixed themselves on Marcus. The children wailed even more loudly as the man turned and shouted at them to be quiet, some of the younger children looking at his with frightened eyes as he rounded on them.

  “What is this?” Marcus demanded as the man turned and looked back to him, his arms coming up to his sides as if in supplication. He fell to his knees and closed his eyes as he put his head back and spoke.

  “Great Camillus” he said, his voice loud as the children continued to cry and so
b. “I am Fertivus, teacher of the children of the leaders of the Falerians” he said as his eyes fixed Marcus with a frightened stare. “I bring you a gift” he said hurriedly as he half turned and nodded to the children, his right arm waving slowly in their direction. “I beg of you Camillus that you will spare my life as I have brought these hostages to you from the city and that you use them to gain surrender from your enemies” his eyes pleaded as they widened. Marcus remained silent as he simply stared at the prostrate man and then to the children.

  “Yes, mighty Camillus. I have seen it in a dream” he said. “You will fire the city and destroy everyone in it, killing your enemies” he added as his eyes flicked to the soldiers. “But I do not deserve to die in this city with masters who abuse me and give little thought to my skills. These children are yours, Camillus, a gift so that I can go free and you can bargain with the leaders to take the city” he added quickly.

  Marcus stared at the man, his eyes growing more fearful as the silence stretched, the only noise anyone could hear was the continued sobs from the children. Marcus looked with loathing at the man before he turned to the Centurion. “Bring chains” he said as he turned back to the smiling face of the teacher.

  “Yes, chain them up, good, good” he said quickly, his eyes watching the Centurion as he set off into the camp.

  “No, stay kneeling” Marcus said as he stepped forwards and looked at the boys, the oldest staring defiantly back at him.

  “You, young man. What is your name?” he asked as the boy raised his chin, his jaw trembling slightly as he put on the stoic face his training had started to teach him. The teacher went to speak before Marcus grunted at him and the man cowered, the smile disappearing from his face.