“The gods will provide us with an option” Marcus said. “That is what the augury said” he added cryptically as both officers looked to him for a moment as they continued to march towards the gates of the wooden fort.
The camp bristled with spears as they approached. The deep trenches were well prepared, with foot high wooden spikes angled against any attackers protruding from their depths. Hundreds of men were looking down upon them as they approached. Narcius hitched his shield slightly, preparing to cover Marcus if the Volscans sent arrows at them. Marcus looked at the walls, the trenches and the men, seeing nothing more than he had seen for the past half an hour. Was Ahala right? There didn’t seem to be any option other than to attack the front gates, but the flat, open, ground would see many of his men killed before they even reached the walls. He smiled at a thought, maybe he could capture one of the engineers who had built the camp; it was a magnificent construction. The wood was newly cut, and the smell of wood sap permeated the air. As they closed on the construction he could see that, here and there, were misshapen logs, cut quickly and irregularly, leaving gaps through which the massed soldiers could be seen behind the walls. Some of the wood was green, young saplings had been used; they would be softer than the hard, old, wood. Was that an opening he could exploit?
“Hold” he called and the men came to a stop. “Who is your leader?” he called towards the camp walls as several faces scowled down at him and his men. A few moments passed before the gates crept slowly open, Narcius tensing and half drawing his sword as other men in the bodyguard did the same. Four men appeared from the gate, each dressed in brown woollen tunics with leather breast plates and shining bronze heart savers. Two of the men wore bronze greaves and old Greek helmets with horse hair crests flowing from them. Marcus admired the crests as he looked at the four men, the helmets certainly made them look fearsome, he thought.
“Brave of them to send four against all of us” Ahala whispered as Marcus nodded his agreement. “Confident buggers” he added.
The men came to a stop ten paces from the Romans and one man, his thick, dark, beard oiled into a long point, took a step forward and placed his right hand across his chest as he spoke. “I am Garodius, leader of the Volscans” he said as his eyes scanned the line of Roman men who stared at him. “You Romans should leave this place and return to your city” he said, his Greek heavily accented in the Latin that most Volscans spoke. “You cannot take this fort and you know that over thirty thousand men approach within a day” he sneered. “Run back to your homes and prepare for our army to do to your city what the Gaul’s could not do. We will flatten Rome to the ground for the oppression you have dealt out over the generations. My heart burns with hatred for you. Hatred that will not be quenched here today, Roman” he added as his face jutted forwards. “Go back to your city and wait for us, we will be there soon” he snarled as a burst of cheering came from the walls.
Marcus stood impassively and waited for silence, allowing it to stretch slightly before speaking as Ahala stepped angrily from foot to foot. “Garodius of the Volscans” he said, his voice measured. “I am Marcus Furius Camillus, dictator of the glorious city of Rome” he said as two of the men bridled at his name, their furtive glances to Garodius bringing a smile to Marcus’ lips. “I call for you to surrender your men to us now so that you can avoid the death that the gods have ordained for you. I offer this peace for you now for that is the Roman way” he said as he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and looked at the Volscans. “We offer you one opportunity to save your men” he then added with narrow eyes as he stared into the eyes of the Volscan leader.
“Ha” Garodius laughed, his teeth flashing in his dark-haired face. “You offer us one choice” he turned and waved a hand at the camp. “Here are the walls of the Volsci. Here are the hearts of men who desire only to sack your sacred city, take your women, take your gold and smite you from this land. More men, men from the Hernici, the Latins and the other tribes who have been under the Roman yolk for too long are coming here to deal death to you and your army. Stay here Marcus Furius Camillus and you will be dead in two days. I give you one option, which is your Roman way” he laughed again. “Go back to Rome now, warm your feet by your fire tonight and tomorrow run from the city and save your life, because we are coming to Rome.” He shouted the last words as thousands of spears thumped the wooden palisades behind him. The noise caused Marcus to smile and he looked again at the thick wooden posts of the fort.
Marcus looked at Garodius and his lips curled as a thought came to his mind as he looked at the faces of the four Volscans before his eyes cast to the sky and then to the trees which were visible beyond the fort.
“Then we have nothing more to say” he said quietly, Garodius frowning at his words. Marcus turned on his heel and walked away, Garodius calling after him in a mocking tone.
“Go now, Camillus and enjoy your last days in your city with your feet by your fire before we take Rome for our own. You cannot defeat us here.”
Marcus grinned. The gods had given him the sign that he needed.
************
The soldiers of Rome shuffled into position, their officers on the left of the front ranks as they began to halt and drop their shields into a long blue and red snake of painted wood. Marcus looked around at the camp and his eyes fell on the wooden gates. All the officers were now present, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked at each man in turn.
“The augury said we would be given a sign” he said quickly as the men looked to him. “That sign has been given” he added as he rubbed his chin. “Too long have these Volsci been a thorn in Rome’s side. Too long have they snapped at our heels like a little dog that is too sharp to kick, running to and fro as it catches us with its sharp teeth time and time again.” He tightened his jaw. “Juno, Mater Matuta, Fortuna and Mars have given me the sign I was looking for” he said as men glanced to each other and watched him with trepidation in their eyes.
“Narcius” he said as his first spear stood a little taller. “There is always more than one option. Look at the wooden walls. One way in and one way out” he said. “Every thought has been about how we can get into the camp and fight them, we know they will not come out because they fear us” he licked his lips. The men mumbled assent, but nobody spoke as Marcus looked, again, towards the camp.
“I want the scorpions lined up facing the gate. Take the cavalry and have them split equally to the scorpions left and right sides to cover them. Line the men up in rows three deep. The fifth through eighth cohorts take the rear and can rest, the remaining men to stand battle ready.” Crastinus looked to Narcius, his face grim, as the other men listened intently. The rest of the officers were nodding and looking to each other awaiting the final words of the battle, some with quizzical faces as they didn’t know what Marcus would say next.
“See there?” Marcus pointed towards the forest, eyes following his pointing finger. “The enemy have done half of our task for us.” Narcius joined the others in confused looks towards their leader. Marcus smiled. “They have taken off the branches, leaves and dried brush from all the local trees” he said as officers started to understand his words. “We can use that to fill the ditches and smoke them out, like the cheap fish that they are” he added. “Narcius take your men and collect that brushwood, then take a troop of bowmen and launch fire arrows into the left side of the camp, Ahala will give you cover with some of his horse” Marcus commanded. Men craned their necks to look at the camp as Marcus nodded towards the structure. “See how the wood is a mix of old and new?” he smiled. “I want a hundred men with brushwood to fill the ditch at that corner too, fire that as well” he added. “The wind will send the smoke into the camp, see how there are gaps in the structure of the wall?” Men looked again at the camp walls. “Keep up the fire attacks and move slowly to the rear left of the camp with your arrows and brushwood once the corner is alight” he added. “They do not have much water and will not be able to put ou
t the flames if the scout’s predictions are correct. Gentlemen” he added more loudly “the gods are with us. The Volscans believe their camp cannot be entered, so we will turn their strength into their weakness. They will have only one way out, straight into our scorpions and legions.”
Ahala grinned before shaking his head. “Masterful” he said as he slapped his thigh with his hand.
“The gods gave me insight” Marcus replied as he pulled the wooden eagle from under his breastplate and thumbed it. “Fortuna be with you men” he said, as Narcius and several others repeated his words back to him.
“One last thing gentleman” he said as the officers turned back to him. “When the gates open and the Volscans rush out I want no prisoners. We must teach these men a lesson that their clans will understand. Rome cannot accept uprisings from our neighbours. We must destroy this camp and all the men within it if we are to defeat the Volscans forever. And” he looked to two of the centurions who were closest. “Once inside the camp whatever booty the men can find they can keep. Ten percent for the gods as I have ordained, but everything else will be for the men” he added as Ahala let his jaw drop in surprise but said nothing else. The centurions beamed with the news, the soldiers would be more than happy to take everything that they could carry. The soldiers saluted briskly and marched off with a spring in their step, Ahala hanging back as the rest went to relay the orders to their men.
“Was that a wise decision” Ahala asked quietly when they were alone. “The Senate won’t be happy that a portion of the spoils isn’t given to the state” he added quietly as his eyes glanced around the nearest men, just out of earshot.
“Look at them Servillius” Marcus said as he nodded towards the now cheering soldiers as they received the news from their officers. “Half of them are still struggling to pay their debts to their patrons, the rest are clothed in patched tunics and dented swords which their grandfathers probably owned. The people need something to rally them, to give them hope. Without the means to get back on their feet they will soon become like these Volscans, angry at the taxation and removal of liberties that we impose on them.” He waved a hand at Ahala’s questioning face. “No, no, don’t get me wrong. There is a time and a place for every decision, my friend” he said as he placed a hand on his master of horse’s shoulder. “Today the men will devour their enemy with more ferocity than they usually do. Why? Because they think the camp may hold great treasures which will fill their purses. Look at it, Servillius. That camp holds mainly soldiers, the only treasures will be good quality weapons, some small coins and bronze bars, maybe a few horses” he shrugged. “The Senate would get a poor pay day from this camp. We, my friend, will gain the loyalty and support of every man in the legion, and as we face the larger army that we know might be approaching, we will need every scrap of loyalty we can get” he added as Ahala looked at him in a new light.
“Gods, Camillus” said the officers open face. “I knew you were a clever man, but this” he shook his head slowly as a broad grin crept onto his face. “Time to uncover those scorpions” he added quickly and saluted before striding across towards his waiting horse.
************
Garodius watched as a hundred archers marched to his right, a few cavalry supporting their rear with a cohort of shield-bearing soldiers. Several wicker screens were rushed forwards as he called his own archers forwards to the right wall.
“What is he doing Lord?” came the question from behind him.
Ignoring the question, he glanced behind into the camp. “Move the men out of arrow range” he said as he turned back to the men at the front. Several urns were brought forward, and he smirked; fire arrows. Camillus was no fool, but this was surely a feint, the main body of the Romans had no option but to try and assault the gate. “Bring water to this side of the camp” he shouted, the sound of men rushing to do as he ordered coming as soon as he had spoken. He looked out at the Roman lines, their men pointed straight at the gates. Yes, they would attack the gates, as he expected. He licked his dry lips and turned his face to the right, looking out across the long flat land which ended in the forest and gently rising hills away on the horizon. If his scouts were right he would have no more than two days to wait for reinforcements from Bolae. He shrugged, the Romans would not defeat him, his augury had been good and the priests were certain that the Romans would lose. He smiled as he heard a whooshing sound; the first fire arrow had been launched, followed swiftly by a few hundred more.
Panicked shouts came from the men on the rampart by the wall and Garodius shook his head in anger as he walked across and called for calm, his voice bringing men to their senses as water buckets were brought forwards.
“Don’t waste the water” screamed a soldier as another man spilt the contents of a bucket in his haste to rush up the earthen bank on the inside of the wall. Garodius ground his teeth at the ineptitude of the fool before he peeked over the top of the logs and saw several of the arrows had already started to catch on the dry wood where it wasn’t smooth, the raised splinters singeing and bursting to fire as he watched. A thump near his head alerted him to the fact that he had lingered too long, and he withdrew his head smartly to call for more water. A pang of fear ran through his mind as a sudden thought came to him. He cast his head around the camp, taking a few heartbeats to realise Camillus’ plans, he was going to try and burn him out. He ground his teeth again and turned to call for his advisors as he stomped back down the bank towards his tent in the centre of the camp.
***********
“Now” called Narcius as several men charged forwards with bundles of brush wood clutched to their chests in one hand as they held their wooden shields up as they dashed towards the camp. Most made it to the ditch as a storm of arrows flew at them from the walls, though the Romans responded with a ferocious hail of their own weapons in an attempt to cover the running legionnaires. Narcius watched as several men were struck down, some limping back with shafts through their legs or arms, others writhing in the dirt as they grappled with an arrow in the chest or neck. He considering bringing a scorpion over and trying to attach brushwood to one of the long bolts but decided against it as it would take too long to organise.
“Again” he called as several grim-faced men turned to him momentarily before sprinting out into the danger zone. This time the Roman arrows flew straighter and only one man was hit, his head punched back in a spray of red mist as he fell to the floor, his bundle of sticks falling under him like a parody of a straw mattress as his lifeless form came to a stop on top of them. Narcius nodded and muttered a prayer for his spirit. More fire arrows thudded into the wood, the brown and grey smoke now starting to catch as a few tongues of flame appeared from the brushwood which had been thrown across the ditch to land at the foot of the wooden barricade. “More there where the flames are” he called loudly as more men rushed forwards with cheers of encouragement from their fellow soldiers, brushwood dropping from their clutching arms as they raced across the killing ground. More arrows arced from both sides as Narcius watched, the attackers once again getting the better of the defenders. A cheer rose as a great flame jumped into life as a fire arrow hit the latest bundle of brushwood and yet more men raced forwards clutching their cargo of broken twigs.
A plume of smoke rose and swirled in the wind as a man appeared above the rampart and threw a bucket load of water onto the flames. His head whipped back as an arrow pierced his lower jaw and his fingers gripped the shaft as the bucket fell forwards into the flames. Before he could pull back his head his screams intensified as another arrow embedded itself through his eye, his blood gushing out as he fell forwards and remained hanging, limply, over the rampart. Two more arrows thudded into his back, though Narcius doubted he would even register the pain as he was more than likely already dead. Two men appeared and unceremoniously pushed his body over the lip of the rampart and into the ditch below.
“More brushwood” called Narcius, his men glancing nervously to him as he glared at them. “Com
e on lads, a few more runs and we can sit back and watch them burn” he shouted. “Fortuna go with you” he yelled as the men darted out quickly into the space, some men running more slowly and attempting to dodge the arrows, others simply sprinting at the walls and hoping Fortuna truly was with them. Within a few minutes the fire was starting to take a good hold and Narcius called a halt to the attacks, moving the men further left to start the process again in a more central location on the side wall of the camp, all the while keeping an eye on the fire to ensure it continued to take hold, as well as watching the gate for signs of an enemy advance. The smoke was now catching the wind, which was also fanning the flames, and billowing through the gaps in the walls, fewer archers and men were on the walls above the fire and hardly any water had been thrown on the flames for the past few minutes. He glanced across to Marcus, sat on his horse behind the line of scorpions in the centre of the field and saluted as he turned to move the men along the wall.
Marcus returned the salute and called to the men closest to him. “Won’t be long now lads. The fire has taken hold; they’ll be looking to escape soon.” As he spoke he watched as several men jumped from the high walls on the right hand side of the camp and dashed for the river, one man struggling to stand as he had twisted an ankle from the jump. Before they reached the water an angry clamour arose from the camp and the Volscans rained arrows down onto their own men. The watching Roman’s cheered as one man made it to the water and splashed through, his breathing nearly as loud as the noise of the splashing water. Having cleared the shallow stream he turned to look over his shoulder before racing away towards the stumps of the trees the Volscans had cut down to build the fortifications.
“Sir, should we go after him?” a junior officer said, his horse standing quietly beside Marcus. Marcus waved a hand at him as if it didn’t matter and the man did his best not to look annoyed. As the escapee reached the first tree stumps several Romans leapt at him from crouching positions where they had been hiding in the trees and he was speared through the stomach as more bronzed helmets appeared from the tree line. The officer’s mouth fell open and Marcus almost laughed at his bemused face.
The King of Rome Page 8
