“Men of Rome, hear me.” Looking to his right he waited for Crastinus to stand back and raise an arm, the centurions completing the same drill along the line. They, too, shouted the same words, faces watching the first spear so that they could add their voices to that of his senior centurion. “The gods are with us. Camillus was right” he yelled, lifting his sword and aiming it at the sky. “Our blades are enough for these farmers. Make every thrust count. Ready the second line.” He looked back to see the clenched teeth and ferocious anger in the faces of the Romans that was about to drive into the Volscan and Hernici scum. He held his breath waiting for the final order, his arm twitching under the weight of his iron blade, as he watched Crastinus, who was now shouting orders at his own men as they battled for their lives against a final push from the attackers. Crastinus rushed forwards, his sword slicing through the arm of a Volscan who’d pushed into a small gap between two legionaries. As the enemy soldiers’ blade fell to the floor two other thrusts ended his life in a scream of pain. Narcius nodded and continued to call the orders to his men. “No running, just step forward and thrust. Kill them as they fall on you, no rushing forwards” he shouted as men around him half-nodded an understanding, wooden shields lifted, and blades pushed through gaps where the enemy continued to force openings.
The call came suddenly, and Crastinus had already reacted with his own loud shouts before Narcius, kicking himself for being distracted, yelled the call. Men thrust their thick wooden boards forward and stepped into the gaps. Where no gap appeared the stunned Volscans who were now surrounded by Romans who had moved forward were chopped and hacked from both sides. Heads looked backwards in the Volscan lines, fear was starting to take roots. “Again” called Narcius, Crastinus repeating the order, which filtered along the line. The clash of iron, wood and bronze thundered into the sky as if the gods themselves had stamped on the line of soldiers beneath them.
Narcius moved to the front, his eyes continuously scanning the rows ahead of him. Gaps were filled as soon as men fell, red mist from bloody thrusts rose and fell like rain. One of his men slipped to his knees, a hammer crushing his helmet with a clang like a farm dinner bell. Narcius winced at the noise, almost feeling the pain that the man must have felt before being knocked senseless, but the soldier turned his head up towards his attacker and was grinning. Yes, grinning, as he thrust his blade into the Volscans groin. As the attacker tried to scream, his voice was cut off by another blade ripping his jaw from his head, his top teeth standing white against the blood and gore that remained of his face, which made him look like he was laughing, as he gurgled and fell onto the helmeted soldier. Narcius moved forwards and dragged the legionary out from under the dead man. The soldier looked up with hollow eyes, his tongue half hanging out of his mouth where he’d clearly bitten it during the attack. He attempted to speak. “Silence soldier, get back and get that seen to” was all Narcius could say. The gods truly were with them, that man should be dead, he thought.
Looking back at the line of Romans he noted that Crastinus was pushing his men further into the melee, his arm red with blood, his sword slicing in and out as he supported his line. He rotated his front and called for more men to his left. Narcius moved into the line and took control, his breathing steadying as he began to go through the mechanics of the slaughter. Push, thrust, step back and survey the line. Fill the gaps, support the man to your left. The line had become blurred now, indiscriminate bodies everywhere. Men hacked at limbs that appeared over their shields; a face would appear, loud screaming as the head was smashed by a shield, and then silence. Then it would start again. His ears rang with the sound of shouting orders, pushing men forwards, dragging others back. Watching the line, he ordered men to move forwards again, keeping it as level as he could possibly do in such circumstances. He thanked Fortuna for the training that the men had undertaken, for their strength and for their strong right arms. Then, almost as suddenly as if a strong wind had stopped blowing, there was daylight in front of him. Faces turned to him, imploring, questioning. “Go” he yelled. “Kill them all” he cried as he heard the feral roar of the first cohort as they charged after the fleeing Enemy. They’d broken. He caught his breath as he glanced around, despatching a man who was half-dead but raised a menacing dagger towards him from his prone position. Along the line he could now see that the enemy had turned and fled. The Roman line had held again. He shook his head in disbelief before turning back towards the thundering of hooves that he heard crashing into the waves of running men, Bodies almost flew as the cavalry sliced into the fleeing Volscans, the shouts for mercy ignored. Marcus had made it clear, utterly destroy the enemy, no prisoners. This was the way it must be, thought Narcius as he strode on after his men, calling orders to stop looting the dead to those who had stopped to do so. Rome was taking control of the Latin delta. Any enemy which stood in their way must be removed and their lands settled with honest Romans. He clenched his teeth as he walked onwards, his blade lashing out at any who came against him. The roar of the cavalry crashing like waves against sand filled his ears. Enemy soldiers were throwing their swords and shields to the floor as they ran, legionaries chasing them down and hacking them to pieces. It was bloody, but it was necessary Narcius told himself as he joined his men.
Minutes later Narcius was standing with Crastinus and several other centurions as they surveyed the scene around them. Behind they could see the senior officers and tribunes moving forwards, their armour shining in the bright sunlight. Ahead the cavalry remained in pursuit but the majority of the foot soldiers were now descending on the enemy like a flock of vultures, stripping them of anything of value.
“Look at this” Brevo said, his face splashed with red dots and his arm dripping with blood, none of it his own. He held up a dagger, the hilt an intricately carved bone depicting two lovers entwined in a naked embrace. His teeth shone through the darkness of his thin, dark, beard as he handed it to Petronius, who was still panting like a dog who’d been sat in the sun all day from his exertions. He whistled.
“Nice. Single combat?” he asked with a wry smile. Any weapons won in single combat were the prize of the winner, any won in the general melee were piled up and shared between the soldiers. This was a nice prize to have.
Brevo scowled. “Yes” he replied as he went to reclaim the dagger, which Petronius handed to Crastinus, who had just arrived, and Brevo swiped at thin air.
“Nice” said Crastinus. “Is it a gift for me?” he laughed as Brevo stood and stared at him with disbelief written across his face.
“I won that, it’s fair game for me” he said angrily, his shoulders squaring.
“Easy soldier” laughed Narcius. “The enemy are over there, not here” he added as Crastinus shrugged and handed the dagger back. Brevo nodded and thrust the dagger into his belt. “Right lads, let’s get the men into some sort of order.” He looked around at the piles of dead as legionaries appeared with handfuls of loot and discarded weapons, and started to ask where to start piling up the spoils. Crastinus pointed to a small clump of trees away to the left and the men wandered away chattering about the battle as if it was just another day at the market.
Several centurions and optio’s had appeared now, some laughing and joking, others nursing injuries which clearly needed medical attention. “Set the recall for the first four cohorts” Narcius said to the assembled men. “Clear the field, first cohort to the left and fourth to the right, you know the drill. The rest of you had better catch up with your men and get them into their positions. Once the cavalry rounds up the enemy we are all to fall on them as planned. No surrender unless they are a proven nobleman” he said to nods of agreement. “I want everything wrapped up before the men get a chance to realise how tired they are. I want food cooked over there” he pointed towards a line of rocks “and I want our own dead over there” he pointed in another direction.
“And” he said as he turned to look at the men. “Well done” he added solemnly, his head slowly moving from side
to side. “He was right again” he said with a flick of his eyes towards Camillus. “Make sure the men are reminded of that, and make sure they know that the gods are with us.”
**********
Chapter 22
Narcius hurried to the meeting, his belt slapping against his leg as he attempted to pull it tightly around his middle. The call from Camillus had come late into the evening, just as the sentries were being allocated and the cohorts had almost finished eating their evening meal. He was met by a stern-faced group as he saluted and apologised for his late arrival, mentally noting that he was the last man to arrive, the tribunes and other senior ranks scowling at him for his tardiness. The men were ranged around a small area next to the horse pens, with two wagons being used as makeshift seats for several of the officers. Marcus was standing, leaning his arm on a wheel as he looked up at the approaching centurion.
“Right” said Marcus as soon as Narcius came to a standstill. “The scouts have confirmed that over a thousand Volscan and Hernici soldiers have set up in Satricum, the villagers have blocked the gates and are manning the walls. We move now, and we set up siege works around the city. We don’t have enough fresh men to storm the city with the walls manned as they are, so we will need to dig trenches and set up the scorpions. Valerius and the cavalry will move out immediately, clearing the road. Quinctus, you are in charge of the baggage wagons, get things rolling as soon as the legions move out, then follow as quickly as you can. Narcius, allocate the third to support Quinctus.” Narcius nodded, with a look to the Tribune to his right. “I want the city surrounded before nightfall and I want the men ready to dig trenches the minute we arrive. The third will be refreshed from their stroll with the wagons so they can be first on sentry duty” he glanced to Narcius at this and received agreement as his first spear noted it on a slate. “I am leaving within a quarter hour with Valerius and a force of a hundred riders to set out the plans for the siege works. I want to see the army on my heels within half an hour. Any questions? No, good. Then to your orders gentlemen” he said without a pause. “Narcius, stay behind” he added just as Narcius turned to leave.
Marcus waited until the last man had left before speaking. “The legions did well today” to which Narcius agreed wholeheartedly. “Well done. I saw your part in it” he smiled. Narcius acknowledged the compliment, but knew that platitudes usually meant something of more importance was coming. “I’ve had a report from Rome” he started, as Narcius furrowed his brow. “It seems that Capitolinus has been stirring up trouble with the rent collections. Your brother” at which he handed across a sealed tablet “has written to you. If it is the same report I have received then he’s writing to say that his men had a run in with a gang who are trying to stop rent collections. They did the same to Cincinnatus and his rent collectors from what I hear. He is injured, though not seriously.” Narcius was already reading the report.
“He’s concerned that these gangs might turn against the family” Narcius said with a scowl.
Marcus nodded. “Yes, I had the same report.” Leaning back against the wagon he looked at Narcius thoughtfully. “I’ll make sure your brother and family are safe” he added to the fearful look from his friend. “And mark my words, when we’re back in Rome I will deal with Capitolinus and his men. I don’t need these distractions” he added angrily. Narcius looked at the words his brother had sent to him. A broken nose and arm, bad but not disastrous. The message said that all the family were safe, but that there were concerns that gangs of men were taking control of the streets, with some of their own business dealings starting to suffer.
“I’m sending this message to Rome as soon as I leave” Marcus added, handing a slate to Narcius. “Add your own words to your family and make sure it is sent by the fastest rider within the hour. I will ask for my supporters to look into these street gangs, we cannot allow thugs to control Rome.”
*****
Satricum was a white walled city built in an almost perfect rectangle on a short, but steep, slope. The elevation was enough to make the walls appear more than twelve feet high, and to hamper any attacking force. The outlying approach was through rocky ground with small shrubs but no trees. The shadows cast by the evening sun showed evidence of ditches having been previously dug around the city by a besieging army, which could have been many years before. Beyond the city lay the river Astura, which brought much trade to the city, and had prospered well as a member of the Latin League until they recently threw their lot in with the rebellion. Marcus knew little of the town beyond these facts, but one thing that stuck in his mind when the scout gave his report was that the city had one temple, a building dedicated to Mater Matuta.
Listening to the report he was already working through the ditches that needed to be dug, the siege works that needed building and the support lines which would be required to defend the working parties from forays by the defenders. The group had found the best location for the Roman camp, facing the town with the river to their right, and Marcus was pleased to see the cavalry already working in parties to mark out the lines of the camp. Ahead, the walls were manned with men holding spears, visible against the quickly receding light, although no forays against the recently arrived Romans had come from the thick oak gates at the centre of the wall and from reports he understood that no arrows had greeted their arrival. The design was good, the city was well fed with water and, evident by the approach that he’d taken, every animal and bushel of wheat within several miles had been moved into the city. They were preparing for a long siege. The roads into the city and out were wide and well-kept and he knew that would afford the defenders a good killing ground should the Romans attack in that direction.
Two hours later the bulk of the army had arrived and were set to the work digging and building the camp. “Looks like a long siege” said Valerius with a drawn breath, which he exhaled wearily.
Marcus didn’t reply, he was watching the walls, along which several small fires had been lit.
“The men are tired” continued Valerius.
“Aren’t we all” added a tribune, his face turned away from Marcus. “At this rate, we’ll have no energy to attack the walls once we’re done.”
“The men are stronger than you think.” Narcius’ tone showed anger at the tribune’s words, and the man mumbled a quiet apology.
Marcus continued to watch the walls.
“The men are tired, sir” replied Verus, his words followed by silence until Crastinus also spoke.
“It doesn’t look like they are sending any men out to stop the digging parties. Maybe they’re too tired as well, or the gods are truly with us” he half-joked. Some murmurs of agreement followed. Marcus continued to watch the walls in silence.
Narcius turned his head towards the wall and came to stand next to Marcus. “They say there is a temple to Mater Matuta in there” he said as the men closest turned to look at the walls, and then back to the senior commander. “She watches over us. Do you think she still watches over us?” Narcius asked, his words hardly out of his mouth before Marcus turned his face and beamed at him.
“Those sentries are either very good at standing still or they’ve fallen asleep standing up. My guess is that the army that raced to get into the city is even more worn out than our own men, and judging by the number of arms we found along the road they’ve thrown away most of their weapons. Why haven’t they sallied out to disrupt us?” he asked without expecting an answer. “Valerius, Crastinus, tell the men to slow their pace in digging the trenches and arm themselves for an assault. Move some of the cavalry to the trenches and tell them to make noise as if they were digging. Gentlemen, I want the men in that city to think that we are busily preparing our siege works and I want as many ladders as we have ready to storm the walls. Narcius, Crastinus, give me fifty men to get as close to those walls and scale them as they can. I want to know if there are any defenders on the walls beyond the three or four heads I see move around the city every fifteen or twenty minutes.”
/> Every head turned towards the city, then back to Marcus.
“Now, would be good gentlemen” he chided as each officer took a moment to respond.
It took ten minutes for the men to be ready and waiting for Marcus to appear. Each man wore leather armour with dulled bronze heartsavers and carried short swords and no shields. Several ladders were already being brought across to the group.
“You can’t seriously be leading this party yourself” asked Valerius.
Marcus grinned. “In that city is the holy shrine of Mater Matuta, the lady goddess who gives her love to my family. I think I’ll be safe” he replied, Narcius giving him the professional look of a man who had also spent ten minutes watching the walls and gambling that they were not being manned beyond a perfunctory force.
“Let’s go” he ordered as the group followed the goat path, visible in the semi-darkness, along the riverbank. The path rose as it approached the walls, but the Roman force arrived without any alarm being raised from within. So far so good, thought Marcus, noting that both Narcius and Crastinus had volunteered for this detachment. Cross with himself for not checking every man in the group (he wouldn’t have chosen his two senior centurions) he waved to the men with the ladders to come forwards. Each ladder was carried by three men, and within a minute seven ladders were placed against the walls. Marcus turned to Crastinus and waved him towards the left and Narcius to the right. He took the middle ladder himself and looked up at the walls above, two men to each side held it in position. There was a trick to scaling ladders, they were often flimsy at best. That trick was to rush up them as quick as you could, stop on the very last rung and then pull your sword from its scabbard and leap over the parapet thrusting your sword out in front of you to deflect any blows from the defenders. The next trick was to land on your feet, as a stumble was likely to lead to several long blades in the back. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to each side and men raced up the ladders, those younger and fitter than himself already five rungs up before he reached the second. The experts amongst the Romans hardly stopped as they dragged blades from their belts or scabbards and leapt over the walls, whereas Marcus felt distinctly vulnerable as his sword snagged his tunic and his left hand nearly lost its grip as he attempted to jump the wall. Landing and shuffling to the side to allow the next man some space, he noted Crastinus had already felled what appeared to be a straw-filled scarecrow and was standing over it looking down on the object in confusion. No other movement came from the section of wall where they stood. As more men appeared over the walls Marcus held up a hand to stop the soldiers running off in every direction.
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