“Wait” he whispered, his hand waving to the men to get down low. He waved again and the group moved more closely together, those coming over the walls now being told to remain on the ladders as the space atop the walkway was becoming crowded. Marcus raised his eyebrows at the silence that met them from within the city. Had the Volscans left? “Titus” he said to a thin man by his side. “Go along that way and see what you can see within the city. Come back quickly” he added as the man scuttled off. Narcius moved closer.
“Shall I send a man back to prepare the legions?” he asked. Marcus nodded and a man was sent to inform those waiting on the ladders to send someone back with the order to await a torch being waved from the gates and to then storm the city with every man that was available.
“I believe” said Marcus as he looked around at the dark faces surrounding him. “That the enemy are exhausted and have posted minimum sentries in an attempt to rest their men. In which case, we will move to the gate and open it. Valerius has orders to storm the gate as well as flood the walls with ladders. Our job is to get to that gate and open it. Crastinus, lead the way” he said. “Keep low, we need to surprise them.”
The group moved along the walkway, crouching and walking like an army of crabs as they kept their faces turned towards the inside of the city. Below them Marcus could suddenly hear the reason why his party hadn’t been noted. The square was filled with both men and animals, all sleeping in any space they could find. The noise of animals and humans was low, but constant and drowned any noise that his men were making. It looked as if the Volscans and Hernici had simple fallen where they could find a space and slept like babes. He grinned as he took a second to look for the temple to the goddess, but it was too dark to make anything out amongst the buildings and rooftops of the city. A call from below stopped the men in their tracks, a man shouting something to another. Ahead of them a door positioned atop one of the thick-walled turrets opened and a man appeared, the light from the doorway glowing red to depict the small fire that was burning within the room. The defender looked small, maybe only a boy. He was rubbing his eyes as he leant over the wooden internal wall and called back in Latin that he was not asleep, clearly a lie. The voice below informed him that he was a sheep’s anus and that he was supposed to be checking the walls not sleeping like a babe sucking his thumb. The boy swore back at the voice below and turned back towards his room, the man below laughing as he disappeared back towards the central forum of the city. A moment later Crastinus pointed to two men. “Go” he whispered, and off they scampered along the wall towards the room, the boy having disappeared inside. As the young lad appeared in the doorway, still yawning, with his bow in his left hand, his silhouetted shape crumpled under the weight of two men who had dived onto him and dragged him back into the chamber. One of the men appeared, momentarily, with the bow and made a show of walking along the parapet towards the Romans.
“Good, now find the stairs” ordered Marcus.
The soldiers moved past the new bow-man, who thrashed an arm at them as some pinched at his legs as they moved past his position, evidently making light of the situation, and were joined by the other Roman from the doorway, who was already holding a new dagger and had a slight clink when he walked, which was quickly silenced as he crouched and adjusted his tunic. The stairs were wooden and went directly parallel to the walls and reverse to the direction in which they travelled. Down poured the men, knowing that once they reached the floor they would be out of sight of anyone looking up at the walls from which they had come. Marcus looked around upon reaching the bottom and noted that he had both Crastinus and Narcius on his left and right. He frowned at them. “I don’t need protecting” he whispered. Both men looked at him innocently, so he pushed on. “This way” he said, though he knew full well that every man understood exactly which way to go. It was amazing how silently forty-nine men could travel when they needed to. Marcus could hear the lowing of the cattle from the nearby square and even hear singing from a local tavern, but he didn’t hear the men around him as they moved quickly towards the gate. Stopping prior to the last corner to the main road the group hid in the shadows and Crastinus peeled away to peer around at the gate.
“Eight men” he said quietly. “Two on the rampart, six below.”
Marcus knew that the two on the rampart could be a problem if they had bows.
Narcius was thinking as quickly as he did and asked the man who had been in the room if there was a second door to the other walkway. He confirmed there was, and that he’d blocked it with a chair, and so six men were sent back to unblock it and attack the guards with the bows. Another man was sent to get a torch ready to signal for the army to attack the city. Marcus felt the wooden eagle at his neck and closed his eyes, saying a prayer to Fortuna and especially to Mater Matuta for their guidance. Men were breathing more heavily now as they anticipated the rush towards the gate. They were waiting for the men up on the walkway to start the attack, each man knowing that as soon as the two bow-men were removed they would storm the lower gate and the torch bearer would wave his light to signal for Valerius to send the attack.
After a few moments silence a sudden crack was heard and a muffled yell. It seemed as if one of the bowman had gotten an arrow away before the Romans had been able to silence them. Cursing, Marcus charged into the road, his eyes falling on the first defender to turn his head from looking up at the walkway, where sudden footsteps and fighting were starting, to fall on his own force of attackers who appeared like ghosts from the street in front of him. The man’s jaw fell as he fumbled to bring his sword around in defence. Marcus rammed his own blade deep into the man’s guts, the warmth of his blood flooding his palm as he gripped the sword more tightly and pushed it right through the man’s body. The defender was too surprised to scream and died with a sad cough, his body sliding to the floor as Marcus twisted and ripped the blade from him. Blood spurted from his body, slicking the floor and causing two men to slip as they roared defiance and ran towards the Romans. Crastinus and another legionary were in amongst the six defenders, slicing and cutting, their blades glinting off the firelight of two braziers which were affixed to the walls on either side of the archway to the gate.
Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang...
The alarm caused Marcus to jump in fright as he noticed a small boy, whom nobody had observed, had pulled a long rope which sat under a thick iron bell. ‘Clang’ went the sound again as the streets behind the attackers suddenly burst into life. The bell clanged once more before the screaming boy was removed with a swift stab to the neck, the archway falling silent except for the panting of the Romans.
“Secure the road” Marcus said, Narcius reacting instantly to his call as Crastinus and two men yanked at the thick oak bar which was sat across two enormous doors. It was a crude construction, but the city was old and had probably never been breached before. Marcus caught sight of the metal hinges as the door began to move. For an instant he caught sight of the craftsmanship on the iron hinges as they began to squeal, the doors dragged open by the men around him. Whoever had cast them had lovingly created pictures of bulls on every hinge, each bull rampant with long horns and a curling tail. Before he could look much more the hinges were hidden as the wooden gates opened wider. Turning he saw that tens of Volscans were already rushing towards them, screaming defiance, although few seemed armed with either long swords or decent shields.
“Here” Narcius thrust a shield at Marcus, which he had grabbed from the doorway, taking one himself and rushing to the roadway to intersect the defending men. Other legionaries had done the same, six shields for over forty men. Marcus wondered if it had been an error to leave their own shields behind, they would have encumbered the climbers, but the second or third wave could have brought them in once they had secured the walkway, another thing to add to his notes following the attack.
Whoosh. An arrow flew at the oncoming Volscans from the walkway above, then another. Marcus looked up and saw three men, all notching arro
ws inexpertly and firing them into the enemy below as the legionaries who had despatched the archers were now attempting to support them from above. “Shields to the front, cover the sides” he called as he rushed forwards. A thud to his right saw an arrow thump into the wall and fall to the floor, evidently the defenders had archers too. Three legionaries bent into the first attack, the shields not as large or secure as their Roman equivalents, but doing the job adequately. Marcus pushed a blade into the gap between two shields, catching a man in the shoulder, his piercing scream dying as he was dragged back by a ferocious bull of a man who pummelled the two shields in front of him with an enormous axe. For a moment Marcus saw the Gaul Brennus standing there, his hammer crashing down at the Romans, but he shook away the vision and ran forwards, Crastinus also jumping at the man and stabbing his thigh with a glancing blow, which seemed only to anger the man if his guttural yell was any measure of his emotions. The crashing Axe splintered one of the shields, crushing the left arm of the soldier who was holding it, and the man turned his eyes on Marcus, the hatred of generations fixed within their depths. He elicited an expletive as he raised the axe once more, his chest rising as his arms drew back the blade for the hammer blow. An arrow thumped into his chest, his war cry cut short by the sudden pain that shot through him. Marcus used his left hand to pull the stricken Roman shield-bearer backwards and lunged with his blade, aiming at the same point where the arrow had driven into the enormous man’s chest. The blade bit home with a judder, the leather of his armour holding back the weight of Marcus’ attack. The dark beard of the attacker split as he saw his chance open up before him, Marcus’ blade had not penetrated the armour fully. The man’s shoulder’s tensed as he drew the axe around and it started to fall, Marcus furiously dragging at his blade before he let it go and fell to his knees to avoid the axe blow which was now coming directly at his skull. Another thud took his vision from him as a body crashed into the axe-man, who disappeared to the right, his body crumpled under the weight of whoever had crashed into the attacker. Six Romans jumped into the fray and stabbed, hacked, sliced and cut. Narcius was screaming at the top of his lungs as Marcus regained his feet, he’d been knocked to the ground in the action.
Someone pulled him backwards, his own hands pushing them away as he searched for his sword, which had fallen to the floor. Finding it he whipped his head around and saw that Narcius was standing over the body of Crastinus, who was lying prone across the body of the axe-wielder. More legionaries pushed past Marcus, causing mayhem as they charged into the oncoming defenders and spread out to cover their two centurions.
Marcus gripped his sword and looked up to the parapet. “Where are the army” he called as an arrow narrowly missed one of his men who was doing his best to fire off his own missiles into the enemy. The man looked down at him with an expression of both calm and confidence, something which put Marcus off completely before he noticed that several more men were now attacking the enemy from their right, the stairs from which they had come themselves. Valerius had sent more men up the ladders. Horns were suddenly clearly discernible above the noise of fighting which surrounded him. Feet were running through the doorway behind him and orders shouted to clear the way for reinforcements. Stepping forward to stand next to Narcius, who was covered in blood and still thrusting at enemy attackers, Marcus screamed for him to step aside. Narcius glanced at his superior officer as he appeared from the melee of men behind him, his teeth clenched and his eyes feral.
Both men moved together as they strode forwards, Marcus glancing to his right as Narcius pushed his sword into the neck of a defender who had been hit in the face by an arrow and dropped his weapon only a second earlier. Vulpus and the first cohort came screaming past like avenging demons as they burst into the alleyway and forced the defenders backwards. The remaining men of Marcus’ small group of attackers fell to their knees in exhaustion, some screaming at some unknown pain, others simply staring with blood soaked faces at the death that was all around them. More men swarmed into the gate, pushing past with no hesitation. Marcus saw Brevo and his cohort pounding away along a narrow road, smashing doorways as they went. Narcius dragged the stricken form of Crastinus to the side of the road and dropped him unceremoniously. The centurion moaned and rolled over, his face spattered with blood and a long scar now evident along his right arm, from which blood dripped but didn’t spurt. Unless he had other injuries, Marcus knew this was not life threatening. The man had saved his life, he owed him a debt, a crown at least as he had been first over the wall, even if there were no defenders. He half-smiled at that.
The army was still streaming through the gate, the noise of fighting in the streets rising to a terrible crescendo. Looking around at the carnage Marcus stood and shouted with all the strength he could muster. “Mater Matuta, we have saved you from these barbarians. Mars, war-bringer” he looked around as men turned to face him “give strength to our right arms as we bring vengeance in your name. Jupiter, greatest of the gods, be our guide.” He thrust his sword at the city, “sack the city” he yelled. The men around him went delirious with anger and charged off into every street screaming defiance and hatred.
**********
Chapter 23
“Jupiter is with us” called Capitolinus to the men around him, their eyes looking up towards the Capitol Hill. He watched them for a moment, assessing the fear in their eyes tinged with hope. Yet he saw doubt in every face and, inwardly, felt anger at their lack of faith in him and his chosen god. “Here” he said as he raised his clenched right fist “in this hand and this body is the strength of the mighty Jupiter, leader of the gods.” He waited for a visible reaction from the group before he continued. Men shuffled their feet and moved closer, some lifting their own arm and reaching out to touch him as if by doing so they, too, would gain some of Jupiter’s strength. “Go now and do his bidding. Teach the people that they can fight back by following Jupiter. By following me” he added quietly. “Together, with me as your champion, we will make life better for every man in Rome. Every one of you will be freed from debt, be given the chance to farm your land, to bring up your children, to have your voice heard in the governing of the city.” He continued to look at the men, gauging their body language, the look on their faces and the hunger in their eyes. He’d picked these men especially. He knew they were angry men with loud voices. He knew they would spread his words and force people to take notice. If they bashed a few heads, so what? He knew the power of the voice of the people, Javenoli had used it for himself, and he knew that he could now use it to make his move against the patricians. He’d have to be careful though. He couldn’t fight everybody at once, not without an army behind him. With the majority of the young men, and Camillus, away from the city though, it afforded an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Recruiting men to his cause had been easy. All those that had been left behind were either too old, too ill or too stupid to be in the legions. This was his breeding ground, where he would recruit those who would cause issues for the senate simply because they had very little to lose. He grinned. The men stood and began to file from the room, catching his hand and shaking it wildly. He noticed several men gulping down the last of the wine or shoving bread and fruit into their pockets as they left, but he knew this was probably the only meal they’d get this day, and if it kept them out on the streets speaking his name to the population, well it could only be good.
As the last man left, the door closed, and he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, yet before he could even take a sip of wine the rear door resounded with a heavy knocking. “Come” he said as he shook his head slowly and wiped his tired eyes with the heel of his hand. Three men entered and approached him, the leader of the group nodding and saluting in the military fashion. “Yes?” he asked with narrowed eyes. He’d sent these men to watch the Thracian, but they’d reported nothing of any interest in the past few days. “It’s the lad” said the pack leader, his beard cut in clumps as if he'd attempted to trim his facial hair using a blunt ki
tchen knife. He indicated with an incline of his head as he spoke, and Capitolinus looked behind him to see Javenoli’s servant, Garvi, standing with his eyes to the floor and a look of sheer terror on his face. The lad had thick callouses on his shoeless feet, three previously broken toes sitting uncomfortably out of line with their fellow metatarsals on his left foot. Capitolinus winced slightly as he looked at the gaunt face of the boy and said brusquely, “What does he want?” before turning to head towards his study.
“He’s got some interesting news, but he said he could only speak to you about it”
The King of Rome Page 33
