The King of Rome

by Francis Mulhern

  Capitolinus laughed as Iulius and two other men turned to walk away, their faces returning to the speaker as he called back to them. “Jupiter, here” he turned to point at the Capitol Hill, “has spoken the truth Iulius. When those who have taken the gold show that they do not wish to return it, I will speak their names. Jupiter has spoken to me” he said, as people in the audience gasped “and he will have no other way than this.”

  “These are just words, Capitolinus” shouted Quirinus, his voice reedy and shrill. “You have no proof so you hide behind your god. There is no lightning bolt coming to strike us down.” At this most of the crowd let out another gasp of air, some ducking and flinching as if expecting a sudden flash of heavenly anger. As the crowd reacted, even Quirinus flinched, to Capitolinus’ amusement.

  “I saved you” continued Capitolinus, his voice now booming with energy. “With this right hand and with the strength and love of Jupiter I gave every man here another day of life, and then another. Without the love of Jupiter, we would not be here discussing this issue, think on that my friend. When the men of the senate are prepared to own up to their wrongdoings, I will ask Jupiter for forgiveness.”

  “Arrest him” called Quirinus as Iulius frowned and looked away from the shrieking man. “He has accused us, slandered our names and our families” he cried.

  Iulius put a hand across his shoulder and whispered in his ear, turning the already purple face into a brighter shade of puce. The ladies began to chant the name of Jupiter even more loudly as the senators turned and began to walk away. A man, his arm bent and scarred, leapt forwards; “Where’s my gold you bastards?” he screamed. A club met his temple squarely and he fell to the floor in a heap as the crowd surged after the senators, men now swinging fists at the bodyguards as the crowd reacted angrily to the felling of the misshapen man. Iulius thrust his arm at a plebeian woman who attempted to grab at his neck, a bodyguard thrust her aside, to a shriek of a pain which caused another burst of anger from the crowd. More shoving and pushing ensued as the senators were harangued all the way along the street by the mob.

  Capitolinus grinned, turning to Menenius and nodding. “What a momentous day it has been” he said as he looked up at the statue of Jupiter atop the hill.

  ************

  Chapter 29

  “We cannot attack them immediately, sir” came the quick reply to the suggestion from Cossus. “The army is too spread out. If we attack now we give them the advantage as we cannot attack in a unified force.”

  Cossus looked past Narcius at the officers who stood around the tree where they stood overlooking the Volscan camp. The army encamped within had dug trenches and placed spiked barriers around the camp in neat order, with two entrances, both with bridges spanning the trench, at each end. Their army were still moving into the enclosure, wagons blocking the gateways, animals and women waiting in long lines to get past the slow-moving objects. Soldiers were still cutting trees and others were drawing large water buckets from the nearby river. “Those gates will be closed in half an hour, centurion. If we do not get inside that camp now we will miss our opportunity. They are hiding today so they can attack tomorrow.”

  Silence ensued before Crastinus coughed lightly and eyebrows rose towards him. “A force of volunteers could be asked to attack the bridges and wagons, sir?” he said. “It’d buy time for the remainder of the army to arrive and set up in columns. We can attack as the men arrive, keep the last cohorts for reserves. They won’t expect it and it could get to the gates before they close them.” he added helpfully as Narcius scowled at his words. Any attempt against the main Volscan camp by a small force would, he thought, be repelled easily.

  “Go on” said Cossus, ignoring the incredulous look from Narcius and the other officers.

  Crastinus bit his lip before replying. “I’ve seen it done before, sir. They’d have to use the skirmishers to attack the enemy rear to keep them busy, then move in under their heavy shields at a fast run as if heading for the wagons at the back of the queue, then split and run hard for the gates” he added. “A crown for the first man into the camp, promotion for the victors who hold the gates”, pushing his luck for extra rewards which would buy men promotion as well as renown for years to come. “We would have to send cavalry to support them, but only after they reach the enemy, drawing them out of the gates in defence. Once they block the gates we send the first cohorts, as they arrive, at a run with light weapons and march the remainder in with the heavy troops as soon as we can. They’ll block their own gates with their own soldiers and we use that distraction to mass the men at the gates. They won’t lock their own men out, sir”

  “They’ve seen us, sir, better get moving” interrupted one of the other officers.

  As they turned and started to move away Cossus called back to Narcius, “Could a suicide squad hold their gates long enough for us to launch a successful attack?”

  Narcius took a final look over his shoulder, his head saying no and his heart saying yes. The eagles were the best fighting force he’d ever seen. Their training, their discipline and their mentality all made them different to every other soldier. But, how could he order any of his men to an almost certain death. He glanced to Crastinus, who mouthed something to him, something which made him take a calculated gamble. With sweat beading on his temples he turned a hard face towards the dictator. “Yes, sir, I believe they could.”

  “Then that is our first plan, gentlemen. Initiate it at once, please, Centurion.”

  Crastinus fixed his eyes on Narcius, who stared back with a mix of fear and hope in his eyes. Narcius swallowed hard, had he done the right thing?

  Within ten minutes two squads had been assembled, men eager to gain the glory of success. The senior officers watched the suicide squad leave, each of them a volunteer, all except one man. Crastinus had almost beaten that man into submitting to lead one of the gate parties. It had been painful to hear the words, but it had been necessary. He looked at the marching men as they moved into the distance.

  “Problem?” asked the severe voice of Cossus, his eyes boring into Narcius’.

  “No sir” came the quick reply. “I’m just contemplating how the enemy will react and considering options. They won’t be expecting a sudden attack, and they will see that we are not ready to approach their walls just yet, so what will they do? Will they react as Crastinus expects?” Looking over his shoulder at the legion as it was arriving and deploying, he guessed that it would take at least a half hour longer for the last of the men to be ready for an attack. It seemed an impossible task, and one that may be doomed to failure. As he thought, he turned back towards the file of men who had just left and saw Brevo turn and stare back at him, his eyes full of hate.

  “Do you have another plan?” asked Cossus, pulling Narcius’ mind back to the dictator. Several of the other officers turned to look at him.

  “Not yet, sir. I think the plan remains” he said with a confidence in his voice that he didn’t expect to hear.

  Cossus moved closer, his face turned towards the Volscans. “The armies are equal, but we can beat them in the field. They know that, we know that.”

  “So, they will stay behind their walls” said Narcius as Crastinus listened intently “and send out a few men to repel the invaders. I think your plan is getting stronger the more I think it through” he said to the resultant smile on Crastinus’ face.

  The officers stood momentarily watching the walls of the enemy fortress, each man searching for weaknesses in the line of soldiers manning the towers, or in the ditches that surrounded the foot of the wooden palisade.

  ***

  Brevo grimaced, how had he agreed to this stupid plan? Suicide squad was right, he’d be dead in ten minutes. He’d been promised his commission back if he survived. If. He scowled at the man next to him as the group of soldiers ran at double time into the fields surrounding the Volscan camp. Almost immediately the blare of trumpets came from the walls of the fortress, the noise of women screamin
g and cattle bellowing suddenly breaking into his senses as panic at the sudden realisation of an attack came from the walls. “Run” screamed a voice. “Keep it tight” yelled Brevo, his centurions voice booming out orders without conscious thought, his battle-hardened instincts taking control. Ahead he saw the right-hand gate crowded with people, faces turning as individuals inevitably started to create chaos, with every man attempting to get into the gate as quickly as possible. Arrows started to fall, men to his left and right lifting their shields with a heavy grunt. Clack, clack went the arrows as they thumped into the boards. The speed of the run slowed, men squeezing into safety under the dark shields. “Faster” screamed Brevo, his blood now well and truly up. He shifted his shield to get a glance at the scene ahead. “Ready to split” he called, as voices around him started to mumble ‘Fortuna go with you’ to their friends. Brevo grimaced, realising nobody was wishing him good fortune. He looked up at the gates again and then, taking a massive lung-full of air, he bellowed “split”. The movement was immediate, men darting to his left and his own group now darting to the right. Arrows rained down into the ground as others continued to land fruitlessly on their wooden shields. Men grunted as they ran, the weight of the shields starting to tell. Brevo listened as he ran, waiting for the noise of the army moving to defend the gates to start to sound over the screams of the people in front of him. He shifted his shield to look again. He heard the skirmishers running from behind, their lighter armour making them faster. He thanked Fortuna for their support and wished them luck before he turned his face towards the gateway once again. The skirmishers had done their job well already, the frequency of arrow fall changing discernibly. “Now” he screamed, as he rolled his shoulder and moved his shield to the front. Perfect timing, the gods really were with him. The first defenders were pushing out through the crowd towards the charging Roman force, but the crowd were resisting as they attempted to get into the gate. “Don’t wait, men. First to get to the gate gets that crown” he yelled, his expectation that it would be himself filling his mind. Men shouted as they started to smash their shields into the people on the bridge. Brevo felled a woman who had turned and screamed defiance at the attacking Romans. Her soft flesh didn’t protest as he battered her out of the way and drove into the press of men on the bridge. Cattle bellowed as they were let loose, their hooves pounding the ground in a frenzied drum-beat as they trampled everything that stood in their way. The smell of the beasts reached his nostrils as an enormous brown blur raced past him, sweeping the soldier to his right away in a twisted mess of flesh. A knock to his shoulder made him realise that the guards were now upon them. “Shields” he cried, hoping that others were with him as he pressed his board to the floor and ducked to avoid a swinging spear tip. With a quick flash of his sword he cleared a gap in front, enough to be able to look behind at the carnage his men had already caused. A trumpet blared from somewhere further back, his training telling him that it was the legion now preparing the second phase of the attack. That crown is mine, he thought, as he pushed his sword into the guts of a screaming farmer who threw a poorly aimed spear at the advancing Romans. A shield slammed into his, a relieved young face grimacing as he dragged deep mouthfuls of air into his lungs. As he arrived, Brevo turned his anger to the Volscans, lunging a bloody sword at a face that screamed death at him. More Romans appeared, their breath gasping from their exertions. This was more like it, he thought. Time to get moving though, the longer they stood in a line the more chance the Volscans had of mounting a good defence and closing the gate. “Attack” he screamed, shoving his shield into the face of another guard and following it up with a slashing cut into the man’s groin. The shields moved open, then closed as they pressed forward. Sweat and blood mingled into a heady aroma as Brevo shoved, stabbed and cut. His breath came in great gasps, and his ears became deaf to the voices and screaming around him, his eyes fixed on one prize, that gate and his crown. His redemption.

  A child cried as the legionary next to him smashed his pommel into the youngster’s face, it’s mother lying in a bloody heap next to the, now unconscious, child as the Romans stepped over her body. A thud announced arrows being shot into the advancing squad. Brevo snarled as he raised his shield and angled it to avoid sight of the wall to his left, if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him, his mind said. The wooden boards of the bridge echoed with feet stamping across it, the sound like a crazed dance. Shouts echoed off the walls of the camp which now loomed over them, metal ringing against metal. More shouts, more grunts came to his ears as he attempted to understand his surroundings. The attack had come to an almost dead halt now, the press of people stalling the advance, just as he had expected.

  “Shields” he screamed, his voice cutting through the air like an axe. “Get in close. Advance on my mark” he yelled once more, ducking as a hammer smashed into his shield, the farmer in front using any available weapon to repulse the invaders. Brevo rolled his left shoulder and thrust his sword straight through the farmers windpipe as the man attempted to grip the top of his shield. His body fell off the bridge and landed with a heavy thud as it was split by a wooden stake in the ditch below. A sword smashed into the bridge at his feet, an unlucky attack but one which angered Brevo even more. With a scream, he yelled “advance” and thrust his shield forwards, though in truth it moved the press of bodies back no more than the depth of his hand. He stabbed his sword through a gap, feeling it punch into soft flesh, the warm blood of whoever he’d struck spraying onto his blade. Knives clattered into his leather forearm protectors, one scourging a deep cut. The gap in the shield wall was closed quickly, more thuds announcing the defensive strikes of the soldiers who must by now have replaced the horde of civilian followers who had been massed at the gates when they first attacked.

  “Advance” he called again, not letting his men, or the enemy, rest. This time he slashed wildly at the bodies in front of him, allowing his trained eye to get a good look at the scene beyond the first line of defenders they faced. He angled his shield to block an attack from his left, dropping his body slightly to allow him to roll his right shoulder and push his blade into an exposed thigh which presented itself to his eyeline. The thrust and twist created a momentary space to look up. They were closer than he expected, but the approach to the gateway was full of bodies, half of them defenders, and, he saw to his horror that several were Romans. Some of his men had slipped past on the right and advanced on the gate in their own attempt to get there first. Bellowing with frustration and anger, Brevo half-jumped forwards, his shield smashing into the falling body of the leg-owner he’d just stabbed. Swinging his blade at a face, and then into an arm he thrust with all his might into the crowd, a stab to his shoulder was ignored as his adrenaline fuelled eyes fixed on the back of a Roman who was pushing closer to the gateway. Yells and screams rose all around him as other soldiers saw his manic movement, their voices rising to a ferocious crescendo of noise as they thought Brevo was leading the final thrust for the gate.

  His legs were pushing, his breath almost screaming as he attempted to keep his blade high enough to stab at anything that was in front of him, his muscles screaming in pain. The gate. It was the key to his family’s problems. If he died they’d receive the crown and be given state funding for years to come. If he lived, he’d gain his centurions rank again, then he’d be given enough gold to pay off his debts, that was the deal with Crastinus and Narcius. He screamed again, pushing his shield into the face of a Volscan, the man ducking and expertly thrusting his sword at Brevo’s face in a rising action which he only just deflected with his shield by dropping his whole body to his right. Instantaneously Brevo pushed his body into the attacker, his own sword lashing out and biting the man in the jaw. Teeth crunched as Brevo thrust the sword into his face again, screaming with anger, his own voice now becoming louder than any sound around him. Arrows flew over his head, making him flinch, the legion was coming. He had to get to that gate first. He almost cried with happiness as the legionary
ahead of him was taken down by a spear through the mouth, the iron tip punching through the back of his head and pushing his helmet over his eyes. “Advance” he tried to shout, his voice trailing as he gulped air. “Advance” he screamed more loudly, another Roman was already taking the place of the felled man whose chance at the crown had disappeared with his life.

  More arrows, more noise, split the air. Screams turned to orders, the gates were starting to close, the defenders attempting to get in before they were left to the blades of the Romans. Brevo saw his chances dying with the men around him as the gates started to creak shut, bodies were pushed out or dragged into the gap without loyalty. He was a step away, the defenders were turning to run into the safety of the camp, he had to stop the gate closing. “Advance” he cried, a defender turning to him, fear etched into every line of his face as indecision took hold of him. Brevo felled him with a chop to his neck, the red blood spurting into his eyes. He blinked and shook his head, the tang of his own sweat assailed his nostrils, as he breathed deeply and pushed the body into the gap. Another man fell to his right. “Get the gate” he screamed as he leapt over the bodies into the gap. A sword glanced into his arm, a spear caught his helmet and knocked his head to the side causing a blinding spark behind his eyes. He shrieked in pain and anger and threw himself at the gate, the sudden lunge causing two spear thrusts to miss and allowing him to smash one man in the face with his sword and another to receive the return backhanded swing in the chin, which knocked him senseless. Both men fell into the gap, and Brevo leant his full weight on the edge of the door and screamed defiance. He’d done it, he’d made the gate. Elation gripped his senses, he let out a roar and smashed his shield into the floor, dropping his body and pushing his sword arm out into the legs that were now surrounding him, slashing wildly at anything that moved. Bodies fell, men dragged themselves backwards clutching at bleeding wounds which left them shivering. He swung his sword manically around, catching anybody who dared to move towards him as he held the gate. Blood lust caused all pain to disappear, his feral eyes catching any movement and instantly causing his blade to lash out towards it. Men moved away, fear sketched onto their faces. The left gate remained open, with his body leant against it and three other Romans now surrounded their leader as they arrived and smashed swords, spears and shields into anyone who attempted to get to the gate. The right gate was closing slowly, more defenders rushing to press it forwards. Brevo felt the pain in his neck increase as he lifted his head, his shoulder aching from another strike. “That gate, get it” he bellowed without knowing if any of his force were still alive, his anger turning aside his pain. He lifted his head and thrust his sword upwards, his left knee now on the floor as he tried to stand. The warm blood of someone who had gotten in the way of his thrust dripped down his arm. He twisted the blade as he called again for the advance. A bang to the face sent shards of pain through his head as he felt teeth fall into his mouth, the taste of blood causing him to spit quickly. “Bastards” he yelled, feeling the teeth shoot from his lips. He was now up on his feet and thrusting his shield forwards. Arrows and sling shot passed over his head, the legions were close. “This is my gate, you bastards” he screamed, the Volscans attacking more ferociously as they saw their defence failing. “I’ll give every man who holds this gate two gold coins and enough wine to drink for a month” screamed Brevo, his generosity not missed by the men who had lost their chance of a crown as they screamed hatred at the Volscans and stepped into the gap between the gates, slamming shields into the floor and attempting to hold the line. Another sharp pain and a sudden feeling of weakness made Brevo look down at his side, a spear had penetrated through the leather and was stuck fast, the defender holding the other end was trying desperately to drag the weapon clear. With his remaining teeth ground together, Brevo turned his sword to the man and hacked his arm clean off at the elbow. He stepped forwards and slammed his shield onto his kneecap, the leg instantly buckling as the man fell screaming in agony to the floor. A stroke to his neck half-severed the head from the shoulders and he turned to the defenders, blood running down his chin, a spear stuck in his side and blood lust in his eyes, “this is my gate” he screamed again. Just as he crouched to receive what he expected to be an attack he saw fear spread across the faces of every Volscan who confronted him. Momentarily he was lost for words, until a push from behind knocked him to the ground and several sets of feet ran over him. Before he could speak any more, arms were dragging him sidewards, quickly, so that he didn’t get trampled to death.