Dawn of The Eagle

by Francis Mulhern

  Postumius watched the swarm of people milling around the forum with distaste. Only a few years earlier the Lex Canuleia had been passed, a bad day indeed, he thought as he stepped from the temple. He had been careful to choose only those families who had remained “pure” and married only others from the senatorial classes as part of his inner circle. It was important to him that when the prophecy came true and he was raised to greatness he only had the best old families of Rome as his closest advisers. He would remove the plebeian tribunes and repeal the law of Lex Canuleia as one of his firsts acts when he was the Master of Rome. In fact, he considered, pinching his nose at the smell of a beggar who wandered past him, he would have any child of inter-bred marriages thrown from the Tarpeian Rock. He smiled at his cleverness.

  The first stage of the plan had been put into place and he had been careful, and clever, he thought to delegate this job to Benitio Cornelius. Cornelius was a member of one of the oldest families on Rome and had no stains from inter-marriage, even if he was from a minor faction of the great family. His family had been staunch anti-plebeians for years and he had been more than happy to launch the first strikes for their new cause. The young man was plainly mad, thought Postumius, sipping more watered wine from his beaker, but his madness would help the cause. The mob were moving off to the Curia Hostillia, where no doubt they would spend hours wasting time in pointless debates. He laughed at himself as he thought this, and then, handing the beaker to a slave, beckoned for Fasculus to approach.

  As he waited he looked at the drab building he stood next to, it’s tall central columns had seen better days, he thought, running his hand over the smooth marble facade. Only some fifty years previously this building had been finished by his great grandfather in honour of a victory over the old King Tarquinus Superbus and his Latin armies. He considered how times had changed as he looked up at the intricate design and wondered what his great great-grandfather, the dictator Aulus Postumius Albus, would make of his plotting to bring back one leader of Rome. He smiled as Fasculus approached, saying, “Send someone to listen to what they say” as he wiped his lips with a linen towel. “And, Fasculus” he said as the man turned to leave, “when you are finished come and see me at the baths. I have job for you”. Fasculus nodded and left with his two henchmen, pushing their way through the raucous crowd.

  ---

  Several hours later Fasculus had reported to Postumius and had been sent to collect a package from a man arriving at the docks just after dark. He sat in the semi-darkness of the Forum Boarium, the cattle market, and wrinkled his nose at the smell of dung and urine from the animals, many of whom were tethered to iron rings around him. The animal owners slept on straw beds near their animals so that they could watch over them at night as well as use as many hours of daylight as possible to sell them. The forum was awash with goats, geese, dogs, cattle, horses and all manner of smaller animals for sale. The loud background noise was starting to annoy Fasculus as he sat and stared into the middle distance, bored by the waiting. Many of the merchants had approached Fasculus over the past hour or so, thinking he was looking to buy their wares, including a few prostitutes, dressed in their Toga’s, a sign of their profession. But he had growled at them all and was soon left alone.

  The forum was close to the river and the boat he was waiting for was late. He sighed as he pulled a small strip of salted pork from his pack and chewed into the tough meat. At least he was eating well, he thought. He’d sent Gatto and Felix to the Pons Sublicius, the bridge over the river, so that they could keep a watch for the arrival of the boat, but it had been hours now and no report had come back. Maybe it was time to give up, he contemplated as another cow unloaded its dung with a loud farting noise, which brought a smile to his face. He missed the army. The noise reminded him of his days in his eight-man tent on campaigns with Javenoli who was the first general of his legion. He remembered his comrades, those killed in action and how he had been lucky to meet Gatto and then Felix. As he sat reminiscing he had a sudden feeling he was being watched. He didn’t know why or where from, but something in his inner senses was suddenly alert.

  He yawned and stretched, looking around him as he did so, standing and turning to pick up the travelling cloak he had been sitting on. As he wiped it and waved it in the air, spooking a cow and some geese near him, much to the annoyance of their owners, he spotted a dark shadow away to his right by the grain exchange. Yes, it was clearly a man dressed in a deep coloured cloak who was watching him intently. He wished Gatto was here so he could circle him and catch him, but decided he had better do this alone.

  He stepped slowly across the forum, attempting to avoid the larger piles of dung and piss as he did, and, whilst grumbling loudly so that his watcher would think he hadn’t seen him, he turned left at the temple of Portunus. There were several ale houses on the narrow street and a few drunks were laughing as they headed home or back to their ships docked in the ports. Fasculus knew the street well so instantly dived into the narrow space on the left and breathed in as he squeezed back against the damp wall, silently cursing as a large drop of water fell onto the back of his neck. In a few seconds, he heard the slap of feet reach the corner and stop, no doubt his pursuer was peering around the corner to keep a discreet distance. The feet moved forwards in a slow trot and went across the gap where he was hiding without peering in. “Gotcha” he thought as he silently squeezed back out of the alleyway and looked left. The man was stood at the corner thirty yards in front of him, his head whipping right and left as he searched for Fasculus. Before he could take a step towards the man Fasculus felt a strong arm close around his waist and the unmistakable cold edge of a dagger touch his throat. As the man quickly and efficiently removed Fasculus’s dagger from his tunic he whispered “The boss wants a word with you”.

  Chapter 20

  Outside the fort the ranks of the Aequians had come to a halt. The fact that the Romans had gone into the fort and not attacked their weak defences was causing some consternation to their leaders who were sat on their horses clearly arguing tactics, but it seemed that none of the Aequians was able to make a decision. Scipio had called for Decimus and Cossus to attend him in his quarters to review their defences while Decimus had, to great cheers from the beleaguered Romans, ordered the men to hand out the extra provisions they had brought with them. The hungry and thirsty men had prayed to the gods for their deliverance, even though they were technically not out of the mire yet.

  Scipio had been amazed that a boy of fifteen years had been the mastermind behind the defensive line and had already invited Marcus to his house on the Capitoline when they returned to Rome. As Marcus had entered the fort the Romans had cheered him, calling “Camillus” and “Furii” and hundreds of men had come across to touch the Eagle standard, which was now placed next to Scipio’s standard in the centre of the fort. Manlius had taken ownership of the standard from the chubby standard bearer and proudly stood guard of the candle burning to Mater Matuta that Marcus had lit as many of the men watched, mumbling prayers to their own favourite deities.

  Marcus entered the small room where the senior officers were looking at a model of the fort, intricately carved in thin pine. The walls and towers were detachable and served as an easy way to train new officers in the mechanisms of camp erection as well as an easy way to show camp defenses. In this case Scipio had dismantled the west tower and part of the wall adjoining it, which depicted the state of the real wall outside.

  “Welcome Camillus” said Scipio, his bright eyes smiling at Marcus and his tone warm. Around the table were several senior centurions and members of Scipio’s Equites. “Join us” he said pointing to a spare chair on his left as a large Centurion with a deep brown beard and two thick scars on his forearm shuffled to his right to let Marcus join the group. Marcus knew that Scipio was from one of Rome’s leading families the Cornelii, a family even older than his own. But where Marcus’s family had fallen into obscurity until recently the Cornelii clan and its associated fami
lies had been at the heart of Rome and the Roman Republic for generations. He sat, feeling self conscious as the battle worn men around him turned to look at him and then returned to gaze at the scene Scipio was portraying using the model. Marcus had never seen such intricate tools used by a General. Scipio had carved horses for the Equites, figures of a man with a pike, smaller men with javelins and blocks of spears for phalanxes of soldiers. Marcus looked at Scipio as he talked through the locations of the enemy, his wide face and square jaw off set by his grey, thinning hair. Scipio was probably in his early forties and had gained a reputation as a great soldier against the Samnites and Volsci over many years. The use of the carved figures made it easy to visualise Scipio’s thoughts and his commanders were vigorously discussing options, moving the figurines from place to place as they discussed tactical approaches.

  Scipio seemed to have an endless supply of wooden carved soldiers in a box under the table, and Marcus’s boyish mind was just thinking how wonderful it would be to have such a set himself when Decimus’s voice woke him from his daydream.

  “The Generals will be here”, he placed a block on the right, “and here”, another to the left “and here” he said, placing a last block on the table. “Only when the main body is attacking the walls and the flanks and cavalry are in position will they attack” he said looking to Cossus, who nodded and added “but only when the signal is sounded”.

  “So we must get them to attack” said Scipio, looking up. “Varro, what are they doing now?”

  “Just standing in formation, exactly as laid out here, and waiting” he shrugged. “If I didn’t know better I would say they had no leader. Nobody seems to want to take control” he shrugged again.

  Scipio looked around the men and waved a hand across the table, the flame of the candle to Mars flickered as he did so. “Then we know our positions and we must wait until they attack. Varro and Legitimus will be in charge of the force which counters the attack with a quarter of your strength supporting the walls” he looked to Cossus and Decimus. “The rest of the men will prepare to march out of the fort when Lucius and his men attack the rear”. All heads nodded as Scipio dismissed them and within a few minutes the room was empty, all except Marcus, who had stayed behind to marvel over the carved figures.

  As he fingered one of the horse figurines Marcus looked over the scene in front of him. The conversation had been quick, with the tactical details kept to a minimum to speed up the process. He’d understood every point that had been made, especially as the wooden carving had made it easy to follow, but one thing was still nagging at him, what if Comus decided to turn his army around and attack Lucius as he emerged from the trees. This event had not been discussed in any of the meetings and he looked at the table set out in front of him as his mind raced through a myriad of options. As he sat looking at the little wooden fort the door opened and Scipio shuffled in, his leg still covered in a thick bandage. At first he didn’t notice Marcus sat at the table, but as he rose and saluted Scipio smiled and came across.

  “You look pensive young man” he said, his warm tones instantly making Marcus feel calm. He looked at the layout of troops and then back at Marcus, “I think I know what you’re thinking” he said, his eyes narrowing as he sat, in some discomfort, to Marcus’s right. “You are considering what will happen if Comus turns and attacks your brother?” he asked with a questioning smile. “Let’s play it out on the table” he said as Marcus looked with wonder as Scipio reached into the box and added more troops to the sparse lines he had used for Lucius’s troops. “There” he said “As I understand it he has about five thousand foot and about a thousand horse” he said, looking at Marcus.

  “It is interesting to me” he said, suddenly turning to face Marcus, “that not one of my men or even Decimus, a veteran of many campaigns had considered this conundrum” he said leaning back in his chair, “so how does a boy of fifteen see this as clearly as an old war horse like myself?”

  The silence stretched as Marcus considered the question before answering. “All I know, sir” he said, not looking Scipio in the eye “is that I see the battle in my head and I play it to its natural conclusion, changing the players as events occur. But it happens fast. If I don’t know the information and something changes I see the effects of the change and readjust”. Marcus had blurted this out before he had realised what he was saying and looking at Scipio asked “Is that how you see it? In battle I mean”.

  Scipio sat looking at Marcus for a moment before smiling and answering “No. I just set the formation and hope the men hold to their orders”. He laughed, then added “but you are right” he moved the central line of the Aequians on the table, turning them and moving them to face one of Lucius’s phalanxes. “If this happened, I would be looking to counter” he paused and hovered his hand above the table “like this” he said pensively, moving another Aequian troop to attack the fort and moving Magnus’s Equites to attack the troops moving to Lucius’s front. Marcus smiled and looked at the new layout on the table. With a swift move of a few of the figures Marcus placed the blocks into a covering movement and sent the cavalry in the fort to attack the remaining soldiers at the main Aequian camp.

  “Interesting” said Scipio “You are probably sacrificing those men and horses” he added looking thoughtfully at Marcus. “But let’s play it out. Explain your thinking so I can understand your moves” he added, warming to the game on the table.

  Chapter 21

  Decimus and Mella stood on the ramparts overlooking the flat ground in front of the fort. A few minutes after the gates had closed a number of Aequian cavalry patrols had been sent along each of the main roads away from the fort, just as they had expected. From the forts high vantage it was just possible to make out the dust cloud being kicked up by the baggage carts and auxiliary troops left at the rear of Lucius’s force and they were pleased that the Aequians had also seen this. The attacking army had lined up in battle formation across the front and back of the camp, an assault from two sides. The camp had been built with the slopes having differing pitches, a move Decimus was pleased to see as the outer counterscarp had a near vertical face and the inner scarp had a gentler slope, and the dimensions were deeper than a usual camp. This, he was pleased to explain to Mella, who had not seen such a ditch, was better for defending, with the vertical slope creating a man-trap from which the defenders could rain down artillery on the trapped men. It now made sense to Decimus’s military mind why the defenders had been able to withstand such a large army for so long.

  Behind them the intervallum, the gap between the walls and the tent lines of the soldiers and the Via Principalis, the main road, were full of soldiers lined up ready to respond in a heartbeat to the orders of their commanders. Normally the soldiers would not stand within this space, as it was within distance for a good sling shot, but necessity demanded that they be close to the walls to fill gaps or breaches when needed. Marcus, annoyed that he was not allowed to man the walls, stood deep in the ranks, the Eagle standard held by Manlius next to him.

  “Happy bunch” said Mella, turning to Decimus as he watched the men chatting, passing food to each other and laughing at crude jokes.

  “Good” he mumbled in reply, not really listening to Mella, but assessing the situation. “Any sign of the army” he asked as he moved back to lean on the wall and look across towards the thick forest.

  “Not a hoot”

  Scipio appeared from his tent and climbed the earth rampart, joining them as the men, on sighting him, cheered his name.

  “Any sign of the main army yet?” he asked, waving to the men as he passed them. Mella stood smartly to attention and saluted. “Nothing yet, sir” he responded. “Some of the scouts sent by the Aequians have returned and there is a great deal of activity in the main camp, but so far there is no sign of the main armies approach and we have not seen the signal to say they are in position. We haven’t seen Comus yet either, he seems to have stayed in his tent this morning” he continued, looking
into the distance where the main Aequian camp remained active.

  Decimus, who had also saluted and stood to attention smiled at Mella’s words. Mella was clearly in awe of Scipio, as were most of the men in the camp, he thought. He had a reputation as a hard man, but also a very good General and generous to his loyal soldiers. He was popular back in Rome with the plebeians because he, and his family, had been forceful in arguing for the plebeians to be allowed to join the ranks of Quaestors, an elected official who served to administer the public finances and building works in the city. It had been a landmark moment for many plebeians as the role had previously been exclusively a Patrician seat. With a plebeian supporting the people of Rome, many changes in law and politics had been introduced to change the lot of the poor property owners of Rome who had to provide men for the annual campaigns, however the struggle to achieve true equality was not yet won and the Cornelii had made some powerful Patrician enemies because of their liberal stance on plebeian politics. Here, though, in the extremes of war, what mattered to these men was that Scipio was a good leader and few of the men held grudges against him, unlike men like Publius Postumius whom many of the common soldiers disliked intensly. As Decimus’s mind mulled over these things a great cheer came from the centre of the Aequian camp. All the Romans on the wall turned at the noise, many asking questions and straining to see what was happening.

  As the commanders looked to each and shrugged, the fierce wail of the war horns cascaded into the skies and instantly the air was full of the clashing of swords on the shields of the soldiers amassed in the fields around the fort. The alignment of troops was towards the weaker western wall, but with such an overwhelming army the Aequians had laid out covering attacks across the field so that the beleaguered Romans would have no rest this day.