Mamillus watched Fasculus but said nothing. As the silence stretched Fasculus was about to speak when Mamillus asked “and when the eagle was sighted, did Postumius see the bird or Furius?”
“I can’t remember” spoke Fasculus, his mind now wheeling as light began to dawn in his slow mind, “the boy seemed to be the one who noticed it. He had seen it before as well. But he is a trained Camillus, he would look for these things” he explained weakly, his eyes wide.
After another moments silence he spoke again. “And when this prophecy was given” Mamillus’s voice came out in a low whisper, as if his mind was racing through a myriad of thoughts “did the Augur speak to anybody except this boy?”
“Nobody” said a new voice from the doorway, breaking the spell that had existed between the two men in the room. Fasculus stood, his half-smile showing respect, but also a modicum of fear.
“Ah, Gaius” said Mamillus, as Senator Javenoli appeared in the doorway.
Chapter 23
The attack happened with lightning speed. The throwers raced up to the walls sending a hail of bullets at the troops manning their stations. As one every head on the wall dived for cover, leaving the way for small huddles of men, hiding behind wicker shields to rush forwards and throw all manner of debris into the ditch surrounding the fort.
“Usual start” said Scipo to Decimus from their position close to the western tower. “Once they think they can walk across it they will send the advance parties” he added “good job we dug the biggest ditches we had time to”. He peered over the edge to see another handful of troops throw some leaf-covered branches into the ditch below him. He pulled his head quickly back as a series of stones hammered into the woodwork around him. The fort had been erected hastily, but was standard rectangular construction with four, short, sturdy towers in the centre of each wall and two gates at each end of the Via Principalis, the central road. The soldiers had to carry the majority of the wooden palisades on their march, and constructing the fort was a highly developed skill in which each and every man knew his role.
“Blimey they’re good” he whistled, beckoning one of the centurions to his side. “It’s just as we thought, they are loading the ditches and will commence with a frontal assault before attempting to attack the sides when we man the walls. Make sure the men have enough spears and pikes to repel the invaders” he asked, sending the Centurion trotting off at a low crouch towards the men on the surrounding walls. Mella had taken position on the far side of the tower with Rufus and watched the men with the wicker shields as they approached at a run, keeping the men behind them who were carrying the branches, safe from harm.
“Now” called Rufus as ten legionaries stood, took a second to aim and hurled their small javelins at the approaching men. Instantly the crack of stones on the wooden palisade sounded as the men dropped back to their positions once the javelins were spent.
“One down” called Mella, watching through a knot hole from his position. “Aulus got him” he said, handing a copper coin to Rufus, who grinned and winked at the smiling legionary away to his left holding up the Quadrans coin with its picture of Hercules on the front.
The Aequians came in waves, filling in the ditch for a full twenty minutes as the legionaries threw javelins, then stones then any heavy objects they could find at the attacking men as their supplies of good weapons dwindled. The same scene was played out all around the fort as the Aequians targeted the ditches on all four sides. A few of the Romans were caught by the slingers, who were uncannily accurate, as they attempted to spear the attackers. Stones clanged on helmets and one unlucky legionary took a heavy stone to the side of his face which immediately shattered his cheek bone, his screams as his skin was ripped apart and numerous teeth shattered, bringing cheers from the slingers as they whirled their next shot at the Roman fortress.
Marcus stood with Manlius in the centre of the fort and strained to see what was happening. An occasional stone hit the shields of the men in the front ranks, but no damage was done as the force of the missiles was spent by the time it reached them. His anger at being left out of the command positions had not abated and his fists balled and relaxed intermittently as he hopped from foot to foot. He had strict orders from Scipio to stay back away from the walls and to keep safe, he did not want to hand back a dead brother to the Tribune he had said.
Marcus could see nothing, but could hear the noise of the attacks, the thump of stones, and the occasional scream of a man hit with spear or stone and the cheers from both sides when a man fell. His frustratin was evident as he stepped from foot to foot like a bear manacled to the floor at a circus. Hadn’t Scipio been impressed with his logic as they played their game out with the wooden blocks? Hadn’t he agreed that Marcus’s logic was sound, even though he disagreed with the outcome of his tactics? His anger rose again, his teeth grinding as he struggled with the urge to run to the ramparts to see what was happening.
“Here” said Manlius reaching across and passing Marcus a small but thick lump of hard-baked bread. “Stop jigging about, you are making the men nervous” he said under his breath, his eyes facing forwards as he spoke. Marcus felt his face flush at the reprimand, but bit his tongue. Manlius was right, as a Patrician, even though he was officially not a soldier, he should provide an image of strength to the men. They had looked up to him when he had brought the Eagle into the fort and it was his place to ensure that they remained calm and ready to do their duty when called upon. The first spear Centurion stood ten paces to his right and he looked across at the man who wore several phalera on his breastplate, clearly a veteran of many campaigns. Marcus looked idly to the troops around him, smiling at one or two as he chewed the bread, finding it harder to swallow than he had imagined. Many of the men wore their phalera, the discs with images of spears, swords and shields which depicted the reason they had won the awards for gallantry in the face of the enemy. It was traditional to wear the phalera on parades or at official ceremonies, so Marcus wondered why they were wearing them now. He turned to Manlius and whispered a question, “Why do the men wear their phalera?”
Manlius’s face split into a long smile and his eyes twinkled as he touched an Armilla, an armband awarded for gallantry, on his bicep.
“Last stand” he replied so quietly Marcus took a moment to comprehend. The men were wearing their decorations because they thought today would be a last stand. They wanted to die in full battle honours, wearing the symbols of the careers they had built and decorations they had won. Marcus looked again, with more interest at the men around him. Battle scarred veterans eyed him as he looked around the deep ranks of soldiers. One or two winked at him, casual smiles crossing their faces before their eyes turned back to staring at the walls ahead of them. Marcus felt a burst of pride well up in his chest, the men of Rome he thought, were surely the proudest and best soldiers there had ever been. He looked to the first spear and suddenly a thought came to his head, his eyes suddenly alert, darting around the inside of the fort, it must be here somewhere. Yes, there it was, brought into the fort for safety when they had first set up the camp. A look to the worried faces of the men around him brought his mind to a conclusion. He would do it now, he thought, as another stone thumped into a shield ten men ahead of him.
“Manlius” he whispered. “Take a message to General Scipio” he asked, taking a small lead sheet from his pack, these were used for short messages, the metal soft enough to write quickly on. The soft metal was often used as a gift to water spirits at wells, or to offer tokens to gods at shrines. He folded it into a roll and handed the metal sheet to Manlius, who, looking confused, handed the standard to Marcus and trotted across the empty ground to the turf, climbing it to reach the western tower.
Scipio was surprised to see the tall legionary at his side when he arrived and even more surprised when he read Marcus’s note. He looked at the words, showed them to Decimus and Cossus and all three laughed out loud at the boy’s ingenuity. Scipio looked back over his shoulder, seeing the
dark eyes of Marcus Furius staring at him dispassionately. “It could help” Decimus said, ducking below the palisade as another stone cracked into the wood.
“mmm” replied Scipio, tapping his chin. He wondered if this was just another way for the boy to bring attention to himself or if it really was a way to motivate the men and goad the enemy. The logic was sound, he surmised as he ran it through his mind, just as his military planning had been earlier, but there was something about it that he couldn’t fathom. Why now? He wondered. The ceremony was known across the delta and would certainly be known by the Aequians. He smiled a cold calculating smile and looked at Cossus, “how long till the first full attack do you think?” Cossus darted up to look over the palisade, moving swiftly as a stone whizzed overhead.
“Maximum ten minutes if they decide to attack in force” he said once he was back to safety. “But they still seem leaderless, none of them seem to want to order the attack” he shrugged.
“I hope Lucius Furius Medullinus has those men in position” he commented absentmindedly as he nodded to Manlius. “OK, let him do it soldier, but keep him safe, I don’t want him too close to the walls in case some lucky bugger lands a stone on his head”.
“Sir” saluted Manlius, still confused as he turned and walked back to the waiting figure of Marcus.
Within seconds Marcus had passed the lead sheet to the first spear, who read the words slowly but understood exactly what to do. He smiled at Marcus, and said “You know the ceremony?”
“I have performed it several times” lied Marcus, with conviction.
The Primus Pilus looked at him and then turned to three of his soldiers. “Fabius, Auliticus, Mascor get the shrine and place it at the intersection of the roads” to which the three men instantly saluted and broke ranks, trotting neatly across to the right corner of the fort where the shrine to the crossroads had been replaced when they built the fort. As they fumbled to lift the shrine, with its roughly carved deity inside Marcus marched to his tent and grabbed his Camillus robe from his pack. His mind went back to the days at the temple when he had seen the ceremony to the Lares performed many times. He hoped he would do justice to the ceremony without the pig, and that the chants and music would also carry to the Aequii.
Chapter 24
Scipio and Cossus continued to watch the main Aequian camp. Something was happening at the chief’s tent, and Cossus was worried. The plan agreed with Lucius was based on the Aequian army rushing to attack the fort before any relief force could some to their support. So far everything had gone as planned, but the enemy seemed to be waiting before they made the final push, which was causing some concern among the senior officers. Already there was talk amongst the soldiers that Lucius’s force had been spotted and the Aequians were, at that very moment, slaughtering them all before turning to the fort. Scipio knew this was not correct as the full force of the Aequian army stood surrounding the camp. But new activity at the command tent clearly meant new information had been gained by Comus.
A large body of some hundred or more riders were mounting their horses and looked to be moving off into the forest away in the direction of Veii. Scipio and Cossus could not understand what this was, but nevertheless they were determined to continue as planned. As they discussed the potential changes they might need to make they heard the drawl of a ceremonial horn and looked over their shoulders as Marcus appeared, wearing his Camillus hood over his head and walked towards the shrine.
“What do you think of the lad, cousin” Cossus asked as he watched Marcus’s slow progress to the shrine.
“He’s clever” said Scipio.
Cossus looked at his cousin, trying to read his eyes as he watched the effect the ceremony of the cross roads was having on the men. Even the men on the walls had turned to see the ceremony, much to the annoyance of their commanding officers who bellowed for them to watch the enemy. Cossus read a number of things into Scipio’s answer, and decided to wait for him to elaborate.
“If he’s right” he said looking to Cossus, as Decimus moved closer to listen “then the men have set out today as a last stand. They think we will lose”. All three men peered at the soldiers around them, noticing that many wore their Phalera, Armillae and even one or two Torcs. Scipio silently chided himself for not seeing this and turned back to Cossus.
“The Camillus believes that if we invoke the spirits of the Compites, the crossroads, it will encourage the men. It will give them hope that the gods are on our side and it will give them belief that we will win. The spirits of the crossroads carry strong magic in the minds of the soldiers and he is using it to make them think of home, of their families and of Rome”. He tapped his chin thoughtfully as his eyes suddenly became alert and a wide grin spread across his broad face. “He thinks in ways that others do not” he said quietly as he stepped up to look over the palisade, ducking quickly, but no stones came. “Decimus, what do you see out there?” he asked quickly.
With a grunt Decimus got up and peered over the parapet. The ranks of the Aequians stood, as before, poised to attack. But the wicker shield bearers had stopped in their tracks and were looking at the walls, the noise of the standing army seemed to die down as more and more of the Aequians stopped clashing their swords on their shields and the drum beats died on the wind, men straining to hear the music. As Decimus dropped back below the wooden wall he didn’t have to reply to Scipio who was grinning at him as the sounds of the ceremonial horns carried far over the walls and into the distance.
---
Arxillius stood and yawned, a few drops of spittle falling from the corner of his mouth, which he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand. The weight of his seven foot long spear was beginning to tire his arm. He had stood in the front line of the phalanx now for more than thirty minutes and was getting bored. This campaign had been poor, he considered as he touched the new sword he had won from a Roman dog a few weeks before. He could still hear the man begging for mercy as he sliced his ears from his head before running him through with his own sword, a fitting end for the pig, he chuckled to himself. The sword was good quality, but he had only gained about two pounds of bronze and a few silver coins from the whole campaign. Not enough to keep the wolves from his door this winter, he knew. If this camp didn’t hold some Roman gold or at least some good armour that he could sell to his neighbours he would have to use his reserves to buy foodstuff for the winter, even stooping to buying Roman grain he mused, a half-smile at the irony of it creeping onto his scarred face.
Comus was a good leader, but he wasn’t aggressive enough, he thought as he watched the velites hit another Roman on the wall, cheering as the man fell clutching his head. If he had attacked this fort with the full force of the men he had, they would have taken it by now and he, Arxillius, would be on his way home to his wife. He pondered her memories for a moment as he thought about the long argument the tribes had had the evening before when Comus disappeared off on some errand without any discussions with the tribal leaders. The man was an upstart, he nodded to himself, but a powerful one, he conceded. Was it coincidence that thousands of Romans had fed into the fort whilst Comus was away? He shook the thought from his mind. No, the man was no traitor to their alliance.
Then his train of thought was stopped in its tracks. Was that a ceremonial horn? From inside the Roman fort? Wait, he knew that note and that chanting. Yes, it was for the Lares Compites. He threw his head around, looking at the cross roads to his left. The shrine, where was it? He looked to the man to his right. “Where is the shrine?” he asked urgently, the same question had already been asked by many of the men stood in line, their spears twisting as their bodies turned to look for the sacred shrine.
“It’s in the fort” called a voice, bringing silence as hundreds of heads turned to look at the source of the horn drifting over the walls. Arxillius took a deep breath and said a prayer to his personal deity, she had looked over him for many battles, let her do the same today he thought, tapping his sword onto the shield bos
s as he had done many times to avert the evil eye. Around him some of the men were doing the same and grumbles and moans came from within the ranks behind him.
“Shut up” he yelled. He had to bring his men back to order. Whatever the dogs in the fort were doing they had caused consternation in his men and he didn’t like it. He had met the leaders of the allies earlier and they did not want to attack the fort, as he had demanded. They wanted to wait for Comus to return, but where was he now when the soldiers needed a strong leader? He spat on the ground, a long knot of phlem sticking to his beard as he did so.
He turned to the phalanx behind him and yelled “are we going to stand for these dogs praying to our spirits at our crossroads?” The men behind him averted his eyes, with some weak calls of “no” coming from the back of the one hundred and twenty men he commanded. “They take our women, they take our children, they steal our land”, he faced the men around him staring at them with loathing in his face. “And now they steal our gods” he said in a low menacing growl. “It’s time to kill them all” he yelled to tumultuous shouts from his men. He glanced to his right, as Artoxius, his cousin smiled and pointed his spear at the fort with a nod. Now there was a true warrior thought Arxillius. At that he turned and called the phalanx forward into attack.
The rumble of the men marching towards the fort was seen by the commanders of the rest of the Aequian army. Some thought the attack had been called and started their own march at the fort. Others stood and called for order as the command horn had not been heard. Messengers dashed across the fields between phalanxes and confusion spread like wildfire amongst the Aequians.
---
Mounted on his horse in the skirts of the trees Lucius surveyed the scene in front of him. From his vantage point he could make out some eight thousand men lined up to do battle, mostly in deep lines of phalanx as he expected. They had captured nearly every scout that had been sent close to the marching army and their progress had been remarkably good, arriving exactly as he had planned. But for ten minutes now the full-scale attack that he needed before he could surprise the enemy had not started. He had wondered why and consulted with his chief officers, but agreed that they must wait. Antonicus had taken a quick Augury that morning and announced that surprise demanded timing, they must attack only when the time was right. Lucius half-smiled as he thought that the Augur was probably hedging his bets, but the prophecy regarding Marcus had shown that the man was favoured by the gods, so he had accepted the reading gleefully. His orderly nudged his arm and pointed to the right where suddenly a deep mass of Aequians stepped into their slow and steady march, aiming straight at the camp. ‘Excellent’ he thought ‘the battle has started’. He mumbled a prayer to Fortuna and returned to watching, waiting for the signal to send his men to death or glory.
Dawn of The Eagle Page 16
