Chapter 25
Postumius sat with his hands on his knees as he waited for the door to open. What did Mamillus want of him at this unearthly hour? He had been called to the house of Gaius Javenoli on the Palatine when the moon was nearly full in the sky, and now, the moon was over a quarter of the way across the sky. He growled with anger and sipped the thick sweet wine he had been given, not tasting what was a fine fruity wine as he did so. His teeth ground as he placed the cup on the ornate table in front of his couch.
“How much longer must I wait” he said to the enormous man in front of him, his nut brown skin showing a variety of criss-cross scars across his arms, bare chest and legs. Postumius, with his trained eye, had noted that the man, clearly a soldier, had no scars on his back, the sign of a Centurion, a man who led from the front and did not turn in battle. He remembered stories of the great Centurion Dentatus who was said to have never lost a battle, he tried to remember his cognomen. Yes Lucius Siccius Dentatus. He smiled at the name Dentatus, which meant ‘born with teeth’. Decorated more than any soldier and holder of the grass crown, the highest military honour, he had been a boyhood favourite of his when he was tutored by his Greek schoolmaster. Dentatus, he thought. A great man and a fool, murdered, they said, for his political views as he opposed the ten men, the Decemvirs, all being Patricians when they wrote the laws and constitution of Rome. This brought a snort to Postumius as he considered the sad end to such a great military career for Dentatus. His teeth had no bite back in Rome he laughed to himself, smiling at his own cleverness. His snort brought him out of his daydream as he sat up and repeated his question to the garlic smelling brute who stood away in the corner. The man seemed not to hear and stood motionless as he had done the last time Postumius spoke to him. But he didn’t react, he simply took another gulp of the thick, sweet wine and tried to remain calm, closing his eyes and meditating to relax his mind and spirit.
As the door to the room opened Postumius stood, about to ask Mamillus why he had been waiting for so long, when he stopped, mouth open, mid-sentence and stared at Fasculus as he walked into the room, closely followed by Gaius Javenoli.
“Senator” said Postumius, looking questioningly at Fasculus, who for his part turned and walked away to the corner where he stood in the shadows. Javenoli smiled at Postumius and motioned for him to sit.
“Where is Mamillus?” he asked, his voice trailing as he wilted under Javenoli’s angry gaze.
The silence stretched. Postumius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked into the shadows but couldn’t make out anything other than the half form of Fasculus and the guard standing in the dark.
Javenoli lay back on the reclining couch and rubbed his temples.
“How many years have we known each other Publius?” he asked, his voice measured and controlled.
“Since my birth” he replied, unsure where this conversation was leading.
“And who helped pay for your season as junior military Tribune? Who put his own life at risk to be there, ensuring you were safe despite your stupidity, your inability to follow any orders you were given?” he added with menace in his voice.
Postumius felt anger and shame bite into him. “I am a Patrician of the noble line of ...” he started.
“You are my man and you do as I tell you”. Javenoli spoke so forcefully that Postumius almost fell back in his chair. It was true, Javenoli had paid for him to enter public service, he was good with figures and quick minded when it came to laws. But he had failed in his military duties, and deep down he knew it. Javenoli had joined this year’s campaign as his mentor, to oversee his actions and to develop his standing, but Postumius had acted on his own authority, had ignored Javenoli’s orders and had caused resentment in his officers and soldiers in doing so. Even Bassano, Javenoli’s old first spear Centurion who had been appointed with him had preferred to remain in hospital than serve any longer under Postumius.
“But Gaius” said Postumius, his voice haughty. “I need to tell you of the prophecy. It demands that I, Publicus Postumius, be given succour. I will be King of Rome” he stated with certainty.
The great burst of laughter that came from the fat jowls of Javenoli caused Postumius to gasp, clutching the arm of the couch as he stood indignantly his temper rising. He took his orators pose, filled his lungs to speak, “I...”
“Sit down you fool” said Javenoli rising from his chair and prowling around the room as he spoke. “King. King” he scoffed, his face turning purple as he held back the words he wanted to shout at Postumius. “There will never be another King of Rome” he added, his face set in a scowl. “Long ago I harboured the same thoughts. A new King and a return to order for the rich. But it will never be, Publlius. You must see that?” he asked, continuing before Postumus had time to answer. “The changes to Rome are too great. Too many people” he waved his hand at the window. “The plebeian ranks are growing. New men are richer than the old families” he sighed “and we are all racing to an inevitable conclusion” he said. “The master of Rome will be the politician and statesman. To think that there will ever be a King is ludicrous. This prophecy will not make a King of Rome, it will make Rome the King of all the Latin and Etruscan tribes. It will see Rome burning its way across the delta, and who knows, maybe even taking Greece as a client kingdom” his mind seemed to drift for a moment before he turned back to Postumius with a resigned look.
“But a new King of Rome? No!” he stated firmly. His tone changed almost instantly as he said “I have sent Mamillus home, I sent him away as he is not needed. The prophecy, if that is what it was, was not aimed at you” he said coming close to Postumius for the first time. Postumius saw the red rims of his tired eyes and smelt the sweat of the large man, tinged with wine, as he came face to face with him.
“The prophecy was aimed at Marcus Furius”
“No” cried Postumius, “It was me. It was aimed at me. I commanded the attack. I commanded the men who caught Comus’s son. I gave Comus’s son to you for ransom” he added, his heart beating so hard in his chest it felt as if it would burst. “Me. Publius Postumius, from one of the oldest thirty clans of Rome. Me a Patrician of pure blood and pure family” he tried to hold his head high as he spoke, his haughty voice rising to fever pitch as he spoke to Javenoli.
“No” Javenoli stood and stared down his long nose at Postumius. He didn’t flinch or blink as he continued. “You have wasted my time, my money and my energy for eighteen years” he sneered. “This prophecy could bring riches and Imperium beyond my wildest dreams and I” he looked at Postumius with loathing, “was chasing the wrong rabbit.” He walked to the flask of wine and poured himself a drink, noisily slurping at the fine wine as he drained the contents.
“You, Publius Postumius, will go back to your father’s villa and if I see fit to speak to you again I will contact you.” He turned to Fasculus “Remove his person and artefacts from my house on the Aventine and board it up for the winter, post two guards in the courtyard” he ordered as Postumius whimpered in the background. “Take one pound of bronze and ten Ases and give them to Postumius” by which he meant Publius’s father “as payment for his troubles in having the wretch back” he grumbled as he turned to Postumius, whose face was purple with anger.
“You are wrong” Postumius said looking searchingly into Javenoli’s eyes. “The prophecy. It is about me. It cannot be Furius, he is a boy. He has done nothing special. He is only a Camillus, a priest’s servant. And” he said forcefully “he told me the prophecy was about me” his voice reached a high pitched crescendo at his last words.
“Ha” yelled Javenoli, swivelling his bulk around at Postumius, who instinctively flinched as the man turned “He saved the Ancilia Shield. He saved your life” Javenoli mouthed an insult as he said these words, shaking his head “He outsmarted you” he finished, pointing a finger at Postumius with a look of complete loathing on his face. “And for his age he has a mind beyond anyone I have seen in my years as a military commander. Why di
dn’t I see this before?” he said shaking his head as he walked in circles around the centre of the room, his eyes cast down at the floor. “I could have saved so much time and money” he added before looking up at Fasculus, who dutifully bowed his head averting his eyes.
“You cannot treat me like this” Postumius commanded, his voice loud and strong, belying the fear that crouched in his stomach as he saw the enormous form of the guard step into view at Javenoli’s shoulder, his hand on the pommel of the short dagger he carried. “My father will hear of this” he started to say but was cut off by Javenoli’s sharp reply.
“Your father has been bankrolled by me for years, boy” he snarled. “The pretence that he has any money is all my doing. He sold me his lands, property and even his dignity” he guffawed at the thought, “before you were born” he finished viciously.
Postumius gawped at this, his head wheeling as he took in the revelation. “I caught the boy. I..I deserve some of the ransom at least” he said, his voice faltering.
Javenoli burst into a fit of deep rumbling laughter. “The ransom? Ha, I hope they pay and don’t kill the rider I sent with them” he looked to Fasculus as he spoke. After a moment’s silence he turned back to Postumius, who stood looking at him, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water.
“The money I have spent” he laughed indignantly. “The years of my life gone because I cannot have children of my own”. He raised a hand to his fat jowls as he spoke. “The pain it has caused me. And you, you were my best shot at glory?” He turned his face to the heavens “God’s what tricks have you played on me? Have I not given good service? Have I not sacrificed every day?” he implored, his hands stretched out in supplication towards the sky. “I have done all of these things in your name, and you send me this” he turned to Postumius, waving a fat arm, and drawled the words “creature” before turning back to the heavens and continuing “who has the wits but not the brawn or even the common sense of a base soldier”, he finished looking at the walls of the room painted with scenes of the battle at Troy. The image was of Achilles looking at the dead at his feet, holding a severed head in one hand as he stared at the thousands of ships on the sea around him. “Oh if only I had a son like you” he said with deep sorrow in his voice.
“My money” said Postumius, “I want half of the ransom fee” he blurted out, pulling Javenoli from his reverie.
“What?” replied Javenoli turning to Postumius.
“That prophecy is about me. I know it” he said striking his breast in true theatrical style as all the best orators did. “I will prove to you and everyone that I, Publius...”
“Get him out of my house and kick him all the way home” growled Javenoli to Fasculus as he strode across to Postumius and pulled at his toga. “You are not fit to wear this” he raged as he yanked at the long cloth draped around him, Postumius whimpering and trying to stop Javenoli as he ripped at his clothes.
“I’ve disbanded your little group of piss-ants. Sent them all back to their festering dung heaps” he spat, stepping up to Postumius and grabbing him roughly. “Now, where is that tablet with the prophecy?” Javenoli demanded as he rifled through his clothes and pulled the small tablet from a hidden pocket. As he slid it open, Fasculus pulled Postumius away from the back of Javenoli as he tried to grab the prophecy back whimpering “It is about me, I am to be King”.
Javenoli smiled. “So, Marcus Furius. How do we play this game?” he asked no-one in particular as Postumius shouted for the tablet back and his share of the money with Fasculus trying to pull him towards the door.
“Go now boy and you will live. Breathe a word of this to anyone and you will be found dead in the Tiber in a sack of snakes” said Javenoli, “see what that does to your precious family reputation” and with this he left the room deep in thought.
Chapter 26
The first strikes of the Aequians had met with fierce resistance from the walls. The ditches weren’t full enough with debris for them to march directly to the ramparts, but after a minute of fighting at the walls they were full with enough dead bodies for them to march across the ditch on the bodies of their fallen comrades. The thick shields and long pikes of the Aequians had brought the attack to a halt as it had done on previous days, with the defenders able to pick and choose which men to spear from their high vantage point, avoiding the slingers stones as they threw their javelins into the melee below them. Arxillius and his men were pressed tight against the wall of the fort close by the west tower, it’s charred remains creaking as the men pulled and pushed at the thick wooden, half burned, palisade. Stones, spears and all manner of debris rained down onto their thick wooden shields held high above their heads. Arxillius knew there was no going back now as he dug at the footings of the remains of one of the burnt wooden stakes that made up the wall. More men fell around him, but even more pressed in behind as the Aequian army pressed closer onto the fort, the droning of the ceremony to the spirits from inside the fort drowned by the screams of his men.
“Macur, here” he pointed to the man behind him, who raised a two headed axe and began chopping furiously at the mid-point of a burnt stake where Arxillius had directed him.
The sound of chopping was echoed by renewed shouting from the Romans on the wall above. Scipio had walked around the perimeter of the walls as the attacks had started, with Cossus following waiting to give the signal to Lucius. But the Aequian army had not marched en-masse and so only three small areas were under siege, two were beaten back easily but the main attack on the western tower remained.
“The main force is not attacking” said Cossus. “If we send the signal now it is likely Lucius’s men will be trapped between the Aequians” he added, looking over the parapet to see the majority of the Aequians standing their ground some three hundred yards away from the fort. The attack plan needed to have the bulk of the Aequian army spread across the walls of the fort for it to succeed. The volume of Aequian soldiers dictated that no other option could win the battle. Scipio wracked his brain for a solution but could find none.
The ceremony at the shrine had been a clever move, he mused as he watched Marcus conclude the ceremony as the attacks continued to hit and were repelled. The move had had the desired effect on the Aequians, but not all of them as he had hoped. The superstitious soldiers certainly seemed to think that luck was now with them, in fact, as he looked around the walls he noticed that none of the defenders had fallen to any sling shots since the ceremony had started. He shook the idea from his head, turning to Cossus.
“We need to concentrate the reserve force at the west tower” he pointed to the sounds of chopping. “Those central poles will be gone soon and the Aequians will have a breach. If they see a breach they may commit forces to it”. Cossus could see his thinking and nodded as he finished “If they commit to the west tower you can send the signal when they engage”.
Cossus nodded in agreement and turned to look at the west tower. The ramparts remained manned by a strong force, with only one or two Romans dead or injured from the fighting. The noise of the attack and the screams of Aequians being hit by the defenders pleased him. This is what he lived for, the energy and excitement of battle. To pit his wits against an enemy and to win glory for his family and Rome. He smiled back at Scipio, “I will wait above the central gate for your command before I send the signal” at which he set off towards the two central towers above the main gate.
---
Mella heard the leader of the attack force before he saw him under the thick shields. He turned to Rufus. “A Semis if I get him in three throws” he said, his stubbly jaw set in a wide eager grin.
Rufus looked at him “gods you’re mad” he laughed pulling a thick bronze coin from a small pouch on his swords scabbard and holding it up, the ships prow clearly visible on the obverse facing Mella, “Make it an As if you hit him in two? And the same for me?”
Mella whooped as he grabbed two spears, one a lighter javelin and the other a thicker, longer and heavier spear, which h
e hefted and snatched a look over the palisade. A long pike immediately stabbed up at him from below but he avoided it easily as his quick eyes searched for an opening. Rufus stood and, wavering from side to side as his eyes too probed for an opening, launched a javelin into the thick body of men below.
“Missed” he called, dejectedly, over the noise of the javelin clattering onto the roof of shields below them.
Mella stood, steadied himself and launched the thick spear, grunting as he let the shaft go and half falling onto the wooden spikes as he did so. He jumped back as another pike jabbed into the air near him, and then stood again to peer over the top. “Bugger, missed” he said falling to one knee and laughing with Rufus, picking up his javelin and kissing the wooden shaft.
---
The spear grazed Arxillus’s shin, drawing blood but only angering him more. “Come on men, lets tear this wooden wall down” he roared, his throat drying and his voice cracking as he shouted, the elation of battle coursing through his veins. He continued to dig at the wooden poles and was delighted when he felt a movement. “Yes” he cried, “now we have them, here men dig here” he yelled, his voice booming over the cacophony of noise around him. He looked up as a shaft of light drew his attention, the soldiers around him momentarily turning to see where he was pointing to had allowed a gap to form above him in the shield wall. He didn’t have time to move as the javelin punched through his collarbone and on down into his chest. The fire of pain shot through him as he roared defiance for a second before the blood erupted in front of his eyes and his voice stalled in his throat, his body falling away to be trampled under his own soldiers, who were madly trying to close their shields above them regardless of the loss of their leader.
Dawn of The Eagle Page 17
