The light had crept up above the trees and the morning clouds had started to part as the heat began to reach the cold ground. As they approached the wall and climbed the turf bank to look back at the gathering Equites Marcus felt an inward surge of pride that Scipio had listened to his thoughts earlier that morning. Marcus had argued strongly that the walls were sure to fall and that the best option was to turn the defensive structure outwards whilst manning the gaps with a wall of pikes and spears, creating a defensible barrier. Scipio had dismissed the idea outright, saying that the wall would hold and that he couldn’t hold a breach for long enough to allow Lucius to attack the rear of the Aequians. His idea to use the cavalry to harass the side of the enemy had equally been dismissed as Scipio had moved the Aequians spears forwards. The difference now, thought Marcus, was that Comus had held his men too far from the fort to support the beleaguered first attack and that the wall had gotten to the point where Scipio’s hand was forced. Not acting would give the enemy the advantage.
One of the Centurions lined up thirty men with long poles facing the wall and western tower. Another twenty men ran forward and started hacking at the thick bindings which attached the stakes to each other at either end of the section Scipio wished to demolish. Once the bindings were cut Scipio gave the order, and at the sound of the horn the thirty men started to push the wall forwards. The burnt-out wood and loose ground, dug by Arxillus’s men, soon gave way and with a heavy creak the first section fell forwards to the sound of the Aequians on the far side screaming as the heavy wood fell on top of them. The sound was quickly followed by a great cheer from the Aequians from all across the plain as they saw the walls topple outwards, the tower shuddering but remaining intact.
Instantly the Roman century behind the wall stepped forwards and blocked the gaps that had formed, thrusting spears into the hands and faces of the Aequians who were now desperately clawing at the wood in an attempt to get inside the fort. As Marcus had surmised the wooden stakes had fallen at an angle, not lying flat as Scipio had thought when they had discussed the idea that morning. This meant that the barrier created by the fallen wall was not as easy to navigate as the Aequians might think and still gave a slight height advantage to the Romans. Behind the first defenders more soldiers lined up to take over where their comrades might fall, and the remaining walls were manned with soldiers who were already discharging the remaining spears into the bulk of the men below them.
Marcus stepped up to the wall next to Scipio and Cossus, Rufus standing a discreet distance to their right. They all peered to their left as they stood near the main gate to the fort, the western tower a hundred paces to their left.
“Good” said Scipio, turning to look out across the field ahead of them, the cheering of the Aequians getting louder as they realised they had breached the wall. “Will he wait as we hope?” he said as he stared at the Aequian leader across the field to the rear of his vast army. All the senior officers turned to look at the Aequian leader as he sat impassively, waving away the obvious demands of his followers to attack. No war horn came, and as Scipio turned to look at him, Marcus saw the look of a predator in Scipio’s eyes, the curl of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“He has dithered as we expected. Sound the horn” he yelled the last part of his words and the main gates swung open as the sound of the Roman cornua blared into the sky.
Chapter 30
Fabius Ambustus had walked around the Equites and ensured that everyone knew exactly what to do. The angry comments at what some thought was a suicide mission had soon subsided when he explained that they were to return once the full bulk of the army got close enough to be of danger, and that they were riding for glory. He had offered the first man to kill an Aequian a foal from his considerable stud near Campeva, at which even the loudest dissenter had taken note and stepped forward to listen to the plan. He wasn’t happy with the initial reaction, he thought, as he mounted his horse, but this was irregular. Equites chased the fleeing enemy or remained on the flanks to harass them, they did not go into battle in the early stages. It broke all the rules of warfare. But, as Scipio had said, the spears and pikes of the Aequians would be unable to turn and face their charge, it would be a bloodbath and he, Fabius Ambustus, would go into the Roman archive as the first horse commander to charge a phalanx. He smiled at the stories he would be able to tell his grandchildren in years to come as he wheeled his horse about and kicked it into a gallop at the opening gates.
Speed was of the essence, thought Ambustus, clearing the gate and dragging his mount left to the corner of the fort, his teeth set and his long lance held out in front, but away from the horse, his circular shield perfectly balanced in his left hand. He felt the elation of the charge course through him as he looked at the startled faces of the Aequians some four or five hundred yards in front of them standing in their deep phalanx. It was just as Scipio had said, they would never close that gap in time. In twenty years of warfare he had never felt this excited, this alive, and the cries of the men around him echoed his exhilaration.
As he rounded the corner, jolting his reins to keep his horse focused, to stare into the expanse of the Aequian phalanx he whooped with joy as he saw the closest enemy soldiers turn their heads towards his charging cavalry force, fear showing how unprepared they were. As he closed the ground, fifty paces, the closest men had started to turn, their long spears clashing against their own shields or the wooden stakes which obstructed them from gaining entry to the fort. The noise of Romans cheering them on from the walls was drowned by the drumming of hooves on the hard ground and the cries of the cavalry as they charged towards their foes. The fear in the eyes of the men in front of him turned to panic at thirty paces, and in his periphery Ambustus saw his friend Natalis come level with him, the blood lust clear on his face along with a broad grin as he let out a scream of “For Rome” as he tried to outpace his commander. Natalis favoured riding with no shield and using a short stabbing spear, which he often used double-handed to maximise its impact. Ambustus scoffed at this, using the shield and long eight foot lance which would drive fear into the heart of the phalanx. As each soldier had to provide his own equipment it didn’t matter much to Ambustus which of his Turmae, his squadrons, used whichever weapons, as long as they used them well.
Ambustus watched as the only man to turn his spear fully towards them suddenly twisted violently to his left as a javelin punched through the side of his cheek, exploding a red wash of gore across his fellows and throwing the man’s head around at such an angle his neck must have snapped at the same time. He silently thanked the legionary who had thrown, his grin spreading across his determined face as he too roared “For Rome”. He raised his spear to the attack position, ten paces, and prepared for the jolt of the iron tipped lance. As he crashed into the half-turned men and felt the jolt of his weapon as it lanced through the neck of one man and straight into the side of the head of another he screamed death at the Aequians, the red gore bursting from the dying bodies of men around him as his Turmae smashed into the unprotected left side of the phalanx. Shock was a weapon, and he had to use it as best he could. He knew that the men twenty deep in this phalanx would not even know that the cavalry were coming, and his scream would awaken them to the fear that his soldiers would bring.
To his right the Eques were crashing into the back of the phalanx, the panicked screams of men dying erupting from the ball of trapped men, their cries echoing across the empty ground to the standing army too far away to help their stricken comrades. He thrashed his lance, shaking the bodies of men away from it as he kicked his greaved legs at the soldiers around him who were struggling to manoeuvre with their six foot spears stuck amongst the body of men pressed together in front of him. As he pulled back from the weight of soldiers and turned to move and get enough space to charge again he heard the blasts of the Aequian horns. “Good” he thought, glancing towards the main gates and seeing a smiling Scipio standing with his senior officers as they looked away to t
he waiting army surrounding the fort.
“Show them what Roman Equites can do” roared Ambustus, a mad laugh barking at his men. As he turned two horses flew past him into the melee, the long lances thumping with a wet slap into the bodies of men who could do nothing but watch their death ride at them, their faces contorted in pain even before the weapons dispatched them.
As he returned to charge again he saw Natalis away to his right being dragged off his horse by three men who had dropped their spears and were swinging swords and clubs at him, his short spear ripped into the arm of one of them but the onslaught continued. He nudged his horse with his knee and kicked it furiously, he was not going to lose Natalis. Within a heartbeat the well-trained horse had righted itself, kicked out in front and charged into the press of bodies around Natalis. Ambustus let his lance go as it slipped between two men, a miss that he chided himself for as he grabbed his broadsword. Unlike many of the Equites he preferred a shorter, but wider sword. He had found that if he lost his lance it was usually at close quarters and a long sword was of little use to him, even with the height advantage his horse brought it was better to jump to his feet and fight like a legionary. Over the years he had trained himself in the quick attack, to stab and retreat, stab and retreat and he knew this would be his sternest test yet as he edged forwards towards the now riderless horse of his friend. He kicked his mount once more aiming straight at the man who had a hold of his friends arm and he screamed to his knights “back to the fort, back to the fort”.
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On the wall Marcus watched the Equites charge into the phalanx’s left side, the side facing his position. The phalanx was formed in lines with a shield in their left hand and a spear in their right. This made an attack from the left doubly effective if the troops could not wheel their long spears in defence. He was shocked by the effect he saw in front of him as rows of men simply fell to the attacking horses without any defence. A deep ripple erupted throughout the phalanx as the first horses crashed five or six men deep into the press of human flesh. The lances, spears and swords created a spray of crimson as the square of men buckled under the impact and then slipped on the bloodied ground, which quickly because a quagmire of dead flesh and running red blood. Gasps from the men around him made Marcus realise that they too had never seen such a thing, especially at such close quarters.
Without thinking he returned his eyes to the front to see what the reaction of the Aequians had been. Momentarily the Aequians seemed to stand and watch the action unfolding in front of the fort, as if entranced by this strange course of events. Equites did not attack a phalanx. Marcus noted that the only movement on the field in front of him was Comus, who was waving a flag and looking away to his right where his Turmae of cavalry were idly standing, too far to see what was happening. The distance was too great, as he had thought, and he turned back to see a century of men move to the gate, with Potitus at their head just as he had planned. Looking further right Marcus saw a small group of slingers coming forward towards the men, but he knew they would pose no threat and would retreat as soon as the cavalry returned.
A sudden shout from the leader of the Equites, Ambustus, brought him back to the fight at the walls just as an Aequian horn sounded in the distance. Ambustus, his short frame balanced perfectly on his horse charged a thick body of men who were dragging a Roman officer from his horse. Around them the Equites continued to charge into the phalanx and kill indiscriminately.
Marcus turned to Scipio “The legionaries have stopped, they need to advance” he said, the cold calculations of war taking over his mind. His voice seemed to wake Scipo from watching the scene in front of him.
“What? Yes” he said looking to Rufus, “Send them forward” he said as Rufus saluted and called for the men defending the wall to step forward into the gaps and start killing as the Aequians were desperately trying to turn and face the attack from their left flank and rear. Instantly a hundred spears dropped forwards and the noise of a hundred men pushing into the phalanx sounded, screams and curses filling the air.
“Thirty seconds till they run” said Mella “no more” and he held out a coin to Marcus, who looked at it incredulously before Decimus stepped in and said “I’ll take it, longer than thirty” holding out a coin to Mella as Marcus looked from one man to the other, his mouth agape at their constant gambling. As Mella mumbled the count Marcus watched Ambustus leap from his horse and seemingly step into the knot of men. He noted that the short, stocky man, simply stepped into the breach, stabbed with what looked like a long dagger and stepped out again, then repeated the action, his shield swinging away the long blades of the Aequians who had dropped their spears and drawn their swords. As he withdrew with his friend, dragging him by his leather breastplate, the front line of the Aequians fell under the onslaught from the legionaries at the wall and the whole phalanx turned and started to run one man at a time, soon leading to several and then a cascade of running soldiers. They ran in every direction, some running straight into the charging Romans knights, one Eque gleefully dispatching the head of an enemy in a single swing of the thick long sword he carried and then dismounting to drag the shiny breastplate from the dead body before leaping back on his horse and shouting with delight as he kicked his horse back towards the fort. As the Phalanx of men turned and ran the Equites reclaimed lost weapons and mounted their horses. Ambustus threw the body of his friend over his own horse and grabbed Natalis’s horse before calling the men to return to the fort once again. Marcus could see no Romans left on the battlefield and smiled a self-satisfied smile.
“The breach” said Marcus, turning to Scipio as every other officer watched Ambustus and his men retire, cheering along with hundreds of Romans at the audacity and success of the Roman attack. “It needs to be checked” he said without thinking. “Pile the dead in front of the wall, create a barrier and prepare for the onslaught of the Aequians” he said turning to watch the army of Comus moving towards the fort. Decimus watched as Scipio caught up with Marcus’s thinking, a look of surprise coming to his face as he nodded slowly, his eyes darting around the scene taking everything in instantly.
“Do it” he said absentmindedly as he turned to shout congratulations to the men riding back into the fort as they galloped underneath him.
Marcus had gone before Decimus could reply to Scipio, as Mella finished his count at seventeen and slipped Decimus’s coin into his pouch, taking his attention away for a moment. Mella, too, had turned to shout at the returning Knights, his voice growing hoarse as he cheered the returning men.
Marcus arrived at the breach, drawing his sword as he arrived and presenting himself to the first spear Centurion.
“Marcus Furius, brother of the Tribune Lucius Furius Medullinus” he said formally before continuing “Message from General Scipio. These bodies are to be piled up to create a wall in the areas where the breach is largest” he said, waving his sword around the scene in front of them and with as much confidence as he could muster. “These men to form a wall of spears behind the bodies, with support behind from the second century” he said clearly with what he hoped was the voice of authority that soldiers were used to obeying.
“Sir” said the Centurion, turning immediately to the soldiers closest to him. “Ten men left, ten right. Go” he called. As the men ran into the space the bullets from the slingers started again and Marcus ducked at a stone which he saw coming straight at him, the stone whistled past him before hitting the shield of a soldier twenty yards behind.
The Centurion looked at Marcus curiously before speaking. “Are you the Camillus?” he turned his head to look Marcus over fully, “Sir” he added, not looking away from Marcus who stood as tall as the man himself.
“Yes Centurion. I am” he replied, hoping the man was not going to try and send him back to the centre of the camp. A moment’s silence passed before the man looked over his shoulder and spoke quietly without looking directly at Marcus. “Shall we step into the breach and see what they are doing? Be good
for the men to see you at the front, sir” he added with a wink. Marcus felt his guts churn and looked questioningly back to the Centurion who stepped closer and whispered “look son, I’ve been around a bit and I know a shit heap when I see it. If we don’t get those bastards out there to attack and expose their flank we are dead meat” he paused long enough to show a set of broken teeth behind his thin dark beard.
“See, might not be a Patrician but I can think too” he added with a scowl. “Now I don’t like your sort, son” he added with menace in his voice “but Rome is my home and I have a family I want to see again.” He looked over his shoulder again to check nobody was listening “Get that Eagle of yours and flash it their faces. Give the buggers something to aim for, eh? We can hold this gap for ten minutes to give the army a chance to hit their rear” he almost laughed as he said it, but the idea of the Eagle flashed through Marcus’s mind and the expression on his face was caught by the Centurion, who tapped his nose and stepped forward into the breach as he said “See, lad, not just a pretty face me”.
As they reached the gap where the remnants of the fallen wall were splayed out in front of them, the men had finished piling the bodies roughly around the edges closest to the fallen palisade, and they looked out at the expanse of soldiers, noting that only some were marching towards them. Marcus saw Comus sat on his horse no more than three hundred yards away directing the phalanx into position but not yet committing his full army. As he watched, he noticed the Centurion step back and salute before he saw the shuffling form of Scippio step up beside him.
“You, Marcus Furius” he said indignantly “will get yourself killed before your sixteenth birthday if you are not careful. What do you see?” he then asked more kindly after a few seconds.
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