by James Mace
His wife clung to him tightly, not saying a word. The warrior then released his family, his face stoic. He nodded, drew his sword, and returned to the rampart.
“Is there no hope for us, Mother? Are we really going to die today?” the eldest son asked, looking up into her face.
Her face set and determined, the woman kneeled down and placed both hands on her son’s shoulders.
“If we show true courage and if we face the Romans like Cherusci, then all of us will live forever in the Halls of the Valiant. I do not fear them.” She held both her sons close, trying hard to hide her own tears, for she knew their fate. If they tried to flee, they would only be cut down during the Roman pursuit. To die running was unacceptable.
“The Romans are coming!” a young boy shouted from the rampart.
Arminius and the warriors rushed forward to see for themselves. Thousands of Roman infantry were formed up on the dry plain in front of them. In the distance, the brightly colored paint and the metal bosses on their shields gleamed in the sun. Their helmets and armor reflected the glare even more so. In true Roman fashion, they moved in complete silence. They would only make a sound when the time came to engage. It was unnerving. Arminius looked beyond the infantry. As expected, the Roman artillery was set, crews working frantically on each weapon. Arminius started to breathe heavily. The pending barrage would be devastating.
“Scorpions…load!” Pilate shouted. Loaders rapidly cranked back the tension ropes on their machines. They placed bolts into the firing grooves as gunners looked down their sights towards the stronghold.
“Scorpions ready, sir!” Dionysus called back once all crews reported they were set. Pilate walked up and down the line of scorpions. Behind them, onagers were loaded with their fire pots. Beside each a torch bearer stood awaiting orders.
“Monitor your sectors,” he told the scorpion crews. “Only fire at what you can hit. Quick, clean shots, men!” He looked over at the wall. In his peripheral vision he could see the legions advancing on the woods.
A detachment of onagers had been designated to cover their advance as well. He also saw movement on the wall of the stronghold. There seemed to be excited shouting and pointing coming from the ramparts. It was time to put a stop to it. On the line, one of the gunners watched as a figure silhouetted itself fully in his sight. He gave a knowing smile. This was going to be all too easy. He wondered to himself if he could score a head shot.
“Scorpion crews…fire! Onagers…ignite!”
The gunner elevated his weapon slightly and squeezed the firing mechanism.
“Got you.” he uttered in a low breath as the bolt flew home.
“The Romans are advancing on the woodlines!” the young lookout shouted. He couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, not even old enough to grow a beard.
“Damn, they anticipated our move once again,” Arminius swore. He was still dizzy from the effects of his injuries and was having trouble focusing.
“Tell your son to get off that wall! And get the rest of those men off of there!” Ingiomerus shouted at Haraxus.
The other warrior just laughed. “My son’s a brave lad, and he’s a damn good lookout. Aren’t you, son?” The boy smiled broadly and turned back to gaze over the ramparts. Suddenly, they saw a long bolt fly through the air and smash through his face and head. Blood and bits of bone sprayed everywhere as he fell into a heap on the rampart. A scorpion bolt protruded from the back of his skull.
“No!” Haraxus screamed as he ran towards his dead son.
More scorpion bolts were seen flying towards the stronghold. Warriors that were standing up conspicuously were picked off by the highly accurate weapons. One lay screaming on the ground as a bolt protruded from his upper arm. Another warrior cried out as he sprouted a bolt from his thigh. His leg started to spasm uncontrollably as he fought to keep his balance. His leg snagged on a section of turf, and he pitched head first over the side of the wall. Yet another warrior took a hit to the chest and was dead before he hit the ground. Haraxus knelt down on the rampart, cradling the bloody and broken head of his son, tears streaming down his face.
“Haraxus, get down!” Arminius shouted.
Haraxus ignored him. All he could do was clutch his son while sobbing uncontrollably. A scorpion bolt slammed through the grieving father’s neck, covering Arminius in blood. Haraxus bore a look of both pain and relief in his eyes. He still clung to the body of his son, as both tumbled over the rampart. Arminius turned his head away, trying to drown out the screams of his warriors as they were horribly maimed and cut down. Then a wave of fireballs came over the rampart in a high arc; flames spewed forth as from the bowels of Hell. Their targets were the inner structures, where the families of the warriors huddled in fear.
“Look out!” he shouted to the people below. It was too late. The fireballs were already falling inside the compound, exploding, and spreading liquid fire wherever they impacted. Huts inside the stronghold burst into flames, their thatched roofs feeding the fire to an uncontrollable inferno. Warriors turned back from the ramparts and looked on horrified, as their wives and children became the targets of the Roman firestorm. There was nowhere for them to run. The torrent of fire seemed to find all who sought shelter within. Arminius watched as what looked like a sound shelter burst into flames, the walls quickly crumbling. The screams of terror were almost deafening, those trapped inside slowly suffocating or burning to death. He quickly turned back to the rampart, trying to shut the nightmare from his mind.
“Their infantry is advancing on us!” a warrior shouted, peeking over the rampart. Suddenly the back of his throat exploded, spewing more blood on the already slick rampart, as another scorpion bolt found its mark.
“Stay down! Nobody goes to the wall!” Arminius shouted. “We’ll face them as they come over. Uncle, you take the right wing.”
He and Ingiomerus drew their swords and waited. Ingiomerus walked over to the extreme right of the wall. He leaned back against a post, resting the blade of his sword in his hand. The wait was maddening. He could hear the Romans advancing towards the wall. How long would it take them to get over the top? For the first time since the campaign began, he was afraid. Even when he had been wounded during their assault on the Roman fort at Ahenobarbi, he had not felt fear the way he did now. Now they were the ones cornered, and there was nowhere for them to run. If only their plan for defense had been as sound as the Romans’.
The First and Twentieth Legions started to advance. Nobody in the assault elements carried javelins, as they would be impossible to employ. Swords remained sheathed and each soldier kept a tight grip on his shield. They stayed in close formation, in case the barbarians managed to engage them with missile weapons. None came. Artorius watched the fireballs from the onagers and the scorpion bolts falling like rain onto the stronghold. He could see smoke and traces of fire coming from within.
“We have turned that place into Hell itself,” he breathed, the glow from the fireballs reflecting in his eyes as they passed overhead.
It was, indeed, hell within the stronghold. While turf and stone fortifications were ideally suited for defense during intertribal warfare, they were useless against the advanced Roman war machine. The Germans had no concept whatsoever of artillery, let alone how to defend against it. By having all of their peoples confined in one place, it made it that much easier for the Romans to employ their siege weapons against them. Warriors howled in pain as they were cut down by scorpion bolts. Women and children screamed in agony and terror as they were smashed and burned. It was as if demons from the underworld were breathing fire and wrath upon them.
“What are they, Mother?” a boy screamed, hiding underneath a shield.
Their hut had been burned, and now there was nowhere for them to hide. A fireball exploded nearby, shards and fire spraying them.
“Take courage!” his mother cried, holding him and her toddler close.
They watched, horrified, as one woman took the brunt of a fireball in the
back as she tried to run past them. It erupted, covering her in liquid fire. She laid screaming on the ground as she was slowly consumed, the smell of burning flesh and hair overpowering the senses. Many were running towards the rear of the stronghold, hoping to escape through the woods beyond. The woman clung to her children, paralyzed with fear for them. She tried to protect them from the firestorm with her shield as she searched desperately for any sign of her husband. She would not leave without him.
“Our gods have abandoned us,” she whispered under her breath.
She knew the Romans would storm the stronghold with their infantry, but the preceding firestorm had taken all of them by surprise. She did not know that men were capable of such destruction.
Through the haze of smoke, they could see a man walking slowly towards them. His eyes were glazed and distant, his face expressionless. It was only as he got closer that the woman saw that it was her husband, a scorpion bolt protruding from his chest. His breathing was shallow and sounded like a hiss, trickles of blood running from the corners of his mouth.
“No,” she moaned as she rose to her feet. Her eyes clouded with tears as her husband fell into her waiting arms. His breathing had almost completely subsided as she gently lowered him to the ground. She tenderly ran her fingers through his hair as he reached up and touched her face with the last of his strength.
“I go now to be with my forefathers,” he whispered.
His wife broke into a wailing sob as she buried her face in his lifeless chest, her one arm wrapped around him, the other beating a fist into the ground in sorrow and despair. Their children clung to each other, eyes wide in silent terror as their world ended around them.
The firestorm continued unabated. Onagers continued to rain death over the heads of the advancing legions. Artorius watched as one fireball wobbled through the air, out of control. It fell short of its mark, smashing apart on the wall of the stronghold. Liquid fire sprayed everywhere, dousing and burning a section of turf.
“Oh, that’s not good,” he remarked.
“Damn it, who fired that one?” Pilate shouted, enraged.
Had that fireball landed while the infantry were scaling the turf wall, the result would have been disastrous.
“Over here, sir,” one section leader called out. “Blasted rope on this thing snapped as we fired.”
“I knew it, I fucking knew it!” Pilate shouted to himself. He took a deep breath and looked back to the assault. The infantry was close to the wall. He could not allow another accident like that to happen. Besides, he could see smoke and the occasional flame coming from inside the stronghold. The onagers had done their job.
He nodded and exhaled audibly. “Alright, onagers cease fire! Scorpion crews, increase your rate of fire. Keep the heads of those bastards down!”
“Sir!” the section leaders sounded off.
“Alright, men, here we go,” Centurion Macro said as they reached the base of the wall.
The wall was part natural, part manmade. It was mainly sod and turf that had been built up around a naturally high piece of ground. It was steep, but still had be plenty of hand holds available. Artorius was not too concerned about slipping and falling.
“Make sure that once you are over, you move inside quickly,” Macro ordered. “We have to be able to make room for the others. It is critical that we form up as soon as we are inside.”
“Let’s do this,” Vitruvius said as he slung his shield over his back.
Artorius looked over at Magnus. “See you at the top.”
“Right,” Magnus replied as he took a deep, nervous breath, blew out hard, and mumbled, “Thor…don’t fail me now.”
“Now to earn my third Rampart Crown.” he heard Decimus announce as he started to climb at an alarmingly fast rate.
Artorius grabbed a section of wall and started to climb. He was encumbered by his weapons and armor; however, his immense strength made the task fairly easy. He reached carefully but quickly for each new handhold, keeping his body close to the wall and using his legs to propel himself upward. At one point, a section of turf came off in his hand. He slipped and kept a death grip on the wall with his other hand, hoping it would not give way.
“Easy there soldier,” Vitruvius said as he grabbed onto him.
“I’m alright,” Artorius answered as he continued his climb. He looked over to see that Decimus was already almost to the top.
He had purposely ceased climbing and was waiting for the others to catch up before he lunged over the rampart. As Artorius got closer to the top, he could hear the sounds of scorpion bolts whistling overhead. He was almost there.
The fireballs had stopped coming, yet those cursed scorpions continued to inflict death upon Arminius’ warriors. Most of them kept their heads down behind the wall, yet occasionally some would get curious and risk a look. Often these men were felled by the waiting Roman gunners. Then suddenly the bolts stopped coming altogether.
“Here they come!” one warrior shouted, as they all started to rise and surge towards the rampart.
“Wait…not yet!” Arminius shouted, but again he was too late.
“Scorpions reload and stand by for one final volley.” Pilate ordered his crews, emphasizing, “Wait for my command.”
The idea was something he had conceived after his last siege. He knew once they stopped firing, the Germans would know that the infantrymen were almost to the top. At the first sign of Roman soldiers coming over the rampart they would surge forward. That would be the time to unleash their final volley. Pilate had reviewed his plan with the cohort commanders. He hoped the legionaries themselves would remember it and wait for the final volley to fire before surging over the wall. It was a calculated risk they were taking; the last thing he wanted was to shoot a friendly in the back. However, he felt there was a much greater risk of the barbarian surge repelling the first wave and inflicting heavy casualties. His plan would give the assaulting legionaries the precious moments they would need in order to get over the wall. He watched as the first group of soldiers made ready to make their final push. He then saw the heads of numerous Cherusci warriors as they made their way forward.
“Fire!”
Several warriors gave a loud cry and surged forward. As they did, one last wave of Scorpion bolts flew in a volley, slamming home into many who had moved to attack the Roman intruders. The rest paused, stunned by the shock and surprise of the Romans’ final barrage, as their companions fell dead or stricken. The delay gave the legionaries the time they needed.
Ingiomerus watched as one Roman soldier at the corner of the wall climbed up and over. The legionary stumbled and slipped onto his stomach as he tried to pull himself over. Ingiomerus gave a loud shout and lunged forward. He swung his sword down in a hard smash. The Roman, anticipating this, rolled to his side, so the sword deflected off the shield that was still strapped to his back. Before Ingiomerus could strike again, another Roman came over the wall. This one kept his balance and, like a cat, sprang to his feet on top of the rampart, drawing his weapon in a flash. Ingiomerus turned to face this new threat as the young legionary leaped off the wall. With a battle cry, the soldier plunged his gladius deep into the old warrior’s chest. Ingiomerus felt a searing pain as he was ran through. He fell back into the rampart, his lungs quickly filling with blood. He gasped, unable to breathe, his eyes wide. He slowly slid down the wall as the young Roman wrenched his gladius from the old warrior’s chest, ribs snapping as he did so.
So this is what it is like to die a warrior’s death, Ingiomerus thought to himself as his breath gave out.
On another section of the wall, Arminius ran forward and jabbed his sword into the neck of a Roman who had lost his footing while trying to come over the wall. His warriors took heart, seeing their wounded chief’s bravery and surged to the attack. Several Romans were struck down in similar fashion. One took a spear to the face and was knocked off the wall, his neck snapping as his head hit the rocks below. Another was struck by an axe on the back of
his neck, killing him instantly. But then, like a wave, a large number of legionaries vaulted over the top. Arminius turned to face one of these. He swung his sword rapidly, as the Roman tried to deflect with his gladius. Arminius then felt a stabbing pain in the back of his leg. He fell to the ground and lay in a heap against the wall as even more Roman soldiers poured over the side.
He reached down and felt the fresh wound on his leg. Blood was oozing from it, though it was not gushing. It was a painful gash; however, it would not prove to be fatal if he could escape from the stronghold. He turned onto his side and watched as large numbers of legionaries stormed into the center of the fort. He let out a sigh. This would be the last stand of the Cherusci. If any did survive the massacre, they would be scattered to the winds, never to rise again.
Artorius looked down at the warrior he had just slain. The man was old, a lot older than most of the other warriors. Perhaps he was a chief or elder of some sort? He reached over and helped Vitruvius to his feet.
“You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Let’s go. We have to move off the rampart quickly!” Vitruvius shouted as they unbuckled their shields and looked for the rest of the century.
Macro had been right; they had to move fast. Once the first wave had crested the wall, it was only a matter of seconds before a host of others joined them. The warriors who remained on the rampart were quickly driven off. The lucky ones were slain quickly. The rest had to deal with the horror that awaited them inside the stronghold as they made their way through the devastation.
Many of the structures inside the fort were burning. There was mass hysteria as people tried to flee. Artorius watched as Centurion Macro very calmly descended into the madness below.
“Second Century on me!” the centurion shouted.
Quickly everyone descended the rampart and formed up with their centurion. Magnus dispatched one warrior with a rapid stab to the back as he did so. Most of the others had fled to try and save their families. Artorius watched as Cohort Commander Proculus walked over to Macro.
