Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

  The noise of battle suddenly stopped, the panting of men and bellowing of animals the only noise that could be heard. Within seconds the Romans had begun to scream their success and men were already pulling at the Gauls bodies to search for tokens or weapons which they could take from the dead.

  Marcus placed his hands on his knees and bent forwards, the exertion of the fight suddenly hitting his arms and legs as he heard the thumping of his own heart in his ears. He glanced around quickly before he undid the chin strap of his helmet and lifted the heavy object from his head, the long feathers still standing proud.

  “Vetto, Mella” he called as the two men turned at his voice. “Well done” he shouted as he stepped across. “Quickly” he added as he pointed his sword towards the front. “Get the men lined up and get as many of these animals together as we can. We need to be away from here within fifteen minutes. Pile the dead along the roadside so we can get through, but don’t send men off into the trees to capture lost animals, better to have those that are here than to lose time or lives chasing beasts in the woods” he said. Both men nodded and turned to shout instructions.

  Marcus moved back over to the Gaul with the golden torc. He pushed the man with his foot, his heavy body hardly moving against the movement. The hole through his shoulder blade had clearly ripped his lungs and the man had bled out on the floor. Bending down he gripped the golden torc and pushed the man onto his front so he could remove it from him, the central shaft of the torc a mass of twisted wires but the end a thick boss of highly detailed gold. Bending the torc and pulling it through the long hair of the Gaul Marcus looked at the detail. A dragon head stared back at him, eyes and teeth depicted in fine detail as swirls and what looked like an oak leaf were crafted along the thick band of the neck where it joined the wire. He nodded. A worthy prize, he thought as he strode across to the Gaul, he had told the legionary to keep alive.

  “Dog” cursed the Gaul as Marcus arrived where the man was being held by two Romans, the blood still bright on his clothes and his nose clearly broken as his face was covered in a mix of dirt and dark crusted blood. “You will rot in the land of the dead, lost without your clan to help you, your head taken from your body and your manhood shrivelled in the fires of Taranis” he shouted in his broken Greek.

  Marcus smiled. Barbarians they may be, but they knew the trader’s language and how to use it to curse. “Bring him back with us” he said, “he could be useful”.

  ***********

  It was later than evening when the news came to Marcus. Men from Veii had arrived, Roman men. He had dressed in his armour, which had been washed and cleaned already, and rushed across to the town centre where a great crowd of people had already appeared. He had heard rumours that some of the survivors from the Allia had moved to Veii, some twelve miles north of Rome, but the city of their old enemy was over twenty miles by road from Ardea, which lay some eight miles east of the Roman capitol city.

  He arrived at the road which led to the town square just as Narcius, pristine in his military uniform, appeared from another direction, saluted and marched along beside him. “We should have sent men to Veii to see what was there” he whispered.

  “We have enough trouble holding the town here” he replied. “There would have been no point wasting more men on a trip there” he said indifferently as the crowd parted in front of them.

  As they neared the centre of the town, they could see the elders waving to them, their faces split by broad smiles as they saw the two soldiers appear. People chatted as the men walked into the square, some nodding happily, others with questioning looks on their faces. A dog was barking, its owner calling at it to be quiet, people laughed as the man kicked out at the dog and missed, his cursing ringing around the square. Marcus smiled at the scene. People could deal with any situation, he thought, if they believed they were safe. The elders had accepted his leadership as long as they held the final say, and Vetto had been an excellent co-leader as the two men ensured that everything was done to keep the town acting as normal as possible in the current circumstances. He smiled at a small boy who waved to him, Felix if he remembered correctly, named because he had come out of his mother’s womb backside first but both baby and mother had lived, lucky indeed. Vetto stepped forwards at the front of the group of town elders, his hands on his hips as he waited for Marcus to arrive.

  In front of the gathered crowd were three men, each man thin and hungry looking yet still retaining the look of men in the prime of their lives. Marcus cast a glance at the three men and narrowed his eyes. Licinius Brutus, Pontius Comminus and the man who had led to his downfall, Apuleius, stood before him, each man turning towards him as he stepped from the crowd and came to a stop in front of them. He nodded to the town elders and then to Vetto, following the procedures that were required for such a gathering. He noted that Apuleius couldn’t hold his gaze and with a stare fixed on Brutus he repressed a wry smile.

  Brutus smiled warmly at Marcus and nodded, as did the other men. “Marcus Furius Camillus” Brutus said as he bowed and turned to face the ex-leader of Rome. “I come from the city of Veii” he started as a mumble went around the crowd. “Where we have gathered all that remains of the once glorious armies of Rome. Those who could do so have joined us and we hold over four thousand fighting men ready to do the bidding of the gods against these invaders of our lands” he said as a loud rumble of voices went up from the gathered crowd. Marcus shared a look to Narcius, who was looking at him with an I told you so look in his eye, which he quickly ignored. Expectant eyes turned to Marcus as he looked at Brutus and held his gaze. “Those who can have voted, Camillus” he said as he turned to fully face Marcus “We, the remains of the people of Rome would ask that you Marcus Furius Camillus accept the role of Dictator and decide our future. We ask you with the blessing of Jupiter, greatest and best, and all the gods of the city to accept our charge and to lead us to victory against our enemies or to a new land where we can build a new Rome, a place equal to the city of our ancestors. We ask for your guidance and for the wisdom that you, as Dictator, can bring to the people of Rome” he concluded, not the full set of words for inauguration but a shorter version of them.

  Marcus was shocked by the statement, his ears listening to the loud mumblings of the crowd and small cheers that went up from some of the soldiers at his back. Narcius looked at him with a self-satisfied smile and his head was nodding slowly as his eyes burned with passion. Members of the crowd spoke the word dictator as they stared at him, others hushing them into silence as Marcus let his gaze fall on Apuleius. Apuleius had caused his downfall, somehow managed to find a way to accuse him of embezzling money from the state through the spoils from Veii. His mind raced with images of the death at Veii, the triumph in Rome, his shoulders draped with the dead Kings robe and the great bronze doors at his house that had been the final straw for many Romans. Crowds had thronged to see his triumph, called his name as he dedicated the joyous celebrations to the gods, especially Mater Matuta, Juno and Fortuna. Yet the same crowds had flocked to jeer him as he left the city in self-imposed exile.

  Apuleius stared at him defiantly, his eyes flashing with the sense of self-centred pride that Marcus recognised from his dealings with the man previously. Yet there was something in his gaze which was different, something which was begging for humility and respect despite the situation they found themselves in. Apuleius shuffled nervously as Brutus glanced to him and back to Marcus, wondering if the animosity between the two men was too strong. Had he, Brutus, chosen badly in asking Apuleius to come to Ardea and stand in front of Camillus? Brutus had considered that Camillus would see the plight of the remaining Romans in the fact that his old enemy would stand before him and ask for his help. Maybe he was wrong.

  The crowd had hushed into silence as Marcus stood and stared at Apuleius. Narcius coughed quietly, the noise breaking the spell that had caught his patron in its hold. Marcus blinked as he turned his eyes to Brutus.

  “Brutus, Comminus, Apule
ius” he said with a short nod to each man. “You do me honour to come here and speak of the people of Rome voting that I take the yolk of patron of Rome” he said. His eyes fell to the floor as he felt his stomach churn and looked to the skies, his eyes darting across the heavens as he searched for a sign. Was this what the prophecy had meant? Dictator again? Building a new Rome? He took a slow breath as he saw no birds in the sky to guide him, no clouds which were shaped with the love of the gods for Rome. The plain grey sky stared back at him and he felt his mind clawing for words. People were shuffling, voices whispering.

  “Brutus?” he said slowly. “Do you bring the voice of the Senate with your vote? Have the Patres agreed this?” he asked.

  “How could they?” replied Brutus. “They are all dead?” he replied as a wail started in the crowd.

  “Dead?” replied Vetto. “Then the Capitol has fallen and the temple of Jupiter smashed?” he asked as he raised a balled fist to his open mouth.

  “What? What do you mean?” asked Brutus incredulously as he stared open-mouthed at Vetto.

  “The Senate of Rome lives within Rome” Marcus replied. “The remaining men from the Allia returned to the city and set themselves upon the hills of the Capitol and the Citadel. As we understand it they are still there, barricaded from the Gauls with food and water.”

  Brutus shared a look with Comminus and Apuleius which showed that they had not known this and Marcus made his decision as the men slowly turned back to him. “Men of Rome” he said “I will accept your vote” he added as a gasp and cries of support rang out before he added “but I will only accept the role of Dictator if it is agreed by the Senate of Rome” he said as he stared at Brutus, his eyes cold.

  Brutus nodded, his understanding catching before any other in the square.

  “How can we get the Senate to agree” came a voice. “They are locked tight on the Capitol” it said again.

  Marcus looked to Pontius Comminus, the man’s face draining of colour as he stared at Marcus, light dawning in his mind. He stared long and hard at Marcus as voices called questions, some dismissing Camillus for not accepting the Dictatorship and others calling for calm.

  One of the elders thumped his walking cane on an upturned bucket, the noise causing all the people to stop their chatter and turn to him. “Stop this rabble” shouted the old man, his thin neck lined with wrinkled skin and his brown teeth showing through his open mouth as he called for silence. “Camillus is right” he said flatly. “Only the Senate of Rome can call for a Dictator, and only the Senate can sanction it.” He looked to Marcus and nodded with an appraising smirk before he turned back to the three men who had come from Veii. “You have your answer. You must return to Veii and find a way to get a message to the Senate. Bring back their sworn seal and…”

  Before he could finish Pontius Comminus had stepped forward and stood in front of Marcus, his eyes clasped onto the former ruler. Marcus was smiling at him as if he already knew what he was going to say and Marcus nodded as if to allow Comminus to speak.

  “I know a way” he said quietly.

  “What was that?” said the town elder, turning his good ear towards the younger man. “What did he say?”

  “I know a way” Comminus repeated more loudly. He smiled, almost laughed as he looked at Marcus. “When I was younger Marcus Furius Camillus was Censor in Rome” he said. “We” he stumbled his words as he realised the enormity of what he was going to say, “well I” he continued. “I was a bit of a rogue and used to get into trouble for climbing the trees in the sacred grove at the temple of the Vestals” he said as a snort of laughter was mixed with gasps of terror from various sections of the crowds. Everyone knew that men were not allowed into the sacred groves and that being caught there was punishable by death, yet most of the men also knew that boys would dare each other to pluck fruit from the trees or to knock on the door of the temple and rush away. Comminus looked to Marcus and wondered how to say his next sentence.

  “One night I was seen by the guards whilst I climbed the tree. They chased me across the Forum and towards the Capitoline Hill. I ran along the bottom by the Tarpeian Rock and there I met Marcus Furius returning from his father’s house along the steep rise. He saw me and watched as I tried to escape. He never told the authorities that it was me” he said as he locked his eyes to Marcus. As he continued his mind swam with the words as he said them. “I know a way to climb the Rock to the temple” he said slowly as his eyes focused on the crowd. “I managed to scramble up the path that night, and the guards couldn’t see me. You told them you hadn’t seen anyone” he said as he turned back to Marcus with a warm smile. He moved slowly and faced the crowd. “It is a message from the gods” he said. “All these years I have been plagued with bad luck since that day when I entered the sacred grove. But it’s a message. They picked me for this day, for this reason” he said. “At the Allia no blade touched me even though my legs felt like lead weights and my sword arm cried in pain. I was pulled from the spear of a Gaul as I fell, his spear missing me as I stared into his face. All for this” he said as his eyes glassed over and people began to fall to their knees at his words, their faces wide-eyed. “The gods saved me because I know how to get to the Senate, how to climb the Rock.”

  Marcus knew that his words were true and stood silently as Comminus spoke. He touched Comminus lightly on the shoulder and nodded. “You have your answer Brutus” he said solemnly with a glance to the other man.

  ***********

  Chapter 15

  “Another raiding party lost” Brennus snarled as he wiped the dark barley brew from his wet moustache. “Same as before?” has asked.

  “Yes” came the quick reply.

  “Then we must take the fight to this Camillus” he said as he reached across to the hard bread and rapped it on the table before throwing it across to the eager dog, whose tail thumped the wall like a whip as it lay on an old cloak with its back to the wall.

  “Good” called Belinus. “I will do it myself” he said as he stood, his eyes suddenly losing focus as he took a deep breath and swayed before falling onto his outstretched arms on the table top and steadying himself. “Maybe I will go in the morning” he said as a ripple of laughter broke out from the assembled Gauls, each supping either barley beer or Roman wine as was his taste.

  Brennus grinned at his brother and huffed a short laugh as he stretched his torso and grinned at the men. The winter hadn’t been too bad for the Gauls. The stone houses were warm once a strong fire was burning and the food and wine remained in adequate supply, though the food was starting to run short now as they entered the rainy season following the melting of the snow. The guards at the Capitol Hill, as the Romans called it, had given up their attacks on the defenders some months before, but now they taunted the Romans saying that they would starve them out. Various bodies of old men and women had been thrown from the top of the steep climb at the back of the temple, the bodies thin and emaciated from starvation and Brennus wondered just how much food the few thousand people on the Hill had remaining. His men had tried to climb the steep Rock but to no avail. It was impenetrable. He glanced to the dog, which was still doing its best to chew through the thick bread. The response from the Romans at being jibed about their lack of food had been to throw stale loaves of bread down at the Gauls. Brennus laughed at the stupidity of it. The Romans were a strange breed of people, he mused.

  The thaw of the snow had brought problems of its own, however. The Gauls had burnt much of the lower city and pulled down many of the houses and temples across the city, but they had left all the dead where they had fallen. In many cases they had sacrificed a captured Roman at the doorway to the house in which they had set up residence for the winter, an old custom which the tribes believed would place a spirit guard at the doorway to a house which would keep the evil spirits of the house outside at night. He’d discussed it with Aengus who had, indeed, claimed that he had seen the spirits walking the roads and the ‘ghost guards’ had acted exact
ly as the old myths said they would.

  Now that the snow had melted and warm rain had come, the old smell of decay that had been in the city after they had defeated the Romans had returned. With the decay came a fever. With the fever came death. He had lost three of his own clansmen to the fever recently and his drink addled mind leapt to conclusions as another of his men coughed a deep hacking cough from the corner of the room as another thumped him on the back, laughing at the bulging eyes of his brother as he angrily thrust his arm back and bent forward to cough again.

  “Aengus” Brennus said as the druid looked up at him. Aengus had taken to shaving the front section of hair from his scalp so he looked like an old, half-bald man from a distance. It connected him with the spirits of the new season he had said.

  “Leader” Aengus replied.

  “Tell me again of this plague of which you spoke yesterday”

  Aengus pursed his lips as his face moved into a concentrated smile. “When the followers of Dis-pater wander across the land they strip the souls of the dead from their corpses” he said as he closed his eyes. “The she wolves and the devils from the sky seek out the soft flesh and pick at the bones to complete the cycle of life and rebirth. But when the iron of man takes a foe, striking his soul in agony from his mortal body, Dis-pater looks on the body of the dead with anger. The spirits infect the flesh and force evil spirits to inhabit the body. The birds feed on the death, the spirits spitting out the life force that was once within the burning muscles of men. That which remains is called Anasula, soulless.” His eyes opened. “The dead which are littered around this city are Anasula” he said, “bad spirits which will walk the streets at night and infect men, take their strength as the spirits try to regain their own bodies by taking the life force of others.”