Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

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  “Stand” Marcus said as the Romans came to a point roughly half way between the two armies, his right hand on his sword hilt as he watched the approaching Gauls as they ambled across towards them on their larger horses. He recognised Brennus by his red hair, freely flowing as he wore no helmet. The man was truly enormous, his thighs were almost as large as most of his own soldier’s waists and his arms were like the neck of a bull, sturdy and strong. He let his eyes range across the Gauls, happy that they had continued to set up a long line of soldiers and not made any attempt to charge at his own soldiers who were only just setting up their battle lines and digging defensive ditches. He glanced behind to see the long trail of dust as men moved slowly along the road to turn left and march into their positions. He was happy with what he saw and nodded to Narcius, who sat beside him, as he turned back to face Brennus. The smaller Gaul with the green cloak was walking alongside the Gallic leader, as was the one called Belinus and several other large men, each wearing the long beards and moustaches of the tribes. All wore long swords at the waists or strapped to their horses, and all were laughing and joking as they sauntered across towards them. They carried no standards or markings which denoted who they were, they simply strolled across the plain as if out on a morning hack with their hounds.

  Marcus grinned. They needed to believe that they would swipe the Romans aside as they had done at the river Allia, and what he saw suggested that they did. Glancing back over his shoulder he guessed that the Roman lines needed another twenty minutes to fully form. He looked to the sky, overcast with the sun breaking through occasionally and a breeze which came from the river and went into the Romans faces. He noted that the Gauls must have already checked these facts and reminded himself that he was dealing with clever foes as he turned to Narcius.

  “They have a strong position” he said as Narcius nodded agreement.

  “The wind will pick up as the day grows” Narcius replied “and if it does, we will face dust in our eyes.”

  Marcus nodded. “We must not underestimate these men” he said as he looked back at the approaching Gallic group. “They are clever, resourceful and they have the confidence of a victory against us.” Narcius narrowed his eyes at the words. “But they also have the arrogance that goes with it” he smiled. “And we, my friends, must act our parts and encourage them to die against our Romans spears” he added with a smile. All the men smiled in return as one of the Gallic contingent rode forwards at a slow canter before reining in across the front of the Romans and sneering at them with a lop-sided leer.

  “Romans” shouted the man. “Though your city has been emptied, your temples defiled and your soldiers killed you still have the arrogance to meet us here” he waved an arm. “Brennus of the Senones, conqueror of Rome and taker of gold” he smiled widely at his own words “demands to know your terms of surrender.” He finished with a half-laugh as the Romans stared at him open-mouthed.

  Marcus pushed his horse forward a step and grinned at the Gallic messenger. “I talk to appointed leaders, not their dogs” he said as the man’s mouth tightened into a straight line and he whirled his mount, its front hooves rising off the ground as he kicked it back towards the other Gauls.

  “You will have no tongue to speak such words with soon, Roman” the man laughed as he kicked the horse into motion. Marcus shook his head at the man’s posturing.

  Eventually Brennus and his men arrived and brought their mounts to a stand-still five paces from Marcus. He lifted his chin as if to ask what the Roman’s wanted and before Marcus could answer the movement the smaller man spoke.

  “Roman men of the once great city beyond the flowing waters of the sacred gods of Gaul” he started, his Greek still difficult to understand, but passable. “Brennus, leader of the victorious Senones and their allies wishes to know why you are here” he asked as Marcus smiled in response.

  “Brennus of the Senones” Marcus said quietly so that the Gauls had too lean forward slightly to hear his words. “You have something that belongs to my people” he said slowly, quizzical looks coming from the faces of the Gauls.

  “Ha” laughed Brennus, his head rocking backwards before he leant forwards to place one elbow on his thigh. He let his eyes fall on the Romans and grinned manically at each of them in turn.

  “You have violated my homeland, torn the hearts from our old as they sat on their hearths and defied you to enter our city” Marcus said as his voice grew stronger. “You have destroyed our sacred Temples, pulled down our ancient walls and walked the streets that our forefathers walked with honour, in days gone by. You have taken payment which was illegally agreed by an inferior magistrate when I was already declared Dictator with the sole right to agree any terms. You cry ‘Vae Victis’ as conqueror of Rome but you have never faced a true Roman army with a leader whose iron will and strong arm have never been defeated in war.”

  Brennus sat, unmoved, and huffed quietly as Marcus finished, his glance to Aengus clear.

  “Vae Victis” the druid replied, his eyes watching Marcus as if he was an object of interest, but nothing more. “In our tongue such words mean that we are the conquerors and to us are all the spoils” he sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “Your gods have given up your fancy houses and high walled streets and given us the right to every treasure you possess. There is no wrong-doing here Roman” he snarled as his anger began to rise in his face. “You have no right to anything other than the empty vessel that your city has become.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Go back to your empty streets, to your city of ghosts where the old men still scream anger at your losing their sacred city. To the victor goes everything. To the loser” he shrugged, Brennus and Belinus both nodding vigorously as they shifted their weight on their horses and turned to stare at Marcus before returning their eyes to Aengus as he continued to speak.

  “You have no legal right to any gold which we have claimed, in good faith, from your men on their Hill. They gave ransom, as befitted their situation as captives, and they gave it willingly” Aengus said. “There is no reason for you to be here with your” he seemed to look for the words before he spoke “Phalanx” he said as he shrugged again and his eyes came to rest on the army over his shoulder.

  Marcus noted the word but suppressed his retort with a deep and slow breath.

  “Then we will use our iron to regain our land” Marcus said as he lifted a hand and waved to his compatriots. “See how a true Roman defeats his enemies and see how the gods favour us now” he said as he pulled his reins, and with a last look at Aengus and then Brennus he turned the horse’s head and started to walk it slowly back towards the Roman lines, ensuring that none of his men moved above a walk despite the anxious looks from some of them at the Gauls.

  “He has balls” Belinus said with a laugh. “Want me to cut them off and bring them back for you?” he added with a grin as he clenched the grip on his sword.

  Brennus huffed. “He has bought the time he wanted” Brennus said as he looked at the circling dust at the end of the plain. “It will be good to finish this with their deaths. His head will make a good trophy” he added lightly as Belinus let his horse tear at a clump of grass at its feet and laughed again.

  “Come” said Brennus. “Let us discuss our battle plan with the elders and the chieftains” he added as he turned his mount and kicked it hard in the sides to move it above a slow walk.

  Aengus watched the Romans as their horses walked across the plain towards their army. He scanned the battle lines and wondered what trickery this Camillus might have up his sleeve. He played with the handle of his dagger as he watched them disappear into the, slowly settling, dust cloud. There would be death here, he thought, but whose death he was not sure.

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  Chapter 27

  Marcus called the officers to him and looked at their eager faces, noting the seriousness behind the eyes and the tightness in the jaws of some of the younger men. They had discussed the plan for the coming ba
ttle several times, his usual meticulous drilling of movements and timings causing initial concerns but eventually gaining total agreement. As he moved into the midst of the group, he nodded to Caedicius who replied with a salute and turned his horse to trot off to the left, he would hold the edge of the Roman line which faced almost directly at the small ford in the stream. Two men followed him after they had saluted smartly, each man slapping his sword three times as they followed Caedicius. Marcus grinned as they went.

  “The time to return the land to its rightful owners has come” he said with a cold expression on his face as he stepped his horse forwards from the rear line and looked right and left. “We have followed all the correct sacrificial procedures and we’ve had good omens” Marcus said as he looked across at the men. “The Gauls will find that today our gods look over us and that our weapons will be strong in our hands.” He looked at the defensive ditch they had dug in case they needed to retreat, small but adequate. He smiled at Narcius who was standing between the two lines of soldiers and watching him closely. “Cossus, Cox” he said as he looked to the right. “You know what to do. Keep that line tight” he said with a further nod as the men saluted and headed off towards the furthest end of the battlefield. As they left a sizeable group of horses followed them from the reserves line. Marcus watched them go for a moment before he returned his gaze to the centre.

  The noise ahead was building as the Gauls continued to spread out into a line several men deep but with no pattern except a deeper central line of maybe fifteen to twenty men. Behind this group sat Brennus on his horse, clearly visible above the heads of his men as he waved them into position. Marcus saw that the wagons had been dragged through the ford and were ranged along the short rise, the screaming women and children waving wildly from the back of the carts and horses.

  The legions stood silently, waiting for orders as Marcus looked over them from horseback. The men were arranged in two loose lines several men deep with the cavalry on both edges in the traditional style. The rear line had some clear divisions between the men, appearing more like three groups of soldiers rather than one line, so they were almost ready, Marcus thought. He looked ahead again and heard the Gauls cheering as a horse was walked to the ford and the green cloaked druid started shouting some indiscriminate noises above the din of his soldiers.

  Lifting his hand and waving twice he heard the trumpets blare the signal and watched in admiration as his soldiers, the men of the Roman legions, started to shift into their traditional phalanxes along the front line, each man shuffling into a tight square which would form the block which would hammer into the enemy in the style of the old days, or so he wanted Brennus to think. The men moved effortlessly into position, the additional javelins they carried in the front row the only difference that any trained eye would spot from the army that faced the Gauls at the Allia. Each solid block of men was arranged some fifty paces apart and covered the ground in front of the Gauls, who were still raucously cheering as the sacrificial horse fell into the water, the druid digging at its chest with his blade to remove the heart of the beast.

  Once the three blocks of men had settled into position Marcus waved again, this time the rear lines spreading into three rows at his command, which were five men deep. But this time the men were arranged to stand fifty yards behind the phalanxes but across the gaps between them. Marcus knew that from the front this would present an almost solid wall of men to the oncoming Gauls. The longer rear lines over-spilled the edges of the phalanxes as he had wished and offered some protection to the flanks. With a nod he turned to see the unyielding faces of several Centurions and officers who had called, pushed and cajoled their men into position. Each man, identified by the three feathers in their helmets, held his gaze. The noise of the frenzied Gauls screaming as Aengus stepped from the water and carried the bloody heart towards Brennus made Marcus look up and frown. They had moments left before the manic charge of the Gauls started. He glanced at the cavalry to their right and left and considered his plans. His lips tightened as he drew a long gaze across the enemy lines. Nodding to himself he stepped his horse forwards a few yards and turned to stretch his neck as he grinned at the army before him.

  “Men of Rome” he called, his eyes casting deep shadows as he moved his head along the lines of men. “Allies of our great city” he said with a slight nod to a number of the men from Ardea and other allied states who had joined their cause. “The foe stands there” he pointed. “We know his ways” he called as he cast his head to the skies “and Jupiter and Mars know how to defeat him, as we have done to reclaim our city.” He looked to the front. “They have your gold” he called, as men started to shout defiance. “They have taken your houses and defiled them, destroyed all that we held sacred in our great city.” He licked his lips to moisten them. “The unlucky day” he said as he bowed his head in sorrow “the Alliensis” which he knew was the name the soldiers had begun to use to describe the day of the battle of the Allia. “Will be revenged today” he called, his voice now straining as he felt his heart thumping against his chest. “Do your duty to the gods” he said, hearing the chant of the Centurions repeating his words along the lines of men. “To your city and to your fellow soldiers.” He nodded to the trumpets and a long blast split the air as the front row of phalanxes started to step forwards, several hundred velites racing into no-man’s land with slings already whirling and light javelins bouncing in their hands.

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  Brennus started as he heard the deep groan of the Roman war horns, his eyes moving from the approaching figure of Aengus as he strode purposefully towards his leader with the heart of the horse which had been sacrificed in the water. Staring at the movement of the Romans his mouth fell open and he turned to look at Belinus, who was also staring at the marching Romans in surprise.

  “They are attacking us?” he said incredulously. “They are attacking us?” he said more sharply as Aengus started to walk with more purpose, his eyes glancing to his right as he saw the Romans advancing.

  “Bellosenos” Brennus said as he turned to face the oncoming army. “Take the central warriors and move them into position” he said quickly as the bearded Gaul stared at him, his mouth working but no sound coming out as he moved his gaze to Aengus and then back to Brennus.

  “But the sacrifice” he mumbled, a sudden fear in his eyes.

  “Now” screamed Brennus as the unmistakable sound of whirling stones began to clatter into the front rank of Gauls no more than sixty paces in front of him.

  Bellosenos reacted instantly and dragged his large frame forwards towards the rows of Gallic warriors as Brennus watched several impatient warriors charge at the advancing, lightly armoured, Roman velites. He grimaced as the first warrior, his bare back reddened from the sun of the last few days, danced the death of a man hit by several heavy missiles at once, his arms and legs jiggling as he tipped forwards and fell to the floor. Bellosenos screamed a string of orders to the watching chieftains and held a hand in the air as he screamed a deep-throated string of curses towards the Romans.

  Brennus turned to Aengus, who had hurried forwards, knowing that the men would only be truly happy once the sacrificial heart had been received by their leader. As Bellosenos yelled further curses at the velites, who were now hitting Gallic heads indiscriminately, Brennus gripped the squelching, warm, lump of flesh and bit into it. The red blood mingled with his lime washed beard and sent streaks of dark stained rivulets onto his chest. The spots of blood clung to him like leeches hanging on for their life as he whipped his head around and, with blood-stained teeth, screamed for the attack to happen. As the words left his mouth, he had already heard the Roman war horns and turned his eyes to see the velites withdrawing, as if expecting the Gauls to charge the minute the sacrificial heart had been touched.

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  Marcus nodded and the horns blared the retreat. The surprise attack had done exactly what he wanted, caused a small amount of chaos in the Gallic ranks. They hadn�
�t expected the Romans to attack them. He smiled. The velites began to race back as a low cry was heard from a mounted Gaul who was waving instructions, the lone voice echoing across the ground towards where the Roman leaders stood. As the velites ran back to their own lines the front three ranks, spears bristling from their deep phalanxes, came to a stand-still. The second file of men stepped closer but also stopped within twenty paces of the front rank, the long lines of men now clamping their shields together to present a wall of shields to the front. Marcus wondered if the phalanx would do its job or if the men would flee under the onslaught of the first Gallic attack. He chided himself for the thought and nodded, with as much of a relaxed grin as he could muster, to several of the older men who were stood in the row in front of them and had turned to look at him as he approached. He found himself leaning forwards on his horse as he watched and listened to the Gauls as he stepped his horse into the gap between the two distinct groups of Romans, the phalanx and the shield wall.

  The returning velites, breathing raggedly, turned and placed their spare javelins in the ground, spear tips buried in the dirt. Then they ran through the gaps between the phalanxes and threw their cloth bags of missiles onto the floor before returning to their spears to grip them and stand to look out across the ground as the Gallic army began to bristle and flow, the angry noise starting to growl like a dog preparing to strike. Marcus licked his lips again and nodded to the trumpeters as the First screams from Brennus rent the air and the centre line of the Gauls burst into a frenzy of men beating their shields with their swords. Almost instantly ragged groups of men charged at the Romans, the war horns of both sides blaring as they competed to out-do the noise of their opponents.