Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

  “Step back” he bellowed. “They are surrounding us” he shouted as he grabbed at Bellosenos and pulled his arm. The Chieftain looked at him aghast, as if he’d gone mad, before he realised what was being said. Already several Gauls had stepped back, fear in their faces as they disengaged from the Romans and stood looking at their chieftain, his head twisting left and right as he sought a plan. Men bumped into him, their fear turning to panic as they started to shout at their leader for orders. More men clambered back, panic written in their faces, some turning and starting to run back towards the stream. All around him panic was beginning to set in as men shouted and called to their friends, some throwing their weapons at the shields of the Romans before turning and, despite the shouts of other Gauls, starting to run.

  “No, you fools” Brennus shouted as he twisted the hammer in his hands. “Step back and…” but it was too late. His indecision had caused the start of a panic as men started to fall back from the Romans. As he shouted at the men who had turned, he noticed a sudden movement in the Roman wall and saw that the face of the man Camillus was staring straight at him, his eyes hungry for his blood.

  Brennus gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched tight as he turned the hammer to the front and stepped forwards, Bellosenos moved to the side as the Gallic leader roared defiance at the Roman. Marcus slipped into a crouch and his eyes darted around him as a Gallic bodyguard ran forwards and, with a wide sweep of his sword, attempted to behead the Roman Dictator. Marcus edged forward and took the brunt of the stroke on his shield, stabbing his blade directly into the left shoulder of his attacker, the man tumbling to land at Narcius’ feet and his eyes wide as the Centurion thrust his own blade deep into the man’s heart. The cracking of the Gauls ribs echoed around the space in which the two leaders were now standing. Bellosenos screamed, his voice feral and his eyes filled with the battle frenzy that had won him his position. He charged, his broad sword held tight in both hands as it arced above his head and chopped down at Marcus. A legionary thrust a spear at the chest of the Gaul as his arms brought his thick iron blade down onto Marcus’ shield, the spear slicing through the chieftains left forearm and pulling his grip from the blade as Bellosenos turned his wild gaze on the short Roman. The legionary was desperately pulling his spear back, the tip dragging the Gauls arm as he bellowed like a bull who had been cut at a sacrifice. Marcus sidestepped the arcing blade and was in next to his body before he could manoeuvre to gain an advantage. Smashing the hilt of his own sword into the point of the man’s chin in an upward thrust he felt the Gauls head rock backwards and saw the light leave his eyes, his enormous body crumpling as he fell to the floor.

  “Shields” Narcius screamed as Marcus reacted instinctively, pushing the legionary backwards and shouting at him to release the spear he was tugging to free from the fallen Gauls arm. The Romans slammed their shields together just as the hammer of Brennus blasted into the top of Narcius’ shield. The force tugged his head forwards as he began to topple into the Gallic line which had renewed the ferocity of the attack, his right shoulder twisting so that he couldn’t raise his sword.

  Marcus hacked at Brennus’ hand as he tried to grasp Narcius’ bronze helmet, the short lip at the back of his head the perfect place to drag the soldier forwards. Brennus saw the move and pulled his hand back as Marcus’ blade clattered into his friend’s helmet. Narcius had stumbled to his knees and two Romans were already stepping forward to cover him as he struggled to get to his feet. The teeth and eyes of a crazed Gaul blurred across Marcus’ vision as a body leapt across from his left, the man throwing himself bodily into one of the Romans. The movement created enough space for Brennus to have his war hammer in the air before Marcus could react and he watched in horror as the carved animals embedded on the iron head of the weapon began to move downwards towards his stricken Centurion, the bellowing of Brennus causing men to stare at his wild eyes as they bulged with the effort of the attack.

  Marcus was already moving as the hammer began to fall, the elbows of the red-haired giant bending as he took the strain of the weight of the killing weapon. The shield edge was aimed straight at Brennus’ leading leg, the point of the knee the only target he could see in the sea of bodies which had pressed in tighter to kill the Roman who had fallen to the floor. Marcus was screaming for Juno to guide him as he put all his weight into the blow, which connected with a sickening crack against the Gallic man’s leg pushing the knee joint back and to the side as the hammer head moved beyond the perpendicular. Marcus felt his body hit by a blow to the ribs as he thrust his arm out and attempted to land on his right side, the Gaul already falling away as his leg buckled. Narcius was scrambling in the dust, his breathing so loud that Marcus thought he was breathing his dying gasps as he fell onto the ground and rolled onto his shoulder and tried to get to his feet.

  Feet kicked at him, a spear butt whacked into his thigh causing him to yell in pain, but the desire to live dragged him to his feet and he grabbed at Narcius, who was staggering to get upright alongside him, both men a whirl of arms and legs as they staggered like drunkards at a wedding. The wall of Romans stepped forwards quickly as Brennus was dragged back, his screaming calls for the death of the Romans causing those nearest him to throw themselves at the two Roman leaders. A spear burst through the face of a legionary who had bent to grasp Marcus’ shoulder, the hot blood stinging his eyes as he blinked away the sight of the dead man falling forwards. The spear was coming at him again and he parried it quickly, his instincts and training now the only thing that was saving his life. Brennus screamed as he tried to regain his footing and Marcus used the noise to focus his attention. Narcius had gripped his shoulder and was pulling him back, but Marcus had his eyes on the enormous Gallic leader and was shrugging off his friends’ hand before he was almost lifted from his feet by a Gaul who had run several steps and slammed his sweat covered body into him. The force pushed Marcus and Narcius back into the Roman wall, Marcus’ head ringing against a shield as the legionary attempted to drag his shield back from the tumbling men but was too slow. The Gaul was grappling with Narcius, a thin dagger driving backwards and forwards as both men struggled to kill the other. Narcius was on his back, but expertly thrust the Gaul to the side and instantly four weapons, swords and spears, burst into the man’s naked back, each weapon digging long rents of blood from his skin as he arched his back and let out a dying scream which sounded like a prayer to the Gods as Marcus stepped forwards and ran his blade across the man’s throat. Hot blood washed across his hand, but Marcus’ eyes were only for Brennus. The Gallic leader was now on his feet, his leg buckling but not broken so badly he couldn’t hold his weight on it as he used his hammer as a crutch. Several Gauls were already pulling at his shoulders and gabbling for him to retreat as the tide of the battle had clearly swung towards the Romans, but Brennus was shrugging them off as his eyes clamped on Marcus and he bellowed something that was drowned in the avalanche of noise between them.

  Marcus stood and paced forwards, shield-less, with his sword held out in front of him. As he clenched his jaw and called out for Fortuna to let his hand do the work of the gods a blur to Brennus’ left stopped him in his tracks. The druid was running directly at Marcus, naked and covered in fresh scars which dripped blood. Marcus gasped as the druid leapt in the air and a curved blade appeared above him, his voice screaming in a deep boom like the drums of the gods. Every face had turned to the Gaul as he appeared and every man stood open-mouthed as his weight crashed into Marcus, the blade already slicing at his neck.

  Marcus fell backwards as the force of the attacker came at him, a trick Mella had taught him years ago. He gasped for breath as he knew the falling movement could knock the air from his lungs as he watched the arcing blade swing at his jugular and rolled his shoulder across his throat as he fell, kicking his shins up at the attacker to throw him from his body as they landed. The blade sliced into his shoulder, biting into his thick leather tunic but causing no damage to his skin. In the space of two heartbeats
the druid was already back on his feet and launching another attack. His blade darted at Marcus’ face as he slipped on the dust and felt the air whistle around him, the Gauls had thrown spears at him as he lay on the floor, but his own, constant, movement had saved him. The druid skittered across the ground with one hand on the floor, like a three-legged spider with a silver blade high in the sky. Marcus let his instincts take control and knew that already the Gaul was trying to move him away from the Roman shield wall as several Gallic giants crashed into the Romans on either side of him, Brennus’ deep shouts clearly trying to take control of this sudden change of events.

  Marcus snapped his head to the left and right and, as two legionaries forced themselves towards him and Narcius, pushed back the dying body of a man he had run his blade through, the Gaul grabbing at his guts as they tumbled from the open cut. Aengus attacked again, his hands and feet moving together as he seemed to batter into Marcus in one movement which caught him three times, the kick to the leg the blow that sent him spinning but the blade missing as Marcus used the short sword to throw an attack at the druid which pulled his attack backwards. Marcus crouched and rushed backwards towards Narcius who was calling the shields forwards, only three steps between them. Narcius was screaming orders, his face purple with the effort as Marcus turned and parried another blade attack from the druid, the blade slicing into his forearm as it bounced off his blade. Aengus had already turned his shoulder and arced the blade back up as Marcus attempted to get his feet in line, the pressing men causing him to stumble as a spear was thrust at the dancing Gaul, missing him completely. The druid seemed impervious to attacks as he ducked and slipped every attempt to hit him, his movements fast and smooth.

  The blade bit into Marcus’ cheek, clattering the bronze cheek guard as the curved tip nicked his face. He yelled, not in pain as much as in surprise and saw the smile on the Gauls face at his outburst. There was no chance to parry or attack as the Gaul danced back out of reach and two other men thrust their faces into Marcus’ eye line, the druid ducking and disappearing behind the attacking Gauls.

  Narcius was at his side as he stared wildly into the Gallic enemy, the druid had completely disappeared. “Where is he?” Marcus grunted through clenched teeth as he turned to Narcius.

  “I’ve given the order to push forwards” Narcius said, ignoring his question. “Get back in line and let’s do this the way you planned” he snapped, his eyes brokering no questions. Marcus stared at him open-mouthed as he drew long ragged breaths, his chest heaving from the exertion and his cheek stinging. Ahead he saw the red hair of Brennus as the man limped back towards the rear.

  “Do it” Marcus snapped back at his Centurion and turned to stalk back into the line of Romans, who were already cheering at the turn in events. The Gauls were starting to fall back in larger numbers. “But” Marcus shouted as he turned back to Narcius. “It ends here. No prisoners” he shouted as he spat on the ground and stamped his foot on the phlegm to emphasise his point.

  ************

  “We must flee” a chieftain shouted as Brennus stumbled back to his horse and threw his hammer to the ground.

  “Never” Brennus snarled. “They cannot beat us” he shouted as he grabbed his knee and felt the twisted leg burning like the fires of hell.

  “Then set the cavalry on them” the man replied, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Brennus. The Gaul lifted his head to try and see what was happening. He considered mounting his horse but knew that his leg would not stand the pain. He quickly assessed the situation as he stared around the battle scene. The Romans wings were trying to circle the Gauls as they had come to the centre to be close to their leader. A mistake, he ground his teeth as he considered it. They still had superior numbers but the momentum was with the Romans. He glanced left and right and nodded. “Send the cavalry at their flanks” he said as he turned quickly at the sound of a deep trumpet split the air. Almost instantly he knew that the Roman Dictator had already given the same order to his horses, they would have the advantage of the first movement. “Now!” he screamed as he pushed the chieftain and he span to race across the ground screaming orders to his men.

  As he watched he already knew it was too late. The central line of his attack was buckling as the Romans marched a shield wall straight through them. Their short weapons seemed to slice through every Gallic attack with little resistance. His warriors fell in droves, cut down like the wheat in the fields on harvest day. On the flanks his men were retreating, turning and running back towards the water, many men already dragging their women and children from the wagons as they screamed for their lives. The cavalry were pounding into the Romans now, but the dust made it hard to see what was happening. He grinned, knowing that, at last, they may have some success as the stupid Romans always dropped from their horses to stand and fight, a tactic which they had used time and time again against the Gauls over the last few months when his raiding parties had been foraging for food. He licked his lips as he waited for the tell-tale signs of success at the wings of the battle. But the screaming was now mingling with the whinnying of the horses as he narrowed his eyes and stared, blankly, towards the left where he had hoped his horse would smash into the Romans. The noise level had grown, but the shouts coming from that area were now Roman. The noise of his men groaning and calling for mercy grew as he stared at the melee and considered his options but could think of none.

  Connixis appeared from the dust with two swords, one a Roman sword and one his own. His eyes seethed with pain as he strode directly to Brennus, his body matted with blood and several new scars laced across his bare chest. As he approached, he threw the Roman sword to the floor and stared at Brennus.

  “The sword of the Roman who killed my last son” he snarled.

  Brennus felt a surge of anger rise and clenched his jaw. As he rose to his full height and grimaced at the pain in his leg Aengus came and stood between the two men.

  He looked at Brennus with a look on his face which turned Brennus’ gaze from anger to pity and then to hope. He shook his head and huffed a deep sigh, letting a shout of anger burst from his lungs. He whisked his head around and stared hard at Connixis and spoke in a slow voice. “Don’t let my sacrifice go in vain” he snarled as Connixis nodded.

  Brennus looked to Aengus whose eyes were cast to the floor and repeated the words. The druid looked back at him and grinned. “The gods will not be unhappy at such a great sacrifice” he smiled.

  ************

  Marcus felt the blood trickling down his cheek as he wiped it with the back of his hand and pushed forwards in the Roman line. He’d given the order for the cavalry to attack as soon as Narcius had brought him back to his senses and he had let the blood lust go from his mind. The army had redoubled its efforts, encouraged by the fact that the Gauls were falling back under their constant pushing with their shields. The cavalry had been sent out on the wings, and Marcus prayed to Mars and Juno that they would have the strength to defeat the Gauls and that their training to fight on their horses would work.

  He let the legions step forward as he moved back to the rear and found his horse, Manlius Comminus sat waving troops left and right as he had been ordered to do as leader of this section of the reserve lines.

  “How goes it?” Marcus asked as Comminus turned to him with a stern look on his face.

  “It would be better if you hadn’t gone and nearly killed yourself, Camillus” he chided. Marcus grimaced at the older man, who had spoken loudly against Marcus standing with the front lines when the attack had been planned. But Marcus had argued that the only way to entice the Gauls into the centre was for him to be there and to attract the Gallic leader. It had worked, so he let the comment pass. Comminus span to the left “Caedicius and Tubero are moving forward well, their losses seem slight. I heard that Cox has fallen, but Cossus has held the line well” Comminus said quickly as he turned to look out above the heads of the men standing on front of them. Marcus followed his gaze. The dust obscured his view,
but the flashing of blades and general din of battle suggested that the cavalry were already engaged, Marcus hoping that the velites he had ordered to skirmish around the cavalry attacks were causing chaos amongst the near-naked Gallic riders.

  “Somethings happening” Comminus said with a finger to the front. Marcus looked up and heard the blare of the war horns as a commotion at the back of the Gallic line brought a frenzy of activity. Men were rushing wood to a central pole where a man seemed to be tied to the stake, his bare body standing stiff and proud as men threw more brushwood at his feet.

  “What are they doing?” Marcus asked incredulously as he watched the scene. Comminus shrugged but couldn’t take his eyes from the front. “I will go and see how Cossus is doing” Marcus called as Comminus nodded to him. “Keep the men moving forwards” he shouted over his shoulder as he kicked his horse into a trot.

  The front line of the attack on the right was pushing forward faster than the left and Marcus needed to hold the advance until he knew the cavalry on this edge were defeated. Once the flank was clear he would send his massed velites, who had hidden behind the reserve lines led by Apuleius, out to attack the left edge of the Gauls. This would, he had hoped, create panic on the left and force the Gauls back towards the river crossing. So far, his plan had worked. Apuleius was sending thirty men into the front lines to support Cossus as Marcus appeared and the man saluted.

  “Sir” Apuleius shouted with a smart salute as the noise level grew with the arrival of the Dictator, the men turning their tired faces to him but cheering loudly as they noted his arrival. Marcus was surprised, but not unhappy, that the men had responded in such a way. “Keep pushing men of Rome” he called. “The Gauls are fleeing the centre and the gods are with us” he shouted as the cheering rose to a new level and he felt a surge of energy run through the men as they redoubled their efforts. Marcus turned to his one-time enemy. “How goes it?” he asked quickly as his eyes scanned the surroundings.