Apuleius flicked his head backwards. “Cox has lost an arm but seems otherwise stable” he said matter-of-factly. “I am continuing to firm up the line as men fall and have two hundred and seventy men still here in reserve. The velites have gone to the aide of the cavalry and as far as I know they are, so far, being successful against the Gallic cavalry” he said as both men looked out into the distance to see the forms of hundreds of men fighting from horseback, surrounded by men darting in and out, some with spears and others with slings.
Marcus nodded. “Can we push forwards once the cavalry retreat?” he asked.
Apuleius tightened his mouth and seemed to hold his breath as he thought through his comments. “As ordered” he began, his voice slightly strained, “we are holding back the main push until the cavalry are defeated. As soon as the order is given, we will do our duty” he said, his voice firm but cold.
Marcus nodded and looked along the line to see that the left had broken free of the Gauls and were now starting to press ahead with some pace, almost level with the right wing. “It looks like the left wing will take the glory” Marcus said as Apuleius gritted his teeth and stared hard across the battle line, his eyes flicking to the right at the ensuing horse fighting as his face took on a stern look.
The Gallic war horns blared again and Marcus saw the bright orange of a fire burst into life from the rear of the Gallic lines, his view impeded as to exactly what was happening. “What do you think they are doing?” he asked Apuleius.
“That, Camillus” Apuleius said, his voice almost condescending. “Looks to me like they are making a sacrifice to the gods” he said as Marcus caught his meaning and frowned.
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Chapter 29
Connixis watched as Brennus’ face clenched into a tight scowl. Aengus administered the final drug before he slit the Gallic leader’s throat with one swift movement of his curved blade. The enormous man had called upon all their gods to accept his life for the victory of the Senones, also shouting praise for Connixis and the gift of his son’s lives in battle. As his body slumped and the gush of red dripped from his slit throat a peaceful look came across his face and his left leg kicked out slightly, all the watching Gauls looking over their shoulders as they watched the dying man’s rhythm. Aengus took the torch and set it to the brushwood, watching it take hold and leap into the air with a crackling, spitting, sound which he shouted was the joy of the gods at the sacrifice of Brennus for his people.
Connixis grinned as the flames leapt higher and he saw Brennus’ hair start to shrivel under the heat of the fire. Within moments his body was engulfed in flames, the women crying loudly and Brennus’ children wailing in their high-pitched voices as they bashed the ground with their fists, all too young to help in the battle against the Romans. Aengus stood and watched before he turned around and shouted above the clamour of the grieving Gauls.
“You have seen the sign” he said as he held his blade high. “The left will win this battle” he shouted as he turned his head to his left. Connixis turned to look back at the battle. The right was being pressed backwards by the Romans, the left held the cavalry, who had charged into the fray as ordered. Surely the right flank was the side which needed support, the left seemed in control.
“Wait” Connixis shouted. “Surely the right needs support” he said as the leaders looked at him, their eyes wide as they flicked from Aengus to Connixis.
“The gods have stated that the left will win this battle” Aengus said, his voice slow and deep as his eyes closed and he breathed one deep breath and let his head rock backwards as if in a trance.
Connixis felt the indecision of leadership smash his mind. He had long held the belief that his was the rightful claim to leadership of this army. His roots were long in the Senones and his family of warriors had served well under the old kings. But now that he held the golden torc of leadership, he fingered it slowly as he thought, his mind befuddled with the weight of indecision. If the gods had ordained the left would win the battle, then he should bolster the left. He turned sharply and waved to two men. “Ballix, Aristosenis” he called. “Take the reserves to support the left” he waved as both men turned and moved away. He glanced back to the right, a feeling of foreboding gripping him as he saw another movement far away in that direction as the Romans moved forwards again. He turned to Aengus and scowled.
“Druid” he said with a glance back into the flames, where the black-charred remains of Brennus were crackling and smoking. “Are the gods appeased?” he asked forcefully.
Aengus opened his eyelids and looked at Connixis, his pupils contracting as the men caught each other’s eyes. “The gods have spoken” he said. “The left will win this battle.”
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Marcus thundered across the ground to his left, the thin reserve lines cheering as he raced by, men thrusting their spears in the air as they shouted “For Rome” at the top of their voices. He was satisfied that the right was under control and that the battle would be won on the left. His eyes roved the ground ahead of him, the clanging of iron on iron and the dull thudding of wooden shields against attacking axe and sword strikes rang out as he approached the position of Tubero and Caedicius.
The mass of dead bodies strewn across the ground and the smell of sweat mingled with the iron tang of blood which filled the air. Men stumbled backwards holding severed arms, others crawled with legs shattered by strikes from Gallic attackers. But what struck Marcus more than anything were the piles of dead Gauls. Their naked bodies were twisted grotesquely where they had fallen. Long lines of men seemed to have been piled one on top of the other, though with a quick inspection Marcus realised that each row of dead marked the progress of the Roman line as they had mercilessly trampled the Gauls before stepping forwards over the dead. A glance ahead to the left showed that Caedicius was winning the battle on the wings, his cavalry already circling behind the Gallic beasts as they reared and whinnied. In front of him a deep line of a thousand Romans chanted and cheered as they continued to clamp the wall shut, attack and then step forward. The movement seemed to quicken as Marcus watched a thin legionary split the face of another Gallic giant, the Gaul lifting his axe with a scream before the sound was cut short by the Roman sword crashing into his throat. As he fell another groan came from the Gauls and several men slipped from the rear line, berated by their fellow warriors as they turned and ran.
“Camillus” came the call from Tubero, his round face smeared with a mix of dust and gore. His right eye was half closed and the dent in his helmet suggested he had taken a large blow to the head. The man was waving from six rows back in the Roman line, his good eye showing a measure of pleasure that Marcus responded to warmly as he jumped from his horse and stepped forwards with six bodyguards following him at a trot.
“You are doing well” Marcus shouted, several legionaries looking to him and grinning through ragged, deep, breaths as they took a rest from the front line.
“Thank you, sir” Tubero replied, his grin showing that he had lost three teeth on the right side of his mouth. He half-laughed as he noticed Marcus glance to his ruined face. “A lucky blow” he said with a shrug. “The bastard got me as I leant down to kill one of the buggers who had gripped my shin. Both dead” his toothless smile said.
“Do you think you can quicken the pace?” Marcus asked as he looked up at the front line, the men ducking, parrying, striking and then being called forward by the Centurions.
Tubero stood tall and looked left and right at the movement around him. He tightened his lips, the blue swelling across his mouth protruding as he seemed to be considering options. “Caedicius seems to have the flanks covered” he said slowly as he moved back a step and looked ahead just as the call to step forward came. Another groan came from the defending line as the Romans pushed forwards again, more Gauls screaming inane shouts suggested to Marcus that more of the rear lines were turning to flee. “Straight for the fire?” Tubero asked, his eye falling on Marcus, who was al
so appraising the view ahead through the dust cloud.
Marcus took a moment to reply, holding up a hand to hold back any questions as he watched the stream crossing first and then flicked his eyes to the fire in the central area. “Look” he said urgently as he watched a sizeable chunk of the Gallic reserves race to the right as they were looking at the Gallic defensive line.
Tubero grinned but Marcus was already looking as far to his right as he could see. The Gauls had gambled on supporting the right, now was the time to press the advantage on the left. “Tubero” Marcus said quickly. “We attack in one line but then we split. You take the stream crossing and turn back to attack the rear” he nodded at Caedicius “and support Caedicius”. Tubero turned to look and then his brows furrowed.
“You will take the centre?” he asked. Marcus nodded grimly. Tubero seemed to be considering the words and Marcus thought for a moment that the man might challenge his authority, but he was wrong. “You need Spurius and his boys” he said with a wink as he turned and screamed in a voice which cut across all the noise of the fighting ahead of him. The man, Spurius, turned from the second row where he was pushing a legionary into the gap ahead of him and directing the attack and looked questioningly back at his officer. Tubero cocked his head and Spurius turned to trot through the lines towards him.
“Sir” the man snapped, his right arm a criss-cross of red scars above and below the leather band he wore around his forearm. “Sir” he repeated with a nod to Marcus. Marcus looked at the newly arrived Centurion. He was short and stocky, his chest built like a thick urn, solid and meaty. His arms were thicker than most men’s legs and his thighs were as strong as Marcus had seen on the Greek statues that had been dotted around Rome before the Gauls had destroyed them all. His face seemed young, no more than mid-twenties, but his eyes were a dark brown and his eyebrows were thick, which made his gaze seem all the more ferocious.
“I have a job for you” Tubero said with a glint in his eye. “Bring your men to the right. You will support the Dictator and target the centre line. Take your orders from Camillus and do your duty well” he grinned as Spurius glanced to Marcus and then to the battle ahead of him with a quizzical look.
“Last push?” he said with a look of affection to Tubero. Tubero nodded with a long smile on his lop-sided face. “Excellent, about time we kicked these Gauls into the hills” snapped Spurius. Marcus grinned as the man requested permission to get his men in order and was given the order to do so.
“Good soldier by the look of it” Marcus said to Tubero, noting the man’s eyes watching the lads back. Tubero nodded slowly as he heard the order to step forward come again and the grunting of the Romans as they thrust their shields into the Gauls split the air for a few seconds, followed by more crying and screaming. Marcus was watching the action and was surprised when Tubero touched his arm. Marcus looked back as Tubero leant forwards.
“My son by a slave girl” he said with his only good eye open as wide as it could be. “This fight could make a man of him” he added as his chin lowered and Marcus understood his comment. He nodded.
“I will do my best to bring him back safely” Marcus said as he placed a hand on Tubero’s shoulder. A spear flew over their heads as a Gaul jumped over the shield wall and was pierced by several blows, his body crumpling to the ground and knocking four or five legionaries to the side as he fell. His naked chest was pinned by swords as he writhed in agony on the floor. Marcus watched in admiration as the shield wall closed efficiently behind him.
Spurius and his men were edging across to the right, fifty or more soldiers, each with a grim look on their faces stepped across and took a position three lines back. Marcus looked to Tubero. “Give your officers the order please Aelius” he said with a warm smile as Tubero nodded and called a messenger forwards.
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Aengus watched Connixis and then turned his head to the sky. The clouds were starting to mass away in the east, dark foreboding was coming, he thought. His mouth tightened as he watched the right side of the battle and considered if the gods had been playing tricks on him, every instinct he had told him that the enemy left would lose, even with the reinforcements Connixis had sent. He glanced back to his cousin’s body and walked across to stand in front of the dying fire, patches of orange and red now visible but the initial ferocity of the flames gone. He watched the darkened body as a strip of flesh peeled back, curling under the heat, and exposed a white bone in the dead man’s chest. His eyes narrowed as he considered the sign. Left side again, above the heart. He licked his lips and suddenly realised how thirsty he was, his eyes moving quickly to the stream which Connixis had sent a hundred men to stop deserters crossing. Despite the warriors at the crossing other men were swimming the waters to get across to their women on the other side. Above him in the sky he saw a dark shape as a thick winged crow glided across the stream, its head searching below as if it had lost something. The slow wingbeats turned the bird back the way it had come and it pounded the air vigorously as it rose to a new height and then soared across towards the trees. A thought struck his mind as he stared at the burnt shell of his cousin. As he looked at the body Brennus’ head slumped onto his chest before it fell away and crashed into the grey embers at his feet, the sign unmistakable to Aengus who sighed slowly and undid the clasp which held the green cloak across his shoulders.
He knelt to the floor, taking a hand full of dust from the ground, which he rubbed between his palms as he watched the headless corpse as it seemed to call to him. As he lifted the cloak and wrapped it around one arm in a circling motion Connixis turned to look at him.
“Druid?” came the questioning call.
Aengus ignored the voice and lifted the cloak from his arm. With a quick thrust he threw the cloak into the fire, the balled cloth landing at the feet of the fallen leader. “I understand, great Brennus of the Senones” he said slowly as a curl came to his lips. The voice of Connixis called again, but Aengus ignored him once more. The gods had spoken to him and he knew what he must do. The sacrifice must be made. Brennus was the wrong man, and he knew it. If only he had seen what the signs had meant. He let his chin fall to his chest as he closed his eyes and felt a tear of sadness for the victory that could have been if he had not reacted so hastily. Connixis gripped his upper arm and his angry face thrust itself into Aengus’ eyes.
“Druid, what is happening?” he snapped. “What is going on?” he shouted as his grip tightened on the druids’ arm.
“The gods have spoken Connixis” he said with a slow breath, his eyes round and sad as he turned to see the fear in the eyes of new Gallic leader. “The wrong head has been taken. I have failed my cousin and I must atone for my error” he said as he drew the curved blade from the belt at his waist and then looked at the war hammer which stood against the tree where Brennus’ armour and war goods were set. “The left will win this battle” he said as his mouth tightened into a thin line. “The Roman left” he said as Connixis gasped and stared at Aengus momentarily before he turned and stared back at the advancing Roman left.
“I am the only one who can save us” Aengus said as he moved his head slowly to look pityingly at Connixis. “And to do that I must take the head of this Camillus and throw it into the sacred fire where my Cousin will be reborn in the afterlife.” He nodded to the embers in front of him, Connixis following his gaze, before he turned and moved to grip the war hammer of Brennus. Then he turned back and walked away towards the battle.
Connixis screamed at him. “What about us?” his frightened voice yelled. “Druid?” he called as he stammered and his head twisted left and right. “Druid. What about us?”
Aengus turned to look back over his shoulder. “You are of no consequence” he said before he returned to walking steadily towards the beleaguered Gallic lines, the hammer of his dead cousin resting across his shoulders, arms wrapped around the thick wooden shaft. He knew that this Camillus was there, awaiting the death that would bring glory to the Senones. As he tur
ned, he heard the angry shouts from Connixis as the chieftains around him started to panic and call for more orders. The man was out of his depth and Aengus already knew that his cause was lost, it was up to him to save the day.
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Marcus dodged a thrust spear, the edge coated in a film of dark red. The legionary in front of him had already snapped his sword into the arm of the attacking Gaul and the man’s scream pierced the air as his jaw clamped shut and another frenzied Gallic attack was halted.
“Step” called Spurius, the order repeated along the line as several men stumbled over fallen Gauls. Marcus instinctively looked down to check that no fallen attackers were lying waiting to slam a sword or dagger into his groin. He stamped on a sword arm, the dead looking Gaul still gripping the implement as his vacant eyes stared to the heavens. No reaction, but Marcus pressed his sword into the man’s neck just in case. The lack of blood suggested the man was already dead, but he knew he was better to be safe than sorry. A shield nudged him from behind as the lines of men stepped forward in unison. He grunted angrily, too busy checking for more Gallic attacks to turn and shout at the man who had stepped forwards too quickly. With his eyes to the front he heard the calls from behind, the messengers calling orders as well as encouraging the soldier’s forwards. He stood up straight and stared over the head of Spurius to see that the Gauls were now only two lines deep, the men pressed into the Roman wall, their grunting and heavy breathing showing that they were already close to the limit of their endurance. Marcus knew there were four more rows of battle weary, but not overstretched, legionaries behind him and he called to Spurius.
Vae Victis Page 38
