Narcius was pulling Marcus away from the body of the druid, his sword dripping with rivulets of the dead man’s blood. He was calling for medics and pushing others away as they raced forwards to check if the Dictator was injured. Several others were kicking and pushing at the pile of dead men, checking for other attackers who may be hiding amongst the pile of dead flesh.
Marcus looked at his friend and shook his head in disbelief. “That” he gasped as he sat on the ground and let his sword drop to the floor. “Is why I spent all that time training in Ardea” he grinned as Narcius simply rocked his head back and barked out a laugh which brought wild, confused, stares from every man around them. Marcus fell back on the floor and laughed louder and harder than he had laughed for years as his officers stared at him in astonishment.
Marcus grunted with the effort of stepping up to look down at the mutilated body of Aengus and then he looked up at the blackened stumps that remained of Brennus. With a steely edge to his voice he nodded and said “Vae Victis, Brennus of the Senones.”
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Chapter 31
The morning brought a light drizzle which soaked everything around the Roman camp in less than half an hour. The battlefield became a quagmire of slick blood-soaked mud and the clearing of bodies came to a standstill. Tents had been set, fires lit and piles of Roman bodies drawn into mass heaps ready for burning. The Gauls were left where they had fallen, with the exception of any man who wore a gold torc around his neck. Each of these men were lined up in a row, gold still attached to their necks, though Marcus had wondered how many legionaries had already taken these tokens, worth a fortune to the Romans, and hidden them in their packs. The blurry, rain induced, haze of the morning had already passed the mid-point of the day when Marcus had called his officers to the command tent.
All night the soldiers had chased and slaughtered the Gauls, catching their wagons and killing women and children in cold blood. As far as Marcus had known as he closed his eyes for a fitful night’s sleep, there were less than fifty survivors, mostly women whom legionaries had claimed as slaves and even defended against their fellow Romans as anger had flared into fist fights and even duels to the death. Marcus had been brutal in stopping the violence, sending Narcius and Spurius out with a hundred of the best eagles to bring in all the slave girls. The men could barter for them later, he had argued.
Marcus had washed in the stream on the previous night, but his shoulder was tightly bandaged where the druid has struck at him, his cheek still sore but completely forgotten due to the pain of the larger injury. Despite this he could still smell his own sweat on his body and feel the sticky remains of blood on his hands and forearms, where a new line of scars awaited his gaze as he looked at his hands. His breathing laboured slightly as the ribs under his right shoulder, bruised and battered by the fighting, creaked as he breathed. He bit his teeth together and grunted as he stood from the backless chair he was sitting in and stepped across to put his good hand on Tubero’s shoulder. Tubero looked up at him with red rimmed eyes, the stench of wine permeating his sweat as his eyes blinked slowly and he looked up at Marcus.
“Did we get much wine back from the Gallic wagons?” Marcus asked with a grin as a deep rumble of laughter went around the tent, each officer shaking his head and looking to the floor.
“It would seem that several amphorae got smashed just as we brought them back into the camp last night” Tubero said in a slow drawl as his head lolled slightly. “The remains were distributed to the men who were not on watch” he said quickly.
“And recorded as such” Narcius snapped, his alert eyes staring into the corner of the tent as he sat stiffly in his chair.
Marcus grinned. The men had drunk and feasted for most of the night, Marcus changing the guard three times to make sure that every man had the chance to involve himself in the festivities. The officers had taken turns to stand guard with their men, though, in reality, they knew that every Gaul had been either killed or maimed and there was no threat remaining from the darkness of the night around their camp. The men had cheered Marcus’ name throughout the night and hailed him as a saviour of Rome, and second founder of the city. He had been at pains to claim that their victory was due to the love of the gods, and had laid sacrifices to Mars, Jupiter, Juno, Mater-Matuta and Fortuna before he had allowed the men to feast and drink. He had walked the camp, thanked the men and praised their efforts in defeating the Barbarians. His words had caused him to consider his own prophecy, how the goddesses who had chosen him as their weapon had said that he would defeat the barbarians who came to Rome’s door. He had sent messengers to Rome with a chest of the Roman gold that had been taken by the Gauls, and the hammer of Brennus which he had retrieved from Aengus. Now was the time to count their losses, bring the wagons and spoils to the counting rostrum and agree any awards for the soldiers. Marcus moved back to his seat and sat slowly and painfully into his place with a grimace as the shoulder injury pulled again. As he sat the talking in the tent fell away and silence permeating the space.
Marcus looked out over his officers and grinned. Caedicius had already sent word to Rome that Marcus Furius Camillus should be granted a triumph, the height of success for a military commander and Marcus had burned with both pride and a measure of concern as he considered the debacle of his triumph after the capture of Veii. He vowed he would review all details of the triumph before he committed himself to it, but he also knew that his family would never let him turn it down. As he listened to Narcius reading the roll of honour Marcus allowed himself to relax, his mind drifting towards his family and how he would dedicate a whole wing of his house to Fortuna when he rebuilt it back in Rome.
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Javenoli winced as the slave girl plucked a large hair from his eyebrow, the sting lasting a second as he felt a moment of both pleasure and pain. “Enough, surely Lucretia” he said in a light lilting voice as he caught the pretty girls’ eyes. She smiled back with a measure of lust in her eyes that aroused him enough to feel his mouth start to water. “You’ll have me red as a slapped bottom” he said as he waved a playful hand at the girl’s rear as she darted out of his reach. He laughed as she stood ten paces away and turned to pout at him. Just as he started to rise from the wooden bench, he was seated on an urgent call came from behind the newly crafted doorway. As the door burst open Javenoli turned his angry face to the man who stood, his mouth agape and eyes wide, as he locked them onto Javenoli.
“Master” said the man who had sold himself into slavery, a desperate act, but one which guaranteed him food and a bed to sleep in at night. His Roman features curled into a wide grin as he raised his hands to the sky and fell on his knees. “We have won. By the gods, Master. We have won” he called as he let his head sink to the floor and called upon his ancestors to remember the day. Quick as a fox Javenoli was beside him, lifting him by the arms as he dragged him into the corridor, the hammering of workmen all around him coming to a stop as eyes turned to look at the two men who hurried from the room.
“Tell me” Javenoli said urgently. “Who told you this? What news is there?” He licked his lips as he shouted out “Castra, Castra get me the messenger boy” and turned back to the self-imposed slave.
“I was at the market trying to barter for some bread” the man said, his creased eyes lined with tears. “The riders, they came thundering through the streets like Jupiter himself. Magnificent in their armour” he started as Javenoli shook him.
“What did they say man” he growled.
“That Camillus has defeated the Gauls just outside the city of Gabbi” he said with uncontrolled emotion written across his face. “The gods love him” the man said.
“What else did they say?” Javenoli prompted as Castra, his new housekeeper shuffled into view, her woollen stola dirty from the cleaning in the kitchens. The messenger boy, no more than seven years old, stood at her arm, the resemblance uncanny as his dark hair tumbled over his eyes.
The man looked to Javenoli a
nd grinned. “They say that he has utterly destroyed them, every last Gaul is dead” he grinned. “Bastards” he spat, Javenoli wincing at the mess on the floor as the man followed his gaze and then mumbled apologies as he fell to the floor and wiped the spit with his sleeve.
“Boy” Javenoli snapped. “Go to the Forum, find out any news you can and bring it to me. I will be at the Comitia. Castra, I need two other messengers, quickly” he snapped as he turned and stalked towards the room he was using as a study. Within minutes he had written the notes and handed them to two more of Castra’s children, each small child given careful instructions as to where to take the messages. As the slaves and servants watched him leaving the house with his one bodyguard the cheers and shouts of ‘victory’ were already ringing around the damaged walls of Rome. People filled the streets, their dirty clothing and thin faces showing the deprivation they still endured but every face beamed with the adulation that success brought.
As the Senator crossed the Forum towards the Comitia the cheering was mingled with people spreading the gossip that came with the news of success in war. News of who had died was mingled with tales of success, all of it hearsay, but Javenoli knew that in such tales was a grain of truth. He scanned the half-empty Forum, Rome was already starting to attract people from the surrounding villages as well as those that had hidden for months in the hills which surrounded the city or in the great drains which ran under its streets. The smell of foul water and miasma from hundreds of sweating bodies charging around the central square hit his nostrils as he dropped the edges of his mouth and put a cloth to his nose. His eyes looked around as he caught sight of a white clothed patrician who was also rushing across to the Comitia, where the Senate had agreed to meet if there was any news from the army.
A man flung his face up to Javenoli as he stepped past him. “Victory” the face screamed as Castus, his bodyguard, pushed the man away with a roar that cleared the way for ten steps ahead of them. Javenoli smiled. Bringing the man’s wife and children into his service had been the least he could do, the man was warming to his task with the brutality that would earn him respect in the lower echelons of Rome and keep the scum that littered the city away from him.
“Longinus” Javenoli called as the Senator glanced quickly across and, seeing Javenoli, stopped and rushed over, his own, small, retinue in tow.
“Gaius” he said, his breath ragged after the walk across the foothill from his home. “Is it true” his eager eyes bored into Javenoli’s as he nodded his reply. Longinus lifted his hands to the sky. “By Jupiter and Mars” he cried, thumping a fist into his palm and turning back with glee written across his features. Putting a hand on Javenoli’s forearm he turned towards the Capitol and stared at the chariot that stood, just visible, on the roof of the temple. “My father’s spirit will be revenged” he said. “You know his bones were still there” his now haunted face looked to Javenoli as he half-whispered. “On the doorstep” he added, his voice edged with grief. “We never found his head.” His voice lowered at the memory, Javenoli frowning in disgust at the sudden turn in the conversation.
“Yes, yes” he said quickly. “Come Longinus, we must get to the Senate” he added as he pushed forwards and Castus began to swish his stick at any people who crossed their path, Longinus’ own bodyguard falling into step as they walked along. As they approached the steps by the Comitia, the rubble still strewn across the floor despite days of attempting to clear the space, the messenger boy appeared at Javenoli’s arm and whispered into his master’s ear. Javenoli smiled and turned to Longinus.
“It seems that Capitolinus has distinguished himself again in battle” he said with a wide grin. Longinus looked at him and a long smile split his tired looking face.
“He is beloved of the gods, Gaius. Beloved” the old man said as Javenoli looked beyond him into the circle of men who had now gathered around the stone-rimmed circle where the people met.
“He is indeed” Javenoli said loudly as they moved into the inner circle where the leaders of Rome were now gathering. “And he has saved Rome twice” Javenoli said as Longinus looked to him with a deep frown. “He has saved the Senate on the Capitol, and now, if my understanding is correct, he has been at the front of the battle to defeat the barbarians” he said quickly, and loudly, as others turned to him. Javenoli was already running the tale through his mind, trying to think how he could spread the rumours now which would feed Capitolinus’ standing before other stories were brought to Rome. Javenoli knew well that the first stories to be told were the ones that people would remember, and he needed to bolster Capitolinus if his star was to continue to rise. Just as he was thinking through the words he would use two teenage boys strode into the Comitia, their eager faces darting around searching for someone to tell them news of the battle.
“Titus, Pulvius” Javenoli called as he thanked the gods for the perfect timing of their arrival. “I have news of your father” he called as heads turned towards his loud shout. “Marcus Manlius Capitolinus is a hero of the battle of Gabbi” he said, hands raised to the sky. “He returns in triumph with the sword of the king of the Gauls” he said as men started to clap and cheer as the two boys wept with joy and joined in the cheering.
Javenoli allowed a curl to come to his lips as he watched Lucius Furius Medullinus walk across to the Comitia with a puzzled look on his face, several senior Senators following in his wake like school children following their teacher. Javenoli let his gaze fall on the two sons of Capitolinus and the three men bent their heads together and spread their arms into a great hug as the gathering groups of men around them continued to cheer and shout.
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The road to Rome was crowded with people, every face cheering, screaming and waving. The returning army had been marching for hours, and for the last few miles as they rose and fell over the undulating road to the city the returning Roman population had lined the route, chanting and cheering and waving lit candles to the gods as the triumphant men marched past. Marcus and his officers had moved to the front ranks, all those soldiers who had been decorated for bravery at the battle were also lined up in the front rows of men, their families striding along beside them as they brandished the phalera which announced their bravery and which they knew would grant them privileges in the coming months.
Marcus felt humbled by the noise, the absolute joy of the situation exploding on his senses as if he had plunged into a cold bath after a hot run. His mouth hurt almost as much as his shoulder as he couldn’t help but smile inanely at the thousands who lined the route and cheered his name. People cheered and called to him for blessings, others chanting their own family names as they saw their loved ones returning from the battle. And then there it was, Rome, the fallen walls, the smell of smoke still strong in the air and the crumpled houses visible along the roads, blocks of stone lying where the Gauls had thrown them. He watched as a wave of men and women raised their arms and called joyfully to the returning heroes, their unbridled joy filled with a mix of religious dancing, chants and songs which filled the air with glee. Soldiers cheered whilst they marched, loved ones running alongside them as they held hands and hugged, before being turned away by the Centurions. Marcus smiled, even in the passion of success the military rules were strictly observed by the officers.
It took a full hour to reach the Forum, where the throng had massed to welcome the army home. Speeches were delivered and men were called forwards for more decorations and gifts from the Senate, with the greatest cheers delivered to Marcus as the Senate ratified the victory parade, a triumph, in two days’ time. Marcus Manlius Capitolinus was called forwards by the Senate for special mention, the new Pontifex Maximus, Gaius Javenoli, eulogising about his role in the success at Gabbi, at which Marcus frowned but held his tongue. The Senate paraded the war hammer of Brennus around the Forum, the people of Rome hitting at it with sticks and cursing it as it went past. The old ceremony of burning the tool of their destruction was to follow later that evening, the hammer hea
d would be melted and re-cast as a statue of Jupiter which would sit in the temple to signify the fact that the god had given his love to the people of Rome and destroyed the barbarians. The day closed with a warm evening of star-strewn skies and Marcus was cheered from the Forum as he headed to his brother Lucius’ house to find his family.
No sooner had he laid his head on the soft pillow than he seemed to be awake, the morning sky and birdsong showing that he had slept longer than he had wished to, despite his feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. Livia had massaged his back with oils after he had washed the dust from his journey from his skin, and they had eaten plain, but filling, food before he had retired. Young Lucius, now a teenage boy and starting to show the Furii intellect, had questioned him for what seemed like hours about the battle, what had been the decisive moves and how he had made the correct decisions. Marcus had explained everything as he had seen it, and in describing the scenes he felt a sense of pride which he quickly bit back and rubbed at the wooden eagle which hung around his neck.
“Livia” he said, his hand moving to hers. I must go to the Senate, there are a number of items to clear up before the triumphal march, after which I will resign the Dictatorship as the law demands” he said, his voice weary. “Tell me again how the women have suffered on the Capitol and the sacrifices they made to the gods” he asked.
Livia looked up as she smiled, her full lips stretching into a long smile before her features turned more pensive. “I have heard it from many of the leading families” she started. “The sacred gold under the altar of Jupiter was not enough for the tribute to be paid to the Gauls and so every family had to give up their precious items. Rings, bracelets and necklaces which their families had held for generations” she said, her deep eyes filled with sorrow. “Every day they prayed at the altar. Every day they gave up their rations to sacrifice offerings to the gods” she added with a note of approval in her voice. “Many died” she said as Marcus tightened his jaw at the words and watched her keenly as she continued. “Many were nothing more than skin and bone, but still they sacrificed to the gods every day. Gaius Javenoli stood with them, helping those who stumbled or grew too thin to eat. He was the link to the gods that we needed” she said as Marcus nodded eagerly. “When the older women threw themselves from the Tarpeian rock to allow the younger women to feed themselves it was Javenoli who prayed for them, reminding all the women to pray for their spirits and sing their praises.” Marcus had a vision of the old Senator piously supporting the women of Rome in their hour of need.
Vae Victis Page 40
