The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  “Put your backs into it,” Lucullus roared as he looked up at the enemy rampart. “You are pulling like a bunch of lightweights. I said, bring down that wall! Now fucking well do it! Pull, pull it down.”

  Without thinking Fergus dropped his shield and lunged forwards, grasping hold of the end of the pole that one of the legionaries was holding. With a furious roar, Fergus threw his weight into the contest and tugged at the pole with all his strength. He was rewarded with a sudden splintering, cracking noise which sent him staggering backwards onto his arse. Around him the legionaries raised a wild, triumphant yell as part of the wooden palisade gave way and tumbled to the ground. Stunned Fergus stared up at the sudden gap that had appeared. Then with a yelp he rolled away and threw himself into the relative safety beside the Dacian ramparts. A few moments later another splintering crack announced the collapse of another part of the enemy ramparts. Hastily Fergus grasped hold of his shield as suddenly, close by, he heard foreign voices. In the growing breach in the wall another segment of the wooden palisade collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the enemy defences.

  “Get in there, get in there, kill everything you meet!” Lucullus roared, pointing at the breach with his sword.

  With a loud, vicious cry the legionaries stormed into the breech, like some blood thirsty, unstoppable and enraged armoured beast. Fergus followed. He had drawn his sword and as he charged through the gap, he was hit by a blast of thick, acrid black smoke. Inside the fort the scene was of complete devastation. Every remaining building was on fire, belching out black smoke into the sky and amongst the blackened, broken debris and chaos that littered the ground lay countless broken bodies and dead horses. But the Dacian’s were not finished. As the heavy Roman infantry surged into the fort a ferocious cry rose from the massed Dacian ranks and then they charged. Fergus eyes widened in horror as a Dacian warrior came at him wielding a long, two handed, curved, polearm. Desperately he tried to parry the warrior’s blow and as his shield made contact, the sharp curved blade of his enemy’s weapon struck his shoulder armour, raking the metal down towards his elbow. With a cry, Fergus slammed the boss of his shield into the man’s face, forcing him backwards. Then swiftly he followed it up by jabbing at the Dacian with his gladius. He was rewarded with a shrill cry and in front of him the man staggered backwards, bleeding from a wound to his side. The Dacian was wearing no armour whatsoever, nor was he carrying a shield. But before the warrior could come at him again a legionary came at him from out of nowhere and thrust his sword straight into the man’s head, killing him instantly.

  To Fergus’s left ferocious, snarling, screaming hand to hand combat had broken out as the Dacian defenders tried desperately to seal the breach in their walls. But the numbers of legionaries pouring through the breach was growing. Hissing and holding his bloodied sword, suddenly uncaring about what happened to himself, Fergus strode out alone into the heart of the Dacian fort. The black smoke was billowing up from everywhere, obscuring his view and making him want to throw up. Suddenly another group of Dacian’s appeared, clustered around a tall man who looked different to the others. As they caught sight of Fergus they charged towards him. The Dacian’s were armed with the same, but smaller looking curved blades that the other warrior had, and like him they were wearing no armour nor carrying any shields. Fergus’s eyes widened. Then the Dacian’s were upon him, forcing him backwards, their curved weapons slashing and hammering into his shield, their wicked curved points threatening to rip his shield from his grasp and disfigure his face, legs and arms. But the assault did not last long. As Fergus stumbled backwards, a group of legionaries came charging into the Dacian’s, forcing them back and as Fergus joined the furious, desperate struggle, the legionaries cut the remaining Dacians to pieces. Fergus roared in triumph as the tall Dacian finally staggered backwards, wounded by a blow to his leg and arm. Around Fergus the legionaries were in no mood to take prisoners and as the tall Dacian stumbled backwards, bleeding from multiple wounds in a final act of defiance, he raised his curved weapon and defiantly pointed it at Fergus.

  “Bicilis,” the warrior screamed in his alien, unintelligible language, “Bicilis,” and the word was followed by something else which Fergus also didn’t understand.

  With a savage cry, Fergus surged forwards, evading the warrior’s clumsy, weak attempt to stop him and thrust his sword into the man’s throat killing him instantly.

  Chapter Twenty-Three – Tibiscum

  The Roman fort of Tibiscum looked largely unscathed and intact. The only sign of recent fighting was a torn down section of the wooden wall, which had been blocked by a makeshift barricade of earth, broken wagons and sharpened wooden-stakes. The noise of hammering and sawing coming from the army carpenters who were repairing the wooden palisade, echoed across the fort. It was dawn and a full week had passed since the successful assault and destruction of Berzobis. Along the main track that led to the gates, companies of legionaries and auxiliaries were marching past, led by their standards and centurions. They were followed by trundling ox and horse drawn wagons; groups of filthy mud stained horsemen; and carroballistae, huge artillery cross bows mounted on carts. And all were moving forwards, squelching through the mud, heading east into the rising sun and towards the western spurs of the great snow-capped Carpathian Mountains. Sitting on the backs of the artillery wagons, the artillery-men, their legs dangling into space seemed to be enjoying the sun on their faces. Up on the wooden walkways that lined the wooden ramparts of the fort, the sentries clutching their shields and spears were staring out across the hilly, wooded landscape.

  The unshaven, skinny veteran was sitting on a barrel beside a wooden barracks block and in his hand, he was clutching a Dacian curved sword. The veteran had a bandage tied around his head and his dirty army tunic was torn and in need of replacing. Standing around him in a semi-circle with their arms folded across their chests, Fergus and a dozen others from the 2nd company were listening to the veteran with interest.

  “I fought them in the first war, a few years ago,” the wounded veteran exclaimed with a little solemn nod. “Last year when the new war began, we were the first to be attacked but we held because we knew they were coming. We threw the enemy back. I was here in this fort during the whole winter, when we were besieged and cut off. Some of us ate grass to survive and we had to butcher all our animals. It was grim, boys. If the winter snows had not blocked the mountain passes and prevented the Dacian’s from concentrating more men against us, I would not be here talking to you.”

  The veteran turned to look away as if pushing away some unpleasant memory.

  “Now listen boys,” the man said abruptly, turning his attention back to his audience. “The Dacians don’t fight like we do. Most of them have no armour or shields but they have this,” the veteran said, raising his curved Dacian sword. “The dreaded Dacian falx. It’s a really nasty piece of kit and they all have it,” the veteran exclaimed thrusting the curved sword towards his audience. “It’s a bit like a farmer’s large sickle. The Dacian’s call it the Sica. The curved tip and blade of the sword can get around your shield and rip open your head, face and arms, forcing you to drop your shield or sword. Make no mistake, the Dacian falx is devastatingly effective. With shields and armour their infantry can hold their own against us if they choose to. The falx also comes with a longer and bigger two handed versions,” the skinny veteran explained. “That one is like a polearm, five of six feet in length with a curved iron blade. You will shit yourself the first time you see that blade sweeping down on you. It’s even more lethal than the Sica but the two-handed ones are generally quite rare and are carried by their nobles and wealthier citizens for they are expensive to make.”

  The veteran paused to stare at the group of legionaries standing around him.

  “So, to counter the falx,” the man said tapping his head with his hand, “we fitted re-enforcing iron-straps to our helmets. You will also want to protect your arms and legs with greaves and arm-guards. Use whatever you can
find, but do it boys. We learned quickly and that is why I am still alive.”

  ***

  Looking tired Fergus sat slumped on the ground, his back resting against the wall of one of the barracks blocks. An army blanket covered his body. It was a warm night but despite his body’s fatigue he couldn’t sleep. The Roman fort was packed beyond its capacity and many of the men had been forced to sleep outside on the ground. With nearly fifteen hundred men from the vexillation of the Twentieth and their supporting units of Syrian archers, artillerymen, civilian pioneers and several Batavian cavalry squadrons from the 9th auxiliary cohort, the fort was crammed full of troops, animals and war machines. The garrison was far too large to be accommodated amongst the fort’s existing barracks blocks and even though, as an optio, he had been offered a place inside one of the blocks, Fergus had given it up to one of the wounded men.

  The night was warm and it was dry. Around him the fort of Tibiscum was quiet, except for the odd cough, snoring and shout. Above him in the night-sky a fantastic array of stars covered the heavens. Wearily Fergus replaced the small wooden tablet in the pocket of his army cloak. It was too dark to read the letter from Galena and besides he already knew every word and sentence by heart. Unable to settle down, he reached up to touch the iron, Celtic amulet around his neck and as his fingers traced the cold outline of the charm, he tried to picture what Galena looked like, imagining he was touching her long, blond hair and the curves of her body. Nearby a soldier’s snoring however disturbed him and with a sigh, Fergus let go of his amulet and irritably rose to his feet. If he could not sleep, he might as well seek out the company of his old comrades. Striding away towards the eastern ramparts of the Roman fort he found the ladder leading up onto the narrow walkway that ran along the walls. A few burning torches flickered at intervals along the wall. Aledus and his squad had been assigned guard duty along this section of the walls and as Fergus clambered up onto the wall, he caught sight of Aledus and Vittius clutching their shields and spears. The two of them seemed to be discussing something as they peered into the darkness beyond the walls.

  “Mind if I join you,” Fergus muttered, as he drew his cloak closer across his body and ambled up to the two sentries.

  Aledus turned to glance at him. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  “Something like that,” Fergus said.

  For a while the three of them were silent and further along the walls, Fergus could make out Catinius and the other men from his old tent group, as they silently patrolled the ramparts.

  “We were just discussing what we would do when we retire,” Aledus said, glancing at Fergus. “Vittius here wants to go to Rome.”

  “Free bread, games and the pick of the empire’s women, my friend,” Vittius said turning towards Fergus with a wide grin. “What is there not to like?”

  “What?” Fergus frowned, “You are already thinking about retirement? You are what, twenty-one, twenty-two? Bit young to be thinking about that, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Aledus muttered, turning to stare into the darkness, “But we all saw those wounded, the men missing arms and legs. They will never fight again and some of them were our age. So, yes, we are thinking about what we do if the army no longer has any use for us. You must have done the same?”

  “I don’t try to think about it and neither should you,” Fergus replied swiftly. “This is the life that we chose and it’s a good life.” Wearily Fergus shook his head as he turned to grip the side of the wooden palisade. “You could lose an arm or a leg even if you were working on a farm or as builder. Accidents happen. A whore could give you a disease, the Gods could strike you down with lightning. Shit, boys, those wounded were just unlucky, that’s all.”

  “Are you saying that we are the lucky ones?” Vittius replied with a frown.

  “Forget it,” Fergus said, waving the question away. Then a moment later a little smile appeared on his lips and he turned to look at his friends. “All right, so what does Catinius want to do when he retires?” Fergus asked.

  Aledus leaned in towards Fergus with a conspiratorial manner.

  “He told us that he is planning to get laid for the first time,” Aledus said, whispering loudly and as he did, a mischievous grin appeared on his lips. “But he is worried that no woman will have him, so it may have to be with a horny goat.”

  Vittius’s roar of laughter shattered the peace and quiet of the night and Fergus too chuckled in amusement.

  “What’s going on over there?” Catinius’s called out in an annoyed voice as he turned to stare in the direction of his three comrades. “Keep it down, we’re supposed to be on guard duty. The Tesserarius told us to keep our eyes open.”

  “We’re just discussing goats,” Aledus cried in reply, as beside him Vittius sniggered and then hooted with laughter.

  “Shit,” Fergus muttered, shaking his head with an amused look as he turned to stare out into the night, “A horny goat. That’s a good one.”

  In the darkness beyond the fort a sudden movement and noise caught Fergus’ attention and abruptly the amusement vanished from his face and he straightened up.

  “What’s that?” Fergus growled in alarm as he pointed into the darkness. Then suddenly in the gloom he heard it again, the noise of muffled, running feet. A moment later, in the gloom of the burning torches and starlight, Fergus caught sight of hordes of men racing straight towards the walls of the fort. The men were carrying ladders and they were armed.

  “Oh shit,” Fergus yelled in alarm as he staggered backwards in fright and yanked his sword from its scabbard, “We are being attacked. Sound the alarm, sound the fucking alarm!”

  Beside him Aledus and Vittius were staring into the darkness in stunned horror and for a split moment they were unable to do anything.

  “We’re under attack!” Fergus roared, pushing his way past his friends as he began to race down the ramparts towards the closest watchtower. “Catinius, sound the fucking alarm, eastern walls! They have ladders. There are hundreds of them!”

  Catinius must have heard him, for a few moments later a loud, clanging bell erupted across the fort. Fergus skidded to a halt just as in the darkness, he felt something fly past his face. With a terrified cry, he flung himself down behind the protection of the ramparts, as close by, another missile went hurtling over the wall. He didn’t have a shield he suddenly realised in horror. Inside the fort, he could hear confused shouting. Then just a few yards away an assault ladder thudded up against the wall and from the darkness beyond the ramparts, he heard foreign voices and shouts. Then further along the wall another ladder thudded up against the wall and then another and another. In just a few moments the enemy would come pouring over the wall. Resisting the urge to flee, Fergus scrambled on all fours towards the ladder, rose to his feet and frantically fumbled around in the darkness. Then his fingers found the ladder. Below him in the darkness all was movement and in the faint light a startled face suddenly appeared, staring up at him from no more than a few feet away. Fear lent Fergus strength and with a roar his sword slashed downwards at the face, striking the man in the neck. With a groan the Dacian vanished into the night.

  There was no time to see what was going on along the rest of the walls. Below him in the darkness the Dacian’s were shouting to each other, as along the Roman perimeter more and more assault ladders thudded up against the walls. Grasping the top of the ladder, Fergus strained as he tried to drag the ladder sideways. At the first attempt the weight on the ladder would not budge but then, suddenly reversing direction, Fergus sent the ladder sliding away sideways into the darkness. He was rewarded by a surprised yell and then a splintering crash. Close by, someone was yelling and startled, Fergus realised it was himself. Crouching behind the protection of the ramparts Fergus turned and started towards the next ladder that was only a few yards away but before he could reach it, the first of the Dacian attackers came clambering and tumbling over the side of the wall. Frantically Fergus launched himself at one of the men, stabbing him strai
ght in the chest before he could react. The Dacian collapsed onto the narrow wooden walkway without making a sound. But already more and more Dacian’s were appearing on the ramparts, their alien sounding cries and shouts filling the darkness with terror. An attacker, catching sight of Fergus in the gloom, swung at him with his curved falx, forcing Fergus backwards. Eagerly the warrior came on, his falx slashing at Fergus’s body. Desperately Fergus tried to lunge at the Dacian but the man gave him no such opportunity. Gasping, his chest heaving from the exertion Fergus was driven backwards. Then from the gloom a sudden roar made his opponent hesitate and glance over his shoulder, but it was already too late for him. From out of the darkness two Roman’s came charging down the narrow walkway using their shields and spears like a battering ram and as they did, bodies went bouncing away backwards or over the side of the rampart and into the fort. As the Dacian turned to face the new threat, Fergus sprang forwards and buried his sword into his opponent’s body. With a furious yell, Fergus pulled his sword free and kicked the dying man over the side of the walkway and into the fort below.

  “Stay with us, Fergus,” Aledus yelled, as he and Vittius turned to face the noise coming down the ramparts, “You don’t have a shield. We stand a better chance if we stick together. Those fuckers are everywhere.”

  Fergus was panting, his breath coming in gasps but he said nothing. There was no time to ponder their situation. Down in the Roman camp all was in uproar and confused shouts and screams rent the darkness.

  Along the dark narrow walkway, the sound of running feet drew closer and then with a savage cry a party of Dacian’s flung themselves upon Aledus. A falx sliced through the air and Aledus shrieked in sudden pain as he stumbled backwards dropping his spear, as he desperately tried to stem the vicious blows that were raining down on him. Lunging forwards Fergus grasped hold of the spear and with a yell he rose just behind Aledus and thrust the weapon over his comrade’s shoulder and into the darkness beyond. In the gloom, he felt the point of the spear punch into flesh and a split second later, a man groaned and staggered backwards. Keeping close to Aledus, Fergus jabbed at the darkness again, protected by his friend’s body and shield.