The Fall of Veii- Part 1

by Francis Mulhern

  “The gods wrote this law” shouted Postumius. “Am I to break it? Am I to challenge the gods?” he added, stepping down from the mounting block and walking around the circle of men, waving the vellum at them as he continued. Men dropped their heads as he passed them. “The law is sanctified by your sworn oath to the legion and to Rome. They know it” he said, pointing a hand at the men on the floor. “Will you break your oaths” he said as a gleam came to his eye as another thought crossed his mind. “Men of Rome” he finished. “Who will challenge the gods and the laws of Rome?” he asked, holding the velum up above his head as the hundreds of faces stared at him in absolute silence.

  With a flourish, he turned and paced back to the mounting block he was using as a rostrum, stepping onto it and turning his face to the crowd. He stood, looking at the men around him. “I will hold a meeting of the senior officers and we will discuss punishments” he called. “Fabius Ambustus and Camp Prefect Sergius will argue for the state and Centurion Marcus Pomponius Rufus will represent you. I will decide” he said as he went to step from the rostrum before a voice called out.

  A voice cried out “we want Camillus to represent us, he is beloved of the gods and will give a fair account of our wishes” at which both Marcus and Postumius looked into the crowd of men to see who had spoken, but the speaker was hidden too deeply in the crowd. “Yes, Camillus” came the call from one or two voices, then more and then even more until a great cry of “Camillus” was echoing around the camp.

  Postumius looked at Marcus, his head shaking with a resigned frown as he stared maliciously at him. He raised his hands and waited for silence before nodding his head and saying “then Camillus too” and walking to his tent with a grimace on his face as he sent a fleeting look, his eyes dark and teeth grinding, at Marcus.

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  Manlius coughed at the smell. The bodies were putrid, their weeping eyes had fused with a thick gore which the crows clearly thought was a delicacy as they dived noisily onto the corpses and pecked hurriedly into the soft flesh.

  In the semi-darkness of the pre-dawn morning he and the six men he had been given to help him had found several dead bodies down by the river and brought them up the steep climb of the Oppian Hill, dropping them outside the more prominent patrician family homes. As he let the last body fall he gagged at the open sores on what was left of the man’s neck, the red raw flesh testament to the pain in which the man had died. He mumbled a quiet prayer to the dead, careful to use a few words he had heard the priests use, as the men looked to him. Only patricians could complete ceremonies in Rome and he knew that the men around him would expect him to do something to appease the spirits of the dead, so he had made up the invocation on the spot and smiled to the men around him who nodded in reply.

  He stepped back and removed the thick gloves from his hands before wrapping them up and throwing them into an alleyway. He pulled the cloth from his face as he walked away, feeling the cold air hit his lips and taking a deep breath now that the cloth had been removed.

  “Take the cart back” he whispered to one of his accomplices as a man nodded and set off pushing the heavy hand cart back down the hill, the clunky wheels bashing out a deep tone as he disappeared. Manlius looked around him at the clean street, the walls of the rich houses were tall and thick, but the stench of death was already pervading the area and more crows were appearing on the walls and roofs of the nearby buildings. He smiled as three men appeared and nodded to him, each one covered in a film of blood on their arms.

  “All done” said one of them, his smile showing how much he enjoyed this work.

  “Good” replied Manlius without looking at him. “Then let’s get off to our own houses and see what comes of tonight’s work, well done you men” he smiled, his grin infecting the men around him who looked at him with a measure of respect. One of the men stepped closer. “Sir” said the man, pulling his hood from his head to reveal his face, a light smile and dark eyes with a thin, dark, beard. He scratched at his chin, almost automatically and then looked at Manlius who had stopped and looked into his eyes, a look of curiosity on his face.

  “Gatto?” he said “Is that you my old friend?”

  “Yes sir” came the reply.

  “That beard doesn’t suit you” came the laughing response. “It must be eight, no ten years since you and I were in the Legion” smiled Manlius, stepping forwards again. “What are you doing these days? Not in service?” he asked looking at Gatto with a measure of caution as he knew the man to be a cold-blooded killer on the battlefield.

  “Nah, I’m doing some jobs here in Rome” he replied with a shrug. “I’m” he looked around slowly to check that nobody was close enough to hear him speak “doing some jobs for Javenoli” he finished as Manlius’s heart jumped in his chest.

  In a voice which he hoped didn’t betray any emotion he replied, “that old snake” and laughed quietly. “Shall we step to my house and have some breakfast Gatto? Catch up on old times?” he asked as his mind whirled through a jumble of possibilities

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  Chapter 10

  The sun was beating down from a clear sky as Marcus stepped from his tent, his tunic scraped of mud and cleaned, and his armour polished vigorously. He knew that Postumius was likely to pick on any flaw in his attire or his words and he had spent some time preparing his equipment and mulling over what he might say, though in his heart he felt that there was nothing that could be done for the men. Centurion Bassano had been confined to his tent and a guard placed with him as he had raged at the situation, his anger spilling into tears before he had succumbed to the confinement. Rufus had spent a long time with him calming him and discussing options, of which they seemed to have few.

  Marcus had sat and discussed the situation with Mella and Rufus as well, but they too had come up with no options, the law was the law. As he looked around him the camp seemed quiet, as if some spirit had come and taken away the men’s energy, sapping them of the will to do their chores and keep to the camp activities. Soldiers went about their duties in almost total silence, men sat sharpening their swords, the grinding of the whetstone on the blades the only sound that came across the open ground of the camp, even the blacksmith was not busy, his tools sat forlornly against the wooden bench by his tent. As he wandered to the centre of the camp Marcus saw the despondent look on the faces of the men, many looking up and nodding to him as he passed. Marcus’s heart was heavy as he felt he had no option other than to accept the judgement Postumius would no doubt give to all the men, death came simply in the legions, but to die in disgrace would bring shame to the men’s families.

  Aulus Manlius was another problem though thought Marcus as he continued towards the central command tent where the meeting was to be held. As a patrician, he could not be put to death for his failures in this situation, if they were, indeed, his failures. ‘Nulla Spes’ he mumbled to himself, a no hope situation. For many patricians, Nulla Spes would mean the man would be in such a dire situation that the only escape would be suicide. He gripped the small wooden eagle on the cord around his neck and stood still for a moment as a thought came to him. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, seeing Ambustus enter Postumius’s tent ahead of him, the man looking tired as he ducked to avoid the low tent entrance. There might be hope, he thought, but not for everyone. He would have to play the game with Postumius, but it might work. He stood for a moment composing his thoughts and trying to remember his lessons from his days back in Rome until his attention was drawn to Rufus, who waved from the side of the tent beckoning him forwards with a perplexed look on his face. Marcus looked to the sky and said a silent prayer to Fortuna and Juno, hoping that they would guide his thoughts and words in the next few hours before calling a legionary over and sending him on an errand back to his tent to fetch the items he thought he might need.

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  Postumius had seated Rufus and Marcus on one side of the campaign table a
nd Ambustus and Sergius on the other, with himself at the thin edge of the table, his empty seat placed on a wooden platform looking down on the proceedings. Marcus gaped momentarily at the scene as he entered the tent, snapping his jaw shut almost as quickly as it had fallen open. Rufus rolled his eyes as Marcus neared his seat and then turned to face the empty commander’s chair as Sergius nodded a welcome and placed a wax tablet on the table in front of him, no doubt containing his ‘speech’ for the proceedings thought Marcus.

  Rufus leaned in close, a slight smell of garlic hitting Marcus’s nose as he did so. “I can’t see a way out of this for the guards, but I reckon Aulus Manlius has nothing to answer for, he set the guards but he can’t be held responsible for their failure in a camp with nearly three thousand soldiers” he said, his eyebrows raised. Marcus nodded, he didn’t want to speak yet, his thoughts still working through his mind. He had decided he would wait to hear what Sergius and Ambustus had to say before he spoke.

  The tent flap opened and Postumius entered as he gave a final order to one of his messengers to prepare the baggage trains to leave at first light. Rufus and Marcus shared a glance at this news. All the soldiers stood as Postumius took his seat on the platform, shifting his backside on the thin cushion two or three times before nodding to allow the men to sit.

  Sergius remained standing and nodded to Postumius, whose nod in response suggested that the two men had evidently met and discussed how the proceedings would work. As Sergius started to speak Marcus held up a hand, his eyes moving to Postumius as he turned his body in his direction. At his movement Sergius sat and looked angrily at Marcus before he too turned to Postumius.

  “What is it?” demanded the commander, his voice a tone too forceful, after which he smiled a late, weak, smile.

  “Won’t we be lighting the candle to Justitia?” he asked, his voice edging on surprise as Ambustus cracked a smile before quickly wiping it from his face and turning to Postumius. “Camillus is correct, the proceedings must be overseen appropriately” he added, a nod to Marcus “The men would want it so”.

  “Sergius?” asked Postumius his face becoming impassive but with a nasty gleam in his eye.

  “Er, we don’t have the candle in the camp, sir” he started, his eyes glancing at Marcus as he spoke. Marcus edged his chair back and turned to Postumius.

  “Commander” he said, “a sword and scales will do in times of war as you know” he stated, Postumius’s questioning face suggested he knew no such thing. “And just in case, I asked for them to be ready, as these occurrences are so rare in the army” he said smiling at Sergius. “They are outside” he finished.

  “You seem to have come prepared” stated Postumius, his hands gripping his knees as Marcus stood and went to the tent flap where the legionary was standing with his sword, a candle and the small bronze scales he had asked him to bring. As he turned he looked directly at Postumius. “If we do not follow the exact proceedings commander, you know that the men will find flaws in our decisions” he said walking across and placing the sword and scales on the table and taking a small candle, half used, from his clenched fist which the legionary had also brought him from Marcus’s tent. “With the sword and scales, we can invoke Justitia to preside on our discussions and to guide your deliverance of the punishments, the balance of fate will be upheld by the gods will, sir” he stated, placing the candle in front of the men and stepping back to his chair before sitting.

  Postumius looked at the items and with a slight shake of his head he leant forward and nodded. “You are, of course, correct Marcus Furius” he said. “Your time in the temples of Rome was clearly time well spent” he added haughtily as he turned and called to one of the guards to fetch a flame with which he could light the candle and invoke the goddess. He turned his face to Marcus. “But as I am the commander here” he said, standing and unclipping his own sword “we will use my sword and your scales Furius” he added, continuing to avoid the use of Marcus’s chosen name. He bent forwards and placed his own sword on the table and motioned for Marcus to remove his. Marcus bowed as he leant across and removed his sword, placing it on the floor by his seat. Ambustus sat watching and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Marcus, his questioning glance ignored as Marcus looked dispassionately at his hands, rubbing a finger as if it itched and then smiling to Rufus.

  Once the candle was lit and Postumius had said a few words to include the goddess in the decision making of this camp meeting he sat back and nodded to Sergius, who stood and opened his wax tablet taking a deep breath.

  “Gentlemen, this is a clear case” he said as he looked at the faces of the four men around the table. “Each soldier knows the law and took the soldier’s oath. Each soldier is responsible for the duty in which they partake. Each soldier failed in his duty in this case and Appius Bassano’s knife was found on the dead men. Therefore, each soldier must take his own life, as the prisoners took theirs. This is in accordance with the law.” He looked up at the men before continuing, Postumius nodding with a deep frown on his face. “Aulus Manlius, as officer in charge, failed in his duty. The law is less clear for officers, yet he is clearly responsible for the death of the prisoners as much as the men themselves are. He cannot share in their deaths as he is of patrician blood” Sergius said as his eyes looked up from the tablet and he swallowed hard, making Marcus glance to Ambustus as Sergius suddenly appeared nervous about what he was going to say. “The state has decided that his failure should be punished by a fine of one hundred Ases and twenty bronze ingots.” Marcus glanced to Rufus who nodded his approval at this suggestion, both men feeling that whilst heavy it was a good compromise. “And” continued Sergius, his eyes flicking to Postumius as he spoke “twenty lashes tied to the legions standard as a warning to other officers to do their duty as leaders of the Legions.” At this Rufus, Marcus and Ambustus all stood and turned to the head of the table where Postumius’s smile broadened on his face as the three men took a moment to take in the words. A patrician flogged? It had never been done before.

  Ambustus grabbed the wax tablet from Sergius, who indignantly grabbed it back from him, his brows furrowed as he turned to Postumius before Rufus interjected.

  “You cannot flog an officer of the Roman Legions” he stated, his mouth open wide as he gaped at Postumius. Marcus stared at Ambustus, who clearly had no idea that this punishment was being put forward by the state as the man sat back in his chair and stared at Postumius with a look of pure anger.

  “Gentlemen.” Postumius spoke once again with an air of superiority, his long nose raised high as he looked at the two defending officers. “If you would care to sit, maybe we can continue this meeting” he added, waving a hand at the candle and the sword and scales. “The goddess will be offended if you take such” his eyes wondered to the corner of the tent before coming back to focus directly at Marcus. “Aggressive stances” he said, the creases across his forehead growing into long ridges as he scowled at both men. Rufus huffed as he sat and Marcus simply stared at the candle, its light dancing on the table and reflecting off the bronze scales, before he too took his seat.

  “So, if you two gentlemen would care to tell us what your defence is, maybe we could get this camp dismantled and leave for Rome” Postumius said in a bored voice, his eyes rolling to the ceiling, at which Sergius smiled and Ambustus clenched his jaw.

  “Commander” said Marcus, his mind starting to form the argument as he spoke. “Justitia” he said as he bowed to the candle, noting Ambustus relax his jaw and sit forward as he did so. “Let us deal with the guards first” he said as he stood again and turned to Rufus, raising his eyebrows as he did so. “It is undisputed that the guards failed in their duty. It is also unclear how the knife came to be in the possession of the prisoners. They could not have taken it from Appius Bassano as he had not been close to the prisoners and his dagger was with his equipment in his tent, not on his person. Therefore, it is my suggestion that somebody else gave the knife to the prisoners after they had stolen it
from Bassano’s tent.” He turned to Rufus before continuing. “Also, commander” he said turning back to Postumius, who he saw was inspecting his finger nails, his face a mix of boredom and irritation “the prisoners were tied at both hands and feet. It was impossible for any one of them to reach across and slit the throat of the other. They simply could not reach, I call for a check to be completed of the bonds and the distances between the prisoners.” Postumius shifted in his seat, his head lowering as he looked like he was preparing to speak. Marcus quickly continued. “And commander” he said hastily, stepping to the wooden box Postumius had used with the scroll containing the laws that he had used with the men earlier. “The law states that an equal number of guards to prisoners should fall to the same fate as the prisoners in such circumstances. It is my view” at which Postumius and Sergius both sniffed in unison “that we await return to Rome before we pass sentence. The case is not as clear cut as we first thought and can be put to the Senate at the next meeting.” Marcus finished with a slow nod to Rufus who smiled at him, his smile growing as the words began to sink into his mind. He knew that any court case in Rome would take months to settle, by which time the detail would have been lost and the punishments be less severe.