Postumius’s son Megellus stood with his father in the forum, the shops to his left as he looked up at a statue of Apollo killing the Cyclops, a crude statue which the senate were to replace in the coming winter. Crowds of people shoved and called at his father, ex-soldiers swearing and cursing him as they turned and saw their old commander crossing the space from the Curia Hostilia, his bodyguards jostling everyone who came close enough to be dangerous out of the way.
“Megellus” called Postumius, his grin so wide that Megellus thought his face would split. “Here” he called as two burly bodyguards cleared a path between the two of them, a knot of men scurrying away before they were caught by the fists of Postumius’s guard. Postumius smiled and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder as he steered him into the safety of the guards. “Such a good day” he said as he glanced up at the sky, mostly blue with some heavy clouds in the distance which suggested more thunderstorms later in the day.
“The Senate have passed the law and Bolae will not be re-populated as that fool Rufus requested” he beamed. “It seems the city has already fallen into enemy hands, though they won’t be getting many treasures from it as I did” he half laughed as his son looked admiringly at him. After a few minutes silence Postumius stopped and gripped his son’s arm tightly, drawing a deep breath as he did so. “Ah, Megellus” he said, the boy quickly glancing around at the faces in the forum who seemed to have stopped to see which senior Patrician was clearing the way through the crowds. “To think I could have lost you” he said with affection and a shake of his head. “The gods are smiling on us Megellus. Our family will soon gain the glory as our cousin Aulus Postumius Tubertus did” he added with a faraway gleam in his eye, a reference to a distance cousin who had received a triumph after beating the Aequi. “You, my boy, will be the generation that brings out family line great glory” he said looking deeply into his eyes, pride burning from every pore of his body.
A bodyguard knocked into Postumius who wheeled on him with an angry shout before he realised the man’s nose had been bent out of shape, the blood already splattering to the floor as three stout ex-soldiers yelled curses and sent fists flying into the other bodyguards.
“Give us our money you dog” called the shortest, his scarred face and patch covered eye contorted into a mask of rage as he launched himself at his ex-commander. “You thief” he shouted as he was butted by the bodyguard with the broken nose, his head cracking with a dull thud as the shorter man’s forehead turned a sharp red from a mix of his own blood and that from the broken nose of his assailant.
Postumius grabbed his son’s shoulders, forcing him behind another guard as he yelled at the men to get them out of the forum. More men appeared some with stones and clubs as Postumius’s jaw dropped, his bladder suddenly feeling very full as he watched the gang of men stride across the forum menacingly.
“Stop this” came a strangled yell as a white clad man, his arms aloft as he stepped from the crowd into the melee that was being created by Postumius’s bodyguards as they beat the three attackers who had waylaid them. “Now” he yelled louder, Postumius seeing it was Marcus Manlius, his angry face turning to the attackers. “We will have peaceful demonstration” he said loudly as the men around him looked at him with loathing and spite written across their faces.
“He owes me six months’ worth of bronze” called the eye-patched man, his finger jabbing at Postumius as he held his other hand to a thick bruise across his forehead covered in blood. “I want my money” he yelled as he stepped forwards to the angry shove from the blooded bodyguard.
“Come on dad” said the man next to him, his face scratched and blood across his tunic.
“Yes” added Manlius, “go” he ordered, as a series of grumbles came from the men around him. “It will do no good” he called, turning in a circle to face the angry crowd “to fight in the streets. Our cause is true and the Senate cannot deny it” he said as Postumius turned to stare at him.
“Your cause?” he said incredulously. “Your cause? You were not at Bolae Marcus Manlius. You were not there when these men turned on their master against their sworn oaths” he stared at the short man as his son dragged him back from the bodyguard. “There is no cause that concerns you Manlius” he said forcefully as a stone thumped into the chest of the guard two men ahead of him, the man falling to his knees with a loud grunt as the stone clattered onto the cobbles. Around them people started to leave as they could sense a sudden change in the hostilities surrounding them. Manlius looked around at the crowd, “who threw that?” he called, roughly pushing the men closest to him to get a closer look at the faces behind them in the crowd. “Who?” he called again as twenty defiant faces stared back at him.
“Guards” came a sudden yell and a rush of men cascaded into each other as they attempted to move out of the forum as quickly as they could as the sound of men running across the forum came from behind Manlius. Postumius stepped forward, his bravery suddenly doubling as his attackers ran from the scene.
“You, Marcus Manlius had better watch out” he said, jabbing a finger into the man’s chest and snarling at him as he spoke. “These plebeians you mix with will be your death” he said as he gripped his son by the arm and looked across at the newly arriving men led by Aquilinus.
Aquilinus appeared at a run with some thirty men, paid thugs from the street gangs he had called to arms as soon as he heard that there was trouble in the forum. Each man stared at the almost empty space around Postumius, his bodyguards bleeding and one man on his knees gasping for breath. “I came as soon as I heard there was trouble commander” he said as he came to stand next to Postumius, his eyes glancing at Manlius uncertainly as the two men stared at each other, Postumius angry and red-faced but Manlius calm and almost smiling.
“You should stay away from crowds Publius” Manlius said with a grin. “They could be the death of you” he said as he turned and walked away with a shake of his head.
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Chapter 22
“Seems like they have locked themselves in, Sir”
The Centurion turned with a shake of his head as he looked back at the city of Ferentium. The thick walls stood fifteen feet high and were topped in sections along their length with a wooden structure behind which the defenders were standing, their long spears erect against the skyline. Marcus frowned, his mind working through ideas and options as he studied the layout. All around were deep ravines which made it hard to approach the city which stood on a small hill surrounded by two shallow tributaries of the river Tiber, their fast-flowing water flashing in the sunlight. Guards were shouting abuse at the Romans as they arrived and started to set up a marching camp in a spot to the west which Calvus had scouted earlier. The city was impressive, though not as large as Marcus had first thought. The front wall was, to his eye, some three hundred paces along the front edge and another four hundred at the sides with only two entrances visible from where he sat.
“Ditches?” Marcus asked as he turned to the Centurion.
“Strangely none, Sir. They obviously think the walls can keep us out on their own” he grinned as he spoke.
“Call the officers to my tent as soon as it is ready please Regillensis” he said to the Centurion with a friendly pat on his shoulder. Marcus Postumius Albinus Regillensis had a quick mind and a calm nature in battle, both traits that were proving useful already. So far, he had been everything Marcus had expected of him, his soldiers were drilled well and his competitive nature meant that he volunteered for many of the forward scouting actions. Marcus smiled as the Centurion trotted off to find the officers.
“Want me to go and scout around the city” said Mella, sat on a horse to Marcus’s left, his bronze helmet with a blue feather dusty after the long ride to the city. Marcus continued to look at the city for a moment before he replied.
“Yes, I think we should go and have a look, Mella. Fetch Potitus would you, I think it would be good to get his engin
eering mind to look at those walls.”
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The door opened with a loud creak, its hinges bemoaning the weight of the ten-foot-tall doors cast in thick bronze with scenes from ancient battles, soldiers dying on spears, ancient phalanxes standing firm against hordes of invaders and a serene sky filled with gods looking down from the clouds, grapes and honeyed nectar in hands, as the humans died in the scene below them.
“Impressive” said Ambustus under his breath with raised eyebrows to Lucius. “Must be worth a thousand Ases” he added.
“Three” came the reply as Lucius could not take his eyes from the door, its finely polished scenes clearly crafted by a great artist as the light picked out the vibrant colours of the bronze and highlighted faces straining mid-fight.
Ahead of them the delegation that had met them at the crossroads to Veii entered their council chamber, the cool air drifting out of the room as the door slowly groaned open. Two elderly men, one a soothsayer, had met them a day before to respond to the message sent to the King of Veii from the Roman Senate. The two men had said little, but they carried a candle in a wooden box which was a sign of the treaty between the two states, its light maintaining the peace that the treaty promised. The elder soothsayer had confirmed that the King and his council would greet them in the city, but that they would have to leave their small party of guards outside the city walls. After agreeing to this Ambustus and Lucius had prepared their mounts and entered the city behind the two Veienteine ambassadors.
The room was large and cold, the darkness punctured by a number of big, shuttered, windows around the room which threw shafts of light into the space illuminating the thirty or so men sat in a semi-circle around a raised dais on which was sat the King.
Lucius glanced around the room spotting numerous frescos and paintings, some in gilded frames, the gold dull in the low light as his eyes began to adjust to the dark interior. Away in the corner a well, its old stone circular walls clear, stood in stark contrast to the newer elements of the building, a relic of older times. The floor was a mix of elaborate flagstones, thick and heavy but rubbed smooth with the passage of thousands of feet over their surface and the walls were, mostly, whitewashed to give as much light as possible. Behind the King was an iron gate, the spear tops painted gold, which held a statue that Lucius couldn’t make out in the darkness beyond the ironwork.
The ambassadors stopped and supplicated themselves on a reed mat before their King, stretching their arms long as they knelt and mumbled words that neither Lucius nor Ambustus could understand. After a moment, they were called forwards and Lucius looked up at the King of Veii for the first time. He sat on a throne, its high back visible behind his head, ivory coloured orbs atop the two ends with sculptured snakes winding around the thick oak. His hands were spread over the rails as his arms rested along the thick wood, another orb sitting proud at each end. Lucius noted that the legs of the chair continued the snake motif and that the floor of the dais was comprised of thick oak boards with more snakes carved intricately into the wood, each snake winding its way to the kings throne as if the serpents were attracted by his magnitude.
The man himself wore a thick red robe, the edges frayed with gold. He wore a long beard and his eyes were heavy lidded as he stared down at the two Romans, his gaze moving from one man to the other. His nose had been broken many years before and was twisted slightly to the right, but it made his features all the more striking. As Lucius awaited the next steps of the formal greetings he nodded to the king and dropped to one knee on the mat, as did Ambustus.
The soothsayer, his long beard tied with a piece of string to keep it away from the flame, brought the candle of peace forwards and placed it on the floor in front of the king, his mumbling words clearly a prayer to intone the gods to welcome the guests and help with the discussion to follow.
One of the seated men to Lucius’ right hand side now stood and stepped forwards, placing a silver dish with the motif of a pair of writhing snakes onto the floor. He knelt and raised his arms to the sky, looking up at the ceiling and said “Juno, mother of all, hear the words to be spoken and guide our judgements. Let the guests speak freely without fear and let our great king give his judgement with your will.” At this he dipped his finger into the blood in the silver dish and twisted to wipe two lines across Lucius and Ambustus’ faces. He then turned to the king, and bowing, he did the same, the blood dripping into the man’s thick beard as he looked impassively at his guests. As he stood and returned to his seat Lucius glanced across at the faces of the men sitting watching the proceedings. The majority of them looked at him with cold stares, their distrust and hatred of the Romans written across their expressions. The soothsayer now reappeared carrying a small table, its surface covered in a red cloth with a finely sown picture of two birds in flight clearly visible as the centre-piece. As he placed the table beside the two guests a slave, his brown tunic and thick leather neck brace, stepped across and placed a silver tray with a wine flask and two silver goblets on the table, hiding one of the birds from view. The soothsayer waved his hand as if to ask the Romans to help themselves as the slave left and another appeared with a silver bowl of fruit which was placed across the remaining bird on the table. Lucius knew the formal greetings must come before the pouring of wine, so he smiled at the soothsayer and nodded his gratitude as the seer smiled back, his eyes tired but his smile appearing genuine. Lucius glanced to Ambustus, who nodded his reply and Lucius took the lead in the greetings.
“Friends of Rome” he said lifting his head to the king as Ambustus placed the small casket he had been carrying onto the flagstones in front of him. “Great King” he said, his head bowing at the words “I am Lucius Furius Medullinus and this is Fabius Ambustus, ambassadors of the City of Rome.” He leant across and picked up the casket, its jewelled top set in a silver mount as he opened the box and took out a purple cloth, the fabric containing something which made the king squint as he looked to see what gift the Romans had brought him. “We ask your gods to listen to our meeting and to help us to speak freely and for Justitia to help guide our discussions.” At this a murmur came from his back, which he ignored.
“Great King we offer this gift as a measure of our friendship and respect for you, your people and your great city” he added as he unwrapped the gift and placed it into the hands of the soothsayer. The gift was a silver and gold snake, articulated so that the body moved, slithering as a snake might do, the gold and silver etched into fine scales along its back and with two fine emerald eyes which seemed dark and menacing in the light of the room. Lucius watched the king’s face for signs of acceptance, but none came, the man seemed uninterested in the gift as it was passed to him by the soothsayer.
Lucius looked around. At this point in the proceedings it was customary for the guests to have the wine poured for them and for chairs to be brought forwards, but nothing happened as a stony silence descended into the room. Ambustus cleared his throat lightly as Lucius returned his gaze to the soothsayer who was looking at him with a puzzled frown as if expecting Lucius to speak.
“Great King” he said, his face stoic as he sensed that now the formalities were over it might be best to start the discussion. “Our Senate has asked us to come as ambassadors to discuss our treaty and renew the vows we took, vows of peace and vows that we will not support enemies against our friends.” He looked at the king before continuing. “These vows were sworn before the gods and are legally binding for all.”
“You make it sound as if you have an axe to grind Medullinus” said the soothsayer, his voice deep and confident as he stepped forwards and looked down on the still kneeling Romans. “Tell us why you really came here this day and what it is that you Romans want from us” he added with a tone of spite. Lucius took a moment to glance to the king and then back to the soothsayer. The king was looking bored, his face a mask of weariness as he sat motionless on his throne. Lucius looked to Ambustus, who shrugged and nodded. Turning back to the king Lucius continued
.
“Attacks on our roads and our armies are increasing and we have reason to believe that some of the people of Veii have been involved in these attacks” he started.
“Proof?” said the soothsayer, talking over Lucius again and distracting his attention. Again, Lucius glanced to the king and back to the face of the seer, who stared at him impassively with wide eyes as he awaited his reply.
“Prisoners from this City who attacked our army, shields bearing the cities colours and testimonies from settlements where...”
“Where are these prisoners you speak of” said the soothsayer, his head bobbing as he looked around the room and shook his head. “What proof is there that these were not bandits who simply painted a wooden shield with the colours of our great city?” he asked over the stupefied Lucius, his anger starting to rise as he looked at the man stood in front of him and again to the king on his throne.
“We have sworn deputations” he started as Ambustus held out a scroll for him to open.
“But words can be written by anyone without recourse or legal footings if the person who made the claim is not here to speak the words of treachery” the seer added with a puzzled look as he stared through Lucius.
“Great King…” Lucius started to say as he turned his face away from the soothsayer and glanced back at Ambustus.
“The king will listen and speak when he has decided, Romans” the soothsayer said, his lack of the use of the guests name showing his disregard for them. Lucius looked to Ambustus and stood, as a small gasp came from the men of the Veienteine senate, some chairs scraping on the flagstones as men thought Lucius might be making an aggressive move. A soldier stepped forward, his sword half-drawn. Lucius looked at the soothsayer.
The Fall of Veii- Part 1 Page 17