The Fall of Veii- Part 2

by Francis Mulhern

  Within moments frenzied fighting broke out, the Capenates suddenly realising that they were hemmed in began to break ranks and throw their spears to the floor in favour of their long blades, usually only used when chasing their enemies after the phalanx had broken. Marcus remembered his training with Mella and the many long sessions he had undertaken with Narcius and his men to perfect his technique. Parry, thrust and step back, keeping low, don’t hack to left or right, remain calm. He went about his bloody routine, smashing his shield boss into the angry face of a desperate soldier who was trying to climb over the shields in an attempt to escape the death trap that this road had become. The road was slick with blood, slippery, with the tang of iron in the air. Marcus stepped back and took a moment to look around at the scene, noticing the thump of the scorpions again for the first time since he had heard that initial attack. Looking for Fabius he saw him being supported by a legionary, his head bloody where his helmet had been removed. At least he was still alive, Marcus thought as he heard the first cry for mercy from the remaining Capenate soldiers, the cry suddenly rising as the remaining fifty or sixty men threw away their swords and the eyes of the Romans looked to their officers before they accepted the surrender.

  “Hold” commanded Marcus, stepping forward, his breathing ragged and deep. Searching the men he found a face he knew. “Centurion Bassus, take these prisoners. Injured move to the walls, the rest follow me” he called as he turned and waved to the legionary with Fabius, jerking his thumb towards the gate as the man nodded and leant Fabius against the wall to allow the soldiers to pass.

  Behind him he heard the trumpet call he had ordered as a signal to launch the full scale attack on the front gate of the city once they had secured the road, and he took a long deep breath before calming his nerves and focusing on marching the men, eight abreast, towards the main square.

  ****

  Potitus heard the trumpet. He’s done it again he thought as he gritted his teeth in a long smile and watched another bolt race into the enemy ranks, still standing in the square despite the death that was raining at them from their own roofs. He’d lost two men to arrows but so far none of the defenders had been able to get close to the scorpions, though each weapon now had only two or three more bolts left to throw. The enemy were unsure how to cope with the attacks, some men had run off into the streets, their officers calling them but to no avail. Others stood nervously, jumping left and right as bolts slammed into the twelve men deep squares in an attempt to avoid the bolts. Arrows and stones slammed into the roof but very few hit their mark. Lucky again he thought as he looked back along the road and saw the men streaming into the rear gate as, finally, the Capenates wheeled one of the phalanxes to the right and trotted towards the main road. He counted maybe another thousand men in the square as he considered Marcus’s plan and nudged the soldier ahead of him.

  “Slowly” he called to the men, some eyes flicking to his as the men slowed their pace. “Pick out the leaders with the last shots” he said slowly as the sights were edged up and down to pick out the men heading for roadway.

  “When you are done leave the weapons and retreat” he called, moving to the edge of the roof and peering back along the road. Civilians raced to and fro, most heading towards the main square with arms full of possessions, others dragging children and wailing for the help of their gods as the noise of the marching army grew from within and outside the walls. The archers were almost spent of arrows too as Potitus turned to them and jerked his head towards the rear, the closest men nodding and calling to their colleagues to finish their last shots.

  A great cheer came from Potitus’ right as a Roman breached the wall above the main gate and instantly the archers ran forwards and rained their final arrows into the backs of the defenders as more men streamed over the parapet.

  The last bolt flew with a wicked thump and Potitus saw it stop the whole of the phalanx as it scythed through the first four men and knocked several others to the floor, the remaining men staring with horror at the roof top as well as back at the mangled remains of their dead friends. “Go” he called to the soldiers as they took a last look at their bloody work and turned to sprint back along the roof. Potitus smiled and turned to walk back along the roof, a tall young archer falling in behind him, his final arrow knocked as he walked backwards behind his senior officer and the two men headed for the rear gate, their tasks finished for now.

  ****

  Rufus watched as the left hand attack breached the wall after the second major attack, the first faltering to a steady hail of missiles and some fierce defending on the walls. He smirked, a new thought coming to his mind as the first man over the wall held his ground, the cheering of the ranks of men in front of him causing the noise of fighting at the wall to disappear. If Camillus was right the defenders were now splitting their forces, exactly as he wished them to. Some would be heading for the rear gate, others would be preparing to repulse the attack at the front. All in all this looked like the time for him to get as close to the gate with the main attack force as he could, within minutes it could be opened. Horses to his left caught his eye and he turned, a sudden well of fear coming as his mind immediately thought of a counter attack by the enemy, his hands rising to call for new orders before he realised it was Roman cavalry, not enemy.

  “Who is that?” Mella asked, sat to Rufus’ right. “Is it Virginius?” he said with a note of incredulity in his voice.

  Rufus ignored the question and leant forward to wave to the trumpeter to call the first five rows forward into a steady jog to reach their pre-designed positions. Almost instantly the call came and the men moved, the dust cloud growing and loud clanking of armour rising into the air. Turning back to Mella with a shake of his head he replied “I don’t care as long as it’s not the enemy. Go and see what he wants Mella, and tell him to keep those men back, they will only get in the way” he said with a shake of his head. “Oh, but be more polite about how you say it” he added with a smirk.

  The wall was bristling with Romans now, surely Marcus and his men had found the way to the gate and were preparing to open the door to the city. Rufus smiled as he stretched his back and rasped his sword from its scabbard. “Not long now boys” he said loudly as a number of eyes turned to watch him at the sound.

  ****

  The road was longer than Marcus expected, the alleyways to left and right held only the occasional defender, most young boys who hoped to sneak at quick attack before running back to tell their tales of valour. All were dispatched. Marcus ran through his prayers to Fortuna and Juno in his head, his bargain with them was simple and he would keep to his words. It was the Roman way to set a bargain with your gods and then to honour it when they favoured you with victory. He remembered how his bargaining had grown in recent years as he felt that he needed to offer more supplication and more sacrifices as his battles grew in stature. So far this battle had gone as well as all the rest, as he hoped the prophecy foretold. Ahead he could hear the stomping of the phalanx of Capenate defenders coming from the city square and he said a quick prayer of thanks to Fortuna in the hope that the scorpions had thinned their ranks sufficiently.

  “Hold here, men” he called as he looked left and right at the intersection of the roads he had seen on the map. “Go, and may Fortuna be with you” he called as several men split off and headed into each narrow road, their task to find a way to the gate or at least to draw more soldiers away from it.

  The sound of soldiers catching their breath came from around him as Marcus glanced up and down the street, houses boarded up, shutters closed and the only noise that of his men and the stomp of the approaching soldiers.

  “We must keep the momentum up, men” called Marcus. “Are the archers there?” he called as a reply came from the back of the men and he nodded to himself. “Right. Form line, and do your duty as soldiers of Rome. The spoils will be large and you will be rich men after today” he called as the soldiers cheered his name and began to shuffle into their small
groups across the road.

  Within a minute they had set off in a steady walk towards the square, the light dim in the tall sided road as the houses blocked the late afternoon sun. Ahead the wall of enemy soldiers appeared, instantly greeted by jeering and cursing from both sets of soldiers. Marcus grinned, moving into the second line as he had agreed with the Centurions and from where he could direct activity. He wondered how the attack at the gates was going, and assumed that the appearance of this phalanx of men was testament to the success of his plan to lure the Capenates to split their force.

  “Archers” called Marcus as the Capenates got within thirty paces, their bristling wall of spears long and deadly. Immediately the rank of soldiers eased sideways leaving enough space for a line of archers to squeeze to the front. As soon as they had room the archers fired indiscriminately into the phalanx, the front line safely behind their shields but the rear ranks unaware that death was coming until it was too late. After firing four arrows each the archers turned and fled back into the ranks of foot soldiers and Marcus screamed “charge” as the Romans launched into the leading edge of the defenders, the front line of whom had continued to march as the rear ranks faltered to move their shields above their heads. The momentary halt had given the Romans a chance to slice into the heart of the phalanx and Marcus and his men took it with glee, charging straight through the long spears and slamming into the shields of the defending soldiers. Romans fell to the spears, but others clambered over their dead and rained short thrusts into the bodies of the men who were struggling to remove their shields from above their heads, the confusion giving the Eagles the time they needed to ram their advantage home.

  “Press on” Marcus called as he thrust his sword into the shoulder of a thick bearded Capenate, his deep scream obliterated as the legionary to his right slammed his sword through his eye socket and the man disappeared under the feet on the rushing Romans. The speed of the attack took the front four rows by surprise, the fifth row recovering sufficiently to block the retreat of their colleagues as they struggled to manoeuvre in the confined space of the road. Capenates fought Capenates as the Romans marched relentlessly through the front of the phalanx, men tried desperately to claw their way back to safety but were butchered from both sides as they screamed their death cries.

  “Hold” Marcus called as he realised the defenders were now getting into position. “Archers” he called as the first two rows of Romans closed the shield wall and lowered their bodies to peer out at the yelling defenders, who, thinking they had stalled the Romans, took a step forward. Stepping up from the back the archers grinned as two rows of legionaries knelt and placed their shields across the road, the archers stepping onto them as they had trained to do in the camp only the night before as the legionaries lifted the shields and the men rose above their heads.

  As the Capenates stepped forward toward the Roman wall some of them stopped in their tracks as men rose from the ranks of the Romans in front of them. Giants one man thought before his rational thought came back and he realised they were holding bows and pointing their deadly arrows directly at his face. Throwing his shield up to cover his body he forced himself not to whimper, but it was too late an arrow had crashed into his arm, knocking his spear from his grip as he screamed curses at the Romans.

  Three shots each was what Marcus had ordered, the archers dealing the blow within twenty seconds. Instantly the front rank of Romans were moving forwards before the archers had dropped out of sight, the same confusion now causing the rear ranks to step backwards at this tactic that they had never faced before. “Hold” came the call from deep within the Capenate ranks as Marcus grinned and pushed his shield into the face of a man with an arrow through his right arm, the blood hardly visible but the pain etched on his face showing just how badly it stung. The rear ranks began to buckle and Marcus knew now was the time to attack with all the might of the men he had around him.

  “Attack” he screamed as he stepped forwards and smashed his sword into the breastplate of a short man, his cheap spear cracking against the stone of the house beside him as he wheeled his shield across to try and stop the lightning fast strike. He had fallen before Marcus had had the time to make a second strike and he kicked at the body, making sure he was flat so that he could move over the body safely. More men fell, a few Romans succumbed to spears or swords as the defenders started to peel away from the back of the phalanx.

  “Maniples get ready” Marcus called. “Archers to the roofs” he shouted as he heard men start to climb the houses to find vantage points from which they could strike.

  “A horse to the first man to get the gate open” he called as men cheered around him. A horse was extremely valuable and could raise a man from his current status to a higher level much more than silver or bronze could, and Marcus knew this as he grinned to the man next to him, his eyes suddenly lit up at the thought of owning his own steed.

  An arrow sliced into the cheek of a defender as Marcus parried his spear thrust, the moment of agony allowing Marcus the time to step under his spear point and thrust his sword up into his ribs, the leather body protector jarring the strike but not stopping it. The end of the road was now in sight, the brighter light of the square opening out as the Romans marched through the ranks of Capenates. Marcus knew that his next move was the most dangerous yet, but his men had trained for it and even though Narcius was not there to see the fruits of his work he knew they would win.

  The last three rows of spearmen turned and ran as soon as they reached the square, some edging backwards with their spears in an orderly formation, others simply throwing their weapons and running.

  “Maniples” Marcus called as his men split and ran pell-mell in different directions in groups of eight soldiers. This was a tactic Marcus had seen used many years before by the long haired giants from Gaul who had faced his brother in a skirmish with the Romans. It had been so effective he had gone through various forms of attack with Lucius, Scipio, Potitus and Mella since that day. Now he would find out if his theories would work. Maniples, handfuls, were men trained to fight in small groups, using quick combat techniques to drag the enemy out of their rigid formations and then dash in for the kill. Each group set off across the square in different directions, the movement allowing Marcus to stand on a protruding block of stone which stood proud from the building where he was standing.

  Scanning the square he could see that the enemy were less than he had imagined, maybe a thousand men at most, all crammed into the one central square but also hampered by its size. Immediately he knew that if they could open the gate they would be victorious. Gripping the man next to him he looked back along the road from which they had come, seeing more Romans racing along the narrow, steep sided, walkway.

  “Maximus, get to Rufus and tell him to march at the gates now” he yelled above the noise of combat around them before he swept his sword away to his right; “to the gates” he shouted as he set his jaw and moved away into the melee in front of him.

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  Chapter 9

  “Has the messenger left for Rome” Priscus asked as he sat with his elbows resting across the desk, piles of reports stacked on either side of his resting arms.

  “Yes sir” said the duty legionary who had just entered the tent, his clean uniform showing he had not been party to the moving of the soaking wet equipment down by the lake.

  “Good” mumbled Priscus, rubbing at his tired eyes before yawning and leaning back in his chair. He eyed the legionary. “Rustulus, isn’t it?” he asked as the legionary suddenly bolted to attention expecting a dressing down, his mind running through a series of excuses before nodding and saluting vigorously.

  “Here Rustulus, have a seat. Let’s talk, man to man.”

  Rustulus looked at his commanding officer warily, his chin pulled tight into his neck as he considered what the officer might want from him. “Sir” he replied as he pulled up a seat and sat.

 
; “Wine?”

  “Not on duty, sir”

  “Then you are excused duty from now until dawn, Rustulus” came the reply, though the look from Priscus was more mischievous than stern. Rustulus nodded and his shoulders relaxed as he gripped the wooden cup offered to him.

  Taking a sip of the wine his eyes widened, his appreciation of the thick white liquid showing in his face as he licked his lips and took another draught.

  “Ha” laughed Priscus. “I forgot the piss that you have to drink in the legions. Years ago I swore blind that if I ever rose to the rank where I could bring my own wine on campaign I would do it” he added with a genuine smile as he looked into his own cup before drinking.

  “It’s the best wine I’ve ever tasted” Rustulus said with a nod of his head.

  “Here.” Priscus leant forwards and filled the cup to the brim. “No, go on man” he said.

  Rustulus took another slow sip and savoured the taste before looking at his officer.

  “Tell me Rustulus, what do you think of all this talk of bad omens and bad luck, especially the lake water rising so suddenly?” Priscus asked as he looked over his cup at the legionary, noting the sudden unease in the man’s face. “Be honest” he added as he leant forward with the wine jug and motioned to fill the half empty cup again. “My officers tell me the men pay no heed to such tales and such thoughts of disaster” he added with a wave of his free hand and a shrug.

  Rustulus took a moment to answer, leaning forwards and looking around the tent conspiratorially before speaking. “To be honest, Sir, the lads think that the whole campaign is cursed” he said, watching Priscus’ face intently. Priscus for his part nodded as if he agreed with him and motioned with the wine jug again, Rustulus grinning before downing his third cup in as many minutes. “They say that the two-headed calf, the constant attacks and the fact that we can’t get into the city just shows that the gods aren’t with us” he said with a slight slur. “The water is a sign, well that’s what they say, that the gods don’t want us here.” He nodded before drinking half the cup in one go and looking over at Priscus.