“Just the usual, sir,” Attius said. “Disguised pits with spikes in the bottom, more sharpened stakes in the ditch. I already have all those chests of stones on the parapets….”
“If we’re attacked, you’re going to throw stones?” Lucius asked with amused disbelief.
“Oh yes, Boxer, I certainly am, with the legate’s permission. A one-pound stone dropping twenty feet or more onto a man stops him in his tracks at the least. Also, they cost us nothing.”
“The Germans have no war machines not are they inclined to undermine our walls. What they will do is launch attack after attack to wear us down. In a siege, you run out of food, then ammunition and finally men. The stones Titus has collected are a valuable defensive resource,” Quadratus told Lucius.
“I stand corrected, sir. If the stones are so useful to us, why not gather a lot more? We could get them out of the stream this time. That would make it a little deeper and a better barrier.”
“Simple but probably effective, tribune. Liaise with First Spear Centurion Attius and make a start,” the legate ordered.
The stream rose in the south, took a curve parallel with one wall of the camp and then turned again to flow down the gentle slope to the Rhine on the western side. Lucius stood in the cold drizzle, showing willing, while the soaked legionaries waded into the water, heaved heavy, rounded pebbles out of the streambed and hauled them through the open gate. His mind wandered and he began to picture the whole area. To the east, the land rose sharply to the forest but the tree stumps had been deliberately left when the legion had cleared it. A mass charge down that slope was almost impossible. To the south and west, there was a degree of protection offered by the watercourse which they were labouring to improve. But there were no natural obstacles on the gentle slope leading northwards to the Rhine. The idea came to Lucius out of nowhere.
He went back into the camp and climbed up to the walkway over the Via Praetoria. To his right was the treacherous deforested slope, to his left, the farmlands cultivated by veterans with the silver line of the stream running through it down to the broad river. He studied the ground for a long while then came down and walked outside to the northwest corner of the camp. He proceeded to take long strides, counting each pace until he reached the foot of the deforested slope. He looked back. It seemed a very long way, still he knew every legionary was trained to dig his share of a marching-camp ditch each night when they were in the field. He asked for a meeting with Quadratus and Attius.
He had made a charcoal plan on a wide wooden board which he propped up. He stood to one side of it and looked at the two officers. All his confidence evaporated. He wanted nothing more than to rewind time to before he had requested that they hear him. But it was too late. Lucius took a deep breath and began in a faltering voice which grew stronger as he noticed Attius’ eyes narrowing in concentration. They were not dismissing him out of hand.
“My idea is to dig a ditch three feet deep and six feet wide across the front of the camp beginning at the stream. At its nearest point it will be twenty paces from our walls and forty paces at the farthest where it finishes at the foot of the slope. It will naturally fill with stream water most of the year. If it runs dry, it is still a hindrance to an enemy force. The side nearest us will be sloped so no hostile warriors can hide in it unseen. The other side will be vertical and lined with stones to help hold the water level and prevent erosion.”
“Why isn’t it straight across?” Attius asked.
“Because water naturally flows downhill. We want it to flow along our ditch, not spill out at the highest point.”
“The farmers won’t like you interfering with their irrigation and we need the grain they supply,” Quadratus told him.
“We build a simple sluice gate where the ditch joins the watercourse. In the event of an attacking force being sighted, a party goes out and destroys it. It will only take a few moments.”
“What are you going to do with all the earth the men excavate?” Attius asked.
“Dump it, either in the river or spread it out on the slope up to the forest.”
“What do you think, Titus,” Quadratus enquired.
“It’s practical. But why didn’t we think of it before?”
“Because the best ideas are always staring us in the face, we just don’t see them. Very well done, Boxer. But twelve feet wide and six feet deep, can we manage that, Titus? I want a timber bridge in line with the Porta Praetoria. Men naturally crowd round bridges; makes them a big target.”
“Very well, sir. When the news of your grand scheme gets out, Boxer you’re going to be the most hated officer in this camp, including me. I echo the legate, well done!”
But Lucius was not finished scheming; he had taken Quadratus’ words about sieges to heart and began to worry about the ammunition supply. He spoke with Centurion Corvo.
“Is there anything wrong with using pebbles as sling ammunition if we run out of bullets?”
“Yes, sir, there is. Each bullet is cast using the same lead in the same mould. They are all of identical size and weight. Pebbles vary and accuracy is lost.”
Thank you, Corvo,” Lucius said and gave the problem some thought. There was nothing he could do to obtain a supply of suitable stones all of the same size but he could do something about the weight. With Corvo to advise, he collected fifty rounded pebbles from the stream, which was now substantially deeper and faster flowing, He then borrowed a pair of scales from the reluctant quartermaster, who made him sign for them. He and Corvo put ten lead bullets on one pan and then added stones to the other until they had the identical weight on each side. On average, twenty-five stones were needed to equal ten bullets. Corvo’s century was set to bringing in even more. The weighing and sorting process went on until they had five-thousand stones of nearly similar size and weight. They set up a range and practised with them, gathering up all they could find at the end of the session.
Neither Lucius nor Corvo could do anything about the supply of arrows. They had to be made by experts and brought in.
The quartermaster refused to accept the scales when Lucius returned them.
“They’re badly scratched and worn. It says, “To be returned in the same condition” on your chit, Tribune Longius. I’ll have to charge you.”
“Very well, quartermaster, let me know how much and I’ll pay. I will, of course, be keeping the scales.”
The quartermaster grudgingly took them back without charging Lucius anything.
“Suppose they could be repaired,” he muttered.
Lucius turned his attention to his artillery. He had ordered as many scorpion bolts as the armourers could supply. He had stacked hundreds of rounded stones of between ten and fifteen pounds for his ballistas. But he had something else on his mind. Huddled with the artillerists discussing tactics, he asked a fundamental question.
“The ballista throws a single missile. If it strikes the effect is devastating but it if misses by a hairsbreadth, all the effort and wear on the torsion ropes has been for nothing. Is there any way we can fire multiple stones?”
One experienced soldier shook his head.
“Never been tried, sir. Probably a good reason why not.”
“Let’s have a go and see what happens,” Lucius ordered.
A ballista was dragged out of its shelter and aimed approximately at half-way up the wall. Two operators cranked it into the ready position. Five smaller stones were placed in the slide that would normally hold just a single, larger one.
“Fire!” Lucius shouted.
The trigger was pulled. The tension on the string holding back the twin arms was realised. The block shot up the firing groove and hit the stones. Two fell off sideways. One went vertically up into the air and landed within a foot of Lucius as it plunged back to earth. One hit the base of the wall. They had no idea where the last one had gone until an outraged shout from a sentry on the walkway let them know.
“Is that you lot chucking stones up ‘ere? Could’ve taken
my head off…sorry, sir.”
“Not a success,” Lucius admitted.
“Shows you why we never do that, sir,” said the soldier who had been against the experiment in the first place with as much satisfaction as he dared show to an officer.
“There’s got to be a way,” Lucius persisted. “What if we used a sort of sack?”
“Then it would be the same as now, sir. A sack full of stones instead of one big stone; no different, if you ask me.”
“Yes, well no-one is asking you,” Lucius snapped. “There has to be a way. Get that ballista back under cover for now.”
He stood over his workbench with a wax tablet and stylus calculating and sketching. A ballista was a simple machine, nothing more than a giant crossbow on a movable stand. It should be possible to fire multiple missiles at a single discharge. It was only a matter of working out how…. He heard someone cough behind him. A legionary stood at attention.
“Legate wants to see you, sir.”
A hard-faced centurion was standing beside the commanding officer when Lucius entered.
“Did I see you and Centurion Corvo weighing pebbles and sling bullets in a set of balance pans recently?” Quadratus asked, pleasantly.
“Yes, sir,”
“And would you tell me why?”
Lucius launched into a detailed explanation, including remarks on accuracy, range and the need to standardize the ammunition as much as possible.
Quadratus let him go on. “How are the trench-works progressing?” he asked once Lucius had finished.
“I’ve worked out that, at the current rate, if the weather does not ….” Lucius gave a second lecture quoting figures and projections.
The legate listened patiently.
“And what were you attempting a short while ago when you bombarded the interior of my camp with random missiles?”
Lucius once again educated his legate into the mysteries of trajectory, angles of fire and the effect of the missile weight.
“I am pleased that you are taking your duties so seriously and studying as recommended. Tell me, Tribune Longius, are you a philosopher?”
“No sir.”
“Perhaps you are a mathematician?”
“No, sir.”
“Indeed not; you are a soldier. A soldier who spends all day making calculations. You have lost your sense of proportion, Boxer but I shall restore it to you. Do you know who this is?” Quadratus asked, gesturing to the centurion at his side.
“The legion training officer, sir.”
“Yes, and very good at his job too. It is not part of a tribune’s duties to take up a shield and sword and stand in the ranks with the men but the occasion can arise. The Divine Julius himself did so at the Battle of Alesia. Think of it, Boxer, a general in the front-rank exchanging blows with furious Gauls. He survived as we all know but he knew what he was doing. I do not think you do. You will report to the training officer every day for the foreseeable future for an hour’s weapons drill. Perhaps you will fix it firmly in your head that the sword and shield are mightier than the stylus and wax tablet. Dismissed.”
Quadratus turned to the training officer.
“Do not defer to his rank. He is to be treated exactly like any other soldier, that is all.”
If Lucius was in trouble for falling in love with figures, Otto hated them. He had been raised in a culture where arithmetic was basic; fifty cattle, less ten sold equalled forty. Now he had to get his head around numerous variables to come to a workable solution. How to keep one hundred and fifty horses and men in the field for twenty-one days with only two transport carts in support. What quantity of grain for the men, for the horses and then taking into account the fodder required by the mules hauling the carts? It was a series of nightmares for him, more challenging than anything he had faced before. Some nights he laid himself down to sleep close to despair but he rose with the dawn and struggled on. Gradually, things began to make sense to him and he no longer needed to write down every single thing.
Quadratus wrote to Tertius Fuscus in Rome and requested that he doubled up on the supplies he had been requested to obtain on his return.
“Io Saturnalia! Io Saturnalia!” resounded from hundreds of throats and the festival of misrule began. Otto picked up his gear and walked over to the auxiliary cavalry billet where he stayed for a week.
Long after the revelry was over, a delegation of the veteran farmers asked to speak to the legate. They had watched the defensive works with growing concern. Quadratus explained that, as far as he knew, war was imminent.
“Will we be given the protection of the camp?” one of them asked.
“No,” Quadratus told him, gravely. “Women and children will not be admitted if hostilities are breaking out.”
“What are we supposed to do?” the farmer angrily demanded.
“Pack up your families and your tools and head down into Gaul.”
“What about our land, what about the crops we have sown?”
“Land is no use to you if you are dead. As for your crops, the choice is yours. If you take the risk and stay until harvest, we shall buy all you have. But I urge you to depart while you can.”
It was the artillerist who had been so dismissive of Lucius’ attempt to turn a ballista into a multi-shot weapon who solved the problem. He showed Lucius a simple basket woven in the shape of a tube with one end left open. Five stones were slipped into it and then it was placed on the slide. When it was fired, it hung in the air for an instant at the highest point of its flight like all missiles and then plunged back to earth. On the descent, the stones dropped out of the open end of the basket and smashed into the ground in a rough line several feet long. Lucius was impressed.
They dragged a ballista outside the gate and demonstrated for Quadratus and Titus Attius.
“Now that I call deadly,” Attius said admiringly.
“Congratulations, Boxer, you worked it out,” the legate enthused.
“No sir, it was one of the men who came up with the solution to the problem,” Lucius informed him.
“Stand forward that man,” Quadratus commanded. “You have made an important contribution to the defence of our camp. I appoint you Duplicarius; your pay is now doubled. Tribune Longius, ensure that this is recorded in the proper manner.”
Tertius Fuscus arrived with his supply column in mid-March. He had not been able to obtain twice the original requirement of grain and equipment but the amount he had with him was impressive. It took four days for the last of the contracted wagons to be unloaded and begin the hurried journey south.
Spring came but brought no enemy on its heels. As the year wore on in relative tranquillity, the younger soldiers grumbled about the restrictions on their off-duty movements imposed by Quadratus’ security measures. The old sweats looked at them, shook their heads and spat into the dirt. They had been here before and could sense the change in the atmosphere; like those breathless moments before the thunder growled and the lightning crashed.
A letter arrived for Otto from Vitius Longius in Luca.
“To Decurion Otto Longius, Greetings,
I trust that you are well and in good spirits. Our thoughts are as often with you as they are with our dear son, Lucius.
In the matter of the estate purchase which you have honoured me by trusting to my care, I have a proposal for your consideration.
A south-facing vineyard with a good house and wine presses has come up for sale. The present owner is too old to cultivate his vines and has no sons or nephews to continue the enterprise on his behalf. On enquiry, I have discovered that the surrounding land is also available. It rises in a wide swathe from the banks of the River Auserculus to a wooded hillside and beyond that, the Apuan Alps. It is well-drained and suitable for growing wheat, spelt and for cattle-grazing. The water-meadows along the river which flood each spring are ideal for sheep-rearing. The harvesting of filberts and chestnuts in the woodlands is another, considerable source of income.
Since y
ou are with the army, it occurred to me that owning land and renting it out would be more practical for you than trying to farm it yourself at long distance.
My steward has been with me for many years and I have the highest opinion of his expertise. He informs me that you could reasonably expect between eight and ten thousand denarii per annum in rents once fully tenanted. He has a son who has worked with him and who would be happy to act on your behalf; selecting and overseeing the tenants and making sure they keep your land in good order. If he was allowed to live in the house mentioned above rent-free during his employment, he would accept a salary of one thousand two hundred denarii.
The land I have briefly described could be purchased for the sum of eighty-seven thousand denarii. If you wish to proceed, a letter to me, perhaps witnessed by an independent party, would be sufficient for me to make the arrangements. I recommend that you open an account with the public bank I have always used in Luca. This can be arranged by letters of authorization. If you do so, I shall pass the residue of your funds to this account.
If this proposal does not find favour with you, please let me know. I suggest that we then leave our business on hold until such times as you can make your own inspection of what is available.
Vitius Lucius Longius
“Oh yes and blessing on you noble Vitius; now I do not have to buy slaves!” Otto thought once he had read it. He consulted Lucius and Tertius who advised him on the form his replies should take, Tertius acted as his witness. The letters were sent by the next available courier.
“So, you’re a Roman country gentleman now, are you?” Aldermar said. “You’ll have to provide wine for everyone. It is the custom.”
“It seems to me that the custom is I always have to pay for the wine if something good happens,” Otto told him, drily.
“That’s right,” Aldermar laughed and slapped him on the back.
Summer came; a beautiful summer of blue skies and hot sun to ripen the grain the die-hard farmers had planted. On Aldermar’s recommendation Otto was promoted to Principal Decurion in July. His rank was now equivalent to that of a senior centurion and his pay eight thousand denarii.
Knight of Rome Part II Page 3