Dawn of The Eagle

by Francis Mulhern

  For Julie, Annya, Andrew & Katie.

  I would like to thank those people who have made it easy for me to sit at a computer for many hours every day and write this book.

  The cover design is from the talented Ruth Musson, you can contact her via facebook at Ruth Musson Illustrator. The artwork is the copyright of the author of this book.

  Published 2014 – Copyright F.M.Mulhern

  82,947 words (Updated September 2017)

  Other books in the Dictator of Rome series;

  Prequel – The Ancilia Shield

  Book 1 – Dawn of the Eagle

  Book 2 – The Fall of Veii (part 1)

  Book 3 – The Fall of Veii (part 2)

  Book 4 – Vae Victis (Woe to the vanquished)

  Short story – The Thracian

  Book 5 – King of Rome

  ***

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any form, or any means without the prior consent of the author.

  Camillus –

  Dictator of Rome

  Book 1 – Dawn of The Eagle

  Chapter 1

  Senior Tribune Lucius Furius Medullinus looked out over the assembled battle line. The rocky shape of Mount Algidus lay behind him, hazy in the late morning sun, its dark form holding back the bright blue sky with its wispy clouds telling of more heat to come. In front of him stood the Triarii, the older, sturdier and more experienced soldiers of Rome, many of them Patricians, rich landowners, like himself. Their armour shone brightly, showing the care with which each man, or his slave, had cleaned it overnight. The six-foot long spears of the mass of men partly obscured his view of the enemy lines some four hundred yards away and just out of the best spear throwers range. He could see the skirmishers, the Leves, racing forward to throw spears, stones or metal balls at the assembled ranks of the Aequii, but they made little impact. The Aequii, the old enemy of Rome, were amassed in eight phalanx, in chequerboard formation, and spread from the small brook on his left to the rocky outcrops to his right. Lucius and the army of Rome had caught up with them two days ago, after a forced march, and had set out their battle lines for the second time.

  Lucius turned to his left. “See there Marcus, that is the enemy that took our grandfathers leg from him thirty years ago and killed our great uncle. Shall we proceed to beat them today and give the people of Rome and our family glory?” he smiled and turned to look to his younger brother.

  Marcus Furius sat on his small brown horse, its healthy sheen hidden under his limbs. His long legs reached well beyond the belly of the animal and made him look uncomfortable as he stretched his neck to peer at the enemy above the spears of the troops in front of him. He squinted, his bright intelligent eyes looking quickly along the line of enemy soldiers. “The omen was not good brother, as you know. The birds flew together but the first to attack fell, we must bide our time”. He looked to his brother to gauge his response. Murmurs of agreement came from the closest ranks of soldiers who had turned to listen to their commander; the soldiers of Rome were nothing if not superstitious. Lucius sat silently, remaining motionless on his large white charger as his eyes lazily searched the ranks of soldiers before him.

  A voice broke the momentary silence, “It’s been two days now since the augur, take another Tribune and let’s kill these Aequii dogs. They terrorise the farmers, they openly boast they are the better soldiers and they control the Via Latina in the north. It’s killing our trade in Rome. We must teach them a lesson here today” spat Publius Postumius, with venom in his deep set eyes. As junior Tribune Publius Postumius had to bow to his superiors orders, but he voiced what many of the men were thinking. Today was a good day for a battle, the weather was warm but not overly hot, there was little wind and the enemy had been standing in battle order for 3 hours. Postumius was the son of one of Rome’s oldest and richest families, his twenty-two years had seen him groomed for service in the ranks of the magistrates and this was his first military posting, as junior tribune. His thick black hair sat proudly on his long forehead as he stared down from his overly large grey mount where his immaculate leather and plate armour shone in the morning haze. His thin lips pursed and his quick eyes darted around the field nervously despite his confident tone.

  Lucius spoke without looking at Postumius, his distain showed in his reply. “We have discussed this before Tribune” stretching to look to his right flank, the weakest area of his defence. Happy that the Equites, his strong knights on horseback, were in position he continued, “We cannot attack first, we must wait for the Aequii to attack, the gods have spoken”. With this he resumed his search of the enemy ranks, looking for signs of attack or weaknesses or areas he could probe. His eyes searched the ground, the water away to his left and the troops in front of him. His thoughts were once again interrupted by Postumius.

  “But they too will have seen the birds and they too will be waiting for us to attack. Do we just sit here and wait? We have better soldiers than these Aequian scum, we can crush them” he said leaning forward on his horse and clenching his fist, his voice rising above the silence of twelve thousand men stood in full battle formation in front of him. He looked round wildly waving his arms at the assembled nobles in the rear of the Roman battle lines.

  “These men want glory for their families. They want enough spoils from the battle to allow them to buy food to fill their bellies for winter” he nodded to those closest to him, who nodded back to him. “They must be let loose now on the enemy, kill them all and take their women and children for slaves. It is the Roman way” he finished, sitting up on his mount, his face showing a confident but mischievous grin. He knew this comment would goad his commander and Postumius smiled to the officers around him at his jibe.

  Lucius turned to Postumius. “The Roman way is to do battle when the best terms are offered and when the gods will it, not before. Numbers will not win today, they have the better ground, they have more men than we and, Tribune” he looked to the sky and seemed to search for a long moment “the gods will is clear in the flight of the birds. We must wait”. Lucius turned and nodded his head “look to your left in the midst of the enemy there are many Gauls, their axes glint in the sun and they stand a head taller than these Latins. They are mercenaries, come down from the high mountains and I think we should be wary of them, many of their kind are settling on the Latin delta and they are fearsome fighters. The Roman way is to think the battle through rather than throw men into it, and” he turned to look to the skies once more “to follow the will of the gods.” He nodded again in the direction of the Gauls, and noticed from his wide eyed stare that Postumius hadn’t noticed them previously. He wondered how Postumius had been made Tribune this year, but in his heart he knew money and family connections were the reason. Postumius had proven himself to be a poor leader but he was the son of a rich and influential man in Rome. He had lost men in reckless charges on enemy positions despite orders against such reckless acts, and the men resented him for it. These soldiers fought for their farms and homeland and they did not take well to rich Patricians ordering them into pointless battles, especially if the rich Patrician was a fool of a boy with pretentions of grandeur and a disregard for the lives of others. Postumius was becoming a millstone around Lucius’ neck that he didn’t want. It was hard enough trying to march thousands of men on a campaign in the burning heat of the late summer without the constant buzz of the young Tribune in his ear. He looked across to his brother. At fifteen Marcus was turning out to be good company on the long campaign. He asked lots of questions regarding enemy troops, weapons and tactics and knew his military history and tactical formations well. The little brother who had gone away to the temples in Rome to serve as a Camillus, a religious servant, seve
n years ago had grown well and was as close to Lucius now as any friend he had made in his service of Rome.

  “What say you Marcus?” asked Lucius turning first to Postumius and nodding to check that Postumius did not see his questioning his brother as an affront. Postumius looked sharply at Marcus, whose eyes remained fixed on the enemy. He nodded “Yes Camillus, what say you?” Camillus was the nickname Marcus had gained in his service in the temples of Rome from the day he had saved the Ancilia shield from the thieves who had tried to steal it from the priests of Mars. The shield was said to have fallen from the gods hundreds of years ago and been given to King Numa as a sign of Roman strength and superiority. It was paraded at the start of every campaigning season by the leaping priests, the Salii, to herald new campaigns and glory for the people of Rome. The shield was seen as a great omen of success and the rituals and banquet which followed the parades were as much a part of the Roman army as the army itself. Its loss to thieves, especially one of their biggest enemies the Aequii, would have been a dreadful omen for the Romans, and since saving the shield from loss Marcus had been sent to serve with his brother as a talisman of good luck in the campaign against the Aequii.

  “We must wait Tribunes” said Marcus looking to the sky as he spoke. In unison Lucius and Postumius looked up to the heavens to see a large eagle circling overheard. “The eagle waits and so must we”, spoke Marcus slowly. Neither Tribune spoke but the noise of fifty armoured men looking to the sky to see the eagle broke the silence as murmurs and nods of agreement broke out around them, men taking their lucky talismans from hidden pockets and kissing them. As they watched the eagle floated across the sky, its wings spread to catch the early morning breeze as it circled slowly, seeming to watch the battle lines below.

  “Wait, we have movement in the enemy” said Marcus pointing to the ranks of spearmen facing them and tearing everyone attention away from the circling bird. From deep in the enemy lines came two men on horses with a third walking beside them, a Gaul. The walking man was nearly as tall as the two horsemen sat on their mounts and carried a sword nearly as big as the man himself. The men held up a shield covered in a white cloth, the sign of truce and parley.

  “I wonder what they want” said Postumius as he nudged his horse forwards, the men in front of him grumbling as he roughly pushed through them with his large horse. “We will soon find out” said Lucius waving to his trumpeter to call for the men to relax and move aside. As one a great sound of men talking arose from both sides of the valley, the exertion of standing in full battle lines was broken and they relieved themselves by stretching, drinking and eating but remained standing in their closely formed units ready to step into battle immediately if needed.

  “Keep your eyes to the right and watch for enemy movement and attacks, report anything you see to Decimus” whispered Lucius to Marcus as they and the ten men chosen to escort them moved forwards into the dusty ground between the two assembled armies. “And may Fortuna watch over us” added Lucius as he handed his long spear to one of the Triarii and moved forwards into no-man’s land. Fortuna was the goddess of luck and a favourite of many of the soldiers who paid tribute to her each day in return for a safe passage in battle.

  Marcus noted that the ground sloped slightly as they approached the central meeting point and looking to his left and right also noticed that the rocky ground would hamper the Roman advance, he understood now why his brother said the enemy had the better ground. He dropped behind Postumius and Lucius, as befitted his place in the hierarchy of the army, and joined Decimus, the senior Centurion, in the third line. Lucius had ordered the Equites to move forward of the battle line on the right flank in case they were needed, and Marcus was pleased to see this as he saw the enemy had done the same with their heavy horses. Clearly, despite the truce, no side trusted the other. As the small group came to a halt Postumius could be heard whispering loudly that the Romans should charge the enemy now while they were off their guard and Marcus wondered how Lucius stopped himself from sending Postumius back to the main army, but he knew he could not do that without offending one of the richest families in Rome.

  From his position Marcus could see the family clans lined in the enemy ranks. He saw poor quality armour and shields in the front ranks of enemy Hastati, with many of the faces no older than his own, a mix of hatred and fear showing in their eyes. These boys were here for glory and wealth and would stop at nothing to achieve it. Their spears were roughly made and he could see that many were rusty and poorly kept. They carried long swords at their hips which they would use once their spears were knocked from their hands and had crudely made shields of thick wood and leather. The long feathers in their helmets and dark leather skull caps denoted their clan and position. Some had conical iron helmets much like the Romans wore themselves, with a thick chin strap and metal cheek guards. These were the hated Aequians that had inflicted the defeat on his grandfather, Spurius Furius Medullinus, who had lost a leg when his camp was stormed thirty years earlier, a story that had been drilled into Marcus since he was a boy. The Aequii were more than an enemy of Rome, they were personal enemies of his family. Marcus saw that the second and third ranks of soldiers looked no better equipped than the first, which he was about to comment on to Decimus when his attention was drawn to the Gauls amidst the Aequian troops. They were enormous. Each man was at least a head taller than the Latins and Aequians around him. Their weapons were mostly axes and long broadswords and their armour was bronze or iron over thick leather. The leaders wore feathers and horse hair in their helmets to show their seniority. As he watched, one of the Gauls pulled at the strange long leggings he wore and urinated long onto the ground in front of him. The action drew laughter from those troops closest to him and Marcus was fascinated and could not look away from these brutal giants until he heard his name called. He turned to see Lucius looking to him and waving. Unsure he moved forwards.

  “It seems you are famous beyond the walls of Rome, Camillus” said Lucius with a stiff smile and a nod towards the enemy. “It also seems that the man you killed in the temple of Apollo when you saved the sacred shield was the brother of the Triborii chief Comus, here” he said with a small flick of his hand “and now that they know you are here they will allow us to leave unharmed...” he spoke these last words with a smile and looked to Postumius who, as he expected, snorted loudly “if we hand you over so they can put you on trial. It seems their raids on Roman lands are due to the death of Comus’s brother and they seek vengeance on Rome.” Marcus froze, and for a moment thought his brother was considering the offer. “But the people of Rome would not allow us to give up their hero, the boy who saved the ancilia shield” he added in a low voice, raising his eyebrows and smiling to Marcus.

  Roman Patricians were trained from a young age to show no emotions on their face or in their voice, it was the mark of a strong man to remain stoic, as the Greeks called it, under pressure. Marcus used all his skill to remain impassive. He looked to the face of the bearded leader of the Aequii. His small brown eyes burned with loathing and Marcus could see his fingers twitching on his reins as if he clearly wanted to leap from his horse and throttle him.

  “I will be in the rear guard of the men behind us if they wish to come and find me” said Marcus, nonchalantly. He could see from the look on his brother’s face that he approved of what he said and he noticed Postumius sit taller on his horse, nodding stiffly. Decimus stifled a laugh and the Aequii leaders stared back with hatred in their eyes as they darted looks to Comus as if waiting for an order to attack. Marcus was unnerved as the large Gaul stared straight at him, his jaw set firm and eyes never moving as he seemed to tense his muscles ready to spring. There was a momentary silence.

  “The Aequii will wait” shouted Comus suddenly, startling some of the horses, and he pulled his reins sharply around and kicked his heels into his mount, shooting dust into the air in swirls as he raced away. As he turned he had placed a hand on the shoulder of the large Gaul and Marcus noticed the ch
ange in the Gaul’s face as he nodded his head and set his face in a grimace.

  “You lose heads” said the Gaul in a calm, quiet, but throaty voice, pointing at Lucius, “and we drink from your empty skulls” he added in his broken Latin. Marcus noticed his large arms were covered in blue tattoos and his mottled beard swayed from side to side as he took a step towards him. Two of the Roman escorts grabbed at the Gaul’s arms, but it was no good, the man stepped forward and raised his sword. In a heartbeat the Gaul jumped and swung the sword in an upper cut which slashed across Marcus as he instinctively dived backwards on his saddle kicking his horse into a forward lunge as he had trained it many times. The downswing of the sword was caught by the movement of the horse and Marcus pulled the small stabbing dagger he had on his left hip from its scabbard so quickly that the Gaul gasped as it stabbed into his face in a backhand grip that saw it explode through his jaw smashing teeth and flesh. Before Marcus could return a second blow Decimus was between him and the Gaul and had taken him in the side with his sword, ripping through the man’s fur lined tunic to open his belly and then moving behind him to block the Aequii consort from coming to his aide. As the Gaul writhed and screamed his death throes from a dozen Roman swords the Aequii fled from the centre ground and Marcus heard the trumpets call warnings to the armies to prepare to march. Marcus’s horse was being pulled aside by Decimus as he fumbled to gain control of his mount, which twisted away from the last thrashes of the dying Gaul. As he rode hurriedly back to the Roman lines Marcus could hear orders being shouted by Lucius in the calm and orderly manner befitting a Roman Tribune, he seemed to have grown in stature and the men rushed off with his orders. When they reached the first lines of the Roman army Decimus handed the reins of his horse to a soldier, jumped from his horse in a deft movement and turned to stand in the front rank of the Roman Hastati.