“OK” said Decimus. “Bring the men forward and have them line up along the forest edge one hundred yards from the tree line. No-one moves until I order it and I want them down on the floor so there are no reflections from their armour” he said. “Cossus, good luck and we’ll see you inside. You go on my command as soon as the men are in line”. He clasped Cossus’s arm, as did many of the other officers, and then Cossus beckoned to four soldiers kneeling to his right and they all slid on their fronts back into the front of the tree line.
“Stay close to Mella” whispered Decimus to Marcus “and run for your life when the signal comes, it will be better to be at the front than the back” he said. Decimus had planned to bring up the rear guard with Rufus and a century of the oldest soldiers who were prepared to turn after a few hundred yards and protect the rear of the column as it raced to the fort. These men had given their packs to their comrades with strict instructions as to who got what from their booty should they not make it to the fort. Marcus had realised that he had nothing to give to anyone. His worldly possessions were his sacrificial knife, an old sword and a few scrolls of his fathers which detailed Greek army formations. He hefted the heavy shield he had carried through the woods and placed his hand over the sword scabbard as he lay on the ground and slowly crawled toward the edge of the trees using his elbows and knees. To him the noise of the men moving forward sounded like a gust of wind rustling through the trees and he feared that an alert sentry would turn and call a warning to the sleeping Aequians. Beside him he could see Mella moving like a cat through the grass, not making a sound and leaving no visible trail as he edged forwards. Ahead of him he saw Decimus wave the signal to Cossus and his men who silently lifted themselves from their positions in the grass fifty yards ahead and launched themselves into the light of the fires. The men carried only small daggers so they were not encumbered by large shields or swords, Cossus had argued that speed was more important than trying to fight through the guards and the five men were up to full sprinting speed before the voice of a guard called out into the quiet night.
Cossus bolted straight towards the gate as the man to his right ran at the guard who had called the alert. As the guard raised a lit torch to see what was happening, another cry came from a sentry further along the path. The alert guard ran forward towards Cossus raising a spear as he did so. Cossus veered to his left as the Roman behind him launched himself at the guard, knocking the spear from his hands. Marcus watched in fascination as the glint of a dagger rose and fell as the two men grappled in the firelight. Cossus had not stopped his run and Marcus heard him shouting Scipio’s name and his own name as he approached the fort. The blast of a war horn dragged Marcus away from the running Romans and to his left he saw hundreds of soldiers emerging from tents by the camp fires, looking confused but grabbing spears and shields as they lined up near the fires.
“Come on Cossus” mumbled Mella “come on”. Marcus looked back to see that two of Cossus’s men were down, one kneeling with a long spear through his stomach, a grotesque picture outlined against the light of the sentries fire before he fell forwards to the shouts of alarm from a guard.
“We should go now” mumbled Mella to Decimus, his voice urgent and panicky.
“No” he said firmly. “When the signal is given”.
Cossus and another of his men had reached the gates and were clearly arguing with the sentries who were dithering as horns sounded within the fort. Marcus glanced right to the main camp and saw groups of men charging across the ground towards the fort, spears in hand, shouting at the top of their lungs as they did so, intent on stopping the Romans from getting into the fort. The man with Cossus turned and stepped forwards, his dagger glinted in the firelight as he raised it to deflect a blow from one of the sentries who had followed him to the walls of the fort. The two men circled each other as Mella whispered “He needs to stop him. Just do it man.... Well done” he finally whispered as the Roman launched himself at the Aequian and took him down into the dirt. “If he lives I will buy that man a drink” he said, bringing a few low grumbles of agreement from the men around him.
Suddenly the sound of a Roman horn split the air, its deep long note unmistakable despite the noise of the camp around them coming to life. Marcus was momentarily confused.
“That’s the signal” Mella said grabbing Marcus’s arm as Decimus bellowed “charge” and three thousand men burst from the tree line and thundered towards the fort. The enemy soldiers who were charging for Cossus were suddenly taken aback by the uprising of so many men and most of them came to a halt, some of them forming defensive lines quickly just in case the hoard of men turned towards them. This gave the Romans valuable seconds to clear the initial hundred yards as the confusion in the enemy meant only one or two foolhardy Aequians charged into the mass of men and met quick, grizzly ends.
Marcus was dragged for fifty yards by Mella, who released his grip to dispatch a charging Aequian. The man’s loud scream, as he was stabbed through the chest, was drowned by the clump of three thousand Romans racing to the fort, the heavy drumming of their feet and ragged breathing sounding almost un-real as they charged across the ground. Ahead of him Marcus could see nothing but men and dust. He had no idea if the gate was open or even if they were still heading in the right direction as the combination of darkness, dust and fear enveloped him. Ahead to his right Marcus saw a Roman soldier fall, his shield cascading ahead of him as he did so and landing with a dull slap on the ground. The man was up on his feet quickly as a spear shaved his thigh, thrown by a tall, thick set Aequian who was sprinting straight at the man, yelling indistinct curses. The Roman glanced at his leg, which he lifted and stamped back on the ground before setting himself into a defensive stance. Before he could get his feet firmly set, the Aequian was on him, his long sword slashing at him as he threw his bulk at the Roman. The Roman side-stepped the attack and grabbed the Aequian around the middle, both men tumbling to the ground in a frantic struggle. As they fell to the floor Marcus veered to the right and, slowing imperceptibly, he struck the Aequian with the end of his shield across the top of his head, dislodging the brass helmet he wore with a loud clang and knocking him senseless. The glance from the Roman soldier was all the thanks Marcus needed, the gratitude in his eyes replaced instantly by the anger he used to dig his sword mercilessly into the eye socket of his attacker. As the sword exploded through the back of the man’s head and the terrifying scream died in his lungs, Marcus was turning and running for the gates with the rest of the men.
Decimus and the rear force trotted coolly, allowing the mad charge in front of them to move ahead, a large gap soon appearing. As the men ahead started to stumble and bunch up as they reached the neck of the funnel he turned to his left and raised his arm shouting “Here, on me” as he wheeled to a stop, dropping his shield forward and settling into a low crouch. He knew that a phalanx of men with spears would eat his troops for breakfast but he was gambling on the Aequians being too slow to organise their soldiers before he could get all the men into the fort. He felt his comrades drop in beside him, as the first rays of light appeared over the trees to his left.
“Count” he ordered as he nodded to himself as he heard men calling the numbers. Decimus had taken the far-right position and he knew Rufus would be the last man in line on the left - if he had made it to this point. When he heard the voice of his old friend call the last number he smiled, looking up at the dark blue and black sky above him and whispered a prayer to Fortuna that she would look after him on this new day, promising to give a bronze coin and a fat duck as a tribute to her when he got home.
This was the way with the Romans. Each man made a bargain with a god to look after him, promising to pay a tribute to them when they were safely back at home or in camp. Fortuna would do well from today’s battle thought Decimus as he called the men to march backwards at double-time, a skill that only old soldiers could master after years of training. The men created a semi- circle as they had planned, so that they co
uld cover as much space as possible across the back of the running Romans. Decimus hoped that the gate was open but knew that this was out of his control. His job was to defend the rear of the column, and he set his jaw firm as he saw a number of shapes running at him from the dust.
Cossus looked over his shoulder as the gate started to swing outwards. The emergence of the soldiers charging towards the fort had caused momentary confusion for the guards on the walls of the fort, but the voice of Scipio berated the gate-guards and the gate started to creak as it was pushed by the men behind it. Cossus grabbed the man beside him, the only one of the other four to make it to the gate and beamed at him, “Iulius, get to the side and grab as many men as you can to create a defensive line so we can herd the men in – just like sheep at home” he laughed as the man grinned at him. “You take the right gate” he called as the first soldiers started to arrive. A great cheer went up from the walls as more of the defending soldiers appeared on the ramparts in their ragged blood-stained armour. Cossus heard them cheering the men on, calling them to run faster and pointing away to the right and left at the Aequians. They must be sending attacking units at the Romans, he thought, as he blinked back dust from his eyes and wondered how many of the three thousand men would make it across to the fort.
“Licinius” he heard, turning to the sound of his cousin who stepped from the gate, surrounded by twenty well-dressed legionaries. They clasped forearms and looked into each other’s dirty faces before Cossus turned and pointed at the gates.
“We need men here and here” he pointed as hundreds of men now started to pour into the fort “to help get the gate closed”. Scipio, despite being the senior officer, smiled and said “it will be done, and I will see you inside later” as he turned and shouted orders to the soldiers around them.
“I will man the tower and direct support where I see it needed” he smiled “and we will give these dogs the kicking they deserve” he laughed aloud as he limped back into the fort, dragging his leg in a quick shuffling circle as he moved. Cossus saw that Scipio’s leg was heavily bandaged and he was walking with a stick, but he had no time to dwell on this as the press of men was now stalling at the narrow gate, only wide enough for two horses, and causing a blockage which was hampering the arrival of those at the back of the Roman charge.
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Marcus had lost sight of Mella and realised that the men in front of him were coming to a stop. He looked wildly around him into the swirling dust which was creating a thick blanket of fog as the morning light began to break above the trees. A man bumped into the crowd of soldiers to his left and a few obscenities were exchanged. Behind him he saw a series of small fights breaking out as the Aequians started to arrive and attack the rear guard. His mind raced, quickly considering his options. The press of men was stumbling along slowly, the noise of their calls to hurry up causing more confusion. Marcus felt fear grip his stomach. His breathing was ragged from the run and he turned, expecting to see enemy soldiers ready to run him through, but all he saw was the fear and panic in the faces of the men around him. He took a deep breath and turned to face the rear. Behind the running men, through the clearing dust, he saw the hundred soldiers walking backwards towards the fort, a gap of some fifty yards between the two of them as they fought small bands of Aequians who were harassing them from all sides. Then he glanced to the left and saw a column of pike-men forming, their intention clearly to attack the Roman rear guard. In ten heartbeats the Roman advance into the fort had moved no more than two steps but the Aequian pike-men had formed into a neat phalanx of fifty or more men and were advancing towards the Romans left rear guard.
“Men of Rome” called Marcus, his voice cracking as dust filled his mouth and lungs. “Men of Rome” he called again as a few of the men around him turned at the sound of his voice. “Turn and form a line.” He looked to his right where a soldier more than twenty years his senior seemed to look through him, his deep black eyebrows creased as he squinted at Marcus, wiping dust from his sweat encrusted face. He turned quickly to see what Marcus was doing as Marcus placed his shield across his body, barring the man behind, who stood and stared at him incredulously for a moment before stepping to the right and turning to stand alongside him. The soldier who had looked through Marcus also turned and bellowed, in a voice which rang out across the field like a horn, “About turn, face the enemy”. He repeated the call and within a few seconds hundreds of men had turned and presented their shields to the backs of the rear guard.
“What now, lucky Camillus?” said the old soldier, his voice deep and his mad grin leering at Marcus, as he kissed a rue sprig tied to the back of his shield and muttered a prayer. “I could do with some booty, shall we go get some from these fat Aequian dogs” he spoke slowly as the dust began to settle and the light of dawn finally broke over the trees, but he did not move. Marcus suddenly realised that every man was looking to him for orders and his heart lurched in his chest for a split second, his eyes darting around the scene ahead of him.
“Name soldier?” he asked without looking at the man and buying himself a few seconds thinking time.
“Manlius, sir”
“Go to the right with half the men and cover the rear guards right flank. I will go left and do the same. We take orders from Decimus when we get in line” he said hurriedly.
Before he could say anything else the soldier smiled and shouted “Every second man take a pace backwards. On my mark... count and step” his voice booming out louder than any Centurion Marcus had ever heard as, with a little cajoling from their colleagues a number of men stepped backwards. “
Go on then sir, go get ‘em” said Manlius with a gap-toothed smile as he pushed Marcus forwards and shouted “front line follow the General” he winked at Marcus and pushed him again so that he started to run forwards. Instantly the front line of soldiers fell into line with Marcus as he heard Manlius call the second line to the right. Within seconds Marcus was stood next to Rufus, who looked up with surprise as another fifty or sixty men fell in line next to him.
“Pike-men” said Marcus through his deep breathing from the run, nodding in the direction of the threat from the left.
“Bugger” added Rufus, “at least it’s not horses. If they were quick they would have ridden us down by now”. “How’s the gate?” he asked. Marcus quickly glanced over his shoulder, and seeing that the press of men was still busy trying to get through the gate he simply said “same. Maybe three more minutes to clear it” at which Rufus laughed and said “so five or more for us if they don’t close the gates on us”. Marcus hadn’t considered that this was an option and he stared at Rufus, unsure if this was a joke.
“Why not?” said Rufus. “If it was me, and the bulk of the force was in I’d close the gate”, he added with a shrug of his shoulders. Before Marcus could speak Mella barged his way in-between Rufus and himself, his thick shoulders knocking Marcus forward as he did so.
“For fuck’s sake” he yelled. “I’ve been going mad back there looking for you. Where the hell did you go? I told you to stay by me and not to do anything stupid. Like this” he said with venom in his eyes, waving his sword in the general direction of the enemy approaching them.
“I got caught up in the press” Marcus said, weakly.
“Bigger problems now” Rufus added before Mella could speak again. “Keep your head Mella. We need to deal with the phalanx before it grows” he stepped forwards and looked right and left as the men continued to walk backwards. The phalanx was now joined by a group of individual soldiers who ran forwards to attack the Roman line as Rufus made his assessment. Rufus saw that Marcus and several of the men to his left were struggling to march backwards in double time and the line was getting ragged.
“Form up and single time” shouted Rufus, at which the central century of soldiers slowed their pace, causing more confusion in the line as the new arrivals now outpaced them causing the line to bend. Rufus laughed “bloody new recruits”, at which the men to his right also la
ughed mirthlessly. “Ok. Get in the line. I’m going to the left wing. Mella, you stay here with the boy” he said. Marcus felt stung by the words but said nothing. He nudged the man to his right, “Julianus, you’re with me, I need someone good to cover my arse” he said, then looking further along the line shouted “Nerva, you control the centre”, at which the small man nodded, his face indistinguishable behind his thick helmet.
As Rufus trotted to the left, Marcus saw several attacks hit the centre of the line, the ringing of swords crashing against each other and the screams as men were hacked to death began. Rufus was moving the left line to a better position in order to guard the approach of the phalanx as another group of Aequians ran past them to harass the Romans. The light was now good enough to see the Aequian army was lining up and starting to march towards the fort. The tramp of thousands of feet started to shake the ground, adding to Marcus’s fear. An Aequian threw his spear from no more than twenty paces and it crashed into the shield of the man three places to Marcus’s left sending splinters into the air but causing no damage. The soldier laughed, stopped to pick up the spear and threw it back at the attacker, its point bursting into the man’s shoulder as he was spun and knocked to the ground. The Romans cheered as the soldier stepped back into the line laughing.
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