‘Then we’ll find out what other little tricks they have in store for us.’
He just hoped like hell that Fronto and Balbus had secured those forts.
* * * * *
Centurion Atenos, commander of the Second Cohort and chief training officer of the Tenth Legion, glanced around him, taking stock of the situation. The depleted cohort, some of his men being on detached duty with the legate, had joined the First Cohort at the head of the Roman advance. Legionaries and officers stretched away on both sides of him, filling the deforested ground from the water’s edge along to the remaining tree line.
Behind, a detachment of engineers and legionaries moved around the denuded forest floor efficiently filling the holes left by the removed trees and levelling and packing the ground. Behind them, a dozen vineae trundled periodically forward as soon as the ground was readied for them, coming to a halt as they reached uneven earth once more.
Swinging his gaze back round to his left, he could see the river, wide and shallow at this point, washing away the debris cast from the dying forest by the multitude of workmen.
And finally back to the front.
Despite being the head of the army, the men of the Tenth were not the furthest forward at the moment. Ahead of them, soldiers of the engineering details strained, pushing the bellowing oxen as hard as they could until, with a horrendous tearing sound, another beech tree came loose, the huge root system snapping and creaking. As Atenos watched, the cart began to drag the tree toward the slope that dropped to the river so that the workmen could roll it down to the river with a quick push and watch it float out to the bay.
A call from ahead drew his attention again. Centurion Carbo, off to his left, took up the call. Only a few trees remained before the open space that lay between the woodland and the low outer wall of the oppidum. As carts lined up ready to remove the last boles and soldiers flattened out the ground behind them, the first two cohorts of the Tenth Legion moved forward, filtering past them and between the trees.
Atenos took a deep breath as his men stepped from the cover of the trees and into the open air once more.
‘Shields!’
He was impressed by the speed and efficiency with which his new command put the order into action, the entire line raising and locking their shields and hunching over slightly as they advanced in order to present as small a target as possible to the enemy.
His call had been just in time, as the Veneti on the high walls let their first volley of arrows, stones and bullets go at that moment, the missiles rattling off shields and helmets or embedding themselves in wood with a ‘thunk’. Here and there, Atenos could hear the squawk of a man who had been unlucky; still, the manoeuvre had been smooth and resulted in fewer casualties than he’d expected from the first volley. The Tenth’s previous training officer had apparently done a good job.
A quick glance to either side, unimpeded by the cohort who were, to a man, at least a head shorter than he, told him that the entire line had moved into position, presenting a solid shield wall to the enemy from the water’s edge across to the eaves of the remaining woodland. More missiles rattled off iron and bronze.
‘Screens!’ came the call from the primus pilus to his left.
Atenos waited tensely as huge wicker screens, rejected as the main defence of the Roman lines, but very useful as a temporary measure to shield the men working behind, were raised by the second and third line and then filtered through to the front. Within a few moments, the whole shield wall now stood behind a row of eight foot wicker screens that blocked a number of the incoming shots. The screen supports were jammed into place and then the second group of screens were brought forward, raised to form a higher level of the wall and held in place by straining legionaries.
The First and Second Cohorts were in place, forming the first line, guarding the workmen and protecting them from enemy attack while they cleared the passage.
Behind, the ox carts were already working on the last few trees. Atenos glanced across at Carbo as, behind him, a young oak was violently torn from the earth and dragged away. The eaves of the wood were disappearing. Even as he waited tensely, he could hear the creak and groan and then the crack and crash of more trees being removed. The intensity of missile shots increased as the Veneti realised that the Roman attackers had forged a clear passage through the woodland.
‘Watch yourselves. Step back from the screens three paces.’
Carbo, off to his left, cast him a quizzical glance, but echoed the order to his own men. As the confused legionaries stepped back and lowered the top row of screens, one of the men close by cleared his throat.
‘Sir?’
Atenos shrugged nonchalantly and fell into place just as the first fire arrow hit the wicker screens and burst into a fiery orange ball that sent tongues of flame licking across the face of the wicker defence.
‘Clearly none of you have studied the tongue of your enemy this past two years. At least learn enough to understand what their commands mean!’
The legionary blinked.
‘Yes, sir.’
Atenos stood silent and afforded a quick glance at the primus pilus. Carbo was nodding at him appreciatively. Behind, the last trees had gone and workmen were moving up, filling in the few remaining holes. As they neared the last victims of the ox carts, the attacks intensified yet again, and a few blows struck home, taking the labouring legionaries through thighs and torsos as they worked.
Carbo nodded to him and, simultaneously, the two lead centurions gave their cohorts the order to fall back and protect the workers in close order. With perfect timing, the shield wall retreated a dozen paces and then, directed by a few gestures from their officers, split off into groups to produce individual shield screens for the work gangs as they flattened the forest floor.
At extreme range fewer of the missiles reached their targets and the instances of wounding decreased as the defences were reconfigured. The men worked under the shelter of the Tenth’s shields, and slowly the vineae, huge wheeled shelters, rumbled toward them. Beneath the protective roofs of the vehicles, the rest of the Tenth Legion moved toward the walls of Darioritum, the other legions preparing to move on after.
Atenos glanced around once more to make sure everything was in position and, raising his shield against the possibility of a lucky strike, marched across the uneven ground to where Carbo stood, directing the shield wall around a work party that had just completed the infill of another hole.
‘Sir?’
Carbo looked up and nodded professionally.
‘Centurion. Nice work back there with the fire arrows. I’d bet they were a bit disappointed at how little damage they did.’
Atenos ignored the compliment.
‘Sir, when the rest pull forward this place is going to be seething with troops. I’d like permission to try something before it becomes impossible.’
Carbo frowned.
‘Something dangerous?’
‘I want to take the Second Cohort around the outside of the outer walls and try and get to the port. If the legates should fail and the fleet don’t make it into the bay, we could do with trying to prevent the Veneti from boarding their ships the way they usually do. Even if the fleet do get here, it would be better for our marines if the enemy ships weren’t packed to the rail with escaped warriors. Better to keep the numbers weighed in our favour.’
Carbo stood for only a moment before nodding.
‘It’s a good thought. Be bloody careful, though. Perhaps you should take a few more centuries from the First?’
Atenos shook his head.
‘Space will be quite restrictive down there. There may be too many of us already, sir. If you’re alright with that, I’ll move the men out as soon as the workmen have finished.’
‘Good luck.’
Saluting, Atenos strode back to his men, watching as the last workmen packed down the former forest floor to prepare the way for the rolling vineae and the bulk of Caesar’s army that came with
them.
The Second Cohort would miss out on the glorious assault and watching as the first Roman standard waved from the top of that high wall, but the enormous Gaul had served as a mercenary in some of the most hellish and deadly wars the world had to offer and he knew how much more satisfaction there was to be had by being an aged healthy veteran with a history of quiet successes than to be a crippled soldier after only half a campaign with a few proud medals to show for it.
Wars were won with the mind, not the heart.
Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the top of the high wall. Something was wrong; the missile shots had thinned out suddenly.
He took a quick look at the workmen and made a judgement call.
‘It’s flat enough for the vineae; get back and arm up for the assault. Men of the Second Cohort: rally on me!’
Gritting his teeth as the men charged toward him, he set his sights on the low wall that ran along the river bank toward the bay, just a narrow strip of sloping land.
‘Time to move.’
* * * * *
Carbo watched as the Second Cohort with their hulking giant of a chief centurion moved at triple time across the open ground to the low wall and began to move along it, staying as close as possible to the structure itself and moving toward the bay. As the primus pilus watched, he realised just how dangerous the run truly was. Almost everywhere along the route the Second Cohort was open to attack from the high walls above and had to run with their shields overhead like a high speed testudo. Even as he watched, three men fell foul of well placed shots and disappeared into the river and even as he turned away he saw two more topple.
Still, the First Cohort had its own troubles to look to. As the workmen had finished their tasks and fallen back to reequip and Atenos had taken his unit off along the river bank, Carbo and his men had moved back out of missile range to meet up with the advancing vineae. Space had been saved for the First Cohort beneath the cover of the vehicles and, as soon as they were in position, the buccina call had gone up, heralding the attack.
Now, the huge wheeled vehicles trundled toward the low walls, reaching the edge of the denuded woodland after a brief uncomfortable journey over the undulating ground. As soon as available space allowed the vineae, each sheltering half a cohort of men and either a huge tree trunk ram, carried by sweating legionaries, ladders or other siege gear, filtered out into a line three vehicles deep and four wide.
The arrows thudding into the dampened hide and timber roof were fewer than Carbo had expected, and while the lack of offensive activity should have been comforting, it wasn’t. Too many times this summer they had broken the defences of a stronghold to find that the place was empty when they arrived.
Grinding his teeth, he mentally willed the offensive on, the legionaries around him heaving the huge wheeled edifice forward until it closed on the low wall. The vehicles behind moved up to form an armoured tunnel that stretched back toward the army waiting out of missile range. Once they were through the outer wall, the tunnel would provide safe cover as the legions closed on the walls and climbed.
The outer defences were, just as had appeared at a distance, almost identical to those that protected a temporary Roman camp. The construction was clearly recent: a response to the growing threat of Roman action, or in preparation for a planned uprising, and following lessons learned from Crassus the previous year.
Carbo smiled. At least in this kind of construction they knew what they were dealing with. The earth embankment was only four feet high with no outer ditch and the wheels and height of the vinea allowed the occupants to reach the point where they could directly attack the wall without first countering the problem of the bank.
Listening to the thuds and crunches of the missiles hitting the roof and side walls of the vehicle, the primus pilus barked out his orders and watched as the men filtered along the side, leaving room in the centre for the huge treetrunk ram to be brought up.
Manhandled by forty legionaries, the tree took a short while to build up the kind of swing needed to damage the defences. As the ram first connected with the palisade, there were shouts of pain and anger from the men, their arms almost dislocated by the jarring impact. The entire vehicle shuddered, and Carbo winced at the noise before peering through the cluttered interior, trying to examine the damage. He could not get a clear look before the second heavily-swung blow connected, and the whole place exploded in noise and shaking again.
The first blow had clearly had the desired effect, the second merely knocking the timbers of the broken palisade to the side. As the ram was drawn back through the shelter and discarded to the rear, the men at the front filled the gap and got to work tearing the timbers apart and pushing them away, opening a large gap, while others took their dolabra and began to work at the earth bank, shovelling it out of the way. The task was made surprisingly easy by such recent construction, since the turf sods that formed the mound were still solid and could be easily shifted.
Carbo watched with a growing sense of uneasiness as the men worked, rapidly clearing a wide enough space in the low wall to allow the whole vinea to pass through. Peering ahead, past the workmen, the primus pilus sized up their next move. The ground between the two walls was low grass, perhaps a hundred paces across. The grass showed the growth of the season, but was all too neat for Carbo’s liking. Given the still decreasing quantity of missiles falling from the high walls, he was beginning to doubt vinea cover was even a necessity now.
He frowned and waved to his optio, who was busy directing the removal of the turf sods.
‘Ovidius? Get back to the army and tell them that something’s up. The defenders are abandoning the walls, and we have to move now. We’re leaving the vineae at the first wall and moving forward at full speed. Get the army moving.’
The optio saluted and turned, pushing his way back through the men to make for the rest of the force. Carbo glanced out of the front aperture once more. Occasionally a stone or arrow would fall into the wide grassy plain that separated the walls, but it was hardly the concerted effort of a desperate group of defenders.
‘Alright lads. We’re going to move forward quickly. No towers this time. Got to be quick and bold, so we’ll be raising ladders and using grapples. Once we’re through the first rampart, go very carefully; we’ve seen them use lilia pits in the past few weeks and it’s too nice and easy out there for my liking. If anyone slips into one and is wounded, we can’t stop to help you out; you’ll have to wait for the capsarii as they follow up after the assault.’
He waited as the various pieces of siege equipment were brought up from the rear of the vineae and then took a deep breath.
‘Advance!’
Without waiting for the call to be taken up by other officers in the cohort, he began to move forward along with his men, clambering through the fallen rampart. As the legionaries of the First Cohort began to move across the intervening space at a run, watching the ground nervously and carrying grapples, ropes, and ladders, the primus pilus spared a moment to look to his right, where the other assault groups had broken through.
He squinted in surprise at the figure of tribune Tetricus, shield raised against the occasional projectile, running across toward him. Why wasn’t the idiotic officer at the back where he was supposed to be? Carbo ground his teeth, weighing up the possibility of running on with his men and later claiming he had not seen the commander. Shaking his head in irritation, he turned his back on his assault and strode across to meet Tetricus.
‘Tribune?’
The temporary commander of the Tenth Legion bore a worried expression.
‘Carbo... something is very wrong here. The closer we get to them, the less resistance there is.’
‘Yes, sir. I have a feeling they’re pulling the same trick, but earlier than usual. Got to hope the legates managed to secure those forts or we might just have lost them for good.’ In the privacy of his head, his thoughts flashed with sympathy to the sight of Atenos and his four centuries of men running u
nder constant attack toward the rear end of the oppidum where the Veneti could take ship.
Tetricus sighed unhappily.
‘As soon as we get confirmation from the first assault, get a message back to the army and tell them to send as many men as possible round between the walls to the far side. We have to try and catch them before they leave.’
Carbo nodded and glanced toward the walls where the first men of the Tenth were now raising ladders, the defending shots hardly noticeable any more. There were no casualties to pits so either the men of the Tenth had been ridiculously lucky, or the enemy were prepared to give away Darioritum and sure of their ability to flee the field of battle safely.
‘Sir, Centurion Atenos already took the Second Cohort round the outside before we even got to the outer wall. He had the same idea, and I think he might be in considerable trouble.’
Tetricus’ eyes widened.
‘Jupiter’s balls! The man could be knee deep in body parts by now!’
The tribune spun around, shaking slightly, and spotted the centurion that had led the assault group from the second breach.
‘Niger? Forget the wall assault. Get your men together and take them between the walls and round to the port area as fast as you can.’
He turned back to Carbo and opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a voice from the walls. The two officers turned to look. The first ladder was already in position, and a brave legionary had reached the parapet to peer over. He was waving and pointing across the wall.
‘Looks like they’ve already left.’
Tetricus shook his head in irritation.
‘Let’s hope the Second Cohort last until we get there.’
* * * * *
Atenos stared. The flow of missiles falling from the walls onto the four centuries of Romans skirting the edge of the outer defences had slowed almost to a stop as the column had approached the seaward end of the city, and now, as he peered around the stockade, he realised why. The defenders of Darioritum had not waited long under the threat of Roman victory before beginning the evacuation of the city.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 122