Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘You four go get some beams and timber; biggest and strongest you can find and carry them back to the gate. We’ve not got long before that lot get here.’

  As the men ran off about their task, Cantorix turned to see the other ten men busy heaving the heavy gates closed, their shoulders to the timber, grunting and groaning as they pushed. Nodding with tense satisfaction, he strode across to them.

  ‘Alright. You men: get those bars across and locked down. Idocus and Dannos: get running round the walls in both directions. I didn’t see any other gates, and I doubt there’s much, but we can’t ignore the possibility there’s another way in. Be quick, cause we’ll need you.’

  The two men ran like hares along the inner face of the oppidum’s defences, searching for posterns or other main exits, and Cantorix took a deep breath. There was maybe a count of two hundred left he thought as he made himself breathe calmly. The remaining eight men had easily manoeuvred two heavy oak bars across the gate and into their cradles, bars designed to protect the Unelli against the Romans… an irony not lost on the centurion.

  ‘Alright. Two of you get up on that parapet. I want to know when they pass the quarter mile and around two hundred paces.’

  As the force split once more, Cantorix nodded and rubbed his temples.

  ‘Four more of you gather any stones, or anything heavy or pointed you could drop on the enemy, and fill some of these abandoned baskets. Get them up on the wall. You’ve got a count of two hundred to shift as much ammunition as you can.’

  As they ran off, the remaining four legionaries turned to him.

  ‘Good’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘Now go find anything heavy and strong you can use to help brace the gates.’

  Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his tired eyes, he wished he’d felt relaxed enough during the previous night to have slept in their prison, like some of the more conscience-free of his companions. Exhaustion was no good in a soldier, but in a commander during a battle it was potentially catastrophic and therefore unforgivable. He turned to see the four men he’d sent off first approaching with a long, heavy oak beam, struggling under the weight.

  ‘Good. Let’s get it into position.’

  He hurried over to help the men and between the five of them, they manoeuvred the beam into position.

  ‘It ain’t gonna hold against a push, sir.’

  Cantorix nodded and pointed at the floor, drawing a line in the dust with the toe of his boot.

  ‘Dig a pit over a foot deep there and when you’ve done, slide the beam across and jam it into the hole. That’s about as braced as we can get. I’d like to see anyone short of Hercules shift that.’

  As the four men lowered the end of the beam to the dust and began to dig the pit with their heavy, Gallic, knives, Cantorix turned to see the others carrying various beams and poles.

  ‘Follow this example. Let’s have that gate harder to move than the walls either side.’

  A voice above called something and the centurion looked up, holding his hands out, palms up while he shrugged.

  ‘Quarter mile or less’ the soldier shouted again.

  ‘Shit.’

  He fretted again, rubbing his face as the legionaries hauled rocks and chunks of timber up to the wall top, dug small pits and sunk great beams into them. Time was hardly on their side.

  ‘Can you see what’s happened up at the camp?’

  There was a brief pause and then the legionary shouted again.

  ‘Looks like the enemy are panicked. Our lads are chasing them down, but slower. I think the three legions are all on the way behind them, but one bunch is way off at the back.’

  ‘Probably ours’ muttered Cantorix. ‘Alright. Get ready. We’ll have to hold this gate for just a little while. After that the enemy’ll be in enough trouble with the rest of the lads pounding on them without worrying about us.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Right. Everyone in position. Four men on the walls with the rocks. Rest of us hold the gate steady.’

  He looked up.

  ‘Shout if you’re in trouble.’

  Without listening further, Cantorix ran forward to the gate. Constructed of heavy oak, the timber was almost entirely flush fitting, with precious few cracks and openings.

  ‘Don’t lean into the gate yet, ‘cause you’ll just exhaust yourself, but be prepared. If you see a bracing beam giving way a little, get on it and reinforce it; hold it down. If you hear a shout from the lads above, get up there and help. Otherwise, keep your eye on any holes in the timber. If you can jab a blade through it and do some damage, get it done. No throwing yourself into anything. This is about holding on long enough for the rest of the army to do their job.’

  ‘Brace yourself’ one of the men above bellowed.

  ‘Here they come.’

  The sound of the panicked Gaulish army desperately trying to retreat to the safety of their suddenly inaccessible oppidum was immense, a roar and babble of shouts, mixed with the thumping of feet, the crash of metal and wood and screams from the few unlucky enough to fall and be trampled.

  Cantorix closed his eyes and offered up a quick prayer to Mars, Fortuna, Minerva… and to Belenus and Nodens too, just in case.

  The initial blow as the mass of the enemy threw themselves against the gate was as impressive as any forceful charge the centurion had seen. Despite the heavy timber of the construction and the two cross beams in their cradles, both gates shifted inwards by more than a foot, the bracing beams creaking and jumping in their earthen sockets.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ shouted one of the men in front of him and Cantorix could not find a better expletive at that moment.

  He threw his gaze around to take in the top walkway that had actually shaken under the blow, the dust and dirt that had fallen, dislodged from above, and the fact that the very walls had given a tiny amount to either side of the gate, earth slipping out and pouring to the ground from the timber-framed, soil-packed fortification.

  ‘Swords’ he bellowed, and the men under his command began to jab their blades through any hole they could find in sharp, swift blows, so as not to allow the weapons to become jammed.

  The centurion leaned back and scratched his head as the second huge blow came, the gates shaking and releasing yet more dirt. With a loud retort, a thin crack appeared across one of the huge cross beams. Impressive. He’d seen similar results with a battering ram, but with shoulders and muscle alone? They must be desperate.

  ‘Crap, I hope the legions hurry up.’

  Pounding feet behind him made him turn. Dannos came to a halt, dropping his hands to his knees and breathing in deep gasps, Idocus close behind him.

  ‘Two small posterns, sir. Both at the other side. Got ‘em locked, barred and piled up wi’ whatever shit we could get ‘us hands on.’

  Cantorix sighed.

  ‘Let’s just hope they don’t get that far then. Draw a sword and fall in.’

  As the optio and the legionary rushed over to join the men at the gate, Cantorix pinched his nose again and gritted his teeth.

  A hundred-count was all they would need, but hundred-count might just be pushing it against that lot.

  A third blow widened the crack on the beam and knocked one of the defending legionaries from his feet.

  * * * * *

  Galba frowned as he looked ahead.

  ‘Baculus? They’re starting to spread along the walls. Those lads from the Fourteenth must have barred the gate.’

  The primus pilus, a short distance to his right and moving at triple time, nodded.

  ‘Got to keep them contained, sir.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Ahead of them, the Ninth and Fourteenth legions nipped at the heels of the fleeing enemy, not allowing them the opportunity to pause and reform. In a moment they would have them pinned against the walls of Crociatonum and trapped. As soon as they formed a solid shield wall the enemy were done for, but there was still the possibility that a large number of the Gauls would
escape along the walls first.

  ‘Baculus: take the First through Fifth cohorts and break right to cut them off. Fast as you can.’

  As the veteran officer saluted and began bellowing orders, moving off with half the legion to contain the fleeing Gauls on the far side, Galba gestured to the centurions and signifers behind him and peeled off to the left, picking up the already tortuous pace they had maintained down the hill. He could only imagine how the Gauls must feel. He himself was at the peak of his physical condition these days, yet the muscles in his legs strained and complained and his lungs burned from the activity at the fort and the long run down the hill after the fleeing Gauls. The enemy, on the other hand, had run up the hill, carrying bundles of wood, before even that.

  Indeed, the Gauls’ state of near exhaustion was evident in the numerous bodies of those who had collapsed on their return journey, unable to go on. The two front legions, the Ninth and Fourteenth, had run on past the collapsed enemies, rear ranks pausing only to drive a blade through them before running on to catch up.

  He risked taking his eyes off the ground ahead and looked around to the officers behind him.

  ‘Spread the men out. Let’s come at them like a gate, swinging down and right and closing the exit for them.’

  The men barked their confirmations and the legate turned back just in time to spot the rabbit hole and shift his pace to jump across it. There was something simple and powerful about a headlong charge into battle. Fronto had tried to explain it to him once but, for one reason or another, the Twelfth seemed generally to end up in a position where they were bracing themselves to take the force of an enemy attack. Now, the fresh wind battering his face, the turf springing under his feet and the men of his command roaring behind and around him, he began to see Fronto’s point.

  The moments passed as they charged down the rapidly levelling slope and by the time they reached the flat ground that stretched out before the walls of Crociatonum, the desperate and fatigued Gauls had reached the defences and were spilling out along it and milling around.

  Their panic expressed itself in many ways as the Gauls found themselves trapped. A number of them fled along the walls, though the men of the Twelfth were already swinging down on an intercept course to cut them off. Others began desperately to climb the wall, though to no avail. Despite its rough surface, no man among the Gaulish army had the strength remaining to make such an arduous climb. Still, others tried to push their way through their compatriots in an effort to get to the oppidum’s gate, unaware that it remained fast against them. The rest either turned, wearily, raising their weapons with hopeless expressions, staring death in the steel-armoured face, or dropped their weapons, drooping and giving up entirely.

  A quick glance to left and right confirmed that the edges of the Twelfth had reached the wall and joined the flank of the Fourteenth, effectively sealing the enemy in. At calls from the centurions, needing no prompting from their commander, the whole legion settled into powerful shield walls, closing on the hopeless enemy.

  Somewhere off to his right, several blasts issued from the instrument of the cornicen on the general’s staff. Along the line, the soldiers that were already involved in fighting stepped back, disengaging. The field fell strangely silent as the melee paused.

  ‘Warriors of the Unelli and their allies!’

  Galba smiled to himself. The voice was that of Sabinus, every bit as powerful and commanding as a Roman general should sound.

  ‘Hear my terms. They are neither flexible nor negotiable.’

  There was a low murmur among the enemy.

  ‘Your tribes took an oath of allegiance to Rome and you have broken that allegiance. That makes you not only enemies, but criminals and traitors in the eyes of all civilised men. I am a man inclined toward mercy, but this situation tests my patience.’

  Galba smiled to himself. Sabinus was starting to sound distinctly like Caesar.

  ‘The leaders of this insurrection, including Viridovix and the top hundred noblemen of your tribes will submit to Roman justice and suffer the appropriate punishments for what they have done. I am willing to accept that blame can be largely apportioned among the instigators and, for that reason, should you deliver those hundred and one men before me, here and now, I will allow the tribes to dissipate and return to their lands peaceably, once they have renewed their oaths to Rome.’

  Galba noted the murmur once more increase as the truth of the situation imposed itself on the rebel Gauls. A few paces in front of the Twelfth’s legate, a tall warrior, with a grey, braided beard, decorative bronze helm, and torc around his neck, bellowed something defiantly, raising his sword in the air as if to rouse his men against the general.

  Galba watched with interest as three of the low-born warriors around him grasped his wrists, threw an arm around his neck and dragged him to the ground, out of sight, where his grisly end was audible only as sounds akin to those that issue from a butcher’s shop. The Gaulish rebels had had enough, and their leaders’ failure would be punished even without Sabinus’ call.

  Here and there among the crowd, noblemen who had led the insurrection, or who were merely unlucky enough to be among Sabinus’ top hundred men, were grabbed and held by their own warriors before being pushed roughly out to the front of the mass, their weapons jerked from their hands as they fell to their knees.

  Galba tried to see through the crowd, or across the narrow gap that lay between the two disengaged armies, but Sabinus was out of sight somewhere to the right.

  ‘Good’ the general called. ‘Keep them coming, and send me Viridovix so that we can conclude our business.’

  An oppressive silence fell over the assembled armies.

  ‘Where is Viridovix?’

  * * * * *

  Galba entered the tent of the general, his cloak flapping in the gentle breeze, Cantorix of the Fourteenth at his heel. The other officers were already assembled, and Sabinus looked up, his face dark.

  ‘Well?’

  Galba shrugged.

  ‘Complete search, sir. Those of us who met him, centurion Cantorix particularly, and several of the more cooperative locals. We went through the enemy to the last man. Viridovix is simply not among them. Whether he slipped away as the army fled down the hill, or perhaps left even before the attack, we can’t say.’

  Sabinus slapped his palm on the table.

  ‘That man was at the very centre of this rebellion. I want him found, gutted and displayed to every man, woman and child in Armorica, Galba.’

  ‘I understand that, sir, and we have already made it clear to the tribes that any man reported to be harbouring the criminal will bring upon him a dreadful sentence. There will be nowhere in Armorica he can find comfort when word gets out.’

  Sabinus glared at him and then fell silent and slumped into the chair.

  ‘Alright. Are you suggesting that I allow the tribes to leave peacefully anyway? Viridovix was the central part of my terms.’

  Galba shrugged.

  ‘With respect, sir, if the man had been there today, they’d have handed him to you in pieces if necessary. In fact, I suspect the fact that he fled from their side before they failed has lost him his last friends among the Unelli. I fear it would be unjust to severely prosecute the tribes for the cowardice of their leader.’

  ‘Agreed’ Sabinus sighed. ‘We need peace and we need them to go back to farming and sending us grain. Very well, we’ll go ahead with the terms, but I want an active hunt for that treacherous bastard. I want him to run like a boar, knowing there are a thousand spears stalking through every forest looking for him.’

  Galba nodded and stepped to one side, a move calculated to put Cantorix in the fore, lit by the afternoon sun shining in through the tent doorway.

  Sabinus gave a weak smile.

  ‘Cantorix? Good. Some good comes out of even the most irritating situations. Your men all survived?’

  The centurion saluted, nodding.

  ‘To a man, sir. They’re surv
ivors, my lot, sir.’ He grinned. ‘Like cockroaches, sir.’

  Sabinus laughed and gestured to the legate standing to one side.

  ‘These men did your legion credit this past day, Plancus. They performed like the best of veterans, as did, I might add, the rest of the Fourteenth. Commendations, awards and preferential shares of the spoils will be forthcoming as soon as the matter of taking slaves, performing executions and dispersing the tribes is complete.’

  He glanced past Cantorix.

  ‘The Ninth and Twelfth also acquitted themselves well, particularly given the reduced nature of both legions at this time. Rest assured that mention of that will be made to Caesar when we return.’

  He leaned back.

  ‘And that brings me to the question of how we proceed from here. The tribal alliance here is broken, but we need to be sure it stays broken.’

  He reached forward to the map of Armorica spread out on the table before him.

  ‘The oppidum of Crociatonum has been used by the rebels as a military fortress, stripped of its civil population. The legions will settle here as a garrison for the foreseeable future, at least until Caesar orders their movement or withdrawal. While based here, I want regular vexillations of three cohorts in size sent out to look for Viridovix, to gather supplies and information concerning the tribes that have just retaken their oaths, and to make sure that a strong Roman presence is continually felt in the area in order to put the notion of further rebellion far from their minds.’

  He leaned back again.

  ‘Our small cavalry detachment, along with a couple of the tribunes in command, will ride for Caesar’s army to inform him of the completion of our mission here and will return with any news from the campaign against the Veneti. In the meantime, we will see to our dead, including the recovered body of tribune Gallus, and process the Gauls. Are there any questions?’

  Silence filled the tent, and Sabinus gave a weary smile.

  ‘Then let’s get things tidied up. It has been a very long day.’ He eyed Cantorix. ‘Even longer for some of us. Time to rest and recover, eh centurion?’