by George Green
The big legionary stepped forward into the space and drew his arm back to stab at Serpicus in the classic legionary’s thrust to the gut, in-up-out. Serpicus stepped back and swayed sideways, hacking down at the man’s arm. The blow hit the sheath surrounding the man’s forearm, drawing no blood but knocking it downwards. He stumbled forward slightly and Serpicus smashed his elbow into the man’s face. He staggered back, shaking his head to clear it. Serpicus gave him no time to recover but ran forward and kicked at the man’s knee with all his strength. The man let out a yell of pain and slumped sideways, spinning off the edge of the walkway and onto the ground. The impact drove the breath from his body, and three waiting women used their sharp knives to make sure it never returned.
Everyone in the village heard the first crash of the ram against the gate above the noise of the battle.
The central column had reached the walls.
Serpicus saw Brutus lean over the edge, and risked another look himself. The Romans had come prepared. The ditch and rampart the Germans had built in front of the gate made the Romans’ task more awkward, but they clambered slipping and cursing up the rampart and then dropped a wide flat wooden bridge across the ditch. It made it hard for the men at the edges of the column to maintain formation and a number fell into the trench and were picked off by the archers, but it enabled the legionaries at the centre to bring the ram up against the walls. The men on the ladders redoubled their efforts to get over the palisade and draw the defenders’ attention away from the main assault. The narrow walkway was a chain of swaying hacking combats.
Brutus gestured frantically to the men above the gate. Working in pairs they seized either end of the poles tied by ropes to the steaming cooking pots. They lifted them and put them on the top of the palisade, then tipped them almost simultaneously onto the attackers below.
The screams of the men outside the gate rose above the sound of battle, a gale of agony over the cries of the dying and the deafening crash and shriek of iron smashed against iron.
A second rank of cauldron-bearers ran to the wall. The scalding mix of oil and water splashed again onto the upraised shields, falling on the men to either side as well as those immediately below. Blinded men ran aimlessly and writhed on the ground, clawing at their faces while their skin bubbled under the oil.
Serpicus saw Drenthe signal for the next stage with a dramatic swing of one arm. The gods were smiling on her strategy, for at that moment the rain suddenly lifted. Women on the ground pulled tightly twisted straw bundles soaked in oil from beneath a shelter, thrust one end into a brazier placed nearby and then ran forward and hurled them over the rampart at the Romans. The blazing straw landed on the shields below in a shower of sparks which caught the oil. Black smoke and flame leapt upwards. Burning men reeled screaming away from the walls, breaking the close-packed ranks. The Treveri archers poured their arrows into the gaps.
The momentum of the attack was gone. The Romans had taken heavy casualties, and had no defence against the burning oil. The officers yelled orders and beat at the cowering legionaries with, the flat of their swords, but it was clearly useless. The attack had failed. The legion could stay where it was and take more casualties, or it could withdraw in reasonable order while the soldiers still had a semblance of discipline. The horns sounded the retreat.
A loud cheer went up from the walls as the central column began to pull back, holding their shields above their heads to protect themselves as best they could. The testudo is extremely mobile going forward, but clumsy and inefficient in retreat, especially over broken ground soaked by days of rain and strewn with bodies. The archers on the walls made the best of the opportunity.
The defenders on the walkway fought with renewed enthusiasm, reinforced by the men who had defended the gate and who were now free to come to the aid of the men further along the walls. The Romans on the walkway were now trapped. Some jumped back over the wall, taking their chance on the soft earth below. Those who stayed were slaughtered to a man. The defenders yelled insults at the retreating Romans below. One man picked up a severed legionary’s head and hurled it down on them. It hit a soldier’s shield, bounced sideways and knocked the man next to him off balance. The Treveri cheered and looked around. In a few moments there wasn’t an intact Roman corpse left in the village and the Treveri were vying with each other to see who could land a head furthest from the walls.
‘Are you all right?’ said a man next to Serpicus, pointing at his chest. Serpicus looked down. There was blood on either side of a cut in the front of his shirt like a wide red seam. He lifted the shirt carefully and looked through narrowed eyes. A shallow cut ran from his breast-bone to his navel. If he had been standing an inch closer to the thrust then his guts would have been on the ground in front of him. The man leant forward and pushed at the skin gently with his thumb. Serpicus tried not to flinch. ‘Nothing much to worry about,’ the man said, ‘although you’ll need to get some herbs on it soon to stop the bleeding.’
Serpicus nodded his thanks and dropped the shirt. ‘You’ll need a few of them yourself,’ he said.
Blood was flowing steadily from a cut above the man’s right ear. He put a hand to it with surprise, then winced and grinned. ‘It didn’t hurt until you pointed it out.’
Serpicus wiped sweat from his forehead with a sleeve without thinking and almost cried out. In the fighting he had forgotten his burnt face. Now the pain came back as strong as before.
A large hand gripped Serpicus’ shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ asked Brutus. Serpicus nodded.
‘Yes. You?’ Brutus was blackened with smoke and smeared with blood, but none of it looked to be his.
All around them was a frenzy of bandaging, replacement of weapons, dousing of fires. The German casualties were light; but they had expected that; the Roman advance had been a probing attack, to assess their spirit and readiness. The next examination would be more serious.
Once the heads were all used up, the defenders tossed the corpses of the Romans out over the battlements. Some of the village councillors wanted to keep them, to let the Romans wonder what had happened to them and how many had been captured and how many killed, but the Treveri were past any such subtleties. Calryx, who had a deep cut in his scalp which streamed blood down his face, lifted his sword aloft. ‘Let them climb our walls on their dead comrades’ backs,’ he shouted. ‘They will spare none of us if they gain entrance; let us spare none of them who enter uninvited.’ A cheer went up and the defenders began to toss the corpses back over the wall. In a short time there wasn’t a Roman body left in the village.
A low growl of anger borne on the wind came across the grass as the legionaries saw how the Germans treated the Roman dead.
‘That’s done it,’ Brutus murmured. ‘We’ve upset them.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Galba stood beside Serpicus on the walkway and looked across at the regrouping Roman formations. The shouts of the officers could be heard clearly. They pointed repeatedly towards the headless corpses lying in front of the walls.
‘We should have treated their dead properly,’ Galba said. ‘They were brave men.’
Brutus leant back on the parapet and twisted his arm to inspect the wound on his forearm. The flesh was charred and black, but the bleeding had stopped. Decius came up with a handful of herbs which he pressed to the wound. Brutus winced and said, ‘You think they would have given us any mercy if the situation had been reversed?’
Galba shrugged. ‘I’m not talking about mercy. They’d have killed us, but I doubt they’d have thrown us back over the edge like rubbish.’ He paused. ‘Anyhow, even if they are barbarians, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what anyone else does, it’s what we do. It’s bad luck.’
Brutus leant over the edge and spat towards the corpses below. ‘For them.’
Galba looked at him, suddenly furious. ‘Stop that!’
Brutus leant backwards, surprised. ‘Why?’
‘They died bravely. You don’t s
pit on brave men.’
Brutus looked at him in wonderment for what seemed a long time. Galba had his fists clenched and looked as if he might swing one of them at Brutus any moment. Decius looked ready to jump out of the way. Brutus held up a placatory hand. ‘I’m sorry. I promise I won’t spit on any more dead Romans.’
Galba looked a little mollified. ‘Good.’
‘Would it be all right to spit on the live ones?’
Galba hesitated, then smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘And pour hot oil on them?’
‘Most certainly.’
Brutus clapped a hand on Galba’s shoulder and laughed out loud, his expression mystified. ‘I don’t understand you, but you certainly make the place more interesting.’
‘Pucker up, boys, here they come again,’ Serpicus said quietly.
It was now the middle of the afternoon. It was getting colder and as Serpicus spoke the drizzle turned into heavy rain.
The Germans watched and waited as the Romans marched purposefully towards them. It appeared at first that they were arranged in the same formation as before. Serpicus and Brutus both saw the difference in the Roman ranks at the same time. Brutus leant towards Galba and nudged his arm. ‘Look.’ He pointed over the central group. ‘They’ve got all the archers lined up behind them. And I see smoke.’
They both turned to warn Drenthe, but she had seen it too. ‘Get ready,’ she shouted. ‘Water carriers to their posts.’ Decius jumped down off the walkway and ran to where a line of buckets stood ready.
‘Here it comes,’ said Brutus softly. In front of the walls, archers ran down between the ranks of marching Roman soldiers, their bows notched and ready. Smoke streamed from the tips of their arrows. They didn’t stop to aim, just pulled, released and ran back to the fire pots again. Serpicus and the others on the walls watched the fluttering flames as the arrows passed over their heads. Some landed harmlessly on the ground and were stamped out. Others landed on the thatched roofs of the huts. The continuous rain had dampened the thatch and the flames on most flickered and died. Some arrows landed on dry timber and began to burn. Serpicus saw that the fire-fighters were obeying the orders Drenthe had given them before the battle started. ‘Bury your valuables. They can be dug up again once the battle is won. Leave your houses if they are burning. Only fight the fires which threaten the defences.’ The Treveri saw the fire-arrows hit their houses, the homes they had built with their own hands, and they did nothing except watch them burn.
A woman carrying a bucket of water ran past Serpicus, tears streaming down her face as she ignored her own burning home to fight the flames in the feed barn. Serpicus watched her run and his heart swelled in his chest. Romans said Germans were barbarians, didn’t know how to take orders, had no discipline. Perhaps there was a chance after all.
Only one fire, started by an arrow that landed in some stored animal feed in a small barn near the far end of the front wall, was endangering the defenders. The rain fell steadily, which made ground treacherous but also took the fury out of the fire. Half of the fire-fighters ran to the feed store and soon had it under control.
The Treveri discipline meant that they had almost a full complement of defenders on the walls when the Roman line struck it. Again, the cohorts on either flank struck first. They pressed home the attack hard. The defenders in the middle, above and either side of the gate, watched uneasily, waiting for the centre cohort to arrive and begin its assault. The main attack would come at the gate; everyone knew it, but even so a few men, seeing their friends on the walkway hard pressed or cut down, cried out and ran to help them. But the main group stayed steady, and when the main attack came, they were ready.
Again, the ram smashed against the gate. Again, the oil and scalding water poured over the ramparts. The pounding of the ram continued. Brutus leant over, oblivious to the arrows that thumped into the wood next to his head. When he took cover again, his face was dark.
‘They’ve got some sort of big oil-cloth over the shields on top, as if they’re all under a tent. Most of the oil is flowing off the sides.’
Drenthe shouted, ‘Save the oil! Use the rocks!’ She jumped across to the pile of boulders and heaved one up onto her shoulder. ‘Throw them all at the same place!’ she yelled, and hurled the boulder. Her guard did the same. The rocks pounded down onto the testudo.
Brutus looked at Serpicus. ‘She’s good, isn’t she?’
Looking between the stakes Serpicus could see that the thick canvas cloth, so effective against the oil, was rendered useless by Drenthe’s tactic. The rocks landed on the shields and slid between them, to be caught by the cloth. In places the cloth tore. Where the stitching held, the men under it were forced to support the weight of the rocks. In a short time the attackers were forced to cut the cloth to allow the rocks to fall through. Either way, it left gaping holes.
‘Now, the oil again,’ shouted Drenthe and was rewarded by screams from below as the unfortunate soldiers who had cut the cloth to relieve the weight were now scalded by boiling oil.
For a few moments it looked as if the momentum of the attack was lost, but then the centurions drove the legionaries forward again in a prearranged move. A small group of legionaries stayed with the ram and continued to pound at the gate. The other soldiers ran to each side, in groups of about ten men, each group carrying a ladder. The intent was plain; to keep the defenders occupied with protecting the gate while attacking at so many other points at once as to make it impossible to man the wall properly.
Ladders landed all along the length of the wall. Romans were already swarming up them before the ladders were secure. Men threw themselves over the battlements, and other men threw themselves forward to stop them, and in moments there were dozens of private fights all along the walkway. Legionaries fell backwards off the ladders, pierced with arrows, and the long pitchforks tipped many of the ladders backwards, but the clatter and thump of more ladders against the palisade kept sounding and more invaders swarmed over the walls.
Serpicus and Brutus stood side by side, hacking at the legionaries coming at them from two ladders close together. The Romans had been equipped with javelins, which they used to keep the defenders at bay while they climbed over the wall. Brutus had a long pole that he was using to push men off the ladder. Serpicus had only a sword, and had to knock the javelin aside and thrust down before the legionary recovered. The intention was to keep them at bay until the archers running along the walkway arrived, leant over, shot and ran on.
In the distance a horn sounded. Brutus and Serpicus exchanged a glance. The reserves were being thrown in. This was the final attack.
Enough Romans were now on the battlements to form up and fight back to back to clear a safe space to allow more of their comrades to join them unhindered. They presented a wall of shields to the defenders and moved forward, crowding them off the walkway. Brutus saw the danger and grabbed a nearby Treveri archer by the shoulder.
‘Get a couple of others and go down below, shoot up at those bastards there.’ The archer hesitated at any suggestion of leaving the battle. Brutus shook him impatiently. ‘If enough of them get onto the walkway they can do real damage. Do it!’
The Treveri saw the sense of the idea. He yelled to two other archers nearby and jumped down off the battlement, rolling away to absorb the impact. He had an arrow notched before he was up again, and in moments two Romans had tumbled off the walkway and crashed to the ground nearby. One didn’t move again; the other rolled and tried to get up and then gave a single scream as a woman put her knife to his throat.
‘Good lad!’ Brutus shouted down to the archer. ‘Get some of the others.’ Decius ran past with an armful of spears. Brutus grabbed him. ‘Get the archers to shoot them from below!’ he shouted. Decius nodded and ran on. Brutus charged forward and furiously belaboured the nearest enemy, who slipped and was forced to take a step back. Brutus glanced down then dropped onto one knee and ducked his head as an arrow flew past him and sank into the man’s chest. In a mo
vement Brutus swatted the toppling body out of his way and drove forward.
The archers were doing terrible damage amongst the attacking legionaries, but they were short of arrows. One shot a Roman and then ran past Serpicus to the fallen body to retrieve the arrow. The invaders were coming over the wall quicker than the defenders could kill them.
Serpicus heard a shout and spun round. Brutus was being attacked from three sides. He swayed to one side as a legionary battered at his shield with an axe and hacked at two others coming at him from the side. Serpicus jumped forward and slashed sideways as the axe-man came forward, cutting deep into his forearm. The axe fell from his nerveless fingers but he barely paused and flung himself at Serpicus with a shout. Serpicus swung at him but missed and the man’s good hand grasped at his throat. Fingers dug into Serpicus’ burnt flesh like hot bronze. Serpicus battered at the Roman’s face with the hilt of his sword. The man’s features dissolved into a red pulp mixing with the rain to run down his neck and his grip faded. There were black stars of effort in front of Serpicus’ eyes as he stabbed down to make sure the man was dead, and he paused for a moment, gasping for air. From the corner of his eye he saw a red-cloaked figure coming at him with his sword-arm outstretched. There was no space to back away. Serpicus slashed at the attacker’s face as hard as he could. Instinctively the Roman jerked his head back. Serpicus used the moment to stand on the man lying in front of him and threw himself forward. The Roman got his sword up in time but was off balance. Serpicus knocked his arm aside and plunged his sword under the man’s armour into his belly. They both fell to the ground.