by George Green
Their spirit was unbroken, but that was all they had left. If the Romans pressed hard, the Treveri would not be able to resist them.
Drenthe stood on a table and her village gathered around her in grim silence. She began quietly.
‘We have done well. We held them until they broke down the gate, and Wodan saw that the gods of the river made sure that our efforts did not go unrewarded. Many Roman mothers will weep for their sons and many Roman wives will go home to cold beds as a result of what we did here today.’ There was a low growl of agreement which died away almost immediately. They wanted to know what they were going to do next. She looked around and smiled at them.
‘We know what is coming. The Romans will regroup and they will advance again. We can wait for them, and meet them with our spears. We will kill many of them before the day is over, but we should not lie to ourselves. They outnumber us and our defences are already breached. We can make our stand, and it will be glorious, but they will win.’
The Treveri looked at each other and smiled. They were not afraid to die, and reckoned to take a few Romans to Hades with them before it happened. Serpicus felt a lump in his throat and looked down at the floor. Drenthe looked around again and gave them a different sort of smile. The Treveri seemed to have been waiting for this and were immediately attentive again.
‘And of course,’ she said, and her eyes glowed with pleasure, ‘that’s what the Romans will be expecting us to do.’
* * *
It took the Romans the rest of the day and much of the night to regroup and to rebuild the camp on higher ground. Several cohorts of shivering men were stationed close to the village to discourage any sort of escape, and the rest did the best they could with what remained of their equipment. By morning the camp was standing again, smaller because many of the tents were lost or beyond repair, and on higher ground.
The Treveri had not wasted the opportunity. The walls were rebuilt, the gate patched and rehung, the defences prepared again. Roman scouts rode close to the walls, peering through the rain, and were met with arrows and insults. The Romans could be in no doubt that the Treveri were preparing to make a stand. The scouts galloped away to report back. There was a lull. The Treveri waited, but no attack came.
‘First light?’ asked Drenthe. Serpicus and Brutus nodded. Roman officers loved the dawn.
The rain slackened off but in its place there was a cold wind that sliced through the cloaks of the guards on both sides and sent them scurrying back to the fires as soon as their relief arrived.
In the village, behind the walls where the Romans could not see, preparations for the morning continued.
They knew that the sun had risen that morning because the night became a little lighter, but it was hidden behind a heavy dark sheet of cloud. The Romans formed up as they had done before, but in different proportions. The centre was now by far the strongest block, a thick arrowhead of men, with the battering ram at its apex and a large force behind it ready to pour into the village as soon as it had done its work. This left only thin ranks of men to either side of the main force, a dozen ladders on each side and men to climb them. The flanks were a distraction, just enough to ensure that the Treveri could not afford to concentrate their whole force at the gate to meet the main assault. The Romans were planning on one knock-out blow. Both sides knew that the Treveri did not have the defences nor the manpower to block the blow for long.
The defenders looked over the wall and watched the legionaries manoeuvre. The Romans advanced in a steady rhythm. The point of the arrowhead moved off first, with the ram swinging between the centre lines, heading straight for the gate. Then the archers moved into position, clustered behind the men carrying the ram, ready to pick off any defender who raised his head above the wall. The flanking groups with the ladders advanced level with the archers, fanning out and looking for ill-defended places along the walls, aiming to arrive at the wall simultaneously with the first blow of the ram. The supporting ranks left a gap of twenty paces, then advanced in step with the ram.
The pattern of the fight was almost identical to the previous day. The Romans advanced and pounded the ram; the defenders poured arrows and rocks and scalding oil and water down on them; the archers on both sides picked off anyone unwise enough to show themselves; and all along the walls attackers prepared to climb and defenders stood ready to stop them.
The difference was the gate. The solid interlocking timbers had withstood dozens of blows, giving the defenders time to inflict heavy losses amongst the soldiers carrying the ram. This time that could not happen. The very first collision made the whole patched door visibly move inwards. A beam fell backwards, opening a gap. Those inside and outside could tell at once that it would not take long to shatter it. The advancing Romans could see a large wooden cart, like a giant box on wheels, being pushed forward to add weight to the defences.
‘Ready,’ shouted Drenthe, watching the approaching cart with her sword raised high.
The ram smashed against the gate again. Several planks in the centre fell to the ground, leaving a space wide enough for a man to get through. The defenders ran forward.
The ram shuck again with a deep crash. The whole gate shuddered and two of the hinges burst free. A heavy beam which had been tied across the width of the entrance burst its bonds and swung erratically backwards, knocking a man over and smashing against the side of the cart. The Roman lines behind the ram drew their swords and started to shout encouragement at each other.
All along the walls heavy ladders crashed against the wooden palisade stakes. Iron-helmeted men yelling encouragement to each other swarmed up the steps.
Drenthe screamed one word.
‘Now!’
As the first legionaries vaulted the top, concealed men crouched on the walkway leapt up and hacked furiously at them with swords and axes. The Romans were taken by surprise. As the ram approached, the defenders had shown themselves in force in front of it, and then left a skeleton defence to resist while most of them ran unseen to the walkway. When the attackers came over the wall expecting a token resistance they met almost the full force of Germans waiting behind it. They were completely outnumbered. The Treveri killed most of them in a few moments. The defenders picked up the legionaries’ bodies and flung them back over the wall, deliberately aiming to knock as many men off the ladders as possible. Apart from a few scattered fights, in moments the walkway was clear of Romans.
Drenthe screamed again.
‘Back to the gate!’
Every one of the Treveri who was on the walkway turned his back on the wall and jumped down. Serpicus hit the ground hard, knocking the remaining breath out of himself. He felt as if every part of him was cut or bruised or broken. He rolled to absorb the impact.
In the sky far above him he saw the hawk, suspended in space. The battle sounds around him dropped to a distant roar. He lay still, watching the bird circle above him. Then it slipped sideways on the breeze and disappeared, heading south. Home.
The screams of the wounded and the sound of the ram pounded against his ears. He jumped painfully to his feet and ran with the others to the gate, where the defenders were pushing the square cart forward until it was close to the wall.
The ram struck the exact centre of the gate, punching a hole clean through it. The planks and spars splintered and cracked. As a defence, it ceased to exist. The Treveri saw the Romans drop the ram and take a deep breath for the cheer that would propel their charge forward as well as encourage those behind them to come to their assistance. The archers on both sides drew their bows and loosed arrows as fast as they could through the gap.
Drenthe signalled furiously with her sword-arm and Bocalas, who had been lying prone on top of the box, stood up, swinging a heavy hammer. A Roman arrow drove deep into his thigh. He dropped the hammer and sank onto one knee, faltering for a moment, then the boy appeared at his side and put the handle of the hammer carefully back into his hand. Bocalas gathered his strength and struck left and rig
ht, then two arrows thumped into his chest and he toppled backwards.
The boy smiled up at the sky as if he was standing in a field on a quiet summer’s day. Then he crumpled slowly to the ground, turning as he fell so that Serpicus saw the arrow in his neck and the thin cord of blood that flowed from his still-smiling lips.
The Romans howled as they pushed forward. The fastenings of the box flew out under the blows from Bocalas’ hammer and the front dropped down like a ramp, landing with a crash at the feet of the onrushing attackers.
The front line of legionaries looked into the darkness inside it and came to a dead halt, milling in confusion as if a steep cliff had suddenly appeared at their feet.
A harsh growl was heard over the shouts of the soldiers. A huge white head slowly looked out. For a moment nothing happened, and then a stray arrow skimmed the bear’s muzzle before thumping into the wooden cage behind it.
The bear let out a deep roar and sprang forward. In two bounds it reached the Roman line. The first man was smashed to the ground by a massive paw. A centurion leapt forward and stabbed at it with a short spear, wounding it in the shoulder. The bear swatted the spear away and caught the centurion’s arm, tossing him aside like a handful of rags. It let out a roar and plunged on, deep into the Roman ranks.
Drenthe opened her mouth in a wordless scream and hurled herself forward. The Treveri let out a great cheer and every man and woman poured into the gap left by the bear. The Roman front line disintegrated. The bear ran straight forward heading directly for the Roman camp, roaring with anger and pain. Blood streamed down its chest and its feet were wet with gore. Arrows hung from its side and there was a cut on its head but it only ran faster, maddened by the smell of blood and the panic surrounding it. The Treveri followed howling in its wake, hacking and stabbing at the stunned enemy as they ran.
Serpicus and Brutus sprinted shoulder to shoulder, the breath rasping into their lungs. Decius appeared from one side, his face spattered with someone else’s blood, and dropped in behind them, watching their backs. Serpicus swung at a Roman who appeared in front of him. Half of the man’s face was torn off but he was still fighting. The man’s sword spun away as Serpicus rammed an elbow into the remains of his face and ran on. In front of him Brutus bent to pick up a spear and without breaking stride threw it underarm into the guts of a legionary coming towards him. The man screamed and fell across his path. Brutus tried to jump but caught a foot on the man’s body. He stumbled and Decius threw out an arm to steady him. Another Roman leaped in front of them and then fell, an arrow in his eye, as the Treveri came up around them. Serpicus saw Balant sidestep a Roman spear-thrust and then drive his sword deep into the legionary’s side. Another man jumped forward from behind Balant, and Serpicus yelled a warning, drowned out in the clamour. Balant stepped back to pull the sword out and was turning for the next attack when a whirling axe from behind split his head open. He dropped from sight.
‘Head for the camp!’
The bear swung left and the three men did the same. Serpicus saw Galba at the edge of his vision, running high-kneed as fast as he could, hurdling bodies without breaking stride. The bear ran headlong through the camp, scattering men and equipment, knocking aside anyone too brave or too slow to get out of its way. The Treveri saw their opportunity and ran with all their strength into the space behind it. It was as if a giant foot had come down into a shallow pool of water. For a while there is just a space where the foot has been; then the water seeps slowly back. Behind the bear for a short while there was nothing. Then legionaries began to reappear in ones and twos, as if drawn back to the animal’s tracks, some dazed, some intent on re-forming ranks. As they came together again, another foot smashed down onto them as the pursuing Treveri poured forward in the bear’s wake, howling as they cut the Romans down where they stood.
A thin legionary saw Serpicus and ran hard and straight at him. Serpicus ducked a sideways slash of his sword and struck at the man’s head. The legionary dodged easily and moved in close, jabbing his fist twice into Serpicus’ midriff. Serpicus knew he must not drop his head, but his wind shot from him and he had no choice. He tried to spin away but the Roman stepped across his path. Then Serpicus felt a blow on his hip, knocking him out of the way, and a large shape came between him and the man trying to kill him. Serpicus smelt familiar sweat and smiled as he gasped for breath. By the time he was able to stand up, Brutus and Decius had knocked the Roman lifeless to the ground.
The three men looked around. The bear was gone, leaving the Romans in confusion. The main body of the Treveri were still running through the camp, and the Romans who had been besieging their village shortly before now had no one to fight, and were now trying to regroup and pursue them.
Galba joined them, with flushed face and matted blood all down the front of his tunic. He saw Decius looking at it. ‘Don’t worry,’ he gasped, ‘most of it doesn’t belong to me.’
Serpicus turned to follow the Treveri to wherever it was they were going, and the world stopped.
‘Come on,’ said Brutus, pulling at Serpicus’ arm. He didn’t move. Brutus looked to see what had paralysed Serpicus and his head jerked back in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak and then let out a harsh warning instead as two Romans came running round the side of a tent and saw Serpicus standing motionless. Brutus jumped forward and knocked one legionary’s arm up, then drove a fist into the man’s face. Without pausing he threw himself at the other soldier, who had knocked Decius to one side with a vicious blow to the head and was now charging at Serpicus. The soldier was armed only with a club, but Serpicus wasn’t defending himself. He swung at Serpicus’ head as Brutus crashed into him.
The club would have smashed Serpicus’ skull, but the impact of Brutus’ charge took the force out of the blow and knocked it off-course. It hit Serpicus high on the temple. He dropped to the ground as if his body was suspended by strings and the club was a scimitar passing through them.
* * *
Serpicus saw her.
He could smell her skin, feel the soft touch of her breast against his cheek.
Another dream, he knew, like all the others.
‘Wake up. Please wake up.’
Her voice was hushed and urgent.
He opened his eyes.
She was leaning over him. Holding his head in her hands. Stroking his hair. Pressing his face to hers. Her tears wet on his eyelids.
He looked, saw her.
His eyes burned at the sight of her.
His memory full of her on a bed. With his enemy. Writhing. Moaning. He pushed the pictures away.
They looked at each other in silence.
Brutus knelt beside them. In his hands were the reins of four horses, their eyes rolling and their flanks trembling, their mouths foaming from the battle and made skittish by the noise and flames. ‘We have to go,’ he said urgently. ‘They’re getting organized again. Any minute now they’ll be coming through here after us.’
Antonia took Serpicus’ arm. ‘Can you stand?’
He didn’t speak, unable to trust himself, his mind empty of words. He allowed himself to be helped up and pushed onto the back of one of the horses. Antonia sat behind him and wrapped her arms around him to hold him on. Brutus rode in front, Decius and Galba watched their backs. They kicked the horses into a canter and rode hard away from the camp.
Chapter Thirty-Three
To Aelius Sejanus, from his Servant:
The village has been destroyed and the insurgents killed or captured. The assault was less than a total success owing to the loss of much valuable equipment in a flood due to the camp being placed near the river, a location I specifically advised against. I shall be able to give complete details of this failure on my return.
The body of the Treveri woman has not been found yet, but reports suggest that she perished early in the attack, most likely as a result of the wound that I inflicted or as part of the military operation against the village. It seems probable that she is no longer an
obstacle.
I shall return to Rome directly.
Once out of sight and hearing they pushed the horses fast towards the hills, keeping to the low land, avoiding the horizon. They galloped when the land was flat, walked fast when it was broken or uphill.
Galba came up beside Brutus and spoke softly. ‘The horses won’t be able to keep this pace up for long,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope the Romans have the same problem,’ Brutus said grimly. ‘We need to get into the forest before they catch up. We’ll lose them there and the horses can rest.’
Galba said nothing. There was no alternative. Either the horses would make it or they wouldn’t. More pressing was the state of his friends. Decius was complaining of a sore head and blurred vision. Serpicus was visibly dazed and Antonia was still holding him onto the horse’s back.
Serpicus said nothing, did nothing. He wanted to hold her for a day without moving, but the images in his mind wouldn’t fade. He felt as if his mind had hidden what he saw in the tent from him. Then she appeared and the sight of her had been too powerful for the chains that bound his memory. Now they were free, and they scorched his thoughts.
At last Brutus called a halt. They were on a slight slope with a stream at the bottom. Decius tied up the horses, not daring to hobble them in case they were needed in a hurry, and went slowly down the hill to bathe his head. Serpicus slid down off his horse’s back and he and Antonia sat under a stunted tree without moving.
‘You two rest,’ Brutus said. ‘We’ll take a walk around.’ He shouldered his spear and walked away with Galba.
Serpicus leant back against the tree and tried to put his thoughts in order, but they defeated him. He was wounded and exhausted, and his memories were whirling round like snowflakes in a blizzard. His children, the way she lay on Cato’s bed, their house in Rome, the sounds she made as Cato touched her, her smile as she rested her head on his chest…