Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

  The Gauls were creating a ring around two figures, one a small clean man who was totally naked and waving a small flashing dagger in the air. The other was a figure he knew well, the man who had caused all of the death that lay around him. “Fool” he cursed, his fingers clenching as his head rocked back. “Damned fool” he said more loudly as the soldier beside him gaped at the scene. The second figure was pushed to his knees as a large Gaul with what looked like an enormous hammer stepped into the circle and screamed a deep guttural curse which echoed across the valley. As the sound died the hammer rose into the air and crashed into the kneeling body of the Roman, his head burst in a crimson spray as the Gaul bent double with the energy of the blow, the Roman’s body crumpling under the thrust. The cheering of the Gauls rose into the air like no noise Narcius had ever heard and he whispered a prayer to the gods for the soul of Quintus Fabius as he watched the Gaul lift his hammer again and crash the iron head into the fallen chest of the Roman, his body mutilated by the strike as the spent body jumped at the crushing force from the blow.

  “We must go, now. Sir” said the man as he turned and ran, leaving Narcius staring at the plain where Rome had lost almost all of its finest soldiers.

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  Manlius thrust the soldier away from him, his breathing coming to his chest in great heaving sobs as he jumped onto his horse, his eyes cast backwards to check that nobody was coming after them. “Go” he screamed. “Get back to Rome” he added as his voice faltered and his eyes filled with tears. He grunted as he pushed his horse’s neck hard and the beast burst into action, its head thrown back as its hind quarters thrust forwards spinning the horse next to him and knocking the officer to the floor. Ignoring the curses, he kicked his mount hard and lay as close to its warm neck as he could as the animal belted away towards the open ground leading to the forest path. Ahead of him men were streaming into the forest, some with weapons but most without. The tide of men was unstoppable, so he simply crashed through them, uncaring. There was one thing on his mind, to get to Rome and save his family, for the army of Rome was beaten.

  As the light turned to the semi darkness of the forest, he allowed his horse to slow, glancing back over his shoulder to see nothing but Romans charging behind him and he took a long gulp of air, a slight grunting coming as he let the breath out and stared at the long path ahead of him. The path was interspersed with soldiers, all with one purpose, to run for their lives. Others had taken to the forest, the crashing of men thrashing through the undergrowth causing him to twist his head and stare into the gloom lest it be some enormous, naked, Gaul coming to kill him. Men called to their friends, some gripping wounds as they stumbled past, all shouting that they must get to Rome.

  “Manlius” came an urgent call as he looked back over his shoulder at the voice and saw Lucius Furius Medullinus charging towards him on his dark brown horse, the beast snorting as it ran, nostrils flared in angry red circles. Manlius made to turn but was halted by the pleading voice as it called his name again. As he turned back to Lucius, he felt his horse pulling, its wide eyes holding the fear that he, too, felt at standing still in the forest.

  Lucius dragged his horse to a stop as men cursed at the sudden closure of the narrow path, two beasts across its width causing them to dodge into the scrub and mud as they scrambled past. “Manlius, we must hold the path” Lucius called as his free hand pointed back along behind them.

  “The battle is lost, Furius” called Manlius as his horse shied from a limping man as he trudged along, half skipping and half running.

  “We must…” started Lucius, but it was too late, Manlius had turned his horse and raced off along the thin pathway, calling to the men in front of him to clear the path as he moved his horse up to full speed.

  Lucius turned to face the tide of men charging into the narrow space, his eyes brimming with tears at the anger he felt. Without knowing why, he nudged the horse back towards the clear sky of the opening and trotted the horse free of the trees. He blinked as he watched the last defensive last of Narcius turn and run, the pride of the Roman army throwing their spears and charging towards the woods. He watched men he knew felled by the massive Gauls, their swords flashing with sunlight before they fell again to bring red sprayed death to the soldiers of his city. More were getting away than were dying, but the carnage was almost beyond words. Narcius was the last man to turn, his shield in tatters as he blocked three axe strokes from an enormous brown-bearded brute, the sound thudding into the air as Narcius continued to step backwards slowly. More soldiers slowed to support their Centurion, but the Gauls were circling them, taking the edges of the retreating Romans with more heavy sword strokes.

  A deep guttural rumble blew across the plain beyond the hill and rose into the air like a devil who had devoured his fill of life, the sound of the Gallic war horn causing all axe holding and bearded Gauls to turn back towards the lower ground behind them. The moment allowed Narcius and his men to gain ten paces, only one Gaul quick enough to turn and follow the Romans. The sound was clearly a call for all the Gauls to retreat to their chiefs as, as one, the men set to hacking the heads off dead bodies and stripping them of their armour and weapons, leaving the last Roman defence the opportunity to retreat to the woods.

  Narcius, his arms covered in several long red lines, and his helmet dented in several places, appeared next to Lucius and saluted. “Looks like they’ve stopped” he said between gulps of air. “Sir” he added, his eyes wide. “I saw them capture Quintus Fabius” he said, taking another chest full of cold air. He shook his head, lips closed tight, as he caught Lucius’ questioning look. “The big brute with red hair smashed him with that hammer he has” he said, coldly.

  The short silence between the two men was interrupted by another deep war horn, the long note held for longer this time. “We must go” Narcius said quietly as he looked up to his mounted officer. “We need to get home before they can gather their forces and attack” he added.

  Lucius looked at him incredulously. “Attack?” came the mumbled question.

  Narcius furrowed his brow. “Yes, surely they will attack Rome” he stated.

  Lucius’ mouth dropped open and he could not respond. He hadn’t considered that the Gauls might actually turn towards his home. The losses he had seen had consumed his thoughts and he had not been thinking rationally. He turned his gaze to Narcius. “How many men do you think crossed the river?” he asked.

  Narcius glanced back towards the lower ground, the river just visible beyond the hill. “Two, maybe three thousand” he said.

  “And maybe another three or four thousand here” he said as he stared back at the Centurion. “We have lost as many as eighteen thousand men” he said, the number almost inconceivable as he shook his head and closed his eyes at the horror of the Gauls crashing through their stretched lines.

  Narcius nodded. “I understand” he said, his voice flat. “We will not have enough men to defend the city” he stated with a deep sigh as the long war horn began its throat clenching note once again.

  “Narcius” Lucius said more urgently. “Get some of the men to Marcus. Take them to him and tell him of our losses. I will go to Rome and make sure our families are safe. We will try to get to Ardea if we can” he added as the two men clasped hands and nodded before each set off back into the forest, the last survivors to leave the battle of Allia.

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  Brennus screamed as he thumped the enormous war hammer into the skull of the barely living Roman, whose eyes were screaming the cry of mercy his crushed chest would not let his voice say. The Gaul grinned wickedly as the iron crushed the man’s skull and the red and blue-grey gore spattered onto the ground.

  “Such a victory” yelled Belinus as he strode across to his brother, his sword dripping with blood as he searched the bodies for any men who were hiding amongst those who had been slain by the Gallic attack. Around the two leaders’ other men were picking through the best armour, choosing swords and helmets as we
ll as picking through the dead for valuables. “Our people will sing of our glory for generations” the beaming face of his brother said as Brennus huffed at the words, though his teeth showed his smile.

  “Leader” came a call from the Gauls around them as the two men stepped through the field of death. “Brennus. Leader” they cheered as Brennus waved his iron hammer in the air and called back to them. “I promised you glory” he shouted. “I promised you great victories. Here is the first” he shouted as he patted Belinus on the shoulder and smiled.

  “Where is Aengus?” he asked once the cheering and adulation had quietened and the men had returned to their silent work of slicing the throats of the still-living before rummaging through their belongings to find anything of value.

  Both men turned a full circle in search of the druid and shook their heads when they couldn’t find any sign of him. “Come brother” Brennus said as he hefted the long pole of his hammer onto his shoulder and turned back towards the river. “Let us wash in the water of the gods, get this smell from us and start to plan how we can march on their city. Tell me again about the stone houses and the river that runs through the streets” he asked, his voice showing true interest as the two men wandered back towards the flowing water with blood-encrusted arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders.

  As they approached the river, they saw the green cloak of Aengus, several Roman prisoners lashed to spears kneeling in front of him, as he placed more wood onto a growing fire. Twenty or thirty Gauls stood watching in silence as the druid mumbled magic words and went about his business as if in a trance. Aengus took one of the logs from the fire, the red-hot glow of the wood turning to white as he swished it across his chest before lifting it high in the air and calling on the gods to bear witness to the victory. The Gauls watched as he placed the log back in the fire and kicked dirt from the ground up in a small cloud calling on the earth spirits to wash the Gauls free of the stench of death that the Romans had brought upon themselves. He pulled his curved dagger from his belt, the silver reflection of firelight moving rhythmically as he bent low and swiped at the flames, the silver darting in and out as the Roman captives whimpered in the background as they felt the heat grow from the fire.

  Brennus approached and nodded to the men standing transfixed by the actions of the druid. He stood for a moment and watched before his beard twitched into a long smile and he turned to stride to the river to wash, Belinus walking with him.

  “The druid brings us luck, brother” said Belinus in a low whisper as he looked across at the scene.

  “No Belinus” scoffed the older Gaul. “He brings fear” his cold-eyed face said as he splashed into the water, all remnants of the dead washed away to their left as the continuing flood of water raced past. “He brings a fear of the gods to us and to our foes. A fear we must use to maintain our position” he added as he leant forwards as soon as the water reached his thighs and dipped his head into the ice-cold water.

  “Do you fear some will try to overthrow you as leader?” asked his brothers frowning face as he knelt into the water and lay his head back.

  “It is always the way” he replied as the water dripped off his beard. “Though maybe not today, another day when things go badly. We need him to hold them with fear. Look at them” he flicked his head. “They are bewitched by the spectacle. We must hold their minds as well as their hearts brother” Brennus said as he moved across to Belinus and caught his eyes in a long stare. “As our father was betrayed when he held the chieftains torc, so too others will challenge me.”

  Belinus looked back into his brother’s eyes and saw the haunted look that he had known in his father’s eyes all those years ago before he had been deposed as Chieftain. He nodded slowly as he turned back to see their cousin, the druid, pick a long glowing piece of wood from the fire and hold it to his arm as if testing the heat, the searing smoke making the Gauls watching cringe as the druid smiled and turned to the Roman captives and, gripping one by the hair, ran the burning hot wood along his scalp. The instant screams brought laughter and mutterings from the assembled Gauls as Aengus called to the gods and thrust the hot wood into the man’s open mouth.

  “You see brother” Brennus said slowly as his eyes watched the druid at his work. “We must march on this Roman city. Take all of its wealth and if it pleases us, we stay there for the winter. If it is as magnificent as you say and has more food and shelter than any man could want, then we stay there. After winter we can decide what to do next.”

  Belinus nodded. “Wise” he said. “Wise” he repeated as a grin crept across his face. “Then in the summer we can conquer the next town and build ourselves a new homeland” he said as he thrust his legs into the water and headed for the bank. “Come brother, we have a celebration to lead” he called as heads turned to the two brothers, their river-washed bodies emerging from the cold water. Brennus roared with laughter as he followed the younger man, thumping the water with his hands and calling thanks to the gods for delivering his enemies to him.

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  Chapter 9

  The crowds called and yelled to Manlius as he pushed his horse through the torrents of brown and white clad citizens, their faces screaming questions which he did not hear. His eyes were locked on the rostra at the end of the Forum and he pushed his horse on despite the thousands of hands that pulled at him to demand answers.

  “Stand back” he screamed, his voice drowned in the tumult of noise from the shouting population. News had already reached Rome, but no official had appeared until he had ridden across the crowded Pons Sublicius and raced as fast as he could to the Forum. The rostra was thronged with white-faced Senators, the steps to the temple behind and the long steps of the shops on his right also crammed with people. A woman screamed at him asking if her husband was dead and Manlius caught her eyes for a second before shaking his head and pushing his horse forwards. He heard her screams as he turned his horse away from her. The Senators were calling for calm, but the crowds, the mob, ignored them. Scuffles broke out and men were thrown backwards by soldiers and Lictors alike as they tried to clear the path to the Rostra for Manlius.

  As he closed on his goal his senses began to come back to him and he stared open-mouthed at the people around him, his mouth opening and closing as if he was a fish that had been thrown to the bank and was gasping his last breath. His eyes streamed, the tears genuine. Those who saw him gasped and put their clenched fists to their mouths as their eyes fell open wide and they started to wail. At the rostra he jumped from his mount as the Lictors beat a space for him to step into, his horse whinnying loudly as it was grabbed by the soldiers around the Senators and its hind quarters pushed away to the side.

  “Marcus Manlius” called Senator Cicurinus, his eyes watering as he stared at him. “Tell us it is not true” he shouted, his face pale. “Tell us it is not true” he pleaded as he tugged at Manlius’ blood covered tunic. The crowd surged forwards as Manlius tried to speak, those closest trying to get closer whilst those behind pushed to hear what he was going to say.

  Manlius turned to the crowds, he was on the rostra and a head above the thousands of eyes that stared at him beseeching him for information. He held up his hands for silence, but none came, the crowd jostling and pushing so that the heads seemed like a sea of waves pushing against each other. “People of Rome” he called. “People of Rome” he waved his arms high in the air.

  “Manlius” called the Senator, pulling him around to face the old men, their faces ashen and their bodies tense. “What news?” he yelled with bulging veins in his neck as the people surged again in an attempt to hear what was being said. Manlius had his back turned to the crowd and the mob pushed and shoved to gain access to hear his words.

  “Disaster” said Manlius quietly.

  As the Senators stared in open-mouthed horror at the word a sudden silence fell into the Forum. A silence which felt like the whole world had taken a deep gasp and held its breath. A silence that was so sudden and so shockin
g that Manlius was shaken by fear before his senses were assaulted by the screaming and crying of the thousands in the Forum as every voice yelled “disaster” and began to panic. He felt the body of people begin to shift before he heard the feet running, some away to their homes, whilst others leant forward and shoved toward the rostra to hear more of the news. He bowed his head and tears fell down his cheeks as a hand gripped his chin and lifted his face to stare into the depths of his cold brown eyes.

  “Tell us what happened” said the face of the Senator, his eyes glistening with tears.

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  It was two hours since he had dropped from his horse and into the arms of the Senate before Manlius had finally collapsed from exhaustion and been carried away unconscious. Riders had been sent to watch the roads, others to nearby cities for pledges of support and as many soldiers as possible had been levied from the tribes of Rome.

  The Senate sat in silence as its leader held out his hands to the white clothed men who sat around the high-sided temple. “We have less than five thousand soldiers available” he said, his long bony finger pointing out the window. “More are leaving the city every minute. The roads are strewn with dead as the people fight to leave the city. The people are leaving in their thousands as we speak. We cannot defend the walls, we cannot beat an army of thirty thousand barbarians” he said as his wide eyes roved around the room at the disapproving faces. “These are the facts. Whatever schemes my friend” he nodded to a younger man who had recently argued that the Romans should defend the city to their last man “here says. We cannot beat them. Our sons have been slaughtered. Our city will fall. We are defeated. The gods have called death upon us for our wickedness, our impiety for not giving Fabius to these Gauls as we should have done.”