Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

  “And another party should maintain a look out on the Salt Road, the Gauls are bound to leave in that direction” he said with a final nod.

  Caedicius looked at him for a moment and realised that he hadn’t been listening. “Does anyone else have anything to say on the matter?” he asked to buy himself a moment to think.

  “Caeso is right” Lucius Aemilius said, his young face staring keenly at Fabius. “If we can get a message to Camillus and secure the roads, we can bring the men at Ardea here and rebuild this city” he said. “It makes sense to re-arm the men and re-group. Ardea is too small for such a group. Veii can house thousands, we will secure this city and hold out here” he added.

  “Give up Rome?” Caedicius asked incredulously.

  A tall man with high cheek bones and a clean-shaven face moved forward and stood in front of the fire, his arms crossing his large chest as he stared out at the surrounding officers. “I will never give up my ancestral home” he said with a low growl, his eyes flashing anger. “My family built half the city and I say we get a message to Camillus and re-join him at Ardea. Then we attack these barbarians and re-take our homes. We’ve kept the men fit through the winter” he said with a look of disdain towards Fabius “and my kinsmen are prepared to die fighting. Camillus offers us the leadership we lacked at the river Allia” he said as several men visibly shifted in their seats and turned to stare at the tall man, his eyes defying every man in the room.

  “He’s a thief and he chose to leave Rome, he owes us no loyalty” Caeso Fabius shot back at him.

  “He would have kept your little brother in check” Brutus replied, his hands remaining across his chest “and none of this would have happened” he added as he stared straight at Fabius. Caeso pushed back his chair and rose to his feet as his jaw opened to show the whites of his teeth.

  “Don’t speak of my brother” he snarled.

  “I speak of Rome, not one man” Brutus replied. “Look at us” he said as his arm swept the room. “Hiding behind the walls of our old enemy. Talking of moving here and starting again while these stupid invaders from the north burn our houses and defile our city. A city the gods chose for us.” Fabius, held back by the two men closest to him, rocked his head backwards and laughed.

  “They don’t favour us now do they Brutus” he shouted, his right arm reaching out and pointing at the face of the taller man. “Where are your famous ancestors now?” he said with a smile. “Rome is gone. It is now just stone and dirt filled with barbarians. Here” he said loudly, stabbing a finger into the table in front of him. “Here we have a chance to rebuild. We can’t defeat thirty or forty thousand Gauls with the small numbers we have. Even the mighty Camillus” he bowed theatrically as he said the name “with his thousand men can’t do more than pick at them like a dog at a bull.”

  Brutus remained calm, his arms closed across his chest as the officer’s faces turned back towards him. “The Fabii are a great family” he said slowly and quietly. “So great that they have singe-handedly brought our city to its greatest defeat. So great a family that whilst one brother died running away from the Gauls the others remain here and do not go out there and seek revenge on the barbarians who killed him” he said with venom now edging into his voice.

  Fabius took a step forward and was blocked by four hands as he spat a curse at Brutus.

  “So great are the Fabii” Brutus continued “that everybody dances around the truth Caeso. Your family caused this mess and I will not die protecting you. I will fight for my lands and my family. When the gods bring the spring weather, I will join Camillus, and my family will fight alongside him. Remember Fabius” he growled “when Camillus left Rome, he called on the gods to punish those who had wrongly judged him. He, the conqueror of this city, the defeater of the Volsci and countless other Etruscans offers us hope. Hope that does not exist here” he said as Fabius stared at him with hatred written across his face.

  “The gods do not favour Camillus” Caeso shouted. “He was punished for taking the spoils of Veii for himself, for stealing from those who served and died with him here at these walls” he replied as his arm pointed at the doorway. “He was, and is, a fool.”

  “No” came a new voice as another man, younger but also clean shaven, moved to stand next to Brutus. “Camillus was no thief” he said. “Even your brother said that” Pontius Comminus said as he too crossed his arms. “And Brutus is right. The longer we stay here the greater the chance that the Gauls or some other enemy will come and attack us. We cannot stay here in Veii and defend the city with the few men we have. It makes sense to speak to Camillus and ask his counsel. If he is creating a stronghold, I will join Brutus and leave in the spring to join him” he said with a nod.

  “Then you are a fool as well” Caeso snapped.

  Slowly several men stood and moved next to Brutus and Comminus, each turning their backs to the fire and crossing their arms over their chests as they stared out at the remaining officers, a wall of stern faces. Slowly three more men rose from their seats and stepped across.

  “Camillus offers us no hope” Caeso shouted as his eyes darted around the remaining men, each looking away as he caught their eyes. Another moved across. “Apuleius? You too? You hate the man” Fabius said as the former plebeian tribune bowed his head and strode across to the party of men beside Brutus. More than half the men were now standing next to the fire and Caedicius, the chosen leader of the garrison at Veii finally stood and, face glum, spoke.

  “Gentlemen” he said in hushed, serious, tones “I say we take a vote, as is the Roman way” he nodded to Brutus “and decide if we send a delegation to Ardea to Marcus Furius Camillus. In times such as this we ask the gods for divine intervention and we choose one man with the ultimate power to decide what we should do. We need to vote for a Dictator. It is our way. Maybe Camillus is the Fatalis Dux we need?” he asked, using the term for the pre-destined leader that the gods ordained in times of great strife for Rome. “We will seek him out and ask him to lead us against the Gauls or decide our fate. He has the experience, the knowledge and the ability. If Rome is to die, I will die with my spear in my hand and my face to sun, not hiding behind the walls of the enemy that has killed many of my kin. If Camillus says we rebuild Veii as our new home I will accept his will if we, the remaining people of Rome, agree he is Dictator.”

  Brutus nodded. “I will prepare the people to vote” he said as Caeso Fabius grunted and sat back in the chair shaking his head.

  **********

  “Marcus” whispered Mella urgently as his eyes flicked to the right. He received a nod in reply.

  The noise of hooves splashing through the deep puddles and the sound of oxen grunting came to his ears as Marcus edged along, the water soaking into his skin as he felt the mud clawing at his thick tunic. He edged forward under the cover of the olive tree, the silver bottomed leaves still thick on the gnarled branches providing cover as he squinted to see the Gauls warily moving forwards. He flicked his left hand up and across and Mella nodded his understanding and turned to make the same movement to a watching pair of eyes further along the track.

  A burst of deep throated laughter turned Marcus’ gaze back to the Gauls as they started the turn to their left which placed Marcus on their right shoulder. Looking along to his right he lifted his hand slowly, spreading the fingers and then curling them into a ball three times in succession, the man away on his right answering with a hand held up before he turned to his right and repeated the signal.

  Marcus held his breath and gripped his sword, removing the strip of cloth which covered the handle to stop the thick leather grip becoming too wet. The sun was trying to beat through the silver-grey clouds and the overnight drizzle had stopped hours before, but the land in the glade three miles from Rome was still soaked from the usual spring rain. The Gallic raiding party had been spotted the previous day and Marcus had ridden hard and camped in the trees overnight to rid them of their captured animals and deny the Gauls in Rome more food. Ev
ery fight with the Gauls had taught him something new about their tactics and as he lay still, counting to three hundred, he wondered what this fight would teach him.

  The convoy of Gauls was about forty men, each riding a heavy horse with a thick coat. The track through this edge of the forest was mostly surrounded by pine trees, tall and green, but as it snaked around this corner the lower leaves of olive and myrtle mixed with the broader based oak trees with a cover of ferns and broad-leaved shrubs. The road turned to the riders left but was wide enough for the scouts to see beyond the turn and ride ahead to check the darker forest path which rose onto a low hill before it dropped back towards the Tiber and turned right to Rome. The natural place for an ambush was up ahead in the entrance to the forest, and it was for that reason that Marcus had chosen this spot. He needed surprise, and whilst his men had grumbled about lying in the cold and damp grass overnight, he knew they were trained well and would do his bidding. Mella would attack the rear to Marcus’ left and Narcius and the old man Vetto to his right. Marcus considered the old man from Ardea for a moment. It was usual for ex-soldiers to retire to their farms once they achieved the age of forty-five years, many believing that a man reaching sixty was too old and of no use to the state. Vetto must have been into his mid-fifties but had proven to be as strong, fit and tough as many of the eagles who were twenty or more years his junior. Marcus wondered how many old soldiers could still wield a sword as his count came to two hundred and fifty and he glanced up as the middle of the slow-moving Gallic convoy began to push the cattle along the turn in the road.

  The plan was simple enough. Attack the head and rear of the column at the count of three hundred to pull the Gauls up the road and to the rear. Then for Marcus and his men to charge into the middle and support wherever they were needed most one minute after the initial attack. Marcus re-checked his grip and went over the attack plan again. Had he missed anything vital? Could he rely on the two hundred men he had hidden in the damp undergrowth to do their jobs effectively and had he followed the right rituals as they had sacrificed to the spirits of the road and the trees as well as to Fortuna and Juno as they waited for the Gauls to arrive? He was certain everything was set.

  A guttural scream to his right marked the three hundred second count and he instinctively dropped his head lower as the Gauls in front of him cried in alarm and started to look left and right as men burst from the ground and ran at them, swords already swinging as they dragged at the long trousers that the Gauls wore and slashed at the men. The Gauls kicked their horses into a trot and leant down with their long swords to hack at the Romans, whose round shields thudded under the weight of the efficient weapons. Marcus watched as he counted the seconds, the man behind him fumbling to strap his helmet to his head, reminding Marcus that he needed to do the same.

  A brute of a man on a liver coloured horse thudded into three Romans as they crowded around one of the Gauls and sliced at his legs. Marcus saw the golden torc glint as he twisted, his thick moustache covered in specks of blood as he screamed at the Romans and expertly thrust his sword through the belly of one of Marcus’ men.

  Thirty he counted as he held a hand to two men who were edging forwards. He needed the centre of the Gauls to split so that he could send his final attack into their middle, the time was not yet right. Along the road he saw Mella duck a broad swing from a Gaul and stab his shorter sword into the man’s thigh, the scream coming above the noise of other fighting as the Gaul in front of him kicked at his animal and bore down on his old sword master, the Gauls elbows and knees working the beast into a gallop as he yelled his curses. Perfect thought Marcus as he looked in the other direction and saw the gap in the Gallic convoy that he had expected. With a look to the heavens he mumbled thanks to Fortuna and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Quickly and quietly” he said as he rose and pushed his way under the low branches before racing to the roadside and turning to deploy men left and right. Looking left he saw the Gallic leader hacking at Mella, who was using his shield efficiently but would soon succumb to the weight of the Gallic blade if he wasn’t supported. “Go” Marcus yelled as he turned and ran towards the rear of the convoy to his friend’s aide.

  The Gauls remained on their horses as they fought, their long blades designed to give them advantage in both reach and weight as they hacked madly at anything below them, their horses trained to push, bite and kick at anything that came within reach. The Gauls were also masters at using their shields to thud into the shoulders and heads of their attackers, fighting with two hands as easily as with one. Several dead bodies were already strewn across the ground as Marcus dodged a bellowing cow and leapt at the back of the Gallic leader who had finally knocked the shield from Mella’s grip, his friend slashing at the rider’s thigh but the sword stroke was thrust away by the expert sweep of the Gauls shield. Around Mella other Romans were struggling to deal with the long swords of the Gauls and were starting to bunch and back off from the venom and ferocity of the defence. Marcus heard his voice screaming as he crashed into the back of the Gaul and thrust his sword through the man’s shoulder, his own shield thumping into the rider’s thigh as he fell to the floor and slid on his shield for a second before twisting and jumping back to his feet. His head whipped around as the Gaul screamed a deep throated curse and arched his back, Marcus’ sword wedged deep into his shoulder as he somehow managed to hold his reins and turn his horse, the beast rising on to its back legs as its nostrils flared and it too screamed. Mella ducked to his right and whipped his sword into the thigh of the leader as the man bellowed at the Romans. Marcus saw the hatred in his eyes as his shield dropped and the energy seemed to leak from his body, the horse twisting its head as it seemed unable to understand why its rider had suddenly gone limp. Mella was already dragging the Gaul to the floor and pulling the sword from his back as Marcus ran across and slapped him on the back. “Take the right edge I’ll take the left” he shouted as he grabbed the offered sword and turned back into the fray, animals and men littered across the road, cows careering into the trees to avoid the kicking horses and screaming men.

  Marcus held his shield up and stepped beside two men who had dragged a Gaul from his horse but were struggling to contain him, his larger sword holding them at bay. The Gaul was looking around and calling for help from a flaxen haired man who had just sliced the throat of one of Marcus’ men, his eyes looking across to the shout as his blood red sword rose up into the air. He turned his horse and bent low across its neck as he shouted in the strange Gallic tongue and pushed past two Romans towards where his clansman stood. Marcus gritted his teeth and moved his feet into position. The Gaul in front of him bashed his thick shield against Marcus and pushed the tip of his sword in a straight line towards his head as Marcus used the energy of the shield thrust to dip to his right and stab down into the unprotected shin of the dismounted Gaul, the sword catching his left leg along the outside of his calf and ripping through it with ease. The Gaul screamed and pulled backwards instantly but the leg buckled and he began to topple just as his friend arrived on his horse to rescue him.

  Marcus ran to his right again, the two Romans on his left jumping forwards in an attempt to stab the falling man. The horse caught the back of the falling Gaul and he was bounced back, just as Marcus had foreseen, and fell onto this shoulder screaming. His friend shot a dark look at him and rolled the long cavalry sword at the two Romans who were advancing on him, the iron shining as it hummed through the air and caught one of the men along the top of his helmet with a thundering clash. Marcus stepped on the arm of the fallen Gaul as he tried to lift his sword to defend himself, his blue eyes turning up to stare at Marcus as his free hand scrabbled with his dagger. Quickly Marcus thrust his sword into the man’s throat, the strap of his bronze helmet slicing in two as the blade cut into the flesh. The crunch of bone told Marcus that he had severed the spinal column as he pushed deep into the movement before kicking at the man’s wide-eyed face and turning to stare into the screaming
eyes of the horseman.

  The beast rose on its back legs and kicked out, the dumbstruck Roman whose helmet had been dented by the horseman got a kick to the face that sent him sprawling to the floor, his companion knocked beside him as the man fell. Marcus grinned as the blood thumped in his veins, the dull noise of battle surrounding him and echoing in the confines of his helmet. The horse had righted itself on four legs and the Gaul was twisting the beast so he could make a push directly at Marcus. Glancing around Marcus saw that the fighting was still not concluded, Gauls were still hacking at Romans and Romans were still swarming like ants over the horses as the Gallic men fought like devils.

  The scream from the Gaul was echoed by another behind Marcus and he twisted as a heavily bearded Gaul slid from his horse in a spray of blood which fell to the floor to land on top of the man from which it had come, his body bouncing heavily once before becoming still. One of Marcus’ eagles had gripped the mounted Gaul in front of him and was screaming for others to come and help as the Gaul was unable to do anything more than attempt to bash the attacking Roman with the butt of his sword. Marcus was on him in seconds and the bigger man was dragged to the floor and unarmed, his arm smashed from the fall as his horse bolted away into the trees.

  “Keep him alive” Marcus yelled at the soldier before he turned to see Mella and Vetto slamming into the flanks of another horse. Clearly the front of the convoy was now destroyed if Vetto was back here, Marcus thought as he raced across and expertly thrust his sword through the lower leg of the horseman who had his back to him. The rider back-swung his blade at Marcus, who managed to dive to his right to avoid the swing. The movement allowed Mella and Vetto to both thrust their swords into the ribs of the Gaul, his armour less body succumbing to the thrusts with a lurch as the man threw his arms into the air and called something into the sky as he clutched at his side and fell slowly from the horse, the streaks of blood gushing from his wound.