Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

  “Make it so” he said to Belinus, who growled his agreement.

  The men rounded the corner at the Forum and heard the noise of a full-scale battle which had eluded them as they had walked along the high walled streets and clambered across the rubble which the Gauls had left lying around the city. “Belinus, take care of that” Brennus said with a shove of his sword towards the dust and clamour two hundred paces away. “We will collect all the treasures and prepare to move to the northeast. Kill as many of the Roman dogs as you can brother, I don’t want them snapping at my heels before sundown” he added with a smile as his brother disappeared at a trot towards the mayhem.

  ***********

  Javenoli bounded down the hill as fast as his tired legs would carry him, his feet slipping several times as he used the flat of his hand to push against the wall to keep him upright. His eyes streamed with tears as the wind rushed into them and he gasped for air. As he came to a sudden stop, he gulped air into his lungs and tried to steady his nerves. The noise of men shouting and running came from behind him and away to his left. Nobody would come along this road, he hoped. He bent over and placed his hands on his thighs as he drew breath and felt his thumping heart begin to slow. His target was only two streets away from where he stood. A stone basin to his left, which once flowed with clear drinking water, smelt like a sewer as he screwed his eyes at the smell and felt his throat dry at the thought of the once cool refreshment it held. The Gauls had torn down most of the wooden structures in the area and used them for firewood, the stone, waist high, was almost intact, with rubble strewn across the road haphazardly. Peering left and right Javenoli moved away to the corner and allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the darker alley which led to where his treasures were hidden. Had the damned slave tried to take them all? What would he find left? The anger coursed through his veins as he felt his teeth clench at the thought that his hard work might be for nothing. He slipped across the road and began to pad softly along the alley before turning left and stopping to allow three Gallic soldiers to race past him, unseen, as they headed, shield-less, back towards the higher roads which led towards the salt road. The road here was made of hard packed earth, the flagstones and cobbles of the richer houses lay further along and so Javenoli slowed to a walk. His mind went back over the question again, had the slave taken all of the gold? What about the land deeds? Without them how would he be able to set his plans in motion and gain control of the city? He was so consumed in his own thoughts that he almost stumbled into a group of Gauls who were cursing and swearing as they stood at the intersection of two roads, clearly lost and unsure which way to turn. A noise beyond them caused them all to turn and frantically start chattering in their garbled language before they raced off along the road, running for their lives. Almost immediately several Romans came clattering along the street, their iron swords catching the sunlight as they charged past screaming death at the fleeing Gauls.

  Javenoli held his breath. So near. He listened for a moment before stepping into the road, which was, thankfully, empty. The house was in the next street. He could almost feel the cold stone in his hands and see the treasures beneath it as he strode purposefully into the garden and then across to where his future lay. The stone was still fixed in its place. His heart leapt for joy momentarily before he caught himself. The slave could have replaced it. He crept across, eyes darting around, ears straining for any noise which could portray danger. Nothing. He pulled the dagger from his belt and slipped it into the small hole which gave him leverage. His heart quickened and he felt a bead of sweat drip along his forehead as he fingered the edge of the slab and gripped it tightly before yanking at it to pull it from the ground. Darkness was flooded with light and Javenoli sank onto his knees, his hand coming to his wet mouth as his teeth ground against each other. Staring back at him was a thick cloth, several small gold earrings and a thick ring with a black centre stone all stared back at him from where the slave had thrown them loosely into the hole. He balled his fist in his mouth as he almost gibbered with glee as he fumbled with the cloth and laid it aside on the floor, another cloth being pulled almost as quickly from the hole and placed beside it. His heart leapt with joy as he wiped his hands before he wiped the sweat from his face, the grin causing his muscles to ache as he mumbled a silent prayer to the gods.

  As he stooped to the hole to grip a handful of golden trinkets a shadow passed across the stone over which he leant and a cold dread filled his heart as he heard a shuffle of feet from behind.

  ************

  Marcus leapt at the Gaul, his blade flashing as the man struck at him and screamed a guttural curse, his blue eyes never moving from his foe. The streets were tumbling with Gauls fleeing towards the city exits, their self-restraint gone as they fought like beasts to get away from the disciplined attack of the Romans. The Gaul’s counter-attack rasped along Marcus’ shield as he pushed it upwards to create the space he needed to slam his blade into the ribs of the bearded giant. The ribs cracked as he lunged forwards and sliced into the thick body of the man, his scream ending in a wet thud as his body disappeared under the feet of the marching Roman line.

  “Keep it tight” yelled a Centurion to Marcus’ right. He nodded his agreement and stepped forwards, his hand re-gripping the blood-soaked sword as he grinned at the scene around them. The Romans had cleared most of the lower roads which led to the Forum, the higher roads already empty of the fleeing Gauls. This group of seventy or eight men were now rounding the lower walls of the Citadel where the houses had been almost completely destroyed by the marauding Gauls over the past months. Each of the Romans moved with a purpose, their training being executed almost perfectly as they battered their shields into any attacking Gauls and despatched them with ease. The road began to climb and Marcus saw a shadow cross the sky, his mind instantly causing him to scream “velites” as he dropped to one knee and raised his shield above his head. The stones and heavy lead missiles crashed into the newly made wood of his shield and thrummed like a drummer playing a death march along the wooden boards as the Romans followed his lead. Ahead a man fell forwards, his head caved in by a heavy stone as he had reacted too slowly, the look of surprise in his one remaining eye fixing on Marcus as his head twisted grotesquely as he fell.

  “Hold” Marcus shouted as he noted a number of the men looking up and preparing to charge the Gauls who were thirty or forty paces away and preparing more missiles, the whirling of sling-shots sounding like a swarm of crazed bees as it echoed off the remaining stonework of the ruined houses. “Keep your shields up” he shouted as he considered the situation. The road was six men wide, enough to get a good wagon up but no wider. The floor was rutted and worn, the flags slippery in places where they needed replacing. To charge up the slope would be to invite death to most of the men. The clattering of stones bouncing off the shields and the walls around them cut across his deliberations. A sudden thought came to him as he turned to the man behind, a stone crashing into his shield and landing between the two men. Yes, daylight was an enemy, he needed to block out the sky. The words were forming in his throat before he had even concluded what he was thinking.

  “You men” he shouted to the six men behind him. “Get your shields and raise them over this line” he said as surprised faces looked at him. “On top” he called. “Block out the sun and we can stop them hitting us” he yelled. To emphasise his point a lead missile smashed into the leather tunic of a man two rows back, who was spun around by the force, his shield collapsing and his helmet ringing like a bell as several large stones clattered into him. Almost immediately the line behind Marcus shuffled forwards and lay their shields on top of the men in front of them. The weight of the additional shield caused Marcus to grunt slightly as he called to the men at the front “come backwards. Fit into the line” he said as each face turned back to him, the Centurion taking up the call as he saw what was happening, his voice bellowing as another man was flattened by a stone which whistled as it connected with his jaw and
knocked him unconscious.

  “Front line angle your shields” Marcus called again as he heard the thumping of more stones clashing onto the now impenetrable barrier above his head. He grinned as the Centurion called to him.

  “Sir, we need to send some men up the road” the eager voice called as Marcus shook his head.

  “No” he replied, iron in his voice. “We will stand with our shields above and blocking the road ahead” he said. “We will walk like true Romans into battle. No shouting, no noise. I want to see the fear in the eyes of these Gauls as we head towards them” he grinned again. “At ten paces we will break and charge at them.”

  The Centurion moved his eyes left and right. Most of the men were kneeling, the missiles still bouncing off the walls and shields, but thankfully nobody now falling to them. He nodded to himself as the Gauls cursed more loudly and sent another heavy barrage of stones at them. The front men had leant their shields back against the top of the shields behind them and the Centurion peered through the small gap which afforded him a view up the street. Ten slingers, another ten bow men and a few others behind them, all milling around and firing at them loosely, no coordinated effort. He grinned and turned back to Marcus.

  “Like a tortoise” he called, his teeth showing a gap where his front two had been knocked out some years before. Marcus grinned back at him.

  “Yes, like a tortoise” he said, “a testudo.”

  The men shuffled into position and prepared their grips before standing, their faces all staring at Marcus as they awaited an order.

  “Believe in your fellow men” Marcus said as the testudo moved one step forward, the Centurion counting the slow march. “Do not flinch or open the shield wall” he added as he took a stuttering step forward. The movement caused a crack of light to appear behind him and Marcus drew a breath as several loud clangs announced a new barrage by the Gauls. Nobody fell. The shields clamped shut and the call started again, this time more accurately followed by the enclosed men. Marcus felt a sudden elation fill his chest as the men started to speed up, their close battle training starting to tell as they matched their small steps to the chant of the Centurion. His mind filled with training drills and scenario’s in which this testudo could be extremely useful to the Roman army as he shuffled another step and felt the shoulder of the man to his right give slightly as a large stone thudded into the shield canopy above them. From the second row of the men Marcus could see only cracks of daylight ahead as the Centurion edged his shield slightly to create the small gap through which he could see up the road.

  “Ten steps more” the officer called as the men took another short stride, the weight of the shields above them suddenly feeling light as they re-gripped their swords. “Five.”

  “Front row” called the officer, his voice masterful and efficient. “Go.”

  Marcus charged behind the dark shape of the man in front of him, keeping his shield high and dragging his sword arm to the front as he felt the tension in his thighs ease slightly after the stuttering, crouched, walk up the hill. To the credit of the Romans only two men screamed their war cries as they covered the five strides to the Gauls, the rest charging in silence as the Gauls whirled their leather slings and pulled their bow strings tight, loosing shot after shot into the wood of the attacking Romans.

  Men fell, their legs kicking as they twisted and died. Marcus stepped to the side as the man in front fell on his face, a long wooden shaft bursting through his neck before his body came to a stop and collapsed. He had time to fix his glare at the bow wielder who was desperately yanking the string of the bow back, the iron tip of a dark brown arrow almost stretched back to full tension before Marcus swept his sword across the man’s hand, feeling the blade connect with the wood before the man turned his body and started to run. He’d gotten no more than a stride before Marcus had caught up with him and slammed his blade into the thin cloth of his tunic, the unguarded flesh tearing apart easily as the blade chopped down into his left shoulder. The scream was more of a cry for help than one of anger as the man almost fell, his free arm slamming into the wall on his right and his fear edged eyes turning to face Marcus. Marcus had already spotted his next victim as he clenched his teeth and snapped his sword into the man’s neck. Ahead a Gaul was hefting a war axe which he smashed into the shield of the Centurion, his bloody face wincing in pain as the shield was hacked to splinters in his hands. The bowman slid to the floor, his jugular sliced, as Marcus raced past, the Gallic blood spouting in torrents as the man slid down the wall, grappling at his neck as if he could, somehow, stem the flow.

  The axe-man hefted his weapon as the Centurion was knocked forward by two men fighting behind him in the narrow road and stared at the shining edge of death that was heading for his neck as the Gaul stamped on his shield and a wide grin split his bearded face. As the man’s chest stretched to lift the heavy headed axe to its zenith a shadow blurred across the Centurions face as Marcus used his whole body-weight to thrust his shield into the side of the attacker, his hands dropping the axe as he tumbled to the floor, followed swiftly by the slicing blade of the Roman Dictator. The blade rattled along the floor, sparks flashing as the Gaul rolled expertly and came effortlessly to his feet, his eyes darting around for either a weapon or an escape route. None presented itself and he seemed to set his jaw into a tight line before he screamed and threw himself, weapon-less, at Marcus. As his fist clattered into the side of Marcus’ helmet, Marcus ducking his head as he saw the attack come, he heard the bones of the attackers’ hand crack and twisted his shield to face the Gaul, who was now hopping onto his left foot and shaking his right hand with an expression of total agony on his face.

  “Yield” Marcus said in Greek, unsure if the soldier would understand his words. The man half-laughed and his eyes flicked around, latching on to a discarded sword which was a few yards away to his right. Another soldier fell into the road, his Gallic voice screaming as he gripped at the thick red lumps that protruded from his mid-riff, the guts turning a dark blue as Marcus glanced at him to check for any danger. The glance gave the Gaul his chance and he dashed for the blade, grabbing it with his left hand and instantly wielding it with some expertise as he clashed it back at Marcus, landing a heavy blow on his raised shield boss. With a twist of his shoulder Marcus dropped his centre of gravity and span on the balls of his feet to lash out with his sword, the Gaul ducking backwards as the blade cut the air with a thrum. The Gaul was already moving forward and swiping at Marcus’ exposed arm but missed. Both men faced each other and Marcus set his feet as he lifted his shield and smiled at his opponent before saying again “Yield.”

  The Gaul laughed. “We take no prisoners Roman. We do not give up” he said in broken Greek.

  Marcus nodded, stepped forward with his shield and tensed his shoulders as the Gaul launched a sudden flurry of sword swipes, his gritted teeth exhaling a loud grunt as he led with his left hand. It was child’s play for Marcus to turn the man’s sword in and across his own body as he twisted his shield with a long push and caught the attack. The left shoulder was exposed and Marcus flashed his blade in and out, the large bone in his shoulder blade causing some resistance as the blade cut through the flesh and was retracted swiftly. The Gaul span around, his second arm now useless, as he threw his body at the rectangular shield which Marcus used to block his attack. Without a second thought the Roman Dictator moved the shield to one side, thrust once into the Gauls chest, snapped the blade back and closed the shield back in front of his body. The Gaul fell with a sharp grunt, foaming blood appearing in his mouth as his eyes looked to the heavens. Marcus nodded at his fallen opponent before turning back to the fray.

  A Gaul hacking at the head of a fallen Roman turned to look at him, a frantic look of indecision in his eyes before he dropped the Roman body and sprinted off up the road. All around him men were still fighting in groups, the Romans clearly getting the better of the Gauls. Marcus moved to the wall of a building and took a few deep breaths, happy to have some s
mall respite. A few Gauls made a dash for their lives, throwing their weapons back at the approaching Romans as the disciplined men clicked their shields together and advanced on the remaining few barbarians.

  Marcus heard a voice and looked further down the road where he saw a few hundred Romans now approaching at a fast trot, their arms pumping hard as they travelled up the slope. At the front of the group was Vetto, his scarred face spattered with droplets of blood and his grin at seeing Marcus extended right across his face.

  “Camillus” he called as he came to a stop in front of Marcus. “We have a group of them pinned down at the far end of the Citadel on the old road where the spring to Hercules used to be” he said as his breath came in gasps. “They’re holding the line so that the rest of them can get away” he added as his well-trained eyes watched the final scenes play out around him, Gauls falling to the onslaught of newly arrived Romans.

  “Then let’s go” Marcus said as he watched two men dragging gold jewellery off the bodies of the fallen Gauls.

  ************

  Javenoli fell onto his backside as he twisted, the fear in his face turning swiftly to anger. “Manlius” he growled. “You fool” he snapped as his eyes twitched back to the documents, he had laid on the ground. “What do you think you’re doing?” he added as he rolled to his knees and started to rise stiffly.

  “Protecting my investment” Manlius said with venom as he furrowed his brow at the old Senator and gripped his arm to pull him to his feet. “What if a Gaul had caught you and killed you?” he asked, his voice showing his anger. “How would I have known where this stuff was?” he pointed to the cloth covered items on the floor.

  Javenoli shook his head as he clenched his teeth. “There wasn’t time to consult you” he snapped back as his eyes darted around the space around them. “And I expected you to be out there fighting with the soldiers to make more of a name for yourself” he added as he stooped to pick up a small casket.