“What?” Durso’s voice broke the silence. “What nonsense is this? The Gauls are not strong. They have grown fat in our city drinking our stores of wine and eating our grain” he snapped. “Will we let the deaths of our friends go unpunished? Will we allow Mars no revenge on these barbarians who have dared to interlope on our city streets and create chaos in our home?” He stared at Marcus, his eyes blazing with fury. “Dictator” he said the words with a voice harsh with formality. “Tell us what we must do.”
Marcus looked at Javenoli, the man not allowing him to catch his eye. “The task is half finished” he said. “The Gauls must be cleansed from our lands. If they regroup, they will attack again. We must go after them and stop them from returning to Rome, there is no other way” he said with a determined stare at Manlius. “The soldiers are ready for it, they are trained in new tactics to defeat these barbarians and” he scoffed “two to one odds” he laughed loudly. “Every Roman is worth five Gauls.” He turned quickly to cut off Manlius who had raised his chin as if to speak. “We must follow the laws and gather the sacrifices. We must call all men who can hold a weapon. Men of any age” he said as he looked at some of the veteran soldiers who had fought so well in the city over the past hours. “And we must gather our forces and follow the Gauls today” he said as his eyes caught Durso. “I thank the gods for watching over the Senate and people of Rome” he said as he raised his hands to the sky. “And I pledge that I, Marcus Furius Camillus, will defeat these men of the north. I will tear them from our land as a farmer cuts his wheat from the earth. Rome will endure, my friends. Rome will endure.”
As he finished a cheer started at the back of the line of men who were standing watching him speak, the soldiers shouting, “For Rome” and hammering their swords on the shields they raised in the air. The Forum started to shake as thousands of voices started to chant the war-cry, Javenoli and Manlius stared at each other as the Senators around them raised their hands and cheered the words along with the multitude around them.
************
“Any news from the scouts?” Marcus asked as Narcius appeared at his shoulder.
“Nothing more than twenty minutes ago” came the tired reply.
Marcus noted the tension in his Centurions voice and decided he needed to relax a little and stop asking the same stupid questions over and over again. He smiled and exhaled deeply. He was about to speak when a noise cut across him, the sudden drumming of horse’s hooves pounding on the hard ground from behind made everyone turn towards the noise. Whoever was approaching was doing so at speed. Twisting he saw five men racing across the ground towards them from the rear. He narrowed his eyes to see if he could identify any of them but could not.
The leader of the men eventually caught his eye and angled his horse directly towards their location, the others following suit. Reining in the man saluted, licking his lips and, sitting as straight as he could as his horse tossed its head from side to side with wild eyes and rattling breath, spoke. “Sir, I bring grave news from Rome” he said, a small amount of fear showing in his face.
Marcus tightened his grip on his reins and stared at the new arrival as he felt his heart start to beat faster. Had the Gauls somehow managed to get around his rear?
“Sir” the man gulped and his eyes flicked to Narcius. The Centurion was just about to bellow at the man when he blurted out his message. “It is Centurion Mella, sir” he said loudly, his eyes now staring at a point away over Marcus’ shoulder so that he wouldn’t catch his eye. Marcus felt his breathing stop. “We have found his body at the bottom of the Tarpeian Rock, sir. It looks like he fell trying to get into the Capitol.” As he finished, he sat taller in the saddle and his jaw tightened as if expecting a tirade of anger from the Dictator.
Narcius glanced to Marcus.
Marcus breathed a slow, deep, breath and nodded. His hands loosened on the reins and his eyes dropped to look at his hands. The messenger sat still, rigid, in his seat. “Thank you soldier” Marcus replied quietly as he turned to look at Narcius. “We have lost a dear friend and a great man of Rome.” He spoke quietly and Narcius could sense he was holding back the anger he truly felt. “Mella will be avenged” he added through gritted teeth as he turned back to the messenger and nodded. “Dismissed” he added slowly as Narcius moved next to him and placed a hand on his forearm.
“I will miss him as much as you” he said comfortingly. Marcus nodded.
After a few moments Marcus looked up at the officers, all milling around in silence with their heads bowed. “Time to get things moving” Marcus said loudly, capturing everyone’s attention with the sudden outburst. “Centurion signal the march. It’s time to face these Gauls and prove to them that Roman iron is stronger than any Gallic blade.”
Narcius saluted and motioned to the trumpets, who blasted the call to march, the sudden movement of thousands of men causing a flurry of noise and dust which cascaded around them as the officers stood, or sat atop their mounts, and watched the Roman legions prepare.
Marcus watched as several thousand Roman foot soldiers, their dark feathers waving in their bronze helmets settled into the stride that would carry them to their enemy. Leather clad velites, the army skirmishers, trooped by, chatting idly as they marched, but each man carried their bag of missiles and one javelin as they went. Marcus had considered giving them two javelins, but his stocks were low and he had decided the legions needed them more than the missile throwing velites. The cavalry, barely four hundred horses, followed on the wings, watching the rear of the marching men, the scouts away at the front. Few wagons followed. Not only did they not have many stores, but the march would be short and either end in victory, in which case they would have all the stores the Gauls carried, or defeat, and food would be the least of the Romans concerns. He bridled at his own thoughts and whispered a quick prayer to Fortuna, tapping his sword hilt three times as the old soldiers did and shaking his head. They would win, he said to himself as he watched the eagles passing below him. Over a thousand of the best soldiers, trained by Narcius and now with the new, thicker, rectangular shield like the ones that the Gauls used. He nodded to a few familiar faces, allowing a smile before he spotted several red and blue clad soldiers marching strongly at the rear. Screwing his eyes in the dust he looked at them long and hard, not recognising any of the faces or the colours which marched past him. A recollection came to him, something from beyond his old memories of childhood and he cocked his head.
“Narcius” His question turned the head of the Centurion, who was waving the men forward. Narcius came across. “These red and blue soldiers with the old-fashioned swords and spears. Who are they?” he asked quietly.
Narcius glanced at the men and then to the rear of the line. “There is your answer, sir” he nodded.
Marcus picked up his motioning and looked long into the dust which was being kicked up. Sat astride a large white charger was Marcus Manlius, or as the people now called him, Capitolinus. “He has his own soldiers now?” he asked.
“Indeed. It seems that he and Senator Javenoli have created a small unit of eighty men. They call themselves Juno’s geese” he smiled as he said the words.
Marcus grinned back at him, but the meaning of the words was not lost on him. “So, he has his own soldiers” he said.
“All from the best plebeian families, sir” Narcius said with a hint of pride which Marcus caught but chose not to respond to.
“Who are his officers?” Marcus asked.
Narcius squinted into the crowd of men but shook his head. “I’m not sure. I can find out though” he concluded as Manlius nodded as he rode past, his bright chest armour glinting through the brown dust. Marcus nodded and waved a reply as the man went by.
Thoughts were running through his mind as he watched the soldiers march past. What were Manlius and Javenoli playing at? Why did they create a new unit of men from plebeians, and from the leading plebeian families at that? And why didn’t they discuss it with him? He dropped his should
ers, suddenly feeling tired and rubbing his hands together before wiping them over his aching eyes, rubbing at his face briskly as he did so. Javenoli was pushing for Pontifex Maximus, a position which would give him greater control of most of the ceremonies which were performed throughout the year, and also a measure of power which he had not held before. Was he reading too much into this? He shook his head and took a very slow breath as he edged his horse forwards with his knees, the beast moving as soon as he gave it the order. Narcius moved alongside as the officers followed just in front of the final column of soldiers who were holding the back of the Roman line. No, Javenoli and Manlius were up to something, but he didn’t know what. His thoughts went through what he knew from the brief conversations with the Senate.
Manlius had saved the Romans on the Capitol, fighting like a demon against hundreds of attacking Gauls who had scaled the Rock, so the story went. Marcus doubted that. The Rock was too difficult to climb, as Mella had found out. His thoughts turned melancholy as he remembered his friend for a moment. But now Javenoli and Manlius seemed to be making some power play. Hadn’t Javenoli tried to claim that Manlius had saved Rome in the fighting in the streets? He licked his lips as he thought it through. Something was at hand and he didn’t know what it was. He ran through the words of the prophecy, thinking how he must discuss this with Lucius when he returned to Rome. If he returned. He tapped the sword hilt three times again, clenching his teeth at his own superstitions. Did Manlius still harbour hatred for Marcus following the whipping he had given to his brother all those years ago? He let the beast follow the horse in front as he continued to consider every aspect of the situation, why Manlius and Javenoli may have become such good friends and what benefits it offered both of them.
“Sir.”
The voice woke him from his thoughts and he grunted, coughing slightly to hide his slight confusion as he looked up to see a red flag being waved away to the front right, the soldier holding the flag in his right hand, which suggested the column needed to veer in that direction. Two riders were crossing the ground at a trot, so no urgency. Marcus nodded and the officers trotted out to meet the scouts.
Several trees were fixed with the buds of fruit just starting to grow as the officers met under their shade. Marcus noted that the land around them had become overgrown but had been a good farm before the Gauls came and destroyed the main building, a pile of stone to their left, on one of their raiding sorties. The scouts saluted and dropped from their horses to stand in front of Marcus, saluting smartly.
“The Gallic army has stopped and is making camp by the road crossing two miles ahead” the scout said, his voice crisp and alert. “I’ve sent men around the rear to check the position and to report back as soon as possible. Six men remain in position to report back any further movements on this side of the camp” he added as his eyes remained fixed on a tree branch slightly above Marcus’ head.
Marcus nodded his appreciation of the report and said so to the scout. “I will take five men to see the scene myself” he added quickly. “Prepare to return in fifteen minutes” he said to the scout before turning back to Narcius. “Bring the eagles to the front line and continue to march for half an hour. Rest and prepare the men as we have discussed” he added as he turned to look at the officers around him, all staring resolutely at him waiting for the honour of being chosen. He nodded to five men and stated that they would leave in fifteen minutes before turning back and heading to his pack horse to collect a few wax tablets on which he would draw out the lie of the land.
As he was mounting his horse a shadow came across the flanks of his horse and he looked over his shoulder to see Manlius staring coldly down at him from his white coloured mount. Marcus ignored him for a moment as he was hoisted to his own animals back by a legionary. He gripped the reins and then turned to face Manlius, who was waiting patiently for the Dictator to get his position right on his horse.
“Manlius” he said with a short smile. “Or do I call you Capitolinus these days?” he asked.
“Such names are for those who speak them to decide” Manlius replied, somewhat cryptically. “Might I request that I join your scouting party, sir” Manlius asked, his question direct and short. Marcus noted the lack of pleasantries and the strained focus on the word sir that had been used.
With a cool look at Manlius he considered the request. To say no might offend the man. To say yes would allow him to be a part of any battle plan, and after the words spoken by Javenoli with regard to the role of Manlius in the battle for Rome, allowing him to be too close may cause issues later if the man over-inflated his role in the decisions which had to be taken. Marcus smiled as warmly as he could muster and nodded. “It would be an honour to have you along Marcus” he said, using the man’s first name to see what reaction it brought.
“My thanks” Manlius replied, his voice steady and cold and a light smile appearing on his face.
So, thought Marcus, there is some game afoot here.
************
“Let the scouts circle us, it means nothing” Brennus said as the worried face of Denorix, one of the leaders of his horse warriors stared at him with wide eyes. Denorix nodded and turned to leave before he was called back.
“Wait” Brennus said with a glance to Aengus. “No. Chase them away. Use a large force, but don’t capture them. Make it look as if we are worried by their arrival” he smiled, the cavalry leader grinning back at him through his dark brown beard.
Aengus nodded, Brennus seeing the movement and relaxing. Decisions seemed harder to make and he closed his eyes and ground his teeth as he listened to Denorix gallop away to deal with the Roman scouts.
“Here” Aengus said, handing him a wooden cup with an oak leaf engraved into the side. “It will help you to sleep for an hour or two.” He waved away Brennus’ protestations and handed him the cup. “You haven’t slept for nearly two days and you are making the men nervous” he said in his calm, deep, voice.
Brennus bridled at the accusation, but then realised the truth of the words and looked across at his brother, whose face looked as tired as his own. Belinus nodded and rubbed at his own eyes, his large hands covering his face.
“One hour. No more” Brennus snapped gruffly as Aengus simply smiled at him.
“The warriors are moving into position. The Romans are three or four hours from making any move against us” he shrugged. “The spirits are with us and our sacrifices will show that we will win another sacred battle against these weak men of Rome” he added. Brennus huffed in response.
“Brother” he said as he drained the cup in one go and looked at Belinus. “You should rest too. Aengus never seems to need rest so he will wake us if there is anything which needs a decision” he stated as Belinus nodded and looked to his cousin, Aengus, who looked back at him with a grin. Pouring more of the liquid from a jug, he handed another cup to Belinus, who took it gladly.
Aengus stood and walked to the tent flap, pushing aside the rough wool and staring into the busy Gallic camp. “The gods keep the men busy” he said, idly. Turning back, he noted that Brennus was already asleep, the hulk of a man lying mouth-agape on the blankets on the floor of the tent. He smiled as Belinus nodded to him and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Aengus moved out into the camp, noting that men nodded to him as he went by, their fear edged with respect. He moved to the cluster of trees which bordered the left flank of the Gallic camp and let his eyes wander around the land. The ground was flat and bare, hard and un-fertile with low scrub grass and a spattering of yellow and purple flowers which rose no more than a finger width from the floor. Pretty in its own way, he thought. Away to his left was a line of low fruit trees, gnarled and old but still bearing some fruit which the warriors had already set upon hungrily. He had been across to the place with Brennus and agreed that the uneven ground and gnarled trees would make the place hard to move an army through. No attack would come that way, though it would be a good place to put scouts as it afforded a good view
of the Gallic camp. Further to his right came the roadway they had used to arrive at their camp, the brown lines of wagon tracks visible as they cut across the front of the camp, veering away to the right as the road curved towards the small ford over the stream which bordered the camps right edge. For five minutes riding on a horse there was nothing but flat ground and a few small bushes anywhere ahead of his eye line. The ground rose very slightly to the camp, giving the defenders a slight advantage, before a short, sharp, drop to the slow-moving stream. A perfect place to fight, the Gauls had agreed. Further in the distance was a forest of tall pines interspersed with a few oak trees, which Aengus had visited and collected leaves to check if the spirits were happy with the Gallic plans. All signs had been good.
He wandered back across the camp, noting that every man was alert despite their tiredness. Children raced up and down, some hurling sticks at each other in a mock battle. He laughed as one child took a large stick to the head and despite crying loudly chased the thrower, a larger boy, who turned and fled as the screaming boy flailed his stick at the running lad. A great warrior in the making, he thought with a grin. He squinted into the distance, noting the Gallic scouts sat atop their horses as they walked around the perimeter of the camp, making it look as if they were looking to stay here for the night, but all around him he saw the signs that the men were ready, the women too had strapped belts around their waists and cajoled their men to be ready to fight for their children. He smiled. The Senones were the greatest fighting men of the world, he said to himself. Surely no Roman army could defeat them. He looked up to see several small birds fluttering above the forest beyond the stream where the crossing was guarded by six burly men. The birds flittered in and out of the trees as he walked slowly across towards them. The guards saw his approach and stiffened, at which he nodded and continued to walk to shin height into the water. The cold gripped at his toes and he smiled at the feeling, letting his eyes close as he felt the water flow slowly past his feet. He let his head slip back and looked up at the sky, dark blue was breaking through the thin white clouds. It was early afternoon and he wondered if the Romans would arrive before nightfall.
Vae Victis Page 31