Vae Victis

by Francis Mulhern

  Brennus stared at the feather with wide eyes, his mouth half open as his cousin looked at him and let a curl come to his lips.

  ************

  “Sir” came the scout’s sharp salute. Marcus nodded. “The Gauls have moved their camp” came the quick words as the scout now settled into his report. “The main body of the army is now aligned along the river, with the ford at their back, the cavalry are in a group on their left flank with half that number on their right” he handed over a dirty wax tablet from which Marcus pulled the cord and opened it to stare at the changed positions. The scout waited a moment before Marcus looked up at him. “The tents and camp fires have been removed and several dozen wagons have been taken across the ford to the rear.”

  Marcus frowned as he stared at the scrawled picture and pursed his lips. He fingered the wooden eagle as he stared at the picture. “Have they set defensive structures?”

  “None, sir” came the stout reply. “I have left instructions to return with an update every fifteen minutes, sir” the man said, clearly pleased with this order.

  Marcus looked up at him. “Very good” he said with genuine pleasure as he looked at the young features of the fellow stood in front of him. “What’s your name soldier” he asked. Scouts tended to be from either the lower patrician families, who could afford a horse for their sons but not much else, or from the richer patrician clans who sent their youngest sons out to do the simpler jobs in the army as a way of elevating their careers. Marcus noted the man didn’t wear the gold band of a patrician, though he also knew that all of the men who had held on the Capitol had given up their rings to pay the ransom demanded by the Gauls.

  “Gaius Licinius Gracchus” the man saluted.

  A plebeian then, Marcus thought, but a good solid family with land along the Tiber. He nodded.

  “Well Gracchus” he said appreciatively “you have done well.” He closed the tablet and took a new one from a leather pouch which was strewn across the back of his horse. “Bring me any more news as soon as it happens” he said with a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

  Gracchus saluted, his face beaming as he turned and walked back towards the horse he had arrived on. Marcus looked to his officers, all standing grim-faced. “It seems you were right Manlius” Marcus said, instantly remembering that he was not using the man’s new cognomen. “My apologies, Capitolinus” he said quickly. Manlius nodded.

  The officers had set up a campaign tent at the head of the army, the rear soldiers still a half an hour march from the position they held. Marcus jumped from his horse and laid out the tablet on a low table and allowed the men to gather around and inspect it, two or three already espousing theories with regard to how to re-address the coming battle. Marcus smiled as he listened, bending to the box on the floor and picking out a small candle, which he fingered the wick and placed it on the table before bending and picking up two small silver dishes which would hold the oils and sacred sacrificial blood with which he would invoke the gods to oversee their decisions. Manlius watched closely how the movements brought instant silence to the men, some flushing as they had raced to impress the Dictator with their ideas without taking heed of the correct procedures for any war council. Manlius grinned. Javenoli had been explicit about watching the reactions of the men and learning from them. Camillus, he had said, was extremely clever at maintaining the aura of leadership, something he had told Manlius he must learn if their plans were to come to fruition.

  Marcus said the prayers, pulling his white head cover from his head as he finished and turning his attention back to the men. “So, what were you saying?” he asked, Manlius stifling a grin as several men shuffled at the words, unsure if they should speak first or await some other officer to blunder into the great man’s strategic trap.

  After fifteen minutes a trumpet called and the officers stood, turning and saluting as they headed for their units. The plan was set, each officer clear on his part and Manlius pleased he had been granted a location in the centre with his own men. He wondered why Camillus had insisted his men take the prime spot in the central line, but it was as good as he could have wished for so he nodded assent and received the pats on the back from other officers with a humourless smile.

  Marcus mounted his horse and set out with a retinue of fifty riders to see the new positions of the Gauls himself. The ride took less time than he expected, and the Gauls had set no scouts to watch them as they arrived into the large open space where the road crossed to the ford. The land rose very slightly, where the Gauls had originally been camped but, as Gracchus, who was now by the side of the arriving officers, had said the Gauls had ranged further along the river. Marcus spent a few moments in silence as he watched the Gallic army, now forming into a series of groups, no doubt their tribal clans. On the right were blue clad men with long spears and thick rectangular shields, the colour starkly contrasting to the dark green and brown of their surroundings. These men were flanked by a knot of horsemen who were standing by their mounts as he watched.

  The centre line was not yet arrayed and was a jumble of colour and movement, but Marcus could make out a number of bare-chested giants who were clearly foaming at the mouth to charge into the Roman army. The left flank was, likewise, not yet arranged into a formation.

  “Numbers?” Marcus said without looking away from the scene in front of him.

  “Twenty-six thousand or more” came the scout’s response. “About fifteen in the central area, five to each flank. Another thousand in cavalry” finished the man as he looked to Gracchus with a nod.

  Marcus considered the odds. His force had grown to approximately twelve thousand as some of the local cities had rallied to the Romans. Half were trained men who understood the fighting style he had employed successfully with his eagles; the rest were traditional soldiers who were used to fighting in a phalanx. His eyes tightened as he watched the Gauls and tried to work through his plan; did it need to change? The Gauls had changed the line of attack, but not the length of their battle line or its composition. His view ranged from the right to the left and back again. The Gallic forces were lining up for a major battle, their standards starting to unfurl as their blaring trumpets started to call them into some form of order. Looking over his shoulder Marcus noted that his troops would need another half hour to be in place. A worried look came over his face as he considered the options. There was nothing for it, he needed to buy himself some time. Without it, and if the Gauls were smart enough, a single charge with that many men would decimate his Roman troops as they had not yet formed into their battle groups.

  “Centurion” Marcus said as he turned back to the line of soldiers behind him. “Bring the sign of peace and get me several good men. I need to talk to their leader” he said as a few of the officers stared at him in surprise.

  Manlius looked at the disarray in the Gallic lines and tightened his jaw. As other officers stared at the back of Marcus’ head Manlius ventured forwards.

  “Camillus” he said, his voice measured. He glanced to a few of the officers he had been chatting to on the march to the present location and narrowed his eyes. “Why talk to them? Let our spears do the talking” he stated as Marcus looked at him shrewdly. “See” he pointed “they are not yet in position. A charge at the right centre would remove half of their number in a single attack. The horse could take the right flank at the same time to immobilise their cavalry and we would have a victory.” As he finished, he felt several men move closer to look at the scene he was portraying. One or two eager men were nodding agreement as Marcus turned back to the front and remained silent as he perused the movement of the Gauls.

  “Sir?” Manlius half-growled, annoyed at the fact that Marcus had ignored his comment for over a minute.

  Marcus looked back over his shoulder at Manlius. “I thought you had more to say, Capitolinus” he said quietly. “What will we do to support the men who charge into the right centre when the left centre engulfs them, closing like a door on their rear? Our support
is still fifteen minutes behind us” he said with a look down the road at the dust cloud which was still approaching. “How will we take the head of the beast which sits beyond the centre with their best troops and thick shield wall? See, they have already set that formation in place beyond the front line. They are not as stupid as they may seem” he added with a nod towards the front.

  Manlius squinted, noting the thick coloured wall of shields which was already set in a tight knot around the leaders. He hadn’t seen it and clenched his teeth tightly.

  “And the cavalry” Marcus continued in a quiet, calm, voice. “They have already spread the line to a hundred paces. Do we attack the right edge or the left? The left will be supported by a wall of spears. The right is close to those trees, the approach would be slow and have to be within a ten-yard space.” Manlius felt his chest starting to tighten as the Dictator continued to criticise his plan. “The bulk of their horse is on the left there” pointed Marcus. “They would support the right flank within” he pushed his bottom lip out and moved his head slowly from shoulder to shoulder “three minutes” he said, finally. “Our support, if it were in position, would take maybe ten minutes to arrive.”

  Manlius grumbled an acknowledgement and felt the other officers already starting to move back from him.

  Marcus turned to look at Manlius and smiled. “I appreciate your thoughts” he said with a modicum of sincerity. “But on today’s field I will decline to accept them.” Manlius nodded coldly and sat stiffly on his horse as he bit his lip and stared directly ahead.

  “My plan” Marcus now added more loudly “is to buy us a half hour. If the Gauls attack now we will lose” he said quickly. “We must get the legions into the positions we agreed as swiftly as we can and get them all to eat and drink as much as they are able before we make any move. Dig the defensive ditches for the reserve line. This could be a lengthy battle” he said, his voice trailing away as the Centurion appeared with the bodyguard and the shield wrapped in a white cloth. Marcus nodded and the man set off into the space between the two armies with one of the guards, the others waiting for Marcus to give them orders.

  “Who wishes to join me in speaking to our Gallic foes?” Marcus said jovially, his change of spirits catching all the men around him by surprise.

  ************

  “Sir?” the bedraggled man spoke as he held out both hands and widened his eyes expectantly. His dirt encrusted fingers were almost black with grime and his rough unwashed beard hung off his face as if it didn’t belong on his chin. Javenoli screwed his nose at the smell of the beggar before he unwillingly took a chunk from the bread he was eating and tossed it at the man. The dust swirled as the beggar’s eyes turned to total glee and his thin-ribbed form scrabbled in the dirt to pick up the bread and stuff it into his mouth.

  “Castus” called Javenoli admonishingly. “Can’t you keep these rabble away from me?” His voice was etched with enough anger to set his new bodyguard into bashing several other disgusting, often half-limbed, men who had seen the hand-out and were now heading across as fast as their starved frames would allow. Castus grinned, his yellow teeth splitting a thin, dark, beard and his dark brown eyes darting around the people who were milling around in front of Javenoli’s small group. Castus was a brute of man, clearly an ex-soldier but also with the tanned face and hard hands of a farmer. His lack of compassion had been instantly seen by Javenoli and he had hired the begging man on the spot when he had first met him at a crossroads by the old temple of the vestals.

  “How in the name of the gods did they manage to hide out in the city all this time?” Javenoli asked his companions as they moved steadily through the Forum towards the Comitia. Heads shook and voices grumbled but nobody seemed able to voice an answer. Since the day Camillus had arrived hundreds of men and women, many ex-slaves, had appeared from the underground caverns and rubble strewn streets to descend like a plague of locusts on the city. The Senate had reconvened meetings every day to discuss what would happen should the army be victorious or lose against the Gauls, but the reality was that they were beset with small groups of rabble-rousing ex-slaves who had already killed two of the wealthier plebeians who had spent their time on the Capitol. One man had been caught and was hung upside down in the Forum whilst Javenoli had slit his guts and watched as the man screamed for over twenty minutes before the noise had stopped.

  It had been easy to hire three burly guards, of which Castus was the lead, from the men who had appeared from the woods surrounding Rome. At least these men weren’t starving and were prepared to fall into the old ways of patronage and payment. Javenoli was returning from a meeting with one of the new leaders of the hastily assembled Consilium Plebis, the plebeian council, which he had helped to set up again in the name of Capitolinus. His support was a pound of bronze and the promise of patronage to some of the larger families who were already finding that their land was ravaged by the Gauls and would take them years to revive. Javenoli was wise enough to know that in the coming months and year’s agriculture was going to be vital to Rome’s re-development and a string of good farms under his belt would be worth their weight in gold. He smiled at the thought of the ‘weight in gold’, thinking how clever the Gauls had been to try to fix the scales on which the Romans were weighing their gold. He also smiled at the thought that he was probably the richest man in Rome at the moment, his land deeds and bronze and gold would have to be used wisely if he were to promote the cause of Capitolinus, and himself.

  A cry went out as Castus struck another beggar with the thick stick he carried. Javenoli clenched his jaw and wondered how long it would take the Senate to ratify his position as Pontifex Maximus. With that role behind him he could manipulate all manner of religious ceremonies and change the course of Rome towards whatever ends he desired. He grinned to himself as he walked past the curled-up frame of another victim of Castus’ stick. One sticking point to his plans was the return of the priests from Caere. They were sure to have re-grouped and a leader was also sure to have been voted whilst they were away. Something would have to be done about that.

  “Stand back” Castus yelled as he raised his stick again as three men blocked their path.

  “Hold” Javenoli called, his eyes noting a familiar face in amongst the men blocking them. Castus cast a look of disappointment back to his boss and let the stick fall to his side. The figure standing in front of Castus glared at the giant of a man with a sense of arrogance that came from patrician breeding, but this man was clearly down on his luck if his sad facial features were anything to judge him by. He turned his face towards Javenoli and a small curl of his lips suggested he was pleased to see the old Senator.

  Javenoli beckoned him forwards and noted that he was healthy and suffered none of the ravages that the majority of the people of Rome seemed to suffer. He moved to place a hand on the man’s shoulder before thinking better of it and letting his hand fall to his side before speaking. “Well, well” he said with a wry smile as he looked into the face of the new arrival. “Valerius Potitus Publicola?” Javenoli said, more a question than a statement. The man nodded and his eyes looked warily to the men surrounding Javenoli as they also eyed him cautiously. “How is your father?” Javenoli said, knowing that the Publicola family had lands in Tusculum and also further afield and that his home on the Capitol was almost untouched as it had been beyond the reach of the Gauls.

  Publicola stiffened as he replied. “I’m sad to say he declined in health and fell to illness only a few weeks ago.” He stepped in beside the old Senator, noting the reluctance of the man he replaced to give up his prized position by his side. Castus set off again, his voice and stick creating space for the men to walk un-impeded.

  “I’m sorry to hear that” Javenoli said warmly. “I must tell you how we faced the Volscans and how your father defeated a giant of man in single combat” Javenoli continued with a faraway edge to his voice. “A great man” he shook his head and grimaced before sighing deeply. “I will miss him” he said
before turning his head sharply to Publicola. “And you inherited the farm and the house on the Capitoline Hill” he stated with a flick of his eyes up to his left where the Hill could be seen rising slowly above them as they started the turn across the Forum to the Comitia. He remembered that Publicola’s father had a debt to him and wondered if he should ask for it now or later before shrugging it off as incidental.

  “I came as soon as I could” Publicola replied. “My men have gone to the house to check its contents and to keep it safe from looters” he said. “I missed the march against the Gauls as I only arrived today” he added with a sombre tone.

  “No problem, my boy” Javenoli said, his quick thinking already running through how useful an old Patrician family with a new family head could be to him and Manlius. “We need good men in Rome to help make decisions and to turn this rabble into working citizens” he said amiably as Castus’ stick cracked into another skull.

  The group walked in silence until they came to the Comitia where the Senate would meet. Javenoli invited Publicola to meet with him at his house that evening, stating that he had already started the process of re-building his own home. As the men clasped hands and Publicola set off across the Forum with his two men in tow Javenoli smiled to himself. With Publicola on his side he would gain the influence of the other older men from the Capitol who were all related in some way or other. His father was also a patron of the Manlii clan in the old days, so Capitolinus would be welcomed by the man. He smiled, the gods were also smiling on him and he turned to Castus with a grin as the bodyguard moved aside to allow him to enter the Comitia. The signs were good, and the gods would receive more sacrifices before nightfall to seal their bargains.