Vae Victis

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Vae Victis Page 35

by Francis Mulhern


  The Gauls ran manically, trying to beat each other to the Roman lines, as the velites picked their spears from the ground and ran forwards towards the oncoming tide of Gallic flesh. Marcus let a smile curl at his lips as he saw Brennus and Belinus point at the attacking velites, the surprise evident in their movements. He flicked a look to the edges of the Gallic lines and was pleased to see no movement from their cavalry forces. The velites launched their javelins in two quick bursts, several falling short of the enemy, but most hitting moving flesh as the warriors were felled like a forest of trees, the dust spouting into the air in tumbling torrents as the velites turned and fled. Marcus stretched his neck to see what the effect was and nodded in appreciation as the thousands of men running at them dodged their falling comrades but still ran forwards. He turned quickly to his right. “Now” he called as the trumpeter, eyes wide in anticipation and mouth piece already engaged, blew two deep bursts in succession. Marcus nodded to Narcius, his men in the front phalanx, and gripped the eagle which hung around his neck tightly as he watched the Gauls continue to run at his forces. Then the second wave of Gauls set-out, just as he had expected. He grinned the grin of a man who had been hanging on tenterhooks for hours and licked his lips again, taking the water pouch from his hip and taking a short drink as he watched the Roman lines step forward, a thousand men carrying two javelins each pulled back their arms and set their eyes on a target as the Gauls came within throwing range. The grunt of the Romans as they released their weapons was audible above the screaming of the charging Gauls, and Marcus breathed in the energy of the throw and arced his back as he watched the sky darken with the hail of spears.

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  “What is that?” yelled Brennus as the front rank of Romans shifted in the dust haze ahead of him. He stretched to see what was happening but couldn’t get a good look.

  “They have retreated?” Belinus asked, his eyes narrowed as he, too, squinted into the dust.

  “Spears” Belinus added with a hiss as he clenched his jaws and listened for the tell-tale sign that the weapons had hit home. Within a moment the screams rent the air, but he grinned at his brother and then at Aengus who was standing beside them, his hands and chest still covered in the gore from the sacrifice. All three stared into the distance before Brennus shouted a command and the war horn blared again. The ranks of Gauls began to trot, much more orderly than the first, mass, attack, towards the Romans.

  “Let’s see what’s happening” Brennus said as he nudged his horse forwards. “Sedulous” keep the reserves here” he called over his shoulder as the Gaul frowned back at his leader, clearly not happy about being left in charge of the reserves. The leaders trotted forwards, horses snorting into the dust filled landscape. The front ranks of Gauls were now only thirty yards from the Romans and Brennus watched as the sky darkened with more spears, these ones twisting as they raced into the sky and arced down on his men. Screams and yells split the noise and dust and the volume increased as another wave of dark spears arced into the sky.

  “What is this?” yelled Belinus as he watched hundreds of men fall to the spears, several tumbling into their fellow Gauls as they were impaled by the four-foot-long spears. Others picked up spears that had fallen short and were in the process of throwing them back at their attackers as the dust started to settle enough for the Gauls to see the Roman lines more clearly. Brennus clenched his jaw and pulled a little too tightly on his reins as he saw the Phalanx, the deep rows of men they had overcome so easily at the river, suddenly split and turn into a wall of shields just like their own.

  “Bastards” he grumbled as Belinus looked to him with surprise. “They have learned from us” he spat, his face hard as he turned to the right and shouted for the cavalry to move forwards on their right wing. “let’s see what this Camillus does now” he said with almost grudging respect as he turned back to the front and watched the leading edge of his men slam into the shield wall. Bodies tumbled into the sky as they were lifted, bodily, from their feet, several Gauls jumping to rise above the shields before being scythed down in a spray of red mist which was as thick as the dust upon which the dead bodies were falling. “Get the shields up there, quick” he called to no-one in particular as Belinus yelled the command and stared at his brother with a mad light burning in his eyes. Brennus knew that look and nodded, his hand outstretched as Belinus gripped it tightly, his horse starting to kick forwards.

  “Luck and Teutates go with you, brother” called Brennus as his brother and his escort of thirty men kicked off into the melee ahead of them. “Luck be with you brother” he whispered as the men disappeared into the dust.

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  Marcus saw the second wave of javelins hit the charging Gauls, many of the first attackers moving so quickly that they had dodged under the attack before it landed. Marcus made a mental note that the legionaries needed to aim their second throws better than their first as he saw many ragged throws from already turning men and felt his legs tense as his horse moved without him meaning to nudge it forwards, its reaction to his tension causing a moment of confusion to both horse and rider. “Whoa, boy” he said. “Not yet” he said calmly as the horse skittered slightly before composing itself.

  The Gauls were on the front Romans who were too slow to get back into the well-ordered Roman line. Narcius was calling the orders and his feathered helmet bobbed up and down as he twisted and turned it left and right to control the troops, his voice rising above the general din of the screaming attackers. Marcus watched the running Gauls as they battered into the newly created shield wall, the long spears of the phalanx pressing forwards through a myriad of gaps as the Gauls fell in their droves to the eight feet long shafts which were protected by the new rectangular shields the men used. The centre line began to buckle under the press of men as more and more Gallic warriors pressed into the shield wall, swords rising and falling as they hacked at the defences. Marcus called to the rear ranks to hold firm as several heads turned to look behind them, his horse now moving along the rear of the line as the noise level reached deafening proportions. The entourage of Roman leaders followed as Marcus nudged himself along to the left and watched as the Gauls came following behind the initial attack, the ground shaking under the movement of thousands of shield bearing warriors as they trotted towards the Roman line. A glance in both directions told him that Cossus on the right and Caedicius on the left were holding their ground and that Tubero, his phalanx furthest to the left, were under light attack, which was just as he had hoped. The Gauls were, so far, being predictable, and he stretched his mouth into a tight line as he exhaled and looked up at the second line of bare shouldered warriors who were now within a hundred yards of the main fighting lines. He nodded to himself as he moved back along the gap between his two ranks of men.

  “Hold them” he shouted as he moved along. “The gods are calling to us to reclaim our lands and defeat these barbarian murderers” he shouted as a cheer rose amongst the third and fourth lines of soldiers who were not yet engaged in the battle in front of him. From behind he heard Apuleius and his men cheering and urging their comrades on as the fight seemed to intensify at his words. The clang of metal on metal was interspersed with the dull thud of wood smashing into bone as the noise continued to escalate. Taking another drink Marcus shouted for the soldiers to drink, noticing hundreds of eyes look to him and then quickly sip from small pouches they carried in belts at their hips. The front file of Romans were now tiring, and Marcus noted that Narcius had stepped into the very front file, his sword glinting in the sun as it appeared and then disappeared into the press of bodies.

  A sudden shout to his right was followed by a cheer from the Gauls as the red streaked body of a Gallic warrior, his golden torc flashing as he appeared above the press of soldiers, crashed through the first two lines of Romans, his dark beard tied in the middle and his mad eyes staring straight at Marcus. Belinus roared his battle cry as two legionaries failed to hit him with their spears and he pushed furt
her into the Roman line followed by several of his personal bodyguards. Without thinking Marcus was off his horse and had unsheathed his sword, Manlius Capitolinus already pushing his way towards the breach in his lines as Marcus strode at the enormous Gaul.

  It took a heartbeat to grab a shield and move alongside the line of soldiers as Belinus roared again, his swirling sword taking the arm off a man in front of Marcus as he chopped down in a two-handed thrust which ended with the long sword clattering into the ground as Belinus raised his eyes and focussed on Marcus. To the Gauls right two bodyguards were hacking at legionaries and Manlius Capitolinus was pushing the Romans back into some sort of order as they struggled to close the gap through which a horde of Gauls were now pushing. Spears were thrust into the air, swords flashed and men died in a tumult of noise and blood.

  “You will die, Roman” Belinus screamed as his left hand clawed the helmet of a legionary and he pushed the smaller man to the side, his right hand already turning the sword upwards into an arc as his teeth clamped shut and his deep breath rang out in a low grunt. Marcus was in and under the attack before the Gaul had expelled his breath his anger clouding his judgement as he almost fell forwards in his desire to kill the Roman dictator. The force of the blow almost took the shield from Marcus’ arm as he twisted to release enough space to thrust his weapon at the attacker, but the force of the stumbling Gaul saved his life as the sword strike rattled along the side of a Roman shield which was barged into the way of his strike. Two quick steps created enough space to thrust again, Belinus already dragging himself into a position from which to get an attack at Marcus. Both men clashed their swords together in a half attack, half defensive, movement as one of the Gallic bodyguards yelled a dying curse at a legionary who had plunged his sword through the man’s, now open, belly. The noise caused Belinus to turn his gaze and Marcus thrust his helmet into the Gaul’s nose, ducking his head and thrusting his body forwards with enough force to see lights flashing across his vision as he pulled back from the attack. Belinus was stunned by the sudden movement and staggered backwards as an overarm attack was launched at Marcus by a blue-eyed Gaul, the red veins in the whites of his eyes staring at Marcus as he tried to shake his vision back to the coming attack. Managing to twist and parry he lunged his right shoulder across his body, the thick leather knocking the arm of the Gaul away as the two weapons rasped along their lengths. Flicking his elbow forwards Marcus was able to push the Gaul back as two legionaries attempted to spit the man with their weapons, both connecting with the Gallic warriors chest as his sword arm was caught by the shield of another Roman soldier. His scream sent flecks of spit into Marcus’ face and he blinked rapidly as he pushed his arm forwards towards Belinus’ body, the Gaul already recovering from the battering from Marcus’ helmet. His eyes were dark with anger as his left hand grabbed at a Roman spear which was thrust towards him, the bodies beginning to press together more tightly as each man tried to press their advantage. The Roman shield wall was closing behind the Gaul and Marcus noted that Manlius was almost wrestling with one of the bodyguards, both men twisting as they attempted to get a killing blow on their foe.

  Belinus reacted quickly to the next thrust, pushing the spear across his body to deflect the blow as he tried to get enough space to raise his long sword. The movement gave Marcus an extra second and he sliced his blade into a chopping action and felt the metal edge bash into the wood of the spear, as two of the enormous Gaul’s fingers jumped into the air and spiralled before falling into the press of bodies around them. Belinus roared with such fury that he caused several men to baulk and step back, suddenly giving enough space for his thick iron blade to rise above the melee of men and start to arc towards Marcus. Quick as a snake Marcus withdrew his blade and ducked, feeling the hilt of Belinus’ sword smash into his left shoulder as he lunged forwards. The pain in his shoulder shot through his left arm and caused him to scream as he lifted his head and pushed his body straight into the taller Gaul, a film of sweat running down the bigger man’s chest. Belinus grabbed at Marcus with his mangled left hand, the remaining fingers slipping as he attempted to pull his body towards him. But Marcus had already twisted and with a tightening grip on his short sword he thrust it up, feeling the edge bite into the attacking man’s stomach as it jerked before the thrust of his legs pushed Marcus up and the blade slid effortlessly through his skin and up into the chest cavity. Marcus heard his voice screaming as he lifted the body of Belinus into the air, his movement causing three of the bodyguards to fall backwards as the press of bodies swayed towards them. Each man stared in horror as the Gallic leaders’ eyes rose to the sky and he croaked a long breath as a flood of warm blood gushed along Marcus’ arm and onto his thigh, the heat of the sticky liquid causing Marcus to grit his teeth and push harder into the body of the Gaul.

  Belinus went limp almost as soon as Marcus felt the first thrust rise into his body, the weight of his enormous frame suddenly falling onto his sword arm as he lunged upwards with his thrust. A bodyguard groaned and paid for his sudden lack of movement with his life as a legionary took his momentary gaping at his dying leaders body and thrust his own sword deep into the man’s neck, his eyes rolling as his sword arm rose and fell and he, too, crashed to the floor, falling onto the body of Belinus with little more than a kick to the side as his life left his body. Marcus kicked out at the fallen Gaul and pushed his body off that of the Gallic chieftain.

  “There is our retribution” he screamed as the rest of the bodyguards were dealt with in a sudden flurry of movement. “Bring the body back” he snarled as he looked up and caught the blood-soaked face of Manlius watching him closely. Two legionaries grabbed the Gaul’s arms and began to drag him away as a great groan rose amongst the attacking Gauls and screams rose further along the line as more men learned of the death of Belinus.

  “Camillus” a Centurion yelled as he turned back into the fray and pushed his shoulders into the front line. “Camillus” he screamed again as the cry was taken up along the line. Marcus felt a sudden weariness come over him as he caught a gleam in Manlius’ eye which surprised him before he turned and stepped back towards the further ranks as the noise of the battle came back to him. As he approached his horse the shouts had changed to “For Rome” and he felt his breathing settling into the rhythm which followed exercise, his chest starting to rise and fall more slowly as he realised he was soaked through with Gallic blood. One of this retinue handed him a thick cloth as he nodded his thanks and started to dry as much of the blood from his arm and sword as he could before he climbed onto his horse and turned to survey the scene around him.

  The battle still ranged in front of him, the Gauls being held successfully by the Roman wall. Along the wall of shields the line was buckled in places, the Gauls moving in and out as they charged into the shields, retreated and charged again. Men flew at the wooden boards and fell in their thousands. If the Gauls had any sense, Marcus thought, they would realise that they were falling over piles of their own dead before they even reached the Roman wall, which was making it easier for the defenders to use their long spears to incapacitate the attackers. Tubero was being hard pressed now on the left as Marcus looked along, the reserve line already having moved some men forwards in support. The right was holding steady, with Cossus further to the right holding the cavalry at bay. Sergius Cox was hammering at a shield bearing Gaul in the front row of the line and Marcus watched as he saw an almost naked Gaul, his long hair matted in white clay, leap above the heads of his fellows and slam his sword across the shoulder of the Roman patrician, his yell unheard amidst the general clamour around Marcus. The Roman was dragged back by a man with three feathers in his helmet, the Gaul already spitted on two spears as he fell, grinning, to his death. Almost immediately the Gauls surged forwards again, the row of shield bearers now thrusting themselves into the Roman line.

  Marcus shouted orders, which the trumpeter seemed not to understand, but with a turn of his head he quickly blew three notes on the brass instr
ument and Apuleius lifted his sword and called for three ranks of the line he commanded to charge forward to support the forward line. The arrival of the new men had the desired effect, the Gauls already being pushed back as the Roman short blades dented their advance almost as quickly as it had started.

  Glancing around Marcus counted the troops as quickly as he could. The Roman line was spread over a quarter mile or more, three men deep with a further three or four men in the rows behind. In various locations the line was thinner where they had taken heavier casualties, but nevertheless they were holding. At a guess he had lost a few hundred men. The Gauls, though, were thinned out across the battlefield, with more men fallen or limping back towards the reserves than were visible through the dust and chaos. Glancing to the sky he thanked Fortuna and took several deep lung-fulls of air as he allowed his mind to relax and sought out the Gallic leader at the back of the attack. Brennus sat atop his horse and was waving his arms at several of the chiefs who were clearly questioning his orders. The Gallic war lord held up his war hammer, which had just been given to him by the druid and shouted something before jumping from his horse. The knot of men seemed lost in their own indecision and Marcus looked quickly to left and right before making up his mind. Now was the time to turn defence into attack.

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  Chapter 28

 

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