When the beast finally came into range of the Dacian gatehouse and walls, the first of the Dacian arrows began to zip across the divide and from the Roman tower, an answering barrage of arrows and heavy scorpion bolts began to pummel the defenders. Hastily decoupling the oxen, the siege tower lurched to an abrupt, swaying halt as the teams of auxiliaries hastily worked to fix the tower into position and lead the animals to the rear. Guarding the tower on the ground, the testudo formations too came to a halt and settled, crouching along the access track like squat, armoured beetles, as over their heads the archery duel and barrage of zipping and whining arrows and missiles intensified.
Along the earthen embankment, Fergus could see his men watching the growing aerial battle. The company had been assigned to guard the Roman siege works and they would not be the first into the fortress. That honour had been given to a cohort from the vexillation of the Seventh Gemina Legion, whose men now crouched in two assault columns directly behind the Roman fortifications. The Spaniards from the Seventh would have the best chance of capturing or killing Bicilis and claiming the five hundred denarii reward, Fergus thought sourly. Five hundred denarii. He licked his lips as over his head another barrage of incendiary missiles went arching towards the Dacian fort. It was a huge sum of money, nearly two year’s wages for a common legionary and it had certainly motivated him and the men.
In the gap between the Roman fortifications, the first of the assault parties began to move forwards. The legionaries were holding up large wooden-screens lined in places with iron plates and animal hides. Behind them came a long line of men carrying bundles of wooden-logs and tree-trunks tied together with ropes. Up the track leading to the gorge and the Dacian gates, the Dacians were trying to set the siege tower on fire with oil-soaked rags tied to arrows, but they were having no luck. The vinegar-soaked, uncured animal hides and iron plates protected the wooden tower and it would not catch fire. And as every burning Dacian arrow struck the beast, it was quickly extinguished by slaves who had accompanied the Syrian archers. Eagerly Fergus watched as the assault parties stormed past the tower and the testudo formations and made it to the edge of the gorge, barely thirty feet from the gates. Their light screens however were not a perfect cover and here and there an arrow found its target. And as the assault parties maintained their tenuous position, their comrades hastened forwards with their bundles of logs. Suddenly the Dacian missile barrage seemed to switch to the men racing along the track and a murderous hail of missiles hammered into them, sending men tumbling, shrieking and collapsing to the ground and their wooden-cargoes crashing onto the track. But the Roman assault continued and more men came charging up the track and slowly the gorge began to be filled with wood and logs.
It was noon when the men covering the soldiers beside the gorge slowly began to withdraw, their wooden-screens peppered with arrows and the track around them strewn with corpses, abandoned weapons and blood. From his vantage point Fergus could see that they had done their job and that the gorge was packed with debris. In the Dacian fort a column of black smoke was rising into the sky. And as the Romans slowly withdrew, another party of men moved forwards under the cover of more screens. This group was lugging a twelve-feet long makeshift bridge, made of several layers of tree trunks lashed together. As they approached the gorge, a few brave men covering themselves with shields, clambered across the debris-packed gorge and managed to help slide the new bridge across the ravine, resting it on the wood and logs that filled the gorge. Then they too hastily beat a retreat under a hail of arrows and spears. Fascinated, Fergus stared at the determined, orderly and methodical Roman assault. He had never seen anything like this before. Over his head the whirring projectiles from the Roman artillery went crashing into the Dacian fort with monotonous regularity and from the siege tower, a continuous barrage of arrows and bolts whined into the Dacian ramparts above and beside the gates. Then from the gap between the siege fortifications, a strange shed on wooden-wheels, twenty feet long, with a high, triangular-shaped roof, which was reinforced with animal hides, began to roll towards the gates of the fortress. Open at the front and rear, Fergus caught sight of a massive wooden tree-trunk sticking out of the front like a tortoise’s head. But instead of a tortoise the end of the tree trunk was covered by a solid iron battering ram in the shape of a ram’s head.
Slowly the battering ram advanced towards the gates and as it did, the five hundred men from the cohort of the 7th Legion began slowly moving up behind it in testudo formation, as they readied themselves to storm the fort. Across the makeshift bridge the battering ram trundled, until it was nearly at the gates and, as it rolled forwards, the Dacian barrage of arrows and spears seemed to grow more desperate and despairing as if everything they had was being flung at the battering ram. Fergus rose to his feet to get a better view as the battering ram came to a halt. The high triangular-shaped roof was protecting the men inside the shed who had to operate the ram. Slowly the head of the tortoise pulled back into the shed, suspended and hanging freely in the air on cables lashing it to another beam above it and then, with a dreadful, inevitable, silent swinging-motion the head of the ram came shooting out of the shed and with a “dull boom” it smashed into the centre of the gates. And as it did, a great cheering roar rose from the Roman lines. Once more the ram’s head disappeared into the shed and then with irresistible force it came swinging out again and crashed into the gates, sending a dull booming sound echoing away across the valley. It would not be long now Fergus thought, for nothing could stand up to the door knocker once it was in position. Then just as the ram struck the gates for a third time, a Dacian came leaping over the top of the gate-house and landed spectacularly on top of the triangular roof. Fergus’s mouth opened in disbelief as he caught sight of the burning torches in the man’s hand. The Romans in the shed could not see the man but it was already too late. With desperate valour, the Dacian clung to the roof of the battering ram as he tried to set fire to the vehicle with his burning torches. Around him Roman arrows started to thud into the roof but the Dacian was not hit and Fergus groaned as he suddenly caught sight of smoke beginning to rise from the Roman war-machine. Then just as the first flames began to leap up into the air, the Dacian was struck by two arrows that sent him spinning off the roof and onto the ground. But the damage had been done and as Fergus looked on in horror, the roof of the battering ram became engulfed in flames and smoke. Once more the ram head battered into the gates. Then the flames and smoke became too much for the men inside to bear and they abandoned the war machine and fled back across the bridge, towards their own lines. Fergus raised his hand to his chin as from the Dacian fortress a great victorious roar rose.
“Well that’s fucked things up,” a legionary beside Fergus growled in disappointment.
Fergus gazed in silence at the scene as the flames engulfed the whole battering ram, turning it into a blazing inferno and as the smoke began to drift towards him he sighed. It would take days to build another ram. Then just as he thought things could not get worse, through a gap in the billowing smoke he saw the Dacian gates open and a party of men, armed with Roman legionary shields came storming out and up to the wooden bridge. And before the Romans could react, the men had flung burning torches down at the wooden debris that supported the bridge. The thick billowing smoke covered their retreat into the fort and as the Dacians fled back inside, Fergus groaned as he saw that the timber debris too had caught fire.
***
It was night and in the sky the bright full-moon cast its light across the devastation and debris that littered the access track to the gates of the Dacian fortress. The Roman attack had failed and in the pale-moonlight the burned and collapsed remains of the battering ram, bridge and wooden-bundles in the gorge, had been reduced to a smoking, blackened, useless ruin. And across the track that led to the gates of the fortress, birds and other nocturnal scavengers were silently feasting on the corpses of the dead.
Fergus clutching his wooden staff in both hands was checking
up on the sentries posted along the earthen, siege fortifications that faced the fortress. The senior officers fearing, a Dacian attack on the siege works had reinforced the embankment with two full companies. Strictly speaking, checking on the sentries was the company Tesserarius’s job but tonight Fergus wanted to do it himself. He couldn’t sleep and the incident with the snake in his tent had put him on edge and reminded him that his enemies were inside as well as outside the Roman camp. Could Vittius had placed the snake there as a warning or was this Fronto’s work? Wearily Fergus trudged on along the embankment. He hated snakes and Vittius knew that, but somehow, he couldn’t believe that Vittius would do such a thing despite what the man had said. No one had noticed anyone going into his tent and without a witness there was precious little that he could do, but the episode had unsettled him. So, the previous night he’d spent away from his tent and out in the open but that couldn’t last. No, he would have to do something about this situation, but what?
As he passed the tall, dark siege-tower he gazed up at the beast. The tower was peppered with arrows but intact. Once the attack had failed the officers had brought the beast back into the protective embrace of the fortifications. Further back and drawn up in a long, silent menacing row, the onagers and ballistae, catapults faced off in the direction of the enemy. Amongst the big war machines the artillerymen were clustered around their small camp-fires.
Fergus had just checked on the last of his sentry posts when, from the darkness, a band of silent, running-men appeared, storming up the embankment. Stunned and taken completely by surprise, Fergus halted in his tracks. A split moment later the night sky was lit up by a volley of burning arrows that arched straight towards the beast, hammering into its wooden sides. From the Roman embankment, the startled cries and shouts of alarm rent the night. Close by, the party of attackers who had come out of the darkness had swiftly killed the sentries on the embankment and were already racing towards the line of Roman artillery pieces. We’re under attack Fergus suddenly realised in horror. With a surge of energy, he turned and yelled at the men of the 2nd company who were still clustered around their camp fires. Close by in the gloom, a figure came storming over the side of the embankment and without thinking, Fergus swung his wooden staff straight into the man’s face, knocking him off his feet and onto his back. Dropping his staff, Fergus drew his gladius and before the man could rise he had stabbed him in the chest. Then with a cry he set off at a run towards the beast where numerous arrows, fitted with burning-rags had got stuck in the wood.
“Protect the siege machines,” he roared into the darkness. “They are after the siege tower and our artillery!”
Around him the night was alive with confused yells and shouts and everything seemed to have been thrown into chaos. As he neared the beast he could see that the arrows were already beginning to spread their fire damage. An artilleryman and two Syrian auxiliary archers were already there trying to douse the flames. As Fergus came racing towards them they turned in fright, stumbling backwards as they fumbled for their weapons.
But there was no time to reassure the men. Two Dacians suddenly appeared out of the darkness charging at the beast with desperate valour. The men were clutching spears onto which they had fastened burning, oil-soaked rags and as they appeared, to Fergus’s horror, they flung their burning spears at the wooden tower. With an angry roar, Fergus ran at the men. The first Dacian didn’t see him coming until it was too late and Fergus stabbed him in his exposed chest. The second man wheeled round in fright and lashed at Fergus with his falx, but in the darkness his aim was poor and as he jabbed at Fergus again, one of Syrian archers rushed at the Dacian and stabbed him in the neck with his knife. The man collapsed to the ground with a horrible, gurgling noise. Fergus leapt towards the tower and with a grunt, he pulled the spears out of the wood and flung them onto the ground.
“Get up onto the higher platforms and put out those fires,” he roared at the artilleryman and the two Syrian archers. “What do you use to put out those flames?” Fergus added gasping for breath.
“We use sand, we have buckets, Sir,” one of the Syrians replied hastily, in his thick oriental accent.
“Good. Do it. Hurry,” Fergus cried as he turned around to stare into the darkness and slowly backed himself up against the beast.
In the darkness, the sound of shouting and screams filled the night but as Fergus stared anxiously into the darkness no more attackers appeared. Then, as the noise swiftly started to diminish, he heard the rattle and clink of armour from close by and a few moments later Lucullus and a dozen heavily-armed legionaries appeared, hastily and protectively swarming around the tall siege tower.
“It’s all right Fergus,” the centurion cried out as he caught sight of Fergus. “I think we got most of them and the rest seem to have fled back to their fortress. It was only a small raiding party.”
“They were after the siege machines,” Fergus growled. “They were trying to destroy them.”
“I know, I know,” Lucullus muttered as he turned to look up at the beast where the Syrians were about to extinguish the last of the burning arrows. “Shit Fergus, did you just save the beast all by yourself?”
“I had help,” Fergus gestured at the three men up in the tower.
Lucullus grunted in approval and then he turned, and with uncharacteristic elation the centurion punched him on the shoulder.
“That was well done,” Lucullus exclaimed.
“We were beaten today,” Fergus replied. “The Dacian’s are laughing at us. This was the least that we could do.”
“Nonsense,” Lucullus replied stoutly, “Today was a setback that’s all but it won’t stop us. Tomorrow the artillery will resume pounding the enemy and the day after tomorrow, we shall repeat the same assault all over again and this time those gates will fall. The Engineers are already at work constructing a new battering ram. The Dacian’s inside that fort have only days left to live.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Comrades in Arms
From the Dacian fortress the shouting and yelling was growing in intensity and desperation. It was morning and through the clear blue summer sky the Roman projectiles came hurtling and whining into the Dacian fortress, landing with loud explosive crashes and cracks. Fergus and the men from the 2nd company crouched in a long single file along the access track leading to the fortress gates, as they awaited the signal to storm the Dacian stronghold. Their shields were resting against their bodies and the men’s armour glinted coldly in the sunlight. Ahead of him Fergus could see the Roman battering ram and as he stared at the massive war machine, the solid-iron ram’s head came swinging out of its protective shed and smashed into the Dacian gates. The dull booming crack echoed away across the valley. The triangular roof of the battering ram had been covered in legionary shields and behind the monster, a squad of Syrian archers were covering the roof with their bows. Not long now Fergus thought, as he caught a glimpse of the badly damaged gates. At the head of the Roman assault column Fergus could see Lucullus’s red-plumed helmet and the company standard, raised proudly into the air for all to see. On the other side of the track another column of legionaries from a different company were down on one knee, their shields protecting their bodies as they too waited for the order to advance. Over his head another barrage of Roman projectiles went arching towards the Dacian defences and from the tall siege tower, an unrelenting hail of arrows and heavy-bolts pummelled the remaining defenders along the walls. It had taken the battle group only two days to recover from the failure of the first assault. With remorseless determination, the engineers and auxiliaries had once more filled in the gorge and placed a bridge across the gap and now the newly constructed battering ram was about to bring down the Dacian gates.
“Company, prepare!” Lucullus’s loud shouting voice rose above the whine of the artillery missiles and the shouts and yells of the defenders.
Fergus tensed and tightened his grip on his spear. The palms of his hands were sweaty and his chest was heaving. O
nce more the heavy metal battering-ram came swinging out of its shed and as it struck the gates the ram’s head kept going and with a splintering crack the mighty gates burst open and collapsed, torn clean from their hinges. The way was open.
“Up, up, company follow me,” Lucullus’s loud voice was the first to respond. And at the very front of the assault column, Fergus saw the centurion rise and go charging forwards towards the shattered gateway. Behind Lucullus the legionaries raised a triumphant roar, rose, clutching their shields and spear, and went charging after their centurion and company banner. An arrow thudded into the ground narrowly missing the man in front of Fergus. Raising his shield, Fergus ran forwards. In the shattered, debris-strewn gateway Lucullus’s red plumed helmet had vanished from view. The desperate Dacian defenders had formed a line to stop the Romans from getting into the fortress, but in the close confines of the gatehouse the more heavily-armoured Romans with their big shields and short stabbing swords had the advantage. As Fergus stormed past the battering ram he saw that the Roman assault had already punched straight through the Dacian defenders, scattering them into small groups, as behind them more and more legionaries poured into the fortress. Then he was through the gatehouse and into the fortress. Fergus was met by a scene from hell. Corpses lay scattered across the ground and some buildings were on fire, belching out thick, black smoke. Wounded men, lying on the ground in pools of blood were screaming in agony but neither side seemed in the mood for mercy. Two yelling Dacian’s, their faces contorted in rage, came charging towards Fergus clutching spears and intent on impaling him against the fortress walls. With a savage roar, Fergus flung his spear at one of the men, striking him full in the chest and sending him staggering backwards. The other Dacian’s spear slid off Fergus shield and as the man’s momentum took him past Fergus, Fergus punched him in his neck with his right hand. Close by, a wounded man was trying to crawl across the bloodstained ground towards where someone had hacked off his arm. On the ramparts above him some Dacian defenders were still at their posts and as he caught sight of them, one of the Dacian’s raised his arm to fling a spear down at the Romans surging into the fortress. With a warning yell, Fergus thrust a legionary out of the path and the Dacian’s spear thudded harmlessly into the ground. Then a Dacian warrior came at Fergus and the man’s axe thudded into Fergus’s shield, sending a painful tremor jolting up his arm. With an angry cry, Fergus threw the man backwards with his shield and stabbed at him but missed. Around him the shrieks, screams and yelling of desperate fighting men filled the fortress, but the numbers of Roman legionaries now pouring through the gates was unstoppable. Slowly the Dacian defenders were being driven backwards towards the stairs that had been cut into the rock, and which led to the upper level of the fort.
The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 26