The Fall of Veii- Part 2 Page 7
“What do you think?” Manlius asked quietly as the two men walked slowly through the crowds, the market stalls crammed with colourful vegetables, flowers and exotic herbs, the smell sweet in the air.
“Apuleius is whipping up a storm” came the cold response from his right as Gatto tightened his lips and stared ahead. “Like as not he will come to a sticky end if he pushes too hard” he added in a matter-of-fact tone which brought a short laugh to Manlius’ lips.
“Maybe” came the reply. “I wander if the Senate are truly concerned about his words” he added slowly as he looked to Gatto with wide eyes.
“Javenoli has not mentioned him.”
“Maybe they think his cause is too weak?”
Gatto’s face creased as he considered the thought. “No. I think they have bigger things to deal with than a few men in the forum going over old ground.”
Manlius thought about this for a few moments as they walked past the old stone lion, Gatto instinctively rubbing its paw as he passed by. “I think it is time I met with Apuleius, my friend” he said with a wicked smile which raised Gatto’s eyebrows. “Yes, I think we might have some common ground to explore” he added as he winked at Gatto, who shook his head as the two men carried on into the dim streets of Rome.
****
“Scipio” said Priscus, his eyes roving the tent as he looked up into the faces of his senior officers. Finding him he smiled. “How is the lake today?” he asked.
“No change, sir. Seems like the water has stopped rising” he smiled in response.
“Good, good” came the reply as Priscus gripped a report and stretched his neck to see if all of his officers had arrived.
“As you know” he started, standing and looking at the report in his hand “Camillus has taken Faleria and has marched on Capena. A job well done” he stated as men nodded and agreed with him. “I suspect that the Veientines will soon know about this and try to send an envoy back to support the city.” He looked at the tired faces of the men. “I know it’s difficult and the men are in sour moods, but we must double the guard each night and block any attempt the enemy make to escape the city.” He continued, ignoring the grumbles that came from the plebeian officers in his ranks; “The success of our siege includes neutralising support attacks from Faleria and Capena. With Camillus’s force stopping that flow the men will have an easier winter. Think on it gentlemen as you detail your sentries.” He looked at the tired faces of two of his more senior officers, their hollow eyes showing the hardships they had endured in three years of constant watch over Veii. “Remind your men that the gods favour the people of Rome and that we will destroy Veii” he said, the belief not quite ringing in his words as he wished them to do. “To your duties gentlemen” he said as he sat back in his chair and a series of salutes went around the tent before the men shuffled out.
As the silence fell Priscus looked up to see Scipio standing in front of the table, his hands behind his back and his stare fixed somewhere above his commander’s position.
Laughing Priscus sat back and looked at his junior officer. “What is it Cornelius?” he said warmly as Scipio motioned to the chair and moved to sit on it at Priscus’ nod.
“I’ve never seen the men so disillusioned” he started. “Yes they do their drills, dig ditches and mend the defences, but...” he shook his head and looking warily at Priscus “there is danger in them” he said guardedly. Priscus looked up at these words, a question forming on his face as Scipio nodded and took a deep breath.
“There is talk of another ill omen” he added with a heavy sigh. “It seems that the men have seen a wolf entering the camp at night, some say it’s a large black beast, others pure white, so I hold no heed to the story. But it’s gone around the camp like wildfire and everyone is convinced of some impending disaster to come” he finished shaking his head.
“Idle hands and idle minds” came the reply as Priscus gritted his teeth. “Gods I wish this war was over” he said, stooping to pick up a jar from a small table behind him and grasping two of the small cups in front of him.
“We need a good fight to sort this scaremongering” he said as he filled the cups.
“Maybe we will get one now if the Capenates try and leave the city to return to Capena?” replied Scipio, taking a cup and nodding his thanks.
“I hope so” replied the drinking Priscus. As he gulped down the last drops from his cup he smiled back at Scipio. “If you were them what would you do?” he asked.
Taking a moment to think Scipio narrowed his eyes. “Probably attack the rampart with horse and then sneak the men out via the fort at the river” he said as a smile came to his face.
Priscus took a small pouch from under the table and opened up the vellum map inside. Searching the map he traced the river and said “here?”
“Yes, there, but” Scipio’s eyes roved the drawn scene. “I’d feint here first” he added as his finger lingered over a point much closer to the Roman camp. Priscus nodded and glanced along the etched line of defences on the vellum.
“I would too” he said as he handed a small wax tablet to Scipio. “I’ve drawn the order for you to have a thousand men and dig pits in that area and cover any escape, are you up for it soldier?” he asked grinning.
“Yes, sir” replied Scipio as he grinned back and nodded his approval.
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Chapter 7
It had taken two days of forced marching to travel to the foothills surrounding Capena. Marcus had ordered the baggage and carts to follow behind and had left Virginius in charge with his Eques and a hundred foot soldiers. In this way he hoped he could gain ground on the Capenates before they had much time to secure their city, expecting him to take four or five days to travel the distance from Faleria. As the dust cloud became visible to the city envoys had been seen by his scouts as they dashed in each direction to call for reinforcements or to call local tribes and clansmen into the city to bolster its defence. Marcus had sent men ahead to scout the land and create the maps which would help him in his battle plans, though he fully expected to assault the walls as soon as he could, and had already agreed this with his senior officers.
The last few miles had seen an increase in scouts and small groups of Capenates on the road watching as the Romans moved into position, the dust cloud rising hundreds of feet into the air in great grey plumes.
Another messenger appeared bringing the news that the baggage carts were within a day’s ride and unhampered by any enemy. Marcus nodded his thanks as he sat back on his horse and looked over the heads of the marching men, their faces grey and dust-covered as they marched purposefully along the old road, the brown cart tracks interspersed with shots of green grass just visible under the feet of the soldiers. Salutes were called as the men passed, and Marcus made a point of saluting each man and calling to those he knew by name to tell them that riches lay just ahead, the cheers that greeted these words making the men seem to step faster into the distance.
“You should have stayed with the carts” Marcus said as he glanced to his left at the hollow cheeks of his old sword master.
“And miss this?” Mella replied as he waved a hand at the men striding past.
Marcus laughed before looking at the determined face of his old friend. “I had a bet with Rufus that you would be back” he said as Mella started and looked aghast at his commander.
“No!” he exclaimed. “You never take a bet” he said with a grin.
“It was my hope that you were alive my friend” he said, his voice sounding weary as Mella closed his mouth and looked into the face of the man he had known since he was a boy.
“It will take more than a few scouts to kill me off” he laughed, noting the tired eyes of his officer.
“The next few days will be even more dangerous. We must take Capena, our war with Veii depends on it” Marcus said, his voice intense and strong as a sudden determination came into it.
Mella nodd
ed. “You’re right” he replied. “As you have said, the Capenates weakness is the number of people they have taken into their city. With so many civilians they will struggle to defend in an organised manner. Attacking the walls quickly will throw them off their guard and panic the people.” Mella remembered the words Marcus had used the previous night as he had laid his plans before the officers, the strength of conviction, the cold-hearted call for all men bearing arms to be slaughtered and women and children to be taken as slaves. In all of this Mella saw a new strength in his old friend, a strength which leant itself to the war machine that was under his command. Yet here was also a frailty, a measure of the younger man who had been inspired by the writings of the Greeks and the stories of great battles. Here was the boy he had known. He smiled to himself as he watched Marcus call to a legionary who had saluted him as he strode past.
“Is Quintus Fabius truly the right man to lead the first attack?” Mella asked hesitantly.
Marcus considered for a moment, his decision had not been questioned the previous night and as such he had not offered any reason. Nodding, he turned to Mella. “In every short skirmish and in each fight we have had Fabius is the first man into battle and the last out. He has a brute force about him which I am hoping will encourage the men as they follow us to the walls” he said, his eyes suddenly gleaming as he looked away into the distance.
Us Mella caught the words and whirled to Marcus. “No, Marcus, you cannot storm the walls, your role is in the rear with the older families and patricians” he blurted, his voice quiet as his eyes glanced to his officer and then back to the smiling rows of men passing by them. “You cannot place yourself in such danger” he whispered.
Marcus seemed to ignore the words as the exasperated Mella wriggled on his horse, his confusion causing the beast to stamp its feet and skitter to the side.
“Sit still man” Marcus said, his eyes remaining on the marching column. “It is my destiny to destroy the enemies of Rome.” He glanced to Mella and his eyes softened at the incredulous look on his face. “Think, Mella, how the words of the prophecy were spoken. In battle I will take the Eagle and conquer all our foes. If this is true” he glanced to the skies as he said the words “then my place is amongst the soldiers, not sitting on a horse with the Triarii watching as men gain glory.” His eyes became distant as he spoke and Mella saw the determination return to his face once more. “The time has come for me to fulfil the words of Mater Matuta, Fortuna and Mars the war bringer. In this way will I create the Rome that will be the master of all we see before us and strengthen the rights of the men who fight for her. It is time for the Republic to take control its own destiny and for me to act my part in her glory, as the words of the prophecy say” he said.
Mella sat dumbstruck at the words. It was the first time he had heard Marcus talk of the prophecy for some years and the first time he had seen the glint in the eye of his friend which seemed to light when he fought in battles. His heart beat faster in his chest as he glanced at Marcus and saw the face of a man who truly believed that the gods were watching over his destiny.
“But to lead the men against the walls? It is suicide” he stated.
“Rather it is a chance for the men to see that patricians are prepared to stand alongside them in the front line, Mella. To show that patrician and plebeian alike stand for Rome, not standing in separate lines with leaders shouting at the men to die while the rich stand behind and wait for the battle to run its course before acting. How many times have you said this to me, my friend” he asked with a smile.
“That’s different” Mella replied haughtily.
Marcus laughed and reeled his horse around to come alongside Mella. He placed a hand on Mella’s arm and grinned. “We will know if I am right within a day” he said as he set off at a trot back to the front of the army.
****
A spear thudded into the ground as Marcus finished offering the surrender terms to the leaders of the city, their highly coloured robes staring down at him from the battlements of the city.
“I take that as their answer then” Quintus Fabius said with a grin.
“It would seem so” Marcus replied, his eyes wandering along the walls at the faces of the men standing staring down at him.
“Tell me what you see there, Quintus?” Marcus asked.
“Where, Camillus?” Fabius answered as he moved his head along the walls. “What have I missed?” he asked as he shook his head and looked to his commander.
“Fear” came the cold reply
Fabius looked at his commander and then back to the men on the walls, some spitting and some cursing the Romans, other throwing stones which would never reach where they stood. Yes, he thought, there it was, a fear was clouded along the walls. He could see it in the eyes of the leaders, surprised by the speed of the Roman march on their city and by the confidence of Rome’s commander. He grinned back at Marcus.“Pallor” he mumbled. Terror was etched in every one of the noble’s faces.
“Fetch the Augur and my set of robes” Marcus suddenly said as he turned to his Optio and waved to him “and make it quick” he snapped as the man raced away.
Fabius smiled, he knew exactly what Marcus was thinking and he approved. Fear was a great weapon.
****
A half an hour later Marcus finished the invocation to the gods in front of his men, arrayed in three great lines directly facing the gates of Capena. The city sat on the plateau of a hill called locally, La Cavitucola, and Marcus had invoked the spirits of the hill to join Rome in its fight against the Capenates who had, he said, turned against them by raiding Roman lands. The Capenates had wailed as he spoke, the cries of women coming over the walls as many of the townsfolk had flocked to the walls at the bells and calls to the gods from the attacking Romans. Marcus has guessed that this would happen as the town was bursting to the seams with common folk, probably outnumbering the soldiers in the town. He had played on the words he had used with his own soldiers; that those who bore no arms would not be slaughtered, but would be taken as slaves. He had also invoked Juno as the mother of all lands, and the chosen deity of Veii, to support his actions, actions he clearly claimed were right and just as the Etruscan alliance had broken its treaty with Rome, its neighbour.
As he turned and smiled to his officers he nodded at the noise from the city, cries of women were being shouted down by deep throated Centurions and the fear in the eyes of the Nobles on the wall had turned to anger. Marcus had gambled that they would not launch an attack on his small group during the ceremony, but he had also prepared for just such an eventuality, though he didn’t call on his reserves.
Throwing his white priests robe to his Optio he grinned at Fabius. “Ready?” he asked.
“Oh yes” came the reply as Fabius hefted his long sword, the metal shining from the oil he had loving prepared it with over the last hour.
Turning to the officers Marcus raised his voice. “For Rome we will take this city” he called. “For Rome and its Republic we will smite the enemy” his head turned to the walls of Capena. “For Rome, for Mater Matuta, For Mars and Fortuna we will make these dogs pay for the death of our brothers, our fathers and our friends” he called more loudly as a great cheer went up from the deep ranks of the Roman army.
“You have your orders” he stated as he turned, hearing the words of the officers as they also turned and jogged to their positions, Rufus taking the lead role in the Triarii that Marcus should have taken. He had prepared the leaders of the attack with his proposals, counter strike thoughts and suggestions for retreat should the need come, but now he turned and took a deep breath, his heart starting to hammer in his chest as he nodded to Fabius and stepped forwards.
Fabius, unable to contain himself, screamed “Forward” as several details of wicker screens and ladders charged at the walls, arrows flying in both directions as the men ran into a hail of stones and iron-tipped death that suddenly sprang from the defending walls.
It took moments for Marcus
to see that the forces at the wall were still struggling to remove the townsfolk who had come to stand and watch. As he stood he looked across to Narcius, who was waiting with a few hundred of the best trained Eagles, and pointed. “Look” he said. “There, they haven’t cleared the walls. They aren’t ready for us. Press the advantage” he said as he looked to the gleaming eyes of Fabius whose face turned to one of anger as he turned and screamed “attack!” and charged, alone for a few steps before the men could react to his call, at the walls.
The vantage point was a rear gate, small but wide enough for three men to pass through it if it was taken. Marcus remembered the map of the city. The gate led to a long roadway to the city square but, from memory, there was only one other alleyway beyond the gate, a good back entrance, he thought, though he also remembered that the walls of the store houses inside were high at this point and may prove troublesome.
Narcius clapped Marcus on the shoulder and screamed “For Rome” as he and his men ran forward, in a more measured fashion, towards the twenty feet of grey stones that kept the population of Capena safe. Marcus fell into the second line and trotted along, his lungs instantly gasping as he suddenly felt the weight of his armour as he ran. An arrow thumped into his shield, the dull thud of others hitting Roman wood also came to his ears as his eyes stared at the walls. Ahead the first details were scurrying up the ladders, men falling as others shoved past the dying men who were fighting above them. At fifty yards Marcus was aware of cheering to his left, and incredulously he watched as Quintus Fabius stormed onto the parapet, his sword whirling in a blur of red as several defenders attempted to hack him down. Narcius had already sent several Eagles racing to the ladder before Marcus could give the order and he smiled at the soldier’s efficiency before cheering for Fabius as the men did. The ladder came before he realised, the soldiers pushing and shoving to get into a line, shields held above their heads, although the crash of stones or arrows was suddenly quiet. More cheering came from the left, and then from the right as Marcus gripped the rung and forced himself upward, two places behind Narcius, men calling to him to speed up as he climbed. Landing on the wooden boards over the walls Marcus was immediately pelted with stones from the defenders, one cracking into his shoulder, the thick leather no defence against the power of the throw. His shoulder went numb momentarily as his fingers suddenly struggled to hold his sword. He swore as he gripped the leather of the handle and gritted his teeth.