S. Turney - Sons of Taranis

Tallow or pitch, or some such, it had to be. The fire clung like a lover to the wood of the vinea which had been regularly doused with water against fire arrows. The fire was too much even for damp wood, and the structure was quickly ablaze. The approach from below was no longer protected. The men could still come up through the woods but it would be hard going. Two small detachments of men arrived from somewhere with scorpion bolt throwers and cases of ammunition, hurrying to position themselves on the mound, but before they could even crank back the weapons, several of them had been taken out of the fight with arrows. A half century of men formed a mini-testudo and hurried over, providing shelter while the remaining artillerists began to load and release the weapons.

Atenos looked back and forth across the chaos. Despite what he’d said to Decumius, the situation was rapidly becoming untenable and he would need the reserves very soon. The vinea was now an inferno and the two resourceful men who’d come with buckets of water to try and douse it were even now jerking and dancing as arrows and stones thudded into them. The legionaries who had manned the wicker screen were almost gone, just a pile of charring bodies in a golden pyre, odd ones still thrashing around and croaking.

The general had better make this worth it.

He grabbed a running soldier. ‘Find some friends and move that second vinea out of line before the whole lot catch fire.’

The legionary, his face betraying fear bordering on panic, saluted desperately and turned back.

Another series of booms drew his startled gaze and he realised they were in real trouble now. A second wave of burning barrels had been cast down with better precision this time, all centred on the tower. While most simply exploded on the mound’s slope, one lucky barrel had rolled on with impressive momentum up the mound and burst against the base of the tower.

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit.’

He turned to order men with water to the tower. Thank the gods for a handy spring, eh ? He laughed bitterly. Legionaries were already at the task, throwing buckets of water on the flames. Another battle now raged against the fire itself, and it was a hard fought one, at that.

There was an ominous wooden thud and, already knowing what had made the noise, he rose to peer over the chaos. Sure enough, the oppidum’s nearest gate was open and warriors were flooding out of it like a swarm of locusts.

‘Here they come.’

Decumius was there again, suddenly. ‘We’ve got trouble. The burning kegs have made part of the mound unstable. A few more exploding there and the whole tower might go over.’

‘Shitting, shitting shit!’ Atenos barked with deep feeling. ‘If it goes it will be over towards the oppidum itself. Have four of the ropes completely drenched and then use them to anchor the tower from behind. Then find a contubernium of fearless lads and get them round the front of the tower with planks, wedging the bottom as best they can.’

Decumius saluted and ran off, and Atenos cleared his throat.

‘All unoccupied men of the Tenth and Fifth to position. Shield wall with second and third row testudo cover, marking off from the optio to the right. Prepare to receive the enemy.’

The various centurions and optios under his command gathered their men and moved into position, weathering the arrow storm as well as they could, men falling with every third step into place. Another set of barrels came down and burst against the mound and the base of the tower, igniting the boards used to shore it up as well as the men busy putting them into place. One misthrown barrel hurtled past the wreckage of the burning vinea and the pile of carbonised legionaries and bounced on intact down the ramp with unerring accuracy. Atenos watched it go in surprise and felt a slight burst of relief as he saw the reserves hurrying up the slope, running out wide to avoid the rolling fiery barrel, which hit a random rock two hundred paces down the hill and coated the slope in sticky fire.

‘Reserves are coming, lads. Hold the enemy.’

They couldn’t hold. No strategist in the world would find a way to hold this. Caesar had been warned by them all, he knew, but had gone ahead anyway . If there is a trick in your pouch, general, now is the time , he grumbled under his breath.

The hastily assembled shield wall, with a sloping roof of shields on the second and third rank protecting as best they could from arrows, quavered for just a moment as the howling, screaming horde of Cadurci and their allies crested the ramp’s edge and charged the line.

Atenos had a horribly clear view from his position. The shield wall almost folded under the pressure of the attack, buckling in several places. And wherever the shields parted, arrows and stones and bullets penetrated, killing and wounding men by the dozen. It was little more than a slaughter.

A quick glance over his shoulder. A cohort or more of men were running up to join the fray. They would buy half an hour extra at most in this meat grinder. And the tower was ablaze now with no real chance of its being extinguished. At what point did he call the situation untenable and back off?

With a preparatory breath he rushed over to the embattled legionaries and attracted the attention of an optio at the rear as he crouched and grasped a discarded shield. ‘I’m going in. If the enemy break through to the rear, the tower goes, or you can readily count the number of men left by sight alone, sound the rally and get back down the hill.’

‘But sir…’

Atenos ignored the man’s imploring tone and shoved through the press of men, making for a small gap where missiles and battle-maddened warriors had caused a breach. Howling Cadurci were smashing down with swords and axes and jabbing with spears, and no sooner had Atenos plugged the gap than a gleaming spearhead glanced off his cheek plate and tore through the leather strap at his shoulder that held his medal harness. There was a snap and the whole thing slumped to one side, one of his hard-won phalerae falling away to the ground below. Atenos bellowed in fury and his first blow entered the spear-man responsible at the cheek, almost cutting his head in half horizontally.

‘Bastard. Those medals are mine !’

Fury, tempered with experience and discipline, took over. His second blow all-but severed the sword arm of the man to his right. His third took an axe man in the throat. Stab, hack, slice, stab. Shield up. Shield locked. Smash with the boss and back into position. Stab and thrust. Stab and thrust.

The press was too much. He knew it. The shield wall was doomed even as those reserves arrived and began to fall into position. A stray axe blow took the corner off his shield and carried on into the sword arm of the legionary to his left who shrieked and fell back to be replaced a heartbeat later by a man from the second line, his teeth gritted.

‘Juno’s tits!’ someone shouted away to the left. Atenos was too experienced to allow himself to be distracted by conversation. He concentrated on the axe man before him as he asked what was going on without turning his head to look. His sword caught the man’s axe arm in the pit, sinking in with satisfying ease – one of the killing blows any sword trainer in the army will teach early on. Along the line, that same voice called out.

‘More cohorts. It’s a general advance. They’re storming the place from all sides!’

No. Atenos felt the anger rising. After all this mess buying time, the general cannot have been so unprepared and stupid as to throw away six legions in such a foolish manner. But the centurion could hear the buccinae of the other legions in their advance up the slope. What was Caesar doing? He must not have wasted this opportunity!