Адриан Голдсуорти - The Encircling Sea

‘Hah!’ Aelius Brocchus slapped his thigh with delight, and Crispinus realised that the archers were starting to shoot. ‘Got the swine right in the face,’ the prefect explained. His relish was surprising, for he had always struck Crispinus as a calm, even mild man. Then he remembered the raid on Alauna, that these men had threatened the prefect’s family and abducted his friends. Crispinus could sense that same hatred in all ranks. It would spur them on, but he must be careful not to lose control.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s take a closer look.’ The tribune walked the horse towards the fort. It was a shame that there was no mount for Brocchus, but he could not help that and might need to move quickly from one place to another. For the moment, the ambling walk of this animal made it easy for the men on foot to keep up.

The Batavians were fifty paces from the wall. One of the men carrying the ladders dropped, an arrow in his thigh, and the five remaining men staggered as they passed him, but kept going. The auxiliary archers were shooting, and this time Crispinus was looking at the right spot when a pirate was pitched back, a shaft sprouting from his throat. The enemy had their helmets on now, and with the protection of the wall and their oval shields, nearly all of the arrows struck harmlessly.

Javelins and stones were coming from the defenders, and the men with the ladders were especially vulnerable, for it was hard to run with their burden and still keep a shield steady in the other hand. The team a man short lost another to a javelin that pinned his foot to the ground, and then a third man’s shield swayed at just the wrong moment so that a stone smashed his nose. An arrow hit the thrower at almost the same time, driving through his eye. The three men left dropped the heavy ladder, and men ran from the main group to aid them. The other team ran on unscathed, jumping down into the ditch. They waded through, ankle deep in mud. There was a dull clang as a stone hit one man on the helmet and he let go, falling to his knees in the brown water, but the others kept going and planted the ladder at the foot of the wall and began to raise it up. A pirate leaned over the parapet, javelin in hand, and then gasped as an arrow pierced his mail. He dropped rather than threw the javelin and it fell harmlessly.

With a cheer, the Batavians surged forward into the ditch. The second ladder was there as well, and men began to climb the other one.

‘They’re breaking,’ Brocchus said, his tone almost one of disappointment with a timid enemy. Crispinus had been watching the marines and sailors, who were also close to the wall, and when he looked back saw that the prefect was right. The pirates were running from the rampart in front of the Batavians. Before they went, they hoisted heavy baskets onto the parapet. One Usipi was killed by an arrow as he worked, but the rest kept on and Crispinus could imagine them grunting with effort as they tipped the baskets over and the big rocks showered down on the packed ditch. There was confusion, but the enemy were still fleeing and the first Batavian climbed over the parapet onto the wall. More followed.

Crispinus glanced back at the waiting legionaries, but decided this was too soon to add them to the attack. The marines were at the wall. A few men had fallen to missiles, but the bolt-shooters were more accurate than bows at a longer range and had driven the defenders down behind the parapet. Once the ladders were in place the defenders fled. If they had baskets of stones they did not use them, and the marines rushed up the ladders and leaped onto the wall.

‘You bring up the legionaries,’ Crispinus said to Brocchus. ‘Bring Tertullianus and get him to clear the entrance to the first wall and then be ready to assault the gate in the second.’ Without waiting for an answer, he spurred the horse into a canter straight at the marines and sailors. He wanted to be up on the wall, seeing what was going on so that he could judge what orders to give. In moments he was at the ditch, and jumped off, closer than he wanted, so that his boot slipped and he skidded down the side into the mud. His legs and the pristine white pteruges of his armour were stained dark. Sailors grinned at him and he grinned back, getting up and wading through to the nearest ladder. He patted a man on the shoulder just as he was about to climb, receiving a curse and then a hasty apology from the marine. Crispinus smiled again and pushed the man aside so that he could climb.

The ladder was steep, and the mud on his boots made him slip off one of the rungs, but he clung on somehow, round shield in one hand and sword in the other. More than a dozen men were up on the rampart above each ladder, and there were shouts of triumph and confusion. Crispinus reached the top, and one of the grey-uniformed marines reached out to help him up. The tribune was almost over, one leg on each side of the rough stone parapet, and he could see the last of the defenders running through the open gate.

‘There you go, sir,’ the marine said cheerfully, and then the man’s eyes widened and his mouth moved, but only gasps came from it. He slumped down onto the parapet, and Crispinus saw the shaft of the javelin that had struck him in the back. More missiles came, and he managed to raise his shield and block one before it hit him in the face.

The Romans were spread along a walkway about four feet wide, and above a sheer drop almost as high as the outside wall, for in the past someone had laboured to dig a ditch on the inside of the wall. Crispinus glanced down and saw several ropes down there and guessed that this was how the defenders had escaped. A stone clanged against the helmet of a marine next to him. The man turned, and the tribune saw his eyes flicker before he started to sway forward.

‘Grab him!’ the tribune yelled, and one marine dropped his spear to hold onto his comrade and stop him from falling off the wall.

The defenders were above them, no more than twenty feet away and they had javelins and stones and even a few clubs and axes piled ready and waiting. A stone struck a marine on the foot, breaking bone, and the man staggered so that a javelin came past his shield and drove through the mail shirt into his belly. The centurion of one of the triremes was yelling at his men to keep their shields up, but even when crouching it still left some of the head and legs exposed. Some marines hurled javelins up at the enemy, but the wooden parapet gave them much better cover, and so far no one had scored a hit. In return the missiles kept coming, wounding men, making it harder for them to protect themselves.

‘Come on!’ the centurion yelled, and leaped down from the wall, but he screamed as he landed badly, twisting his ankle, and then a heavy spear came from the inner rampart and its sheer weight let the narrow point punch through the left cheek piece of his helmet and drive deep into his head. The centurion was flung against the wall and collapsed in a heap back into the ditch.

Two of his men went after him, and although one hit the ground awkwardly, both were up, raising their shields protectively over the centurion.

Crispinus wondered whether he should follow, for the gate was still closing, and hoped it was not simply fear that stopped him. One of the marines in the ditch took a spear in the side a moment later, and when he fell he was pounded with rocks until he lay still. The other scrambled up the bank and ran at the gateway. A big stone slammed into his helmet when he was just yards away and the wooden gate closed as if to reinforce the hopelessness of his bravery.

The Romans screamed defiance at the defenders, but there was nothing they could do to stop this torment. The javelins and other missiles kept coming and now and then found a gap. A stunned marine tumbled down into the ditch. Another yelped when a stone clipped the toe of his boot, but the others were too distracted to laugh.