Адриан Голдсуорти: The Encircling Sea

‘See if you can set fire to the big barn,’ he told them, ‘and then wait for me behind it.’

Ferox walked over to the alleyway. It ran straight, one of the few paths in this stronghold that did, and he could see the back of the rampart and part of the gate. Pirates still held them, but he could see that they were fighting hard, and as he watched one was flung back off the wall. There were shouts and the odd blast of a trumpet, but the whistles were silent now.

Ferox went to the far end. Most of the black-clad warriors were on the wall, in the tower or behind the gate. Those on the wall clustered around a few spots and he guessed that this was where the Romans were attacking. He saw men and women working at fires to heat a couple of cauldrons, and that meant boiling water or oil was being prepared. No one liked to face that, and he wondered whether he should lead his little band to stop it being used. About thirty men sat or crouched on the grass nearby led by a man on horseback and even if they managed to get to the cauldrons and tip it away he doubted that any of them would survive. Instead he would act on the plan that had been forming in his mind since they had captured Genialis.

The centurion strode out into the open.

‘Cniva!’ he bellowed at the horsemen waiting with the warriors. ‘Cniva!’ They were no more than fifty paces away, the small rider’s face clear. ‘I have your son, Cniva! Come and get him or I will put him to the knife. You hear me, Cniva!’

The leader of the Harii gaped at him. Ferox expected rage and even a lone charge, but he could not catch the words as the pirate chief shouted something to his men. The men sprang to their feet, began to move and only then did the horseman come for him.

Ferox ran.

THE TESTUDO LED the second attack and did it slowly. Five abreast and ten deep the legionaries went through the cleared entrance in the first rampart and then turned right, heading for the main gate. A spear came down and stuck into one the shields, standing up straight and wobbling slightly each time the soldiers took a pace forward. The next javelin struck the dome-like boss of another shield and bounced back.

‘Keep in step, boys,’ Tertullianus called out. He was in the third rank, his own curved rectangular scutum held up over his head and interlocked with those of his men. ‘Steady now.’

The legionaries had practised the drill many a time, although few had done it with a real enemy up above. A stone banged hard at the point where one scutum overlapped the next, sending a quiver across the whole roof of shields. Men flinched at the noise, looking up nervously.

‘Steady, boys. Keep going,’ the centurion called. His voice was firm and carried well for all its high pitch. He knew that the tone mattered more than anything he actually said.

Archers came behind them, but it was hard for them to dodge missiles in the narrow space between the inner ditch and main rampart, and harder still for them to shoot up at men on the wall. One of the auxiliary bowmen fell, struck on the helmet by a stone. Then another had his left arm broken and staggered away. Arrows stuck into the wooden parapet or sailed harmlessly overheard.

With a rumble, a basket of stones cascaded onto the testudo, scraping the calfskin cover of one of the shields so that its wooden boards were exposed. The soldier underneath went pale. Next to him a man started to mutter a prayer.

‘Liber Pater, be with me now.’

At the front, men could glimpse what lay ahead over the tops of their shields and knew that there was a long way to go. The men on the flanks saw the ramparts on either side of them inching past. Those at the back saw nothing, apart from the helmets and shoulders of their comrades, arms held up to keep the shields in place.

‘We’re doing well, boys,’ Tertullianus told them. ‘One step at a time, that’s all we need.’

Behind the archers came the Batavians, infantry and cavalry mingled together and with Cerialis at their head, a bandage around his right shin. With them went Vindex, a limping Segovax and his brother, and the other survivors of the tower, including Probus, whose bandaged side made him wince each time he moved, and Longinus, who had slipped away from the tribune. The auxiliaries carried two ladders salvaged from the first assault, and they went to the left. A few of the Harii followed them, and a trooper was pitched over with a javelin in his back, for it was hard to shelter behind shields when going in this direction. The centurion had a line of men walking backwards, shields together, but sometimes they slipped or wavered and, even when they did not, plenty of missiles sailed over their heads to strike the main group behind them. A team of sailors with a bolt-shooter stood in the open entrance way and the first heavy dart struck a pirate in the face with such force that the pyramid-shaped tip burst out of the back of his head. The second shot killed another of the defenders, and then the marines forced their way through the entrance and the men had to stop shooting. The marines had one ladder – the other had been broken in the earlier fighting – as well as a couple of ropes, and they followed the legionaries and the archers.

The testudo continued its slow, jerking progress. Up on the rampart, one of the pirates climbed onto the lip of the parapet and stood up straight, a big rock held above his head in both hands. He flung it down, his comrades grabbing his legs because he nearly unbalanced with the motion. The impact was dreadful, and the noise far worse, as the boulder cracked the boss of a man’s scutum, forcing him down to his knees. For a moment, there was a gap in the shields. Someone threw a burning torch from the rampart, but it missed the hole and simply lay on the top of the testudo, smouldering for a while before it went out.

‘Liber Pater, be with me now.’ The prayer was almost a whimper.

‘Bastards,’ hissed another legionary. ‘I’m going to kill every bastard bastard of the bastards, and that bastard god if he gets in my way. Let him stick to wine and wild women.’

‘Wish I could,’ said another, and there was laughter – tense and nervous, but laughter nevertheless.

‘Steady lads, keep together,’ the centurion called. ‘Not far now.’

The soldier stood up, knuckles hurting, and his shield rose to meet the others again. An arrow struck the man standing on the parapet, the point forcing its way through where four scales of his cuirass joined together. He twisted away from the blow, and his friends lost their grip so that he fell off, limbs waving, and smacked into the roof of shields.

‘Shit!’ yelled the soldier who had been praying. The noise was appalling, and half a dozen men staggered as they felt the blow, but the weight was spread and they soon recovered.

‘Come on, boys,’ Tertullianus said. ‘Not far, not far.’

The testudo jerked along, the spread-eagled body of the pirate lying on top, moaning.

Behind the legionaries, Batavians and marines were falling, and men tripped over the wounded and dead, but already Cerialis’ men had raised the ladders. A pirate tried to push one over, but ducked back when a javelin struck the parapet beside him, throwing up splinters.

‘Follow me!’ the prefect yelled, pushing one of his troopers aside and scrambling up the wooden rungs. He did not use his hands, and had sword in one hand and his raised shield in the other, so that he could not see the top of the ladder or the wall. Something slammed into the shield, but he kept going. Close by, one of his men was climbing the other ladder, but then slumped back, his helmet dented from the strike of a stone, and the man stuck there, legs caught so that he hung down and blocked the way.