Sword of Rome(116)
‘Then you’ll have to be my shield.’ It was said half in jest, but Serpentius nodded gravely and for Valerius that was as good as a solemn vow. They would fight as a pair, the arena way, the Spaniard never leaving his right side. A former slave and a part-man, but together they would be worth ten of the enemy.
Who had broken their truce.
At the sound of the massed trumpets, Spurinna came to join them on the parapet for the last time before he would retire to coordinate the defence from his headquarters in the city. Caecina’s forces marched out from their compounds, the clatter of armour and the tramp of feet clear in the still air even at this distance. Valerius had witnessed the sight of his enemies massing in overwhelming numbers before, at Colonia, where he had faced Boudicca, and again at the Cepha gap where Corbulo had fought the Parthian King of Kings to a standstill. But this was different. In some ways, the barbarians had been more frightening to watch; a great swirling mass of hatred, a cacophony of colour and noise designed to instil terror. Yet this was the first time he had faced Roman soldiers in battle. The thought stayed with him and for a moment he felt a curious mix of confusion and sadness that was alien and potentially fatal on a battlefield. These men were Roman citizens, soldiers of the Empire. They should not be his enemies. He savagely thrust the feeling aside, conjuring up Domitia’s face in his head and reminding himself what would happen to her if he failed. If my legions have to take those walls, everyone inside them will die. Well, these walls would stand. Must stand. If the blood of every man out there had to be spilled to ensure it. The massed ranks came on at their familiar, unhurried pace. Here was none of the bluster and posturing of barbarians, only deadly intent. Caecina was using the two part-legions, six thousand veteran troops, as his battering ram. Primigenia’s symbol, a golden Wheel of Fortuna, was clearly visible on the shields to the right front, beside Fourth Macedonica’s white bull to the left, with a horde of anonymous auxiliaries on their flanks. Valerius had a moment of unease as Twenty-first Rapax marched off towards the right flank. Was it possible Caecina would use his crack legion to attack the west wall? No. Five cohorts of auxiliary infantry jogged past them and it seemed the Vitellian commander had decided to keep them in reserve in the shadow of the amphitheatre walls.
‘I thought so,’ the general grunted. ‘The south wall and the gate. He may use those auxiliaries for an attack on the west side, but most likely it will be a feint. We’ll keep a cohort of Praetorians in the angle of the two walls, ready to support whichever is under the most pressure. I was wrong.’ His voice was almost affronted. ‘He is a fool. Unless he has a trick up his sleeve, this throwing his men at stone walls is an affront to military science. He should have allowed an hour or two to flay us with his onagri and scorpiones. At the very least, it would have kept our heads down. You are happy with your dispositions?’
Valerius nodded. He had checked them a dozen times. Men and weapons where they were needed, the legionaries crouched behind the walls for the moment for protection. No point in taking unnecessary casualties. Reserves in position where they could easily reach the places they were needed. Water to hand for extinguishing fires and slaking thirst. Cauldrons of hot oil bubbling on the braziers and glowing irons ready to be slapped on a wound to stop the blood flow. This wall would be defended by the men of the First Adiutrix and he felt an unlikely confidence in the face of the great odds as he noted Juva’s reliable presence a little way to his left. The general saw his look and placed a hand on the younger man’s arm. ‘This is where it will be won or lost, Valerius. Win it for me.’
As the general walked away, Valerius dismissed the surge of foolish pride he had felt at the words. He was aware of the Vitellian auxiliaries deploying in front of the west wall just out of range of the onagri and scorpiones, but he forced himself to concentrate on what was happening to his front. Feint or not, he had to rely on the commander of the western defences to do his job. For the moment, he ignored the great mass of soldiers and studied what was going on around them. The first thing he noticed was the men struggling with what looked from this distance like wooden carts, but he knew were the legion’s mobile light artillery. Oddly, the sight pleased him. It would take time to deploy the machines and, for the moment at least, the defenders wouldn’t be plagued by the giant arrows and rocks. He faced upwards of ten cohorts, which meant they could deploy a dozen onagri and ten times as many scorpiones. He frowned. No, many more than that. Caecina wouldn’t leave the Rapax’s artillery lying idle while Primigenia and Macedonica were doing the dying. The ‘Shield-splitters’ and their ‘Wild Ass’ counterparts, so named for the enormous kick they gave when they were triggered, were nothing like as lethal against a fortified city as they were against a packed mass of men. Still, it was daunting for any man to raise his head when he knew it could be taken off by a ten-pound boulder. Satisfied they were in no danger for the moment, he searched among the baggage carts for the sight he feared, but there was still no sign of the big siege ballistae that the Vitellians were undoubtedly constructing.