Act 3, Chapter 1 of The Ashes of Rome
Sweat stung my eyes. “Grab the wheel before it falls on my head!”
Urus grabbed the iron-rimmed chariot wheel and steadied it, and I helped him ram it over the axle. I wiped my forehead. “Right, only five more to go.”
“Is this really going to help us get through the gate?” Urus wanted to know.
“That’s the idea.” I looked up at the gate guarding the access to the Capitoline Hill. The incline was steep, but the last half would be challenging to get up on foot, much less pushing a ram. Brennus wasn’t in the mood to discuss those misgivings, however. I understood his desire. I was as ready as anyone else to be done and headed back north. We had occupied the city for just over a fortnight, and not once had the Romans attempted to sally out, not even to stop us from burning their buildings.
I took a step back to survey our handiwork and frowned. “This looks wrong.” I shoved a cross brace, and the entire thing shuddered. “This won’t make it to the base of the road, much less to the gate.”
“You could ask the Romans for advice.” Urus laughed. “They seem to have plenty of experience building siege engines.”
“I feel they may not be all that happy to help, since we’re just waiting around to kill them.”
The idea was there. We would attach six chariot wheels to the axles and framework. The charioteers were less than pleased with Brennus’s order to dismantle them, but there was little they could do. A sloping roof would protect our heads from Roman pila, arrows, and stones, and a ram suspended beneath the roof would theoretically let us smash our way through the Roman defenses.
The reality was something very different. We had ample experience building earthen ramparts and in shock cavalry charges and open-field warfare, but this business of capturing stone cities was something else entirely. As I watched, one of the uprights tilted, then crashed to the ground. A moment later, much of the rest of the structure collapsed, too. I groaned and massaged the bridge of my nose.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of sweat and swearing, but eventually we had to face a difficult truth — the ram was an unmitigated failure.
“Are you going to tell Brennus?” Urus asked.
I took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Someone must, and I suppose that task falls to me.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s been an honor knowing you. May the gods speed you on your way to your next life.”
I punched him in the shoulder. “I should make you go with me. That way, we can both join the gods at the same time.”
✸✸✸
I found Brennus in the Forum. “Any progress to report, Talos?” he asked expectantly.
“The ram’s a failure,” I said, the words falling like stones from my lips.
Brennus stared at me, hands tightening into fists. I said a silent prayer to any gods watching over me. With a breath, he unclenched his fists, and the moment passed. “You’re certain?”
“Completely. We can keep pretending we’ll get it to work, but it’s hopeless. I still think it would have failed anyway. Without some way to keep the blasted thing anchored to the gate, it would have just rolled right back down the hill, unless we sacrificed warriors to keep it in place. Then the Romans would have just picked them off from above.”
“Still, I would have felt better with a ram.” The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “Now there’s nothing for it but a frontal assault. Uphill. Against foemen protecting their home.”
“It’s not too late to go home.”
Brennus threw back his head in a genuine laugh. “Talos, it was too late to go home the moment we marched on Clusium. We’ll see this through, and may the gods grant victory to the worthiest.”
Leaving Brennus, I found Urus and Garamaros waiting outside the Forum, eager for any word of what was to come.
“A frontal attack?” Garamaros was doubtful. “It was one thing at the Allia, out in the open, but here?”
“Good,” Urus broke in. “That’s what we do best. An honest fight between two sides with no nonsense to muddle things.”
Garamaros looked from Urus to me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t hold it against him, Gar. Urus is the simplest of men…”
“I’ll show you how simple my fists are,” Urus muttered good-naturedly.
“Madmen, the both of you.” Garamaros snorted. “I’m going to find some wine and maybe a woman. If we’re going to die today, I’d rather not do it sober and unbedded.” He disappeared around a corner.
“When do you think we’ll attack?” Urus asked.
“Probably late afternoon. The Romans will have the sun in their eyes as we approach the gate. Maybe that will count for something.”
Urus thought for a moment. “Well, if we’re to be wall fodder, I’m going to find Boudia and enjoy our last few hours alive.”
“The gods could be kind. We beat their army already.”
Urus laughed. “The gods do what they will for their own reasons.”
I watched him walk away and wondered what Catta was doing. There were worse ways to spend the rest of the day than tangled in her legs.
✸✸✸
The westering sun set the Capitoline Hill ablaze with light, heat reflecting off the rock faces and shimmering in the air. I wiped sweat from my brow and cursed this alien land’s need to cook us within our own skins. A preternatural stillness enveloped us. There was the creak of leather, the clink of mail, and the splat of sweat dripping onto the paving stones, but the rest of the world held its breath.
As at the Allia, I stood next to Brennus, but we were not at the forefront. Younger warriors, eager for bloodshed and glory, took that position. I glanced around, but saw no sign of Clotuoidā or Cathubodua, and dread dragged at my heart. Had the gods abandoned us? Even Garamaros was unusually quiet, standing beside Iestinus a row or two ahead of Brennus and me, a spear in his hand and his lyre silent at his side.
We were also significantly constrained. At the Allia, we’d been able to bring the full might of our army to bear. Here, there was but a single track leading to the top of the Capitoline Hill, wide enough for just five warriors to walk abreast.
Beside me, Brennus raised his arm. Our warriors stilled, and the air turned sullen. His arm fell and, with little more than the sound of leather and flesh on stone, we began our assault.
For long moments, it seemed we would reach the gate unchallenged. Our warriors bore shields, which they held above them. A scattered hail of javelins pelted the column, but most bounced harmlessly away, clattering to the road. Heartened, our forces marched faster. So far, so good, but we were not even halfway to the gate.
Afternoon sunlight glinted off metal above us on the wall, a glimpse of dark hair and an aquiline nose. One of the warriors at the fore dropped his shield and stepped forward, hurling his javelin. It struck home, piercing the defender through. The man slowly toppled backward. Immediately, pila showered our front rank. One pierced the chest of the man who’d stepped forward, and he fell. Another found its mark in the side of the warrior he’d left unprotected when he leaped into action, and he crumpled to the ground. Men from the second rank stepped forward to fill the gap, hurriedly moving the dead to the roadside, but the hail of javelins did not abate, and more Senones died.
As the bodies fell, the gates groaned open, and Rome’s defenders poured out, spears blazing like flames in the sunlight.
“‘Ware the enemy!” Garamaros shouted, his voice somehow carrying over the din.
Our warriors quickly formed ranks, those behind holding their shields above the heads of those in front to block missiles from above, and those in front readied swords and spears as the Romans charged headlong down the hill. The two forces met with a resounding crash, but it quickly became apparent that the Romans held the superior position. With the high ground, they began forcing our line backward. Javelins flew over both forces, taking lives here and there, but our reach was limited, whereas the Romans’ weapons flew further, peppering far back from the front and forcing our warriors to defend. We made the Romans bleed for every yard of road they gained despite those advantages, but the battle, if you could call it that, was lost before it even began.
The Romans drove forward, intent on splitting the rows of Senone warriors. Those on the outside scrambled to avoid enemy swords and spears but maintain their precarious foothold on the road. Many failed, rolling or sliding to the hill’s base. Those on the inside were pinned against the sheer face of the hill and butchered like hogs for the slaughter. Two familiar faces caught my attention: Garamaros and Iestinus, pinned against the rock by the warriors who’d been ahead of them. The Romans did not even attempt to engage them in battle; instead, they used long spears to impale as many men as possible from a distance.
My vision reddened, and a war cry ripped unconsciously from my throat. I tried to press forward, to rush to their rescue or my own death, I cared not which.
“Talos, no!” Brennus shouted. He grabbed one of my shoulders, but I shook off his grip.
I waded through the men ahead of me, shoving them out of the way when they would not move. It took me long moments to reach the front, but once there, I found the press lighter. The Romans pulled back a bit at my approach, perhaps worried that they might catch the madness they saw in my eyes. Most of the Senones took advantage of my appearance to retreat out of the range of the Romans’ spears and swords, although pila still sailed over our heads. I paid no attention to any of that. One thing filled my vision — Garamaros, pierced through with spears, his sword blade beginning to falter, still standing in front of Iestinus, who lay bleeding on the road.
Another war cry ripped from my throat, and I raised my sword high. The Romans took one look and began to fall back, but I would be damned to a southerner’s hell if I was going to let them go unbloodied. I leaped forward, my sword biting deep into the side of one unfortunate warrior. I wrenched the blade free and whirled on the next man, removing his head in a single stroke. Two men rushed me, movements paired perfectly from hours of drilling together. I threw myself at them, ignoring their swords. The force of my attack was so great that I knocked the shield out of one man’s hand, opening the way for my blade to gut him. The other tried to disengage, but I hooked his shield with my free arm and slammed my blade into his neck. I glanced around for another opponent, but the Romans were drawing back out of my range.
Suddenly exhausted, I went to Garamaros. He knelt on the road, supported by his sword. Iestinus lay beside him, eyes staring sightlessly, and a pilum protruding from his chest.
“Talos,” Garamaros whispered, bloody froth flecking his lips.
“I’m here,” I said, gripping his arm. His sword fell to the road with a clang.
“Tell Catta I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
He coughed. “I’ll never be able to show her what it’s like to love a real man.”
I laughed. “Stop wasting your breath, you great fool. Come on, let’s get you to the healer.” I bent down to try to help him up, but it was too late. Garamaros sagged to the road, dead. I fell to my knees, staring at my friend’s face, letting his features burn themselves into my memory forever. Eventually, I rose and picked Garamaros up from the ground. Then, cradling him against my chest, I carried him to the bottom of the hill.
I was not aware of it at the time, but they told me later that the Romans tried to attack when my back was turned. Pila and rocks flew, but none touched me. Several Roman soldiers thought to stab me in the back, but each fell before they could reach me, slain by some unseen force. No one saw who or what protected me that day, but I know. When I lay Garamaros down, a single black crow feather settled on his chest. I bowed my head over my friend and wept.
✸✸✸
“How many dead?” Brennus asked. We sat once more in the Forum with the Capitoline Hill towering above us, unconquered.
“Too many,” I replied, turning Garamaros’s lyre over in my hands. “Few in the greater scheme of things, but more than at the Allia.”
Brennus stood and paced for a moment before putting a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about Garamaros and Iestinus.”
I shook my head. “My sorrow is a selfish thing. Both have gone to their next lives; may they be filled with glory.”
“I would settle for just being happy in my next life, truth be told,” Brennus mused.
Garamaros’s laugh echoed in my memory, and I changed the subject. “A frontal assault seems unlikely to succeed. What else do you have up your sleeve?”
“If we cannot force them off that hilltop, we have other options.” Brennus continued pacing, then paused, holding up a finger. “We will set such a siege as they have never seen. No supplies of any kind will be allowed to reach the hilltop. Take Urus and the other captains and set a rotating guard around the city and the base of the hill. Any Romans trying to sneak in or out are to be brought immediately to me.” He held up a second finger. “We have not yet tried guile. Perhaps there is another route that will let us do by subterfuge what we could not do through force of arms.”
And so, nursing our wounds, we settled in for the wait.
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