Aquila Invicta
Aquila Invicta
Castrum Invicta, 120 A.D.
North of the Italian Peninsula
His eyes opened, pupils dilating slightly to adjust to the misted light that swirled above his head. It was early morning, and it was cold, watching in odd delight as the hairs rose on his right hand. Slightly amused, Baetio rose up from the cramped position he slept in at the base of the stockade. With the golden pommelled gladius at his hilt, he grinned and frowned as he stretched his limbs in the shadow of the wooden tower gate. Baetio inhaled and held his breath. For a couple of moments his eyes drifted over the palisade, eyeing a low-lying valley nestled between the forested hills of the land north of the Italian peninsula. All he could see from the upper level of the stockade was the edge of a sea of dark green. Thick fog glided above his head and into the valley, blurring everything that was in the distance. Baetio frowned. He hated this constant fog.
He turned on his heels and descended a flight of stairs to the middle level of the parapets, tapping his gladius against the coifs of the two watchmen sleeping beside the staircase.
“Wake up.”
One of the watchmen groaned. “They're here?”
“Not yet, but they will be, especially with this fog,” replied Baetio.
The half Carthaginian descended the last flight of stairs and stepped through the compound itself, wrapping the red Roman cape around his broad shoulders. It was too cold for him, born in the scorching months of Julius, but he got used to it somewhat by now. It's been two months they were stranded in this cramped space and there was still no sign of a relief army. It had been dark most of the times, surrounded by this haunted forest, and above all they were alone. They were still probably the finest warriors Rome had at that moment. But they were only ten, and they had only been ten.
Baetio stepped on the soft earth with firmness as he paced towards the armoury, sliding past carts, wheelbarrows, swords, javelins, bits of armour and other supplies that they were too lazy to store in their designated places. The armoury, nothing more than a dining hall that housed their weapons, was warm and welcoming as he stepped inside. A delicious smell of soup wafted in the air, except that all four of his Roman brothers were sleeping soundly in their straw beds. He unceremoniously woke them up but omitted to wake the women who slept in the opposite corner. Baetio felt he did not want to disturb them. Stepping away from the armoury, Baetio circled the compound and screamed for their last companion, guided by the orange hue of dawn.
He found Zyraxes, the Dacian, in a corner of the camp, resting beside his curved falx with his hands cupped in prayer to his forgotten God. Baetio knew better than to disturb him so he tapped his falx and walked away, leaving Zyraxes to his ardent prayers. Satisfied all of his companions were awake, he returned to the fortified walls and climbed to the top level of the stockade.
“Cold, is in not, Baetio?”
Baetio nodded, his black eyes gleaming in the mist. “Cold.”
“They're coming, aren't they?”
Baetio nodded. “Yes, they're coming. Wulfila's coming, and he's coming soon.”
A low rumble echoed behind them as Julius, Baetio's second-in-command, climbed up the wooden stairs. Of middle height but built like an ox, he contrasted Baetio's tall and lean figure by making up in width what he lacked in height. He saluted Baetio with a quick nod of his head and tapped the helm of the watchman, Flavius. Julius flanked the guard and brought the velite shield to his girdle to protect his thorax as he leaned against the wooden wall.
“Get your javelins ready, Julius.”
“...and make sure you throw each one of them correctly. I heard that before, Baetio, but I hope this time they will have the courage to show up.”
Baetio smiled. “They already did, just listen.”
Julius turned to his commander, closing one eye in scepticism. “How are you so sure?”
“Listen.”
At first it was faint, but as the minutes went past it grew from an almost absent rumble to a cacophony of sounds, booms and yells that overlapped each other. It came from the fog, lost in the thickets of the dense forest that lurked for many miles in front of their compound gate. Baetio clutched his gladius tighter, mirrored unknowingly by Julius and Flavius who rose their small velite shields to their chests. A war horn echoed once through the fog, echoed twice and then thrice, raising more than a couple of hairs down their spine. They eyed the milky mist in agony, straining to see even the faintest outline of an enemy warrior. But they were not there, at least not in their line of sight.
Julius scraped his shield against the stockade.
“We're ten, they're more than one hundred.”
Baetio nodded. “We all kill 10 each and we've done our duty. I hope you've learned your Greek mathematics, Julius.”
“How about we count dead bodies instead of living barbarians?”
Baetio chuckled. “That too, once we're done with Wulfila and his friends. Flavius, stay here and warn us. Julius, down with me, we have a plan to finish.”
Leaving Flavius to the bitter cold of the sweeping wind, Baetio and Julius retreated to the warmth of the armoury for a final approach. Inside the armoury, in the midst of the dining table, the golden eagle of the legion stood proudly, engraved with the names of each and every one of them. They were ten, a little legion of elite Roman soldiers, tasked to stall the advance of Wulfila's own elite troops marching to hammer the defences north of Mediolanum. A barbarian captain from the Germanic forests, his attacks were coordinated with the help of his friends in Rome, seeing that they always coincided when Hadrian's legions were away. But they were never away. For two months they waited in silence at the border, hoping to hear Wulfila's war horn.
Baetio glanced around him in the armoury. Julius stood upright behind him, sticking three javelins on his velite shield. Aemilianus and Kleon, the agile warriors of the group, propped themselves against the table with their swords sharpened and their eyes fixed on Baetio. On the other side of the table, Cornelius and Arsaces hauled their huge triarii shields on the table, throwing their massive spears in a loud clatter that echoed inside the dining hall. Meek, but knowing very well they were deadly, Baetio nodded to Livia and Arduinna who approached the silent group with deadly composite bows in hand. Flavius manned the gates... but Zyraxes was absent.
“Zyraxes? Absent as usual?” moaned Arsaces, the huge Parthian cavalryman.
Baetio nodded. “For the time being.”
“Before you start, I'm ready,” countered Julius.
Cornelius hailed Baetio with his spear. “About damn time, I was going to rot in this place. Finally I get to see Wulfila's ugly face again!”
Arsaces and the rest laughed but Baetio and Arduinna kept their straight faces, hoping to get a glimpse of their real state of spirit. Baetio nodded to Arduinna moments later and unsheathed his gladius, slamming it down on the table. In the sudden silence, Baetio carved the outline of the walled compound and highlighted the gate with a quick flick of the blade over the square shape.
“Wulfila's men are not particularly good with grapple hooks and they won't bother with them anyhow.”
Julius held out a hand. “Battering ram?”
Baetio nodded. “The battering ram Wulfila brought will aim directly for the gate. They will batter it down pretty easily, so no use trying to fortify it now. Our aim is to kill as many of Wulfila's men as possible.”
Kleon held up his javelin. “If you're hungry for skewered barbarians, Kleon's Butcher Shop will be open in one hour!”
The whole group chuckled, easing some of the tension that pressed over the table like a hammer.
“Kleon, Aemilius, Julius, up on the left parapets and support Flavius. Livia, Arduinna, you come with me and we strike from the other side.”
“And what's left for us? Our favourite task?” grinned Arsaces.
“All yours, Arsaces. Boil as many as you want.”
They stepped out of the armoury a moment later, coinciding with another loud concert echoing from Wulfila's war horn. The fog lifted slightly, offering a better view of the forest's edge, lined up with more than one hundred of Wulfila's savages. Even in the pale light of the sun, their sharp axes gleamed and Baetio thought he could almost see the viciousness in their eyes as he climbed the parapet. With their huge beards and odd clothing, some with even wolf pelts on their heads, they were used to strike fear in every opponent they met. Except that even if they were throwing taunts, all they got were sneering giggles from Kleon and Arduinna.
But as Baetio expected, Wulfila's men wasted no time. Split into strategic groups, the main warband pushed the battering ram to the gate in a chorus of war horns and drums. The heavy siege weapon lumbered onwards to the gate, unmolested by any enemy fire. Once the battering ram came close enough, Baetio gave one last glance over the stockade and smiled. From the outside, the camp looked all but deserted.
Moments later, the gates clattered with the dreadful clank of the ram smashing through the locks. Crouched behind the stockade to conceal himself, Baetio leapt forwards to the tower gate and pulled down the lever built in the wall. A trap door opened above the battering ram, revealing a small ballista aimed at the frontal side of the siege weapon. Baetio unsheathed his gladius and cut the holding rope, triggering the mechanism that fired off the huge ballista bolt into the battering ram. The bolt pierced the protective hides and smashed through the entire mechanism, shattering the whole log that swung backwards and forwards to ram the gate.
Kleon winked. From the other side of the parapets, he lit up the tip of an arrow and leapt for the bolt rope. Doused in saltpetre, the rope lit up instantly in a ball of fire that bypassed the protective hides and ignited the dried wood inside the ram. In a matter of seconds the entire siege weapon was caught in an orange ball of fire, scattering the confused warriors that manned it. Taken aback, Wulfila's warriors were suddenly exposed to arrow fire.
It was Arduinna who gave the signal. Her thin hands bent the composite bow and aimed for the closest warrior just beneath the palisade. She set her fingers free, the sleek arrow smashing right through the man's skull. On the other side of the gate Kleon and Aemilius wasted no time, aiming their javelins with deadly accuracy. Before Wulfila's warriors retaliated with their own archers, twenty of their kin were dead or mortally injured under the hail of projectiles.
Baetio yelled, bringing his warriors down behind the protection of the palisade.
“Retreat, the gate will burn!”
Julius quickly saw that Baetio was right. Despite the stone foundation, the battering ram's flames spread to the wooden structure of the gate. Fires soon engulfed the battered gate and the edges of the towers. But while the gates would collapse quickly, Julius judged, the towers were built of damp wood, making their collapse a rather slower affair. Still, Wulfila's archers fired their flaming arrows, lighting up the two guard towers without much problem.
The Romans formed up in a tight defensive position just outside the armoury, with Arsaces and Cornelius in the middle, Baetio behind them, Kleon and Aemelianus on the sides. Julius crouched in front of them, javelin ready in his hand, eager to kill as much as Livia and Arduinna who stood on the staircases with their bows ready. But as the gate slowly collapsed and Wulfila's warriors grew louder and louder, Julius frowned and turned to Arsaces.
“Why are you tied to a rope?”
Arsaces smiled devilishly. “I like to burn things, Julius.”
The wood crackled and snapped, chopped and hacked to pieces by the barbaric axes that ripped it to splinters. They trickled inside the Castrum Invicta, one by one, almost berserk because of the death of their brothers in arms. Wulfila's warriors restored their small groups and charged through the gate, oblivious to the peril that lurked above their heads. Tugged by Arsaces and Cornelius, the two huge pots slowly listed forwards, spilling their boiling oil over Wulfila's men just as the barbarians broke off from the shattered gate. Decimated by the oil, the charging warband wavered in front of the Romans and were soon killed off, trapped between the upcoming wave and Baetio's sudden anger.
Smashing left and right, stabbing overhand and underhand, Baetio parried and slashed with his golden gladius wherever he could find space. The half Carthaginian struck down a couple of younger warriors with ease, locking swords for precious seconds with one of the veterans until Livia fired off a shot in the man's neck. Sliding over the man's limp body, Baetio stabbed another one of Wulfila's men and immediately danced sideways to parry a high bow, sending the attacker reeling backwards. Far more agile, Baetio shoved low kicks and elbows, destabilising his opponent until his gladius sliced his jugular with a perfect cut. But as he danced with death for minutes, the tingle of despair did not escape him.
Fearful, he gave off a glance to Arsaces who held his own. But Cornelius was wounded, the same going for Kleon who could not use his speed any longer. Parrying a right hand blow, Baetio reeled backwards as the sheer force of one of the attackers sent him tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust. But as he stood up, he was slammed in the back and rammed the attacker head first, smashing his coif in the man's chest armour. The attacker's head flew off seconds later from a clean falx cut, drawing a quick smile as Zyraxes's lean frame slashed and cut everything around him.
Leaving Zyraxes to his own, Baetio jumped back in the fight, sending off two of Arsaces's attackers before the massive Parthian speared one of the axemen bent on killing the Roman. Baetio returned the favour a moment later, dancing around Arsaces to outsmart a young skirmisher armed with a javelin. As they speared, stabbed, slashed and aimed, more and more of Wulfila's men lay limp around them. Pools of blood formed everywhere, drowning the soft ground of the compound to turn it into a red lake. They danced two more times together, cleverly avoiding low handed blows that would have sliced open their bellies. They retaliated just as fast, spearing and stabbing the last pockets of fierce resistance formed around the edge of the gate.
Exhausted and propped against the destroyed gate, with his gladius in hand and spattered in blood, Baetio collapsed on the soft ground, the black mist swirling around him.