thankfully, saw the gesture and ducked back down. One of the defenders, wrapped tight in his woollen cloak, strode past perhaps five feet from where the legate clung.
Moments passed until finally he heard the distinctive night-time call of the corn crake from down near the water; nothing unusual enough to attract the guards’ attention, despite being replicated on this occasion with two notched sticks by one of the legionaries remaining at the beach on watch.
Fronto nodded. The call was short and singular and told him that all four units were in position along the walls.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the optio and hauled himself up onto the wall.
The guard had walked past him and almost reached Curtius’ position. As quietly as he could, as he got his knees on the top of the wall, Fronto drew his gladius. A few yards away, the optio’s hand shot out across the surface and grabbed the Gaul’s ankle, yanking it forward. The guard gave a gasp and fell heavily backwards. Fronto lunged forward to silence the man with his sword, but the fall had cracked the man’s head hard and driven the consciousness from him before he could shout.
Along the wall, the other guards were disappearing with quiet gurgles and gasps. Fronto immediately dropped to a crouch and turned to examine the fort interior and the other walls, as the men of Curtius’ unit began to arrive at the top. The only buildings in the Veneti fort were at the high, central point of the fort, just as they had found in all the coastal strongholds and the only visible figures within were milling around in the central open space, around a small fire, largely hidden between the buildings.
There were more guards along the other walls and they would likely be the big problem. Not the most important one, though…
Fronto’s eyes were drawn once more to the central buildings. At the far side of those, a small artificial mound had been constructed, crowned by a wooden platform upon which stood a beacon of dried wood, rising like one of the great ancient obelisks of Aegyptus.
Now
The legate almost bit off his tongue in panic as a warning cry went up from a particularly alert guard along one of the other walls.
“Bugger it.”
Fronto stood and waved his arms madly.
“Go!”
Without waiting, he grabbed Curtius and stepped forward. The interior face of the wall was much lower than the exterior and was backed with a slightly-sloping earth rampart. Still clinging to the optio, he jumped from the wall, landing heavily and awkwardly on the turf, jarring his ankle and cursing. To add insult to injury, Curtius, next to him, landed lithe as a cat and grasped the legate’s tunic to steady him.
“Thanks” Fronto said sourly as the first of the men behind him dropped from the wall to the turf. Around them, the camp burst into life as the occupants realised they were being attacked.
As planned, the first and second Roman groups split left and right and raced around the walls, securing all points of access and the main gate, dispatching the remaining wall guards and enclosing the whole complex before beginning to descend into the interior.
The third group formed up as they descended the stairs near the gate and began to move at a run to meet the first groups of defenders who were appearing between the houses, racing to meet the Roman attackers.
Fronto and Curtius, aware that their men were hot on their heels, however, moved off without pausing to form up, charging up the slope on a course to bypass the square and its surrounding houses, making directly for the beacon.
Fronto swore with every step as his sore ankle thudded to the floor, though he was damned if he was going to slow down and pander to it with the irritating figure of Curtius running alongside.
As they approached the level of the first buildings, six men burst out from a narrow alleyway, armed and shouting. Four turned to face the oncoming Romans, while the other two ran the other way, waving burning torches.
“Oh shit.”
The four Veneti warriors, two with strange decorative helmets, leapt forward into the fray, two at Fronto and two at Curtius. The legate lurched to a halt, raising his sword just in time to deflect the blow from a heavy Celtic blade. As he ducked back, looking for an opening, he glanced at Curtius, only to realise that the optio wasn’t there.
The confusion didn’t have long to take hold as he was forced to parry yet another heavy blow. Three more men joined him from behind, two of them taking up the position where Curtius had been moments before.
Fronto growled as he ducked a vicious, scything blow and, grinning, stabbed the man in his shoulder where he had over-extended his attack. While the Gaul stumbled forward in shock, Fronto blinked as he saw Curtius over the man’s shoulder, already way ahead of the fight and racing off into the darkness after the torchbearers. How in the name of a dozen Gods had he managed
Fronto readied himself for the next blow, but it never came. The man he had lightly wounded had suffered a horrendous blow at the hands of a legionary who had just appeared on the legate’s left. The two Celts who remained standing were now hard pressed as over a dozen Romans lunged and stabbed at them, more arriving all the time.
Another seven Veneti appeared around the nearest building and made for the fray, bellowing harsh war cries. The legate grimaced and turned to the men around him, just as another Gaulish warrior collapsed in a heap alongside the dying legionary he had attacked.
Grabbing the nearest men, he yelled “You two with me. Everyone else, get stuck in!”
He pointed at the approaching Veneti and the legionaries roared as they ran to meet the enemy. Leaving the fight behind and hoping that his men would be able to hold off what could very well be a superior force, Fronto and his two companions ran on into the darkness toward the looming deeper black of the signal beacon.
They rounded the corner of the last building just as the first orange flames licked the timbers at the base of the tower.
“Oh bollocks!”
Curtius was being held at bay by two warriors, swinging madly with their long blades, while another ducked in and out of the beacon with his flaming torch. Wherever he touched it to the dry kindling, orange flames burst into life.
“Get those bastards!” Fronto barked, and the three of them leapt forward to join Curtius. The sudden arrival of reinforcements quickly turned the tide of the scuffle and the two warriors, hard pressed, went down one after the other to sharp, efficient blows.
As soon as the men were no longer barring his way, Curtius leapt forward and clambered up the small mound. The remaining Veneti warrior turned to meet this new threat, waving his flaming torch defensively.
Fronto and the other two men started up the slope, but they were clearly too late. Orange fire was racing up the kindling that formed the heart of the beacon and already the heavier timbers were beginning to burn. There was nothing they could do, now.
Almost derisively, Curtius knocked the torch from the man’s hands and drove his gladius deep into the man’s chest, pinning him to one of the strong wooden beams that formed the corners of the obelisk-shaped beacon.
“Get back, man” Fronto yelled.
Curtius let go of the sword, leaving it on the pinned man, glanced at the legate once, a crazed grin on his face, and then stepped across the wooden platform. There was a loud bang and the central mass settled slightly, a small explosion of fire and shards of burning wood bursting out of the beacon, setting light to the fringe of Curtius’ tunic. The man reeled back, the sudden intense heat blistering his face and arm.
Fronto watched in horror as the tunic caught fully, fire racing up the man’s back as the optio stepped to the next corner.
As the next moments unfolded, Fronto watched one of the most astounding acts of individual stupidity he would ever witness, his jaw hanging open and his eyes drying out with the ever increasing heat this close to the beacon.
Curtius, his hair frazzled, reached around the beam at the corner and gripped it hard in a tight embrace, the extreme heat of the wood blistering and ruining his arms. The optio, afire and sizzling, wrenched at the beam with
