leave.
Carbo nodded and glanced toward the walls where the first men of the Tenth were now raising ladders, the defending fire hardly noticeable any more. There were no casualties to pits so either the men of the Tenth had been ridiculously lucky, or the enemy were prepared to give away Darioritum and sure of their ability to flee the field of battle safely.
“Sir, Centurion Atenos already took the Second Cohort round the outside before we even got to the outer wall. He had the same idea and I think he might be in considerable trouble.”
Tetricus’ eyes widened.
“Jupiter’s balls! The man could be knee deep in body parts by now!”
The tribune spun around, shaking slightly, and spotted the centurion that had led the assault group from the second breech.
“Niger? Forget the wall assault. Get your men together and take them between the walls and round to the port area as fast as you can.”
He turned back to Carbo and opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a voice from the walls. The two officers turned to look. The first ladder was already in position and a brave legionary had reached the parapet to peer over. He was waving and pointing across the wall.
“Looks like they’ve already left.”
Tetricus shook his head in irritation.
“Let’s hope the Second Cohort last until we get there.”
Atenos stared. The flow of missiles falling from the walls onto the four centuries of Romans skirting the edge of the outer defences had slowed almost to a stop as the column had approached the seaward end of the city and now, as he peered around the stockade, he realised why. The defenders of Darioritum had not waited long under the threat of Roman victory before beginning the evacuation of the city.
Clearly the women, children and old folk had been moved out first while the warriors remained on the battlements creating the illusion of a fully-defended city. They must have started some time ago, given the empty supply carts that stood on the far side of the port area.
Atenos took in the situation at a glance.
The low outer wall’s gate was open and a steady flow of the Veneti made their way through it, hampered and slowed by the available space. The flat ground between the gate and the dock was narrow and full of milling people. Beyond, three wooden jetties strode out into the waters of the bay, lined with Veneti bound for the great oak ships.
Several of the vessels were already wallowing out in the water, groaning under the weight of civilians. By the looks of it, already most of the non-combatants were aboard, leaving only the cunning and tenacious Veneti warriors at the dock, where they had set guards to watch for Atenos’ approach.
As the big Gaul came to the attention of the Veneti, a shout of alarm went up. The centurion ducked back around the wall to where the other three centurions had gathered to receive their orders.
“Alright” the big man said in a businesslike fashion. “We’re a bit outnumbered. Just over three hundred of us and thousands of them, but that means nothing. Remember Thermopylae?”
Two of the centurions grinned while the other looked dumbfounded.
“We need to stop them boarding any more people and try and contain the rest until the city is in the hands of the army.”
He pointed at the centurions of the second and fifth centuries.
“You two get the nastiest job. We’re going to go in en-masse and drive a wedge between the wall and the docks. As soon as we’ve done that, your centuries get to push any remaining warriors back through that gate into the fortress and then hold it against them until help arrives.”
As they nodded their understanding, he turned to the centurion of the fourth century.
“I’m going to take the first in the other direction and push the enemy back along the jetties. We’re going to push them as far as the ships and, if things work out, we might even get on board and cause a bit of havoc. The job of the Fourth is, once we’ve pushed them clear, to demolish the landward end of the jetties and prevent any more boarding in case we’re overcome. Then you turn round and help the others hold the gate. Everyone clear?”
The centurion of the fourth frowned, a harelip disfiguration making his expression peculiar.
“We’ll be cutting off your exit, sir?”
“We can swim if need be, so just do it. And when we round that corner, no marching slowly forward in a traditional Roman line. Speed is of the essence. Run like Greek athletes and form up only when we reach them.”
The officers saluted and then ran back to their men to give the appropriate orders. Atenos waited until the men were in position and then raised his hand. Near him, the signifer of the first cohort waved the standard and the three hundred men of the Tenth Legion raced around the corner at speed, bearing down like a wall of bellowing iron.
The Veneti stood firm, planting their feet ready to withstand the smash of the Roman line, their swords and axes ready, spears held high.
“Wedge!” barked the huge centurion as they closed and, to the surprise of the Veneti, within seconds the jumbled line of running men, each at his own pace and with no sense of Roman order, reformed into a wedge, shields interlocked to create an armoured point. The manoeuvre was so swift and slick it was like watching water flowing.
The Veneti, still braced for the crash of two solid lines, were totally unable to withstand the sheer force of the wedge formation driving into the centre and, in a disorganised mass of screaming, desperate men, were driven apart into two groups: one by the dock and one by the gate.
Atenos, leading the charge and in prime position at the head of the wedge, ignored the sudden sharp pain of a lucky slash from a broadsword that trimmed the bronze edging from the top of his shield and left a long, thin gash on his shoulder. As soon as he realised that they had broken through the far side of the Veneti mass, he shouted the order and the centuries split and began to go about their appointed tasks.
Reforming, the first cohort, formerly the left side of the wedge, turned and became a solid shield wall facing the Veneti dock. With shouts from Atenos, his optio, and century’s signifer, the wall began to move forward, the legionaries in a line three deep putting all their strength into the action.
They were less than eight feet from the water’s edge and here the Veneti had taken the opportunity to cut out a proper dock side, so the gentle slope into the lake had become a sudden drop into cold water deeper than a man’s height. Rather than trying to inflict damage and butcher the men before them, the first cohort pushed at their shields, moving forward like a wall, gradually shoving the shouting warriors back toward the jetties.
Some of the enemy had foreseen what was about to happen and broke away from the fight, dodging back onto the wooden jetties to reform there. Others were less lucky and disappeared with shouts of dismay, plummeting into the cold water and effectively out of the fight as they swam variously for the Veneti ships or the nearest scalable bank.
Within moments the first century had reached the edge of the jetty, and with surprisingly few casualties, but then that was the advantage the legions had in cramped conditions: the traditional Gallic sword or spear required far more room to wield effectively than the enemy were being afforded in this desperate press of men.
As the space before them opened up, the remaining Veneti having retreated toward the ships, Atenos bellowed another command and the century split into three groups, each one numbering perhaps twenty men now, and moved as individual shield-walls onto the wooden jetties.
The numbers here were easier, at perhaps two Gauls to each Roman, though the sudden acquisition of space now gave the defending Veneti enough room to wield their blades effectively.
Atenos grinned from the front rank of men as he eyed the biggest of the Veneti warriors; a big man by any comparison… expect when compared to the centurion himself. The score of legionaries moved forward at a slow pace, presenting a column three men wide — as many as the space allowed.
Drawing a deep breath, the huge centurion growled something in the unintelligible language of the Gauls. The big Veneti warrior ahead blanched and shied away from the oncoming Romans, but the press of his fellows
