His attention was drawn back to the present situation as one of the barbarians still seething below the parapet threw himself up to the top, hooking an arm over the palisade while trying to swing wildly with the sword in the other. The situation, grave at the onset, was becoming more and more perilous all the time. The centuries defending this wall had suffered almost a fifty per cent casualty rate and, though they had only ever lost control of small sections of rampart very briefly before regaining them, the incursions were becoming more frequent and harder to repel. The end was close.
Unable to step back far enough to stab effectively at this latest interloper, Baculus swept his sword out to the side and head-butted the man with every ounce of his remaining strength. The helmet’s iron ridge smashed into the barbarian’s face, shattering bone and loosing him from the wall to fall back among his companions. The primus pilus blinked away the spattered blood that had sprayed across the helmet’s front and raised his blade to strike as something grabbed at his arm.
His arm swept wild as he realised the hand grasping him was a Roman, and the blow fell into empty air.
“You bloody idiot. I nearly cut your arm off!”
The soldier, his eyes wide, shrank back.
“Sorry sir. I couldn’t get your attention. Legate Galba sent for you. Wants you to meet him at the headquarters, sir.”
Baculus growled at the man and then nodded.
“Well since you’re nice and clean and fresh, step up here and take my place. Don’t let one of those shit- eating dogs across my wall.”
The legionary nodded meekly and stepped up to the rampart, drawing his sword and settling his shield in front of him. Paying the lad no further attention, Baculus dropped from the parapet and slid down the grassy bank of the rampart to the ground. A quick glance back told him that, despite his fears, the Twelfth were still miraculously holding the walls, though for how much longer remained to be seen. Squaring his shoulders he set off at a quick march toward the squat stone building that served as Galba’s headquarters. No matter how dire the situation, a centurion should not move at an unseemly run.
A minute later, he rounded a corner to face the building, its usual guard stripped to help man the walls. No man was being excused today, even the legate’s bodyguard, as Baculus was pleased to note. The door stood open and the primus pilus entered, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim glow within, darker than the pre-dawn light outside despite the guttering candles. As he strode into the room, the legate and tribune Volusenus looked up from the table and a hastily prepared model of their immediate surroundings formed from the various small pieces of clutter they had gathered.
“Ah, Baculus. Come and join us, quickly.”
“Sir.”
The primus pilus, aware that this was a gathering of desperate minds rather than a situation for high etiquette, strode over, dropped his shield and helmet and sank into one of the two spare seats around the table.
“We were just trying to find a way out of this mess, Publius.”
“Unsuccessfully, I might add” agreed Volusenus quietly.
Baculus nodded as he examined the makeshift model.
“We’re certainly in the shit, legate. The enemy have all but filled in the ditches, the piles of bodies are giving them a ramp to reach the palisade top, and we’re out of missiles. My lads are down to about half strength and the wall will go within the hour. I can’t imagine either of you are managing to fare any better?”
He was greeted with silent nods.
“Then frankly, we’re bollocksed. We’re trapped here. We must number maybe four hundred by now and, though we’re killing them in droves, there are still quite a few thousand out there. Once they get inside the walls, we’re done for.”
Galba shrugged.
“Then we either fight on like this and fall, however heroically, to the barbarians, or we have to find a means to get away.”
The tribune rubbed his eyes wearily.
“The only thing for it is to try and buy ourselves a little time somehow and then make a break through the south gate, out up the valley and back towards Cisalpine Gaul. I don’t like running, but it’s better than extermination and losing the eagle.”
Galba shook his head.
“No chance from the south. The Veragri pushed a cart up against it twenty minutes ago and lit it. My men are trying to stop the spreading fire, but the chances are that gate will be ablaze any time now and will fall soon.”
Baculus shrugged.
“Then we have an obvious choice. Our walls are all heavily under attack, but the bridge across to the town still stands.”
Galba raised an eyebrow.
“You are aware, I suppose, that that bridge leads to the north, deeper into enemy territory.”
“Indeed, sir, but beyond that lies Geneva and friendly tribes like the Allobroges. We might be able to make it, so long as we can get out of here.”
Volusenus frowned as he examined the makeshift model.
“We might be able to take them by surprise… if we timed it right?”
“Explain?”
“Well,” the tribune said, furrowing his brow as his gaze swept back and forth across the model, “we don’t care about holding the walls, just about getting the men out as fast as possible, yes?”
He was greeted by nods from his fellow officers.
“We don’t want to stay here now, so everything is disposable. Also, we’ll need to travel as light as possible to outrun them until we’re a long way from here. So…”
He gestured around the model walls and then pointed to the centre.
“We’ve still got the siege weapons and we’ve got pitch. What would the barbarians do if we set fire to our own walls?”
Galba blinked.
“I expect they’d laugh, once they were able to believe it. Why would we do that?”
Volusenus shrugged.
“We can’t hold them much longer and we need to buy some time while the enemy can’t cross them. If they’re on fire, the barbarians will have to hold back at least for a while. They’ll be in a state of confusion. We can add to that by madly firing the ballistae and the onager into their ranks.”
“But what good does it do?”
“While they’re milling about in confusion, we form the men up into testudos and break out of the north gate, across the bridge. The enemy are thin over there and the river will prevent the rest from joining them without following us over the bridge which, of course, they can’t do because of the blazing walls. Then it comes down to discipline, the ability of the men, and a little bit of luck. Once we’re clear of the barbarians, we do a triple time and head northwest as fast as Mercury himself.”
Baculus frowned as he stared at the model.
“It has merit, but there were a mass of barbarians on the hills on that side of the valley as well as this. Will they not be waiting for us in the open across the river? I’d assumed only the river and the bridge were stopping them from taking the north gate easily.”
Volusenus shook his head.
“We watched them from the west gate as they first charged. Once they realised we’d fired the town and they couldn’t get in that way, they spent a good hour and a half crossing the river to join in the attack. Had to put together rafts. Might piss them off a bit when they realise they have to do it again.”
The legate leaned back in his seat.
“It’s a mad plan… absolutely
