[Gaius Valerius Verrens 06] - Scourge of Rome (39 page)

Behind the closest ram, legionaries hauled the giant ash trunk back to its full extent and then released it against the wall for the first time. The impact shook the whole tower, but strangely it was a second later before a giant clang split the air. A frozen heartbeat when it seemed the entire battlefield stood still was followed by a lusty cheer from the attackers. Another mighty clang signalled the strike of the second ram, and the rhythm was set. A rush of defenders appeared to hurl rocks from the walls down at the operators, only to be swept away by the spears of legionaries in the flanking towers. At the same time Roman artillery deluged the top of the walls with a lethal hail of missiles to deter a flanking attack.

Valerius felt his heart quicken as he imagined the nerve-shredding chaos inside the attack towers. Hundreds of fully armoured legionaries packed into the stifling gloom of the inner storeys, waiting to make their way up the ladders to the fighting platforms. To reach them they’d have to struggle through stacks of
pila
waiting to be passed upwards and past a stream of wounded being carried below to the
medicus
. Every successful strike of the ram would come at the cost of a Roman life on the fighting platform and the waiting men would be showered in the blood of those dying above. An angry murmur filled the air – the familiar background to a faraway battle – punctuated by the shrill screams of men plummeting from the battlements and the towers. His ears throbbed with the thump of
ballista
,
onager
and
scorpio
launches. Bolts and boulders flew towards Jerusalem in a constant rush and the air was split by the clang of the iron ram heads. Artillery centurions barked ceaseless commands for corrections or shouted for more ammunition.

Without warning the sound of battle changed to a higher, more urgent pitch and Valerius saw a flash of yellow on the parapet close to one of the rams.

‘Bastards.’ Serpentius grimaced as a streak of flame lanced out from the Judaean defences and cascaded down the animal-skin flank of the ram tower. Burning oil, carried in open buckets by pairs of men prepared to die to ensure it went where it would do most good.

‘I hope by all the gods they’ve wet those skins properly.’ A soldier’s greatest fear was to be trapped in a burning siege tower with hundreds of men battling to reach the constricted trap door exits. If this one caught they would be hurling each other off ladders as the wooden structure turned into an inferno. For all the poets said, there was no such thing as a good death, but surely burning was the worst of all? Every man’s eyes were drawn to the terrible drama being acted out around the pinnacle of the towers.

Every man but Serpentius.

He touched Valerius on the arm. ‘See those bushes at the base of the wall just beyond the stone tower?’

Valerius strained his eyes until he could make out a patch of dusty green. ‘What about them?’

‘They shouldn’t be there. I’ve been looking at these walls for days and the rebels have cleared every inch of ground around the base to give them a clear field of fire. And it’s not just that. I thought I saw movement.’

Valerius looked for a senior officer to inform, but they were all occupied. In any case, what could he tell them? That Serpentius might have seen something move in a patch of bushes that some lazy work gang had ignored? But he’d known the Spaniard long enough not to ignore his instincts. He pulled himself into the saddle and Serpentius did likewise. They walked their horses forward into the killing zone, neither man quite sure why they were doing it.

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know, but that stretch of wall will be out of sight of the men in those siege towers.’

Valerius increased his pace and angled his mount towards the tower closest to the danger area. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he didn’t sound convinced, ‘but we’ll let them know about a possible threat and get ourselves out of there. I’d planned a quiet day.’

By now they were halfway to the siege towers, and Valerius searched the walls for anyone who might be targeting the two isolated riders with a captured
ballista
. Serpentius’s face split into a knowing grin, but he kept his mouth shut.

‘What?’ Valerius demanded.

‘I was just think—’

But Valerius would never know what the Spaniard was thinking. And his chances of a quiet day were disappearing with every hundred Judaean rebels who spilled out of those innocent bushes. He could see them making their way in a stealthy rush towards the siege towers two hundred paces away, but they were invisible to the attacking Romans.

‘Go!’ Valerius dug his heels into Lunaris’s ribs and the gelding surged away in a cloud of dust as Serpentius struggled to keep up. They galloped across the stony ground roaring to alert their comrades to the unseen enemy. Valerius knew anyone who saw or heard them would probably think of them as either a pair of madmen or a threat, but they had to try. He was thankful for the helmet which identified him as a Roman. At least it lessened the likelihood of their being greeted by a volley of
pila
. His eyes darted between the Judaeans, who were all but invisible now, screened by the curve of the wall, and the attacking cohort from the Fifth.

A hundred paces to go, but it would only be moments before the Judaeans – upwards of a thousand, at least – were in position to make their final charge. ‘Form line!’ he screamed at the startled men in the rear of the closest cohort’s ranks. ‘Form line, right!’

But why should they respond to a maniac bearing down on them at the gallop when they could see no threat?

At last the siege tower loomed over Valerius. He reined in beside the vast wooden structure and threw himself from the saddle to grab the nearest man. ‘Rebels,’ he rasped. ‘Form line, right. Where is your centurion?’

‘Centurion Glico?’ The legionary frowned. ‘He’s directing operations in the tower, sir.’

‘Then forget him. Form a defensive line on the right flank, and be ready to—’

But it was already too late. The man’s mouth gaped as he looked beyond Valerius’s shoulder and a long ululating scream from a thousand throats announced the Judaean attack. Valerius turned to see a wall of spear-wielding men rushing towards them less than sixty paces away.

‘Form line!’ Valerius pushed the young legionary forward and grabbed the man next to him. ‘Lock shields and prepare to receive attack.’ To his right Serpentius was doing the same, pushing and pulling the legionaries into a rough line on the same axis. By now men were screaming at their comrades to join them and the inbred discipline of the legion quickly produced a rank of fifty or sixty men. It wasn’t enough, but it was all they had. ‘Draw swords,’ he shouted to anyone, belatedly remembering that he hadn’t drawn his own. He pulled the
gladius
free from its scabbard and gabbled a prayer to every god he could think of. And looked up.

As they struck.

The line was like the sand wall a child builds on a beach to hold back the incoming tide, and the attack the wave that overwhelms it. The sheer momentum of the Judaean assault carried them through the weakest points in the shields. Screaming warriors hurled themselves where the edges of
scuta
failed to touch. Spearmen instinctively sensed where a nervous hand held a sword. They poured round the flanks in their hundreds into the pocket of confusion behind, where Valerius was trying desperately to create a second rank. In moments he found himself at the centre of a maelstrom of men fighting for their lives. A gleaming spear point darted at his eyes and he twisted to allow it to slide past his right cheek, instinctively taking the step that carried him into sword range. He could smell the man’s rancid breath and saw the eyes widen almost before he realized he’d rammed the point of the
gladius
forward. A twist of the wrist and the blade broke the suction of the reluctant flesh. The Judaean dropped the spear and folded at the middle with his hands scrabbling to return the slippery coils of his intestines to their natural home.

‘Your right!’ Serpentius’s shouted warning allowed Valerius a heartbeat to parry the unseen thrust from the flank. His blade slipped down the spear shaft and a second Judaean rammed his point into the Roman’s chest. If the thrust had been perfect it would have pierced the breastplate’s layers of thrice-tanned bullhide, split ribs and pinned Valerius’s heart. Instead, the point struck at an angle and skidded off the leather to score a groove across the flesh of his right shoulder. He screamed as a white-hot bolt of agony ripped through him and he was driven backwards and down by the weight of his enemy. As he flailed uselessly with his sword two snarling rebels jostled for the right to ram a spear into his throat. Their rivalry saved his life. A whirlwind of glistening iron appeared from nowhere and in an unreal moment one of the bearded heads parted company from its owner in a spray of scarlet. Before the second Judaean could react Serpentius smashed him backwards with a shield he’d somehow fallen heir to and kicked his spear aside to stab him in the throat.

They found themselves in a strange pocket of calm in the midst of the battle. Valerius cried out as the Spaniard hauled him to his feet by the injured arm. Serpentius flicked back Valerius’s cloak to expose his bloodstained shoulder. He inspected the wound. ‘It looks worse than it is, but it’s just a scratch. Try to use your arm normally or it will stiffen up.’

Valerius nodded and stood on shaking legs as he studied their position. Men continued to fight for their lives all around them, but the bulk of the Judaeans had bypassed the knot of defenders at the southern siege tower to attack their real target. Dozens of rebels in the rear ranks of the Judaean assault ran in pairs and carried pots of liquid fire suspended from wooden rods.

‘They’re going to try to burn it from the ground up.’ Despite the efforts of the ram’s defenders, flames were already licking at the base of the tower where the wooden frame wasn’t protected by dampened hides.

‘Nothing we can do about it now,’ the Spaniard said. Valerius saw he was right. Their services would make no difference to the outcome of the savage little skirmish. The legionary cohort from the northern siege tower had belatedly formed ranks and was marching to the rescue of the ram. At the same time the thunder of hooves from the direction of the Roman siege line announced the arrival of a reinforced wing of auxiliary cavalry.

The commander of the Judaean attack must have taken the sensible decision to withdraw, or his warriors made it for him. Suddenly hundreds of men in the distinctive Judaean robes were streaming past Valerius and Serpentius on their way back to the hidden portals. The only thought on their minds was to return to the safety of the city. They posed little danger, but one man came too close and Serpentius stepped out from behind the shield and clubbed him to the ground with the hilt of his sword.

Whooping auxiliaries pursued the fleeing Judaeans, mercilessly cutting down the slowest and the injured. The legionaries concentrated their efforts on dousing the flames, which had caused only superficial damage to the ram tower. Serpentius dragged his terrified prisoner to his feet and prodded him ahead with his sword point towards a little group of cavalry officers observing the aftermath of the attack. Valerius was surprised to see that Titus himself had commanded the rescue effort.

The general frowned as he recognized the two men with the prisoner, taking in the recently used swords and the blood dripping from Valerius’s wooden fist. ‘Even when I order you to stay safe you cannot keep out of trouble,’ he smiled. ‘But it seems I am in your debt once more.’

‘We were out for a ride and took a wrong turning.’ Valerius’s face split into a weary grin. ‘Serpentius has brought you a gift.’ The Spaniard pushed the captive forward until he stumbled at Titus’s feet. Black-bearded and stocky, he cut a ragged, miserable figure, cringing in the dust.

‘Put him with the rest,’ Titus ordered. ‘I will see them in a moment. Ten prisoners out of so many hundreds,’ he said to Valerius. ‘They have a fondness for sacrifice, your Judaeans.’ He gave the order for the ram to resume its work as soon as the structure had been checked. The attack would continue. ‘Now, let us get this unpleasantness over.’

The ten captives sat in a huddle under the watchful eye of legionary guards. One or two appeared terrified, including Serpentius’s man, but most stared defiantly at the splendidly dressed soldier who rode up to inspect them from his saddle.

‘I congratulate you,’ Titus called to them. ‘You almost caused me a setback. Who was your leader?’

One of the prisoners stood, a tall heavyset man in a striped robe tight-wrapped at the waist in the fashion Josephus had used in the tunnel. ‘Our general was John, an Idumaean commander. He lies next to the tower with an arrow in his throat. You will know him by the eye patch he wears, for he only has one – or should I say had.’

Titus nodded thoughtfully. ‘You fought well, Judaean, and with courage, but now I fear you must summon more. There is a price to pay for your audacity. I cannot let the defenders who man your walls believe they can sneak out and attack our lines with impunity. To be truthful, I do not have the wood to spare, but you will be crucified in full view of the Tower of Psephinus, and your bodies left to rot, so all can witness the cost of defiance.’

One or two men groaned at the terrible end they faced, and one cried out, but their spokesman bristled defiance. ‘You can crucify us by the hundred, but Jerusalem will never surrender,’ he said, and spat towards Titus’s horse. One of the guards moved to strike him with a club, but the general raised a hand to stop him.

‘We will see how eloquent you are after a few hours hanging in the sun. Take them away.’

‘No! Please, no.’ The man Serpentius had struck pushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of Titus. ‘I am no rebel. My name is Benyamin of Ephraim, and they made me join them. My son is dead in the fighting. I have a wife and three other children who will starve without me. Have mercy, in God’s name, I beg you. I am but a simple carpenter.’