“Ballistae ready! Onagers, scorpions ready! Wait for the horns!” Brutus shouted left and right. They had not been idle in the dark hours and now every war machine they possessed was facing outward to smash the greater enemy. Every eye on the walls watched as the horde galloped toward them, and their faces were bright with anticipation.
Huge logs soaked in oil were lit and gave off a choking smoke that did nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of those who were ready to smash them down onto the heads of the Gauls.
Brutus nodded as he gauged the range, and tapped the nearest cornicen on the shoulder. The man took a deep breath and the long note sounded, almost swallowed in the release of hundreds of massive oak arms slamming into their rests. Stone and iron flew through the air with a whining sound, and the Romans showed their teeth as they waited for the first touch of death.
Madoc saw the launch and for a moment he shut his eyes and prayed. He heard the cracks and thumps of missiles all around him and dwindling screams that he left behind. When he opened his eyes, he was amazed to find himself alive and whooped aloud for the sheer pleasure of it. Gaps had been broken open amongst the tribes, but they closed as the distance to the legions shortened and now their blood was up.
The Gauls released their spears with all the fury of men who had survived the Roman machines. They arced up and over the walls, and before they could land, Madoc had reached the wide pits that ran along the edge of the Roman walls. Thirty thousand of his best men vaulted from their saddles and began to scramble up, digging their swords into the earth to climb over the spikes meant to hinder them.
Madoc saw the legionaries above in a glimpse as he climbed, and without warning the earth gave way and he dropped down at the base. He shouted in anger and began the climb again, but he heard the crackle of flames and saw a group of Romans lever something massive over the edge and drop it toward him. He tried to leap away, but it hammered him down in a splinter of bone and blackness.
From the walls, Julius watched as the first attack was sent reeling. He ordered the war machines to fire again and again, using logs and stones that broke the legs of horses as they rolled amongst them. The gates in the walls were burning, but it did not matter. He did not intend to wait for them to fall.
All along the miles of fortifications, the Roman legionaries were battering those who reached them, using shields and swords in a frenzy. The bodies began to pile at the foot of the wall, and Julius hesitated.
He knew his soldiers could not fight at such a pace for long, weak as they were. Yet the Gauls seemed intent on a direct assault, throwing their lives away on Roman iron.
The vast bulk of the horsemen had not even been able to reach the Roman lines through their own people, and Julius feared that if he sent the legions out, they would be engulfed. His face hardened as he made the decision.
“Octavian. Take the extraordinarii against them. My Tenth and Third will be behind you, just as we were against the Britons.”
Their eyes met for an instant and Octavian saluted.
Ropes were attached to the gates to pull them inward, once the great iron bars had been removed. The wood was burning well by then and when the gates fell the rush of air made the flames leap. The extraordinarii galloped through the fire to smash the enemy, their hooves clattering on the gates as they passed over. They vanished into the smoke and the Tenth and Third poured out after them.
Julius saw teams beat out the flames and heave the gates back into position before the Gauls could take advantage of the breach. It was a dangerous time. If the extraordinarii could not force the Gauls back, those legions ready to charge out and support them would not be able to move. Julius squinted through the smoke, following a legion eagle as it pounded through the boiling mass of tribesmen. He saw it fall and be dragged up by an unknown soldier. The Twelfth Ariminum were ready to go out, and Julius did not know what they would find.
He glanced up at the forts of Alesia and the men he had permanently watching for them to attempt an attack. How many could he leave as the reserve? If Vercingetorix broke out, Julius was sure his legions would falter at last, hammered on two sides. It must not be allowed to happen.
Renius caught his eye as the distinctive figure hovered near him with a shield ready to hold over Julius’s head. Julius smiled briefly, allowing him to stay. The gladiator looked pale and old, but his eyes scanned the field ceaselessly to protect his general.
Julius saw a clear space appear on the bloody ground, covered in feebly moving bodies and the dead.
Some of them were Roman, but the vast majority were the speared and crushed enemy. A huge arc was opening in the press as the Tenth heaved them back and walked over flesh with a barrier of their shields.
Julius saw the last spear throws disappear into the Gauls and he judged it was time.
“Twelfth and Eighth in support!” he called. “Bring down the gates!” Once more the ropes were yanked taut and ten thousand more rushed out to replenish those who had gone before.
The war engines were silent then, as the legions carved their way through the Gauls. The tight squares were engulfed and lost to view, then appeared like stones in a flood, still surviving, still solid as they disappeared again.
With four legions in the field, Julius sent one more to follow them, keeping barely enough men to hold the walls and watch the forts at their backs. The cornicens stood waiting at Julius’s shoulder and he glanced at them, his eyes hard.
“On my word, sound the recall.”
He gripped the edge of his cloak with his free hand and twisted it. It was hard to see what was going on, but he heard Roman voices shout orders and all along the walls the Gauls were falling back to meet the threat that had come out to take them on. Julius made himself wait.
“Now blow the horns. Quickly!” he snapped at last, looking out onto the battlefield as the long notes wailed over it. The legions had gone far and fought on all sides, but they would not allow a rout, he knew.
The squares would retreat step by ordered step against the horsemen, killing all the time.
The Gauls moved like bitter liquid in swirls of screaming, dying men as the legions fought their way back. Julius shouted wildly as he saw the eagles appear once more. He raised his arm and it trembled. The gates came down and he saw the legions stream in and rush back to the walls to shout defiance at the enemy.
The Gauls surged forward and Julius looked to the teams of ballistae men, waiting with desperate impatience. The whole of the Gaulish army was rushing in then and the moment was perfect, but he dared not order them to fire without knowing his legions were safely back.
He barely saw the launch of spears, but Renius did. As Julius turned away, Renius threw up the shield and held it against the numbing impact of the whining heads. He grunted and Julius turned to acknowledge the act, his face going slack as he saw the bloody ruin of Renius’s neck.
“Clear! All clear, sir!” his cornicen shouted.
Julius could only stare as Renius fell.
“Sir, we must fire now!” the cornicen said.
Barely hearing him, Julius dropped his arm and the great ballistae crashed their response. Tons of stone and iron sliced through the horsemen of Gaul once more, cutting great swaths of empty space on the field. The tribes were too closely packed to avoid the barrage, and thousands were mown down, never to rise again.
A powerful silence swelled as the tribes pulled back out of range. Dimly Julius heard his men cheering as they saw the numbers of dead left behind on the field. He went to Renius’s side and closed the staring eyes with his fingers. He had no more grief left in him. To his horror, his hands began to shake and he tasted metal in his mouth.