Maximus' Story
Chapter 56 - Siege, Part 2
Maximus crouched, his woolen cape pooling on the ground around him, and dug the fingers of his right hand into the cold, wet earth. His soldiers patiently waited and watched, recognizing the curious ritual that signaled all was ready and the fight was about to begin. He rubbed the earth between his palms thoughtfully as Hercules sat nearby quivering in excitement. He raised his hands to his nose and sniffed, his eyes closing momentarily as if he were savoring some beautiful perfume. Then he rose and wiped his muddy palms on his trousers indifferent to the dirt that now caked the rich, wine-colored fabric. His assistant helped him mount Argento and he sat still for a moment and surveyed the centuries of men who gathered nearby and at the base of the hill in a casual crowd rather than the usual tight lines.
"We will proceed with caution," Maximus said to his officers. "Follow my orders to the letter." The officers nodded their understanding. Maximus then raised his voice so that all men could hear him and it carried with crystal clarity on the frigid air. "Strength and honor!" was all he said, but it spoke volumes to the men who listened. Maximus was well aware that hundreds -- maybe thousands -- more men had also heard his words from their protected hiding places atop of the fortress walls. Even if they hadn't understood the words, they would recognize the purpose in their tone.
As the soldiers moved to their stations Maximus looked once again at the fortress. It was obvious that it been hastily constructed and it was the subject of jokes among the Roman engineers and tradesmen, but it was as strong as the ox that it's lumpy, irregular shape resembled. It towered close to fifty feet high and enclosed an area large enough to house a small village. It's only visible entrance was a low, thick wooden door, almost hidden within bushes and heavily barred from the inside. The structure was skillfully camouflaged by trees embedded among the huge rocks that comprised its walls, but therein lay its weakness as well. The trees would burn.
Like their Roman counterparts, the tribesmen had worked tirelessly to soak the trees with water until Maximus issued the order to dam up the stream that flowed under the fortress walls but he knew that they had other sources of water now. The weather had turned miserable with a steady sleet falling during the gray daylight hours which turned to wet snow at night. The Roman army had missed its chance to attack under the bright blue skies of mid-autumn.
Maximus had never conducted a siege before and the experience was quite different from leading lines of men against the enemy in open warfare. Alternative strategy was called for and he was in no rush to make hasty decisions that he might later regret. Despite the cold and wet his men were warmly clothed and well fed and could easily stand a methodic and carefully orchestrated battle despite their enthusiasm to get on with things. This could literally take weeks.
The easiest end to the standoff would be the surrender of the tribesmen but Maximus knew his enemy well enough to doubt that that would happen. But, he would give them the option of ending this without too much bloodshed before he did anything else. He spoke quietly to Quintus. "At my command we launch from ballistas two, four and six."
"We're going to burn them out?" asked Quintus. "Three ballistas will barely do any damage. If we launched fire from all of the ballistas at the same time we'd have a better chance."
"No," replied Maximus. "We're not going to burn them out. We're going to listen."
Unable to comprehend his meaning, Quintus hesitated relaying the command until a look from Maximus prompted him to do so. Within minutes flaming projectiles were loaded into the selected ballistas, which were situated well beyond the range of enemy arrows, and the men stood by for the order to shoot. Maximus nodded and an archer shot a flaming arrow over the heads of the men below. Immediately the great war machines hurled their fiery loads over the top of the fortress walls where they disappeared behind the masses of stone. Within an instant shouts and screams could be heard from within as occupants scurried to douse the flames.
"It's as I feared," said Maximus as he continued to listen to the ruckus rising over the walls. "There are women in there and probably children too."
"It's their choice to be there," said Quintus.
"I doubt it," answered the General grimly.
"Maximus, you are doing exactly what they want you to do. If those women are there against their will it is precisely to avoid being burned out. You're playing right into their hands."
"Have you no conscience, Quintus?" Maximus' voice was tight with controlled anger. "Could you be responsible for the burning deaths of women and children?"
"It happens in wars."
"Not in a war under my command it doesn't."
"By dragging this thing out we risk losing more of out own men." Quintus was also angry.
"Our men are well protected. The only thing we risk losing is our humanity." Suddenly Maximus smiled and softened his tone. "Look my friend, you know me well enough to know that I won't budge on this issue." He chuckled softly. "After all, do we have anything better to do with our time?"
Quintus ignored Maximus' attempt to dispel their disagreement. "What if this is a ploy to distract us for months so that more tribes can attack other points along the river?"
"There are other legions posted all along the river and you know it. They can handle situations that arise and if they can't they will send for me. And we are well protected from surprise attack by the legion that is positioned all around us. There is no rush."
"But--"
"Quintus that's my last word on the subject."
The Tribune turned his attention back to the fortress and the plumes of smoke billowing from within. The stiffness in his body spoke loudly of his unhappiness with Maximus' decision. He failed to see the irony of insisting on a hasty attack after he himself had waited weeks in indecision while the legions were under his command. He did understand one thing, though. The General could not be swayed from a course of action that he was convinced was right.
Eventually both the smoke and the noise died down and Maximus once again issued an order. "Let's keep them busy for a while. Launch from ballistas one, three and five." This time Quintus relayed the order instantly and soon more flaming missiles were lobbed over the walls to start new fires in places untouched by the last attack. The shrill screaming started again.
A sudden movement near the base of the thick wall caught the attention of some soldiers manning the weapons and they shouted to their General, pointing where they wanted him to look.
"What is it?" asked Quintus.
"I don't know. It looks like... " Maximus raised his hand to shade his eyes despite the sunless sky. "It looks like... a person. A woman. And she's carrying something. It's a child, Quintus. She's trying to escape into the woods." The two men stared at each other. "How did she get out?" Maximus wondered aloud. "Tell the men not to shoot. Let her get away."
From a distance the woman looked like a struggling brown mass of hair and clothing, blackened from the smoke and filthy from the mud. The child she clutched to her breast was young, no more than a year old at most. She glanced behind her in obvious fear and Maximus soon realized why. She was pursued by a tribesman who stayed close to the wall but was able to reach out and grab her by one ankle pitching her to the ground with a cry. As he started to drag her back Maximus issued an abrupt order to his finest archer who stood not far away. "Shoot him," was all he said.
The archer raised his weapon and loosed the arrow. Within seconds the tribesman lay mortally wounded on the ground. A cheer went up from the Roman soldiers and the woman scrambled off into the woods with her child.
"How did she get out?" Maximus wondered again. "Quintus, I want to talk to our chief engineer, Jovinus. Find him for me." Maximus dismounted wanting to walk for a bit to work the stiffness out of his knees. He clasped his hands behind his back and headed along the crest of the hill away from his group of advisors, lost in thought.
"You sent for me, sir?"
Maximus whirled around, startled out of his reflection. "Yes, Jovinus. You saw what just happened."
"Yes, General."
"How did the woman get out? I thought the only exit was that wooden door."
"There is certainly no other visible exit, sir, but I'll have my men check again. Trouble is, if we get too close the tribesmen fire at us." Jovinus was a man in his forties, short and squarely built like a wrestler, but a highly trained engineer from Rome. Tired of constructing public buildings he became attracted to engineering associated with warfare and thrived on the quick decisions and improvisations that were part of the job description. "There could be some sort of opening under a wall that is hidden by brush. Judging by that woman's state, she could have crawled out from under the rocks."
"Is it possible that those massive walls have no foundation? That the rocks are simply sitting on the ground?"
"Could be. It certainly went up in relatively short order so it's possible."
"Then it might be possible to knock them down."
"Depends on how thick they are and we can't tell that unless we see the fortress from above. It's likely that they dug ditches and filled them with rocks leaving openings in places that they camouflaged and that woman may have gone out through one of those openings."
"We need to know, Jovinus, so I have a better idea what our options are. See what you can find out but don't risk lives needlessly."
"Yes sir. Right away." The engineer started to turn away then stopped. "By the way, General, it certainly is good to have you back, sir."
"Thank you, Jovinus."
"I may be out of line saying this but I hope you won't leave here again. The leadership sort of... weakens... when you're not here."
"I understand, Jovinus." Maximus smiled at the engineer and the men shook hands before Jovinus left on his scouting mission and Maximus returned to his horse and his vantage point atop the crest of the hill. He could see that the fires were once again out and all was quiet within the fortress.
Quintus turned to him. "Shall I tell the men to load the ballistas again?"
"No. No... we've caused enough damage inside and we're not going to further risk killing whatever women and children are left."
"What are we going to do then?"
Maximus smiled at Quintus. "We're going to quit for the night and let me do some thinking. It's growing dark anyway and getting colder. The men deserve their supper." Maximus tugged on the reigns and Argento responded, flicking his tail and stepping smartly, sensing that he was heading back to the camp for food and a rubdown.
Cicero helped Maximus remove his cuirass and the General wearily rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again his servant handed him a goblet of warm, spiced wine and a packet.
"A letter from Spain, sir. The courier said he was to be paid extra if he got it to you within two weeks. It must be urgent."
Maximus hands started to tremble and he turned towards the flickering lantern as he untied the twine binding the parchment. Urgent? Marcus. Had something happened to Marcus? The wrapping fell at his feet and he quickly scanned the words written in his wife's hand. Suddenly he threw back his head, his eyes closed, his hands clutching the letter to his chest.
Cicero extended his hand, unsure of what to do. "Sir?" he asked tentatively.
"Pay the man double what he was promised, Cicero. No -- triple." Maximus broke into a huge grin that wiped the fatigue from his face. "I'm to be a father again, Cicero. My wife's expecting a baby."
Chapter 57 – Preparations
Maximus realized that he had been humming only when Quintus gave him a very odd look.
"Is everything alright, Maximus?"
"Just fine, Quintus," he replied as his hand briefly touched the place on his cuirass that covered the letter pressed against his heart. "The rain has finally stopped and the sun might even break though. "Maximus squinted at the sky. "That would warm things up a bit, wouldn't it?"
"I suppose it would." Quintus continued to stare at him but Maximus just smiled slightly and kept his secret to himself, and his eyes carefully on the field below.
Every Roman soldier purposefully avoided looking in the direction of a sturdy oak tree to the west of the fortress that would soon support a lithe young soldier as he climbed its spreading branches to examine the thickness of the walls, the structures within -- and its inhabitants. At a signal from the general the young man would start his climb at the exact moment the ballistas and onagers commenced bombarding the stone walls with heavy missiles hoping to shake the structure and distract the tribesmen from noticing the young man high in the barren branches of the oak tree. This was almost fun for the men -- target practice really -- with very little chance that any soldier would get hurt. The ballistas were beyond the range of enemy arrows and the men arming the onagers were protected under heavy, wooden shelters. They would be vulnerable for only the few moments it took them to load and launch. Hundreds of archers stood ready to pick off tribesmen who made the fatal mistake of showing themselves atop the wall of the fortress.
When all was ready Maximus nodded once and the master archer unleashed an arrow that started a fury of activity below. Within seconds loud crashes cracked the air as rock met rock, shuddering the ground with the impact. Arrows flew in all directions, more for display of power than intent to kill. The bombardment lasted until the young soldier was back on the ground and running for safety behind the ballistas. Maximus nodded once more and the weapons stilled within moments, the shoulders of the soldiers who manned them heaving under the exertion of hoisting load after load of heavy rock.
The sudden stillness was startling. Nothing moved at all except shards of gray stone that had been dislodged by the Roman weapons and which now crumbled away, sliding down the side of the pitted walls to land atop the pile of rubble at their base. Any passageways that might have been there were thoroughly sealed now -- at least on this side of the fortress. When the dust settled Maximus squinted to examine the walls while he waited for a report from the engineer.
The walls had sustained considerable damage to be sure but behind the mutilated rock was more rock and the structure seemed as secure as ever. He didn't need the engineer to tell him that this approach was not going to work. He inspected the soldiers on the field below him. A few had sustained injuries but none had been killed. Maybe a dozen tribesmen had been lost, their broken bodies almost buried under mounds of shattered rock.
"The men should rest while I consult with Jovinus," Maximus said to Quintus.
"What are we going to do next?" asked the tribune.
"That depends on what the climber saw," said Maximus as he swung Scarto around to face the engineer who hurried in his direction.
"Well?" asked Maximus.
"Sir, the walls are at least ten feet thick all around and they have piles of rock inside ready to reinforce where necessary. The dwellings are pretty much burnt out because they had wooden roofs, but the walls still stand and they're covering them up again with skins."
"How many men are inside?"
"The place is full, sir. Our soldier found it hard to judge but the fortress is extremely well manned."
"Children?"
"Yes sir. Lots of them, of all ages."
"What are their provisions like?"
"There appears to be a storehouse of grain, some of which was damaged in the fire, but they've also got chickens, goats, sheep and oxen. No doubt the oxen helped them construct the place but they can eat them if they need to."
"Weapons?"
"Everywhere."
Maximus nodded his understanding then sighed and stared at the thick forest where the bases of the three assault towers lay hidden. He spoke to Jovinus and Quintus at the same time. "Pull them out and start building. We'll have to go over the walls. They'll lose a lot of men -- but so will we. There's no other way." Maximus looked at Jovinus again and said, "Thank the young man who went up that tree. He was very brave and did a fine job. What's his name?"
"Jovinus, sir," said the engineer, beaming.
"Your son?" asked Maximus, incredulous that the tall young soldier could belong to this squat man.
"Indeed he is, sir."
"You must be very proud."
"There's nothing finer than having your son by your side in the Roman army, sir.
Maybe you'll have that pleasure some day. Children grow up very fast you know."
His words were meant to cheer Maximus but they had the exact opposite effect.
Marcus? Marcus in this place facing death by a barbarian arrow? His heart constricted in his chest and he drew a deep breath to dispel the discomfort of the sudden dark emotion. He glanced at the clearing sky and whispered, "If it please the gods, let Marcus never know war."
"Pardon?" asked Quintus as Jovinus left to organize the building of the assault towers.
Maximus considered his old friend for a moment. "You don't have a family, Quintus."
"You know that I don't." Quintus was wary of the sudden focus on him.
"After this siege is over you should consider taking some time for yourself.
Return to Rome. Find a young woman of your status--"
"My life is the army," Quintus interrupted.
"I know that and so is mine. But a family is so important. You won't always be a soldier, Quintus, and a man needs more in his life than just war -- and the constant companionship of other men," Maximus smiled.
"I have ambitions too, Maximus, and I think a general's place is with his army."
Quintus grew bold. "He shouldn't go running back to his family every time--"
"Quintus, don't say anything more." Maximus' voice was tight with sudden fury.
The tribune sighed in frustration. "Maximus, have you ever considered bringing them here?"
"No," came the abrupt reply.
"Why not? Other men have their families here. You could see them all the time."
Maximus gazed at the desolate landscape around him. "They would wither and die here after the sun and warmth of Spain. There is nothing here but filth and disease." He looked at his tribune. "You know, Marcus is too young to understand what I do." After a moment a smile softened his features. "We attended a fair when I was in Spain and I was almost mobbed by people I grew up with who recognized me as General Maximus but Marcus was only concerned about missing a puppet show. I don't want him to be exposed to this life yet. He is far too young to worry about his father being killed in war or about his own safety, or that of his mother."
"Most people in the world live like that."
Maximus watched his men clearing stumps preparing to drag the assault towers into the open. The sound of axes meeting wood rang from the forest as soldiers started to fell the hundreds of trees that would be needed for their construction. "I know that," he replied. But I can protect my own children from death and destruction -- and I will."
Quintus also watched the men clearing stumps then a slow realization dawned on his face. "Children?"
Maximus grinned and could not keep the pride out of his voice. "Yes. By late spring I shall have another child."
"Well, congratulations, my friend," said Quintus extending his hand.
Maximus grasped it warmly. "Thank you , Quintus. And I meant what I said about you needing some time for yourself too. Just say the word and you shall have it."
Quintus nodded then turned his attention back to the soldiers. He could never return to his family a mere legate. That was not good enough. He'd have to be general before he'd ever show his face in Rome again. Maximus didn't understand
what it was to be the son of a high-born Roman. Success and status was everything, and anything else -- even a family of your own -- was a distant second to that.
"We may as well go back to camp and leave the men to their work," said Maximus.
"It'll be weeks before those towers are ready. For the time being we can leave the matter in the capable hands of our centurions."
That evening Maximus wrote another long letter to his wife telling her how much he missed them and warning her to be careful about working too hard. He had already written to Titus asking him to hire even more servants so Olivia wouldn't have to lift a thing and could devote all of her time to Marcus and the child-to-be. Maximus told her that he longed for a daughter but reassured her that another son would make him the proudest man in the empire. He told her in vague terms about the assault on the fortress, cautioning her not to pass the information along to anyone, including Titus.
Her letters to him were long and full of newsy details about the farm and its inhabitants -- human and otherwise. But what Maximus treasured most were the drawings she made of their son. His talented wife captured the child's looks and personality perfectly and Maximus could tell that he had already grown considerably in the past few months.
Maximus stretched, rubbing the smoke from the oil lanterns out of his eyes.
Hercules lay at his feet, his large head resting on Maximus' toe. Maximus leaned over and rubbed the dog's ears prompting a huge yawn in return. Evenings like this were so long and dark and he hated the inactivity. The men in the camp would be playing dice right now, or other games, and sitting conversing about the day's events. It seemed like only a short time ago that he had been one of them and passed his evenings with Darius. Darius... he hadn't thought of his old friend and mentor in ages but he knew that Darius could see everything he did and he hoped that the centurion was proud of him.
Much less clear in his mind were memories of his own father. Maximus put down the quill and gently nudged Hercules off his toe before moving to a sheet of highly polished metal atop an ornate wooden chest. He stared at his own shadowy reflection and saw a man with startling blue eyes and thick black hair -- both traits inherited from his father. But he never remembered his father looking as tired and pale as the face reflected in the mirror. In the months since his return from Spain his skin had lost its healthy glow and the worry lines had returned around his eyes. The handsome features of his youth had been replaced by a strength of character that was attractive in a totally different manner. He touched the fine lines in his forehead, then beside his mouth, feeling the beard stubble there. His face was still remarkably unscarred compared to other soldiers his age and it certainly wasn't because he stayed at the edges of the battles. He cocked his head and continued to look for signs of his father but could see few. His father had been a much simpler man, concerned only for the welfare of his family, not the welfare of an empire. Would he proud of his son, he wondered suddenly, and dropped to his knees to do something he hadn't done in ages -- ask for his father's blessing and request that he watch over his family while he himself could not.
Chapter 58 - Assault
By mid-December the assault towers were near completion. One had grown to a dizzying height of oveseventy-five feet as the craftsmen conr centrated their efforts on pushing it skyward to offset the tribesmen's determination to build the north wall of their fortress even higher. It was a race would have been almost humorous except that the victor would have a tremendous advantage when the war resumed again. Frustrated with the delay, Maximus ordered the soldiers to skim off the newer and much less stable parts of the stone wall with theballistas and they did so effortlessly, hurtling rocks back into the fortress and crushing anyone foolish enough to benin the way.
It was very cold now and snow blanketed the ground. Soldiers stamped their feet and smacked their hands to keep the blood circulating, and moved to crouch around open fires when they were relieved at their stations.
Maximus kept the rotations short and increased rations to all of the men to keep up their strength, stamina and spirits.
Every day he sat on the hill atop one of his stallions until he, too, felt the numbness creep into his toes and fingers. His breath froze around his mouth fringing his black beard in white frost, earning him a few good-natured nicknames. He often wore his helmet now to keep his head warm and his furs too. If he and his men were chilled, he could not imagine how it must be for the people trapped inside the fortress, especially the young ones.
When construction was finished for the day and the moon was full and bright, Maximus plodded through the snow back to his place atop the hill just to listen. All was quiet except for the howling of the cold wind around the wooden beams of the towers which stood like great monsters in the moonlight. The soldiers guarding them from barbarians intent on burning them saluted him and he returned the greeting, then listened waiting. Soon he heard it -- the familiar sound of children crying in the night from hunger or cold, or fear. He knew that the soldiers could hear the cries too and hoped that they would be reminded of their own children, as he was, and remember that their fight was with the fathers, not the babies.
Maximus headed back to the camp, his footsteps crunching the snow as he retracing his steps, his long blue shadow bobbing ahead of him, and the moonlight glittering on a few stray flakes that were falling. He stopped, his cape swinging around him, and stared at the thousands of stars overhead. The frigid night was as terrifying as it was beautiful with the power to kill anyone left unsheltered for long. But the terror of nature was nothing compared to the horror that man would unleash upon man tomorrow, and on everything that got in the way.
By the time the morning sun crested the distant hills turning the frosty landscape pink and gold, the soldiers were in their place, shields and swords in hand. Any barbarian who dared peek over the wall must have quaked in fear at what had materialized that morning. The huge main tower was ready to be moved into place by teams of heavily-armored horses who pawed impatiently at the snow. Once in place, a drawbridge would be lowered to allow armed soldiers to cross to the fortress wall, defended by soldiers on the tower who were protected by heavy wooden shields which ringed the terraced top of the structure. Enclosed on three sides, it held staircases and ramps that would allow soldiers to ascend the tower with speed to follow their brethren onto the wall. Behind the tower stood a detachment of armed men ready to make the hasty climb. Hundreds of soldiers were also ready to run through the long, covered sheds that ran right up to the base of the wall where they would fire arrows up at tribesmen who attempted to kill Romans coming off the tower. Behind all of that stood the mighty ballistas, prepared to hurl missiles into the fortress and in front of the ballistas were huge crossbows capable of firing long darts in quick succession with remarkable accuracy.
Nearby sat two more towers which could be readied within days, if necessary, and hundreds more men ready to join the battle at their general's command.
Maximus sat astride Scarto at the base of the hill just in front of the ballistas, a trumpeter by his side ready to relay his orders to the centurions who were with their men. He longed to be on the top of that tower and the first one across the drawbridge but that would be folly and he knew it. He needed enough distance to give him an overview of the whole battle so he could make quick decisions about tactics.
The golden eagle standard of Rome snapped behind Maximus in the cold wind inspiring strength and determination in the soldiers. Other than that there was eerie silence as all men, Roman and Germanian, awaited the trumpeter’s signal. Maximus surveyed the scene and found that all was ready. He nodded to the trumpeter and a few short notes pierced the frigid air. Slowly the huge tower started to rumble across the snowy ground on massive wooden wheels with the armed men marching right behind it. Maximus felt curiously relaxed now that the battle was about to begin. It was the waiting that he -- and all soldiers -- hated.
The big wooden wheels groaned and the horses strained as the massive contraption inched towards its goal. Arrows rained down on the horses and the men who guided them but bounced harmlessly off heavy metal armor.
Roman archers replied with much more efficiency and dead tribesmen dropped backwards off the wall out of sight.
When the tower finally reached position more notes transmitted the order for the drawbridge to drop and it did so with a deafening bang. Without hesitation, hundreds of Romans armed with shields and swords spilled from the tower at a run, battle cries ripping from their throats. Soldiers on the ground quickly ascended the ramps and stairs ready to follow them onto the walls. The familiar sound of steel biting steel filled the air as tribesmen frantically defended their fortress from the invaders. Arrows met their mark with deadly accuracy, thudding into shields and piercing soft body tissues. Anguished cries squelched abruptly as men from both sides pitched off the wall and plunged to their deaths on the rocks below. Decapitated heads rolled and bounced down the rock walls leaving trials of blood and gore as headless bodies plunged over the side.
Maximus knew that the toll would be heavy on both sides and was determined to end the battle as quickly as possible. He issued another order and the trumpet sounded again. This time the mighty ballistas unleashed their fury, hurling huge missiles against the fortress in a steady and unrelenting stream. Maximus spied two squads of tribesmen scurrying along the wall from the back and issued a curt order. Within minutes the crossbows ripped them apart and blood, flesh and bone sprayed those in the fortress below.
Finally, the steady stream of Romans running across the drawbridge met less and less resistance until they faced no opposition. The men on the tower threw up their weapons and cheered in victory. "Order them to be vigilant," shouted Maximus to his trumpeter and the notes carried to the confused men on the tower. Still, they knew better than to doubt their general and held their weapons ready despite what appeared to be an obvious victory. Maximus could not see what they could see, they reasoned. He could not see the bodies piled three and four high and the lack of movement within the fortress.
Quintus rode up at a gallop. "What's wrong, Maximus? The men on the wall indicate a victory."
"It's too soon. I can't believe that a battle to defend a fortress could end that quickly."
"Most of tribesmen are dead and those that are not have surrendered." Quintus gestured to a line of tribesmen on their knees in the snow, their hands behind their necks.
"Something isn't right," Maximus insisted. "We can't let our guard down. Order the infantry to stand ready."
The only sounds were the groans and moans of injured men. "Stay with the infantry," he told Quintus then nudged Scarto forward, deliberately riding within range of enemy arrows from the fortress. He made a pretty target and he knew it but his unprotected presence was sure to stir any remaining barbarians to attack. The soldiers atop the tower aimed their weapons in all directions anxious to protect their general from any tribesman who might attempt to die a hero. Maximus rode slowly, his eyes and ears alert to any change in the situation. He noticed a few men on the top of the wall relax their weapons and he barked out an order to maintain position.
After a few minutes all remained quiet and Maximus wondered if maybe he wasn’t being overlay cautious after all. He reached the tower and took the stairs three at a time despite his heavy armor, his boots thumping on the wood, and he was winded by the time he reached the top. Once again he told the men to be vigilant. On the ground he could see Quintus with the infantry maintaining position as he had ordered.
A centurion approached Maximus as he gazed at the terrible destruction within the fortress. Bodies were piled on top of bodies, Germanian and Roman alike, and blood stained the snow a vivid red. "It looks like we did it,
General," said the centurion.
"Where are the rest of them?" Maximus demanded.
"The rest of who, sir?"
"That can't be all of them. There are plenty of dead men down there but that can't be all of them. That scout told us the place was thick with tribesmen. Where are they?"
As the centurion struggled for an answer Maximus walked the length of the wall to the south-west corner, the centurion and a number of archers right behind him. He looked once again at the armed infantry on the ground before turning his gaze across the forest. The sun was overhead now, casting the ground in deep blue shadow where the light could not penetrate the snow-covered boughs. All was still but just as he turned away a flock of birds took sudden flight, squawking in displeasure. Maximus turned back, his eyes scanning the trees once more just as an arrow fired from the depths of the forest whizzed past his right ear and thudded deep into the chest of the man behind him. The forest exploded in motion as at least a thousand barbarians hidden under snow-covered skins emerged at a run, bows, swords and javelins held high.
Maximus screamed an order to shoot and the men on the wall reigned arrows down on the barbarians dropping many before they were even clear of the shadows of the trees but most headed straight for the base of the tower screaming in defiance.
A startled Quintus rallied the infantry into a charge but not before hundreds of the determined tribesmen had managed to reach the tower. "The drawbridge!" screamed Maximus. "Set it on fire! They must not get control of the fort again!" As men scrambled to comply Maximus grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows from a fallen soldier.
Barely taking aim, he launched arrow after arrow at tribesmen who were scrambling up the outside of the tower while others took the stairs, and noted with satisfaction that his arrows hit home more often than not. But the drawbridge wasn't burning as the new wood used to construct it was still moist as well as wet from the snow.
"Kill them as they come across," he screamed, then bellowed to Quintus below. "Don't let them get control of the tower!" The Germanians were fully prepared to battle the infantry but the real prize was the tower and the fortress wall -- and General Maximus.
Dozens of tribesmen now gathered atop the tower preparing to attack. They were joined by a steady stream of men dressed in heavy furs from head to foot. No wonder they had withstood the night under the snow, Maximus thought. Their weapons consisted of bows and arrows, crude shields and swords. Although badly outnumbered, the Romans on the wall were much better equipped and trained.
Maximus rallied his men atop the wall. "Just hold them there until the ground battle is won. By that time there could be hundreds more men inside the tower and we need to trap them there. We must hold them until the ground battle is won so we can attack from top and bottom. Do you understand? Stay behind your shields. We can't afford to lose even one man." The soldiers nodded and Maximus looked over the side at the bodies strewn on the blood-soaked ground -- far more wearing furs than armor. "It won't be long," he predicted.
Every time a tribesman made a move to step foot on the drawbridge he was met by a barrage of arrows. "Use no more than necessary. We can't run out," Maximus warned and flinched as arrows thudded into his shield.
Once again, movement drew his eye -- this time from inside the fortress. A mortally wounded soldier drew back a shaky arm and loosed an arrow straight at him. Maximus turned in a flash and fired, dropping the man with an arrow clean through his throat, but Maximus' movement had left him undefended from the front and the tribesmen atop the tower could not believe their good fortune at finding the Roman leader so vulnerable. They fired five arrows in quick succession. One glanced off Maximus' cuirass, two thudded harmlessly into his shield but two others found their mark. Maximus tumbled backwards off the wall into the fortress, arrows jutting from his body and a spray of blood arching in the air behind him spattering the stricken soldiers who watched in horror as their leader went down.
Chapter 59 - Inside the Fortress
Maximus struggled to open his eyes and the rays that penetrated his slitted lids triggered pain that rocked his body and drove the breath from his lungs. He lay still and forced back the panic that threatened to engulf him. How badly was he hurt? Were any bones broken? Where had the arrows struck him? Slowly, he took stock of his injuries, gently moving one body part at a time with his eyes closed to focus his mind on his task. Pain shot through his left leg. Was it broken or punctured -- or both?
Likewise his right arm. His back and neck were sore and his head ached unmercifully but he was pretty sure he had suffered only bruises in those places.
Slowly his brain registered muffled battle noises then far-off voices shouting frantically, "General! General? General, are you alive, sir?"
Maximus groaned but he knew the sound could not reach the ears of the worried men on the wall high above him.
"We're coming down to get you sir!"
Maximus clenched his teeth and forced himself up on his left elbow. "No" His voice was no more than a croak. He drew a deep breath and tried again. "No!" he shouted, pain slamming through his head. "No! Stay at your post. Defend the wall."
"But--"
"That's an order! Don't let the tribesmen gain control of the wall!"
"Yes, sir!" shouted the centurion, concern etched on his face as he turned away.
Maximus' chin dropped to his chest, his eyes closed as if trying to shut out the torment. When he finally forced them open he saw the reason for his survival. His fall had been cushioned by bodies -- a heap of bodies piled five or six deep. Roman bodies and Germanian bodies. Bodies with screaming faces frozen in masks of death. Maximus shuddered and shifted to his side, groaning as he inadvertently drove the arrow deeper into his leg. He rolled off the pile landing on his feet in the snow before his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. He remained still, drawing deep breaths to force down the nausea in his throat and the fire in limbs. Through bleary eyes he surveyed his surroundings. His army had certainly done a thorough job. Carcasses of men and animals lay everywhere, most horribly mutilated. Nothing moved. The man who had tried to take his life must have been the last remaining alive.
Maximus stumbled to his feet and took the arrow jutting from his left thigh in both hands, bending the wood until it snapped just inches from his skin. He ripped cloth from a nearby corpse and tied it tightly above the wound in his leg to slow the profuse bleeding. He could not break the arrow in his forearm with one hand and he briefly considered pulling it out but knew that would only add to the damage so he tied a cloth above that wound with the aid of his teeth, leaving the arrow jutting from his flesh.
Maximus eyed the massive stone wall, so thick that it almost completely muffled the sounds of the battle raging beyond, creating a silence inside the fortress that was almost eerie. A Roman face peered down at him from the top of the wall and he raised his left hand in response, reassuring the soldier that he was indeed alive.
"General, we'll throw a rope down to you!"
"No! We can't spare even one man. You must guard the wall! The tribesmen must not regain control of this fortress!" Maximus
managed a feeble smile for the man far above his head. "Besides, I couldn't climb it anyway. I'll find another way out."
The man nodded his understanding and disappeared again.
Maximus searched among the bodies for a weapon and found a blood-covered Roman sword. The familiar weight in his hand was comforting although nothing appeared to be alive inside the fortress. Still, the place was huge with many damaged buildings where the enemy could hide.
He had to get out of here. He thought of the woman with the baby and limped to the east wall where she had made her exit, dragging his hand along the stone as he inspected the base. It was no good. Snow was piled up along the edge of the wall completely obscuring any passageway out.
He shivered, cold despite the sticky warmth spreading on his leg and arm. Clouds now obliterated the sun and snow had started to fall. Maximus limped towards the north end of the fortress stumbling occasionally over some hidden obstacle. About a thousand tribesmen had crept out of this place last night totally undetected by Roman guards so there must be a number of openings in the back wall which thrust against the thick forest.
Maximus limped painfully back and forth along the long length of the wall in the dimming light but found no obvious aperture.
Obviously the passageways had been concealed by men remaining in the fortress who had probably rolled heavy rocks into the openings. All of those men appeared to be dead now, but what had happened to all the women and children? Where were they? Had they fled?
Maximus gazed back towards the south wall and straightened abruptly as he noticed a thin column of smoke rising from the outside of the fortress. He sniffed and smelled fire. What was burning? Was the battle over? He looked at the column of smoke again but realized what he smelled was not the terrifying fire of rage and destruction but the welcoming fire of warmth and life.
That comforting aroma plus the oncoming darkness, his chattering teeth, and his throbbing limbs reminded him that if he didn't find shelter soon he would probably not survive the night.
He followed his nose down a lane lined on both sides with half-destroyed buildings until he reached a small, intact dwelling, one of the few remaining in the fortress. He limped to the doorway and listened, clenching his teeth to stop their chatter and clutching his sword in numb fingers. Yellow light crept under the door and he pressed his eye to a crack in the wood. Two women were crouched around a fire. One stirred a pot of what smelled like stew. Maximus shifted his position a little. To the right of the women two children slept near the fire cuddled together under furs. Were they the only people remaining inside the fortress, and if so, why were they still here?
Maximus longed to burst through the door and beg to share their food and warmth but instead he stumbled backwards into the deepening snow. He was wearing Roman armor, clutching a Roman weapon and bleeding Roman blood. He would terrify them. The snow was falling faster and harder now, melting on his unprotected neck and dribbling inside his cuirass wetting his woolen tunic and undergarments. He was freezing. He cupped his hands and blew breath into them, trying to warm them. He would have to find his own shelter but he needed to remain close to the reassuring golden glow and soothing smells. The dwelling to the left was dark and appeared only slightly damaged so he jammed his sword between the door and frame and slowly pried it open. He froze when the wooden hinges creaked mournfully and glanced quickly at the other dwelling. Had they heard it? Maximus waited a few minutes then pulled on the door again opening it just far enough to squeeze through the gap. It was pitch black inside and every bit as frigid as outside. He would never survive the night in here.
As he stepped outside again his eyes were drawn to an orange glow above the south wall of the fortress. Something very large was burning and it could only be the tower. As Maximus struggled with the implications of this new information he did not notice the yellow light splash across his lower legs or the shadow creep over the snow behind him. It was instinct more than anything that caused him to turn just before the rock crashed down on his skull plunging him into blackness.
As he slowly regained consciousness he first became aware of the agony in his head, then the familiar ache in his arm and thigh.
His brain then registered the warmth on his body and the whispers coming from a short distance away. He turned his head and groaned in misery as his lids lifted. When his eyes finally focussed he found himself looking straight into the curious gaze of a beautiful blue-eyed, fair-haired child. A girl. He opened his mouth to speak but just groaned again. The child was whisked from his view and her sweet face replaced by a very angry, much older one. Her grandmother? The hag's face was deeply lined and her hair gray and stringy. The woman berated him in angry tones with words that he could not understand. As he tried to concentrate on her face a hand snaked under his head from behind, lifting it, and a crude cup was pushed to his lips. His warrior's instincts told him to trust no one and he stubbornly refused to open his mouth. The hand left his head and it dropped to the ground with a thud. He literally saw stars this time and gulped in air to force down the resulting nausea.
A hand smacked his cheek to get his attention and he looked this time at a woman who had to be the girl's mother. She was no more than eighteen, or so, with the same fair hair and blue eyes. She lifted the cup to her own mouth and took a gulp then held it for him to see, her eyebrows raised in question. He nodded and she moved behind him again to support his head while he drank. This time when she removed her hand his head dropped onto a pillow made of fur.
"Thank you," he croaked, and the little girl giggled. Maximus managed a smile for her then looked past the girl at the child still under the furs, almost obscured by the shaggy brown covering. Maximus was unsure of its gender but the shorter tousled curls led him to believe the child was a boy. The youngster stirred, then whimpered, then started to cry. His mother moved quickly to comfort him, stroking the curls as she whispered soft words. When the cry turned to a wail she picked him up and cuddled him on her lap, rocking him gently. She adjusted the child's covering and Maximus gasped as the boy's legs were momentarily revealed. One leg was no more than a stump, securely wrapped in bloody rags.
The older woman turned her fury on Maximus, raising her hand as if to strike him. His hands jerked in an instinctive defensive movement but they didn't go far. He had been so dazed and distracted that he had not realized until now that he was restrained.
His wrists were tied together with strips of cloth then secured to a rope that ran snuggly around his waist. He tried to move his uninjured leg and found his ankles bound together as well. He clearly wasn't going anywhere.
The young mother whispered a few harsh words to the old woman and she lowered her fist and moved away to take her anger out on the fire, jabbing at it viciously with a stick. Did they know who he was, he wondered? Did they know he was the man responsible for the destruction of their home and the deaths of their men -- and the terrible injury to the boy? He was not dressed like any ordinary soldier and they must know it. Why hadn't they killed him when they'd had the chance? Did they intend to hold him for ransom? Maximus smirked at his own absurd thoughts. What good would Roman gold do them?
The boy. Is that why they hadn't fled with the others? Because the child was too badly hurt to move? His own injuries seemed somewhat insignificant now and he raised his head with great difficulty to look down his body. There was no arrow sticking from his arm and a smell, something like pine tar, drifted to his nose. His wounds were bound. The young woman spoke a few sentences as if in answer to his questioning look but he could only stare back. Her eyes rolled up and she shook her head slightly as if to say, "Stupid man," before gently laying the sleeping boy on a mattress of furs and covering him again. She said a few words to the older woman who replaced her by the child's side then she moved to the pot on the fire and scooped a ladle of steaming stew into a bowl. Maximus' stomach rumbled in response and she smiled slightly.
Once again she propped up his head then spooned the steaming meat into his mouth until the bowl was empty. Maximus was unsure what the animal had provided the meal but the food was satisfying and filling. She drew furs over him then proceeded to clean up, washing the bowls in water from melted snow. She yawned as she worked and Maximus studied her closely trying to imagine how she sustained her family under such terrible living conditions. Was her husband lying dead in the snow outside the fortress? Were her brothers there too and maybe her father?
"Thank you," Maximus whispered and she turned her head to look at him. There was no hate in her eyes, or fear -- just resignation. He was a man in need of aid and she was a caregiver. It seemed as simple as that.
Chapter 60 - The Tunnel
"General Maximus!" a voice called from the distance.
"General?" A different voice this time.
"General Maximus where are you, sir?"
"General!"
Maximus wakened abruptly and struggled to sit up before awareness had fully returned. As he gathered his breath for a response a hand clamped down over his mouth and nose. Another one joined it and he struggled to breathe under the pressure.
The suffocating crush on his face continued until the voices faded into the distance then disappeared altogether. When the hands abruptly withdrew Maximus gulped air into his burning lungs and regarded his captor with renewed respect. She would have smothered him for sure before letting him betray the location of her children.
The fair-haired woman assessed him in the dim light of early morning that penetrated the cracks in the door. She knew now that he was no ordinary Roman soldier. Search parties were not sent to look for ordinary soldiers. "Maximus," she said.
He nodded.
"General," she said.
Maximus hesitated before nodding again. Did she know what the word meant?
The woman studied him carefully aware of the contradiction between his warrior's clothing, his warrior's wounds, and the gentleness in his eyes when he gazed at her children. But she made no move to release him.
Maximus couldn't understand why his men hadn't smelled the cooking fire as he had, then he slowly realized that the smell of smoke filled the small hut and that it was coming from outside.
"Maximus General." The woman held his sword in her hands and stared straight into his eyes. The threat was clear enough. If
he made one wrong move she'd kill him -- and he had no doubt that she would do so without hesitation.
He nodded his understanding then lifted his hands as high as he could to indicate his bound wrists, a question in his eyes. After a moment's consideration she leaned over and cut the rope that secured his hands to his body but she left them tied together.
Grateful for that small kindness, Maximus sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his knuckles. Except for the quiet crackle from the embers the hut was quiet. Maximus looked at the sleeping children and then back at their mother. He pointed to himself, then at her son. Her eyes narrowed warily so he repeated the action, this time pointing to the boy first -- then raised one finger. She nodded suddenly and indicated her understanding that he had a son. She gestured to her daughter and raised her eyebrows. Maximus shook his head regretfully and the woman smiled again, parenthood creating a bond in their otherwise vastly different lives.
Maximus pointed to his feet then at the door indicating his need to go outside. She thrust the sword in front of his eyes to remind him who was in charge and he nodded. Although fully aware of the danger of doing so she sliced the ropes binding his ankles with the razor-sharp sword then stood back. He struggled to his knees, wincing because his injured leg had stiffened badly during the night. He finally got his feet under him and stood up, thinking that no matter how much he was suffering, he was lucky to have two legs.
The woman bent to retrieve the matted brown fur that had warmed him as he slept and draped it around his shoulders. He pulled the pelt close to his neck, more grateful for this scruffy fur than the elegant silver wolf pelts that he often wore. The young mother wrapped a similar fur around her own thin body and after a final glance at her sleeping children, pushed open the door and gestured for Maximus to exit before her.
The air outside was heavy with smoke. It had cloaked every surface in gray soot and dimmed the morning sun. Maximus stared at the south wall and the plume of smoke that still billowed there. All was quiet. No battle sounds reached his ears. What had happened? Why was the wall deserted? Who had control of the land outside the fortress? Were those soldiers really trying to find their injured general, or were they forced to look for him with arrows pointed at their backs? Maximus had to get out of the fortress as quickly and quietly as possible to find out.
After relieving himself Maximus got the attention of the young woman who was staring at the smoke with thoughts likely very similar to his own. He pointed to himself then at the north wall. Her eyes followed his finger then returned to hold his gaze.
Maximus voiced his thoughts knowing full well that she couldn't understand him. "I have to get out of here and return to my army. I don't know what's happened and I have to find out."
She stared at him.
He raised his bound hands in frustration. "I promise that I'll send surgeons back to care for your son, and I'll send food and clothing too -- and horses to take you wherever you want to go." He gestured to the base of the wall, then at himself. "Please show me where the passageways are."
She reached for his hands and inserted the point of the sword under the ties, snipping them in one quick motion. Then she reversed the sword and offered it to Maximus, handle first, her eyes holding his. He nodded and accepted this clear sign of her trust.
She sighed heavily then beckoned for him to follow her. She led him through knee deep snow drifts to the north wall and walked without hesitation to a spot near the west end. There she stopped, gestured to the heavy, wet snow piled waist high at the base, and made digging motions with her hands.
"Yes, I understand. Thank you."
After one long look she turned to walk away.
"Wait!"
She stopped and turned around, a question on her face.
Maximus pointed to himself. "Maximus," he said. He then gestured to her and spread his hands in inquiry.
"Helga," she said, her voice sweet and musical.
"Helga."
She nodded then turned away again.
"Thank you, Helga."
If she heard his last words she gave no indication of it and disappeared around a shattered building on her way back to her children.
Wasting no more time, Maximus pulled a plank from the wooden door of the same building and started digging with this crude shovel, ignoring the discomfort in his arm and leg. He worked steadily and started to sweat under his cuirass but his hands and feet throbbed with the cold. He violently cursed Germania, he cursed the snow, he cursed the board that drove slivers into his hands, he cursed the rocks he spit out every foul word that he knew -- and as a soldier he knew plenty.
After a few hours of digging and cursing he had cleared a swath about eight feet long around the bottom of the wall. Throwing the board aside he dropped to his knees and leaned close to inspect the wall, running his hands over the surface. It appeared to be very solid. Maximus sat back on his heels. Had Helga made a mistake -- or mislead him?
"Maximus."
Startled, Maximus whirled around, grabbing for his sword which was partially buried in the snow bank.
Helga smiled sweetly and held out a bowl of steaming food.
He ignored it and implored, "Helga, where's the opening?" as he motioned to the wall.
She pointed to a rounded rock that was as high as Maximus' hip.
Maximus shook his head. "You can't be right. That boulder is too--"
She gave him her "stupid man" look and muttered a few words as she set the bowl in the snow. Then she jumped down beside him and patted the boulder before demonstrating that Maximus should push it. Although highly skeptical, he put his shoulder to the rock and threw his full weight against it, struggling to find footing on the frozen ground. He felt it budge, then start to roll, then much to his amazement it fell over on its back. It was flat on the other side -- only a half a rock -- and it left an opening just large enough for a man to crawl through. Astonished, he crouched and looked into the cavity but the sun's rays didn't penetrate beyond a few feet. There was no welcoming daylight at the other end either and Maximus realized that the outside of the wall was snowed in as well. He'd have to dig it out -- but this time he'd be flat on his stomach inside a narrow, dark tunnel surrounded by tons of rock and his only digging tools would be the sword and his numb hands.
He sat on the ground beside the aperture, his back against the wall and his head in his hands. He still had broken pieces of arrow in his arm and leg and they throbbed unmercifully and his feet had lost all feeling. A gentle hand touched his hair and he looked up at Helga, utter discouragement written on his face. "You're trapped in here too, aren't you," he said gently. "You had to stay because of your son's injury and now you can't get out either."
Maximus looked up the side of the wall towering above him. There was no way over it that he could see without help from someone at the top. He'd have to go under. Helga pushed the dish into his hands and said a word that probably meant "eat" before quickly hurrying away.
By the time he was scraping the meat off the bottom of the bowl she had returned with a bucket of glowing embers in one hand and a bundle of sticks in the other. She quickly arranged them at Maximus' feet then expertly coaxed them into a glowing fire.
Maximus stretched out his legs until his boots almost touched the flames then bent at the waist and extended his arms until his white fingers could feel the heat. He remained still for a while, feeling somewhat drowsy as his body relaxed and warmed.
Helga fumbled in her heavy woolen skirts and drew out long strips of sheepskin. She picked up his right hand carefully, mindful of the arrow still in his arm, and wrapped the hide around it with the wool on the inside. She did the same to his other hand then pulled off his boots and wrapped sheepskin around his feet before helping him pull them back on.
Maximus nodded his thanks and smiled.
Helga gestured urgently at the dark opening in the stone and Maximus laughed. "You're a harsh taskmaster." But his amusement quickly died as he thought of the job ahead of him. He'd have to throw the snow behind him as he dug and there was a substantial risk that he could become entombed in the dark tunnel with snow in front and behind. He shuddered. "Helga," he said. "You're going to have to pull out the snow that I throw behind me. Do you understand? You're going to have to pull it out of the passageway and pile it up outside.
She shook her head, perplexed.
"Alright, let me show you." Maximus crawled into the tunnel, wincing as sharp stones cut into his knees. He was no more than a third of the way in when light was completely obliterated. The tunnel was very uneven in width and height and he bumped his head on solid rock more than once as he felt his way along. At times he was forced to slither on his stomach and he struggled to swallow the panic that threatened to paralyze him. He realized that he had reached the end only when his face ploughed into wet snow. Sputtering, he slid back a few feet and tried to get his bearings. He fumbled for the sword tied at his waist and thrust it into the snow using two hands. He could not really tell how much snow he was dislodging and stopped only when he felt it pile up around his knees. He pushed it behind him then kicked it with his feet as he started to crawl backwards, kicking the snow as he went. When he detected a glimmer of light behind him he called Helga's name.
"Maximus?" The light disappeared again as she crouched at the entrance to the tunnel.
He called her once more, then kicked the snow as hard as he could, hoping that some of it reached her. He heard her scoop it up and the dim light returned as she left the tunnel. He kicked the rest back and she repeated her action. She understood, but at this rate the job could take hours -- even days -- depending on how deep the snow had drifted against the outside wall.
Maximus switched his mind into battle mode, blocking the pain and the fear, and summoning strength and endurance. He crawled, dug, kicked, pushed, crawled, dug, kicked and pushed, not daring to stop for fear his body would not start again. He repeated the action over and over and over again. He had no idea how long he'd been working. It could be minutes, hours or days. His brain had lost track of time in this cramped, black tomb-like tunnel.
It took a few minutes for his mind to register that he was finally digging at air, and it wasn't until the cold, fresh wind touched his burning face that he realized he was through -- or was he? Where was the light? Where was the sun? Throwing the sword aside he dug with his hands until the opening was large enough to pull his body through. He collapsed on his stomach on the snow then rolled onto his back and stared up at the starry night sky through the barren branches of the huge trees, tears of pain and relief blurring his eyes.
