Atop the wall things were already becoming desperate. The sparse defenders were fighting off a large force who were jabbing up with spears, the walls to either side of the gate kept clear by an almost constant rain of sling stones and arrows from the enemy, forcing the legionaries to hunker down behind the parapet and their shields. The ditches would protect the wall areas for now, but with the causeways across the gates were weak points, especially while undermanned and with inadequate artillery crews.
Baculus paused, wondering for a moment whether he really was strong enough for this. Taking a deep breath and trying not to shake, he clambered out onto the wall top and hurried to the gate area. A quick glance over the side brought home just how dangerous the situation was. The enemy out there — Germans by both the look and the sound of it — must outnumber the camp’s garrison by perhaps five to one, and that was including the absent forage party. More like ten to one with them gone. They could be in trouble.
The men outside the gate were infantry, the cavalry having failed in their initial assault and having pulled back to wait out the next hour or two. Men with spears jabbed up at the defenders, forcing the legionaries to duck back out of the way, while others were busy bringing forth the wreckage of what must have been sutlers’ stores and using it as a rubble ramp to give them easier access to the walls. Much longer and they’d have a slope up the outside to rival the earth bank on the inside. They had, cunningly, left a narrow gap in their makeshift bank so that their heaviest, hardiest brutes could smash and batter at the gates, in case they could break through that way, forcing the meagre defenders to divide their numbers between top and bottom.
‘They’ll be on us any moment, sir,’ a struggling legionary shouted, seeing the welcome sight of a centurion appear among them.
‘They will if that ramp gets any higher.’ He turned, looking down on the newly-raised optio with the leg wound. ‘Get me four men, a barrel of water, two buckets, a pot of pitch and two torches,’ he bellowed.
The man nodded, giving out the orders, and the legionary near Baculus frowned. ‘Sir?’
As soon as they get here, if I’m busy, get the gates thoroughly soaked with water and keep soaking them. Tip the pitch on that pile of broken lumber they’re building and fire it. Elseways they’ll be on the wall top before you’d have time to shit.’
‘Dunno about that, sir. Pretty close to shittin’ myself now!’
Baculus laughed and stepped to the wall. A spear lanced up at him and he ducked to the side, throwing up the shield and then swiping down, narrowly missing severing the spear’s tip. Even as he drew back, another spear danced up at him and a sling stone glanced off his crest holder, jerking his helmet back and ripping out horsehair on its journey.
Despite the fact that each legionary on the gate top was already as busy as possible, fighting off the dancing points of the enemy spears, the attack had suddenly redoubled in strength at the sight of a centurion’s crest. Such a prize, for an enemy warrior!
Another spear lanced past and Baculus managed to trap this one against the wall with his shield, leaning his weight on it until he heard the spear shaft snap and saw two feet of ash with an iron leaf-head fall back inside the wall. Taking the opportunity to glance over the parapet, Baculus felt his heart thump as the nearest warrior leapt, the fingers of his left hand catching the wall top as his right came around with an axe. The ramp was almost high enough.
He ducked to one side as the axe swung through the open air above the parapet, and then smashed down with the bronze edging of his shield onto the fingers wrapped around the timber top, smashing them to a pulp. The warrior screamed, falling away from the wall, but there were already other fingers grasping and an increasing number of bodies at the wall. Concentrating on them, Baculus failed to see the next spear thrust which came from his right until it was too late. Abruptly, he turned his head, hoping the wide, flared neck guard of his helmet would catch the blow, but the spear bounced off the steel, beneath the open ear hole, and ripped into the side of his neck, tearing muscle and tendon and spraying the inside of his helmet with hot blood. He staggered backwards, dropping his shield, his hand going up to clutch at his neck even while he swung with his sword, trying to knock that spear away. Barbarians were all over the wall top now, trying to climb.
‘Capsarius!’ someone shouted helpfully, spotting Baculus staggering, a torrent of blood pouring from his helmet and soaking his mail.
Ignoring them, trying to staunch the arterial flow with his hand pressing his scarf against the huge rent, Baculus moved to the wall again, swinging with his blade and smashing the nose of the first man he saw, cleaving his face horizontally. He could feel himself weakening again; refused to submit.
The legionary off to his right gave a blood-curdling shriek as a spear slammed into his face, driving home until the point cracked the back of his skull from the inside.
A sword swept at Baculus and he cut down with his own blade, severing the attacker’s arm at the wrist, but not before the blow had smashed a deep cut into his arm, sending broken mail links and slices of leather pteruge flying through the air. Baculus grunted at the pain, though it was considerably less than the wound in his neck. His body was weakening fast and his reaction time slowing and he knew it. He had moments left, and was a goner after that.
Another man appeared, clambering over the wall and Baculus jabbed at him with his gladius. The blow struck home, but merely knocked the man back off the wall, such was the apparent weakness in the centurion’s arm.
He saw death rise from the mass, a large sword held in both hands in an overhead chop aimed at him. It was something of a relief, really, after so long lying in a sick bed, to at least die actively, and he almost thanked the German warrior as the sword came down. The blow was at full reach, even given the height of the ramp, but there would be enough blade and enough force in it to split Baculus’ shoulder even if it glanced off his helm. But it would probably cleave straight through the steel and bronze, such was the length and weight of the native swords in the north.
Baculus winced as the blow came, feeling the slowing of the blood at his neck.
Nothing happened.
He opened his eyes in surprise to see the man with the heavy sword hurtling away from him, screaming, sword still raised, and realised belatedly that an artillery bolt had smashed into his would-be-killer’s chest. Glancing up and left, Baculus saw the previously empty tower filling with men as the scorpion sought its next target.
He fell, but a legionary was suddenly there grasping him, holding him up. Then another, bearing the leather satchel of a capsarius. ‘Hold still, centurion and don’t move that neck.’
Feeling faint and weak, Baculus gave a low cackle as he saw the Germans, on the cusp of victory climbing over the wall top, suddenly repulsed by the relief force who now flooded onto the rampart. He could smell the tell-tale acrid odour of pitch and see the glow of orange torches. The sound of a huge barrel of water being hauled up the bank accompanied it.
‘I said stay still. This is bad, centurion, and if you want to live to shout at, beat, and belittle legionaries, you need to do exactly as I say.’ Too tired to argue, Baculus allowed himself to relax, the sword falling from his fingers. The newly field-promoted optio with the bandaged, bloody leg appeared in front of him.
‘All under control now, centurion. Thanks for your timely help.’
Baculus passed out.
* * * * *
Nasica, rare survivor of the Fourteenth Legion’s demise under Sabinus and Cotta during the winter, and now proud eagle-bearer of the same, reconstituted legion, leaned in and added his voice to the discussion. He was aware that the aquilifer held a rank that equalled most centurions, but wasn’t yet sure just how much he was expected to chip in to officers’ confabs.