As the first groups of defenders rolled the barrels away to the side of the tunnel entrance, where they continued to issue a steady stream while remaining clear of any further activity, another group arrived, split into two groups of two men each. One group carried the remnants of the smouldering hog on a sharp wooden pole; the others bore torches.
Without the need for further orders, the pig was dropped into the stream of oil in the tunnel entrance. The fat hissed and popped as the two men with torches leaned gingerly forward and ignited the bubbling carcasses. The charred remains burst into flame with fresh vigour and, working furiously in the face of searing heat and splashes of hot fat, the men heaved the pointed wooden poles out of the burning hogs and used them to set the flaming bundle rolling.
By now shouts had gone up inside the tunnel. The lead warriors of the mining party had discovered that their passage had been completed. They were probably now aware of the small river of oil flowing beneath them and gathering in a small pool around the lower entrance to the tunnel. If they were bright, they might have connected that with the smell of roasted hog. If they were really clever, they had turned and were already running, but they had no hope. The tunnel was still fairly narrow and there were more than a dozen men in there. There would be chaos in the darkness as they tried to push back through their friends.
Fronto chewed on his lower lip in vague irritation. He didn’t like doing something like this to people; even to enemies. A man could die in battle with a blade in his guts and go proud and happy, but this was horrible. There was an explosive, incendiary noise somewhere below him and he thought for a moment that he felt the ground shake.
Then silence for a single heartbeat…
And then screams; screams that issued from inside and outside of the walls, from the entrances of the tunnels. Those attackers that had not been ignited by the flow of burning oil that ran down the special gutter had found themselves face with a huge flaming carcass rolling down the slope in the enclosed space. There was no escape.
Black roiling smoke rose from the tunnel entrance, carrying the scent of burned meat. The men among the wicker shields below were in a panic, unsure of what to do until the first blazing figure emerged from the dark maw, screaming and running in a blind panic until he tripped and tumbled down the slope toward the rest of the Belgae. Behind him, the half dozen men that had lived long enough to reach the exit burst out into the light, shrieking in agony and falling at the tunnel mouth, rolling down the hill. The slope failed to extinguish all of the flames, as the oil and fat had thoroughly soaked them now, and the figures, long dead by the time they rolled to a halt in front of their comrades, were still licked by flames.
Glancing back and forth along the hill, Fronto nodded sadly as he saw the same sequence of events unfolding at each tunnel. Raising and lowering his arm once more, he shouted “Third Team!”
Behind him, four more men lifted the oil barrel back upright and poured two open topped barrels of water into the passage to extinguish the flames and prevent the wooden supports from collapsing and bringing the wall down with them. Then a group of ten men grasped shovels, both manufactured and makeshift, and began to backfill the tunnels with earth, carrying them down into the passageway and starting below the wall itself to make sure the fire was no longer a threat to the defences.
Fronto nodded with cold satisfaction. It would take several hours for the men to fill those tunnels enough to prevent them being of further use to the Belgae but, judging by the chaos below, his demonstration had had the desired effect. The wicker shield-bearers had dropped their screens and fled, only to fall to the archers on the walls, who were no longer restricted in their shots.
He could imagine the conversations that were going on between the tribal leaders of the enemy below. Certainly plans were being redrafted. No one was going to be in a hurry to run up the hill again, so his men should have time to finish their work and be prepared for the next move.
With one last look down the slope, he turned and walked away to the left along the wall, to the far tunnel, where Decius was ordering his men around.
“Well that’s given them something to think about eh?”
Decius grinned.
“Did you see those bastards run? If we’d not shot ‘em down they’d have kept going ‘til they drowned in the Rhine!”
Fronto laughed.
“It’s certainly bought us some time. I’d say we’re safe at least until the afternoon now. What I expect for the rest of the day is a few small pushes to test our defences. They knew they’d cleared most of the Remi’s original missile defences from the walls, but now they also know there’s a new threat. I don’t think they’ll send more than a hundred at a time, and probably not even that. And they’ll come from a different direction each time.”
He sighed wearily.
“I’m just hoping they stick to that and don’t come en-masse. If they do, we’re done for wherever they come from. No matter how clever we are, we just can’t withstand those kind of odds.”
Decius nodded and smiled.
“If they do it probably won’t be until tomorrow.”
“Don’t be too sure. They won’t want to give us another night here, having seen what we managed with the first one. I think they’ll keep testing us all day until late afternoon. Then they’ll just ‘all-in’ to get rid of us before nightfall.”
Fronto dropped to a crouch and started to tap the wall top absently with a stick.
“What we need to do is to get every man here with a brain thinking of ways to take down large groups of them and bolster our defences.”
Decius nodded.
“I’ve a few ideas, particularly for the northern sector. You haven’t been round there yet, have you?”
Fronto shook his head.
“That’s going to be the weak spot for missiles. The slope is covered with woods. The only bonus is it’s going to be a bastard of an ascent for the enemy too.”
Fronto frowned.
“But you’ve got ideas?”
“Sort of. Need to work on them a bit and perhaps try and speak to Iccius about it. Mostly I don’t want to do anything about it while we’re only expecting little forays. It’d be a shame to waste a good surprise on a few men.”
Fronto nodded.
“Try and get everything ready so you can put any plans into action quickly. When they start to gather for a big assault, we might not get more than half an hour’s warning.”
Decius laughed.
“I must say that serving with you is certainly an adventure, sir.”
“Indeed. Go to it, Decius. I’m going to go speak to the others and see what ideas we can rustle up.”
Just as he’d expected, there was little activity from the Belgae for some time. It was later morning before the first assaults began. Small pockets of Belgic warriors bravely tried the ascent from all sides, not a single man managing to survive within forty feet of the wall.
The fourth such attempt, as the sun rose high, involved what appeared to be a testudo formed of those wicker shields they had used to protect the miners. For a moment the defenders were nonplussed and fired a few random stones and arrows at the approaching block, which bounced harmlessly from the protective surround.
Then, irritably, Decius had appeared on the scene and accosted one of his archers. Grumbling, he had snatched an arrow from the man’s quiver, dipped the head in the oil barrel stationed at the rear of the wall, lit it with one of the torches that had been kept burning throughout the day, and then passed the flaming missile back to the man. The Cretan smiled with comprehension and, aiming, sent the burning arrow in a tight arc, where it landed in the wicker with a thud. The dry screen caught light instantly and the warrior was forced to discard it hurriedly to one side. Barely had he let go of it before two arrows plunged into his chest and a heavy lead sling bullet broke his temple.