Here is the continuation of the previous section, "The Tempest Begins.”

Part Three: The Tempest Begins (continued)

All

Two days later, just at dawn, Caesar attacked. A hail of arrows burst over the wall, cutting short a warning cry from the sentry. Zeltar rushed to the wall with several other men whilst the Nervii archers shot at the legionnaires who had set ladders up against the wall. Before long there were dozens of the Romans atop the wall, and more were constantly climbing.

Zeltar cursed as he raced along the wall, and drew his sword. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, he charged towards the nearest group of legionnaires. Slicing his way through them quickly and efficiently, he reached the ladder they had used before another of them had climbed up the wall. He heaved at it with all his might, and it tipped over, smashing into the ladder next to it, knocking several legionnaires to the ground. Along the wall the maneuver was repeated, until the wall was clear of Romans. Zeltar leaned over the wall and shouted contemptuously, “ Is that the best you can do!? ” whilst the legionnaires reformed and returned to their encampment.

When they were out of sight, Zeltar sank to his knees. He was bone weary, although the fight had lasted barely minutes. How can I manage to stand here, he wondered, if I cannot last more than a few minutes? How?

Caesar turned his horse and cantered back to the camp. His initial surmise had been correct, it would be very difficult to take the wall. From his estimate he had lost eighty soldiers whilst they had killed over one hundred of the enemy. The problem was, he mused as he rode, that he was unaware of the numbers of troops on the other side of the wall. A small force here could hold the wall for weeks, if not months. He would undoubtedly prevail against them eventually, but at what cost?

He swung down from his horse and ordered one of the messengers to attend to him. When the young man entered the tent, Caesar motioned for him to sit.
“Soldier, you are no doubt aware of the difficulty which faces us here. Without definite knowledge of the composition and numbers of the army that faces us, we are literally beating our heads upon a wall. I require you to ride back down the pass as fast as you are able. Obtain several new mounts for yourself at our garrison there, and then head north to Marcus Brutus. Inform him of what has occurred, and urge him to advance upon the tribesmen, attacking them from the rear. He will of course need to send us a message when he is near, and if we are no longer here, I will leave messages for him with a small troop. Will you remember what I have just said?”

“Yes, my general. I will leave immediately.”

“Good. Ride swiftly, soldier. Our future here may depend upon your speed.”

The messenger bowed his head briefly and then left the tent. Caesar leaned back in his chair. All there was now to do was to wait. Then he remembered Trelius’ troop on the other side of the enemy, and he smiled, as a new plan came to him.

Rothlin was standing outside of the barracks watching the wall when the missile rose into the night. A flaming arrow, he guessed, and his heart thundered as he realised that it was probably the signal for an attack. He hurried inside, rousing his men, and then they formed up and marched in formation up upon the wall. In the moonlight, Rothlin could see a force of legionnaires advancing stealthily, staying close to the sides of the pass. He smiled briefly, then gestured to his men to stay low, hoping to catch the legionnaires by surprises when they climbed the wall.

“What is happening, lad?” Zeltar’s hoary whisper reached him. He turned and saw the old warrior at the head of the ladder, peering up at him through the darkness.

“They are trying a night attack. Did you see the arrow?”

“Aye, and that’s what worries me. Why would they use that as a signal? Who to?”

The first ladder grated into place upon the wall. Rothlin quietly drew his blade. “We’ll have to figure that out later, general. It’s about to get very busy here.” A hand soon grasped the parapet as a legionnaire pulled himself up onto the wall. His mouth opened in shock as Rothlin’s blade slid into his throat, and he fell backwards, toppling several men off the ladder below. The Nervii screamed a war cry, and battle was joined with the Romans.

In the midst of it all, Rothlin was taking a breath when a legionnaire charged at him with a long spear. Rothlin dodged it, but stepped too close to the edge, and teetered upon the brink before falling off the wall. He landed hard, a sharp pain stabbing his left shoulder, but he managed to scramble back to his feet. As he did so he glanced back to the barracks, and saw men stealthily closing the gap between the furthest buildings. His mind screamed warnings at him, and he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Ware! The enemy is in the camp!”

Rothlin charged towards the Romans as men boiled out of the barracks buildings in sleepy disarray, some not even dressed so swiftly had they responded. Among them he saw the slender figure of Talia wielding a long sword as she screamed with battle rage. Rothlin opened his mouth to shout at her to stay away, but before he could call to her she was already attacking the Romans. The men with her met the Roman force with a great clash, and as Rothlin charged towards them he heard someone jump from the wall behind him, but his mind was too preoccupied to turn now. As he ran, his mind was seething with questions. How had the Romans found their way behind the wall?

Trelius raised his sword and attacked another tribesmen as his men surged forwards, into the group of the Nervii that had hastily assembled. As he moved further into the camp, Trelius judged that by the number of barracks present, the force of tribesman here was small, only a few thousand in size. He called over one of his men and directed him to return back around the pass to relay this information to Caesar, before he turned back to the battle. Trelius was confident that his force of men would be more than sufficient to destroy the Nervii based here, as since Caesar was attacking the wall, much of their force would be needed to keep him from taking it.

Trelius saw more men running towards him now, and he ran forward with fifty of his troops to intercept them. As the legionnaires sliced their charge apart, Trelius looked back to the wall and saw two men charging towards his force. The first was young, with an intense look on his face. Trelius guessed him to be one of the commanders, and directed ten of his men to take him, alive if possible. Trelius continued to watch as his men surrounded the young tribesman, who fought valiantly, killing two and wounding another before he was captured.

Then Trelius noticed the tribesman who had been following the young one. This man looked far older, and as he drew his sword, Trelius was struck by a strange feeling of dejá vu. Surely he had seen this man before?

It became apparent that the man was intending to attack Trelius’ men that had captured the young tribesman. Trelius watched as the man seemed to flow into his group of legionnaires, his sword lightly lashing out to take men in the throat, thrusting through the chest of the Romans. Several of his men were down, and Trelius began to feel concerned. The tribesman was killing them too quickly, moving almost faster than Trelius could follow. His sword glinted in the moonlight, and he seemed to dance among the legionnaires, dealing death as he moved.

Within several seconds he had killed all eight of them and freed his comrade, and then the two of them, with a force that had erupted from one of the barracks, charged at the battle. Trelius shook his head, and then calling his legion forwards attacked the Nervii again. Who the tribesman was could wait until after the battle was won.

Immersed within the battle, Trelius soon noticed that he was drawing ever closer to the strange pair. He felt a thrill of anticipation as the tribesman cut down another of Trelius’ troops. Unlike most legionnaires, Trelius was a true expert with the sword, and so he charged and met the tribesman. He thrust quickly towards the man’s heart, but the Celt twisted aside, and then lashed out with his blade, scoring a hit upon Trelius’ ribs. Trelius felt the pain, and riposted, almost managing to slice off the man’s hand. But the tribesman moved like a cat, swaying to the side and then ramming his blade into Trelius’ chest.

As Trelius fell to the ground, he suddenly remembered where he had seen the tribesman before. The memory of the Great Arena washed over him, as he could once again see Zeltar fight. And then all went black and Trelius was gone.

Zeltar charged forward, killing legionnaire after legionnaire, and soon the tide of the battle began to turn. As more and more of the Nervii charged in, the legionnaires began to panic. They were separated from their army by this force before them, and now, there were several thousand men here against their now smaller force. If they had had a competent commander they may yet have held the Nervii, but their officer was dead, and soon the Romans started to flee the field. Zeltar ordered a troop of men to chase them upon horseback, and gathering most of those assembled raced to reinforce the wall.

It was not long before the night’s fighting was over, and dawn stained the eastern sky once more.

Over the next three weeks Caesar made several more attempts at taking the wall. He knew now his enemies numbers and how to attack them, but could not use his forces to a full advantage. He was content merely to wait for Brutus to arrive from the north, as with Brutus were two full legions of cavalry and another two of infantry. The attacks continued, but seemed only half hearted to the defenders.

Daily, Zeltar sent out scouts to the north, searching for reinforcements, but none were forthcoming. At the same time messages kept arriving from the generals, bearing the same message.

“Just one more month.” “Hold fast.” “Give us more time.” And Zeltar knew that even with Caesar seemingly diverted they could not hold.

And so the fighting continued.

At last, Caesar thought, Brutus is within attacking range of these damnable tribesmen. “Tell Marcus Brutus to attack the tribesmen at three hours past dawn in two days,” he ordered the young messenger that had managed to avoid the Nervii’s patrols. “I will attack them again at the same time. We will sweep them into a trap, clearing the way at last. Go now, and return to my tent after the battle is fought. For your bravery in bearing the message, you will be rewarded.” The messenger saluted, then strode from the tent. Caesar heard him gallop off into the mountains, and smiled to himself.

“Not long now, Zeltar,” he whispered. “You may have escaped justice in Rome, but soon you will die.”

Rothlin woke early and rose, taking his sword and preparing for another day. As he mounted the wall for his watch with his fist of men, he saw with a frown that Caesar’s troops were already formed, but were not moving. Waiting for something.

“I don’t like it.” Zeltar observed from beside him. “I suspect that somehow they have moved another force behind us. I have set one thousand men down there to watch the pass, and hold it. Magnar’s fist is also in reserve, as a flying company.”

Rothlin patted the older man on the shoulder. “Do not worry, Zeltar. Only another few days and the army will be mustered, according to the latest dispatches. We will be able to retreat at night, and join the others. Not long now.” Zeltar grunted, and continued to stare at Caesar’s army.
“I still don’t like it,” he whispered.

Brutus formed his men up into a file of six abreast and then gave the orders. The cavalry began to canter down the pass, followed by the infantry. Soon, Brutus thought, we will arrive to help Caesar. Only one more hour before the appointed time.

Caesar raised his fist and dropped it, and then his men attacked. Rushing the wall with scores of ladders, they quickly climbed and gained a foothold upon it, allowing more troops to arrive. He had committed more than three times as many troops to this effort than to any of the previous attempts. Already the line of the Nervii was showing gaps, but it was quickly reinforced, Caesar guessed from reserves at the base of the wall. He motioned another cohort of troops into the battle, and then looked at the position of the sun in the sky. Not long now.

Talia heard the thunder of hoof beats, and walked curiously from the makeshift hospital where she had been working since Zeltar had berated her for involving herself in the night attack. Shading her eyes, she squinted at the north, and saw a large force of cavalry charging towards the camp, only several hundred yards away. Then she saw the Eagles of the Legions, and she knew that they were lost. She ran, shouting at the wall, and quickly the flying company reformed and dashed to the north, attempting to halt the legions from penetrating the camp. The twelve hundred men were swept like chaff before the twelve thousand horsemen, and Talia ran towards the corral where the horses were kept. She had to get away.

Zeltar heard the screams and knew then what had happened. Bellowing to his men to abandon the wall and to retreat, he dashed forward and killed another legionnaire, before grabbing Rothlin, and then jumping off the wall, before leading the young man to the horses. Quickly they mounted, then Zeltar pulled a horn from his belt, and blew the signal for retreat. Several of the men then turned and saw the horsemen charging into the camp, and the entire force of the Nervii abandoned the wall, leaping off and dashing to the corral. Zeltar started northwards, but Rothlin turned, as if to help the tribesmen. Zeltar turned and grabbed the reigns of Rothlin’s horse.

“No, lad! We must escape to warn the tribes. They are through now, and there is nothing that we can do!” Rothlin reluctantly acceded, and they galloped off into the north, gathering up Talia and several hundred escaping tribesmen as they rode. Rothlin turned, looking back and saw the entire encampment ablaze, the wall being torn down and the legions pouring through. He knew that it would not be long now before they reached Belgae, and he turned his horse to the north. They had to prepare, time was running short. They had to reach the army, to prepare for the final battle.

Š2001 Ben Thomas, Andiyar Enterprises. All Rights Reserved.

(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 12-05-2001).)

Ohh, another very good story. I would chime in with my griping about details, but I won't since I know of your limits now. One thing. I see the word 'whilst' too often. I believe 'while' would suffice, as these are Celts and Romans here, not Shakespear.

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