He was gratified that, despite the unsavoury nature of his unit, the past year of service had drilled the necessity of discipline into the men and, without question, the legionaries had dropped their plunder and hurried to the open space before the gate.
“What is it, Centurion? We was only lootin’ the enemy. The general encourages that!”
Cantorix waved the comment aside as he stood, rubbing his jarred knee.
“Get that gate closed.”
“Sir?”
“The Unelli are on the way back! Get the sodding gate closed or you’re going to be knee deep in your own blood.”
As he shouted, the centurion was already scanning the area, picking out anything they might use to brace the huge wooden portal. Fortunately, the Unelli seemed to be somewhat lacking in keeping their streets tidy, and various broken timbers, long beams, shutters, and ramshackle animal pens littered the settlement.
As the legionaries rushed past him to close the gate, he grabbed one of them by the shoulder and gestured to him and three others.
“You four go get some beams and timber; biggest and strongest you can find and carry them back to the gate. We’ve got maybe five minutes before that lot get here.”
As the men ran off about their task, Cantorix turned to see the other ten men busy heaving the heavy gates closed, their shoulders to the timber, grunting and groaning as they pushed. Nodding with tense satisfaction, he strode across to them.
“Alright. You men: get those bars across and locked down. Idocus and Dannos, get running round the walls in both directions. I didn’t see any other gates, and I doubt there’s much, but we can’t ignore the possibility there’s another way in. Be quick, cause we’ll need you.”
The two men ran like hares along the inner face of the oppidum’s defences, searching for posterns or other main exits, and Cantorix took a deep breath. Four minutes, he thought as he made himself breathe calmly. The remaining eight men had easily manoeuvred two heavy oak bars across the gate and into their cradles, bars designed to protect the Unelli against the Romans… an irony not lost on the centurion.
“Alright. Two of you get up on that parapet. I want to know when they pass the quarter mile and around two hundred yards.”
As the force split once more, Cantorix nodded and rubbed his temples.
“Four more of you gather any stones or anything heavy or pointed you could drop on the enemy and fill some of these abandoned baskets. Get them up on the wall. You’ve got four minutes to shift as much ammunition as you can.”
As they ran off, the remaining four legionaries turned to him.
“Good” he said, rubbing his hands. “Now go find anything heavy and strong you can use to help brace the gates.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his tired eyes, he wished he’d felt relaxed enough during the previous night to have slept in their prison, like some of the more conscience-free of his companions. Exhaustion was no good in a soldier, but in a commander during a battle it was potentially catastrophic and therefore unforgivable. He turned to see the four men he’d sent off first approaching with a long, heavy oak beam, struggling under the weight.
“Good. Let’s get it into position.”
He hurried over to help the men and between the five of them, they manoeuvred the beam into position.
“It ain’t gonna hold against a push, sir.”
Cantorix nodded and pointed at the floor, drawing a line in the dust with the toe of his boot.
“Dig a pit over a foot deep there and when you’ve done, slide the beam across and jam it into the hole. That’s about as braced as we can get. I’d like to see anyone short of Hercules shift that.”
As the four men lowered the end of the beam to the dust and began to dig the pit with their heavy, Gallic, knives, Cantorix turned to see the others carrying various beams and poles.
“Follow this example. Let’s have that gate harder to move than the walls either side.”
A voice above called something and the centurion looked up, holding his hands out, palms up while he shrugged.
“Quarter mile or less” the soldier shouted again.
“Shit.”
He fretted again, rubbing his face as the legionaries hauled rocks and chunks of timber up to the wall top, dug small pits and sunk great beams into them. Time was hardly on their side.
“Can you see what’s happened up at the camp?”
There was a brief pause and then the legionary shouted again.
“Looks like the enemy are panicked. Our lads are chasing them down, but slower. I think the three legions are all on the way behind them, but one bunch is way off at the back.”
“Probably ours” muttered Cantorix. “Alright. Get ready. We’ll have to hold this gate for about five minutes. After that the enemy’ll be in enough trouble with the rest of the lads pounding on them without worrying about us.”
He shook his head.
“Right. Everyone in position. Four men on the walls with the rocks. Rest of us hold the gate steady.”
He looked up.
“Shout if you’re in trouble.”
Without listening further, Cantorix ran forward to the gate. Constructed of heavy oak, the timber was almost entirely flush fitting, with precious few cracks and openings.
“Don’t lean into the gate yet, ‘cause you’ll just exhaust yourself, but be prepared. If you see a bracing beam giving way a little, get on it and reinforce it; hold it down. If you hear a shout from the lads above, get up there and help. Otherwise, keep your eye on any holes in the timber. If you can jab a blade through it and do some damage, get it done. No throwing yourself into anything. This is about holding on long enough for the rest of the army to do their job.”
“Brace yourself” one of the men above bellowed.
“Here they come.”
The sound of the panicked Gaulish army desperately trying to retreat to the safety of their suddenly inaccessible oppidum was immense, a roar and babble of shouts, mixed with the thumping of feet, the crash of metal and wood and screams from the few unlucky enough to fall and be trampled.
Cantorix closed his eyes and offered up a quick prayer to Mars, Fortuna, Minerva… and to Belenus and Nodens too, just in case.
The initial blow as the mass of the enemy threw themselves against the gate was as impressive as any forceful charge the centurion had seen. Despite the heavy timber of the construction and the two cross beams in their cradles, both gates shifted inwards by more than a foot, the bracing beams creaking and jumping in their earthen sockets.
“Bloody hell!” shouted one of the men in front of him and Cantorix couldn’t find a better expletive at that moment.
He threw his gaze around to take in the top walkway that had actually shaken under the blow, the dust and dirt that had fallen, dislodged from above, and the fact that the very walls had given a tiny amount to either side of the gate, earth slipping out and pouring to the ground from the timber-framed, soil-packed fortification.
“Swords” he bellowed, and the men under his command began to jab their blades through any hole they could find in sharp, swift blows, so as not to allow the weapons to become jammed.
The centurion leaned back and scratched his head as the second huge blow came, the gates shaking and releasing yet more dirt. With a loud retort, a thin crack appeared across one of the huge cross beams. Impressive. He’d seen similar results with a battering ram, but with shoulders and muscle alone? They must be desperate.
“Crap, I hope the legions hurry up.”
Pounding feet behind him made him turn. Dannos came to a halt, dropping his hands to his knees and breathing in deep gasps, Idocus close behind him.
“Two small posterns, sir. Both at ‘other side. Got ‘em locked, barred and piled up wi’ whatever shit we could get ‘us hands on.”
Cantorix sighed.
“Let’s just hope they don’t get that far then. Draw a sword and fall in.”