For those who had never seen the walls, and Flavius was one who had only heard of them, their size and magnitude was both astounding and sobering and that was at a distance. He knew from his father there were more defences behind these great multi-gated and turreted edifices, walls built by a string of emperors to protect an ever-expanding city that had been Roman long before Constantine named it his eastern capital.
Once they had fanned out and made camp, with no sign that anything of a warlike nature was about to occur, Flavius took the first opportunity he could to examine them more closely, trailed by a couple of his men, who listened as he explained that what they saw before them presented, to an attacker, no more than a fraction of the problem.
These were the walls of the Emperor Theodoric, with forward battlements twenty cubits in height protecting an intervening moat overlooked by another set of even higher defences, great blocks of stone capped by arched red and smooth tiles that made getting over the very tops impossible; the only way onto the parapet behind was through the crenellations and each one would have at least one defender to hold it.
Massive square towers butted out at each great gate to create a zone of death before the heavily studded and massive oak doors, while behind them lay a narrow bottleneck entrance sealed off by a protective portcullis. Along the seaward side of the city the curtain wall was too high and continuous to be overcome from ships.
‘How do you know all this?’ asked Helias, the question accompanied by a look of suspicion.
‘My father served here and he told me.’
‘Did he tell you how to overcome them?’
Flavius produced a wry smile. ‘No, he reckoned it impossible.’
The next question, querulously posed, came from Tzitas. ‘Then how are we to manage it?’
He nearly said they should pray for an earthquake, which if strong enough would bring the walls down, or, as he had been told, forty days of rain, for if the River Lycus, which fed the teeming city, flooded, that too could undermine the foundations. Instead he invoked Joshua.
‘He succeeded at Jericho, we must do likewise here.’
Blowing horns sounded just then, and for the first time Flavius shared a genuine and fulsome laugh with these two at the coincidence. Not that there was too much time for mirth, for that was a call to assemble and had them rushing back to their lines, to find Forbas in no mood for their dallying. A training field had been prepared, as well as a raised platform from which what went on could be observed. His century was to be gifted first use, with short wooden staves to act as swords, longer ones with a blunt end to replicate spears.
‘Get your helmets and shields and let us see what use you are!’
The whole was split in two, thirty-two men each, for it was under-strength by two whole contubernia, and they were set the task of showing their prowess. First the centurion and his decani had to get their men into lines to oppose each other, which showed many had either never engaged in proper battle drill or had forgotten anything they had been taught.
Flavius’s first command was to instruct his lot to stay tight to each other, to advance or fall back as a complete unit and to always face the enemy. These were the same exercises in which he had participated in the sand-filled enclosure in Dorostorum, the same place where his father had regularly exercised his men.
If he knew what was required, it was not the case with all; too many men flew at each other with gusto and the air was loud with stick hitting stick, impressive in terms of zeal but actions that would be useless in real combat, and that was not confined to the ranks ? several of the decani were equally inept.
It took all the strength Flavius could muster to restrain buck-toothed Baccuda, who was swinging his stave like a man possessed, in no way like he would employ a proper spear, his shield held away from his body, the fellow he had chosen to fight just as stupid; if either had faced a decent opponent they would have been battered to the ground. Worse, they were unaware that such behaviour in a real fight would endanger everyone on their own side; at all costs the line must be held!
Forbas should have been beside himself observing this, but when the horn blew to separate the competing factions he looked surprisingly calm, calling his junior leaders together.
‘Now we can see clearly what we must do and a start has to be made with you lot, who seem to have lost any skills you might have had. You cannot lead if you do not know how to fight yourselves, so fetch your spears, form up in a line and listen to what I say.’
For a man held to be short on temper, Forbas was surprisingly patient, arranging them in line and even personally adjusting their shields and spears to the correct position. When he came to Flavius their eyes locked, for there was no need to touch his equipment: it was where it should be, shield slightly angled to cover his neighbour on the left and once Forbas had sorted out the man to his right, a gap through which he could employ the weapon he carried.
‘Shield rims at eye level and look at me.’ He then called on them to advance one pace at a time, ordering that they keep a firm grip on both their weapons and their protection. ‘When you move forward stamp, get your lead foot down hard and brace yourself. Remember there will be an enemy trying to either kill you or force you back, so the move must be as one. Once it is safe to do so take another pace forward.’
They went through it several times until it was, if not perfect, enough to satisfy Forbas, who now had them do the same with swords, which required a different shield position so it was possible to properly use the weapon.
‘You need to be stabbing not swinging, for that will expose you. Get your weight right and your body behind the blow.’
It was all in the manuals and histories Flavius had studied, the classic fighting formation of the legion, whose success rested on tight discipline and total solidity and that had not changed even if the army had been reorganised in different-sized components with new names. Everything must be done as a unit and once Forbas was satisfied, the decani were sent to instruct their own men.
‘If they don’t do as you say, give them a swipe of your stick and if they are really bad you have my permission to stick your spear up their arse, the real one too.’
The training went on until, despite the cooling breeze, every mouth was dry and filled with dust and all were soaked with sweat. Forbas then called a halt and directed his charges to wooden vats of water, cool, fresh and fetched from a nearby spring. Flavius was enjoying his scuttle when a hand on his shoulder had him turn to face Forbas and a raised and crooked finger.
‘You, with me.’
There was no choice but to obey and throwing the scuttle to another he followed the centurion across to a spot just below the raised platform where there was some shade from the sun, now well past the zenith.
‘I think you are going to have to tell me who you are.’
‘Flavius.’
‘Which is the given name of half the folk in the whole empire and something tells me it is not all of yours, so out with it. And why are all and sundry now referring to you as “master”?’
That got a shrug. ‘A jest, no more.’
‘I watched you today, as I have watched you since we formed and you are not as the others around those water butts. You knew what to do without being told, which means you are fully trained and if that’s the case at your age …’
‘We used to practise at home.’
‘Home is where?’
‘North of here.’ That got raised eyebrows, being clearly insufficient. ‘North of Marcianopolis.’
‘That’s a lot of ground.’ Flavius nodded and Forbas growled. ‘Do I have to beat it out of you? For I will. You’ll wish you had never been born!’
‘Dorostorum,’ Flavius conceded after a long pause, mentally berating himself when he observed the way Forbas reacted, eyes narrowing and taking on a knowing look.