The year is 363 AD. Rome rules over the known world, although it is split into East and West. Valentinanus the Wrathful rules over the Western Roman world with an iron fist, preaching Christianity to his followers and dragging the Empire into decline. His son, Leontius Flavius, awaits the day his father will die and pass over to him the Empire. But there are some men who would rather see the Rome of old reinstated, with the Senate in power. If such a dream could be achieved, then maybe Rome can be saved….
Glory of Rome
Marcus the Gambler had never felt at home governing a city. So when Oppius Flavius relieved him of his duties at Avaricum and word was sent to him to subdue the Alemanni, Marcus was jubilant and marched his huge army across Gallia with lightning speed. Then word reached him to wait at the frontier for a fellow general before crossing over into tribal territory.
Marcus marched out onto the wooden battlements of the camp and scanned the horizon for his expected company. Probably some lapdog sent by Valentinanus to spy on me! Marcus mused as he squinted into the distance, the setting sun barely bringing light to the hills all around.
And then he saw them, forty or so horsemen, following a rider far ahead of their column who was riding at an unimaginable pace. Marcus tried to recognize the face but the light was too poor, and even when the rider wheeled his mount at the foot of the wall before Marcus he couldn’t properly make out the man’s features.
“Who are you?” A familiar voice from the helmet questioned. This man was clearly the general who would accompany Marcus on his upcoming campaign against the Alpine tribes: he was wearing an ornate muscle cuirass, his strong shoulders had a flowing red cape draped across them and his red crest was unmistakably that of a general.
“Marcus Flavius, commander of the Phoenix Legion. Who are you?” Marcus retorted, even now trying to recognize the figure before him. The general let out a bellowing laugh and took off his helmet.
“Is that any way to treat old friends?” He asked, a huge smile spreading across his dark face.
“Nero? By the Gods, it’s you! Open the gate!” Marcus ordered, glad to know that his second-in-command would be someone he could trust. Nero rode through the gate and Marcus descended the steps to greet him. As Nero dismounted off of his magnificent steed his German bodyguards began to file through the narrow gateway, eyeing the Roman soldiers with disdain.
“Gods be praised, I never thought I’d see you in a million years!” Marcus said to Nero as they embraced. Nero returned the embrace and drew back, looking at his friend.
“I was just as surprised when I was summoned here. But of course, I didn’t complain. And now we return to the battlefields again, back to where we belong.” Suddenly Nero became serious, and he ascended the steps of the palisade and peered out dramatically in the direction of the mist covered mountains.
“So that’s where we’re going. Can you hear them Marcus?” Nero asked, his hazel eyes transfixed on the mountains.
“Hear what, Nero?” Marcus asked, drawing close to his friend and looking at him with concern. Nero finally looked at Marcus, but his gaze penetrated deep through his friend, as if he was searching his soul. Then he laughed weakly, before looking back into the distance.
“Nothing, don’t worry. The sooner we kill those tribesmen and take their capital the better.” And as soon as he turned back to Marcus he was smiling again, not a trace of his previous seriousness left to be seen. “Now then, would it be too much to ask for a meal?”
*
“Have you heard about Leontius?”
“Yes, the Emperor has sent him off to ‘conquer Hellas’ or something ridiculous. It won’t work you know.”
“I know.” Servius replied, nodding darkly. Aulus Flavius had sent word to him across the entire empire: a messenger had sent for him all the way from Italia, crossing the Alps, Gallia and all of Hispania to find him in Corduba. And now he and Aulus were casually strolling through the magnificent palace gardens of Ravenna, safe in the knowledge that not even Aulus’ household slaves were anywhere near them as they spoke. As Aulus walked over to a row of growing olive vines he noticed Servius stare into space and stand still, as if struck by the thunder god himself.
“Servius, are you alright?” Aulus asked, not sure if there was any need for worry. His young friend set his perplexing gaze on him, eyes wider than seemed right.
“Aulus, by the Gods, we can save Rome!” He said, grasping Aulus by his opulent robe and keeping a firm grip on him.
“What are you talking about?” Aulus asked, completely confused by this sudden outburst of patriotism. Servius let go of him and began pacing up and down, moving his hands and muttering to himself as he went.
“Of course it will take money, it would take a madman to accept it, but if it works, oh Aulus, if it works!” Servius looked at Aulus and burst into laughter. “Gods above, if you could see your face now!”
“Gods above, if you could hear yourself now!” Aulus replied. Servius walked over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
“Don’t pay another thought to it Aulus, at least, not now. Best to wait until the time is right, then all will be revealed. Are those olives?”
*
Marcus watched in satisfaction as the Alemanni filtered out of the cities wooden gates, attempting to distract him with the bulk of their army, infantry, whilst Nero spotted the cavalry leaving by a side gate.
“They think they can out-flank us? Well let’s give them a surprise. Foederati, move to the left flank!” Marcus ordered. At his bidding the Germanic spearmen began to take up positions at the furthest end of the left flank, allowing the more heavily armoured Comitatenses to engage the infantry while the spearmen confronted the cavalry.
From their position oh the hill Marcus’ army could see the entire barbarian army as it began to advance out of the city, and he wouldn’t have paid the flanking cavalry any more attention if he didn’t know that there were two Warlords among them.
“Nero, take three of the Foederati cavalry units and position yourselves behind the spearmen. As soon as the cavalry are engaged with our infantry, smash into them.” Marcus ordered. Nero nodded and, as he rode to his position, called for three units of cavalry to follow him, leaving only one unit of horsemen to defend the right flank. It was a risky gamble, but the infantry could protect themselves, and if his gamble paid off Marcus would be congratulating Nero on butchering all of the Germanic cavalry before the day was over.
By now the horde of tribal infantry was advancing up the hill, and from the looks of things they were beginning to tire.
“Archers, fire at will!!” Marcus roared. The officers commanding the archers gave the order to fire and three hundred arrows whistled down into the ranks of spearmen, causing confusion and thinning out the ranks. So far so good, mused Marcus. Now for the next step.
“Comitatenses, loose!” He bellowed, throwing his hand down for dramatic effect. A trumpet sounded and the two lines of swordsmen began to hurl their javelins into the seething horde of barbarians. By now they were being steady demoralised, with the absence of their general, the hill and the incoming fire all weighing heavily on the minds of their men. Marcus signalled the advanced and all at once the archers stopped firing and the infantry sprung to life, roaring as they charged down the hill and clashed with the assorted tribal soldiers. Caught off guard by the sudden advance the barbarians were unable to prepare for the charge and archers, raiders and spearmen all became one giant fighting unit, desperately trying to stop the disciplined Romans from encircling them. Then Marcus saw them.
There were at least four hundred mounted warriors, and the greater parts of them were bodyguards to the Warlords leading them, and Marcus knew that they would fight to the death. It was time to see if his Foederati were up to the challenge, and he ordered them to form a line blocking the cavalry off from the Comitatenses, intent on letting his swordsmen annihilate the infantry. The Warlords were a terrifying force, and they hammered into the ranks of his spearmen, sending them flying. As Marcus led his own bodyguards into the fray eh called for Nero.
“Now Nero, flank them and surround them!” At first he didn’t think Nero had heard him, but then he saw the immense line of cavalry on the hill surge forwards, working in unison as they moved to encircle the cavalry.
“Cavalry! Cut off the fleeing infantry!” Marcus ordered to his free unit of Foederati cavalry on the right wing, and they thundered down the hill and around the ring of embattled infantry and crashing into any that managed to escape the ring of enclosing Romans. The time for orders was over, and Marcus steeled himself for the struggle ahead. Everything was in order, now it was time to lead by example.
His horse leapt over the body of a fallen Roman and he lashed out with his sword, the harsh steel finding its mark in the belly of a barbarian horseman. As the stunned warrior fell to the floor Marcus wheeled his horse around three times and hacked and slashed at the unarmoured horsemen all around him, furiously unleashing all of his rage with each and every blow. Then, through the mass of soldiers tearing away at each other, he saw the two German Warlords. Father and son alike were giving heart to their men, butchering any of Marcus’ men that came near to them. Both of them were wearing heavy armour, and each also had a winged helmet, like that of the Celtic Gods. Marcus let out an animal roar and charged forward, slipping through the ring of bodyguards around him until he was within arms reach of the son. As Marcus slashed his sword across the boy’s throat he heard the King let out a hellish scream, unlike any other cry Marcus had ever heard on a battle field. The boy’s body hadn’t even hit the floor when the King hurled himself off of his horse, crashing into Marcus and sending both of them hurtling to the muddy floor. Marcus couldn’t throw the huge warrior off of him and was reduced to trying to punch him in the face, but his fists simply cut and bruised on the cheek guards of that magnificent helm. The distraught King drew a knife out of his belt, and Marcus prepared to accept death without fear.
But then he heard a cry of ‘Roma Victrix!’ and a bodyguard ran his spear through the Warlord’s chest. Then another spear found its mark on him, and then a javelin was hurled into his shoulder. Bloodied and butchered, the defeated King rolled onto his side and the entire Roman army cheered as Marcus was helped to his feet and then back onto his horse.
“Marcus! Marcus! Marcus!”
Jubilant with victory and enthralled by the spirit of his men Marcus stood up in his saddle and victoriously thrust his blooded fist into the air.
And as Nero saw his friend basking in the glory of his victory he suddenly saw a Roman of old in his comrade. Maybe Marcus was Romulus reborn, sent to defend Rome and bring peace and prosperity. Maybe.
