A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Hello everyone. I am a new member, and I thought that this would be an appropriate place to share my first AAR. I've got two more chapter's completed and I'm in the process of writing a third one, so I'll put those up soon. I've really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it!
So without further ado, I present to you...
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
A Time for War - Prologue
Spring, 272 B.C.
Dusk
Mithridates' gaze drifted westward, his weary eyes settling on the wooded shores of the great Halys River. How long had it been since his ancestors had repelled the armies of King Kroisos from this very same river? He couldn’t remember. He could only hope that his fortunes would fare better than those of the fabled King of Lydia.
A cough tore through his worn body, far harsher than the winter winds of his people’s homeland. Mithridates could feel his bones rattling inside of his chest, and he pulled his woolen cloak tight over his shoulders. It didn’t help. Nothing did anymore. His cough was bad when he left Amaseia that winter, and travel had only made it worse. Taking one last look, he turned and made his way towards the soldiers’ encampment.
The air was warm and smoky as he pulled back the flaps of his tent. A servant tended a roaring fire, offering a spit of roasted goat to the old Basileus, but Mithridates wasn’t hungry. There was business to attend to.
As he made his way to the back of the tent, he saw a portly figure rise from the bedding laid down by the servants. A smooth voice broke through the crackling of the hearth. “My king, we must hold council.”
Mithridates nodded at his Chief Eunuch. “Have a servant call for my son.”
Alkimos Herakleotes ran a nervous hand through his thick dark hair. “We are in a precarious position, Basileus, and we both know how Ariobarzanes feels about our alliance with Seleukeia. Perhaps it would be best if we spoke in private first?”
Mithridates let out a sigh. “Yes, you are right. My eldest does not yet understand the importance of keeping our enemies close. What news of the war in the south? ”
“The war between Antiochus and Ptolemy lies stagnant. It is the east which I worry about.”
The old king raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I fear that the other successors are planning to revolt against Antiochus. They see opportunity while Seleukeia is tied down fighting in Celesyria. If this is to be the case, then Antiochus will be eager to end this war with Ptolemy. He will be forced to deal with this rebellion, and that means…”
“…that means that Antiochus will view us as another threat, whether we join in the rebellion or not. It will only be a matter of time before the might of his armies comes crashing down upon us.”
“Yes, my king. I believe your judgment is correct.”
“I must sit.” The Basileus removed his cloak, his joints creaking as he made his way to the bedding on the floor. “If war is looming, then we must prepare to fight it. Perhaps this rebellion will be a blessing? It will delay the inevitable retaliation from Antiochus and the dogs who beg at his heels, impatient to pick apart our homeland for themselves.”
The eunuch gave a solemn nod. “If we are to prepare, then we must expand our grasp if we hope to survive."
“What do you suggest, Alkimos?”
“Our spies report that our rivals to the north are weakened. Constant raids along the coast have drained their manpower, and their armies are far from the city, dealing with the Galatian invaders. We should strike while the iron is hot.”
Mithradates nodded. “The people of Sinope have close ties with the Hellenic city states. A move against them would risk open war,” he sighed, “but it is a risk me must take. Send a messenger to my son in law. Tell him to march his army to the city of Sinope.” The eunuch nodded, and silently left the Basileus’ tent.
The venerable king looked into the crackling flames of the hearth. He wondered if he would ever see his Palace at Amaseia, he wondered if he would ever hold his wife in his tired arms, he wondered if he would even feel the warmth of the next sunrise. Shutting his eyes and casting out doubts, he spoke softly to the fire before him.
“It is time for war.”
Later that evening...
Ariobarzanes smiled as Alkimos left his tent. He rarely enjoyed the company of his father’s chief eunuch, but he was always open to good news. Two winters had passed since he last saw his brother in law, six since he last saw real combat, and his kopis felt far too heavy in his hand. He was getting soft, and he knew it. A chance to take to the field would be welcome, even if it wasn’t against those damnable Seleukeia Satraps to the south. Gods, how he hated them! “Father underestimates our kinsmen,” he said to no one in particular. “Why can’t he understand that the best time to strike against our rivals is now, while Antiochus is pressed hard in the south and the east?” Pacing back and forth, the crown prince struggled to calm himself. It would do no good to fret now. A long day’s march awaited him.
Summer, 272 B.C.
Ariarathes Herakleotes was tired. Two years of chasing Galatians across the hills of Anatolia was hard on a man, and the dozens of skirmishes against the Gallic barbarians had taken their toll. Death and desertion reduced his command to half of what it had been when he set out from Amaseia, and he was reluctant to admit that his soldiers spoke ill of him behind his back. The orders from his father in law brought little comfort. More bloodshed was the last thing he wanted to engage in, but honor demanded it.
For weeks he rode north east, urging his scouts onward to search for signs of the Basileus’ encampment. The letter proposed that they meet south of Sinope, in order to join forces before the siege. Ariarathes wondered what little help he could provide. He was restless, but he found himself to be surprisingly relieved when his scouts brought back word of his father in law’s encampment, just a day’s march away.
Cheers greeted him as he marched his soldiers into the Basileus’ encampment. Friends and strangers alike grasped hands and patted backs, and the camp sergeant’s looked the other way while the men enjoyed their wine, but Ariarathes had not come to drink. As he made his way towards the king’s tent, he wondered how the last two years affected the old man. Offering a short prayer to Hermes, he entered the tent.
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Chapter 1 - New Blood
Spring, 271 B.C.
The crown prince fidgeted in his saddle. Arsames never wanted this responsibility. He wasn’t ready to be named Koiranides anymore than he was ready to lose the king that he called father. He certainly wasn’t ready for the battle which awaited him.
The letter came just months shy of his sixteenth winter; sealed with the sigil of the Basileus, signed with the name Ariobarzanes. Mithridates Kianos, Ktistes, founder of his line, had passed on to his ancestors. For weeks an illness had ravaged his frail body, starting as a fever and culminating in a horrible seizure. He never awoke from the violent ordeal, and stopped breathing two days later, an hour before the dawn broke.
For months his mother wept, and as her youngest son, Arsames did all that he could for her. Couldn’t his brother see that she needed him? What help could he be in this battle? As the youngest son of Mithridates, Arsames had trained to be a priest, or perhaps a member of the Basileus’ council. He didn’t have the drive or the ambition for war, and he knew that the young noblemen named him a coward behind his back. Yet here he was, named as Koiranides and summoned to fulfill his duty as crown prince. He would ride into battle alongside his brother, his king, whether he wanted to or not. To refuse the order of the Basileus was unacceptable.
The siege would break any day now. Inexperienced as he was, Arsames knew that the defenders could hold no longer. A year had reduced their supplies and manpower as starvation took its toll upon the populace, and even the most loyal citizens whispered of regicide. Alkimos and his spies reported that King Aigicoros would be forced to sally forth within the week. They were right.
The levies raised arms and prepared for battle. The skirmishers readied their slings and javelins. A sea of pikes bristled. It was time.
The gates opened, and the forces of Sinope poured out. Half starved, the soldiers had a look of grim determination on their faces. There would be no retreat for them. They would fight, or they would die.
The Greeks charged as the skirmishers released their javelins. Holding their hopla aloft, the Greek warriors were protected from the barrage of stones and missiles. They closed in on the Pontic skirmishers, a collection of young farmers and herdsmen, and the line broke. Barely fit to hold a sword, they turned and ran, desperately seeking the safety of the phalanx.
As the skirmishers weaved between the rows of pikes, the men within the phalanx readied themselves for the coming battle. Digging in their heels and gritting their teeth, the phalanx held as a mass of bronze and battle ready hoplites crashed into the line. Five good men fell in the initial charge, but the soldiers behind were quick to take their place. There was no turning back.
As the levies battled in the center of the line, Aigicoros himself led a desperate charge towards the Pontic cavalry. Calling out, Ariobarzanes commanded his honor guard to retreat, and Arsames was happy to oblige. With no hope of catching the enemy cavalry, Aigicoros pressed on, smashing his personal guard into the left flank of the phalanx. The Basileus immediately saw the danger of encirclement, and drove his cavalry headlong into the enemy.
The Greeks were ready for them. Their doru poked and prodded at the horses, driving them wild, and Ariobarzanes saw one of his closest companions die before him, his horse brought down and his brains dashed out by a fateful blow. Fearing for his life, he ordered a retreat. As the king's guard retreated, Ariarathes was ready. Horns blew and spears lowered and a second charge crashed into Aigicoros' guard.
It was not enough, and Ariarathes ordered his horsemen away from the fight. This was it. Arsames cried out, but his voice escaped him. He looked down at his knuckles. They were bone white from gripping his kontos, and when he relaxed his grip, it seemed as if his spear would shake right out of his hands. Clearing his throat, he gave the order to charge and kicked his horse forward. The sound of hooves was an earthquake around him.
The force of the charge shattered his kontos, and it drove clean through the gleaming bronze of a grizzled hoplite who immediately dropped his shield and gripped his doru in both hands. Shifting his body in his saddle, Arsames dodged a thrust that would have skewered him like a stuck pig. Dropping the useless lance, Arsames drew his kopis and lashed out at the man, opening his throat. With widened eyes and a gaping mouth, the man fell to his knees. The screams of the dying replaced the thunder of the charge.
He looked around. All around him his guard was pressing hard upon the Greek's line. Men fell like the man before him, their blood seeping into the ground like rainwater. He looked at the dying Greek. He looked odd, resting on his knees in the mud and the blood. Arsames wondered who he was, if he had a family. Then, the line broke. Shaking himself out of his trance, Arsames bellowed out the order to pursue. He was a boy no longer.
Aigicoros wouldn't live to face his cowardice. As he ordered the retreat, he was knocked to the ground by an armored boot. Struggling to rise, he caught the sharpened edge of a horseman's kontos. It entered between his shoulders, and the horseman pushed with all his might, driving the stake through the king's chest and into the ground. Aigicoros looked up and saw his men retreat, before the shower of hooves rained down upon him.
The death Aigicoros was too much for the soldiers of Sinope. Faced with the fate of their once proud king, they began to flee, first as individuals and finally as a host. Arsames watched as his brothers charged, cutting down all within their path.
It was a massacre.
Men trampled over one another to reach the safety of the city walls. Comrades forgot their brothers as panic descended upon the soldiers of Sinope.
The city walls would bring no respite. Ariobarzanes himself led the charge into the city, cutting down soldier and citizen alike as he made a beeline for the town square. Women pulled at their hair, children screamed, and soldiers dropped their arms and begged for mercy.
As he pushed into the city square, Ariobarzanes blew his war horn. A cheer rose up among the ranks. The city was theirs.
Later that evening…
Night fell over Sinope, and despite the obscuring clouds which had rolled over the city like the army before them, the market square was lit up like midsummer’s day. Braziers burned brightly on every corner, music played from every home and wine flowed freely from every cup.
Ariobarzanes gave his brother a playful shove and a lecherous wink. “Oh, come on Ariarathes, live a little! There are plenty of fine women in this city, and all of them willing to show fealty to their new lords! You should take them up on the offer.”
Ariarathes grinned. The Basileus was deep in his cups, that much was sure. “And how do you think your dear sister would feel if she knew her honorable King was encouraging her husband to stray?” He chuckled to himself as he watched Ariobarzanes stumble and catch his balance on a royal guardsman.
Ariobarzanes snorted in contempt. “Bah, I thought you were supposed to be a Greek! Perhaps you’d enjoy the company of a young boy instead?”
Ariarathes burst into laughter along with his companions. “Why don’t you go find our little brother and get him to bed a woman? He has yet to find a wife that he can dishonor.”
Nodding in approval, the king sauntered off to find Arsames, followed closely by four of his royal cavalry. Breathing deeply, Ariarathes enjoyed the cool air that blew south off the Pontos Euxinus. The night was still young, and to the victor goes the spoils. Draining his cup, Ariarathes wondered what fortune would bring him. Pushing the memories of war out of his mind, he made his way to the market square, where suckling pig and fresh grapes were being served to all manner of soldiers, both noble and common.
Dawn
Arsames woke to the sound of shouting. He tried to stand, but the fire within his head caused him to reel. With bleary eyes, he looked over at the young maid who lay asleep in his bed. Who was she? She had long and curly black hair, but he couldn’t remember her name, much less anything else that had happened that night. Rolling over on his side, he retched into an empty jug of wine. “How much did I drink last night?” He closed his eyes, but the shouting persisted. With great effort, he roused himself from the sheets, tousled and damp from his own sweat.
As he left his room, he found himself standing in the hall of King Aigicoros. Members of the royal cavalry were lying on the floor of the great hall, most of them trapped in their drunken dreams. A few soldiers noticed him and made an effort to stand, but he motioned for them to relax. His head pounded as he made his way towards the shouting, and as he approached closer he recognized the voice. It was his brother.
Ariobarzanes was in a rage, his face red and twisted with anger. Navid, his hulking retainer stood beside him, and Arsames recognized his mistress in the bed behind him, her face white. Shards of broken pottery lay strewn about the room, and standing before him was a portly man in fine clothes. Glancing briefly at Arsames, he turned his gaze back towards the man before him.
“How could my father leave me with such a debt? Surely the value of this city will relieve most of the cost taking it!”
The portly man looked concerned. His hands were clasped together in an attempt to belay any fidgeting, but the man’s fears were written plainly on his face. “My most sincere apologies, Basileus, but there is nothing I can do. Your father had expensive taste, and of course we have to provide for our soldiers. My arithmetic tells me that it will be many years before the crown can begin spending again.”
Ariobarzanes glowered at the man. “Alkimos, how many years have you served my father?”
Alkimos stammered, “Twenty three winters, my lord. I have been a loyal servant to the crown.”
Ariobarzanes smiled. “And I am not calling your loyalty into question. Rather, I am questioning your usefulness. Your service was valued by a different crown, but I am the Basileus now. And I have never found your services to be valuable.” He smiled. “Navid, please escort this man outside of the palace. I wouldn’t want to stain my new floors.”
The giant Kappadokos nodded, “Of course, Basileus.” Navid stepped forward as Alkimos stepped back, his face pale as the snow.
“Your grace,” Alkimos stuttered, “surely you can’t do this! Your father…” Navid grasped his arm with a huge hand.
“My father is dead.” Ariobarzanes turned away as Navid pushed past Arsames, dragging the eunuch into the hallway. He looked back. “I’m sorry you had to see that, brother, but you are the Koiranides, and someday you may have to make the decisions of a Basileus."
Arsames silently nodded, not trusting himself to speak past the lump in his throat, and he could hear the screams of the portly man echo through the great hall. Stepping out of his brother’s chambers, Arsames watched the poor man kick and bite at his captor, to no avail. “If this is the duty of the Basileus,” he thought, “I am not fit to be king.”
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Chapter 2 - The Calm before the Storm
Winter, 261 B.C.
Ariobarzanes shivered. The air was dry but cool, and his torch provided little warmth as he descended into the great mausoleum. Excavated by his father’s best architects, the caves served as a final resting place for Ktistes Mithridates Kianos. Reaching the tomb, he brushed the inscription of his father’s name. The stone was cold, and he drew his hand back. Holding back a tear, Ariobarzanes uttered a prayer to Men. “What would you have me do, father?” he asked, his tired voice echoing throughout the caverns.
Ten years had passed since the capture of Sinope, and fortune had smiled on the Kingdom of Pontus. His own son Mithridates had grown into a fine young man, able to fraternize with noble prince and common soldier alike, and Arsames was more than willing to renounce his title of Koiranides in favor of the young Mithridates. Moreover, his daughter’s had found strong husbands, Dionysius and Holophernes, both capable men willing to meet the challenges of leadership head on.
The security of his line wasn’t the only luck Ariobarzanes found. An alliance with the Celts in Galatia had provided his realm with added security, and the pacification of the barbarians had allowed him to finally pay off his father’s massive debt.
With the promised support of the Celts, Ariobarzanes was able to successfully capture the city of Trapezous. The city brought new trade routes into the realm, but it also brought new headaches to the aging king. His son in law Holophernes was a good man, but he was a Scythian, and perhaps too harsh a governor for the Greeks in Trapezous. Rioters tore through the streets, driving away merchants and craftsmen, but it was not the riots which brought the Basileus to seek guidance before his father’s tomb. It was an army.
Scouts reported vanguard from Seleukeia, making its way north toward the capital Amaseia. With Ariarathes busy governing the city of Sinope and Arsames marching towards Trapezous to quell the rebellion, Ariobarzanes felt isolated. The army was not large, but it was well equipped and days away from the capital. No declaration of war had come from Antiochus in the south; nevertheless, Ariobarzanes was wise enough to know that war was at his borders.
Spring, 260 B.C.
“We should meet them in the field! The winter snows are over, and it won’t be long before they march north into our lands.” Mithridates fumed. The young Koiranides had little patience for those who would test his resolve. “How long father? How long before they steal our crops, slaughter our livestock and murder our people?”
Ariobarzanes frowned. “If we march now, we must be wholly prepared for war. This is not the first vanguard to approach our borders, and to cross into Kappadokia to attack Arche Seleukeia would send the wrath of Antiochus down upon us.” There had been a time when he would have agreed with the crown prince. Ariobarzanes held no love for sons of Seleukos, but the burden of rule demanded prudence, and the might of his rivals could not be ignored.
Dionysius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His brother in law had been arguing with the Basileus for hours, and he tired of debate. “Perhaps we should wait for Arsames to return before we make any drastic decisions?"
Mithridates spat. “No doubt he’ll take his sweet time returning.”
Ariobarzanes nodded in reluctant agreement. Arsames was never one to hurry. “What would you have me do, son?”
“Gather the levies and ride out tomorrow. The strategoi of Seleukeia will never expect an attack inside their own borders.”
Dionysius spoke. “Would that be wise Basileus? Would we leave the capital defenseless?”
Mithridates glared at the Greek, but spoke to his father. “They won’t attack Amaseia if our forces besiege Mazaka. They will want to deal with our army before they mount an attack.”
Ariobarzanes frowned again, and stroked at the graying hairs of his beard. “And what will we do if they decide to deal with our army?”
Mithridates smiled. “Why, we would defeat them of course.”
Ariobarzanes sighed. Besieging a city was no small undertaking, but it was preferable to defending one. Turning to one of his clerks, he spoke with tired but determined voice. “Gather the levies and alert our kinsmen. We ride for war.”
A fortnight had passed since the fateful decision, and Mithridates smiled as they approached the foothills of Cappadocia. His body was tingling with anticipation, and he rested his calloused hand on the hilt of his kopis, eager to spill the blood of his enemies. Finally, he would teach the dogs of Seleukeia!
Horns were blown, and the Pontic cavalry marched ahead of the main army. The skies were dark, the ground seeped with rainwater, but the kinsmen marched on. There was no turning back.
With no hope of retreat, the Seleucid vanguard set up their defenses on a wooded hill, hoping to make use of the forest to dissuade a direct charge by the Pontic cavalry.
Their hopes were unfounded. As the kinsmen approached, the Seleucid peltasts released their javelins, but the rain made their vision poor, and they clattered harmlessly short of the kinsmen cavalry.
Unwilling to withstand another barrage, Ariobarzanes charged. Wheeling his cavalry to the right, he made his way up the muddy hill, followed closely by Dionysius and his guard.
Fearing the charge of their enemies, the skirmishers turned on their heels, desperately hoping to reach the safety of the forest…
…but the kinsmen were close behind.
With a great crash, the lines met. Spears and swords shattered while bones and shields broke! A horse reared up and kicked at the man in front of him, breaking his nose and sending him to the ground. A kontos lunged and caught a skirmisher in the liver, his black blood pouring out and staining his tunic. Ariobarzanes saw a kinsmen being pulled to the ground behind him, and turning around, he drove his horse into the group of attackers, his kopis hacking at shield and limb, cutting through bronze and flesh and bone.
As the battle continued, the skirmishers who escaped to the forest found no respite. On the orders of his father, Mithridates avoided the initial charge and entered the forest unseen, and as the battle began, he sprang his trap. Caught unawares, the archers were no match for the heavily armed and armored kinsmen.
The battle slowed, and the dead men of Seleukeia were innumerable, but among them their captain was nowhere to be found. The kinsmen cheered, and Ariobarzanes blew his great horn three times, but Mithridates was not yet willing to end the hunt. Spotting two figures retreated from the forest, he signaled another charge.
Despite their haste, the two cowards couldn’t outrun the horses which trailed behind them, and as the Pontic cavalry closed on the deserters, Mithridates recognized armor befitting of a captain of Seleukeia.
He called out. “Hold!” The men dropped their sword as the cavalry encircled them, and Mithridates dismounted. He walked over to the prisoners. “Name yourself, dog!” He spat.
The man’s voice was loud and strong, but his trembling hands betrayed his nerves. “I am Captain Hypatos, son of Kleitos, and I command that you take me and my companion unharmed.”
Mithridates laughed. “And why do you presume that I follow your command?”
Hypatos was silent. The look on his face was pure contempt.
Turning around, Mithridates called out to his companions. “Who among you would wish to honor yourself and your family by slaying this man?” A chorus of responses came arose the crowd, but Mithridates had chosen his champion before he asked, a brave warrior who had risked his own life to protect the Koiranides during the siege of Trapezous. “Mahvir, come forward and do me this honor!”
A muscled man stepped down from his horse. Clad in the finest scale and wielding an iron kopis, he stepped forward. “Yes Koiranides.” He removed his helmet, and his black curly hair fell down around his shoulders. He glared at the Seleucid captain. “Pick up your sword.”
Hypatos scrambled for his sword, and the horsemen around him backed off to form a circle. Standing up, he readied himself for battle.
Mahvir fell upon him like an eagle falls upon a hare. Hypatos blocked blow after blow, but they continued to beat down upon the captain. His arms aching, he made a hopeless lunge at the furious Persikos who opposed him, but Mahvir stepped effortlessly to the side.
That was when he felt the bite. It was deep in his stomach, and a cheer rang out among the crowd. Hypatos looked down and saw a sea of red. He tried to tighten the grip around his sword, but found that his fingers had no strength. His sword fell to the ground, and he collapsed forward. As he lay face down in the mud, he wondered what his wife would say to him when he returned to Mazaka. He smiled as he watched the enemy cavalry gallop away from him. "Cowards," he thought as he closed his eyes.
A fly rested on an unseeing eye. Reaching down, Dionysius brushed the insect away from his former companion. With a heavy heart, he closed the man's eyelids, placed a silver danake in his mouth, and prayed that he would receive safe passage through the rivers Styx and Acheron. Vultures had already begun to circle overhead, and the remaining kinsmen knew they would have to work quickly to bury the dead.
As vultures picked at the remaining bodies, the army continued south along the road towards Mazaka. The road led to war, and there was no turning back.
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
excellent writing! keep it up!
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Chapter 3 - An Army Divided
Spring, 256 B.C.
Wood splintered as iron struck the gates.
Dionysios watched as the people of Mazaka scrambled through the city streets. Women and children cowered in their homes while men grabbed their spears, donned their helms and raced to the walls
A large militia had been raised on the command of the Basileus, and his orders could not have been more prudent. An army from Seleukeia had besieged Mazaka for three seasons, and now they moved to recapture the city. Dionysios sneered. As a Kappadokos, he had been chosen to govern the greatest city of his homeland by Ariobarzanes himself, and he would rather die then give up that honor.
Dionysios cursed. His fool of a brother in law had traveled with an army to Bithynia, determined to capture a city which held no ill will towards the Kingdom of Pontos. Dionysios had begged Mithridates to remain in Kappadokia, but his cries fell upon deaf ears. The Koiranides was never one to listen to advice, but how could he ignore the obvious threat of retaliation. His hands clenched the shaft of his kontos. Dionysios' anger had festered since the siege began, but it was too late to hope for any assistance from his brother.
Soldiers thirsting for blood tore down the palisade walls which had been hastily constructed to defend the city, and the levies readied themselves for the inevitable struggle.
The forces of Seleukeia flooded through splintered wood, a deluge of men and metal longing for gold and glory, but the pantadapoi of the city held them off. A well aimed sarissa found the unprotected neck of an enemy. A strong arm forced a spear tip through the breastplate and into the beating heart of an attacker. A phalangite fell bloody to the ground, his Phrygian helmet shattered, cleaved apart by a single blow from a warrior's axe.
As the levies battled for the center of the city, Dionysios prepared himself. Fastening his helm and steadying his kontos, he rode behind the soldiers, shouting encouragement to the men who fought for the glory of Pontos, searching for a hole in the enemy line.
His eyes fell upon the soldiers guarding his left flank, and Dionysios knew it was time for action. The levies had managed to push the enemy away from the breach in the city walls, and the attackers looked ready to break rank and flee for their lives.
Sounding his horn, Dionysios gave the order. "Into the breach, kinsmen! Give them no quarter!" he called, his voice rising above the clamor of iron and bronze and dying men.
The enemy broke before the fearsome stampede of the kinsmen cavalry. Dropping their arms, they fled from the field with the kinsmen close behind...
...but the chase ended abruptly. With a furious charge, Zeuxis Lykikos brought his hetairoi into the fray. Dionysios dropped as a xyston thrust overhead. Deftly avoiding a fatal blow, he grabbed at the xyston with his free hand and lashed out at the rider, his blade carving past the bronze and between the ribs, and the man fell dying from his mount. The smell of blood filled the air, and he watched a kinsmen scream as iron bit into his forearm, severing the limb with a sickening thwack.
The screams of his men awakened memories long forgotten, and time stood still. He remembered the sight of blood, the mangled limbs, the smell of emptied bowels and piss stained tunics. The capture of Mazaka had been a bloody affair, and Dionysios knew the price of victory all too well.
Six years had passed since he entered the battle with fifty kinsmen, men who swore to die for him, and forty two men had been forced to fulfill their vows that day. Forty two companions who never returned to their wives and sons in Amaseia.
A resounding cry brought him to his senses, and he saw the remaining hetairoi flee before the might of the kinsmen cavalry. "Nike! Nike!" his companions cried. A kontos had managed to penetrate the hardened bronze armor of Zeuxis, and the once proud strategos lay lifeless in a pool of his own blood.
The death of their commander shattered the morale of the men fighting for Seleukeia, but as they turned to flee they became caught by the hoplites that broke through during Dionysios' charge. Spears greeted the soldiers from both sides, and panic descended upon them. The men of Seleukeia became sheep, the Pontikoi levies became butchers, and their bleating echoed through the narrow streets of Mazaka.
The enemy lay broken before the gates, and the corpse of Zeuxis rotted in the fields. The city had repelled the vicious assault, but Dionysios knew in his heart that the nobles of Seleukeia were hungry to devour Kappadokia and her people. This was only the beginning.
Winter, 256 B.C.
Ariobarzanes called for his servant to stoke the hearth. The young Kappadokos bowed and hurried to find kindling for the glowing fire which illuminated the chamber where the Basileus dined on roasted goat and red wine. A snow storm descended upon the city of Mazaka, but the temperament of the public felt far bitterer than any winter gale. The people of Kappadokia were of hardy stock, but surviving two sieges in one year was a difficult stone to swallow.
Draining his glass, Ariobarzanes began to recall the events which brought him to Mazaka. The first siege had been beaten back by the bravery of the Pontikoi militia, but the assault left the city in a precarious position. A letter from Dionysios arrived at his palace that spring, urging the Basileus to reinforce the city, and Ariobarzanes felt compelled to acknowledge his son in law’s request. His support could not have come sooner. Within weeks of his arrival, the Basileus found himself surrounded by a Seleukid army, and he knew that the four hundred men who marched with him would be desperately needed to repel the attackers.
The sound of footsteps disturbed his thought. The Basileus looked up, expecting to see his servant enter the chamber with more firewood, but Dionysios appeared in his stead. Pulling out a chair and pouring an extra drink, Ariobarzanes motioned for his son to come and share his meal beside him.
“Hail, Basileus! I am truly honored to share your company.” His speech was stilted, and he awkwardly grabbed the silver rhyton from Ariobarzanes’ outstretched hand. Sniffing the dark red liquid, he gave an apprehensive sip.
Ariobarzanes frowned. Dionysios was never one to forget his manners in front of the Basileus, but the king wasn’t interested in flatteries tonight. “Sit down and finish your drink. You fought like a man today, and I’ll be damned if you start acting like a womanish deserter in front of your father!” Recognizing his temper, the aging king composed himself. “Excuse me, Dionysios. Perhaps your king has had too much to drink tonight.”
Taking a deeper sip, Dionysios sat down in the chair besides Ariobarzanes. “There is nothing to excuse, Basileus. You have won a great victory today. Surely you’ve earned your wine tonight?”
“Yes, perhaps I have. Tell me, what are the soldiers saying about me tonight?”
Dionysios smiled. “To be honest, they didn’t believe their Basileus was capable of such feats of strength anymore.”
Ariobarzanes stared blankly at Dionysios, and the young man’s smile disappeared as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Finally, after a long moment, the old man erupted in raucous laughter. “So they didn’t think I had it in me, eh? Thought their old king was too pampered to fight for his kingdom anymore?”
Dionysios’ smile returned. “No doubt they made the same mistake as poor Euteles.”
The Basileus scoffed. “Poor Euteles? His fortune is likely worth half our kingdom!” He flashed a vulgar grin. “Or perhaps it was worth half our kingdom?”
The playful remark finally brought laughter to the stoic Dionysios. “I’ve heard the kinsmen tell the story a dozen times already, but I’d like to hear it from you, father.”
Easing back in his chair, Ariobarzanes swallowed his third glass of wine in a single swig. “You remember when we separated during the battle?”
Dionysios nodded. “You ordered me to assault the enemy rear while you chased off their cavalry.”
The Basileus continued while pouring himself another draft. “Chase wouldn’t be the word I would use. The hetairoi fought like madmen, and none of the enemy fought with more valor than Euteles Demetriados Assyriakes. Even as hetairoi died around him, his iron xiphos cut through our kinsmen, and his mighty shield deflected the strongest of blows. Jahan and Khorvash fell before him, and even the mighty Navid was wounded by his awful fury.”
Dionysios leaned forward while the king took another sip. He paused, and stared into his cup for a moment before continuing. “I couldn’t stand the sight of my kinsmen dying before me. I knew that I had to act, but I won’t lie to you. I was terrified.” His voice had become a whisper. “I prodded my horse and charged behind him with my kopis held tight. If I had missed my mark, I wouldn’t be here today, but thank the gods for watching over me. My aim found the opening in his armor, his unprotected neck, and I brought down my blade with all of my strength. I felt the iron cut straight through his collarbone, breaking his upper ribs and opening a horrible gash.”
“I watched the blood pour out from his wound, and he turned with a look of surprise on his face. It was then that our kinsmen startled his horse, which reared and threw off its mighty rider.” He drained his final cup. “He was dead before he even touched the ground.”
For awhile they sat in near silence, listening only to the crackling embers of the dying hearth. Finally, after a long while, Ariobarzanes stood. “Thank you.”
Dionysios raised a cautious eyebrow. “Thank you for what?”
The Basileus sighed. “For being the man that I find worthy enough to call my son.”
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
:applause:
The only thing I can do.
Beautiful. I hope for more in the future, and please can you make the update in a single spoiler, I'm on a phone and I have to constantly open and wait the image to load.
But nonetheless. :applause:
Xaire Basileu!
~Jirisys ()
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Liking it. One of the most under-appreciated EB factions.
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Chapter 4 – The Ghosts of Winter
Winter, 255 B.C.
The great pine forests were still. A dusting of snow had descended upon Phrygia at dawn, silencing the footfalls of Makarios as he crept careful through the underbrush. He was grateful for the freshly fallen snow. It made his prey that much easier to track.
He stopped. Slowly, Makarios reached down and grabbed the javelin at his side. His heart raced. He was only a boy, but he was eager to prove himself. He drew his arm back easily. He had practiced a hundred times before. “I can do this,” he thought to himself, “I’ve been training for this all year with the men of Ipsos.” Holding his breath to steady his aim, the young boy released the javelin upon his unsuspecting foe.
“Kybele be damned!” Makarios spat. His aim was unsteady, and the wooden dart plunged harmlessly into the snow. Startled, his prey fled to the safety of the forest, leaping over the brambles with effortless grace. The young boy hurried to retrieve his spear. It could take hours to track the young doe, and if the snowfall continued, he might lose the trail entirely. Cursing his aim, he ran into the forest, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of his elusive quarry.
A stinging pain brought tears to his eyes as he tumbled blindly through the woods. Branches reached out and flogged him mercilessly, and his pauper’s rags gave little comfort from their lashes. Bloody and bawling, he stopped to catch his breath when he noticed a strange form upon the frozen ground. It was no larger than a buck, and covered in a thin layer of snow. Bending down to get a closer look, Makarios pondered over the identity of the contorted figure.
The young hunter drew back in horror as he recognized the grotesque sight which lay upon the frozen ground before him. The man’s eyes had been pecked out, along with his ears and lips. His pallid flesh tried sloughing off his decaying body, but the winter’s cold had frozen it in place. Makarios reeled, and was sick. Wiping the snot and and bile from his stubble, he saw another figure behind him, and another. He rubbed the tears from his bleary eyes, and saw that these three figures were not alone.
A handful, a dozen, a hundred more shapes came into focus. Men, cut and twisted and broken, all of them, thousands of them, frozen in place, as far as his eyes could see. Some of them had swords clasped tightly to their hands, while others were stuck with the broken shafts of spears and arrows. Everywhere he turned, there were more to be found.
Crying, he ran through the icy graveyard, stumbling over severed limbs and parts which had been hacked off like pig scraps. He began to recognize larger shapes, horses, lying scattered among the corpses. Some of the bodies lay in a dozen pieces, while others rested as if they were merely asleep.
Suddenly, his foot caught a root, and he fell to the ground. With bloody hands, he pushed himself back up, and found himself face to face with a naked man. He was strung up, between two trees, ropes bound tightly to his wrists and ankles, and the flesh around his bonds was rubbed raw. Makarios couldn’t read much, but he knew the two words that were branded into the man’s stomach. “Seleukid dog,” he read aloud, his voice trembling. Even more terrifying was the symbol burned into his chest, a crescent moon beneath an eight pointed star.
Retching again, Makarios ran south, matching the speed of fabled Pheidippides. His sides burned and his heart felt as if it would burst from his chest, but the cramps in his sides and legs were far less painful then the memories of the forest.
The great pine forests were still. Somewhere, a crow cawed in the distance.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________ __________
Arsames scowled. He had allowed the Koiranides to convince him once, but he wouldn’t be swayed by Mithridates’ temper again. His nephew had hollered and hounded him for hours, urging him to march upon the Seleukids before they managed to reach Nikaia, and Arsames wisely consented. Attacking the forces of Arche Seleukeia in the open had been a great success, but to continue the attack would leave Nikaia undefended. “I am sorry, Koiranides, but I will not concede. Our army will march home today. We have won the battle. Let us enjoy this victory!”
Mithridates fumed. “We should move now to besiege the city. The path to Ipsos is open to us, but it will soon close if we do not act! Our enemies lay scattered before us, their shields broken, their corpses rotting.”
“I have made my decision, and I will ask you to respect it, nephew. Don’t forget that your father named Arsames as governor of Nikaia, and not Mithridates.” The look on the young prince’s face told him that his words had struck a blow. Arsames was only three years older than Mithridates, but he knew that the young prince bore the fool's wisdom and lion's temper of a much younger man.
Mithridates’ voice dripped with bitter contempt. “I’ll remind you that you are speaking to the heir and namesake of our great Ktistes, and I demand I be addressed as such.” His body was taut as a bow string, his hands clenched at his sides.
Arsames bowed with mocking adulation. “I never meant to test you, Koiranides. You know I hold your noble counsel in such high esteem, but I must deny your request. We cannot lose Nikaia to our enemies in Phrygia.”
Daggers flew from the Koiranides’ stare, but he had no more words for his uncle. Sulking, he departed from his uncles’ tent. Arsames breathed a sigh of relief. His nephew might be a fool, but he was a dangerous fool. Arsames could only hope he would remain a friendly fool.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________ __________
The kinsmen thundered through the forests of Phrygia.
Mithridates smiled as he rode alongside his cousin. Artaxerxes Herakleotes was a much better companion than his cowardly uncle, and the two shared laughter and drinks and stories each night with their comrades and kinsmen. They had departed after Arsames retreated to Nikaia, riding east towards Ankara together. Though weary from their battles, they were encouraged by their victories, and their hearts were filled with purpose. Scouts had reported a Seleukid scouting party, led by Spitamenes Adanon Kilikikon, eldest son of a prominent house in Damaskos, and if Mithridates could not deliver a city to his father, then he would certainly deliver the head of this dog who dared to defy the kingdom.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________ __________
Spring, 254 B.C.
The strategos was afraid. Captain Hippomachos had seen this fear before in men, and he watched in silence as his commander became a weeping woman. The man trembled when he spoke, and spoke all throughout the night, sometimes a whisper, and other times a piercing scream. In court he had been indecisive, and in camp he had been distant. Antiochos Soter Herakleias Pontikes, strategos of Nikaia, governor of Phrygia, son of the mighty Basileus, was afraid.
Hippomachos had urged the strategos to send more troops north, but Antiochos refused to leave the city with a smaller garrison, and Hippomachos knew that his brothers were lost. The captain argued to reinforce Spitamenes, but Antiochos refused his request. When a young hunter named Makarios brought word of their shameful defeat, Hippomachos organized a search for Spitamenes. Again Antiochos ordered him to stay within the city walls, and Hippomachos prayed that the body of Spitamenes would be returned for a proper burial.
Four nights ago, the battered hetairoi had returned with Spitamenes. Hippomachos’ had thanked the gods for the capture of his body while Antiochos wept at the sight of his rotting cousin. His skin had been rubbed in scented oils by his companions, but there was no masking the gruesome stench of decay, and they couldn’t hide the fatal wounds received at the hands of the hated Pontikoi. Dragged down from his horse, he fought off his attackers before his skull had been caved in from behind by an iron club. Shards of bone stabbed into his brains, and his eyes and nose turned an unnatural shade of purple and red.
He ground his teeth. The strategos had ordered the unthinkable. Hippomachos had argued with Antiochos for hours, but there was no reasoning with the man. The death of Spitamenes and the defeat in the field had turned the commander’s bowels to water, and now the captain was forced to plead for mercy before these upstarts who dared to attack the lands of Phrygia. Hippomachos begged the strategos reconsider. He warned that it would make them appear vulnerable. He raved that a ceasefire would leave them open to an attack. Yet here he was, staring at the enemy who sat at his table and drank his wine.
Feeling fear in his heart for the first time since he was a boy, Hippomachos signed his name to the treaty. He prayed to the gods that the Pontikoi would honor the terms, yet he knew that this time the gods would not listen.
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
One of the best AAR's I've ever read - I've been reading it today instead of working, it's that good!
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
I simply love how you take these pictures of events we all know too well, and turn them into something different.
The dead agent, the routing akontistai.
I bow before you, great one.
~Jirisys ()
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
This is great writing, and my favorite faction.
Re: A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos
Only read the Prologue so far, but this looks like an outstanding AAR. I hope I'll find some more time tomorrow to read the rest :2thumbsup:
