The Liberation of Jenuensis
Taken? TAKEN!
First the Eagle, now an entire province. This will be the last, I swear it by the blood of my Roman fathers. So many Roman colonists in Jenuensis... so many good citizens. Some might say that Jenuensis is still a Gallic city, but they know nothing. It is a Roman city built from the ashes in the style of the Capitoline Hill itself. The Gauls that used to live here are either dead or in chains, serving those of true blood who have taken this place for their home.
Jenuensis is a place of civility and honor. The citizens here have constructed glorious gardens...
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...they have built monuments to our noble fathers...
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...and now the DAMNED GAULS DEFECATE IN FRONT OF THE GOVERNOR'S OWN HOME!
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It was not a battle, it was a demonstration of what the future holds for all Gauls. This was holy justice inflicted with the mighty wrath of Romulus whose sword was the Roman people. Italians and other allies had no place in this battle. I left Tribune Gnaeus Hordeonius with the auxilia and took the Hastati, Principes and Triarii into the streets myself. The Gauls faced pure, unrestrained Roman fury, undiluted by less passionate souls.
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The Gallic general who led this offense to humanity attempted to inspire his men with personal bravery.
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We slew him in a moment, hardly breaking step. Not a word was said, not a battlecry, not a taunt, not a single whisper. The fury of the men had no expression in voice, so they expressed it in silence. The intense anger on their faces and the total quiet of the army terrified the enemy to their very souls, or would have if Gauls possessed them. The cowards, unable to match our discipline, gave a great cry and charged as one.
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The front ranks took the charge in total silence. There was only the screams of the enemy and the clash of steel on wood. We held like this for a moment. Then we loosed all of the anger of the entire Republic upon this band of beasts. Such a shout of fury the world has never heard. I swear to you I saw many of them fall, mortally wounded, from the mere sound of it. The rest fell to our blades. It was not a battle; no ranks were held, no manaeuvers taken. Men of all classes, Hastati, Principes, Triarii and Praetoria moved as one to eliminate this evil. I cannot count the number of bodies that I slashed at, I only remember being unable to find any more.
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When the last man fell, the silence returned. There was no cheering at the victory, for it was not a battle. A man does not cheer when he kills a diseased rat. Gergovia is ahead of us. We will lay it waste. We will slay every last Gaul in the city, burn its buildings to the ground and salt the earth it stands on. We will do it in silence.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
Autumn 259
Having destroyed a Macedonian army outside of Pella last season, the Field Army was again ready to move, and although no order was yet recieved from Consul Lucius Aemilius, I knew that his intent was for me to capture Bylazora to the north. I instead considered marching on Philippi, where Argeos of Pharsalus had retreated to, but when I learned that another Macedonian general that was present during the defeat of Legion VI, Eumenes of Enna, was located in Bylazora, I decided to march there instead.
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The Field Army arrived near Bylazora in the evening and set up an overnight camp. We deployed for battle at dawn. It was a beautiful, sunny and warm morning, just the perfect sort of morning to have a bloody battle on. We deployed on the west side of the city. The Macedonians were initially deployed toward the south and began to quickly reposition. One captain of a phalanx unit, either stupid or confused, decided to venture out of the city and march toward us. I sent the Gauls to attack them head on. The Gallic mercenaries, unlike their Thracian and Greek counterparts, actually survived the previous battle mostly intact. I was not going to repeat the same mistake twice! I'm only joking, of course, but it's still fun to send them charging at phalanxes head on. Once they were engaged, I sent other units around to flank the phalanx.
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Gauls and others form a neat circle around the phalanx.
It took some time for that skirmish to end, but once it did, we continued toward the city. The enemy army concentrated on defending what appeared to be the main street of the city. I had no intention of taking this street, instead planning on taking some auxiliary streets to the left.
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The Macedonian army defends the main street.
However, as we closed in, the Macedonians decided to do something very stupid, they charged out of the city. Maybe they thought that we would be unprepared, as we were marching? A silly notion. The Field Army quickly rearranged itself to form something of a semi-circle around the city exit, not unlike one would do for a bridge or ford battle, although somewhat more hastily constructed. They exited the city to find themselves partially surrounded. Some turned left, and others right. Eumenes charged out himself among his men. I immediately charged in, but was too late.
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Eumenes of Enna was brought down as soon as he entered the battle.
No matter, the important thing is that he's dead. The rest of the Roman army attacked the center, isolating the two groups of phalangites.
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The Macedonians become split and surrounded.
Not long after, being surrounded, and having their general just killed, the Macedonians break. Even their Chalkispides did not hold for very long. As they run back down the street, the everyone is ordered in after them, to prevent them from getting back to the center of town.
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The Macedonians rout.
Tribune Flavius Pacuvius and his Praetoria chase down the Chalkispides. Only 5 of them return to the center of town.
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Pacuvius ensures that the Chalkispides provide no further trouble.
Only one phalanx unit, of the weaker Pezhetairoi, remains at the town center as the army marches in. The Gauls, still surviving in large numbers, are sent in first to attack them head on.
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The Gauls prepare to charge the phalanx.
The Gauls charge, and other units move in to encircle the phalanx. At this point, something strange happens. The skies suddenly darken, as if at night. It becomes very cold, and rain begins to fall. The winds become very strong, and thunder and lightining begin to strike.
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As the encirclement is completed, the weather suddenly changes.
I was certain that this was an ominous sign from the gods. There had been some talk in the Senate about a curse, and although the Pontifex Maximus was certain that there wasn't one, I was still worried. Do the gods wish to prevent us from taking Bylazora? I seriously considered withdrawing at this point. I decided to consult my preists. The preist of Jupiter was certain that this was a bad sign. He was particularly concerned with the lightning, and feared that the entire army could be annihilated from above if we were to take the town center. The priest of Mars had a different view. He saw this as a sign for the Macedonians, warning them of their impending doom. I liked that explanation better. I decided to press on with the battle.
The Gauls had been almost completely destroyed at the front of the phalanx, but the phalanx could not turn around to face the attacks from its rear.
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The phalanx stabs at air while being destroyed.
All that was left to do was wait. The last phalangite was eventually killed, and the army stopped and waited, looking up at the sky. But, nothing happened. The rain still fell but at a reduced rate, and the winds died down a little. I was still a bit uneasy, but Bylazora had been captured.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The Fall of Ratiara, Winter 259 BC
Legio V had endured a hard two-season march across the wilds east from Dalmatia, but now as the snows fell, it reached the Macedonian settlement of Ratiaria.
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Tribune Aureolus studied the report of his scouts: this was not going to be easy. The army of the Macedonian King was of high quality, with 39 Somatophylakes, 80 Hypaspists, 240 Chalkispides, 240 Hoplitai and 29 Thracian infantry. Going at them bull headed would be foolish.
One phalanx was stationed outside the settlement and easily isolated, then destroyed. Two more were enticed out and similarly eliminated.
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Aureolus coaxes a Macedonian phalanx out of the protection of the city streets.
Out of the narrow confines of the settlements, individual phalanxes are easily enfiladed:
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and enveloped:
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But the hypaspists were not so easily dealt with. One small company of 40 emerged from the east of the settlement at the run. Velites were arraigned to meet them, but the hypaspists specialised in destroying such light troops. The javelin volleys of the velites were met by a much more lethal salvo from the hypaspists, who then charged the skirmishers. The hypaspists moved faster than the velites and caught them, causing further casualties. Urgently, Aureolus ordered forward the rest of Legio V’s Roman infantry, so that soon 40 hypaspists were fighting 320 Romans. Incredibly, the hypaspists endured.
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Sheer weight of numbers forced them against the sides of the city, but if anything this was to their advantage. With their backs to the wall, the hypaspists could not be flanked and the amount of Romans who could confront them in direct combat was much reduced. A vicious melee developed which lasted for most of the length of the battle. The superior number of Romans made little impression and slowly the principes, who Aureolus considered among the finest heavy infantrymen in the world, were cut down. The hastati were withdrawn from the fight. The Roman lines were so overcrowded, they could make no effective contribution to the fighting and their presence in the scrum meant they were starting to suffer the exhaustion experienced by the principes and the triarii.
To the south, the Italian Alae had at least entered the settlement but was also encountering hard fighting. The Macedonian King launched his escort at the Italians marching through the streets. It was a brutal contest and many Italians died to the lances of the Macedonians, but the mass of infantry pressed in the street denied the Macedonian cavalry the advantage of their mobility or their lethal charge. The end was inevitable - a dead King fallen among a mound of dead.
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King Anesideemos of Macedon, moments before his death.
And so the battle moved towards a conclusion. Eventually, the hypaspists to the east of the settlement were all slain and Legio V could move towards the town centre. Aureolus ordered the Italian Alae to hold until the Romans arrived. The Italians had exhausted their missiles and the infantry were badly cut up. It was unlikely they could defeat the remaining Macedonians alone. Another unit of hypaspists remained in the town centre, where desperation would make them unbreakable as well as the fourth and final phalanx. Unfortunately, the principes and triarii were too exhausted by their earlier combat to be useful in the last stage of the battle.
Again, Aureolus tried to use his velites to bait the hypaspists and again, they were caught:
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For a moment, it looked like it would end in disaster…
However, Aureolus had a trump card up his sleeve: a troop of mercenary Samartian cavalry, the finest heavy cavalry in the known world. These cavalry smashed into the rear of the hypaspists moments after the elite Macedonians left the town square:
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At the moment of impact, the hypaspits crumbled and routed.
”Damn … why didn’t I think of that earlier?” cursed Aureolus under his breath.
The fleet footed survivors of the hypaspists soon rallied when they reached the town square and the final phalanx had to be slowly worn down. But the battle moved inexorably to its conclusion and Aureolus claimed a heroic victory over the fallen Macedonian King:
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The taking of Philipi
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Not much to say really. I led the assault at night. The Macedonian reinforcements were clearly scared of the dark and left their countrmen to die. A very tedious city battle. Our mercenaries did most the bleeding for us.
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Having taken the city I sallied out to take on the 2nd Macedonian army.
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I must give credit to their captain for he deceived me very cleverly. Just as I thought I was going to be able to completely encircle them, he charged at me with his Phalanxes whilst at the same time beating a hasty retreat with his assorted odds and ends of cavalry and light troops. The latter escaped, the former died to a man.
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The Second Sack of Gergovia
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Decimus Silvius Ahala stared out into the night. A great commotion was coming from the Gallic city. It was too far away and muffled by the walls to be heard clearly, but the defenders were certainly agitated. To the rear of the Legion, a bucina sounded a double note, starting low and moving to a high pitch.
BUUUUUU-AAAAAAAAAA
Within moments, every tenth man in the Legion had lit a torch. Where once there was darkness, suddenly the entire field was bathed in a flickering light.
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Ahala turned to, Manius Curius Cilo, the Princeps standing to his left. “Well if they didn’t know we were coming before, they certainly do now.”
Cilo grunted and pointed to the north wall of the city, where one of the massive wooden gates stood open, its doors shattered and their hinges broken. “I think whoever did that tipped them off first.”
Ahala opened his mouth to reply, but noticed the stern look on his Centurion’s face and quickly closed it again. Legate Augustus Verginius was riding towards the front of the Legion. His horse moved slowly and steady, without urgency, but with a force that made Ahala feel that mountains would move aside if they were approached in such a manner. Verginius’ face was blank and emotionless. The former Consul had been the commander of Legio II Sabina Quintia for several years and the men knew him well. In Epirus, he had been very open with the men, eating with them, talking and drinking. The men loved him, he was a military man and the Legions were his family.
Yet he had changed after news of the loss of the Eagle of Legio III Sicilia Aemilia to the Gauls had reached them. The familiar pleasantries had disappeared, replaced by an authoritarian hardness. His warmaking had changed too. Where once he had engaged the Legion in intricate tactical maneuvers to splinter, envelop and confuse the enemy, now he used brute force to smash them asunder. The men followed him without question regardless; he brought them victory in both manners.
Verginius stopped in front of the Principes and raised his voice to the entire Legion. “We are here for the honor of Rome. We are here to show the enemies of the Republic that there can be no victory against us, no matter what the fortunes of any single day bring. We are here to demonstrate to all the world that Rome is superior to all nations and all races. We are here to make an example of those who those who commit crimes against the Republic.” Verginius lifted a fasces from his saddle and pointed it at Gergovia.
No man cheered. No man moved. They squinted their eyes and looked at the walls of the city.
“They have our Eagle. Let us go ask them for it.”
As the Legion approached the gate, torches became visible through its gaping maw. There were men there, armed men, and they were in force.
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“I’ve seen worse,” said Cilo. Yet as they grew closer, more torches appeared behind those at the gate… and behind those… and behind those…
“Have they been mating with bloody rabbits?” said a Principes in the third rank. A low chuckle passed through the men.
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The Legion moved in step, with a low pounding that shook the ground around them. As they reached their assigned positions and the Centurions halted them, a great silence fell over the field. Within moments, the Gauls directly blocking the gate began chanting and shouting, bashing their shields and spears together in what was surely a taunt. The Romans did not reply.
The Gauls continued this spectacle for some minutes, becoming visibly enraged by the total silence of those who stood before them. First one, then two, then a hundred left the city and started towards the Legion at a run.
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No orders were given, none needed to be. The men knew their roles. The Gallic rush slammed into the shields of the Hastati who stood directly in front of the gate. The first three front ranks compressed in on one another as the sheer momentum of the charge was absorbed. But the line did not buckle and not a single man fell. A moment passed as the Gauls battered themselves against the Hastati, and then the signal was given.
Ahala and all the Principes roared and charged. What sounded like an echo from his left indicated that the Italian Swordsmen were doing the same. The hundred Gauls who had left the city simply melted. Within moments only a fifth were left standing and they broke for the city in a panic.
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Ahala and his comrades turned to follow them
“Hold!” Verginius was behind them and his sharp word brought the Legion to halt almost instantly.
Five of the Gauls made it inside the walls with their lives and the speed of their retreat spread panic amongst those waiting in the streets. A few volleys of pilia over the walls from the Skirmishers completed the job. The mass of men surged and split, moving off into side alleys and up towards the hill in the center of town, leaving the gate area empty.
“The Gauls believe they are supreme warriors,” Verginius’ voice rang out. “They believe that they are better than any race in single combat. Let us educate them.” A murmur went through the Legion. Verginius turned and looked at the Principes. Ahala felt like the man’s eyes were boring directly into his skull. “Principes, show them how Romans fight.”
The Centurion snapped to attention. “Cohort, on the double!” As one they sprinted towards the gate.
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Ahala was one of the first inside and jerked his head around wildly to check the layout of the gate area. A massive square with a very broad avenue opened up before him. It was totally indefensible for a single cohort and vulnerable to flanking from many side. Yet, to his right, a narrow street ran along the wall, wide enough to allow the full deployment of a cohort, but narrow enough to prevent anyone from getting around them. The Centurion saw it too, and he ordered the men into position at its mouth, facing the square.
The city echoed with noise around them. The Gauls were returning and they were coming fast. As Ahala watched, more torches came through the gate. The Hastati were being sent through as well.
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Every other man in the cohort moved to his left, opening up a dozen channels in the line, through which the Hastati funneled. When the last was through, the men retook their positions and the cohort solidified. Far behind him, Ahala could hear the Hastati making their own formation. Undoubtedly they were holding the other end of the street, preventing any attempt to reach the Principes from the rear.
The Gauls did not even try. Without any form, without any discipline or seeming leadership, the mass of men ran towards the waiting Principes, towards Ahala. An order was barked and he hefted a pilum in his right hand, pulling back into the throwing stance. Another bark and he loosed. He watched as his javelin was lost in an iron-tipped rain. Screams were added to the taunts of the Gauls and the mass broke apart once again, like a flock of birds scattered by a thrown pebble.
Yet not all ran. Four men in particular continued to advance on the Roman line, three half-naked spearmen and a mounted noble. They stopped a short distance from the line and began shouting, spitting and gesturing. Ahala did not know what possessed him, but he took a step forward, then another, then another. The Gauls stopped their taunts and stared at him. He looked each of them in the eyes, then screamed “Legio III!” and charged. The Gauls moved too, the mounted noble made directly for the main line to his left, while the three warriors went directly for him. It was all he could do to parry their thrusts, coming from left, right and center in furious succession. He could hear similar sounds coming from the rear where the noble had pushed his way into the Roman ranks.
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The mounted Gaul was quickly surrounded and pulled down. Out of the corner of his eye, Ahala saw Cilo and most of the first rank move to assist him.
“NO!” he shouted. “These are mine!” His father-in-law had been one of Legio III’s triarii at Massilia Ford.
The men stopped and exchanged glances. “Back!” shouted Ahala. Cilo saluted him and the men returned to the line. The blows continued to rain on his scutum and the exertion required to hold his ground was quickly tiring him. “What the hell am I doing?” Ahala thought to himself, “I’m going to get myself bloody killed.”
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He had to even the odds and fast. He planted both feet, bringing his scutum in close to his body, and barreled into the two Gauls on his left. One went down and the other stumbled back, stunned. Before either could recover, Ahala turned to his right and lashed out with his sword in a wicked horizontal slash, catching the third Gaul in the stomach, disemboweling him. The man dropped to the ground shrieking.
Turning back to his left, the other two were coming again, moving apart so as to force him to leave his back open to one. After a few strokes, Ahala found himself blocking on his left with his scutum and parrying on his right with his sword. His eyes could only face one direction at a time though, and he was sure to be caught on his blind side eventually. He pulled back a step and drew his scutum back towards his body. Watching the Gaul to his right, he waited for a blow, parried it, then turned to his other opponent and charged. That Gaul raised his shield to take the blow, but the force of it staggered him and he almost went down. Ahala nearly went with him, his back now exposed to the other man.
As the thrust came, he rocked back on his heels and then sat straight down in the dirt. The spear passed through the air only inches from his helmet. The momentum of the thrust and the lack of something to stop it cause the attacking Gaul to stretch forward, opening his torso directly above Ahala. With a single vertical thrust, he cut into the man’s chest. No scream came this time, only a gurgle as the sword was withdrawn from his lungs.
Ahala turned his eyes to the remaining Gaul. The man was standing several paces back now, holding a defensive stance and watching the Roman carefully. Ahala straightened himself up and stretched his sword arm casually. He spat into the dirt, then readied his shield and grinned directly at the man. The Gaul, enraged, charged him. Ahala caught the man’s spear on his scutum and angled the shield, allowing it to slid off to the left with the Gaul’s own momentum. He then thrust with his sword low and from the right. He felt it dig in and knew the struggle was over.
For a moment there was silence, then the Princepes began to shout.
“AHALA! AHALA! AHALA!”
Cilo was grinning at him, but the moment was short-lived. The Gallic army had seen the fight as well, and this time they would not scatter.
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Ahala quickly took up his place in the front rank, readying himself only moments before the horde reached them. The first group was small, but several more warbands pressed in behind them in a solid mass, easily outnumbering the Romans five or six to one.
The Romans fought slowly and with discipline. They used their scutum for protection from the enemy thrusts until they were close enough to jab with their short swords, cutting into their unarmored opponents. As the front rank tired, the second stepped up to take their place. As the fight raged, men began to fall, but few of them were Romans. The Principes held a firm line and every man was supported to both sides and the rear by his companions.
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For what seemed like hours, Ahala fought and killed those who came at him. Twice he fell back behind the second rank to rest and twice he returned to relieve another. Some fell, but most were not fatally wounded and they were moved to safety behind the ranks. With time, the line began to push forward, slowly and surely eliminating all in their path. At times finding a firm footing amongst the enemy corpses was as difficult as the fighting itself.
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The odds narrowed, then evened, then turned in the Romans’ favor. At last, when only a handful of barbarians remained, the Gauls broke and ran for the town center. The Princeps pursued them for a short distance, cutting down half of them, until they drew to a stop, exhausted, but still in formation and still ready for battle. Behind them was a carpet of Gallic blood and bodies.
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82 men had defeated nearly half of the Gallic force in direct hand-to-hand combat. There were losses; twenty-two Principes had been wounded, but only five mortally. When Cilo heard the number he spat. “We’ve been robbed. Five Romans are worth far more than 400 Gauls.” Ahala wanted to agree, but he was too tired to speak. Within a few minutes, the entire Legion had entered the city and formed up behind them. Legate Augustus Verginius rode slowly to the front of the Principes. He turned and addressed the bloodied Romans, with the rest of Legio II watching from behind.
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“You are Gods amongst men. In Rome there are those who are born patrician and those who are born plebian, but on the battlefield there are only those who are born Roman and those who are not.” Verginius’ eyes scanned the soldiers, coming to rest on Ahala. “You are one of the finest soldiers I have ever seen. It will be my honor to personally award you the Corona Civica when this battle is over.”
The Principes cheered and Cilo slapped his friend on the back. Verginius waved them silent after a moment and gestured to the central hill. “There is a man up there who thinks himself a general. He stormed the Massilia Ford and believes that in doing so he laid waste to the honor of Rome. He does not know what it means to face a proper Roman commander.” For the first time since the Eagle was lost, Verginius smiled. “I am going to teach him.” He turned and moved off towards the enemy. The entire Legion followed.
Augustus Verginius stopped when he was within a javelin’s throw of the city center. The remaining warbands had gathered there, with Drustan of Decetia in their midst. With the Legion formed up behind them, Verginius and his Praetoria moved forward until he could see Drustan’s eyes. There he stopped and waited; staring, unblinking, into the eyes of his foe.
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It did not take long for the man’s rage to overcome him. The axe-bitten Gaul and his men charged out of the mass and directly at the Roman cavalry. The Romans urged their horses forward and the two groups met in a swirling melee. Verginius and Drustan passed and swung at each other, but neither struck home and their mounts carried them away from each other and into the body of struggling men and beasts.
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Verginius swung himself around, slicing open the cheek of a Gallic noble on his right. Drustan was now on the other side of the combat and the Roman commander would have to cut his way through several Gauls to get to him. He flexed his sword hand and began, unaware that both armies, Roman and Gallic alike, were watching the battle in total silence.
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Horses and men screamed and fell around him. Verginius’ men were fine warriors, but Drustan had brought with him some of the fiercest beasts in all of Gaul. Augustus Verginius cut down another enemy, but two more moved to take his place. All wanted the glory that would come from killing the commander of Legio II. None would have it. He plunged his sword into the mouth of one of the Gallic horses. The beast reared up, its rider struggling to hold on with both hands. A quick jab to the unprotected right leg dismounted the man and Verginius pushed ahead past his partner. There was now only one Gaul between him and Drustan.
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He parried a single blow, then moved his arm in a broad slash, taking off part of the man’s face and his horse’s neck in one stroke. The pair fell to the ground, both writhing in a bloody mist.
“GAUL!” Verginius cried. Drustan turned and saw him, rage filling his face. The two men closed and began to hack at each other viciously. With only their swords between them, blow after blow was made and parried.
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“Roman filth!” Drustan screamed, “your army died like pigs! I will mount your head on the Eagle and shit on your corpse!” He lunged.
Verginius blocked, but Drustan did not decrease his force and the swords pushed against each other. The Roman was surprised by the strength of the savage general and he found himself being pushed back in his saddle. “You are as weak as a woman!” the Gaul screamed in glee.
“And you are as dumb as an ox,” replied Verginius, thrusting his torch into the man’s face. Drustan dropped his sword and put up both hands to protect himself. “My eyes! My…” Verginius ran his sword through the Gaul’s mouth and into his brain. Death came instantly and he fell, silently.
When the fighting at last stopped, Verginius emerged between the two armies, his bloody sword held high. The Legion cheered. He gestured at the remaining warbans.
“Kill them.”
And they did.
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Verginius sat to the side, watching the ring grow tighter and tighter around the Gauls. It was over within a few minutes. With the butchery complete, the Legion turned to face their commander and cheered with all their might.
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Augustus Verginius looked around the square at the hovels and structures that the townsfolk had erected. Ten years ago he had burned this place to the ground as a lesson to those who committed crimes against the Republic. They had rebuilt their homes, rebuilt their temples, rebuilt their markets and smithies. It was time for a more permanent lesson. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman and a small child cowering inside a doorway. He gestured at them.
“Kill them. Kill them all.”
And they did.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The Fall of Macedon
The First Battle of Debeltos
Numerius Aureolus bounded off the rowing boat, onto the Black Sea shore north of Debeltos. It felt good to be on land after travelling for weeks in overcrowded Roman galleys. Even better to be going in to battle again. A mere 21 years of age, Numerius had led an army into battle only three times before. He was exhilarated to have been given command of Legio V for another long distance raid like the one that had secured Ratiaria.
Already, a pair of Sarmatian scouts were back to make their report. The Macedonians had been taken by surprise and were dispersed in three armies around Debeltos. Numerius had a choice - to strike in daytime, giving all three armies the chance to come together, or to move at night, isolating the closest formation - commanded by King Argeos himself. The Co-Consul had recommended the latter option and although Numerius feared Argeos would decline to give battle, it was worth trying.
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Aurelous uses his night fighting ability to isolate King Argeos from half of his army
Legio V was quickly deployed for battle in a manipular formation, screened by skirmishers. It moved by torchlight towards the Macedonian camp, but was spotted by Argeos's pickets. The Macedonians hastily deployed on top of a wooded hill.
Slowly, methodically, the Romans started to march up the front of the hill. Numerius heard a whistling in the air and then cries of pain from men in his lines. Veteran Thracian slingers were firing from the hill top, under cover of the wood. Numerius looked around anxiously - without a chirurgeon, he felt keenly every wound his men suffered. Half a dozen unarmoured funditores already lay dead.
"Spread out! Loose formation! And for Jove's sake, shoot back!" Numerius roared.
A Samartian scout approached. Argeos had been spotted with many hetairoi in wedge formation to the left of the Romans. Numerius ordered his Triarii, Italian spearmen and his Samartian cavalry to move from his right flank over to his left. More whistling lead shot and more screams. Two triarii were left slumped on the floor. A horse reared and some Samartians were felled. By all the gods, Numerius cursed, these Macedonians are killing my best men!
"Faster, for Mercury's sake! And get out of range" he shouted at the Samartians.
By now the whistling of the Thracian slingers was being answered by that of the funditores. Evidently, the return fire discomforted the Thracians as the volume of shot from them seemed to diminish.
Peering through the woods, Numerius saw some peltasts lurking to the right of a phalanx of chalkispides. Numerius remembered the death of Co-Consul Amulius Coruncanius from Macedonian peltasts. Perhaps these were the very same men? Sending cavalry head first into the woods after infantry... that would not be very wise, thought Numerius. Moreover, his charge would bring him right in front of the noses of the many Macedonian hetairoi, arraigned in wedge formation. To charge would be foolhardy, reckless. But damn it, he could not slowly climb this accursed hill and watch his men being shot down by slingers, and soon by peltasts.
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The Praetoria break through the trees, startling the peltasts.
"Praetoria! Follow me! Ride!" The white Roman horses cantered forward, picking up speed, their riders skilfully swerving past trees and leaping over dense undergrowth. It was exhilarating, thought Numerius, like a hunt. The peltasts scattered like hounded foxes or rabbits. But the chalkispides to their side were made of sterner stuff. They turned to face the Roman cavalry, lowered their spears and set off after them like a mighty enraged boar. You can't catch me, smiled Numerius, observing the fast approach of the triari towards what was now the rear of the phalanx.
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The triari charge the rear of the Chalkispides diverted by Numerius's cavalry. Unfortunately, the full impact of the charge of the triarii is muted by the inexplicable requirement of their centurion that no one break ranks.
Good, thought Numerius. That's one phalanx sorted - now for the other. He urged his Praetoria to ride faster, well clear of the Chalkispides. He scanned the dark woods for any sign of the accursed Thracian slingers. Then he heard a loud voice cry out in Greek "Flee!". What Numerius had feared was happening - King Argeas, being so outnumbered, had decided to withdraw. Not so fast, Numerius thought. It worked once, why not again? He ordered the Praetoria to continue their pursuit of the peltasts, who were now fleeing close to the rear of the second phalanx. Formed of hoplitai, these sturdy Greeks could not resist the sight of a small band of enemy cavalry riding almost within reach of their spears.
Numerius turned to look at the mass of hoplitai bearing down on his escort. Unlike the sedate Chalkispides earlier, these men were running, charging at him. Numerius cast his eyes further afield and saw, emerging from the undergrowth a line of angry Bastarnae, waving their fearsome falxs. I'm enjoying this, Numerius thought before his reverie was broken by one of his bodyguard.
"Sir! They are almost on us! We must ride!"
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Numerius Aureolus cuts things a bit fine. Some of his escort say it was almost as if he were pausing to make a mental picture of the spectacle before him. Note the bastarnae emerging from the trees to the rear of the hoplitai.
Just in time, Numerius turned his horse and spurred it away. He rode to the rear of the Macedonia lines, but by the time he spotted the Thracian slingers, they were slipping away, out of reach. He sent word for the Sarmatians to pursue the now broken Chalkispides, while his escort returned to deal with the hoplitai.
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The hunters become the hunted.
After the battle, Legio Vs losses were counted and Numerius curled his lip in distaste.
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The Romans may only have lost 20 men, but they were all of the finest calibre - Praetoria and bastarnae slain in the melee joined the funditores, triarii and Sarmatians shot down by the Thracian slingers. Without a chirurgeon, only three of the twenty casualties could be saved. With a chirurgeon, Numerius believed nearly half could have been restored to their place in the line. The First Consul will laugh at me, if he could see me know, thought Numerius gloomily. He would never understand.
The Second Battle of Debeltos
Still, there was no time to dwell on such matters. King Argeos had escaped with all the Macedonian hetairoi and most of the Thracian slingers who had so discomforted the Roman advance. Again, Numerius had a choice - strike at night and fight only half the Macedonian army or fight at day. The Co-Consul had recommended Numerius strike at night, but this time, the young tribune was unsure.
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This time, Aureolus chooses to fight at day.
If Numerius tried to surprise just half the Macedonian army, it would surely follow Argeos and abruptly withdraw into the settlement. But if he deployed for a pitched battle in daytime, he could entice the Debeltos garrison out of the settlement. Fitful dreams during the trip through the Bosphorus had provided omens of Numerius's own death in Debeltos. These renewed his conviction that it would be folly to try to winkle out multple phalanxes of Macedonians from the narrow streets of Debeltos. A battle in the open would provide more opportunities to outmanouvre the Macedonians, especially as they would start the battle with their force divided into two separate halves.
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A wide open battle field and a divided enemy - Aureolus could not wish for more room to manouvre. In retrospect, however, Aureolus perhaps chooses too loose a formation for his army.
Numerius ordered most of his army to engulf the two phalanxes directly facing him, sending only his triarii and Italian spearmen to face King Argeos and his hetairoi approaching in the distance. The two phalanxes crumbled with surprising speed - before the Roman infantry even came into hand to hand combat. Fearful of what the phalangists could do if allowed to flee to the city, Numerius ordered his Praetoria and Sarmatian cavalry after them. This move was perhaps necessary, but it was costly, for not only were the Macedonians phalangists surprisingly cowardly - they were also surprisingly good runners. Consequently, the Romans were left without cavalry and indeed their commander for some time.
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The Roman infantry pivot to face the second force of Macedonians, but they are too dispersed.
In the confusion, the triari - having received early orders to meet the threat of the second Macedonian army - bore the brunt of the battle. Menaced by hetairoi escorting King Argeos and his heir, they were exposed and ultimately charged in the back.
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The triarii, traditionally the Roman reserve, now find themselves as the advance guard, tasked to hold off the approach of King Argeos.
What is worse, the Macedonian infantry followed closely behind the cavalry and engaged the triarii while they were locked in battle with the hetairoi.
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Only the triarii could be expected to hold out against this abuse
"By the fires of Hades!" cursed Numerius, as he raced his Praetoria back to the aid of the triarii. His small escort was but a fraction of the number of the Macedonian cavalry, but the lives of his men were paramount. The Praetoria pursued the Macedonians and a messy melee erupted, neither side having time to mount a proper charge.
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Numerius is in trouble - desperately parrying the lances of the Macedonian hetairoi. From here on he will be in extreme danger - outnumbered and losing another seven of his escort. But it is essential to keep the hetairoi off the backs of the beleaguered triarii.
Gradually, the situation stabilised as the rest of the Roman army converged on their enemies. Numbers began to tell and now it was the Macedonian spearmen who were surrounded, rather than the triarii.
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The bastarnae are not intimidated by the enemy phalanx, which anyway is soon to be surrounded. Once again, the full power of the Aureolus's infantry is limited by requirements to maintain ranks. Belatedly, Aureolus countermands these orders and after the battle, gives the overly rigid cohort commanders a dressing down, insisting that they allow their men to engage at will.
After the battle, Numerius took stock and was relieved to realise what had happened. Despite the predicament of the triarii, Legio Vs losses were not excessive. The Macedonians, by contrast were crushed.
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King Argeos fled to Debeltos with only his heir and six retainers.
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Trapped in Debeltos, King Argeos can but contemplate his fate. Hearing the approach of the Roman army, he sends a peltast to investigate.
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Then, he charges into battle...
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And makes a good end.
After the "battle", Numerius's turns to his Greek scribe to compose a report to the Co-Consul, Publius Pansa. The Co-Consul's instruction to exterminate the town burns in the young Tribune's mind. Such an order is vile and criminal, but Numerius must tread carefully. For now, his career is dependent on the good will of the Consuls. In his half-term at the helm, First Consul Aemilius responded to Numerius's requests for the chance of battle with a weary indulgence. Numerius does not want to anger the Co-Consul. The Greek scribe looks keenly at his master, as Numerius wrestles with the wording of his communication. The scribe's sympathies are clearly with the people of Debeltos. At last, Numerius comes to a form of words that he hopes will not be considered too insurbordinate.
"Tell him we will send Praetor Coruncanius the head of Argeos. Maybe that idea will satiate the Co-Consul's bloodlust."
The Greek scribe's face looks ashen: "Who shall I task with this? One of the Samartians? Or perhaps a bastarnae?"
"Great Jove, no!" laughed Numerius. "I know Praetor Coruncanius. He will be glad to know we have avenged his son's killer. But he is not a barbarian. He voted against sending out assassins against Argeos. He is a civilised man and would not thank me for such a gift. Let the Praetor mourn his son undisturbed; let the Co-Consul think he has his pound of flesh; and let King Argeos have a decent burial, head and all."
Getting to grips with the Germans
After the recapture of Acquileia, I, Lucius Aemilius, led my forces in pursuit of all the Thracian forces remaining in Illyria. They had gathered in the dark forests under the warchief Zalmoxis.
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I was worried about this encounter. We were outnumbered, did not have any heavy infantry, and the postion and composition of the enemy's forces was unknown. Still, time was pressing, as I was needed elsewhere and could hardly leave with the enemy behind my back.
The Thracians had hidden themselves deep in the forest and I was considering retreating, as this was the Thracian's favourite battleground. Then my scouts brought me news that the Thracians were lined up on a clear hill just out of the woods. Unfortunately, they also told me that the Thracian army consisted almost entirely of ferocious German mercenaries.
I decided to chance it. I led my hastati and Gaul swordsmen in a flanking manouver, while all my spearmen would try to lure them down the hill, supported by a cohort of velites. The Germans were in good spirits when they saw there were no principii in my army.
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The Germans dithered for a while and then attacked the spearmen. Hundreds of crude spears flew trough the air and almost completely annihalated a cohort of Italian spearmen. The return volley of the velites seemed hopelessly inadequate. But the line held. My flanking group was in position and the Thracian general saw the danger. He split his army into two and I ordered the charge. The Gaul swordsmen let loose with a horrible warcry and plunged into the German mass. The hastati threw their pila, then drew their gladius and fought in formation, almost lost in a sea of German warriors.
I could see this battle was not faring well. I spotted the Thracian general and ordered the charge in the hope of demoralizing his men.
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I and my praetoria managed to kill a number of his bodyguard and he fled into the mass of Germans, where we dared not follow. I broke off the melee and, seeing an opening, charged into the German horde fighting the spearmen. We pushed right into the middle of them and some of my loyal bodyguard started to fall around me. Just as I was wondering if this would be my end, with twenty of my bodyguard fallen around me, the Germans lost their nerve and broke. I followed them into the forest, shouting to the centurio of the velites to attack the rear of the mass of Germans fighting uphill. The spearmen were now fighting on almost equal odds. Meanwhile, my swordsmen were slowly being overwhelmed, altough each dead Roman left five dead Germans around his splintered shield.
The Thracian general, seeing that the battle against the spearmen was a stalemate decided to charge them, but I rushed out of the forest and cut him down.
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The velites, having expended their spears, threw themselves at the Germans almost suicidally. They were no match for the Germans, but it gave my swordsmen a fighting chance. Then the spearmen broke trough the German line and began charging up the hill where the bloody fight was taking place.
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After being surrounded by my troops, the Germans fought bravely for quite some time, before seeing the hopelessness of their situation. One last charge by the few surviving praetoria convinced them to run for their lives.
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We won, against the odds, but in my long military career I have never yet seen such a bloodily contested ground. Let this be a warning for all who face the Germans, they are not easy enemies like the Gauls. In memory of the many fallen, I ordered a shrine to Mars erected at Acquileia.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The Fall of Byzantion
Peering through the darkness, Numerius Aureolus could just make out the high stone walls, dotted with torches. In front of him stood Byzantion, a city at the meeting point of Europe and Asia; a city with the potential to be perhaps the greatest settlement in either continent.
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The assault commences. Numerius decides the ladders are surplus to requirements and uses only the siege towers.
Already, Numerius could see the two siege towers were at the walls. Fortunately, the defenders had posted only one company of levies to meet them. The Greeks were going to be trapped between two of the most brutally effective heavy infantry in the ancient world - the well equipped principes and the savage bastarnae. As it happened, the bastarnae reached the walls first and so the levies moved to intercept them. Numerius might have preferred the better armoured principes to take the brunt of the frontal combat but in the event, things worked out for the best. The bastarnae cut through the levies with their falxes, parrying thrusts that would have slain a lesser man. The principes were able to secure a troublesome nearby tower that was firing at them and then assist in attacking the levies from the rear.
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The battle on the walls is uneven - the levies are surrounded and outclassed.
When the last levy on the wall had died, Numerius ordered the basternae and principes to capture nearby towers. This would allow the army to approach the town forum without having to endure fire from Greek archers hidden on the battlements. A second levy phalanx stood guarding the gate, so Numerius ordered some of his men onto the walls to fire down on them. The levies stoically endured. By the time the basternae came down from the walls and entered combat, the phalanx was down to nearly half strength.
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A depleted second unit of levies gamely charges the bastarnae. They will suffer the same fate as their compatriots on the wall, with cohorts of principes and hastati fast approaching their rear.
With the levies brushed aside, Numerius now had to manouvre his relatively large army through the city streets. Awaiting him, in the city forum, was a phalanx of regular hoplites and a strong unit of hetairoi, led by the heir to the Greek throne, Nicanor of Magnesia.
Methodically, Numerius marshalled his army to the forum. He forbade any slings or javelins to be loosened until everyone was in position. Soon he had lined the western side of the forum with Roman infantry and Italian spearmen, backed by slingers. The Greek phalanx and hetairoi did not react.
Gingerly, Numerius started to lead his own Praetoria around the north edge of the forum. Suddenly, a loud shout broke out and the Greeks sprung to life. With alarming speed, the phalanx lowered spears and charged towards Numerius's escort, closely followed by the hetairoi. Numerius uttered some words most unworthy of the Pontifex Maximus and spurred his escort forward, racing east out of the forum.
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Aureolus is forced to ride for his life out the forum, with the enemy hot on his tail
"This is Debeltos all over again!" thought Numerius, "Why does this keep happening to me?"
Soon, Numerius was running out of street to race along - his escort were approaching the city walls and already he could hear the singing of Greek arrows flying from the towers. He looked behind him - only the hetairoi were still on this tail; the phalanx had stayed in the forum. Good, one phalanx would be easy meat for his infantry.
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While pursuring Numerius, the hoplites exposed their backs to the two companies of slingers the general had deployed on the western side of the forum. When the hoplites return from their abortive chase, they are easily dealt with by the Romans.
Ok, thought Numerius, there was only one thing for it. He had to draw the sting of the hetairoi.
"Men!" he called out to the riders racing beside him. "Turn about! Meet them at the charge!"
Bravely, the Praetoria reigned in their horses and turned to face the hetairoi. However, the distance was too short and their formation too disordered to get off a proper charge. The same may have been true, however, of the hetairoi as both troops of cavalry intermingled in a messy melee.
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The Praetoria are outnumbered by the hetairoi and Numerius finds himself thrust into danger once more. Regrettably, the Italian spearmen and triarii that might be most useful in such an encounter have not even started to move yet.
The duel between Numerius and Nicanor seemed to last forever, until belatedly some Italian spearmen came puffing up the city street from the forum.
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Numerius rears up his horse to signal impending victory, as his spearmen belatedly approach in the distance.
The next morning, after the victory, Numerius climbed the city walls to look east. Over the waters, Roman spies had reported vast, Consular sized armies of Seleucids marching over Asia Minor and the Levant in an epic contest with Ptolemy. Numerius felt like a jackal, observing a contest between lions and hyenas.
"Let's hope they are too busy fighting each other to bother us." he thought. Then he turned and climbed down the stairs, his mind returning to the west. If possible, Rome must put thoughts of Seleucia and Ptolemy to one side, for now. Imagined threats from the east must take second place to the very real dangers posed by Thrace to the north and, above all, by a resurgent Carthage to the south.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
Springtime, a new year, a time for new beginnings. This time, it is the beginning of a new General's career, Cornelius Saturninus. He had been in the conquered Greek cities of Pella and Thessalonika, keeping order, studying, learning much of theoretical and applied military strategies, attracting a nice retinue and garnering much respect. Now the time had come to be thrust into the field, lead a mighty Roman legion against her foes.
Saturninus had been given command of Legio I Italia Victrix and stationed in a fort along the Danube. Soon thereafter, the Thracians came.
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The Thracian force poised to cross the river, lead by Captain Oltenia.
Saturninus had been ordered to attack them before they reached the ford, and do so with little casualties incurred as reinforcements would be hard to come by. Luckily, he had acquired a respected herbalist in his time in Pella. He readied his men for the battle.
"Men of Rome, Sons of Mars, we stand here today as the last line of defense against the wild Thracians in the area. What you see before you is only a small taste of what more they have to come. Finish them off quickly, do not let them pass."
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Saturninus looks on across the river, the enemy has arrived.
Seeing that the Thracians dared not cross the river themselves, Saturninus gives the order to his men to cross swiftly and prepare for a quick attack by the enemy.
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The Roman legion charges across the river as quickly as possible to avoid being caught before they reach the banks.
Saturninus barks out orders as they cross, telling them where to deploy.
"Get in position, ready men, steady!"
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Professional as ever, the Roman legion deploys along the bank as Saturninus ordered, quickly, efficiently.
The Thracian missile cavalry attempted to move in and pepper the Gallic right flank with their javelins. Saturninus ordered the impetuous Galerius Vatinius to chase them off, supported by the Italian cavalry.
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Tribune Galerius Vatinius, leading the chase from behind as he was feeling sickly that day. The Thracian cavalry was destroyed nonetheless.
The Thracians moved forward and tried to charge the skirmishers on the left flank, but were intercepted by the Roman infantry. Soon after, the Gauls clashed into the right flank and it was over quickly.
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The Hastati and the Gauls route the Thracian infantry and warband.
The battle was all but over. The Thracians were running away with the Romans in pursuit. But in the chaos, their commander Captain Oltenia tried to cut down Saturninus from behind. Luckily one of his bodyguards, Gaius Antonius, saw this and remedied the situation, saving the General's life.
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Gaius Antonius thrusting his spear through Captain Oltenia, earning himself a place of honor by Saturninus' side.
The battle was a success. A few hundred less Thracians to worry about. 24 allies and 22 Romans had fallen during battle, but thanks to the skills of the Herbalist, half of those men would fight another day.
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Cornelius Saturninus came out of this battle with a heroic saviour, the man who slayed Captain Oltenia. Gaius Antonius will continue to serve the General as his most trusted bodyguard.
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The battle was a job well done for Saturninus, and word had reached Rome. He was quickly becoming a local hero, and a fine leader in his own right. There is much to come from this fine Roman.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The second battle of Maronia
Publius the Victor faces the mysteriously named Molon and his horde of Seleucid warriors.
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The armies line up outside the city
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The lines clash. After exhausting their ammunition, Publius sends his Velites and Slingers round the Seleucid right flank to engage their dangerous Funditores in hand to hand combat
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These aren't unwashed barbarian hordes Legio IV is facing - these are wll armoured, disciplined troops. Eventually Seleucid numbers begin to tell and the Roman troops are more and more isolated.
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The death of Publius in hand to hand combat with the Seleucid general Molon and his second in command causes the morale of the surviving Roman troops to collapse
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The Phalanxes begin to move into the city
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leaving behind 1400 dead on the battlefield
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The few survivors are quickly mopped up and the city is taken.
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Legio IV Gallica Firma has been totally destroyed - not a Legionary survived the battle, Consul Publius Pansa goes down with his men.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The last Greek city
He was a funny one, this First Consul, thought Numerius. We are invaded by Seleucids marching north from the western landbridge over the Bosphorus. So what does the First Consul order Legio V to do in response? To march to confront them, as Numerius had requested? To hunker down and defend Byzantion? No, he orders Legio V south, across the eastern landbridge over the straits, to attack the Greeks! Numerius smiled to himself, well at least the First Consul's strategy will have the element of surprise. It surprised the hell out of me.
Numerius heart warmed at the thought of the First Consul. In truth, he admired his leader intensely and the Consul's enigmatic response to the current crisis only added to that respect. The Republic was not short of brilliant commanders, but in Numerius's estimation, she had no more interesting strategist nor more accomplished tactician than the man currently leading her.
That reflection should have cheered Numerius, but he soon lapsed back into a morose disposition. His heart was not in the current fight. It felt like the wrong enemy, in the wrong place. It was true, the Greeks had allied themselves with Seleucia and were maneouvring to take Byzantion. Hence there was a logic in the First Consul's decision to send Numerius to eradicate them. But Numerius's eyes kept looking back, over the straits, towards Maronia and the hinterland, where Seleucid armies were pouring through into Roman lands.
Numerius thought especially of Tylis, where Praetor Coruncanius was stationed with the much depleted First Field Army. Tiberius Coruncanius was a man of integrity and a fighter's spirit. Recent controversies in the Senate had brought Numerius and Tiberius together as de facto allies, although the alliance was merely an implict one of shared beliefs and outlook, rather than anything explicitly stated. And yet the thought of the general disturbed Numerius.
In his fitful rest earlier that night, Numerius had had a nightmare or was it a premonition? In his dream, Numerius's father-in-law and now nemesis in the Senate, Augustus Verginius, had led the young Tribune to an occupied bed. The imaginary Verginius had drawn back the covers of the bed, revealing the scarred remains of Tiberius Coruncanius.
"See what you have done!" Verginius had hissed.
Numerius had turned to flee in the dream, only to be accosted in a doorway by the angry spirit of Publius Pansa:
"You will stay! And you will suffer the consequences of your actions!"
Numerius shuddered. Better to be fighting real men in this waking world, than confronting such spirits in the sleeping one.
A Samartian rider approached him, his heavy armour glinting in the moonlight.
"What word of the enemy?" Numerius inquired.
"Five phalanxes, not all at full strength, led by the Pylartes of Actum" the Samartian reported. He paused and Numerius realised this was not the end. "And the Greek King, Lasthenes of Corinth, marches from Nicomedia to reinforce his heir".
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Numerius attacks at night. It raises his command skill, but does not prevent the Greeks receiving reinforcements.
Numerius frowned. So the King was a night fighter too, very well. Numerius decided to deploy his men to the east, where the ground was a little steeper and furthest from Nicomedia.
Right, thought Numerius, phalanxes. I know how to fight them. Flank them with skirmishers so they can get clear shots, tie them up with our own heavy infantry and then send in the cavalry. Simple. In theory, anyway.
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Numerius tries a double envelopment of the phalanxes with his light troops and cavalry. It really is a silly plan when, out of camera, the Greeks have a powerful unit of hetairoi on the loose.
So the Romans started the slow ascent of the gentle slope on which the Greeks had stationed themselves. Numerius ordered the Italian spearmen to head for the Greek general and his hetairoi stationed to the east, at the rear of the phalanxes. His own Praetoria followed closely by. Numerius was surprised to see the Greek general pull back to the rear - he's not going to retreat is he? Numerius thought. But he gave it little more thought, even when the general then advanced to take up position on the west, to the rear of the phalanxes.
Cautiously, the Romans marched up the hill, spreading out to envelope the tightly knit Greeks as a fisherman's net might snare a shoal of fish. The Romans knew these Greek phalanxes were not the slow-moving ponderous creatures of legend. The hoplites could run and lacking any missiles, Numerius thought they resembled a tightly packed coil, ready to be sprung.
Then all hell is unleashed. The phalanxes charge down the hill. But what is worse, the hetairoi barrel down the east flank, making straight for the velites.
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Numerius is wrong footed and the velites pay the price.
Numerius was on the west flank, far away from the crisis point. He could only watch in horror as the resourceful velite captain hurried his men to take position behind the hastati. Some made it, many did not. Numerius signalled to the Samartian cavalry on the Roman left to counter-charge the hetairoi, but they were deterred by a small unit of levy pikemen charging straight at them. Damn, this Greek is good, cursed Numerius. He waved his hand, signalling the Sarmatians to pull back. He was determined to preserve these superb riders at all costs - running head on into charging spearmen would not be smart. The velites and the hastati would have to endure.
Numerius turned to the fight around him. His Italian spearmen, who he had originally planned to intercept the hetairoi were locked into battle with hoplites. Not a good match up, Numerius thought angrily. He ordered his Praetoria to charge the hoplites in the back, but he was distracted and the charge was botched. Damn it, can I do nothing right today? he cursed. Pull back, get back, he called to his bodyguard.
Patience, Numerius, patience. Learn from Lucius Aemilius. What he plans on the map of Europe, we must emulate here on the field of battle. The enemy is committed. Their reinforcements are far away. Our funditores and Italian skirmishers pour missiles into the rears of our enemies. Our Sarmatians and Praetoria are also on the flanks. They can take the time to line up, settle down, start at the trot, move to the canter and then ... charge!
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The first cavalry charge, on the east.
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And seconds later, another perfect cavalry charge, on the west.
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The Sarmatians show why they are reputed to be the finest cavalry in Europe - they kill 23 hetairoi for the loss of only one of their own.
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The Crown Prince of Greece, Pylartes of Actum, is among the Sarmatians' victims
And so the battle ended. With the death of their general and their flanks crushed, the Greeks hoplites broke and fled. The Sarmatians hunted them down mercilessly. The reinforcements, consisting solely of one phalanx and the Greek king with his own escort of hetairoi, hastily beat a retreat to Nicomedia.
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Historians will rate this battle as a heroic victory, but Numerius is not convinced. He has lost many velites and hastati, at a time when reinforcements cannot be expected. Heroic? Maybe. Smart? No.
The black mood lying over Numerius does not lift as he rides into Nicomedia the next day. This is not a battle. It is a slaughter.
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The Greek King and his men await their destiny - never have men been so eager to die.
The fact that Numerius himself personally slays the Greek King leads to rejoicing among his men, but merely sinks him lower into his dark fog.
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Another soul is sent to the underworld. There is no escape for mortals, even for brave Kings.
After the battle, Numerius angrily thunders around the govenor's palace, slamming into doors and aides with equal bellicosity. His timid Greek assistant looks at him uncomprehending. What has become of his normally equable master?
"Master, why this melancholy? This is a great victory! You have vanquished Greece! Your reputation grows! The men now say you are a confident attacker and a skilled infantry commander!"
Numerius snorts derisively and then stares back at the Greek angrily:
"Do you not know? Can you not guess what I have been ordered to do?!"
Numerius lets fall the message from the First Consul, setting out his grim duty. Enslave the town, man, woman and child. 5,345 subject Greeks will trek back over the straits to be sold into captivity in Roman lands. They will be stripped of their wealth and all but the barest personal possessions, bringing a meagre 1,029 denarii to the Republic.
But Numerius knows, the wealth of the town is not to be found in the pockets of its people. It lies in the buildings, the fine marble architecture of the Greeks and coffers of the many houses of state. And the temples.
Numerius Aureolus, Pontifex Maximus, stares at the list of Nicomedia's temples. They variously honour Zeus, Herackles, Dionysos, Nile and Athena. By all appearances, this was a god-fearing, civilised town. A last vestige of a great civilisation. Numerius is too well versed in history and scripture not to realise that the gods his people worship are also those of the Greeks, but merely given different names. What divine wrath does the Republic risk bringing down by this rapacious looting?
After the deed is done, the Greek aide compiles a list of the looted wealth - they have taken another 9,129 denarii, bringing the total raised by the expedition to 10,158 denarii. Numerius shakes his head at his sombre assistant.
But in truth, the destruction of bricks and mortar - even of marble - is not what most ails the young general. This Greek expedition has cost him 101 men, a fifth of his meagre force. The lives of his men mean the world to Numerius, but even more precious is what they protect - the gateway to the Republic and its first defence against the Seleucids now pouring into Europe.
What are the lives of 101 men worth? Numerius wonders.
And in his dark mood, a side of him fears he knows the answer: exactly 10,158 denarii.
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The Raid on Prusa
"To: the Former Tribune: Numerius Aureolus
From: Roman High Command
I regret to inform you that your application for promotion to Legate has been turned down. The High Command believes that you are fully committed with your current duties as Governor of Byzantion and we will not assign you extra military staff if they are just to be diverted to civic duties.
Furthermore, the High Command has become aware of previous correspondence between you and the late Co-Consul on this matter. Clearly the Co-Consul took a similar view to us. Attend to your civic duties, former Tribune."
Numerius stared at the letter in disbelief. Bureaucrats! "Attending to civic duties!" Since when had midnight raids and the looting of settlements been "civic duties"!
He had to get out of Byzantion. He had come back to keep the unruly city in order. But he was like a caged animal. He had to get out.
The First Consul ... he held the keys to this gilded cage. What would appeal most to the Consul? Appeals to his compassion? His lust for glory? Appeals on the grounds of honour? Scarcely. The First Consul would not be swayed by such emotional appeals. What the Republic needed now was not more dead heroes.
Numerius looked at his Greek assistant, Isidor of Rhodes. The man was supposed to be Numerius "body slave", but in reality he was both less and more than that. Numerius was more than capable of dressing himself, but Isidor performed other adminstrative duties that were much more important. Right now he was working on an abacus, calculating the difference between the cost of Legio V's upkeep and the tax revenues collected from Byzantion each season. Numerius watched the Greek's quick fingers play with the beads on the abacus. Then Numerius smiled. He knew exactly what argument would persuade the First Consul to get him out of Byzantion. The only problem would be how to break it to Isidor, who had been so distressed at the looting of Debeltos and Nicomedia.
"AGAIN!?!" the Greek shouted in disbelief when he learnt of Numerius's scheme.
*****************************
So it was that Numerius rode out of Byzantion, authorised by the First Consul to carry out a raid on the Seleucid settlement of Prusa, much like that he had just performed so reluctantly on the former Greek settlement of Nicomedia. The Republic was broke and the prospect of large scale looting was too tempting to the First Consul. But this time Numerius rode out happily, full of enthusiasm for the venture. He tried to tell himself - and Isidor - that it was because this time the raid was against the Seleucids, that it would be the first time Romans could avenge the death of the Co-Consul and the loss of Maronia. But quick-witted Isidor was not convinced, prefering to believe instead that it was the thought of a Legate's baton in the young Tribune's backpack that motivated his master.
Numerius halted Legio V still on the eastern side of the straits, returning from Nicomedia. He sent on the Italian spearmen and the funditores to Byzantion, but ordered the rest of the column to about turn and march south to Prusa.
The sleepy settlement was caught quite unawares. The Seleucids had not expected that the savage fate that had befallen neighbouring Nicomedia would now fall on them.
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Although it gives him no command advantage this time, Numerius attacks at night so he might have a chance to improve his night-fighting skills. He will earn the trait "night owl" as a result of this battle.
Numerius spoke to his Sarmatian scouts to learn the size of the garrison of Prusa - it was two phalanxes of hoplites and a very capable Greek general with a small escort of hetairoi. Easy enough to beat, but how to do it at the least cost in Roman blood? Hoplites defending a forum were the devil's own job to shift. He would try to lure them out of their defences.
Carefully, he arranged his infantry at the opening of the southern road into the city. Roman heavy infantry at the front, backed by skirmishers and his mercenaries. That's the trap. Now, time to be the bait.
Numerius led his Praetoria up the southern road into the forum to confront the Seleucids. He would have to provoke them.
"I'm not very good at this sort of thing." Numerius said to Marcus Flavius, a Praetorian who had saved his life in the fighting at Ratiaria. "Would you do it?"
The young Praetorian smiled amusedly and tipped his forehead, before riding up to the Seleucids deployed in the forum.
"Son's of Alexander!?! Daughters of whores, more like! We are here to avenge Maronia! When we are through with you, your country will wish she never set foot in Europe!" Marcus paused for breath. The Seleucids were restive, but not moving yet.
Marcus rode closer.
"They say you killed your great King! Poisoned him! Well, look over there..."
Marcus guestured to blond haired Numerius.
"Alexander is back! And he is going to do to everyone of you what he used to do to Hephaestion!"
Numerius nearly fell off his horse.
Meanwhile, the Seleucids roared out as a man in anger and charged towards Numerius and his men.
Numerius tried to give Marcus a whithering look, but the young Praetorian was already riding past, turning only to wink and shout:
"The benefits of a classical education!"
Numerius roared back: "What in hades?!? I'm finished if that ever gets back to the Senate!"
As he turned his horse, the Tribune could hear Marcus shout back:
"And you are not already? Look at your wings, Icarus? They are on fire!"
Numerius spurred his horse: "Enough of the classical allusions, already!"
Yet, it was true, he had become the Senate's whipping boy. Already there were rumours of a vast conspiracy to place his father-in-law and nemesis, August Verginius, in power at the head of a faction that seemed to share no common agenda except self-advancement and a common determination to use Numerius as their scapegoat. If the Seleucid spears did not finish him, Numerius thought resignedly, a second Verginius consulship probably would.
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Baited by the Praetoria, the Seleucids charge out of the forum.
But the Seleucid general, Admetos of Abila, had not acquired his legendary reputation as a commander for nothing. When his hetairoi spotted the rows of Roman infantry waiting to receive them, they halted and returned to the forum. Three times, Numerius tried to lure him out and three times, the trap failed.
Sod this for a game of of soldiers, Numerius decided. If Admetos would not charge him, there was only one thing for it...
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Who says you can't get off a cavalry charge in a narrow city street?
The Praetoria crashed into the hetairoi, although the impact was more visual than real as few if any Seleucids fell to the Roman lances. Instead, a long melee developed, watched patiently by the Seleucid phalanxes only a few yards away. Apparently, Admetos had ordered them to stand to and let him deal personally with the foul-mouthed young Romans. Numerius had no such compunction and had ordered the triarii to come up to lend their weight to the struggle.
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Enraged, Admetos tries to slay the new "Alexander"
Eventually the unequal struggle was resolved in Rome's favour and the two Seleucid phalanxes were left leaderless in the forum.
Very tired, Numerius did not even think to try luring them out but instead called for the rest of Legio V to come to try to dislodge the enemy.
He lined up the principes and hastati to face the phalanxes, but ordered them to hold fire. Behind them he stationed his skirmishers, while to his right, he placed the basternae and Sarmatians. The Praetoria and triarii, he led along the left edge of the forum, aiming to get behind the phalanxes.
He ordered the skirmishers to follow him, hoping to give them a rear shot at the spearmen, but unfortunately the Italian skirmishers lacked discipline and ventured too close to the phalanxes. Ten of their number were butchered before Numerius rescinded the order and pulled them back behind the Roman infantry.
When he was satisfied that everyone was in position, Numerius rode his Praetoria round the rear of the Seleucids. The spearmen turned to face this threat, exposing their backs to the pila of the hastati and the principes. The phalanxes attempted a futile charge against the Roman cavalry, losing many men to the Roman infantry now given the order to fire at will. Maddened by their losses from the withering pila fire coming from behind, one phalanx reversed and charged the Roman infantry. Seconds later, the bastarnae launched a devastating counter-charge. The phalanx broke almost immediately - too soon, if anything, to Numerius's liking, because it meant many escaped alive to the forum, where they rallied and renewed the fighting.
Soon both phalanxes were locked in combat with the Roman infantry. The more disciplined velites had succeeded in doing what the Italian skirmishers had failed to do and were positioned to throw their javelins in the exposed backs of the phalanxes. The bastarnae, in their eagerness to get at the Seleucids, clambered over the shieldwall of the hoplites, hacking down with their fearsome rhomphaia. Such bravery carried a price, however, and by the end of the battle, 9 of the savage mercenaries lay dead.
Carefully, Numerius lined his cavalry behind the phalanxes and ended the battle with a climactic charge:
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The mortal blow
After the battle, Numerius's Sarmatian scouts brought a powerful looking countryman to meet the Tribune. The Sarmatian visitor was the head of a mercenary company, that included horse archers, Eastern infantry and Cyrtian slingers. Numerius was fascinated by the idea of fighting with bows on horse back and sorely tempted to hire the mercenaries without authorisation from the First Consul. Isidor, however, shot him a withering look. Numerius accepted the inevitable. The Senate would crucify me, he thought - literally, crucify me - if I overstep my authority in that way. So, instead, he asked the Sarmatian mercenary captain to ride with him part of the way to Byzantion, until he had heard back from the First Consul.
When word did come, the Sarmatian had to be sent away empty handed. However, Numerius was not downcast. For with the First Consul's letter had come another, from the Roman High Command. Since he was now indisputably back in the field, his promotion to Legate had this time been approved.
Well, well, a Legate at 22 years of age? Numerius thought. Surely some kind of record?
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
Retaking Tylis
The time had come for Cornelius Saturninus to prove his worth and establish himself as an important part of the Roman Republic. Having fought a couple of smaller battles prior, he was now tasked with retaking the city of Tylis from the Odrysian rebels who had declared their independence from Roman rule. It was time to show the senators what he was made of.
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Captain Cocolitanus had assumed control of the rebel force and the city. Saturninus would launch his attack at night.
The plan of attack was set. The army was split in two, with Cornelius in command of the Roman legion and Vatinius leading the alae, which included Italians, Gauls, and Illyrians. They would attack from different sides to split the defenders and enter the city with less clutter.
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Cornelius Saturninus leading the Roman legion from the West.
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Galerius Vatinius leading the allied forces from the South.
As soon as the Odrysians saw the torches lit and moving towards their city, they sent forward scouts to harass both our forces simultaneously. A group of Thracian cavalry hurried south to take on Vatinius' men while some Gallic slingers headed out west to annoy Saturninus. Vatinius ordered the Italian cavalry to charge and he followed suit with his bodyguards to cut down the Thracians. Cornelius' Romans made quick work of the Gauls with their javelins and pila, sending the remaining few running back into the city. The sharp general would have none of that however and pursued them before they could get far.
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Vatinius taking down a Thracian rider.
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The Gauls trying to get back into the city with pila to their back.
After the first wave of the sally, another group of fools came charging out of the city. This time they were formidable hoplites running towards the mixed allied division. Slingers put some lead on them before they reached our first man and took a few down. Our Gallic spearmen clashed with their spears head-on and gave them a good fight. The Illyrian mercenaries cast their javelins into the hoplite's flank then charged, along with the Gallic swordsmen, and destroyed them completely.
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The Illyrians being a thorn in the side of the hoplites.
The rest of the rebels dared not venture out of the city and huddled close together in the market square, awaiting their doom. Soon after the last man of their forward guard was killed, they heard the march of the Roman army closing in on them from two sides.
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The two divisions of the Roman legion illuminating the streets as they march towards the last remaining rebels.
The Roman army converges on the bastarnae and hoplites fighting for their freedom. The Hastati bear the brunt of the attack on the left flank against the hoplites and bastarnae mixed in between. They put on a real display this day, killing 132 rebels while only losing 10 men themselves. The Gauls and Illyrians dealt with the bastarnae on the right flank. Many of them fall as they were not nearly as skilled or trained as our glorious Romans, but they get the job done which is what they get paid for.
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The main clash between the Romans and Odrysians.
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Captain Cocolitanus fought alongside his hoplites to the last man, and was surrounded and killed.
And so, Cornelius Saturninus had conducted his first assault on a city and came out victorious. The victory gave him even more confidence and fame. His words now held sway over most men, and many came from far and wide just to hear him speak. In fact, for his post-victory speech all of the citizens of Tylis came out of their homes to show their support. Even the ones who had conspired against Rome to gain their freedom in the first place were taken by Saturninus' words and pledged their loyalty to the Republic. Such a man can go far if properly used.
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Earning their rights the Roman way
A nervous scout arrived at my tent with the news that the Thracians were marching on Oduba in force. I sent him away to sound assembly.
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On my horse I looked over my troops, mostly raw auxilia recruits from Italian farms, some unreliable mercenaries, and only a single battered hastati and principii unit and not even one single triarii in sight. The troops were clearly aware of their sorry appearance and nervous about the upcoming battle. Those warmongers in the senate are responsible for this sorry sight, when will their senses return to reality ? This is supposed to be a Field Army ? It's not even half a Praetorian Legion and a bunch of farmer's sons ! I feel like a bandit chieftain instead of a Praetor ! At least we're not facing Germans. Well, time to get them ready...
Men, you know me, I've slain so many of these Thracians you could build a mountain of their corpses so high I could walk up to heaven itself. With my trusty brother-in-arms Gnaeus Hordeonius by my side, I've beaten them again and again and again.
Only once did they hurt us badly and that was when they outnumbered us two to one and still we routed them.
I know some of you men are wary of our new Italian auxilia recruits, but Italian bravery has saved me time and time again, as it will do today. You Italians know me, I was the one that has seen to it that the senate deemed it right to give some of your cities the right of Roman citizenship. Today has come the moment to earn that right. I want you to fight like Romans, as if you were principii yourselves ! Make me proud !
The Italian troops outdid each other in proclaiming their fighting skills, vowing to kill more Thracians singlehandedly than all the Roman troops in the army put together, bringing smiles to the faces of the Romans. They did not desist their demands for battle untill I promised them the frontline position in the center and on the right flank, the position of honour. Now they were ready for battle.
I'd managed to find the perfect place to wait for Scyles to show up. His army would have to march up a steep hill, tiring their troops and at the same time being exposed to our slingers. As promised, I deployed the Italian spearmen in the center and the Italian swordsmen on the right. The heavy infantry I kept in reserve on my right flank.
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Far away, a tiny group of reinforcements, mostly slingers, showed up from Oduba. They started a running march to our right flank. They would be exhausted by the time they arrived, but the same would apply to the Thracians.
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When the Thracians finally managed to climb the hill, they were greeted by a hail of pila. They had brought numerous missile troops themselves and replied in kind. Cries of pain filled the air on both sides.
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The ferocious falxmen charged en masse at the center, where my slingers kept throwing stones untill the very last moment. They ran behind the Italian spearmen and redeployed.
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When the falxmen were just a few metres away I ordered the volley of the skirmishers that I had held in reserve and the falxmen were slaughtered point blank. They broke and retreated, reformed and attacked once more and now the battle began in earnest.
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Meanwhile, my reinforcements had been intercepted and I ordered all the reserve heavy infantry and all the cavalry to charge to their relief. If I could get those slingers going on the enemy's left flank it would be very helpful. The Gallic light cavalry, mad with battle lust, beat everyone to the melee. The Gallic infantry may be pathetic, their excellent cavalry almost makes up for it.
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Scylus send more reinforcements to the battle around the reinforcements, led by himself, and in a confused melee he fell pierced by a praetorian lance.
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Now I was master of the situation. I ordered the heavy infantry and the slingers to attack the enemy's left flank and the cavalry to attack their missile troops in the rear of their army.
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The unexpected rain of stones from the left, made the Thracian troops look up for the battle. They found they were surrounded, their general Scylus was dead, and their other general had fled the field. They tried to make an orderly retreat and I ordered the Italian auxilia to charge.
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Unfortunately for the Thracians, they found their exhausted legs could not outrun those of the fresh Italian auxilia. They were all slain on the run.
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After the battle, the few remaining Thracian survivors slunk back to their villages, hoping never to see an Italian again. The escaped general has not been seen again.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The third battle of Maronia
“How the hell did he do that?!?” Numerius scratched his head. The report of the First Consul’s victory at Lepcis Magna both pleased and puzzled him. “How did he take a settlement with the loss of only one man?”
The captain of his Praetoria, Marcus Flavius, skimmed his eyes over the scroll: “Must have been javelins.” the young Roman drawled. “Peltasts are the nemesis of the phalanx.”
Numerius nodded - of course he knew that in theory, but it was quite another thing to read of such a powerful demonstration in practice. “Still, it’s a bit much to be taught such a lesson by a young man just out of the academy.”
“Is it any worse than being given orders by him?” Marcus interjected sharply, then laughed. “Still, the academy must have improved a fair bit since my day - bunch of old duffers running it when I was there. Not that you would know anything about that, would you, sir?”
Numerius shot him a barbed glance - the Legate’s absence of much formal schooling, along with his relatively plebeian origin, was a sore point with him. Marcus, his patrician Praetorian captain, knew this and enjoyed needling the wound.
“OK, enough banter, let’s review the situation. You’ve read the First Consul’s orders, yes?” The plan was a bold one. It was quite contrary to Numerius's own plan of withdrawing Legio V and the First Field Army to Philippi and Tylis, respectively, where they could be raised to Consular strength. The Consul's plan also overruled Praetor Coruncanius's proposal of a grand daylight battle, pitching both Roman formations against the two Seleucid armies that had marched north of Maronia. Instead, the First Consul had ordered a plan as aggressive as the Praetors and as a safe as Numerius's. Numerius was to join with reinforcements at Philippi, but they would meet not in the mustering fields of Philippi but at Seleucid held Maronia. Meanwhile Praetor Coruncanius would also be reinforced from Philippi and would get his wish for open battle, but it would be done at night so he could pick off the two Seleucid armies one by one.
“Are the reinforcements form Philippi all here?” Numerius queried.
“Yes.” replied Marcus, “Mainly heavy infantry, which is fine as Legio V is sorely in need of that. The only light troops are a company of Illyrian mercenaries. We have a full cohort of principes, a company of mercenary hoplites, two companies of Thracian infantry and a band of Gallic swordsmen.”
Good, thought, Numerius. Those additions brought up Legio V into something not far short of a Consular army, more than doubling Legio V’s strength from 437 men to 960.
“Right, this is the plan. We’ll attack at dawn. No point blundering about in the dark - both we and the Seleucid general are too savy to gain any benefit from that. Marcus, I am going to rely heavily on you and the Praetoria. I know it may not be proper for a Legate to expose himself to danger at the front of the line, but we still lack a chirurgeon and your men are our best counter for those damned Seleucid hypaspists. We’ll also try to emulate our Consul and make as much use of our javelins as we can before closing. Oh, and Marcus, one more thing ... the Consul says we are to enter Maronia as liberators, not enslavers, so make sure the men are kept under a tight leash after we win.”
There was loud clapping of hands. Numerius turned and saw his Greek assistant Isidor smiling sardonically:
“At last! You Romans are finally going to act as if you are civilised!”
Numerius frowned - with subordinates like this, who needed enemies?
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The third battle of Maronia, Autumn 255 BC
So, here is where I begin to make good my promise to avenge the death of Co-Consul Publius Pansa, thought Numerius. Retaking Maronia was the first step towards redeeming Roman honour, although duty would not be satisfied until Molon himself was dead. Numerius had served under Publius Pansa, as his tribune, and the two had got on well. However, the relationship had soured when Publius had become Co-Consul. Publius seemed to resent his underling emerging from his shadow and acquiring an independent command at such a young age. Numerius could not quite understand the change in his former commander; it was as if Publius was a different person. Still, Numerius would avenge Publius, thinking of the happier times they had enjoyed in battle together rather than the later tensions.
The battle was fought under a bright Mediteranean sun. The Seleucids were deployed, half in and half out of Maronia. Still smarting from his encounter with them at Ratiaria, Numerius resolved to personally cut down the deadly hypaspists before tangling with the Seleucid phalanxes.
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As the Principes prepare to fire, Numerius’s Praetorians charge the first unit of hypaspists...
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...before moving to assist in bringing down the second.
Soon the Seleucid phalanxes had been stripped of their supports - the hypaspists and various small contingents of hoplites and skirmishers. Now, Numerius brought up his infantry slowly - trying to avoid contact the phalangists and giving his men time to lose their javelins and pila. The phalanxes were uncertain what to do in the face of overwhelming odds - advancing and retiring, exposing their backs to deadly volleys. Soon a killing zone had been created at the mouth of the settlement.
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Inspired by the Consul’s bloodless victory at Lepcis Magna, Numerius creates a killing zone for the unfortunate Seleucid phalanxes.
Eventually, the Seleucids had had enough and two depleted phalanxes pushed on into the Roman right. Seeking to minimise the casualties among his rank and file, Numerius charged into the flank of the phalanxes.
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Throughout the battle, Numerius uses his Praetoria as a shock force to bring the combats to quick resolutions. It is a reckless tactic and costs the Praetoria dearly.
When the phalanxes finally broke, Numerius pursued them down the streets to the city forum. Here, he made a costly error - allowing his infantry to pursue higgedly-piggedly. This was despite the fact that the Seleucid general was waiting for the Romans with his hetairoi in the forum.
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In war, the bravest are the first to die. The bastarnae are the most eager to break into the forum and take the brunt of the charge of the defending hetairoi.
“Damn it!” cursed Numerius. “Why does this always keep happening to me?!” It seemed as if almost every battle, the enemy general's escort was able to reek havoc on Numerius’s army. The young Legate had earned the reputation of being a skilled infantry commander. Incompetent against cavalry would be more like it, he thought bitterly.
The hetairoi were supported by many peltasts in the forum, who used the opportunity to pour javelins in amongst the beleaguered bastarnae. Soon the brave warriors were down to half strength. Urgently, Numerius called for his Sarmatian cavalry to assist in the battle - but before they arrived, it would be up to the Praetorians to relieve the pressure on the bastarnae.
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What is left of the Praetoria cut down the peltasts defending the forum...
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While the Sarmatians strike down the brave Seleucid general and bring the battle to a close.
After the battle, Numerius took stock of the situation. The people of Maronia welcomed the return of the Romans, hailing Numerius as a conqueror while his men acclaimed him as a confident attacker. But the Seleucids had fought well and although Roman losses had been modest, most of the dead were the best men in the Legio V - the Praetorians and the bastarnae.
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The loss of most his Praetoria was particularly troubling, given the reports of over 200 Seleucid cavalry patrolling in the area of the straits. But that was next season’s problem. The key question now was the fate of Praetor Corucanius and the First Field Army, about to do battle with a force four times as large as that which Numerius had just destroyed.
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
A Roman army marches through the night.
"I can't believe this. Sneaking up on the enemy at night. Just because we're fighting Greeks, must we match them in treachery? What if the Seleucid camp isn't alerted before we arrive? We'll have a massacre on our hands, that's what. Where is the honor in that? It's all Aureolus' fault. If it weren't for him, I would have been able to convince the Consul to authorize a daytime battle. What kind of man prefers to fight at night, anyway? What kind of man would pass up a glorious and epic battle for... this, or for a minor assault on Maronia? A deceitful and underhanded one. I wonder how he ever got the nickname of Alexander, it's hardly befitting for him." Tiberius turned to the centurion he was riding with. "Are you even listening"?
"Huh? Oh... yeah... uh, yeah, that's terrible, really.."
"What is?"
"That... thing you just said."
"What thing?"
Much to the centurion's relief, the conversation was interrupted by the return of the mounted Thracian scouts.
"What news of the enemy?" Tiberius asked.
"We weren't able to reach the enemy camp, they have sentries posted all over the place. Give me 10 men, and I can quietly take care of one of the posts, and take a look at the camp," said the Thracian.
"No, just ignore the sentries and go look at the camp."
"But, they'll see us!"
"Yes, you're not invisible."
"I mean, they will be able to alert the camp."
"I'm well aware of that."
The Thracian knew better than to press the issue further, and rode off toward the enemy camp. He came back not long after, reporting that the Seleucid camp was alerted and that the army was forming up for battle. By the time the Romans closed in, the main body of the Seleucid army was formed, but the second army was still in their camp and unlikely to respond.
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"Halt!"
The Roman army came to a stop on the side of a hill, already in combat formation. Tiberus was staring intently at the top of the hill. Everyone else was somewhat confused.
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Tiberius looks at the hill.
"Why are we stopped?" the centurion whispered so as to not break the silence.
"Do you hear that?" Tiberius asked.
"Hear what?"
"The sound of metal and wood, and of earth being crushed beneath men's feet. There is an army on the other side of that hill. We gotta get up there before them. Move out, quickly! Let's go, MOVE IT!"
The entire army jumped forward as if startled, and ran up the hill.
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The two armies run toward each other.
As the Romans came over the crest of the hill, they came face to face with the Seleucids. Both were rather surprised to see each other, and came to a stop. Only the Gauls charged forward and attacked. The Illyrians ran forward too, but stopped when they realized no one was following.
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The two armies face each other.
A moment later, the Romans opened up with javelins, and charged. The Seleucid army consisted of three groups. In the center were hoplites, on the right were Gallic and Thracian mercenaries. And, strangely enough, the elite phalangites were deployed on the left. Just what sort of trick was the enemy general trying to play? It didn't really matter; if he was really smart, he would have deployed them in the center. Tiberius merely ignored his right flank, attacking the center and left. The cavalry was ordered to eliminate the enemy cavalry on the left, and then break through to behind the enemy line. They suffered some casualties, but made it just as the enemy general entered the battle.
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Tiberius and Abascantus engage in combat as the Roman cavalry makes their way to the rear of the enemy.
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The result is predictable.
With perfect timing, the Thracian and Sarmatian cavalry charge the Seleucid center from the rear, causing a mass rout.
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The center routs.
The phalangites on the right looked on in horror as their friends began to flee. They stood their ground, however. Tiberius rallied the cavalry and charged the phalanxes personally.
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Tiberius charges the remaining phalanxes from the rear.
They routed, and the battle was over. Around 150 Seleucids escaped and retreated to Nicomedia.
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The fourth battle of Maronia
Numerius relaxed at his desk in the governor’s palace at Maronia. He had given orders for Legio V to prepare for the coming winter and, with word of Praetor Coruncanius’s victory over the Seleucids, it seemed that operations this season were over. There was still a substantial cavalry-heavy Seleucid army this side of the straits, but that, Numerius assumed, was next season’s problem.
“A message from the Consul! A message from the Consul!” Isidor ran in the room excitedly. “He asks if you can strike at the last Seleucid army this side of the straits!”
Numerius jumped up at this unexpected call to action. He scanned the message. Praetor Coruncanius had failed to snare the second Seleucid army south of Tylis. It had fled in tact across the straits to Abydos, to rendezvous with the hated Molon. Well, it was fortunate we took Maronia before Praetor Coruncanius made his move, Numerius thought. Two Seleucid armies here would have been the devil’s own job to shift. OK, we can’t do anything about Molon right now - first we have to deal with that cavalry-heavy army that stands between us. Can we take it? Numerius already was developing a phobia of fighting cavalry, based on the rough handling Legio V had repeatedly received from the mounted escorts of enemy generals. Those escorts had typically numbered only a score or more. Now he would have to fight hundreds of cavalry.
“My only cavalry is 28 Sarmatians,” Numerius thought ruefully, “Plus the six survivors of my escort. And the Seleucids have, what, 288 cavalry. Well this should be interesting. What about missiles? Maybe I can shoot them down from afar? I have only my funditores. But there are a company of Rhodian slingers and Cretan archers seeking employment around Maronia. Isidor - ask the First Consul if we are authorised to hire them. And get the army moving - we march now.”
So a tired Legio V set off to confront the last remaining Seleucid army this side of the straits. Word came back from the First Consul - no mercenaries could be afforded; the money was needed for an offensive that the Consul had decided at the last moment to launch from Lepcis Magna. Worse still, the Consul reminded Numerius that the Thracian cavalry in the Seleucid force were famed for fighting with missiles. This is going to be messy, thought Numerius.
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Once last push and the Seleucids are repelled from Europe.
Numerius’s mood was not improved when he found the Seleucid army had deployed in a heavily wooded area. It was possible that woods provided some advantage against cavalry, although Numerius was not sure if that was true. However, if there was one thing messier than fighting missile cavalry, Numerius thought, it was fighting in woods. Numerius had a traditional Roman’s view of battle - it was to be fought in close order, out in the open, with heavy infantry. Scurrying around woods in hit and run encounters was not the Roman way.
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Numerius deploys aiming to seize some high ground and fight the Seleucids in the open valley below. However, the Seleucids deploy far away in the woods and cannot be enticed out.
Gingerly, Numerius advanced his army towards the woods where the Seleucids were deployed. He could make out two phalanxes in the centre, backed by another slightly to the west. The enemy cavalry were largely hidden, to the rear. Numerius ordered his veteran principes to face off with the phalanxes but not to engage. He ordered his two Thracian infantry and his Italian spearman to move around to the west; while to the east, he sent his hoplite company, his full strength cohort of principes and his few hastati.
The Thracians were the first to make contact with the hidden Seleucid cavalry. They stumbled upon a company of heavy Thracian cavalry but the enemy did not charge. Instead both sides exchange a volley of javelins before the infantry assaulted the cavalry.
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An encounter typical of the battle - Roman infantry stumble on Seleucid cavalry and engage in a confusing melee.
The second Thracian infantry unit then moved up and charged the Seleucid phalanx line from the flank.
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The Thracians will win the battle honours this day. Note the presence of the Roman principes pinning the phalanx to face forward.
On the western flank, the Roman mercenary hoplites pressed blindly into the woods, eventually encountering light Thracian cavalry. For some inexplicable reason, the Thracian cavalry did not attempt to skirmish but got caught up in an uneven melee.
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The battle is now in full sway - notice how almost every Roman unit is engaged in combat.
Numerius’s escort only numbered six men and he resolved not to engage the superior numbers of enemy cavalry. However, once virtually all his army was committed to battle, his enforced idleness became unbearable. The Thracians were hacking away at the enemy phalanxes, but it was slow work and a unit of Seleucid peltasts was preparing to fire into the backs of the Romans' brave allies. Numerius ordered his escort in to distract the peltasts.
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Numerius risks disaster fighting peltasts in the woods.
The fight was bitter and Numerius felt a rising wave of panic within him as the eighty peltasts slowly moved in to envelope his six horsemen. Marcus, the captain of his Praetoria called out:
“They are not going to break! We must pull back!”
Numerius nodded. “Fall back! Fall back!”
At that moment, outside the wood, Isidor - Numerius’s Greek advisor - was peering anxiously into gloom. He heard a loud shout of dismay and faintly caught the words:
”He has fallen! The general has fallen!”
Curses, thought Isidor, the young fool has finally gotten himself killed! Then Isidor realised the cry had been in his own mother tongue, not Latin!
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The Italian spearmen were given a specific task: kill the Seleucid general. Job done.
With the death of their general, the three beleaguered phalanxes finally broke. Numerius rallied his praetorian and, backed by his few velites, resumed his contest with the peltasts. This time, they would not hold.
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The last significant action of the day.
Soon all that remained of the Seleucid army was a company of light Thracian horse. They skirmished briefly but their heart was not in the fight anymore. They soon broke, their swift horses allowing them to make good their escape. However, the mercenaries then disbanded - the risks of employment in the Seleucid army evidently exceeded the benefits.
After the battle, Numerius was happy with the result. It had cost him about a hundred men - mainly drawn from the recently recruited mercenaries: Thracians and hoplites. But these men had died well, proving their worth in this battle. There were now no Seleucid forces on the European side of the straits.
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Numerius had been ordered to return Legio V to Maronia, but he was briefly tempted to disobey orders and strike out for Abydos, to make his rendezvous with Molon. But Isidor calculated the army could not make it to Abydos this season. Better to wait, and hope the First Consul would sanction such a move this winter. Yes, better to wait and learn news of the Consul’s own campaign far away in Afrika.
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
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The blood spattered his face as he road in amongst them, stabbing at their backs as the cowards fled, the desperate panic had taken hold. It was something no man could understand until the moment struck. Routing is the hardest thing in the world for a warrior to do, but when your friends and allies are dropping at your feet, lain to waste by the blade of an enemy and helpless to defend themselves, and your general has turned his back on you, left you to die while he himself escapes, their is a sudden fear that takes control of a man. Something that breaks in his mind, and the primal instinct for survival that once said fight, fight on, fight until you have bled every last one of them to the bone, turns full force in the other direction and cracks you like a whip to run like you have never ran before.
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Another final thrust..another man down. It was the common image, the wholesale route of the Carthy army had turned into a slaughter. Italian, Libyan cavalry, Servius and his bodyguard themselves, it was their hunt. The routers were their prey.
It was Servius's first real battle, brash, bold...and a clear defeat for the opposing side.
Following the news of victory after victory against the Seleucids in the east, and after mulling it over much in his mind - whether to wait next season for the carthy attack and risk them reinforcing themselves, or attack now and intentionally surround ourselves - he decided to go with the latter. In attacking the Carthaginian army lead by Celeas Abdera and Mobilkar the Mad now, Servius would be placing himself within a seasons march of three seperate smaller armies, one to the north, one to the south, and one to the west, combined, they equalled a legion in strength. But they were divided, and fighting them divided, should they take the bait and attack, would be a far easier victory than waiting for next season and allowing them to group.
The order was given, they began the march. It was a long trek across the sandy, wind-swept dunes where the Carthies had built their road, but it was the fastest way from Lepcis Magna to Thapsus, where he would find the Carthies waiting a few days march from the city. When the advance scouts had finally given word that the enemy was spotted, the day became tense. It was his first real battle, the fall of Lepcis Magna was simple, the garrison pitiful, weak, and easily defeated. This fight would signify the beginning of the main conflict, the fight for the core of Carthage. Servius would have to lead his legion against two battle hardened veteran commanders of the Numidian war, and their force was nearly consular in its size. https://img158.imageshack.us/img158/...tlocalegq6.jpg
As they approached, in an attempt to even the odds, Servius authorised the recruitment of as many cavalry and skirmishers as could be found willing amongst the locals, and by the afternoon, the line had been drawn in the sand.
After carefully considering the enemy's capabilities compared to his own, Servius set the legion up in a formidable formation.
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Our spearmen, backed by cavalry would form the flanks, while the center would be screened by an advance guard of Numidian mercenary javelins and the Roman funditores. Our heavy infantry stationed directly behind the javelineers, along with our velites and samnite mercenaries.
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Servius himself marched up close to the front lines, briefing the mercenaries one last time as they approached the enemy, making sure they understood their duties and boosting morale.
As they approached their target, the funditores were ordered to fire off everything they had at the enemies front ranks, made up of berber skirmishers, and by the time they were empty, the front rank skirmishers had been nearly halved in number. Ordering the funditores back, it was time for the main engagement, and Servius ordered a unit of the numidian mercs out to lure the enemy in, running halfway, then turning back. https://img158.imageshack.us/img158/...gtheminvt8.jpg
The tactic worked like a charm, as they approached the halfway marker, the berber skirmishers, eager for a chance to strike back, broke from the front lines and charged forward. A squad of caetrati cavalry came bounding after them, one of their comrades had been struck by a stray shot as well, and they were eager for blood. But it was a foolish charge.
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The Numidians caught every one of them with a javelin to the chest.
And the berbers were subsequently driven back by the hail of javelins before they could even through their own. The only Roman loss in the entire initial Carthy charge was one man.
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This reeling horse collided with a numidian when its rider was struck by a pila, falling down and tripping the horse forward into the skirmisher.
Enraged, the Carthaginian commanders thought nothing of strategy and ordered a full frontal charge. https://img180.imageshack.us/img180/...lchargenh9.jpgTaunted and made to look as fools by the Roman tactics, Celeas and Mobilkar the Mad order the army forward in a vengeful thrust for glory. But it is not to be, and the battle is over in swift order.
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A devestating cavalry charge crumbles the Carthy advance on the left flank from behind, and the cavalry continue down the center, routing one unit after another.
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The Italian spearmen charge the rear of a phoenician spear unit as it pushes through the numidian mercenaries, and the cavalry thunder into the rear of another block of spearmen and skirmishers on the far right flank. Decimating the enemy lines on both flanks.
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But the center of the Carthy army manages to hold until the hastati are given order to loose their pila into the enemy backsides, afterwards, the spearmen take flight.
What occurs afterwards can only be described as the wholesale rout of the Carthaginian army, both of their generals leading the flight from the field, neither of them ever actually taking to battle. They are clearly cowards in any man's eyes. However, the legion was not without loss, a significant number of our mercenaries were killed in the spearmen charges. In all, about one full unit of mercenaries javelins, a full unit of mercenary horse, and some two dozen italian spearmen were lost in the fight. But it is a pittance to pay for a clear defeat of two of Carthage's most experienced generals, and their closest army of significant size to the consul and his legion. A clear victory by any means. https://img180.imageshack.us/img180/...victoryba0.jpg
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
I have wondered, since our first battle against Celeas Abdera and Mobilkar the Mad, what it really meant to look a man in the eye and know that either your life or his will be taken that day. To know that he is not going to go easy on you, and to trust that you have the skill, and the constitution, to kill him in turn. Chasing down the routers is an easy task, flaying men from the backsides where you cannot see their face, and their cries of pain are more humerous than demanding of pity. Cowards are always easy to kill. It is the man that stares you in the eye, and knows that no matter how this battle turns out, he will have fought for something he believed in. I know I personally carry this expression in every engagement, but until today I had yet to actually see another who did as well. There are six Carthy armies on our heels, two..maybe three of them within marching distance this season. I do not fear death...perhaps what I fear, is meeting another man who fears it less than I.
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There was no choice today. No matter what direction we were to march, we would be walking out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. My men, myself, we could not continue our march into the empty, blistering wilderness of Carthage's southern inland. We were not properly supplied, not properly informed.
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So the decision was made. We would march to Thapsus, it nearly undefended itself, but within marching distance of a significant number of Carthy armies. But it didn't matter, we needed supplies, food water...and the town would be much more easily defended by us than the meager Carthy garrison. After some rather tricky maneouvering, we soon see the outskirts of the city.
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We approached, and, in what the men joke to be 'Servian Form', arrange to take the city by nightfall. They joke, and I'll admit, it's humorous, but in all reality it is far easier, and far more comfortable to fight at night in this gods-be-damned desert than it is during the day.
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As we approach the city, we spot torches coming from another direction. Clearly untricked by our nightfall approach, as I had doubted they would be, the small Carthy group outside the city turns around and heads back. So I form the army up into two groups, the first, consisting of all our cavalry, heads with me into the city to quickly take out the garrison, which our spy has also revealed to us to be a Carthaginian general, the perfect oppertunity to kill two birds with one stone. Sieze some supplies, kill a general, then abandon the city next season. The second group would stave off their reinforcements.
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We quickly tied up the general with our Numidians, then charged his flank with everything else we had.
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While in the other group, our skirmishers had driven the enemy generals to the flanks, trying to avoid their frontal hail of javelins.
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I can remember that look now. As I wade into the enemy in my first real engagement, I can remember seeing that look in his eyes. The enemy general, outnumbered and his bodyguard falling around him, fought to the last man. The look in his eyes the same one I am sure I had. The look that he would never give up, never surrender, he would fight to his dieing breathe for the nation he loved.
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But so be it then. I am clear to lose my inhibitions, I am a Roman, and this man is my enemy, in hindsight, it is hard to even consider him a man. Men do not worship devils that would thrust such a vile nation upon them. But.. with a final thrust, one of our men cuts this foolish man down before I can reach him to take him myself.
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The other groups skirmishers have backed away from the flanking cavalry and the front and back ranks have converged on them, fools, they've surrounded themselves.
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The first general is felled by our Italian spearmen.
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The second attempts to flee, but it caught by a javelin in the back. If only it were possible to discern where the javelin had come from, I would commend the skirmisher on his accuracy. The remainder of the ramshackle Carthy reinforcements are slaughtered by our javelins, swordsmen and their own poor morale. They deserve the death of cowards.
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Our victory, though not as bloodless as the taking of Lepcis Magna, which those cowardly, treacherous Carthaginian worms have bribed back from our hands, it is still a clear victory, and the taking of Thapsus opens up a wide new range of mercenaries for reinforcements and a stronger defensive position than we had previously had.
In nomine Roma, et pro totus doxa deum.
Servius Aemilius
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
The battle of Abydos, Spring 254
”The reinforcements are here!” Marcus announced chirpily as he entered Numerius’s command tent. ”The First Consul sent us three mercenary companies: hoplites, Thracians and peltasts.”
Numerius smiled, although inwardly he wondered whether he was commanding a Roman army anymore or a Thracian one. What’s to stop the buggers killing us all in our beds? He mused. But then he turned to give orders to his waiting Praetorian captain:
”Get the men moving. We have orders from the First Consul - we march on Abydos.”
Marcus saluted sharply and turned quickly, nearly colliding with Isidor, the Greek advisor, who was rushing dishevelled into the tent:
”They won’t move!” Isidor cried. ”The mercenaries - they came to see me. They are insisting on resting. They say the march here has exhausted them!”
”Right, I’ll see about that!” snarled Marcus, his hand moving to rest on his sword hilt.
”No, wait, Marcus” Numerius said, remembering his musing about the outnumbered Romans being murdered in bed by their stronger auxiliaries. ”Legio V is enough to take Abydos. Let the mercenaries rest, they can catch us up later.”
Marcus looked at his Legate uncomprehending, as if Numerius had suggested sleeping with Marcus’s mother. Inwardly, Numerius sighed. He had already asked the First Consul for a proper Tribune to take over as his second in command. Marcus was a fine sword hand - Numerius’s heroic saviour in fact - but a general, he would never make.
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Legio V must march without its reinforcements if it is to reach Abydos before Summer.
With the mercenaries left to run the camp and oversee supplies, Numerius’s army marched swiftly to the straits, was ferried across without incident and soon arrived outside of Abydos. There it found the army that had fled Praetor Coruncanius in the autumn offensive, stationed outside of the town. It was led only by a captain, but a nearby Seleucid general, Zolios Zabinas, was en route to reinforce it with the Abydos garrison. Numerius knew nothing of Zabinas, but he was no fool and even attempting a night march did not allow the Romans to catch the Seleucids unawares. Consequently, Numerius decided to wait for dawn before starting his assault.
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At last, this was to be a straight battle - in daylight, out in the open. No more skulking in woods or fighting through narrow city streets. This was old school, fighting like a true Roman.
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The Roman army deploys just below the crest of a hill. Fortunately, the Seleucids do not advance to deny them the crest.
Numerius deployed the true Legio V, his veteran Romans, on the left. However, many battles without a chirurgeon or Roman reinforcements had left them a small force. The heart of the army was now the auxiliaries. In the centre, Numerius formed up his hoplite phalanx, with Thracian infantry either side, screened by Italian skirmishers. His one cohort of Roman reinforcements, the principes, he put on the right together with his Italian spearmen, bastarnae and Sarmatians. He thus had three battle groups, each of roughly comparable power. In a single line, they advanced on the Seleucids.
Fortunately, the numerically superior Seleucid army did not come to engage the Romans as a whole. There was some skirmishing between the slingers of both sides and a feint by Gallic light cavalry. Then part, but only part, of the Seleucid infantry charged the hoplites holding the centre of the Roman line. The Galatian swordsmen, Gauls and hypaspists advanced, while inexplicably, the Chalkaspides held back.
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Hand to hand combat starts in the centre of the Roman lines. This particular combat will escalate until almost all the battle depends upon its outcome.
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First Roman Thracians charge the Galatians, then they in turn are charged by more Galatians moving up in support.
Numerius had not altered his dispositions upon seeing the initial deployment of the Seleucids except in one respect. He had spotted their one unit of hypaspists had been deployed facing the Roman right. Consequently, he took his own Praetoria from the Roman left round to the right, to face these elite troops. Now, seeing them hacking their way into the hoplites in the centre of the Roman lines, Numerius had no choice but to act.
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Numerius had singled out the hypaspists as the preferred target of his Praetoria.
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Unfortunately, the hypaspists are intermingled with Gauls and Galatians, whose bodies cushion the impact of the Roman cavalry charge.
Throughout the struggle in the Roman centre, the Seleucid phalanxes stayed uncommitted and were opposed by the Romans on either flank of Numerius’s army. However, when it was clear that the charge of the Praetoria had failed to end the central contest, Numerius ordered in his veteran principes.
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Seconds after this moment, all the Seleucid units fighting in this central melee will break...
https://img131.imageshack.us/img131/...bydos15zh4.jpg
… all the Seleucids in the centre will break, except the hypaspists, of course.
With the Seleucid centre collapsing, Gallic light cavalry launched a desperate charge into the central struggle. All across the line, the Romans were committed. The only force available to counter-charge the Gallic horse was a depleted unit of velites, now shorn of their javelins.
https://img158.imageshack.us/img158/...bydos10dn1.jpg
Velites charging cavalry… what madness is this?
Meanwhile, the hypaspists continued to hold. Numerius was becoming frustrated. His infantry were locked up in a bloody struggle with these indomitable fighters. He needed to end this quickly, to release sufficient men to tackle the still unengaged Seleucid phalanxes. The Praetoria had failed to break the hypaspists. So had his veteran principes. There was only one thing left to try.
”Marcus! Signal the Sarmatians to charge!”
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The impact of the Sarmatian charge will finally break the dogged hypaspists.
The battle now resolved into a familiar contest between phalanx and Roman infantry. Having routed over half the Seleucid army, the Romans now had the advantage of numbers and so were able to gradually surround the phalanxes. The chalkaspides died hard, but inevitably.
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The Seleucid general belatedly makes an appearance…
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… but he is driven off by the Sarmatians.
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It is a bloody encounter, but Rome’s triumph over unfavourable odds earns her a heroic victory and gives Numerius the reputation of being a good attacker.
After the battle, the Roman army marched into Abydos. Numerius was surprised to learn that most of the defeated army had fled, leaving only the brave Seleucid general and a single attendant. This symbolic stand appealed to Numerius’s sense of honour, so he led only his own Praetoria into the town forum to duel with the Seleucid. Zoilos Zabinas proved to be a fine duellist, however, taking down four of Numerius’s bodyguards before finally succumbing.
”Never do that again. said Marcus angrily. ”Bugger honour. Give them a hundred javelins next time."
As the rest of Legio V moved into the settlement, Numerius turned to Isidor. He knew the First Consul’s standing orders were to enslave captured Seleucid towns. It was an unpleasant business, especially to a Greek like Isidor, who shared some feeling of a blood tie with the Seleucids. Isidor looked at his master reproachfully:
”You are getting the reputation of being a pillager.” the Greek said softly.
Numerius nodded, eyes down, looking at the ground.
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
https://i6.photobucket.com/albums/y2...ude18/asia.jpg
Welcome to Asia, General!
Excerpt from the Field Army's log, Spring 254.
... the last of the troops were ferried across just before sunrise. There was a report of an army forming up not far inland, and the general ordered the field army to break camp. We marched in combat formation away from the coast, and soon met the other army. Everyone expected to find a Seleucid army, but the army standing upon the hill before us was not quite it. It had Thracians, Persians, Galatians, Cilicians, and many others, but no Greeks. There wasn't even a phalanx to be seen. Still, they carried Seleucid banners, so they were assumed to be the enemy. The foe was significant in number and put up somewhat of a fight, but was easily repulsed. A camp was set up near the site, but the army was on the move again by noon, less 200 men.
Excerpt ends.
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******
A report came from the south, another large Seleucid army was located just outside of Nicomedia. The scouts prepared a detailed report on its composition:
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That would explain the mystery of the missing phalangites. It would also explain why the Field Army did not pause for long after its previous battle.
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This army was significantly stronger than the previous one. At almost 1500 men, it outnumbered the Field Army by nearly 2 to 1. It was composed mostly of elite Seleucid phalangites, rather than mercenaries. Although currently under the command of a captain, a top Seleucid general would be arriving from Nicomedia shortly. In short, the consensus among the Field Army's staff was that the General had gone insane. We took turns pleading with him to call off the attack, but he refused.
Even worse, the Seleucid army had taken the high ground near Nicomedia, we would again be fighting uphill. There was also a forest available to screen Seleucid movements. It seemed as if every single factor that could be in the enemy's favor, was. The Roman army deployed on a road at the foot of a forested hill.
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The Roman army deploys as the Seleucids conceal their movements using the forest.
The formation the General had chosen was highly unorthodox. It consisted of a single line of mercenaries and Hastati, with the rest being held in reserve on the flanks. One unit of Triarii on the right flank, and everyone else, all Principes, half the Trarii and all the cavalry on the left flank. Some early fighting occured on the left flank against enemy light cavalry which was of no significant consequence. Soon, the main body of the Seleucid army emerged from the forest.
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The Seleucid horde emerges from the forest
As the Seleucid line crashed into the Romans, who held their ground, something rather strange happened. The Seleucid general, who was coming from behind the Roman army, instead of going around to take over the command from the captain, decided instead to attack personally from the rear. He did achieve surprise, charging into the unsuspecting Princepes, but was immediately counter-charged by the Roman cavlary. The Triarii joined in too.
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The Seleucid general becomes surrouned...
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... with the usual result.
At this stage, the Roman center was barely holding against the much more numerous Seleucid center. The Triarii on the right were keeping the Seleucids busy, but there were large holes in the line there. Even on the left, one Seleucid phalanx flanked the Roman line, attacking it from the side. But, this is where the battle was about to turn. The General yelled, "charge!", and took off toward the nearest enemy phalanx. His escort followed, the Sarmatians followed, the Princepes and Triarii followed.
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Tiberius charges the enemy.
The enemy phalanx fled at the mere sight of this. The General continued the charge into the next phalanx, which also fled.
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The next phalanx in line flees.
And the next.
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The charge continues.
The charge gains strength as it moves. As each phalanx flees, the Romans that had been until then engaging it from the front, join in.
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The infantry reaches the near phalanx, while Tiberius has already moved on to the next one.
A mass rout begins.
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The formidable Seleucid line is dispersed.
The Seleucids rout into the forest, and everyone is ordered to give chase. A slaughter ensues. Many Seleucids enter the forest, many screams of horror are heard, few Seleucids exit the other side of the forest, and even they are cut down. Only a few escape back to Nicomedia.
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In accordance with the Consul's orders, Nicomedia is also captured immediately.
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Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
Quote:
Originally Posted by Molon
To the Roman Senator "Numerius"
Ah, Numerius the Pretty boy, I've heard about you. They say the people round here regard you as some kind of conquering hero. Then again, they said the same about Publius Pansa and his reputation didn't help him.
He took a long time to die mind you, took most of my bodyguard with him. I didn't have much horse to start with, but he had even less. And his men, well, they fought bravely - not a single Roman ran away, every last one fought till he died. Very admirable.
I look forward to meeting your acquintance on the battlefield.
Molon
https://img127.imageshack.us/img127/1385/molon1cw6.jpg
Let justice be served.
Numerius put the letter back inside his inner pocket. He had carried it inside his vest for two years, since the death of his mentor Publius Pansa at Maronia. Now, time and the passage of events had conspired to bring Numerius to the walls of Pergamon to face his previous tormentor. But time had not softened the hatred Numerius felt for the Seleucid general trapped inside the settlement. Each day, the parchment had burned next to Numerius’s heart, scarring it and quickening his blood. The fact that Publius Pansa had fallen out with Numerius later in life in no way relieved Numerius of his feelings. In fact, it seemed to perversely strengthen them, as a father’s rejection might motivate a son to win his love. At the time of the Co-Consul’s death, Numerius had rashly promised to retake Maronia and kill Molon. Well, he had retaken Maronia and now finally he was able to make good on the rest of his reckless promise.
Today, Numerius had a hard, bitter expression on his face and even Marcus Flavius, the normally over-familiar captain of his Praetoria, spoke guardedly and cautiously:
”Legate, who do we send onto the walls?
Numerius considered the question. His mercenary hoplites were the largest formation and had been ordered to bring forward the only siege tower his small force had managed to construct. But they would have no edge over the Seleucid Chysaspides who would no doubt be stationed on the walls. His best troops were surely the bastarnae and his veteran principes, but they were too few and too precious for this bloody task.
”The junior cohort of principes can take the tower. Send the two Thracian companies forward with the ladders.” Numerius decided.
Numerius rode to address the men waiting to assault the walled settlement.
”Men of the Fifth! Long have you marched to come to this place! We have come here together, by way of Ratiaria, Debeltos, Byzantion, Maronia and Abydos. We even passed by Nicomedia and Prusa, but they were a bit crap so we threw them back to the Seleucids."
The soldiers laughed and cheered.
”But those places, those victories were all nothing compared to this! This day we fight not for glory, not for loot, not even to protect our sacred Republic. We fight just to kill. To kill one man - Molon!”
The men howled in condemnation.
”This man led the invasion of our lands! This man started the fires of a great war that will rage and burn throughout our life times! This man destroyed a legion, our brothers of the Sixth! This man killed our Co-Consul, my former legate! This man is why we are here today! And this man will find out that no wall, no matter how high, can protect him from the wrath of the just! Soldiers of the Fifth, this is not a battle - it is an execution!”
The men drummed their weapons on their shields and then turned, on the command of their officers, to assault Pergamon.
What was Molon thinking, as he heard the struggle for the city walls? Numerius wondered. Molon was getting old, now fifty-eight. He had the reputation for being untouched by fear. He was a proud veteran, a natural born leader. What was he thinking? Numerius looked up to the blue sky. Perhaps he was thinking that this was a good day to die.
The struggle for the walls was bloody. A single company of Chryaspides were guarding it. Initially, they outfought the Thracians, who were the first on the walls as they swiftly climbed the ladders. Even the arrival of the junior cohort of principes at the rear of the Chryaspides did not turn the tide immediately - the principes were at first cut down as they struggled out of one of the towers onto the section of wall on top of the city front gates. But then, slowly, as the Chryaspides turned to face the threat of the principes, their defence against the Thracians faltered. Falx blows started to rain down on the backs of the phalangites and soon their fate was sealed.
The gates were open. Remorselessly, Legio V marched towards Molon and his other remaining company of Chryaspides in the forum. Numerius ordered his mercenary hoplites to take the brunt of the inevitable charge of Molon’s escort.
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Molon dies bravely.
Soon the Romans had engulfed the outnumbered Seleucids and Pergamon was taken.
https://img146.imageshack.us/img146/9972/molon3sw9.jpg
Numerius sits impassively as his men celebrate the death of Molon.
The victory did not immediately release Numerius from the burden he had carried for two years. Roman losses had been significant - 67 men had died to defeat 255 Seleucids. But this was not the reason why Numerius could not shift his current mood. With the death of Molon, he felt strangely hollow and lifeless, as if fate had freed him from one obligation but that his own spirit had not yet returned to set a new course. Isidor knew better than to comment when Numerius enslaved 12,875 residents of Pergamon on the instructions of the First Consul. But still, in a quiet moment, the wise and brave Greek slipped into Numerius’s office to inquire after him:
”What is it now that ails you, Master?” Isidor asked cautiously. “It is over, you can move on.”
Numerius looked up, with dead eyes.
Isidor continued. ”You pray too much to Mars, young Legate. There are other gods.”
Numerius laughed bitterly: ”You lecture the Pontifex Maximus on religion?!? By the gods, you Greeks are insufferable!”
Isidor’s eyes danced lightly around the room and he shrugged: ”We Greeks knew the gods before you Romans. Sometimes I think you still do not know them truly. Your current duties may lie on the battlefield, but is that all you aspire to be, a killer? Is there not more to life than that - the extinction of life?”
Numerius put his head in his hands. ”I will not sit here to be lectured by a impudent Greek. Get out.”
But there was no harshness in Numerius’s voice and Isidor nodded quietly, then slipped away.
When the Greek had gone, Numerius reached inside his vest and pulled out Molon’s letter. He considered it one last time and then gently held it above the candle on his desk. The fumes from the flames swirled round his head and for the first time in many days, Numerius smiled.
Re: The Will of the Senate - Battle reports
From the command tent of a Carthaginian encampment, in the army of Ribaddi Clupea, the man tasked with leading the Carthaginian forces against Servius at Cartago.
The soldier sat rattling in his chair, rambling on in horror, a greasy sweat forming on his forehead. He couldn't sit still, the tremors wouldn't let him. He tried to wrap his arms around himself and calm his nerves, but a harsh chill broke him free from his own grasp.
"They were all over us, they took us from directions they couldn't take us. They were in our ranks from the front, the sides, the rear. We had it blocked off! We had it blocked off! And still they attacked. And they were in our ranks like we had never seen them coming! Amongst us! Amongst us, and the bodies. There was nothing left. There were none. Fifteen hundred men! And then there were none."
Ribaddi drew a hand to his mouth and began to bite at a nail. The image was disturbing, highly. He had heard stories of the Numidian war, of the casualties and terrors of battle soldiers would often feel in the midst of conflict. But never had he ever heard of a man coming back alive and not, even days after the incident, being able to control his own movements. There were two others too, three men in all returned to the camp. The other two could not speak of the incident at all, the fear of ever remembering that day has erased it from their minds. Could this "Servius" really be the demon this man portrayed, in his words, in his motions? The whole account of the battle seemed terrifying. He was beginning to get nervous, worried for his own safety. Just days ago he had five Carthaginian armies at his command, now he had four, and such minimal losses on the Romans' side that the army may have just as well enough been disbanded and the entire battle avoided.
He looked out the tent's entrance across the dunes and wondered, just exactly what happened that day.
-----------------------------
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(OOC - It's winter, 254 bc, Marcellus Aemilius has landed and established a fort east of Cartago to rest from their long voyage. The Carthaginian forces are swiftly pushing northwards along the road, five of them in all, led by a young commander by the name of Ribaddi Clupea, a Carthaginian man the same age as the Roman consul.)Three days earlier, about a dozen miles outside Cartago at the river crossing. The Carthaginian camp under captian Ashtartyaton is bustling with activity.
Sir! Their are Roman banners on the horizon. The legion has actually left the city to engage us here?
"It would appear so.." Captain Ashtartyaton answered the soldier with a bit of confusion in his own voice. "Set up a defensive block directly in front of the bridge. They have no idea what they're doing, they must be fools. We'll skewer them as they come across."
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Captain Ashtartyaton gives orders to his men to set up a spearwall at the bridge exit. They could surround and decimate the Romans in such a way.
But the battle may not be quite as easily fought as the Carthaginians had hoped. The legion is led by the consul himself, the same man who sacked Lepcis Magna and Thapsus, decimated a full Carthaginian army, killed three of their highest ranking generals, and dodged and outmaneouvered five Carthaginian armies for a year before finally taking Cartago right from under their noses.
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The Servian Legion approaches.
And the stage for the battle is set.
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This bridge would be at the heart of the conflict, with both armies setting up on opposite sides.
As Ashtartyatan expected, the Romans were coming straight for them.
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Their commander ushering them across the bridge in a tide of flesh and iron.
Initially Ashtartyatan orders a straight charge, hoping to skewer the Romans as they cross the bridge and force them straight into the water.
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The first elements of the Carthaginian army rushing forward.
But the Romans organize much more quickly than had been expected, and before the spearmen even reach the Roman line, their comrades are being dropped by javelins.
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Confused, one unit rushes forward hoping to close the gap, while the others withdraw, trying to avoid the javelin fire and awaiting the captain's new commands.
The Carthaginians regroup, and the captian orders them forward as quickly as possible, hoping to make up for the initial setback with the early Roman formation and defeat them with a mass push towards the river.
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The initial jointure is a gigantic mass of spears pushing the Roman lines towards the water.
But the consul's legion is far more stalwart than they had been perceived to be.
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Not only do they hold the Carthaginian line where it stands, but they manage to order several units towards the flanks.
The full commitment of the Carthaginian army's entire bulk to a singular charge becomes its death knell.
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As the Roman intentions become quite clear. The Carthaginian forces engaged in the line are completely oblivious to the maneouver.
A roman charge to the left flank startles the line, and the left begins to get jittery.
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And rightly so, the Principes and Italian swordsmen charging their rear are no mirage.
And then the thunder comes.
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The Roman cavalry pound into the rear of the line's center like a sledge.
The whole center of the Cathaginian line cracks under the weight.
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Four units of Libyan spearmen break without a second thought, as the line pushes them forward and cavalry cut them down in their flight.
The cavalry spare no man.
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As Servius himself rides straight into the middle of the spears, the cavalry follow suit, slaughtering the routers without remorse.
Their fear quickly spreads to their surrounded allies.
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Without the center the left cannot hold and they take flight almost instantly, pursued by the Italian swords.
Invigorated with their swift victory, the Roman left brings its righteous hammer of judgement in a resounding swing to the right.
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The left flank folds over to envelop the line and the spearmen route like demons themselves were on their heels.
Among the casualties is captain Ashtartyatan.
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A young hastati cuts the coward down.
The thunder can be heard again even over the grinding roar of combat.
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Servius's cavalry pound into the back of the right flank with such force that men are literally thrown through the air like ragdolls.
It only takes seconds afterwards for the entire Carthaginian army to turn tail and retreat.
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There isn't a single Carthaginian soldier left with the nerve to hold the line.
The order is issued to spare no quarter for cowards.
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The cavalry ride down the routers wherever they find them.
Not even those who fled through the woods are safe.
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Regardless of the very clear victory gained here, the Romans continue their slaughter of the fleeing Carthaginian men. Servius giving the order for the Gallic cavalry to hunt down every last man in the woods. This battle must be a highly symbolic victory against Carthage.
But three prisoners are taken, then swiftly released.
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Servius decides on sending these men back to the Carthaginian camp, to tell the whole of Carthage that there is nothing that can stand against the might of Rome.
Judging from the aftermath, there is no doubt in the three survivors' minds that this is true.
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The carnage is unimaginable for them. Fifteen hundred Carthaginian soldiers are slain, and the Roman army stands as strong as it had ever been.
It is a resounding victory for Rome.
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And the Serviuan Legion begins its short march back to Cartago.
They were proud of themselves for this day.
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All of the men mingled on their way back to the city, crossing the bridge in celebration of their valiant victory.
If it were possible, it seemed like news had spread to Cartago of the Roman victory even before the Romans returned.
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It was a victory that history would never forget. It was the bell that sounded the end of Carthage.
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