S.P.Q.R. - Senatus Populusque Romanus

Chapter 15. Quintus the Victor.

Atque ubi solitudinem faciunt pacem appellant.
And when they make a solitude they call it peace.- Tacitus

Quintus sat in the Atrium, awaiting his guest. He could feel the cancer gradually eating away at his body and his will, there was little that could be done except bear with the pain and wait till the final moment came.

As with all humans, the moments of calm when the pain subsided enough for him to reminisce, he thought of Adrastos. What they had achieved in the thirteen years since they had met was astounding. Sicily was truly Roman for the first time. Carthage had sued for peace. The northern rebel cities had finally succumbed to years of relentless Roman pressure and surrendered.

Thanks to the influence of Adrastos, the Legions had changed too. Learning from a direct descendant of the armies of Alexander, they had incorporated many of the advances manoeuvres into the formations of the maniples, had simplified the order of battle, and streamlined the chain of command. It was a great improvement over what had gone before, and the new troops training in Campania benefited from his expertise and experience. The men treated him as an equal, and now operated without the constant need of the ex-consul, who was lately too sick to move far from his estates and now struggling to get to Senate meetings.

Quintus had gone there for the last time a week before, and the house had stood and applauded as he struggled up the steps that led into the open chamber, unassisted, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl to keep him warm, and taking each step laboriously. He had seen the look in the other senator’s eyes, they could see the damage that the disease was causing to his body, and his once tall and proud figure was now almost bent over double. It had been enough for him.

Time to say goodbye.

Shaking the hands of many that day, he knew that he would never see their faces again, and so the poignancy of the moment was felt by all. The tears flowed as each of his faction members stepped forwards to say farewell, even old enemies too. Too weak to make it back outside of the building, the men cradled him lovingly, calling a litter to take him back to his house in the Palatine.

And so, he awaited Adrastos, who came galloping up from the north, where he had been training the new allied Legions. Not taking anytime to clean up, he made his way into the familiar house and to the consul’s rooms, where he found him lying on a sofa in his now usually reclined position. Seeing him, Quintus’ face lit up, and the two men embraced, the words unspoken but in their eyes saying it all.

‘How go the young ones?’

‘They will learn with time, the faces get fresher and fresher each year, but the quality is good. Nothing a few battles won’t fix.’

‘And you- how is your land?’

‘I have a small orchard, some sheep and a few head of cattle. My wife is about to throw our third baby, and I hope for a son. Two girls already- where am I going to find the dowry?’

Both men laughed at this, but this brought on a grimace of pain in the old consul, who was getting progressively weaker now on a daily basis. When the pain had subsided, he went on.

‘You have served Rome well, more than that, you have served and represented me better than I could have ever imagined. My time is near Adrastos, and we have some matters to discuss before my passing.’

‘To leave you as you stand now, as my servant, would be a great dishonour and a disservice to both you and Rome. So we must rectify this.’

Calling for a servant, Quintus reached out for a small scroll that he held shaking in his hands.

‘With this, I release you from my service, and grant your freedom. You will be a citizen of Rome from now, you and all your family. And I have increased your land by several hundred iugera as well. You will not be short of means, and your family’s future is secured.'

Adrastos bowed his head in thanks, feeling the emotion rising in him. He had come from virtual destruction to being reborn again, as a Roman. fate had travelled a complete circle.

‘But you have one more choice to decide: what will it be? To stay here and work for Rome, or return to your homeland. Perhaps they need you too?’

Adrastos looked at his, shaking his head.

‘There is nothing for me there. The past is gone. My future lies with Rome now. Also, I cannot leave you. I promised a life bond, and I will fulfil my promise to you.’

Quintus smiled at this answer, and reached out to take Adrastos’ arm once more, but the pain returned, and he lay back on the bed in pain, coming back to consciousness after a few minutes. A weak smile said it all.

‘It won’t be long; I can feel that death is calling me. Please stay as long as you like, I have no hold over you.’

So Adrastos sat down, and waited for the inevitable. The two friends passed the time reminiscing about the past, of old friends still and gone. It was as if the bonds of dty were no more, and it was just the discussion of two long lost friends.

Adrastos stayed two more days, until the last breath passed between Quintus’ lips. Fate had drawn Adrastos to Rome, and now he would never leave her.

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Chapter 16
The First Punic War- 264-241

Prelude. Rome has been challenged. The armies and navy of Carthage have sunk Roman trading vessels, blockaded the Ports of Sicily and stolen wheat destined for Rome. For the first time in Roman history, the Senate have decided that Rome must take her military might to the seas, and contend with the Punic forces on their own territory. We fought Pyrrhus, and conquered. Now we must contend with another rival…….

Let the battle begin....

First moves.-262 BC. The Senatus Princeps called the house into order. Both Consuls were there, the Senior having returned from guardind the northern central passes, as large forces of Gauls and even a German raiding army had been seen stalking across Cisalpine Gaul.

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Decius Cornelius Scipio, consular officer and senior member of the house, addressed the body in a loud voice, as those that waited outside crowded eagerly to hear the discussion, for the fate of Rome lay in the hands of this august body….

‘Senators, we are here today to decide how to deal with the Carthaginian attacks on our trading fleet, and our new holdings in Sicily. We cannot allow them to continue these brazen acts without retribution from us.

My fellow colleagues, we have discussed the issues at hand, and pt before the floor now a course of two actions. First, we must strike a blow at the heart of the enemy by taking away from him the island of Corsica. It is the base where Punic ships are stationed, and they are too close to our beloved Rome for comfort. It is thus an extreme priority that we seize this possession from them as a preliminary move.’

Looking around the tired rows of Senators listening intently, Decius continued with the plan.

‘In order to do this my fellow senators, we must expand the army by twice its size. Four Legions will be left to secure the north, another 3 to 4 will be needed against the forces of Carthage. Also, for the first time in our history, we must build a fleet. A fleet that is capable of standing up to the Punic navy and dealing them a crushing blow. WE have allocated a large amount of funds to the shipyards of Syracuse to build us a fleet, the Greek artisans there are experts in the art of sailing, and will undoubtedly produce a fine navy for us.

'We will have to train commanders that are capable of taking the fight onto the seas, so I move that we send one third of this years Tribunes to study there and learn how to manage the ships in the water. Crews must be trained and special naval marines created so that we can board enemy vessels and take them by storm.'

'One we have taken Corsica, we can move on to the heart- Carthage itself. I move also that a special Legionary force be created to attack the Punic heartland and take the war to the enemy’s throat.'

'This is an enourmous undertaking, and one that we must consider carefully, for once we step onto this path, there will be no turning back until we are victorius or lost. In my position as one of the senior members of this body, I see we have no alternative but to war.'

'Rome must never give in to oppression from another. We have a destiny to bring peace and prosperity to the Mediterranean, and by the Gods, we shall not fail!'

Feeling the crowds emotion swell with his impassioned words, Decius closed with an ultimatum:

'Carthage must be punished!'

The house dissolved into cheers and roars, as he went back to seat on the tiers, knowing that he had set the city on a head on meeting with fate: War.

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Part One. 259BC:

Corsica has been invaded with the help of the brand new Roman fleet, which now warily patrols the waters between the island and the mainland. Three Legions under the command of Pro- Consular Spurius Aelius Ligus besieged the city and took it by storm. The island was taken for Rome, but the cost was high: the Pro-Consul, suffering from a fever taken while aboard ship to the island, was lost amid great scenes of mourning.

Having secured the island, Ligus’ young Quaestor and now erstwhile commander, Gaius Publilus Philo, took command of the three Legions, and leaving a small garrison force to guard the city whilst troops were sent south for the main invasion in Africa, headed back to Capua and re-supply.

Assault on Africa, 256BC.-Rome amassed a force of three Legions to head south to Africa, and in 256, Roman troops landed there for the first time in history. But Carthage had been busy all this time too……

Back in Corsica, Captain Tiberius was alerted that a Punic army had landed from Sardinia, led by the General Aqhat Sicca, with a raiding force of about 6000 men.
All that Tiberius had at his disposal were 30 maniples of Hastati, the young men who had stood the test with Ligus those short few years ago. They were now almost qualified as veterans, and it was to them alone that stood the fate of Roman Corsica and the city of Aleria.

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They were all that stood before Carthage.....

Part Two. Sardinia, Summer 256 BC

General Aqhat Sicca was angry. He took the Carthaginian Senate’s message and threw it at his attendant, who ducked and tried to remain calm, knowing the general’s moods well.

‘How in the name of Melqart am I supposed to attack with this?’, pointing out the window at the Iberian mercenaries that were milling about in the square below.

‘Where are my spearmen? Where are my swordsmen? Only one unit of cavalry, my personal bodyguard! The rest? All still in either Iberia or stuck in Africa unable to leave because of that Roman blockade out there.’

‘I need more men! I need supplies! Then they have the audacity to tell me; failure will not be regarded well by the Senate! We all know what THAT means!’

Taking the scroll and winding it up tightly, he went to the window and threw it as far as he could, it eventually landing in the middle on the square to the curious looks of bystanders, who on seeing his rage, went about their business.

‘Call to arms. We leave now!’

His attendant nodded his understanding and scrabbled to get ready for the journey. They would use the few small merchant vessels lurking in the area to ship them to Corsica, and hopefully find the city lightly defended. Hopefully, they had no intelligence to either confirm or deny the number, but the island had belonged to Carthage long enough to help them in any endeavour. Perhaps with success, they could return home. It had been too long…..

‘Siluk!!!’

The General roared his name somewhere down the hall, and the attendant ran after him at the double.

Tiberius was not apprised of the situation either, and had only just started to make regular communications with the island people. This was proving to be difficult, as he did not speak their native tongue, and the few that did were busy doing everything and anything. He had spent his time riding around the island and apprising himself of the lay of the land, easily defendable and blessed with a high ground down its centre, and giving those at that height unparalleled vision of the immediate area, and even the coats of Sardinia, lurking in the moist air.

Which is why he had built the series of watchtowers there, as a means to give some kind of advance warning from the south. Rome had promised re-supply, but they were still waiting for the new men and equipment to arrive.

And that fine clear morning, he did not like what he saw: a fleet of small ships clustered around the beaches to the south, and the obvious movements of men disembarking.

‘Canis filius!! That must be a good 6000 men down there! he said to himself, and turning to his guard, sent him riding at full gallop back to the city to call general alarm. Horse too! Though not many, bodyguards probably. And those brightly coloured bastards must be Iberian troops methinks. More men than us, and not enough time to meet them in the field and take some out before they get close either. I hate sieges!

Jumping on his horse, he sprinted it back to the city, all ten miles of it, till his horse was ready to give way beneath his legs. Summoning a General meeting, he addressed every one of the soldiers, standing on a table set up as a makeshift stage in the middle of the city. The men listened grimly, well aware of the fact that there was no one else around except them to defend the city.

‘We are going to have to fight this one ourselves with no relief. Yes, they have cavalry, but if we stick together, we can take them out of the equation. We will set up with our backs to the city walls, and if they want to engage, they will have to run the gauntlet of our pilum.’

‘I have no fancy speeches for you. You all know me well, and served with me. Ligus once called us his young lions. Well, I don’t think he would have called us that anymore. Most of you are ready to go back to Capua for retraining as Principes, and all that stands between that and us is this Carthaginian army. If we fall, then our endeavours in Africa will be severely jeopardized. If we lose, we will be cut down where we stand or they will sell us into slavery. We must hold! There is no other option!’

They have a good days march ahead of them before they get here. We will be ready for them in the morning. We stand as one!'

The no longer young lions filed out of the meeting introspectively, realising the weight of their actions and its effect on the plans of Rome.


The maniples stood in front of the city walls, facing the advancing enemy. Aqhat saw their rear was defended, but they had left the wide avenue that was the main entrance to the city open, effectively dividing the Roman force in two. Deeming it a weakness, he sent his Iberian spearmen forwards at the double, in an attempt to isolate each wing.

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But as the Iberians surged forwards, the Roman line suddenly became one; cutting off the entrance into the city, shortening their line but making the maniples many more ranks deeper.

Aqhat saw his Iberians engage, and rode up tight behind them to add impetus to their attack, pushing the forwards to wards the solid buyt short wall of Roman troops.

Tiberius signalled to the rear lines, who broke off from the formation as they had been trained to do, and with perfect precision, started to extend the line wider and wider, and the Carthaginian General, too caught up in the advance, pressed ever onwards.

Seeing his men stall, Aqhat screamed at the top of his voice for the foot to gte out of his way, and he drove his horse forwards, right at Tiberius, obviously commanding the line. Who stood like a rock, unflinching, as the Punic horse surged forwards......

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With the walls of the city behind their backs, the Hastati stood firm, but the force of the Carthaginian horsemen steadily told on their center. Seeing that the line was starting to break under the immense strain, Tiberius stepped into the breach, and laid about him with his gladius, cutting clean through the hock of the closest horse and sending the rider and it tumbling bloodily to the ground. His round Centurion shield rang with the weight of blows left and right, as he stood and held the center together......

At the top of his voice, he yelled out these words:

'Lions! To me!!!'

Seeing that killing the Centurion would secure victory, Aqhat sent all of his riders forwards to destroy him. A small tight cluster of men gathered around Tiberius, guarding his flanks as he fought, taking on one rider after another.......

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To be continued......

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The battle raged around him, his shield now dented with the repeated blows taken from spear and sword, yet he still stood, defiant. The enemy riders had gathered around him, and Tiberius and his maniple clustered tightly to protect him from the blows that rained down from above.

All that could be heard above the din f the battle were the screams of the dying, that piled up in front of the roman line, curved from the immense pressure, but unbroken. The clang of metal hitting metal ran out across the melee, as Tiberius’ round shield absorbed blow after blow.

Aqhat tried to cut his way through to the centurion, but was immediately surrounded by Hastati that stabbed and slashed at both he and his mount, causing him to wheel around in order to avoid their blows. The Roman line had extended to its fullest reach, now each end started its inexorable drive inwards, enveloping the Iberian spearmen and starting to hack away at their flanks.

All shape and form had been lost I the enemy, now their soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, trying to defend each other from the intense counterattack of the Romans, held together by one man in the centre with the crosswise horse hair plume.

Try as they might, no one could kill him, and the piles of Carthaginian dead around him continued to grow larger and larger.

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Aqhat suddenly became aware that his rear was gradually being closed off by roman troops, the green of their uniforms catching the corner of his eye. Parrying yet another blow, he attempted to swing backwards to allow a better run up at getting to the Centurion, but found that Roman foot blocked his way. Frustrated, he lashed out and the nearest soldier, and managed to take him out with a strike to the head, sending that man collapsing earthwards, blood pouring out of his now opened face.

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He could see his forces being bunched together tighter and tighter, unable to manoeuvre or put up a unified resistance to the Hastati’s torrid attack. He swung his hose around one more time, looking for an opening.

Silvia, having cut his way steadily closer to the Punic General, saw the opening he had been waiting for. Smashing away the spear thrust at him, he dove between two Carthaginain horsemen, and came up slightly behind Aqhat in his blind spot, spotting his chance in the gap between the front and rear plates of the general’s cuirass. Lunging forwards, he thrust his gladius up deep into the Carhaginian leader's stomach, ending the thrust with a twist, causing Aqhat to scream in terrible agony, and fall headlong off his horse.

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Aqhat's bodyguard, now down to a mere handful, saw his body dragged downwards, and realised that with it ,the resistance to the Romans would end, so turning in their saddles, they broke free of the line, and attempted to cut their way out of the Roman circle.

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The once well coordinated Punic attack broke down into a free-for-all to survive, as the remaining units broke off from engagement, and attempted flight. Tiberius, too tired to move, stood there panting furiously as he watched them attempt escape.

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After a brief respite, Tiberius summoned his last remaining energy, and sent the Hastati forwards to finish of the fleeing enemy, leading the way with his sword held high. The Lions followed him, suddenly catching their second wind and ripping pieces slowly off the retreating force.

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The Carthaginians ran all the way back to the ships, only to find half of them not there, carried away by an errant wind. Cursing the Gods, they ran over one another to be the few that managed escape. Luck was not with them that day.

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Tiberius and the Hastati literally chased them to the sea shore, standing in the gently breaking waves, throwing their last pila at the back of the luck few who managed to survive. Many collapsed in the cool inviting waters, absolutely spent from the days exhertion.

Outnumbered and initially outclassed, the Romans had prevailed. All Tiberius could do was stand with his hands on his knees panting as if he had never breathed before.

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Africa, on the coast near Hadrumentum. Spring,255BC.

Prologue-Rome has launched her first major invasion of a continent, sending the young Quaestor Gaius Publilius Philo with three legions on a punitive mission to the African mainland. After landing safely, the army headed south towards the large port of Hadrumentum, where it laid siege to the city. Sending out his scouts to warn of enemy reinforcements, young Gaius was told that Carthaginian units were on their way from Carthage, and that they would be arriving with the day.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Gaius chose battle.

The Battle for Hadrumetum, 255BC.

Sweating profusely in his cuirass, he sat upon the large hillock as surveyed the massive cloud of dust approaching his position. Having turned his besieging forces away from the city for the moment, he tried to guess the number of troops that that cloud represented. He had already found that both the land and the wind played tricks on the eyes, and that calculation at a distance was often fraught with difficulties, an absolute danger for a man in a position like he was.

This was the first time that the legions had faced the enemy on enemy soil, and he knew that his chances of re-supply or reinforcement at the moment were slim. Sicily was close, but not that close, the fleet commanders still to young to lurk aimlessly in enemy waters for fear of attack, and for the moment had returned to their base in Syracuse.

Leaving him alone and completely cut off.

A time for caution, yet the enemy marched forwards seeking battle.
He tried to assess his position clearly, as he awaited the reports from the scouts that were shadowing the enemy force. He had an obviously large army bearing down on him from Carthage, and the besieged garrison of Hadrumentum had sallied out and were now approaching his rear. He had three Legions, and about 1000 horse, putting him and all the tribunes in one force.

His scouts appeared over the low crest, and dismounted, the three men covered in the fine sandy dust that seemed to get everywhere and in to everything. Motioning for water, he offered them refreshment before they spoke. Quenching their parched throats, the leader reported his observation.

‘About 12,000 men sir, regulars, spearmen and a lot of cavalry. They obviously know exactly where we are and have somehow contacted with Hadrumentum. In total about 16,000 troops, just over our numbers.’

The rider grimaced, waiting anxiously for the Consul’s thoughts. Which, for the moment, he kept to himself. Gaius went back to the other ridge, and could see that advancing army form the city marching for him as well. IF they stayed where they were, they would be caught neatly in a trap.

Time to move.

Coming back to the waiting Tribunes, he gave them his plan.

'Fall the army in. We march to meet the northern force in the field. After we dispense with them, we turn and handle the relief. This battle will call for speed gentlemen- we strike to give the knockout blow, so there will be no time for fancy manoeuvre. The enemy will be tired, whereas we have rested since the morning. Strike hard, and strike fast, or we will me caught between two irrepressible forces. Lets move.’

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The officers left for their posts, and the Legions formed back up into their ranks in battle column. Having the advantage of height, they would be able to march forwards aggressively and deal with the first army before the relief had any idea of the result.

The army swept down out of the rocky hills and marched steadily forwards towards the dust cloud, the regular thumping of their marching feet leaving its own wake....

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Most battles are decided in 3 hours, when one side finally comes to the realization that they are getting the worst of it. In the best of situations, the losing side realises swiftly, and attempts to withdraw before too much time and strength is lost. Not so for the Carthaginians. The Battle of Hadrumentum took nine hours to decide, and by the end of the day the army of Chemes and his army was no more, simply vanishing from this earth. But to have said that the Romans would prevail with few casualties to the Legionaries facing the Carthaginians that hot day in Africa, no one of them would have believed…..

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This was a hard fought battle, tempered not in the least by the blazing summer sun that flitted in and out of clouds that threatened rain. Gaius had marched to meet the relieving army and had met them on neutral terrain, the only advantage to the Romans were that they were rested and well watered, whereas the Punic army had marched for three days solid to get there and barely had a moment to pause before they were thrown into the battle headlong. Gaius was doing his best to cycle his men in and out of the main fracas line so that they could rest for brief moments and drink some of their precious water, which was rapidly being used up. The heat was intolerable, but was a new reality that had to be mastered, and Gaius saw that the men bore this new burden with great tenacity and spirit.

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Chemes sought to completely overwhelm the Roman line by pushing all of his spearmen and hoplites forwards in one shattering punch, thinking that he could hold the Roman line in place while his cavalry picked off any exposed units that were vulnerable to their fluid attack. Not having fought Roman troops before, he assumed that the awesome weight of his phalanx would be enough to ensure their collapse, and therefore pressed on ahead with his entire line, the Punic cavalry buzzing around the flanks.

And it was at the flanks that the battle was decided, as time and time again Chemes sent his horsemen out to gain the edge, only to be repelled by the unmoving Roman line. This battle was an out and out slugging match, the oppressive hear not lending itself to exotic manoeuvres, both sides trying to conserve the enemy and outlast the opposition.

Five hours had already gone by with the battle in stalemate. Gaius look on grimly as the battle played out, watching his Carthaginian number send out his spearmen in one solid wall, trying to smash through the Roman centre held stolidly by the Principes, while his Hastati darted around the flanks, countering any attempt at flanking.

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Gaius held the horse in reserve, not committing them to battle until it was absolutely necessary, aware that his counterpart was attempting to do the same. He saw two members of the Carthaginian Senate's leaders present, the overall commander Chemes’ banner fluttering wildly in the sand ridden wind, and the other, Carthalo’s, being repeatedly called back into position, due to his obvious impatience to attack……

An opening……

The immense Roman barrage that had opened the battle had wreaked terrible damage on the advancing line, yet it stood firm, its own flanks protected by a deadly combination of hoplites and the ever present cavalry. Gaius sent his reserves forwards again, launching their pila as the last of the enemy heavy infantry moved forwards to engage, their shields held high to ward off the rain from above. Sound like hailstones hitting slate ripped across the battle, merging with the screams and groans of thousands of men under prolonged and intense strain.

Nodding to his Tribune, Gaius whipped his right flank forwards, sending the Principes out ahead to fall on the two units of hoplites that had strayed too far to the east, pulling back his main line there to give the cavalry room to move in case of an enemy counter.

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Flagging his reserves, he sent four maniples of Hastati racing around the inside of the now pinned hoplites, backing it up with the last hail of pila that caught the exposed units tellingly , watching their formations buckle under the three pronged attack.

Chemes reacted, signalling his horns to call for cavalry attack, pointing to the left and moving his entire cavalry force forwards to save the foundering units.

Now.

Gaius called break formation, and the Roman Equites broke in two, half swinging out wide right, half moving in behind the advanced Hatasti, ready to fall on the Punic cavalry from two directions.

The Poeni cavalry raced headlong with the intent of stabbing into the already heavily commited right flank's foot, but Gaius was one step ahead, his horsemen already in position and hidden from view. Just at the point when it seemed that nothing could stop the Carthaginian counter, the Roman horse sprang forwards to catch them, and an enourmous melee broke out that signalled the peak of the battle.

Gaius too surged into the mass, coming up on the extreme right of the line and then ricocheting back into the side of the Punic nobles, his horse rearing onto its rear legs as it sought to hammer down opposition.

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The Punic horsemen sacrificed themselves there for nothing, as both Carthalos and finally Chemes were crushed between four unconquerable forces, horse, shield, pila and gladius. The Carthaginian spearmen looked on helpessly as the cream of their force was driven into the bloody soil, a lone rider making his escape.....

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Having lost any hope now of cavalry support, the Carthaginian left gradually started to give way, the Principes pushing forwards in reply, casting the whole Carthaginian left back before it.This reverse in the battle became so apparent that after a mere ten minutes the right were in fear of being cut off entirely, and they themselves started to pull back too. The Roman line tightened up in reply, coming together in a dense and sweating mass that beat their gladii against their shields as they walked forwards to drive even more fear into the heart of the already weakening enemy.

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Gaius and the Roman horse stood breathless at the extreme right, the General giving the signal to let the Triarii forwards, having waited the entire battle till this point to act. The veterans spilled around the edges of the line and started on their diagonal attack of the still standing units, falling on undefended flanks and doing terrible damage with the long but wicked spears. The organized resistance to the Romans was no more: it became instead a mass rout and hurry to flee the field.

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The Carthaginians, leaderless and without the ability to do anything except attempt resistance, fell in their thousands as they tried to withdraw in some sort of organised fashion. This made the Roman's task an even easier one,　as the Punii bunched together in isolated units, easy pickings for the fresh reserves now committed to the fracas.

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At that point, the second Carthaginian army arrived over the slight rise, and Gaius immediately split his force in two, sending 300 maniples out to chase the remnants, while the two other legions stood to meet the new thread. Foolishly, the force committed itself to battle......

Five hours became eight......

This new force was badly led and organised, proving themselves easy meat for the rested reserves, who supported by the Triarii, locked them in a vice- like grip, while the consul and his horsemen moved themselves into position.

The end result was like the hand of the Gods that smote the wicked: swift, furious, and without mercy.


At the end of the day, the cost for the Carthaginians had been enormous. Two commanders lost, both armies utterly wiped out. That night, as the purple sunset sky gradually faded to a star lit night glittering with stars, the three Legions made their tired way into an undefended Handrumentum, and their first secure sleep in Africa.

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Again: nice work, but don't overdo it on the screenshots. Several of them are rather too much alike.

Thanks Ludens for the comments.

These were actually written quite some time ago, the style has changed since then.

enjoy :)

MCM

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The First Punic War 264-241. Part Two.
Ut Aquila Altivolus.

Prolusio certo- a prelude to struggle.

It is said that some men are born to lead. It is part of the Law since time immemorial that from the ranks of a few families that constitute the Patricians of Rome, the Consuls are chosen, and such has been the practice since the end of the seven kings that ruled Rome and the birth of the Republic.As with all such autocratic systems, it had its weaknesses, sometimes putting forwards men who had no practical ability except the ownership of money, an old and distinguished name and power, and that had led to horrific results and consequences on the battlefield.
But occasionally, from amongst the constant intermarrying as these few families struggle for power, comes a child and then a young man of extreme talent and potential, that rises above all others, with the personal werewithall to develop their God's given opportunity into something refined, powerful, and unique.

Tiberius Rutilius Rufus was such a man.

The war had been going smoothly enough, the three Legions existing independently on the African coast, bearing wave after wave of Carthaginian assaults with aplomb, still waiting patiently for reinforcements to arrive. The Poeni capital Carthage had fallen in 254, after Punic reinforcements from the Numidian coast had arrived and attacked the besieging legions, who had effortlessly brushed them aside, skillfully led by their commander Publilius Philo.

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But this fighting could not go on for much longer without resupply, the armies were steadily dwindling in numbers, and constant calls to the Senate had produced little more than promises and excuses when failing to deliver. Gaius, frustrated at the tardy and dangerous response, had himself made the long journey back to Rome and appeared before the Senate to appeal for more troops. Four full Legions were guarding the northern passes, he said, Rome did not need any other troops on the penisula. Therefore he pleaded that all new recruits enrolling in each year's Legio should be earmarked for African duty, and rotated through so as to give the long serving members there a chance to be relieved.

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Although the profit from the punitive war had been impressive, the cost for maintaining a vast force far from Rome had been a first for the Senate, who had been obtuse in the allocation of yearly funds to the endeavour. Gaius' words changed that situation, and a new law was passed to create an annual stipend for the overseas forces of Rome. Handing back his Imperium at the same time, Gaius made the perilous return journey in autumn, catching the last vestiges of the summer trade winds and installing himself on the African mainland as a temporary Governor.

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His reappearance on the continent was timely, for it was at that very moment that the Punii launched a massive two pronged counter attack, besieging Hadrumentum and assaulting Carthage in a desperate attempt to re-take their capital. The Romans withstood the counter-attack, and in 253 moved to take Utica, steadily expanding their grip on the coastal trade routes.

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In the campaigning season of 252, The legions had advanced further west, taking Hippo Regius in the late summer, and beat off a fresh army of 18,000 men from Iberia. The new Consul in command of the theatre, Titus Valerius Laevinus, a student of the advanced military training academy in Capua that had been set up by the late Consular Quintus and Adrastos, he dispatched the punic forces, taking on one after another, the three Legions still awaiting resupply and re-equipment, yet standing stoically in the face of adversity and ending the day triumphant. But how much longer could this noble army stand without relief? The worried look on the faces of all the men told the truth: they felt as if they had been abandoned by their city, left to rot in this African cauldron.....

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But Legends are born when men face the unbearable and triumph time and time again. So too, had the Legend been spread amongst the Carthaginians about three Roman Legions that were unbeatable, so strong that their troops were somehow not mortal, marching through the shifting sands and appearing as if from nowhere, only to attack and take cities, then dissappear off into the shimmering heat......

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The Romans reached their penultimate westward expansion, taking the city of Kirtha in 252. The city was stripped and looted, the commander Laevinus offering all the booty to the army as thanks for their long and hard service. Finally, new troops had been sent from Sicily, and slowly the veteran units stationed on the coast started the welcome journey back to their homeland. Leaving the city behind him, Laevinus started to long and dusty march back towards the Roman base camp in Utica.

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It was is 251 that a young patrician by the name of Tiberius Rutilius Rufus made his entrance to the roman plolitical stage, his name being bandied about as a possible consular candidate for the next years elections. His brilliance in both previous administrative commands, where he had served in Sicily to the constant praise of the Governor, and his subalternship with Cornelius Decius Scipio in the border squabbles with the Gauls had pushed him head and shoulders apart from his peers. A public speaker of remarkable talent, he had fought vehemently in the Senate for more support for the troops in Africa, and had become a key member in the ex- consul Gaius' faction.

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His consular hopes were stymied by the cunning work of the conservatives in the Senate, who held him over in his current Quaestoral role of reviewing unfinished assizes of the whole southern regions of the Italian peninsula. It turned out to be a boon in disguise, as he was able to visit the old commander Adrastos, now retired and living his estate with his family and sons, who saw the incredible potential in the young Roman and worked on developing his talents to a finely honed edge, both secreting away to Capua at times to drill with the new troops of that year.

Due to a sudden emergency in Africa due to the treacherous attack on the Roman army by the forces of Numidia, Gaius sought and got approval to override T.Rutilius Rufus' Quaestorship in southern Italy, having him take command of Laevinus' old army and sent him to chastise the Numidian king. Which he did so with remarkable finesse, and was mentioned in dispatches to the Senate, causing some to regret his being passed over for that year's rather lustless pair of Consuls.

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The world was changing around them: Macedon had grown progressively more obstinate, attacking its neighbour Illyria and robbing them of coastal access to the Adriatic, in an attempt to starve these sea-trading peoples out of existence. Gaius abruptly ripped T.Rutilius Rufus from his command, ignoring the pleas of his subaltern, sending him back to Rome again to lead his faction in the Senate and see the safe passage financially of the rest of the punitive expedition.

In 249, everyone's wish was granted. Tiberius Rutilius Rufus was elected by overwhelming majority as senior Consul of Rome, as was sent with two legions of green troop to reinforce the African expedition by taking the enemy port of Thapsus. The opposition to Gaius' faction in the Senate ahd been extreme, refusing countless requests of bolstering the two new legions with veteran troops by saying that there was not enough money, and that those veterans that were available were to be kept ready in case of action in Illyria became necessary. As many as there was who loved the new Consul, there were those in power who wished to see him fail.......

Not to be outdone by such political treachery, Adrastos had visted many of the southern italian settlements seeded with veterans of Quintus' armies, and on Gaius' behalf had managed to put together 4 maniples of men, which he marched to Campania as a gift to the new Consul. This welcome addition helped in the training of the men as they marched down the southern peninsula and on to Sicily, with final parting workds from the old Greek-

Those who are truly eagles often soar alone.

Arriving in Hadumentum in the mid summer, Rutilius Rufus had marched his young army south, following the coast and attempting to remain unobserved for as long as possible. It was not to be the case- Carthaginian traders had spotted the column of dust that marked their aproach, and had ample time to warn the city, which sent out a force of 22,000 veterans to smite the Roman foe.

Rufus had awoken that cool autumn morning to an awesome sight- the cream of the Carthaginian southern capital's army arrayed against the sky. Of enemy spearmen, there were twice his number. The enemy commander Balshilek had an overwhelming superiority in horse. Outnumbered by almost two to one, his entire army made up nearly entirely of Hastati, Rufus considered escape and safety, as most commanders would do given similiar circumstances. But the men were ready, trusted in him and his leadership like no other, and the veterans had already arrayed his army in battle formation......

He remembered Adrastos' last words again.

Those who are truly eagles often soar alone.....

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To be continued........

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The massive phalanx glittered in front of them, silent and unyielding. The Romans would go no further towards the Capital, and the finest veterans that the African army held stood, waiting for the command to attack and drive the invaders from their lands.

Tiberius sat on the hill, watching the Punic commander ride up and down in front of his line, calling out individual men by name and speaking to them in the harsh tones of their language. Calling his own veterans to him, Tiberius laid out his plan of battle.

‘Well, they outnumber us by a large margin, but that can be deceptive. Our advantage is speed. If the line can hold while we turn one flank, this will be over very quickly.’

The veterans were stunned by this appraisal, and their leader spoke up.

‘Sir, you mean we intend to attack them?’

‘Of course, but only once they commit to us. You will lead the counter attack. I am stationing you behind the line, at the far edge of the left flank.You will wait until the enemy line is engaged, then sweep around and assault their extreme edge. It must be done fast, and will need split-second timing and coordination with the Hastati. You will have one chance, only. Speed, Sextus. Without it, we are lost.
I will hold the right, and shadow the enemy horse. The Numidians will stand fast and expend all their missile fire, concentrating on their centre. Once they have done so, they are to sweep around the left and assist you in assaulting the enemy rear.’


'It is up to the Triarii today. Dont let me down.'

Motioning to the Hastati’s centurions, he explained their order of battle.

‘Centurions of the centre and left-They will come at us and attempt to crush us with their pikes. We will not line up straight to meet them. I want the left staggered, four maniples perpendicular to their assault. They will have to adjust to meet us, and this will break their line. Wait and see; Adrastos was no fool, and I trust in his tactics implicitly.

'When the enemy meet us, their right will be disarrayed. That is when you will strike: all units are to watch for any opening and exploit. You will be supported by the veterans sweeping in from the left, so hold! Help will get there, but you must fight as if there is no tomorrow- for perhaps there is not!’

'The right will stand fast- I intend to lure the enemy commander into a foolish assault. We must hold! You are my impenetrable forest of iron. It is not your natural disposition, but for today you will and must stand fast! The casualties will be heaviest here, so I entrust this to Decius and Lippo. I will be there with you, standing beside you. If we go down today men, I will lead the way to hell!’

‘Today there are only two thoughts for this battle: death or victory. I, for one, choose victory!!’

Laughing, the men smiled, slapping each other on the back and making their way back to the ranks, which stood there impatiently.

The men wanted battle.

The Carthaginian line started to move, its well dressed ranks sending a solid wall that stretched across the battlefield like an iron longsword, moving forwards to the steady beat of a hollow drum that sent out an ominous dull sound echoing eerily across the valley. There military might was awesome- these were the troops who had helped expand and protected their empire, a mighty combination of mercenaries from all over the known world. Spartan mercenary generals, missile troops from Iberia, the cream of the African continent together as one giant fist ready to smash the Roman troops to a pulp. They marched forwards confidently, sure that their numbers alone would ensure victory.

In comparison, the Roman line looked exactly as it was; short, with only two maniples of Triarii reserves, stationed on the far left and the cavalry, arrayed unmoving at the rear. This easternmost edge of the Roman line was arranged in the bent formation that Adrastos had explained was used when one phalanx was shorter than the other, compensating by hitting one section of the attacking force with double pressure, attempting to either break the line or roll up a flank. The Triarii were thus tucked up, kneeling, tightly behind the roman left, waiting for the given signal to rush east, and then fall on the outermost edge’s rear.

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The Poeni marched onwards, up the slight rise, closer and closer. Tiberius called out to the Centurion in charge of the Numidian missile troops, checking their fire and telling them to stand fast.

The Hastati too, were holding their pila fire, having been ordered to work together to hit a few select targets, maximizing their fire power and weakening specific units in the enemy line, later to be exploited as such.

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The enemy now scant paces away, the Hastati and the Numidians struck, sending the first wave of pila and javelins out in a high arc, some catching shields, tearing them from steady grip and pulling them earthwards, some impaling men in one fell stroke, thinning out the ranks but not stopping their forward impetus.The Carthaginians marched on regardless, men from the rear stepping forwards and over some dead friend’s corpse to take their place; inexorable and unstoppable.

The last wave of pila were launched, then men hurling into the dense ranks with all their might, the second wave telling of even more casualties in small sections of the line, then the legion's men hunched down and braced for impact. The Poeni's own missile troops were in range now, sending their arcing fire over the heads of the advancing troops and into the standing Hastati, who did their best to bat away the dangerous darts and prepare for the enemy's charge.

And charge they did, up the last few steps, driving their long spears as best they could deep into the massed roman ranks. The Punic line now steadily wrapping itself around the front of the much shorter Roman line, Tiberius gave his signal; The Triarii stood up out of their crouching potition and raced for the extreme left flank's edge, past and then into space. Uphill, they had the advantage of both speed and gravity when they turned and fell on the surprised rear of the Carthaginian unsupported right, followed seconds later by the Numidians, who having exhausted their javelins, chased after the tail of the Triarii, falling on the same unit's rear.

The Consul Tiberius Rutilius was busy elsewhere; his half of the line had not moved and were under intense pressure from the thousands of spears bearing down upon them. His men were holding, but on that section of the line the losses were steady, the rear ranks stepping forwards to plug the gaps as men fell.

The Poeni commander, seeing his chance to crack wide the Roman line, formed his horse up tightly and followed the forwards advance of his left- seeing a gap open up, he sprang his horsemen forwards at the gallop, Decius and Lippo screaming out to their men to brace for impact.

The men that fought that day on the Roman right would never forget that moment......

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Thundering forwards, the Poeni horsemen tucking their long spears in close to their bodies for strength, and drove through the first few ranks of the Hastati, sending men flying in all direction as they crashed into the line.
Horses leapt over men in their attempt to break through to the rear. The Consul Tiberius drew close, in case they managed to succeed, but the mass of Poeni spears behind the horse meant they could not counter them directly. It was up to the Hastati.....


Hold...Hold!!!

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On the left, it was the opposite story. The Triarii had sliced the last unit of pikemen clean in half, and the now split force foundered under the double strain of assault from both front and rear. The Numidians finally arrived howling some native chant, thus sealing the fate of that Carthaginian unit, which promptly folded spears and broke, running off in the direction of the Carthaginain city.

Following their explicit instructions, the Triarii and Numidians worked as a team, moving steadily right, and hitting the next Carthaginian unit in its rear, while the now free Hastati peeled off the line and commenced to break around the fighting to the Poeni rear. Like the ripples of a pond when a stone is thrown into it, the Carthaginian right flank fell a unit at a time, allowing more and more Hastati from the main line to surge forwards and move to the Carthaginian rear, doubling the effect and intensifying the process.

Tiberius and the right had held on for dear life, and the Carthaginians sacrificed their entire cavalry in the vain attempt to break through. Watching as the Hastati surrounded the few survivors, Tiberius sent his horsemen around the right flank to the Carthaginian rear, running down their missile troops and crushing them beneath the stamping feet of his chargers.

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The snowball effect of the veterans rolling up the left meant that the poeni line was tubled into one giant and unwieldy ball, as the Hastati fought back now with a vengeance, working in concert like the waves of the ocean smashing against a rocky coast.

Tiberius turned his horsemen back and persoonally led the charge against the rear of the enemy line.

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The men roared at his personal bravery, casting aside any thoughts of self preservation and charging headlong into the massed ranks of infantry, slashing left and right with his gladius as his henchmen laid waste to all around them.

Fear suddenly struck the enemy's hearts: the battle had taken an absolute reversal as the Roman soldiers fought like the damned, the ground beneath their feet growing steadily more slippery with blood.

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The Triarii swept everything before them, and the word passed down the carthaginian ranks that the Romans with the white shields were killing everything in their path. The poeni units began to buckle and crumble as the Roman dogs circled for the kill.....

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The Carthaginian army broke all at once, their soldiers fleeing in any direction that did not possess Roman troops, who pursued them closely and cut down many as they ran.

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Decius and Lippo egged their men forwards, running after the steadily dispersing enemy and cutting down those that crossed their paths. The sun shone down mercilessly on the fleeing horde, and their bodes litterd the battlefield like grains of sand.....

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The chase went on for the rest of the day, adn units were rounded up by the cavalry, and then dispensed with by the foot. The intent was to strike such a fear in the survivors that the city would yield without a struggle, and the men set about their deadly task with awesome skill.

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There was no surrender that day- the enemy had come to destroy, and had been in turn destroyed by their very own aggression and hastiness. The Romans had crushed a force almost twice their number, dealing a terrible blow to the aspirations of the Carthaginian Senate.

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The soldiers brought before Tiberius the one remaining Poeni officer who was still alive. Rutilius glanced dispassionately at the man, who could never have imagined that the overwhelming Punic force would suffer defeat at the hands of such a small foe. Speaking to the man in idiomatic Greek, Rutilius released him with a message:


'Go to Thapsus and tell them we approach. If they open their gates to us this very day, there shall be no further bloodletting- you have my word. But be warned, my men are of ill- temper, and if the city resists I will not be responsible for the outcome.

Now, go! Prepare to submit to the might of Rome!'

The man jumped on the given steed, and raced off to the south, a steady cloud of dust following in his wake.

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Haven't had time to read it all, but what I have read is rather impressive. Keep it up! ~:)

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Prologue-
Word was sent from Rome instructing the armies operating in the Carthaginian homeland that the objectives there were now deemed complete, and a systematic withdrawal of all the armies was managed, signalling the end of the punitive mission in North Africa. By the year 240, all foreign armies had returned to the homeland, Rome having seized both Malta and Sardinia as a final and lasting blow to the economic power of the once mighty Carthage. Many troops were disbanded, and Rome’s large war fleet was retired, stripped now to protecting just the immediate environs that surrounded the now totally Roman peninsula. But a truly lasting peace, for the emerging city power of Rome, seemed elusive……The armies returned to chaos, confusion and suffering.

Such is the way of men......

Part One. Rebellion.
Numerius Marcius Rex- the man who would be King.

Numerius Marcius Rex had always been a curious type of chap. A man with more lust for power there was none, and behind every back room deal that was cut within the capital, somewhere in the woodwork he would be, wrangling some political concession or another from those in need of a favour, knowing full well that he would call on them for repayment, usually at the most inopportune moments in their political careers, and for a heavy toll.
He was a powerbroker that excelled in the Senatorial climate.

Sitting in the middle tiers of the Senate, he had manipulated votes more times then there were days in a year, and he prided himself in knowing that most of the men who sat near him in that hallowed office were probably more afraid of him than he.

Yet, even a man with such power had his limits, and it bothered him no end. A man with unfathomable power behind the scenes, he wanted the whole city to award him the position that he felt was his right: that of Consul.
Plebeian by birth, he was excluded from the possibility of running for the higher office of Consul, and it constantly tore at his rather fragile and tempestuous ego.

During a rather heated debate in the Senate one day, a fellow consular who had been arguing against the passing of a bill limiting the funds given to the Africa expedition, had in passing made a humorous pun regarding Marcius’ low birth, and Marcius had taken in badly, noticing that many even with favours owed to him were laughing openly at his plight, and he had left the house that day seething with thoughts of revenge.

Calling together his clique later that evening, he harangued them for not standing up in his defence earlier that day, saying that his position had been weakened because of it. Marcius said that he had been ridiculed one time too many, and that it was time to repay those who stood in his way. Rome, and its Senate, were really just a vehicle for the petty few that called themselves patrician, and that true notables such as he were not given the respect they deserved. Marcius too was from an old and prestigious family; it had been said that his ancestors at one time had been kings, and he now openly hankered after the title.
He told his supporters to be ready to leave with him on the morrow, where they would head to Etruria and raise troops amongst the old Etruscan enemies and the Marsi, then proceed to march on Rome itself and have himself awarded the respect that he felt was rightly his- the same as that of his ancestors
Marcius felt safe in the knowledge that there were no Roman troops available on the peninsula, and by the time they were shipped back to Rome he would already be ensconced in the city and in command of the city’s war machine. Many of the returning veterans would be swayed by the large amount of money that he would be offering those that chose to serve under him, and he would create a new elite on the bare bones of the existing system.

Marcius Rex…….. it had a certain sound to it. Logic fell sway to egotism, and all thoughts of preserving the Republic were lost.

Rome awoke the next day with the news that its infamous senator had left the city, and all the senators that drew favour from him. Much more disconcerting was the fact that Marcius had somehow cleaned out the treasury of all last year’s takings, and had even pillaged the temple of Ops to fund his revolt. Word was that marcius had been secretly training an army in Etruria for this very reason, and that rebels and enemies of the city from all over the peninsula were flocking to his banner. The numbers were approximated at least ten thousand. All across the peninsula the word spread rapidly that civil war was coming…….

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It was six long months before the wheels of fate finally caught up with Marcius Rex, as he was now calling himself, having carved out a small fiefdom in the rugged mountains deep in Etruria, he trained his steadily expanding force to fight in the Roman way, having the assistance of other noblemen and ex power brokers who felt that siding with him was a realistic ticket back into power and fortune. Ex-Legionaries had come too, tired with the retired life, some broke at having wasted their pay on drink and gambling, thenrunning into massive debt that was unable to be repaid, looking for a chance at riches. Those few men helped train his army of over 10,000 men into a force comparable to two legions of Rome's finest.

The Senate had not been slow to react: it just needed time to get the wheels of the war machine to operate in a different way- reverse, and was busy ferrying the armies back to the mainland from Africa. Their plan was to wait for the armies already in the field to return to Latium, then use them to flush out Marcius Rex fromhis mountainous hideout. It would ahve been a good plan, but Marcius had his spies too, and started to march his army towards the city, knowing full welll that the veteran legions were weeks if not even months away. Or so he thought........


Betrayal is a terrible thing to encounter, and those that do normally react in one of two ways. The first is to absorb the blow and move on, albeit tainted by the experiece and perhaps never recovering. The alternative is to fight fire with fire, and destroy the betrayal at its source. The leadership of Rome, since the birth of the Republic, was such a body, and the thought of another era of monarchy abhorrent to every man and woman that called themselves a Roman.

Secretly, they had sent to Sicily and had the two Legions training there shipped back to the north, under the command of the new Senior Consul, Gnaeus Scribonius Libo, a man without peer for true nobility, and the absolute arch enemy of Marcius Rex. Having trained in North Africa with Laevinus, he knew his way around a battlefield, and had beein with Laevinus when the Numidians had decided to launched their unprovoked attack on the city of Uttica, which had been soundly punished in unceremonius fashion, sending them back to their desert dwellings and suing for peace almost immediately.

The Senate had also quietly made its enquiries into those of its body who were perhaps in league with Marcius and the rebels, and had been feeding these men much false information in the hope of keeping Marcius in the dark

It had taken a few weeks, getting up the coast against the summer winds, but it had been done, the army had decamped on the western side of the peninsula near the small town of Pistoriae, whcih had suddenly found itself under matial law as the Consul swept in from the capital with a small bodyguard contingent, setting up roadblocks to keep all traffic heading into the Appenines away from Marcius' territory. As marcius and his rebel army made their way down the mountains to Rome, they were followed not 20 miles behind by Libo and the two legions, who destroyed all the rebel bases as they passed through, summarily executing all who had remained. The man who would be King was in for a rude shock......


The battle and the day had started badly for Marcius Rex, his troops caught out in the open where Libo could use his two Legions of veterans to their fullest potential, sending out his cavalry on ahead to cut off any thought of advance in Marcius' mind. Not being a military man himself, although having served in the Legions as was his duty, Marcius held no interst except for rudimentary tactical movements, and he formed up his two legions where the text book would have told any commander to do, but one that any veteran would have know was also fraught with difficulties, for Marcius was allowing his ,massive cavalry contingent far too much distance from the Legions who stood stock still, waiting for the Roman attack.

Libo new what to do and acted quickly, splitting his cavalry force in two and sending half out to his left to lure Marcius into an impatient gesture, having his men stall a little too close to the enemy line, and baiting their entire force with his apparcnt stupidity. Marcius knew the value of command, and sent out his own cavalry to respond, leading the way on the attack of the now small numbered Roman force. Libo had his other half rotate back around the rear of his line, rolling back to the left towards the unit there that was slowly making its return to the Roman line and safety. Marcius tore on in front of his troops, his tyrian purple cape billowing out behind him as he rode, already seeing the diadem being placed on his massively curled head.

Such hope.

Libo and the main force of cavalry were now riding parallel to Marcius, but he was oblivious to them coming up on his blind side, focused on the small Roman force that had suddenly accelerated away from his approaching force. The shcok, surpirse and dismay that suddenly engulfed the would be king was supreme: His horsemen were assaulted from both the front and the rear, as the fleeing unit suddenly pivoted around and charged straight for his number.

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Marcius and most of his would be nobility died very quickly, the Roman lances slicing deep into their ranks and slaughtering them right in front of the two abandoned rebel Legions watching them....

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Taking their cue, the veterans from Sicily broke into a run, and loped towards the suddenly leaderless rebel foot who stood there, paralyzed with fear at the sudden turn of events.

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It was a rather short battle, mostly spent chasing after the fleeing ten thousand men who, after a brief attempt at organized resistance, took to their heels rather than fight nine thousand very angry veterans, who spent the rest of the afternoon chasing them down across the wide valley, giving them little opportunity at covered escape.

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Libo sent one rider back to the capital with a short note and a small wooden box to the senate. Not a man to mince words, the note was brief and to the point. The report read:

'To the Senate and the People of Rome, from their commander in the field Consul Gnaeus Scribonius Libo, hail!. Mission accomplished. Nothing special to report, just open the box.'

On receiving it the next morning, the Senate convened to hear his report. The open box said it all; in it was one beautifully coiffured head belonging to their ex-colleague, wrapped in his tyrian purple cape.

Such was the way that Rome dealt with those who would be king.

Marcus Cornelius,

Ave!

I have very much enjoyed reading your MOD story and anxiously look forward to each new episode! Please continue your very good work! :2thumbsup:

I have two questions for you.

First: How are you able to take multiple screenshots during a battle scene?

When I hit printscreen, while playing the game, I am unable to access the Windows screen to save the image and then resume my game. I must completely exit the game to save the image otherwise I will overwrite any succeeding printscreens. So during a combat scene I'm limited to a single image of the battle.
Obviously you have found a way to overcome this limitation and I would very much appreciate if you'd educate me as to how you do it?

Second: What is it that you do for a living?

You obviously have a talent for story telling, and I wonder if you do so for profit? If not you should consider it. You know the history behind your characters and I for one would purchase your historical novel, if one exists. If not, why not?

The character background and added role-playing allows one to more thoroughly enjoy this wonderful game and the plethora of great "Realism" Mods that have been created for it.
Thank you again for sharing your brilliant and thoroughly entertaining (not to mention educational) imagination with the rest of us.:yes:

Ave Cassus Belli,

Thank you for your comments, they are certainly appreciated here, as people dont seem to give much feedback on this forum re AAR's.

First things first- you need to download a program called FRAPS
they have a basic freeware package that you can install on your pc, that will help you take pics during battle...that should help you

Then, you need a damn good image editing program- I suggest Photoshop elements for the variety of choices you have how to treat the image you want to use.

Now to me...

I am an australian/brit and I live and work in Japan, and work for a Japanese company in their overseas division here in TOkyo. Been here for three years now and surviving... but they work way to damn much here. I am putting in a steady 50 hours per week, and the way I keep my sanity is to..write my AAR.

I love Roman history with a terrible passion, and I discovered about nine months ago that I can write, and started over at RTR Forums where my story is quite a bit more advanced, and I only started posting here to share my joy with the long time members that have ben around since STW.

I am considering using the basic stories indeed for a book or several, tentative title will be something along the lines of 'The Manus', and will start converting these posts here to pdf sometime when I get some free time.

But these stories are only a mere outline of what kind of depth is possible with the story; the characters need to be developed much more fully, and much more of the Roman way of life and society/politics needs to be introduced. It will happen, and is happening over at RTR...

. It brings me great joy to see others so obviously enjoy the stories, and inspires me to greater heights of artistic creation.

thankyou- I will try to write even better

MCM

Ahhh, Marcus my friend,
Thank you so much for your help.

I downloaded a copy of FRAPS version 2.8.0 FreeWare
http://www.majorgeeks.com/download3934.html

I will install it tonight and see how it performs on my PC with RTR.
You recommend Photoshop Elements. I have Paintshop Pro version 7.0, will this suffice for your suggestion?

I could tell that you were either English or from one of the former colonies by your spelling of such words as “Labour,” “favour,” “Harbour,” etc. A dead giveaway!

Yes, I’ve heard that the Japanese have a mania for working extremely long hours. But I’ve also heard that many of their large companies also incorporate physical fitness exercises within the work schedule, not a bad thing, so long as it reduces stress and inhibits ulcers?

You sound like prior military: AAR (After Action Review)?

I have another question for you. Where did you acquire your knowledge of Latin?
It certainly enhances your stories to add a bit of the traditional descriptive terminology. A very nice touch, indeed.

Also, it appears you’ve done tremendous research on the culture, society, strategies and tactics of ancient Rome, as well as the contemporary nations of that time.
Would you mind sharing a list of your sources for those of us that would likewise appreciate further educating ourselves on the subject matter?
I for one wouldn’t mind expanding my library with a few more references.

The RTR forums have been tore up for quite awhile, but I will try to locate more of your stories over there, if I can.
I really enjoy reading such MOD stories, and yours read like a well illustrated novel.

I strongly encourage you to continue your writing, and even pursue to do so professionally at some point. I look forward to reading “The Manus” in hard copy at some future date. :book:
May you long continue to be inspired, and to inspire others, it is contagious!

Here are a couple of alternate suggestions/possibilities:
Among the world gaming community, especially of Total War and the very many derivative MODs, there may be a market for a collection of very good MOD stories among the fans of these games???
Also, have you considered screen writing?
Hollywood and the numerous Made for Television movie producers constantly hunger for good and “marketably timely” scripts.
There are some very professional software programs available to help you turn a good story into screenplay format.
Just something more for you to think about. :yes:

One thing I’ve learned… One should strive to either do what they enjoy for a living, or make a living ample enough to allow them to do what they enjoy!

Enjoy life and live long! Peace to you brother!

Your friend, Casus

Ave Cassus,

many questions! I will do my best to answer them

Latin- catholic schoolboy once and now I study it again for fun- its an amazing language that grows in magesty as I learn it

History- yes I have been a history fanatic since I was a lad and I basically ready everything there is available

Amazon here in Japan is my saviour, but a lot of material is unavailable to me

Books to recommend? There are too many- I dont limit my reading to just Roman works, I read everything I can on ancient warfare and techniques . But for a few specifics which your probably already know- Anything by Adrian Goldworthy, Christian Meier, lots of theses available online if you are a scholar, or go to your local library and sign up to get access to them

I am the Head Praetorian over at RTR forums, so I have access to a lot of materials over there as well. Yes the forums were down for a bit but we are back and stronger than ever, so please visit us as a supplement to this excellent forum at the Guild.

My aar over there is http://forums.totalrealism.net/index...howtopic=17032

you will find lots of other mod stories there too

Now, regarding writing... I am thinking seriously of it, but to do it properly I need to get even deeper into the stories. I was skimming the surface for quite some time, and now have slowed down to develop characters a lot more, because really its the most enjoyable part.

I am actually looking for other communities with which to connect and show my work on the internet to get further feedback... any suggestions?

Let me know

MCM

Chapter 24-The Flight of the Innocent.

Carthage was in a permanent gloom. The amount of money that Rome had asked for in order to stop the fighting in North Africa had been appalling, and now Carthage was without her fleet to provide as the main source of funds, the cost of agreeing to the strict proposals that had come with signing the peace pact.
The city was suffering. The once vibrant activity that seemed at the very heart of the Carthaginian empire was gone, covered instead by a constant weight of oppression stemming from the restrictions the Romans and their senate had placed on them.
Economics was the core of any great empire, and in one fell swoop, the Romans had cut the heart out of the Carthaginian corpse, feeding it to their hungry minions.

The people were angry. The warriors were angry, ashamed at their recent defeats and wanting recompense. The Carthaginian senate too felt the lifeblood of their empire steadily draining away from them.

It is at such moments that the truly great are defined, the human being sometimes needing the threat of absolute collapse and demise to pull them up and aout of their normal parameters and into a new world.

For the Punii, that new world was Iberia. For the Carthaginians, Iberia spelled hope.

What was left of the fleet after it had been crushed by the Romans was quickly re-assembled in Carthage and loaded with the hidden funds the Romans had not unearthed in the Capital, safe and sound under the foundation stones of the main temple to Baal Hammon. Worth close to 10,000 talents of gold, it represented a second chance for the city and their people. The Senate held a public meeting and told their people of the grand plan: that a chosen few would head west, into previously uncharted territory, and attempt to reconstruct their trading empire far from the reaches of Rome.

Their leader, the great warrior Hasdrubal Barca, had stood in the massive marble square that marked the center of the city and proclaimed their vision, exhorting each of the major families to choose one family member that would be sent with the last remains of their once massive fleet to set up the colony in what was being called ‘New Carthage’, on the south eastern coast of that hot and dry land. Those chosen few would be come the backbone of a new society, that would grow strong in time and again threaten the might of Rome.

Once proud families that had been a part of an empire that stretched back 400 years were forced to consider their options. Were they to stay in Carthage, they would be under the constant scrutiny of the ever prowling Roman fleet, which boarded Punic ships now at a whim, and took as tribute any amount of the cargo that they saw fit. In other terms, a form of legalized piracy that the Carthaginian senate could do little except petition the far of Roman government, who when acting did far too little too late.

Even the ruling warrior family Barca had to choose, and their future went to a boy of sharp penetrating mind and fierce disposition- Hannibal, whose gift for languages and prowess in the physical disciplines had shocked even the most war-like of his family. Working as a page to his relative Hasdrubal, he followed every political and military development from first hand experience, talking avidly with the Greek and Spartan advisors that still operated at the court, trying to reform the outdated military tactics that had seen their demise in Sicily, Sardinia and on the African mainland.

A new land meant new troops and new possibilities, and the Celt-Iberians were amongst the fiercest warriors the Carthaginians ever had the privilege of enrolling as mercenaries. They feared no man or reputation, and their methods of war wereso unorthodox that Hamilcar had called them ‘Carthage’s demons.’ The Romans had had a hard time dealing with them in Sicily, unused to an enemy that slipped away after brief skirmishes, only to re-appear as soon as the Romans withdrew from the battlefield, much to their consternation and dismay.

The ships absolutely glutted the docks of Carthage, Utica and Thapsus, as families stood, watching the leave of their chosen ones,torn apart by the realities of war and a fierce and unrelenting enemy. Many knew full well that such partings could possibly be the last some members would ever see of their kinsmen, and the sky was torn by a mixture of emotions, some excited by the possibilities that the future could bring, others struck by the poignancy of such partings.

Hannibal too shed many a tear, as the ship he had boarded made its way steadily out the fortified gates of the dock and into the wide and unknown sea that represented his future. He strained to see the last expressions on many of his family member’s faces, the old Greek scholar’s face who had taught him the classics gradually fading indistinguishable into the others around him.

All Hannibal could think of was of vengeance against those that had caused him and his people so much pain and suffering.

One day, he would make them pay too……..

Chapter 25-The Boy Hannibal.

By the time Hannibal and the rest of the refugees from Carthage had reached their new home, their skin had been burned a dark deep brown, giving the boy Hannibal in particular an even more fierce look than he had before. The dreams hopes and expectations of youth gave way to the reality of his new life; looking out from the ship he could make out a sparsely treeless land burnished in deep reds and browns that warned of an unrelenting sun, constantly beating down on the fertile soil.

The ship pulled into the dock, to be met by a large bodyguard of Carthaginian troops, double the amount that had traveled with the young boy all the way from Carthage. As he stepped off the body onto the wooden dock, he could feel the heat already trapped in the wood by the hot sun permeate through his sandals.

His tutors and other attendants were there waiting for him, the official government carriage waiting to ferry him to the new palace and safety. Ignoring the gesture that was to lead him to the carriage, the young boy ripped off his shirt, exposing a torso that had already exposed itself to hours of the hot and hard sun. Beckoning to his favorite slave, Agbal, Hannibal sent him off with a glance to find him a mount.

‘Please, young master, the sun is very strong here. You must protect your skin from its harmful effects.’ Mago his old and wizened tutor clucked mercilessly, trying to coax the boy towards the curtained and cool carriage that meant they wouldn't have to walk the some two miles uphill to the palace.

The boy ignored him, seeing Agbar already returning with three horse traders leading some Iberian stallions his way.

‘That one.’

Pointing to a chestnut mount, the boy threw a bag of coins at the trader, who opened his mouth to bargain but was met by the stern look of the bodyguards who would brook no argument. Bowing his head and smiling forcefully, The trader shrugged to himself and watched as this young lad spiritedly jump and mount the horse in one swift movement, turning its head towards the coast, still ignoring the pleas of his tutor.

‘Young master! Please! Hasdrubal is waiting to greet you, and there is much to arrange for your lessons….Master?’

But the boy was already gone, racing along the coast with his slave and bodyguard Agbal tearing after him, scattering the local traffic that had clotted the road only moments before. Mago shook his head, remarking to himself that the boy was always tearing off on adventures, his spirit unconquerable even in the face of his fearsome relative, Hasdrubal. But Hasdrubal himself had warned the tutor that they boy would probably take off as soon as he landed, and a small detachment from the horse bodyguards flowed the two riders trail of dust that still hung in the air. Shaking his head, Mago turned and started on the long uphill journey that would take him back to the palace, knowing that his poor feet would be roasted raw by the sun baked soil.

The boy Hannibal knew exactly where he was heading, having made enquiries to the the troops that were stationed on his boat with him, in particular an Iberian mercenary by the name of Acco of the Lusitanii, a fierce tribe that had decided to help the Carthaginians passify the entire peninsula.

As he and Agbal rounded the spit, they could make out the large army training camp that had been set up next to the coast, strething about 5 miles inland and perfectly flat, ideal ground for the practice and perfection of military movements. Smiling in glee, the young lad urged his horse on even faster, its lithe muscles rippling under the exertion but far from tired. The boy made his way to the very heart of the camp, utterly fearless and sure of his position. He was the heir of the family Barca, and these soldiers would one day be his men, so a closer look was justified in his eyes.

As he approached the gates, two guards emerged to block his entrance, and the boy pulled his horse up smartly in fron of them, the sweat on his upper torso gistening in the sun. Addressing the guards formally, he announced his presence:

'I am Hannibal Barca, heir and nephew of the great Hasdrubal, and I have just arrived from the capital. Make way, for this is my army, and I wish to meet them!'

The guards, stunned at the boys nerve, quickly moved to the side of the road, and allowed the young lad to continue his gallop into the camp, followed by the huge and madly grinning Agbal, who had these words of wisdom for the guards:

'Remember his face and that horse, for he will want free passage at any time of day and night. Tell the others-Woe betold to the man who blocks his path!!!!'

The boy was already long gone, his eyes everywhere.looking at the taught and sweaty soldiers that ran their drills is squads all over the field.The boy was lots in reverie, his eys sprakling like candles as he watched with intense passion at the movement of each unit, assessing each man's strenghts and weaknesses. For the first time in weeks, he was at peace with himself.

Ah- home at last.

Chapter 26- The young Legend.

Clouds of dust were kicked up by the drills performed by the multinational army that was being hewn together under the watchful eyes of Hasdrubal. Employing the Libyan spearmen together with the lighter and more manouverable Celt-Iberian natives, and protecting their flanks with sacred bands, Libyans and Iberian heavy cavalry units, the army of Carthage had gained a flexibility that seemed to rival the armies of Macedon at its height. nd it was for these very reasons that hasdrubal drilled each unit to exhaustion, for what he and his family planned was using this force to secure the eventual and total subjugation of the Romans.

The boy Hannibal quickly made friends with some of the local tribal leader's sons, and together they would foray out into the surounding countryside in search of mischief and adventure. This often led to broken bones and many cuts and bruises, including those of the young Barca, but it leant the boy a certain wildness of character and unquenchable human spirit that endeared him to the local troops and the army that was forming.

Hasdrubal had tried keeping the boy back　from the actions fought as the Carthaginian army gradually secured the peninsula,but that had proven nigh impossible, the boy withstanding both the strict censure of the family's head and the punishments that had been meted out against him and sneaking away to joing the soldiers whenever opportunity presented itself. Hasdrubal eventually relented, allowing the young lad to follow along with the armies, although initially keeping him as close to the baggage train and the rear as possible. Young Hannibal had baulked at that position, and had been found time and time again riding on ahead with the scouts, forcing Hasdrubal to take his stallion away from him as a means to keep him in check.

The boy had sulked, but the advisors serving with Hasdrubal had exhorted the general to let the young teenager ride with the bodyguard, for both the safety it presented and the practical lessons it would issue to him. The two relatives had come to a somewhat belated truce, adn the boy happily rode beside the general with his mouth closed and eyes wide open, taking in every little detail that presented itself before him.

Those formative years were to betray the fierce fighting spirit that lay beneath that sun bronzed skin, and the boy earned more and more respect from those around him due to his seemingly unstoppable desire for battle and tactics.

One particular event lay in the memories of all who served in the armies at that time. The army was drawn up fighting the fearsome Olcades of the central region, the terrain not allowing Hasdrubal to deploy the full force of his army and perfect fighting ground for the Celt-Iberian natives that refused to submit to his rule.

Hasdrubal had sent one section of his army on ahead in the hope of gaining the heights behind where the main Olcades base was located, and this unit had fallen for a cunning ruse that had seen them cut off and isolated from the rest of the army, struggling to get past a natural barrier of rocks that the Ocaldes had used to their advantage, rolling them down into the ravine and effectively blocking off the entrance to the valley and trapping the advance force. Hasdrubal had sent a good thrid of his force out and around the valley to find another access point through the mountains, but he and the rest of the army could hear the frantic wails of the troops that had been cut off, and who were being assaulted from every direction by the Olcadian warriors.

Hannibal had several of his young friends in that advance guard, and he had formed a blood bond with them, all swearing that each young warrior would never abandon the others to a cruel fate. That night, he and a handful of his young friends had secretly set off up a steep ravine that they had found earlier in the day, with the hope of attacking the Olcadians from the rear. Awakened in the middle of the night, Hasdrubal was appraised of the situation and angrily questioned why his own scouts had not found the pass and yet the young boys had. Sending 3000 of his light troops off in pursuit of the young boy and his comrades, he awaked the rest of the army and had them work frantically throughout the night trying to clear a path through the rubble.

As dawn broke, the young Hannibal and his Devotios had indeed found themselves behind the main Olcadian force, and immediately set to work causing as much mayhem as possible. Setting fire to the tinder dry brush that covered the sides of the steep mountains, the young warriors awoke the Olcadians to the sounds of a rapid fire tearing through their makeshift camp, this stampeding their horses away. Fearing that the Carthaginians were already at their rear, the celts broke off their perimeter around the beseiged advance force, and pulled back to a defensible position further up the gorge, under the smoke-ridden attack of Hannibal and a handful of his tribal friends, suddenly reinforced by the appearance of the light troops Hasdrubal had sent to rescue the boy. Unable to make out the exact size of the Carthaginian force, the Celt-Iberians had panicked, and a force of a little over 3000 lightly armed auxilliaries had routed the Olcadian force of 7000 veteran warriors.

Hasdrubal, initially angry at what theboy had done, could not find fault with the result, and the effect that this action had on the native troops was astounding. In Hannibal they saw was a Carthaginian leader who lived and fought like they did, and who tried to protect them even at risk of his own life. After the battle, some of the tribal leaders had petitioned Hasdrubal to form a special unit to serve with the boy as his personal guard, and the teen Hannibal was suddenly in command of a unit of die-hard Iberian warriors who swore to stay with him through thick and thin, sharing the fortunes that were to be his life.

Hasdrubal also noted that the volunteer numbers swelled after that day too, many who signed coming specifically to serve with the young lad. Barely 15 years of age, the boy was now in command of his own unit of cavalry, and like a young Alexander he wielded them to perfection.

Slowy but surely, the tribes of the central highlands submitted one by one to the brothers Barca, and the fortunes of the Punii grew in leaps and bounds. Rome was aware of the immense surge of power, and sent emmissaries to stop the tidal wave of advance across the continent.

That fragile treaty was known as the Ebro agreement, but both sides knew that it was just a precursor to out and out war.

It was all a matter of time....

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Prelude-Some men are born to lead and be victorious in the face of awesome opposition. Others are born into power, only to live through its gradual dissipation and loss, learning terrible lessons along the way, and often at the cost of many thousands of lives.

Life is an enternal teacher, yet those that live it more often than not fail to learn from its lessons. Such is the way of all things. But there are a chosen few who learn and grow, making them all the more fearsome and terrible, the forces of nature encapsulated for a brief moment in flesh. It is men such as these that founded Roman state and indeed shaped the course of world history.Let us return for a few moments to that heady and bloodthirsty time, when men were men and morals were often lost in the heat of battle.

Prepare for War.......

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Chapter 27- An eye for an eye.

The massive barbarian horde broke from the cover of the forest and surged towards the Roman camp, the cloud of dust kicked up by their movements making an accurate count of their number an impossibility, but it was of such consequence that it was able to be seen by the Roman watch while the enemy were some ten miles away, giving the Troops in the town ample time to prepare for their onslaught. As they drew closer the scouts reported back in to the Consul Tiberius, who saw immediately that the moment had arrived to settle the constant raiding once and for all. Calling battle order, he had the maniples in the city draw up in one solid but impenetrable line that stretched in front of the city like a wall of steel.

It was time. The Gallic raids would stop here.

Today.

The attack was the tenth such encounter between the Romans and the Gauls in the last few years, but each time the enemy had managed to withdraw before the Romans could bring them to decisive battle, disappearing into the northern hills and forests as rapidly as they had appeared. Pro-Consul Tiberius Rutilius Rufus, yet another esteemed member of the famous Patrician family, had waited and longed for a day such as this to arrive, and had purposely camped his army of what seemed to the Gallic enemy to be only one legion in the village without preparing the usual fortifications only a day before, instead sneaking three other legions into the same village later that same day, under the cover of thick and dense fog. Since then, he and his original disposition had marched brazenly around the area marching around in full view, seemingly easy prey for the massive Gallic force now rolling its way rapidly towards them.


King Bolgios, Gallic leader and key strategist against the Romans in the north, was, if nothing else, a motivator. Witnessed in real time, he was a man whose movements epitomized motion, the air around him seemingly crackling with his energy, intense gaze and desire for life. He had successfully led his armies every summer now for five years, using surprise and speed to keep the Romans off balance, and keeping himself well informed by planting natives that were willing to cohabit with the Romans in their organized and well laid out towns, all the while telling Bolgios of their every move and action.

Until a few weeks ago, when suddenly all news from the south had ceased, which had worried the Gallic commander but he had continued his plans nevertheless, as the summer warring season was at hand, and his grasp on the untied tribes counted on his continual aggressive actions against the Romans in order to stave off contenders for his position and throne.

The reason for the sudden and abrupt end in communication was that Tiberius’ own information network had finally caught up with the source of the leaks, and in a very quiet way had slaughtered the best part of one village one sunny afternoon, revealing to him the names and whereabouts of the others working for the Gallic king. Justice had been swift and merciless; the enemy had been convicted on the spot and parted their thinking apparatuses in scant moments, the heads cleaned and put into boxes, and sent on to the Roman commander who viewed them casually over dinner that evening.

It is said that cruelty begets cruelty. And Bolgios’ campaign in the north had witnessed captured Roman men slaughtered to a man, and women and children sold as slaves, ending up possibly in some Germanic forest dwelling or sacrificed in some druidic festival to appease their gods. The patrician family of the Rutilius’ had long since been known to be harsh with their servants and slaves, and thus the city had turned to that family's contemporary member at the elections to deal with the northern tribes swiftly and succinctly. Tiberius, his eyes set on the hallowed halls of power for a second time in his illustrious career, and had no intention of letting down their estimation of him, hence the boxed heads that were now on their way to the Senate in Rome in recompense for lost revenues over the last few years and for his own personal satisfaction.

Bolgios had beaten the Romans before, twice alone in 236, and had learned that strength in numbers against their well organized troops paid dividends, as it gave his enemy little room and time to manoeuvre, which was their undoubted strength in the field. He had little reason to doubt that this time the result would be different, as long as he protected himself by withdrawing rapidly after the engagement. His numbers were growing, now at about 24,000 armed veteran warriors, many who had sworn blood oaths at the recent tribal counsels binding them to the result of this seasons campaigning.

His plan had been to capture the consular commander, and ransom him off to the Roman Senate in return for all the land of Cisalpine Gaul, all the way down into Etruria, confirming him as master of the North and giving him access to immense wealth in the form of well cultivated crops and vineyards. It was a grand plan, but it displayed his ignorance of understanding of the Roman mind. For, although it was true to say that the recent leadership there had been somewhat lacklustre, due to all the veteran troops been earmarked for the battles with Carthage, those troops and commanders had returned to the peninsula, and the cream of these had been immediately sent north to deal with the territory violations and him.

The Romans under the command of Tiberius were veterans, not green troops as Bolgios had become accustomed to, survivors of the war on the African coast living often without regular re-supply, and who had learned to live off the land and emulate their enemy when necessity proved itself the proper course of action. Their commander was also a man who adapted with circumstance, allegations some years before of supposed inconsistency during his Governorship in Rhegium had temporarily halted his political career, and he had retired quietly to his family holdings in Latium until those that had pointed fingers at him had in turn been shown to be corrupted by the halls of power, and he had fought with distinction in Africa before the crisis in the north quickened the Senate’s actions to have him called back into supreme command. His election had been unanimous, the city offering him any and all assistance to get rid of the barbaric scourge.

For a man who had nearly ended his career in disgrace, the second chance fated to him by the gods was one that he would not squander.

The Pro-Consul Tiberius had discovered in his long life of campaigning that information was everything: without it a commander subjected himself to enormous and unnecessary risks to both his own life and those of his troops, and in the fickle political world that was Rome that could mean loss of social standing and autocritas, authority, the very flame that ignited the nobles of the city to constant vie with each other for position. Thus he had made his swift investigation into the source of the information leaks and had acted summarily; giving him time to assemble his forces and prepare for a counter to Bolgios.

And so, he had raced north, to take on the enemy.....crushing each and every Gaul who was unlucky enough to cross his path....

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As the Gauls drew closer to the city, their own scouts reported back to Bolgios that in fact not one but four Roman legions were drawing up for battle, which secretly plunged him into despair but he was in too public a position to do much about it other than continue their advance, as the hounds that coveted his throne were literally circling him, waiting for any slip to take political advantage.

It was a battle that had been decided upon by the Gods: two men, each with political and personal motives, driven onwards by hopes of victory and reward, constant competition with others and pride.

Only one man could leave victorious from the field.

Seeing that the enemy horse outnumbered his own meagre force more than five to one, he drew up his bodyguard in the middle rear of the line, where he could see the enemy’s movements clearly. Why was it that barbarians always thought that massive numbers were enough to swing the tide of battle? He thought to himself, as he watched the voluminously large and horribly disordered army surge towards his lines, a fearsome sight to the uneducated, but nothing more than he and his men had met in Africa, where they had had to deal with elephants as well, horrible creatures that if give the opportunity would crash through their lines and cause inordinate amounts of human casualties.

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He lined up the Hastati as usual in the front, placing his Principes slightly to their rear in support, while he Triarii raced into position covering their flanks, were the Gallic cavalry attack would inevitably strike. Of auxiliary forces, he had none, having arrived far to quickly for the allies to summon and martial there troops to the area, and many of the tribal ‘allies’ were probably arrayed in the enemy army opposing him.

He called his tribunes into meeting, and confirmed that this battle was going to be an out and out slogging match, as the enemy had advance far too far and rapidly for the Romans to arrange anything other than a stout defence and repulsion. Which was fine for his troops, who were eager to teach these northern longhairs a lesson or two in manners……

Bolgios realised after a time that basically his army was not under his control, each division hopelessly mixed together with the others and rushing forwards into a massive brawl with a well ordered roman army with its back to the wall of the city. In order to save face, he took lead of the body under his command, the cavalry, and broke them left in order to attempt a flanking manoeuvre once the main line hit. Racing his horse out wide, the army called his name as it continued on its headlong dash forwards, their eyes on the prize that seemed to be theirs.



And the Romans kept pouring out of the city……

There was an obvious and deafening crash as the massive Gallic force smashed itself against the first ranks of the Roman line, helped on in momentum by the force of the other warriors following in their wake, smacking against the shield wall that faced them and doing their best to cut their way into the formation. The sound of battle was horrific, the metallic grind of steel against steel, the thump and smack of shields being battered and beaten, and the screams and shouts of the valiant as they fought hand to hand, mixed in with those of the dead and dying around them that steadily piled up like cut wood.

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Tiberius had the rear rank hold its volley of pila until the front line was fully engaged, and roaring his command sent the metal daggers flying up and over the heads of the Hastati and landing with a sickening thud into the bone and flesh of the fully engaged Gauls. This happened not one but three times, as the Roman heavy foot exhausted their missiles at almost point blank range, sending out wave upon wave of metal darts that embedded themselves in whatever they came across or interrupted their flight, be it wood, bone or flesh.

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Tiberius watched intently as the battle raged before him. The centre was holding but was under immense pressure, the Gauls condensing their front to give greater penetrative power to their advance, but in the process making them more manageable.

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Bolgios saw that the battle was stalling, and it was indeed his brave men who were being cut down like wood and not the Romans. Sending his main cavalry forwards to support the attack on the centre, he split off two units, one to the left flank and one to the right, in an attempt to gain the Roman rear and seal victory. With a three pronged assault on the Roman line, he was sure that somewhere they would find the weakness that would decide the battle.

Three thousand of their number raced forwards to slam into the Roman centre, the Hastati caving somewhat under the pressure of the impact, but recovering swiftly with the support of the Principes behind them surging forwards, the Optios cramming the ranks forwards back into formation by pressing their vine canes into the backs of the rear rank, who in turn pressed those in front back into position, their shields and gladii stabbing and slicing into the tightly packed enemy ranks, doing immense damage.

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Tiberius saw the two flank attacks but was bound by only being able to personally deal with one, and, leaving the Triarii on his right to their own devices while he pressed sideways to the left. The Roman line was starting to push back all along the front, rolling up the Gauls in the centre into a tightly packed ball, leaving the three thousand horsemen there with little room to manoeuvre and thus neutralising them as an effective fighting force.

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Tiberius was in search of the Gallic commander, but being unfamiliar with their battle order and markings was unable to find the man, for the moment concentrating on the thousand horsemen trying to break around the Triarii’s flank. Tiberius and his body of horsemen hit their inner edge just after the Triarii had received their charge, the line of tightly packed spears doing horrible work on their highly strung Gallic mounts, forcing half of them to break off and fall off to the side, Bolgios steering them round the bristling line of spears and racing behind the Roman line, back along its length towards the Roman right in hopes of catching the troops their in the rear while their troops were otherwise busily engaged.

Tiberius himself saw what had happened and cursed to himself, busy as he was dispatching the Gallic cavalry caught between his troops and the Triarii, being slaughtered to a man.
But the Roman army’s chain of command was a resolute one, not without its flaws, but also instilling those in its upper echelons to think when under pressure and act alone, if necessary. The young, intelligent and enterprising Tribune Calvinus Severus was such a bright young officer, and although his troops were getting the better of the Gauls arrayed there, he had not been totally caught up in the battle so as not to see what was going on elsewhere, spotting the breach occur as soon as it had happened, and calling up the rear maniples on the right to reverse order and turn to face the enemy King as he approached. The central reserve under the command of the Picentine Centurion, Salvinus, saw his opportunity and brought his troops in behind the King to seal off any chance at escape.

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Tiberius broke free with the enemy there in full flight, and urged his horsemen back behind their own line, chasing the path of the enemy king who he had finally made out amongst the war paint, obvious in his horned helm and heavily tattooed body.

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Whatever was said about Bolgios by the survivors later that day, he was a brave and fearless man, driving his troops onwards with little thought of his own safety, his young generals surrounding him in the attempt to seal the battle. What they didn’t realise was that that was basically already decided, the central push squashed into a tight space and unable to break free, the Romans surging now around them like quicksand.

Bolgios and his men did their best, fighting first from their horses and then hand to hand as their mounts were killed underneath them, the Romans pressing in closer and closer, sealing their fate….

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Tiberius was at the head of the horse that slammed into Bogios’ rear, cutting his way through the dwindling numbers to the king, who turned to greet his challenger, cursing him in some foreign dialect and rasing his broad sword high in the air in both salute and challenge.

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The two men circled each other in a deadly whirlpool, slashing at stabbing at each other, each seeking the opening that would seal their opposite’s fate. All thought of the battle raging around them was lost, each man totally absorbed in the other, seeing in their opposite the key to victory.

Bolgios saw ten years of successful campaigning flash before his eyes, his victories against other tribal leaders, his Roman slaves that he had sold to the Germans for peace on his frontier, his wife that he had stolen from the previous king on his assassination at a tribal feast, his thoughts of a grand kingdom encapsulated in this bloody struggle.

As his men steadily piled up around him, Bolgios thought of the underworld; would they hail him as a king there, or would he have to fight his way again into respect? Knocked down by a blow from Tiberius’ sword, and feeling his sword arm severed by a slashing blow, he closed his eyes and waited for his entry into the neverworld, coming as it did with a sword thrust to his throat , up and into his skull, piercing his brain and filling his mind with white light, the light that the druids said signalled the guardian fires marking the bridge that would lead him across……

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Tiberius was absolutely caught up in the blood lust, his face a mask of red as the jugular vein of Bolgios had sprayed his face and cuirass with a fine patina of red, making him even more fearsome than his horse hair plumed helmet suggested. As the rest of the enemy let collapsed and ran for refuge, his men took off after them, leaving Tiberius to race alone for the rear of the enemy line and start to cut his way into the rear of the still standing enemy line, to the amazement of both the Romans and the Gauls who turned to face him.

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His lone assault signalled the end of organised Gallic resistance, as the Gauls around him fled in terror, causing a mass rout of the troops near him, rippling along what was left of the Gallic line and creating a tidal wave of panic, that meant that the whole force was soon running for refuge, the Romans in hot pursuit. All along, Tiberius stood there in their path, blocking their escape, death encapsulated by his blood red mask of fury....urging his men to do battle......

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Tiberius’ bodyguard somewhere along the line realised that he was not with them, looking back horrified only to see their commander laying waste single handed to any Gaul within reach, his red face mimicking the minim of a Roman commander at a Triumph, awesome and frightening, a God among men.

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The rout from that point on was complete, the slope leading to the Cisalpine Alps not assisting the Gauls as it was a steady uphill climb, making it easier for the Romans to catch up with them and lay waste to their few surviving number.

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At some point Tiberius came back to his senses, issuing commands left and right, and starting the moves towards assessing the cost of the battle. It had been a hard-won fight, the enemy standing until the last, but from that point their casualty rate had climbed dramatically, leaving the plain in front of the city strewn with corpses of the dead and dying.

Tiberius had no idea why the men looked at his so strangely that day until his contubernalis offered to wipe off his face, at that point he realised that he was covered from face to waist in the blood of Bolgios. Shrugging it off, he made his way back to his tent, but he couldn’t help but notice the look of awe in the faces of the men that crossed his path.

From that day on, he was known as Tiberius, the killer.

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Glad to see that you picked this up again!
~:thumb:

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‘Where are they?’

‘Hiding in the woods sir. Unable to get an accurate count, but looks like about 27,000 of them, horse, about 3000/4000, also stashed, hiding in the woods over to our right flank. There are some light missile troops in the vanguard, the main force is veterans, with lots of young warriors mixed in. A major reconnaissance in force, sir. Ready for action and trouble sir.’

Scribonius Libo looked up from his map, grimaced, and peered into the scouts face, as if to test the veracity of his statement. But he had known this Gaul for quite some time now, and he was a man always ready to please his new Roman masters, without the obsequious flattery of so many of his kind.

The other officers just stood and waited, knowing Libo to be a man of patient calculation rather than spontaneous action like his senior, Tiberius.

‘Hmmm. Assemble the Legions in the clearing. I want them to break loose of their cover before we engage. I have had quite enough of haring around these alpine forests. Bring our cavalry round to the right flank, stationed at the rear where they can’t see us, and stand fast. Wait for my signal. Understood? Then move.’

The war horns of the Gauls could be heard clearly, echoing off the nearby mountains and creating an eerie moan that floated on the mildly gusting wind.

‘Ye Gods- look at their number!’

The Romans watched as the forest seemed suddenly to come alive, as the well hidden Gauls made obvious their position and merged out of the woods, whooping their war cries and shouting curses at the Romans who were rapidly drawing up for battle.

Noting the fear in some of the men as the Gauls broke cover, Libo spoke as calmly as possible, emanating a sense of trust and confidence that was infectious to those around him.

‘Keep the horse to the rear- use the cover of the forest to move them. Let’s lure them out into the open and then make our move. I want them to come to us.’

The Gauls kept pouring out of the forest, their war paint clearly visible, and making their appearing even more formidable than their numbers suggested. The Centurions and Tribunes shouted out brief commands, the Legionaries only moving to swat away the flies that were stirred up by so many men collected together, sweating under their armour and mail.

The Gauls moved forwards, beating their long swords against their shields, making threatening gestures with their weapons by pointing at individual Romans and swearing to the Gods that they would take their heads as trophies before the day was ended. The din of their movement was awesome, the regular tempo echoing from their whoops and hollers doing its best to strike fear into the Roman soldier’s hearts, who in contrast stood silently, listening to the terse words of their commanders as they waited to unleash hell upon their enemy.

The Gauls came brazenly forwards, trying to lure the Romans into a pursuit back into the trees, where uncertain numbers, lack of space, and surprise could render Roman tactics ineffective. But the legions stood firm, immune to the taunts and jests that echoed over the mountains, thanks to years of training and absolute discipline that kept the semi-professional army a controlled and tightly run operation.

Individual tribal warriors ran in front of the massive force, calling on the Romans to come and fight hand to hand, occasionally casting a javelin or spear out to clang noisily against a shield raised in defence.

Still, not a Roman moved.

Emboldened, the Gauls moved even closer.

‘Wait....Here they come-Now!’

Suddenly, like a river that burst its banks, the Gauls flooded forwards, engulfing the Roman line, sometimes leaping into the air in an attempt to gain purchase against the well locked roman shields.Once their aggressive assault was received and absorbed by the line, the Roman front started its own inexorable drive forwards in counter, pushing the surprised Gauls back step by step, walking over the corpses of those that they cut down before them. Both wings of the Roman line were unengaged, hidden as they were by the dense foliage that marked the rear of the Roman line, and these troops squatted, hiding their number and position, waiting for the command to advance, trusting that their comrades in the middle would pay rough justice to the barbarians that had come at them so impetuously.

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Libo watched on, passively, nodding to his Legate Fulfius, who nudged his horse forwards around the right flank of the Roman line and into deeper cover, circling as he did with the Roman Equites, who were all anxious to get at the enemy cavalry number, now reported at as over 4000.

The battle line was chaotic, due to the broken cover which masked the Roman’s true strength, and made the action seem disorganised when in truth it was carrying on as smoothly as some well used machine. The Romans moved forwards, step by bloody step, cutting a swathe through the massed enemy formations and leaving a bloody trail in their wake.....

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Fulfius, led by the Gallic scouts, was already deep to the right rear and around behind the enemy chieftains, who were oblivious to the flanking manoeuvre and watching intently the battle that raged in the centre.

Scribonius nodded again, seeing the main line now fully bound in place by a counter of the tribal warriors, who piled into the center as he had hoped, rushing forwards to get at any roman who stood in their path, attempting to stop the Laegion's forwards progress. At the signal, the flanks stood up from their resting position, and swung their edges out wide like the wings of a bird. Scribonius raised his hand, both flanks waiting for the command to sweep forwards and envelop the Gallic warriors through the surrounding trees.

Unseen and unheard by the rest of the troops, a major cavalry engagement was going on in the heart of the forest, as the Romans under Fulfius fell upon the rear of the unsuspecting Gallic horse, still waiting for the command to flank and attack. Fulfius, aware that his future on the cursus honorum was tied to merit in battle, threw himself headlong into the foray, leading the way as his horsemen crashed into the rear of the large Gallic contingent, causing chaos and confusion, and ultimately a massive wave of terror as their horsemen were cut down in droves by the more heavily armed Romans.

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Browns and greens mixed with reds and greys as the two forces collided, the force of the blow throwing the Gauls forwards and dangerously closer to the Roman right, who suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere to launch pila at the exposed enemy horsemen. Fulfius lay about him with his sword, barely missing a well aimed thrust to his head, but, being dealt a glancing blow to his cuirass, winced at the shock as the spear screened harmlessly away to the side, leaving that warrior hopelessly exposed to a well aimed counter strike, slicing into his pectoral muscle, sending that Gaul careening away in pain.

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Under force of pressure from their rear, the Gauls grew dangerously closer to the Roman right, and turned away to save what was left of their now severely depleted force. Fulfius and his men chased after them, flushing the horsemen out into the open where more launched pila depleted them further.

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Scribonius Libo dropped his arm, and two long and deep notes echoed out from the Roman horns. The flanks stood up as one, and started their steady march forwards, still masked by the dense foliage, wrapping around the horrific sound of battle that was so close, yet unseen by many, the soldiers twitching in expectation at the thought of the impeding counter.

Fulfius was still off chasing after the Gallic nobles, who had abandoned the field completely, leaving the corpse of their leader in their wake, their king having fallen to a well aimed spear that pierced him from the rear, falling only to be crushed under the ruthless hooves of the pursuing Romans.

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The Roman flanks, now well beyond the farthest reaches of the Gallic line, started their sweep inwards, around the trees and back into the clearing where the rest of the Gauls still stood, trying to hold back the pressure from the Roman centre. The main line's Hastati had already pulled back out of the conflict, and now made their way behind the Roman line to join the flanks in the encirclement.

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The flanks suddenly appeared, having broke free of the cover of the trees, and roared their arrival with a launch of pila and swift charge into the rear of the enemy line. The confused Gauls, looking frantically for their leaders who were nowhere to be found, found themselves engulfed by a wall of steel that cut itself steadily into their formations from every direction.

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Fulfius, now clear of the pursuit some two miles away, turned back to the sounds of the battle, hoping that the plan had gone as intended, hearing the blasts of the Roman horns faintly in the distance that signalled the full attack.

The Gauls, completely lost as to whether any of their obectives had been met and unable to adjust to the rapidly changing tactical situation, sought safety in flight and broke off at every opportunity, their staggering number flying like a flock of startled birds in every direction.

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The Roman noose closed tighter and tighter, gripping the Gauls in an unstoppable fear as they were cut down piecemeal in every direction they chose to flee. At this point, it ceased to be a battle and instead became a slaughter, and the warriors met sword and pila in every direction.

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Libo looked on emotionless, nudging his horse forwards and following in the path of the gruesome action, commanding any section that fell behind to keep up the remorseless pressure. A small gap to the rear provided the only opportunity to escape for the Gauls, and their whole number now rushed frantically forwards for the steadily dissappearing avenue of escape....

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The battle was in the Centurions hands now, as they pushed their commands forwards, the maniples pressing forwards, smaller and smaller, pausing only to launch what was left of their missiles, then starting forwards again, like the waves of a fierce storm against the shore.

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Flushed out into the open, the Gauls broke for the cover of the next nearest forest, a scant mile away but still far too distant to provide the relief they so dearly hoped for. Fulfius could see them as his horsemen moved closer and closer, the cloud of dust and noise of the battle swelling louder in his ears as the Equites approached.

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The Hastati were at the forefront of the action, not weighed down by the heavier armament of the Principes, who were by this point in the action utterly exhausted and running forwards on legs that shook with exhaustion, yet still caught up in the exhileration of seeing a much larger force flee before them.

The Equites broke out of the forest like a pack of ravenous lions and fell on the flank of the most forward Gauls, cutting off their retreat and smiteing their quest for escape.

Cut off, encirlced, without anyone to turn to for leadership, the Gauls succumbed to the gruesome reality of battle.

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Such a cruel fate for the remaining Gauls was met with a sigh of satisfaction from the Consul, who watched on impassive as the troops went about their bloody business, engrossed as he was in the minutiea of the endless reports that came flooding in from the tribunes, eager to please their commander...So many killed in this area, such and such leader captured and under guard, such and such section put to flight He nodded in thanks, never a man to be lavish in his praise, but the movement of his head and eyes made each man feel as if his work had been completed to satisfaction.

The end result was a forest and plain festooned with corpses and the dead and dying, the Romans who were too tired to pursue put to work by their commander issuing the coup de grace on those that begged an end to their suffering, only too willingly meted out by the still blood thirsty Legionaries.

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This war in the north was a savage one, and it would only end with the absolute subjection of those that had once freely roamed across the northern foothills. But that day for the tribal warriors was long gone. Goaded into action by the greed of Bolgios, the Gauls had awakened a Roman war machine that had been honed to perfection by years of fighting the Carthaginians, and it rolled over anything that stood in its path.

Rome, hungry for more land and more minions to encompass, was pressing ever northwards......

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This Epic song was taught to Roman children in the early 200's BC, along with tales of Alexander, Leonidas, Ulysses and other such noble characters, to build the martial spirit of Roman children. But it was also a warning.....

The Song of Casticos, from Samarabriva.

They stirred like beasts upon the northern slopes,
Barely clad, and fearsome in both name and creed,
The men of Gaul that haunted Rome since time immemorial,
The fight between us often struck for pride.

Of brave, the Gauls are many; the fearsome too
Do run amongst their numbers
The feeble minded oft crushed beneath a shield
But others, even still, do rise above and into legend
Screaming out the call of war, an axe in hand.

228, the year that is recounted,
The sun was hot, the lands ripe and full a’plenty
It was their time, both rise and fall, they tubled on towards us
For fame and riches, wealth they did come calling
Slaying each and every Roman they could find.

Casticos, he was their king, their hope
Of noble blood and courage unsurpassed
Fought in a duel, he gained a crown and kingdom
A solid pledge he gave to free his kind

Samarabriva! It was a tribe like no other
Such was the fame that spread in tale and song
Their warriors brave, their people quailed at no-one
Their lodges full of tribute from all and kind.

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They stood that day, the bravest left
Unconquered by all and feared in whisper,
Did took the field when all other tribes had fled.....
Such was their martial valour and skill

They saw the other tribes did fall beneath the Romans
They heeded not the fears and calls to leave.
Samarabrivii stood their ground, and waited in a meadow
Casting shame and guilt aside, they moved no more.

The Consul* came, his Legions strong and hardy
Their drums did beat the tempo for their march
And Casticos, bare shirted, skin tinted shades of brown
Stood valiantly in their path to bar their way

Oh what I sight he was, hair long and fine
His many scars told stories of his deeds
His people cheered him, they loved him like no other
For him and him alone that day would stand.

He spoke:

‘O Romans, step no further
For we are young, proud and mighty
The finest of all the Gauls you see before you.
We will not move, so go back whence you came from
The Samabrivii will not this day let you pass.’

The Consul too, came forwards at one breath
To parley, his cuirass glittered in the Sun
And shouting out brave words to Casticos, the mighty
Too, stood his ground and ventured this reply:

‘Brave Noble foe, King Casticos!
Your name does go before you
I come to treat today to spare your life
Oh noble foe, think long and hard or your people
For this day portents woe for those that stand

We come for peace, this land is ours,
‘tis you who need to leave,
By right and thanks to war we warn this day.
For if you stand, today will be your last one
The Gods will greet you, sure as sun means day.’

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Brave Casticos did laugh out loud, with such bravado
Cast back his head and shook in bold reply
‘This sword and I have come to escort you dear Roman,
‘tis you will greet the gods this very hour.’

Both armies drew their lines at midday,
The sun the back of Casticos was high,
With fearsome cry, they charged ahead, vainglorious and fearsome
To greet the Roman lines with sword and spear.

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Three times they charged, three times repulsed,
these mighty Gauls came on,
Each time, though pressed, the Romans stood
And slowly bled these valiant peoples dry.

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Try as they might, the Gauls were spent,
their shields and spear grew heavy,
Of best intentions and noble valour, they pressed ahead
each time to fall in number.

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The Sun did start to fall,
And the mighty on the field did join,
As one by one their number too did fell.
Thrown back by strength, they could not break
Roman sword and pilum killing one by one.

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At last, brave Casticos did speak,
Summoned what was left of his once noble tribe.
'Our time has come, prepare to meet our Gods!
Forefathers past, watch now how bravely we die.!'

In one last chance they came onwards,
By now the ranks were thin, the men all spent
But threw themselves into the battle, they did come on
To crash like waves against a stormy jagged coast.

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The Bravest of the Brave, young Castigos,
Came on, surrounded by his vassals,
The Consul raced head to join the fray,
Two men, no greater warriors did meet
Decide the battle they did, casting one aside.

Wounded, his arm now lost, Castigos did charge,
The sword once held so mightily now lost.
Called to the Consul, one last time he shouted
as those that were the last all they did fall.

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With Gasping breath, King Castigos spoke:

'Brave Roman, you stand victor,
The fight was fair and truly you have won,
But of you I beg this one last and desperate favour,
Please take this life that has no use for breath.!'

He raised his sword, Great Consul, understood
this noble Gallic clansman,
Saluting as he did, he brought it down,
In one fell swoop he took the head, Brave Castigos was no more


With that, that last and noblest Samarabrivii thus did fall.

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Of what was left, they tried to run,
To fight again some better day, they fled.
The Consul ordered on his minions, Pursue! fulfill this task! The hour is at hand!
Stop this war and the next, here and now this very day!

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Of what were left...we cannot say
For nothing heard of them was told since then.
But Gaul and Noble Roman child are taught remembrance
Of noble Castigo and his fearsome tribe.

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Such men as these are not to be spoke of lightly,
For such noble character is often lacking in our own,
And once beset upon, brave tribal warriors
The foolish often perish in their wake.

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Ne'er forget the lesson in this story,
For as we grow, such as this kind will come.
So train for war, become strong and mighty,
As noble as young Castigos who is no more.

*Gnaeus Scribonius Libo.

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Salve all,

and seasons greetings to you all.

For those of you who have enjoyed my story so far,
thank you for the support. There is still plenty of story left to go, and I hope you continue with me on this epic journey.

Sincerely,

Marcus Cornelius

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The Gods could not have wished such misfortune upon us.....

Prologue: All of a sudden, the world has turned, but this time intentionally against Rome. The Macedonians have taken all of Illyria and Thrace, these countries being sucked into a vortex from which there was no escape. The Gauls too continue to raid and pillage in Cisalpine Gaul, unwilling to submit to the power and might of Rome and her peoples.
In Iberia, the Roman embassage was shockingly turned away from their Tribal council, even as Rome extended her hand and friendship, taking that long and perilous journey to offer trade and wealth for both nations. Finally, a new leader now controls the strength and armies of Carthage, as Hannibal summons tribal warriors and mercenaries under his banner, to lead them in a grand adventure against the people of our burgeoning nation. Aa a boy, he swore never to extend the hand of friendship to the Romans, and to see to their ultimate demise.....

Then, suddenly, its seems as if the Gods have foresaken us...........The unthinkable has happened. Iberia, our ally and trading partner, has sent a large force of 40 to 50,000 men against us, landing by ship near Jenuensis and threatening our new aquisitions there.

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The augurs were consulted to confirm whether our actions had been in breach of our favour with the Gods, but the answer had come back:

Beware of a storm from the west...

The ever loyal and brave Pro-Consul Scribonius Libo was sent north to deal with the insurgents, crushing the first force under his hobnailed Caligae, and heading further west to root out the other. Possessed of a mind and talent that far surpasses his peers, he brushed aside their feeble attempts at entrance to the peninsula, catching the first army of 25,000 as it entered Etruria and ambushing them in a forest. In a terse but decisive battle, the army under the command of the tribal leader Gabirel was caught as in manouvered the narrow defile that gave entrance to the northern plains, and was barely given time to collect itself before it was crushed.

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As Libo marches west to deal with the other army, news came from Iberia that sent shivers down the spine of every Roman...Hannibal had ammassed an army of some 50,000 warriors and had begun moves to ship them east....

Meanwhile, the last Illyrian settlement has fallen to the might of Macedon.....

The year is 221BC.

Hemmed in from every direction by enemies, Rome and its people brace themselves for war......

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Cobos ran, as fast as his tired and shaking legs could carry him, ignoring the huge gash that ran down the side of his leg, bleeding profusely at every step. Still holding the banner, he ran back to the rallying point in the folorn hope that someone had survived the gruelling ordeal that very same morning.

He made his way as swiftly as he could to the trees that bordered the plain, hearing the other men that ran with him be cut down one by one by the relentless Roman cavalry. Playing dead more than once, he thanked the gods for sparing him from an even worse death, being crushed beneath the flying hooves of the roman steeds.

Cobos made it to the trees' welcome cover, and dove for a thick clump of bushes that provided him with both a hiding place and an impenetrable barrier from the horsemen, who were still rounding up what was left of the Iberian army, and slaughtering them where they stood. E Gods! why did we march so far to come to this end? These romans did not even consider surrender....

Ripping a strip from his blood spattered shirt, he bound his leg as best he could, and waited till the horsemen moved on, where he made his way deeper into the forest and back towards the old camp, where the captains of their ships were waiting. Having lost far too much blood, rested against the trees as often as he could, and limped on steadily, through the thick canopy and over towards where he knew the river and the old camp lay. All he could think of as he moved painfully along was the number of his kinsmen that would never get to see their home again.....

Morning

Libo had awoke, the smell of the fresh bread permeating the camp and reminding him that he and his men had not had a really decent meal in weeks, subsisting on loaves baked from meal kindly donated by the local inhabitants, who knew the lesser of two evils when they saw them, and had secreted their grain away from the path of the invading Iberians.

He grabbed the clean tunic that had been laid out for him by his attendant, Fiscus, and made his way to the icy cold buckets of water that had greeted him every morning since they had marched north. He preferred it cold, and his attendants and other officers winced at the though of such frugal ablutions, but the word had spread around the camp, adding only to his already lofty appraisal in the eyes of the troops.

Ex-Consul, now Proconsular in office, he had acquired quite a following of scribes, priests and other such hangers on in his long years of command, and a few months back he had cleared the deck, sending them all off packing except for for Silo, the old Greek, who he just could not part with, regardless of the old man's age and frailty.

Dressed, he quickly ate one of the fresh buns and gruel that had been laid out for him, and waited for the reports that would tell him what he basically already knew: that the Iberians were larger than his own force, that they stayed close to the foot of the valley, and that they waited uphill from his line of march in the hopes of outmanouvering his force in the field.

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The army worked well, and the Consul was smart enough to let his junior officers do their work in peace without his interference, for the very reason that his trust in their actions belayed a confidence in their ability, and endless cycle that made veterans even more potent in the field. And so the army was on its way after about an hours lull, the gates to the camp swinging open and letting the men march out, section by section, in their order that had basically been the same when they fought together in North Africa, not so many moons ago. And so he marched out last of all, to see the army drawn up as usual, sitting on top of a small rise aptly chosen by Fulfius, awaiting the arrival of the Iberian army, which scouts said was already on its way.....

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The Iberians marched down from the higher slope, hugging the heights and trying to circle around the drawn up Roman lines, which remained unmoving. They came on down, off the heights and into the morning sun, the mist that had gripped the base of the mountain revealing their bizzarre earth brown tones against the backdrop of verdant green, an odd mix and another reason why they should not be left to roam the countryside freely: they were aliens to this land. More than that, they had invaded Roman sovereign territory, albeit new territory at that. But once Rome had claimed a land for herself, she would stake life and limb on that very same earth......

He saw his opposite number swing his cavalry left, away from the main body of foot, and Libo sheperded his own that way in response, and the two bodies of horse stood dangerously close to one another, trying to size up their opponents. Sure in the safety of numbers, the Iberian General ordered their withdrawal, so as to take up a position where he could protect both flanks, placing his sizeable force of 3000 horsemen behind his main line. The fearsome number swung around to their left, and moved in one huge and unwieldy mass back towards the rear.

Libo struck.

Driving his feet into the sides of his steed, he was already a good thirty feet in front of the other horsemen before they knew what had happened, and the entire force of Equites surged forwards, chasing the rear of their General's horse as he raced on ahead, sword in the air. The drawn up army watched on as their commander made a bee-line for the withdrawing enemy, some of whom had glanced back over their shoulders to see what the Roman army was roaring about.

Was it bravery, foolhardiness, or sheer martial spirit?

The obviously unprotected commander raced onwards, to the hearty cheers of the troops that new him so well, now too chasing him forwards as one, their feet thundering on the hard packed earth as they ran......

Libo and the Roman horsemen slammed into the side of the Iberian horse, and sliced into them like an angry storm..........

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Cobos made his way as best he could towards the camp, stopping only briefly at one of the larger river crossings that was now guarded by the Roman patrols, and choosing instead to cross further downstream where the river was narrow but the banks were steep.

Exhausted by now, he waited long enough for the dry meat that had been wrapped inside his leather satchel to soak from its exposure in the water, and crawled up the bank, where he hid under a large overhang, providing him again with a hiding spot and refuge.
Chewing the meat well, he waited till nightfall, using the hours to rest, albeit alertly, and giving the rough sustenance time enough to bring back some of his sapped strength. His leg ached, the wound now congealed, but not relenting in its throbbing pain.
He heard no other movement that evening and saw no other Iberians come that way, but Cobos felt for sure that some others must have survived, and would rally at the camp, if for no other reason than to organize the long journey home. Waiting till the moon was at its zenith, he made the last few miles under its bright light, and came upon the camp just as the night started to pale towards morning…. And saw that it was in the hands of the Romans……..

Noon, the day before.

The front line had already moved up to engage the enemy, as the mass and tangle of the two cavalry forces struggled to gain purchase upon one another. Libo and the horsemen were literally cutting the Iberian horse into two, causing them to ignore all the frantic commands that the Iberian commander could breathlessly demand.

The army was following the pre-conceived battle plans, the two rear lines of Principes and Triarii branching left, and slowly wrapping themselves around the outermost edge of the Iberian right, which was pinned into place by their action.

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Horsemen fell on both sides, the heavily outnumbered Romans putting paid to an Iberian advantage of numbers by continuing to press through and separate the larger Devotio into smaller and more easily attacked numbers. Used to fighting as one massive body, and separate from blood kin, the fight went out of the horsemen, who chose instead to flee the scene in order to gain time to regroup.
But the Goddess Fortuna was not amongst the Iberians that day…….

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Reinforcements arrived for the Devotio horsemen, but moments too late, as the larger part of their number had already given up the fight, and were streaming raggedly towards the old camp, some seven miles off. The army was stuck, with the now free Roman horse threatening their left, and the rear lines of Principes and Triarii now threatening their right and rear. Sending a small squadron of horse out to give chase to the Iberian commander, Libo swung the rest of the Equites around and rested, surveying the scene…..

The Centurion Scribonius was leading an attack on the right flank of the Iberian foot, who were being steadily pushed back under weight of pilum and shield. The sheer ferocity of the Roman advance and counter attack caught the Iberians by surprise, and they were unable to take advantage of both their superior numbers and swiftness of manoeuvrability.

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Scribonius walked ominously behind his Hastati, who ran ahead and cut their way diagonally into the enemy formation, each legionary cutting his way step by step into the formation, and stepping into the enemy’s place, disrupting the enemy line and causing the rear ranks to start to waver…….

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The Proconsul called the attack, and the Equites swung back into action, right into the rear of the enemy line at full tilt…...

The Iberian force lost all sense of cohesion, and broke down into individual units fighting for their very survival.....

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The only symbol of organization was the commander's banner, and regardless of the fact that he had already fled the field, his troops rallied to its standard, whose bearer was anxiously to find any opportunity to escape. Libo signalled to Fulfius- cut that man down. The man fell, impaled on a Roman lance and transfixed into the ground, kneeling, still holding the banner tightly in his hands.....

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The entire mass of the Roman army pressed forwards from every direction, ruuning over the bodies of the already fallen Iberians as if they were mere rocks in a field, so numerous were the bodies. And as the sun broke through the mist, driving it from the sky for good, all that could be seen were the organized colums of Romans running down what was left of the great invasion force......

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Libo eventually called a stop to the pursuit, sending on the horse instead, half to find the enemy camp and secure all provisions, the other to round up what was left of the enemy. The exhausted army pulled up back at their original position, and waited for their commander to address them, many troops being awarded on the spot for bravery........

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The Accursed.

Cobos did his best to head for the coast, but was spotted by some roman farmers as he crossed a large plain. Doing his best to run and make it to the rendevue, he ran as fast as he could, knowing that if the romans caught him, he was as good as dead. All the cavalry did was catch him, tie him to the back of one of the horses, and drag him to the nearest settlement, whose citizens were none too please to see his sorry state. Fulfius leaned over to the town headman, and gave them custody of the Iberian, saying over his shoulder as he rode away that they could deal with him as they wished. Tied to a pole in the middle of a town square, the women of the city were given the task of punishment, an order they relished having suffered the barbarous acts of the invading army as it had passed through......

Fulfius, some miles distant, fancied he could hear the piercing screams of the tortured prisoner as he crossed the pass into the next valley, but looking up above him he saw it was in fact the cry of a single Eagle, that soared above and shadowed the Roman horsemen as they returned to camp.

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This is the king of ALL AAR's, really. Took me an nice 7-8 hours to read it all, beginning late yesterday. And I must say that you have potencial (spelling plx) to become an writer.

Now to the rant =P

You should cut back on the screenies that took very big space in the last parts, and you should focus more on character development and stuff like that, instead of the actual battles. More interesting to read than battle tactic ^^.

Just my 0.02 cents

Ave Paxdax,

Thanks for your comments. The writing idea is one that I am seriously considering at the moment, and I take your point regarding screenies. Actually, these chapters were written some time ago, and I have since changed my style somewhat. I hope you will be pleasantly surprised in the later chapters.

Writing things as a book requires much more character development, and a lot more time too!

Salve,
MCM

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The year is 218, and Hannibal has done the impossible, by marching overland fron Iberia and crossing the Alps into Italia. Sacking every Roman town that crosses his path, he crushes every Roman force in his way, inexorably heading south towards Rome.

Scribonius Libo and a brave young General called Decimus Porcius Cato hastily assemble a Roman army and head north to intercept......

The Second Punic War has begun.

The time has come to test Rome's power against the army of a master.

Prepare for battle.........