Stories Thread

[everyone]

a few weeks later, the infantry unit arrives at the fort of Legio I Apulia, commanded by Legatus Cnaevs Cornelivs Scipio Asina, early in the winter's morning

throughout the whole morning, the yelling of Drillmaster Manivs were heard throughout the fort, drilling the men into shape, so that they would not rot into ennui from months of sitting around in the fort, buried in the snow of the winter.

A young man was seen travelling from the tent of Legatus Asina's deputy, Tribunus Cotta, to the Legate's tent and back. a few moments after the man returned to Tribunus Cotta's tent, Legatus Asina walked out of his Commander's tent while seemingly deep in thought. the soldiers halted their actions, and the fort was suddenly silent, without the yelling of Drillmaster Manivs and the men.
Asina abruptly stopped and tilted his head up, and surveyed his surroundings, the men were all staring at him, as if awaiting orders.
"eh? oh. carry on what you were doing, never mind about me."

The soldiers were still silent, only until Drillmaster Manivs yelled "right! form up you lot, we'll now be having some combat drills!" did the soldiers proceed with what they were doing.

Legatus Asina continued strolling towards the Tribunus' tent and entered it. what transpired in there was unknown, however it must have been something good because the Legate was seen chuckling to himself while on the way back to his tent, though the cold weather was getting harsher.

The lunch bell finally rang and the men who have been training in the cold winter immediately dropped their weapons and dashed towards the cookhouse with a newfound energy.

[/Bean\]

Tribunus Cotta exits his tent moments after the Legatus, and calls after him

"Legatus, why are the men training in winter?"

While everyone else looks on, mystified at this seemingly inside joke, Legatus Asina and Tribunus Cotta share a smile

[/Bean\]

Just as a warning disclaimer, there is a slight use of language in this story. I believe this works as the story is taken from the frontline of war, a place where foul language was a common sound. I have kept it to a minimum, but if you seriously offended let me know. Where it is in use, I assure you I have thought about its use and whether it is neccessary, and I believe it echoes the feel of the frontline, making the experience more enjoyable.
Thank you.

The Frontline: Personal account of the Battle for Tarentum-Caivs Avrelivs Cotta, senior Tribune Legio I Apulia

Legio I Apulia Fort-Aprilis 482 A.U.C
“Move out! First Cohort, forward march!” The booming voice of the Senior Centurion bellowed out across the fort, as the heavy wooden gates began to swing open, pulled by invisible hands. The heavy tramp of boots kicked up a cloud of dust and a thundering monotone of audio vibrated through the earth as the head of the Legio I Apulia began its long march to the walls of Tarentum.
The dust and the noise affected my horse, and she whinnied softly under my legs, until I calmly patted her neck and held tightly onto the reins. My horse quietened down, and nuzzled her head into her companions’ beside her. Sat astride this white steed was my commanding officer and general of the legion, Cnaevs Cornelivs Scipio Asina. A hard and stubborn man, he was at many times difficult to get along with, especially with habit of pointing out weaknesses and faults in my fellows’ personality and actions. However, the Legatus was also a forgiving and honourable man who had shown me immense kindness and decency, though he would never admit it to anyone’s face. At the tender age of just seventeen, and with no father and no military experience, he had recognised my potential skill in leading men and applying strategy-not to mention the keen hand I had evolved in swordplay. Despite many arguments and insults, he had made me his senior Tribune in the Legion; effectively placing me as second in command of five thousand troops. I owed him a lot.
“So, Tribune. How does it feel to watch our soldiers march to victory? It will be a site you will soon be accustomed to, I think.” I kept my eyes on the passing legionaries, my hands on the reins.
“You seem so sure of a great victory, General. How can that these recruits can best an army of blooded Tarentines?” Asina glanced across at me, one eyebrow raised.
“You seem to have your opinions of the forces at work the wrong way round, Tribune. A force of recruits, indeed. Blooded veterans? These are trained soldiers of Rome, with months of training by the best officers our country can provide. And by you, of course.” A grin adorned his face and the other Tribunes around us chuckled. I knew better than to respond to that. “Atop that, they face not an enemy blooded by war with experience of every hell this earth has to offer, but a small core of part time soldiers, intermixed with old men and young boys, who have never before heard or seen the horrors of war. We only have one, on the other hand.” Again the tribunes smiled at the blatant insult, but once more I chose to ignore it. I gritted my teeth, my hold tightened on the reins. My horse sensed my anger, and was restless beneath me, until I brought her back to a standstill.
Asina grinned, as the last few men of the First Cohort marched past them. He motioned to those around him, as the group readied to set off. “Shall we, Tribune Cotta?” He motioned with his hand, and with forced enthusiasm I smiled.
“Please, Legatus, after you. I insist.” A short bark of laughter burst from the general’s mouth, before he dug his heels into his mount, as he and the rest of the colour party trotted out after the already distant men of the Legion’s First Cohort. I scowled at the Legatus’ remarks. It did no good to undermine my authority over the other tribunes, though at least I had avoided making myself sound young and spoilt. However, I knew I would not receive any respect from these bigoted aristocrats until I had proved my worth in battle. This, I vowed as I grabbed the reins of my horse, would be accomplished in the upcoming battle. I dug in my heels, and galloped through the gate to catch up to the Legatus, leaving behind the heavy tramp of feet as the Legion began to march.

“Open the gates! Open the gates! Officer of the watch, report to the gate on the double.” I heard the call, and adorned my crested helmet, before marching smartly out of the tower where I had taken a few moments to relive myself. As I walked out, the bright sunlight pierced my eyes as I squinted in an attempt to minimise the discomfort. Ahead was the main gate of the hastily erected, yet strongly constructed, marching camp of the Legio I Apulia.
Set upon a small hill, it overlooked the urban centre of Tarentum about three miles distant, across the flat, rolling plains that preceded the port city to the north, interspersed by the odd copse and a small lake. The long road ran adjacent to the fort, across the plains, and ran between the lake and sea all the way to Tarentum. It was the only road in and out of the city.
The gates were being swung open as I doubled my step, rushing to meet the camp Prefect. Although I was officially the second in command of the entire legion, that was on paper only. The camp Prefect would always be the most veteran soldier in the Legion, with a highly distinguished career, and received the utmost respect of every soul that followed the Legion, including the general. Upon the Legatus’ absence, the Prefect would basically be in charge until his return, or, upon news of his death, would solely elect the next officer to take temporary command, until a new general was billeted. The Legio I Apulia was no exception. Prefect Cato was a veteran of some twenty seven years with the legions, and had lived through some of the most horrific wars our Republic had yet seen.
As I approached, I unconsciously straightened my back and raised my head, trying to emit an aura of confidence and authority. However this turned harder and harder as I approached the figure of Prefect Cato, and I trembled slightly as he caught site of me. My heart beat faster as I worked to contain a sense of order and fearlessness. In truth I was scared of him. Who wouldn’t be? He could kill you with his bare hands in two seconds flat, or snap you like a twig if you so much as looked at him funny.
“Nice of you to join us at last, Tribune Cotta. Perhaps next time you can have a quickie in the corner when it’s not your turn on watch.” The soldiers within earshot could barely suppress their grins and sniggers, and my cheeks burned with humiliation.
“I don’t know. The youth of today. They just can’t keep their little soldiers in line for more than five minutes without making them stand tall.” That made one of the guards spurt a small snort of laughter out of his nose before he could control himself. Prefect Cato looked over, amused.
“Do you find this funny, Flaccus?” Cato enquired, marching smartly over. The guard snapped instantly to attention, all trace of laughter gone from him lips. Cato stood in front of him, eyes looking him over. Then he turned his gaze back to me.
“Tribune, this man has insulted you-a superior officer. This requires discipline.” I couldn’t believe it. What worse act could the Prefect order for me to do? I knew I had to do it. Refusing would ruin any chance I had to earn respect in his eyes, and that would be exactly what he wanted. Yet I could not be too harsh on this soldier when it was not his fault I felt this shame. “Tribune! This man needs punishing at once!” Cato was clearly enjoying this. I marched over to the soldier, hands behind my back. He kept his eyes staring straight ahead over my shoulder. I could not think what to do. I could see Cato out of the corner of my eye, sniggering. I knew I had to do something.
“Name and rank, soldier,” I said at last.
“Titus Flavius Albus. Second Hastati of the Third Cohort, sir,” he answered at once. Although he was a new recruit, fresh into the army following the defeat of Pyrrhus several years earlier, this man had obviously proved a reasonably good soldier to stand in the second line. Wrong to exile him from the army then. However, too light a punishment would undermine my authority. I realised this was a good chance to show what kind of officer I was.
“Titus Flavius Albus. You are hereby sentenced to three weeks of latrine duty and you will receive half of your promised spoils from Tarentum.” I could tell the soldier was shocked, and for an instant his mouth opened in a small ‘o’, before he clamped it shut again. Noticing this, I decided to add a small amount to his punishment. “And you’ll be spending the first week using your mouth to clean out those latrines, Albus. Maybe with everyone else’s crap in your mouth you won’t have enough space to spout your own.” His mouth twitched slightly, before he realised he could let his punishment get any worse.
Behind me, Prefect Cato roared with laughter.
“Haha, that’s more like it, lad. Showing a little backbone now, aren’t you. Alright, let’s get ready to receive the scouts. Oh, and as for you, Albus. Run along. Forget the punishment, you got lucky this time. Come on, Tribune.” But I stayed where I was.
“Prefect, I have given this man an order; and a punishment at that. He will serve his time.” Cato turned, an eyebrow raised.
“Oh, come off it, Cotta. He didn’t do anything. He laughed, that’s all, at a joke. And unless you want to punish the scallywag that made that joke...” he smiled. We both knew I could never uphold that. But I was adamant that I had to show my authority.
“That does not matter, Prefect. I have given this man a punishment. He will serve it. I am the commanding officer; this is my watch, and my legionary. If you have a problem with me disciplining him, perhaps you would like to take this to the Legatus?”
“You called, Tribune Cotta?” I snapped to attention as Legatus Asina arrived at the gate, though my eyes did not leave Prefect Cato. Cato held my gaze, before slowly nodding, also saluting the general. “Anything to say, have we, gentlemen?” Asina looked between us both.
“No sir. I was just punishing this legionary for some lip. Prefect Cato was just checking in to oversee the return of the scouts.” Legatus Asina looked between us both.
“Is that true, Prefect?” Cato held my gaze for a while longer, before nodding.
“Yes sir. That’s about the gist of it.”
“Good,” Asina continued. “But that had better be it. I’ll have no bad blood between you two, if not for yourselves than for the safety of the legion. Now, shake hands gentlemen.” Although it was a childish thing to do, I agreed with the general’s motive. I offered my hand to the Prefect. He looked at it, and me, before grinning, and clutched my forearm in a tight grip. He nodded to me, and I felt I had gained a small measure of respect from this man.
“Now then,” the Legatus spoke again, “Can we at last see to these scouts? We must find out what’s happening.” We could hear the hooves now, and a moment later the two scouts slowed to enter the camp. As they dismounted, one took the reins of both horses, while the other headed towards our little party, saluting smartly yet rather tiredly before us.
“Tell us, Lucius. What news of the enemy?” Asina enquired. The scout, Lucius, began to make his report.
“General, the Tarentines have ordered their entire army to assemble and report to the city. From what we could gather, it comprises of a small core of full time hoplite foot soldiers and a company of elite skirmish cavalry. Other than that, their force is a mixture of levied footmen and skirmishes. Most of their full time soldiers were killed during the first Tarentine war, and they have been forced drag farmers and shopkeepers into their army.
Most of their forces have now gathered inside the city walls, but they are ill-supplied to withstand a siege. Although we failed to take the city before, we did raze the high walls that protected them. Now these walls are smaller and far weaker, and would not last long against an assault. It is most likely they will look to engage us on the plains.” The scout paused. Asina took a moment to absorb this information, before he again questioned the scout.
“How soon can they move out of the city?” The scout answered with little pause.
“It would most likely take them an hour or more to assemble. Their army is weak and disorganised, poorly equipped and untrained. There are more levies drifting in all the time from the surrounding villages and farms.” This attracted the Legatus’ attention.
“In how many numbers? Large groups? A few men at a time?”
“Usually they will assemble somewhere, and then march towards the city in a unit, sir. It gives the impression of strength and cohesion to the people, though I suspect they easily see through this ruse.” Asina nodded slowly, turning to think. Already, an idea had formed in my mind.
“That’s how we draw them out,” Asina said. I realised he had been thinking the same as I.
“An ambush on these units of levies,” I finished. Asina turned to look at me, nodding in agreement. Prefect Cato looked at me in mild surprise, before he too nodded. Asina continued.
“We’ll draw these units near; then we’ll deploy the legion and let them raise the alarm. The rest of the army will arrive from the city and we will destroy them through brute strength.” I spoke in agreement, as did the Prefect. “Good. Lucius, tell your riders to inform me of any approaching unit of levies immediately.” The scout saluted, and remounted his horse. Together with his companion, they galloped away from the camp.
Legatus Asina watched them leave, before turning to us.
“If we’re lucky, we can finish off this army and take the city without having to resolve to a lengthy and costly siege, and the risk of Epirite intervention. A rabble of farmers will not withstand the might of the Legions at any rate.” The Legatus turned to me. “Tribune, I leave you to assemble the men. We must make ready to march as soon as one of these units arrives. We’ll leave one cohort here to protect the camp. I leave the designation to you.” I had just the cohort in mind, actually. Asina continued. “Prefect Cato, you will take charge of the camp while we are absent. If all goes well, I will call for you to take the First Cohort in to secure the surrender of the city.” Cato nodded. Just as the Legatus was turning away, we heard the gallop of hoof beats. I shouted up to the tower.
“Lookout, report.” The answer was fairly swift.
“The scouts return, sir. Lucius and his mate.” I looked questioningly at the Legatus, but he held the same expression.
“Open the gates!” I called. Lucius galloped through, not bothering to dismount as he hurriedly saluted the general.
“Spit it out, man!” Asina called.
“Sir, scouts report a unit of infantryman moving across the plains towards the city. Exactly what we’re looking for, sir.” Asina smiled.
“Thank you, Lucius.” He turned to me. “Sound the call-to-arms, Tribune. We march now. Send out the Equites to slow them down. Leave one cohort here, and march the rest down to the plains now.”
“Yes, sir!” I saluted, and trotted off to find the trumpet bearer. I signalled to him to sound the call-to-arms, and the shrill brass notes of the trumpet soon sounded over the camp, as all over the camp men struggled into armour and grabbed their weapons, before responding to the harsh calls of the centurions to get to the Parade Square on the double. After joining the Legatus here, I cast my eye over the assembled Legion. It was a fine site. Untested, many of them may be. But they made a fine show of strength and order.
Legatus Asina stepped to the front of the men, and raised his voice over their heads.
“Soldiers of Rome! I stand here before you today as nothing but a man. Though maybe of higher rank, of a different class, more wealth and a seat in the Senate, I am but a man, like each of you here today. All men die, their possessions in this world prove to be meagre and worthless at the end. We are not remembered for what we own, not for how long we lived or how many drinks we can handle before falling under the table. Men are remembered for the deeds they perform, actions they accomplish, honour they have gained in their short spells upon this earth.
“Today, we have a chance to prove that. Today, we march to defeat an enemy of the Republic, and a collaborator in our country. We march to avenge the wrongs done, the brave lives lost to Greek swords and spears. Today, you have a chance to set your names into history itself!” A great cheer followed the general’s speech, as swords and spears were raised into the air in celebration. Asina beheld their cheers for a moment longer, before he nodded to me to take the platform. I took his place, while he mounted his white steed. I called out to the assembled masses, now that the cheers had died down.
“Infantry and skirmish cohorts will double march to the plains and assemble before the city. The Equites will ride out now to harass the enemy. The Third Cohort will remain in their positions to guard the camp. Move out!” The assembled legion rippled as each cohort moved to follow orders, and I saw the gates open to allow the horsemen of the Equites stream out down the hillside.
Satisfied, I joined the Legatus and the rest of the colour party, mounted and ready to lead the army out. Asina was going through the battle strategy one more time.
“...in this formation. We will envelop the infantry from all sides, and cause them to flee or surrender. This fight will be short and bloody, gentlemen. Prepare for it.” I mounted my horse, as the First Cohort began to trot out of the gate. Our horses fell in behind, and I looked over to Asina.
“General, do we plan to get involved in this fight?” He looked over, amused.
“Yes, Tribune. It’s been too long since we’ve seen some action. I can’t wait to wet my sword.” He chuckled. “Your first military encounter, Tribune? You’ll get through it, don’t you worry. Just keep a tight grip on your sword, and keep control of your men. You’ll sail through it.” I nodded, but inside I was squirming. I had no idea at the time of the horrors of war, I had not yet killed a man, had not stared death in the face. I hoped I could uphold my promise to my father and to myself, to not dishonour my name or my family by running, to serve well the Senate and People of Rome.
We exited the camp at a trot, and faced the slope towards the plains. I could see the darting forms of the Equites, swarming round a block of infantry attempting to reach the distant walls of the city. And in the distance, I could see the first flashes on sunlight on polished metal, as the army of Tarentum began to assemble before the city walls. I clutched tightly onto the reins, and whispered a quick prayer to the Gods. Today was going to be bloody.


I heard the shill blast of the trumpet from the Legatus’ position on the left wing, as his horsemen began to overtake the infantry line. There was the signal for us to advance as well. I signalled to my fellows around me, as we dug our heels into our mounts’ ribs and began to gallop. Ahead, the Second Cohort was engaging the unit of levied infantry that we had spotted from the camp, and drawing closer all the time were the forces of Tarentum. It was clear we needed to deal with these and reform the line before the main Tarentine army arrived. Already we could see the skirmishing cavalry begin to break away from the infantry in an attempt to perhaps rescue their stricken companions.
As the enemy levies desperately attempted to form a close packed phalanx, the Second Cohort swarmed around them, darting their short swords in and out from behind their tall shields, dodging the long sharp spear heads of the enemy. Although this tactic was never going to break the enemy, it did not need to on its own. As the enemy infantry focused their attention on the Second Cohort, our cavalry regiments would encircle them from behind.
My body was taught with tension; this was it. I was about to enter into the fighting. As we cantered past the fighting infantry, I watched as one of the Hastati failed to duck behind his shield in time. An enemy spear caught him on the chin, and pierced his jaw. Blood spurted, covering his shocked face, twisted in pain, before it was quickly withdrawn, and the man dropped to the ground. Closer, I saw one of the levy infantry drop his shield and turn to flee. However, he got no more than half a pace before the sharp swords of the Hastati punctured his back in several places, and he fell, coughing bloody phlegm. The screams of the wounded, mixed with the dull thud of the shields and the sharp ring of metal on metal pierced my ears, and my heart beat with anxiety and panic. My horse felt the tension, and stiffened in response. I forced myself to relax; if the men around me saw me waver, they would never follow me again. I knew they were testing me, my first taste of combat, to see if I would fight or run. I vowed to never show any weakness, but to lead these men to glory.
The rest of our legion marched across the plain in a rather disorderly fashion, fuelled as they were by the promise of battle. The Legatus’ cavalry had almost reached its position; it was time. I signalled to our trumpet bearer, and drew my long cavalry sword. A harsh cry of the trumpet, and my sword glittered in the sunlight as I brought it up high into the air. My horseman wheeled around, armed with spears and cavalry swords, and let out a great cheer, as they thundered towards the unprotected rear of the enemy phalanx.
My heart pounded against my chest as I led the charge. My horse snorted beneath me, and I levelled my sword tip, aiming for a glinting helmet. Hearing the charge, the men to the rear of the phalanx glanced around, and almost fell to their knees in horror, as our cavalry thundered towards them. The one I had targeted let out a cry of warning to his comrades, and some managed to turn their shields and spears around to face us. But then we were upon them.
Like a giant wave of water from the sea set loose by Neptune on a small coastal village, so our cavalry smashed their way into the enemy ranks, the horses crashing mercilessly into the unprepared ranks of soldiers. As I reached the enemy line, my lips produced a powerful roar, straight from the pit of my stomach. I brought my long sword crashing down over the soldier’s head, splitting his skull in two, as he desperately attempted to cover his body with his bowl shaped shield. A burst of hot blood splattered horrifically across the neck of my horse, and my face felt warm and wet. Spears snapped and shields splintered as our horsemen ploughed through the rear of the enemy phalanx.
So great was the momentum of our initial charge, the Hastati of the Second Cohort to the enemy’s front pulled back, as line upon line of their foes fell face first upon the grass, toppled by the ranks behind. Momentarily relieved of the pressure to their front, the enemy phalanx began to bring their long spears to bear on our exposed cavalry, who, having the lost the momentum of the charge, now fought stationary from horseback amidst the round shields and darting spears of the enemy.
I realised the danger we were in, and looked round wildly for the trumpet bearer. I saw him, some way behind me, and attempted to grab his attention. Suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, a crested helmet and a patterned shield loomed up on my left. My horse rears up, as I struggle to maintain my position on its back, desperately clutching onto the saddle horns. My sword slips from my grasp, and I topple from my horse. I landed heavily, the breath knocked out of me. All around, greaved legs and horse’s hoofs crush the ground, trampling everything underfoot. I see the handle of my sword, and crawl painfully to reach it. As my fingers scratch the hilt, the warrior who had so startled my horse towers above me, and I just have time to wrap my fingers around my sword as the sharpened point of the spear descends towards my throat. Rolling athletically to the side, I dodge the spear, but it does pierce my cloak, pinning me to the ground. A roar of triumph erupts from my foe’s throat, as he lifts his shield, intending to smash the edge into my body. Desperately I wriggle in an attempt to free myself, but, remembering my sword, I hurriedly bring it to bear over my body. I knew at once it was pointless attempting to deflect the shield, so I laid it flat below the descending shield. Just in time. The rim of the shield smashed down onto my thigh, and would pierce the skin, possibly to the bone, had it not connected with the flat blade of my sword. I could feel the massive force behind the blow, and my leg felt as if it had just been struck with a blacksmith’s hammer. However, it still worked, and with a snarl of fury I kicked upwards, and my sandal connected heavily with my assailants’ lower spine. He stumbled; the momentum of his attack and my retaliation hitching him forward. I lifted my sword, swinging it round towards his legs. He saw it just in time, and managed to block it with his shield. The dull clang of sword on shield rang through my ears, but for now I at least had secured a moments respite. His spear still pinned my cloak to the floor, so I hurriedly ripped the clasp from around my shoulder, picking myself up from the floor. My damaged leg was numb, but I gritted my teeth against the pain, readying my sword.
My opponent had recovered, and now lifted his spear. Covering himself with his shield, he advanced towards me, a menacing grin spilling through his helmet. With no shield of my own, and armed only with a sword, I felt horridly exposed. However, I had practiced many long hours in swordsmanship and combat, and had quickly grown a reputation within the legion. I knew my business. As he drew nearer, I crouched low, sword at the ready. His spear licked out, and I parried it away. However his shield smashed into my body and I fell sprawling to the ground, dazed. He loomed over me, his long spear ready to pierce my heart.
Desperately, I looked around. A dead legionary lay next to me, his tall shield covering his body. I reached an arm, and wrenched it over to cover my own. The spear penetrated the heavy shield, catching me on the arm, causing a sharp sting of pain. However, the spear was stuck in the shield, and I lifted it up over my head, thrusting my sword out as I did so. My opponent swung his own shield around to stop the blow, but accompanied with the pull on this spear and the forward thrust of his shield he toppled forward, over my head. I leapt back up to my feet, in time to meet my enemy before he could recover his weapon. I charged him with a blood fuelled yell, and smashed my sword against his shield. Again and again I brought my sword crashing down, and each time his response grew weaker, as the shock of the sword sent ripples of pain through his shield arm. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and his shield slipped from his grasp. Sensing my victory, I charged once more, but stumbled on a strewn out corpse.
I fell heavily, my sword flying from my grasp. Winded, I struggled to get up, before a fist flew out of nowhere and struck me heavily in the chest. Time after time the fists connected with my battered body, sending waves of pain through me entire structure. I attempted to ward off the blows, but it was useless against such an onslaught. Finally, a blow landed heavily on my chin, and I fell backwards onto the grass.
My assailant towered above me. He removed his helmet, revealing a blooded face and long sweat-matted hair. He looked about thirty, with huge muscular arms and a broad chest. I felt minute beneath him.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he spat, a gleam of murder in his eyes. He drew a short dagger from his waist, and stood poised to strike it down upon me. There was nothing I could do. I closed my eyes, and waited for the sharp pain of death. But it never came. Risking a glance, I opened one eye, just in time to see a powerful white horse looming above me, and a long sword come slicing down to smash open my opponent’s face. I looked up, recognising my trumpet bearer, who held the reins of my horse in one hand, his bloody sword in the other. His trumpet dangled from his belt.
“Are you alright, Tribune?” he called down to me. I rose, and spat a bloody tooth to the floor. “We must pull out, sir. Our horsemen will be annihilated if we stay. I nodded in agreement, as I swung myself painfully into the saddle of my horse, and took the reins.
“Call the retreat,” I ordered my companion. He nodded, raising his instrument to his lips. The sharp triple call of the retreat rang through the constant din of battle, as our remaining cavalry turned and forced their way through the mass of spearmen.
I dug my heels into the side of my horse, and we ploughed our way through the press of bodies, sending those who refused to part the way sprawling onto the blood soaked floor, or crushed under the pounding hooves and trampling feet of those around them. As we passed the point where I had felled my opponent, I spotted my sword sticking straight up from the ground. Adjusting my position, I leant sideways out of the saddle, snatching the hilt as we rode past. Once more armed and mounted, my crested helmet still adorning my head, I rode out of the immediate danger. As the last of our horsemen departed, the Hastati of the Second Cohort charged once more, surprising the exhausted and confused phalanx.
I reached the rest of my men as they halted about two hundred yards behind the enemy infantry. There were several missing from the ranks of blood soaked and sweat-matted soldiers and horses before me, but those who remained sat tall in their saddles, panting huge clouds of condensation into the air. Steams of sweat rose from the horses, as they shuffled their hooves and shook their heads; their riders kept them under control.
Looking over the heads of my men, I saw the approaching forces of Tarentum, still a couple of miles off. The cavalry was ranging ahead, and would reach us within minutes. We had to deal with the threat quickly. Our infantry was still in disorder across the plain; their marching orders forgotten amongst the excitement of their first engagement. Only the more experienced and older soldiers of the First Cohort marched in complete order towards the position that had been allocated to them on the plain. Their job would be to engage the more professional soldiers of the enemy; the hoplites.
Over my shoulder, I heard the sharp trill of the charge, and turned just in time to watch the Legatus’ cavalry plough into the flank of the enemy phalanx. Screams of the injured and dying men reached my ears, and I saw the lines of spearmen buckle and shift. I knew what I had to do.
“Sound the charge!” I yelled to the trumpeter. Spears were lowered and swords were raised once more, as our call to charge echoed across the plain. We pushed our tired horses forwards across the open ground, dashing towards the enemy formation in one last attempt to break them. It was almost unnecessary. As soon as the few remaining men of the levied phalanx once more heard the trumpet call, they threw down their dented shields and shattered spears. In their bloodlust, several of the Hastati and cavalry skewered the surrendered, before order was restored. I raised my hand, and my cavalry slowed to a trot, until we arrived at the scene.
The remaining enemy were being roughly pushed towards the rear of the battle line by the men of the Second Cohort, stumbling over the prostrated bodies of the fallen. Blood soaked mud and weapon strewn grass carpeted the area, and men lay at obscene angles across it all. I stared at the result of the fighting, unsure of my emotions. I was neither horrified nor exulted, but felt a rather strange indifference to it all, as if it was simply a symbol of our victory and our ultimate superiority.
I spotted the crested helmet of the army commander, and made my way towards him. The Legatus was issuing orders to the Tribunes and Centurions around him, pointing behind him towards the advancing forces of Tarentum. As I drew up before him, he finished with his officers and turned towards me.
“Tribune, sort this battle line out. The bloody rookies are everywhere. Position your cavalry on the right, and sort this rabble out before the enemy sees them. We’ll be the laughing stock of the country!” I stood still for a moment. I had expected some sort of congratulation; at the very least an acknowledgment of my continued existence. But all I received was this rather harsh bollocking from my commander. When he saw I had not moved, he stared at me in amazement.
“Tribune, that’s an order. Get a move on!” I saluted, wheeling my horse around, returning to my cavalry. To my right, our infantry were streaming forward, indeed with no hint of order or sense. If they engaged the enemy phalanxes in such a state they would be in for a nasty surprise, no matter how hard they had trained or how green the enemy were.
Collecting my cavalry along the way, I galloped back towards our infantry, intent on reorganising it immediately. And immediately was exactly what was needed. The enemy army was less than a mile off, and the cavalry were already cutting across the front to endanger our left flank. As I watched, I saw the Legatus signal to his cavalry, and they began to ride in the aim of cutting off the flanking attempt.
Leaving my men to secure the infantry’s right flank, I raced with my trumpet bearer to find to reform the line. As I drew near the centre, I ordered the trumpeter to sound the halt. At first, most of the men did not respond, save for the First Cohort, who neatly and abruptly came to a standstill in the centre of the line. I signalled again for the halt to me made, and one by one the cohorts realised, beginning to trot back to the centre. Turning to my companion, I said:
“Centurions to me.” He once again lifted the instrument to his lips, and relayed the order. Soon, I saw individuals separate themselves from the mass and come trotting over. As they arrived, the slowed, panting. I waited till the furthest men had arrived, before speaking to them in a hushed tone.
“Gentlemen, I must be frank. What kind of piss-poor excuse is this for an army? You’re letting them run like wild children across a meadow. Those toss-pots are barely half a mile away. We’re about to go into battle, not for a game of chase before a leisurely dip in the sea. Get a grip on your men, or you’ll be shovelling out of the latrines for the rest of your sodding lives!” A few of them stared at me, aghast, while others simply dipped their heads in shame. I needed neither of these reactions. I wanted men leading the troops, not stroppy teenagers or boys acting like they had just walked mud into the house. I was coming down on them hard because these were meant to be the leaders, the battle hardened veterans who had seen it all and had grown accustomed to following orders. One, the commander of the Fourth Cohort (Gaius, if I recalled correctly), stood tall and returned my stare.
“We’ll sort it out. No need to worry. We’ll just blame it on the rookies.” I could not believe this man. I dismounted, and marched over to him. I was not a particularly tall person, but then neither was he. My eyes drew level with his mouth, but I drew myself up to my full height, before responding.
“Centurion Gaius, if you utter one more sentence I’ll have your balls for breakfast. Clear?” His eyes went wide, and he drew his hands up in mock surrender.
“Whoa, steady on, lad.” Furiously, I ripped the man’s vine cane-the symbol of his centurion rank-from under his arm. Clutching it hard in my hand, I stood as close as I could to him.
“Name and rank!” I spat at him. He looked at me incredulously.
“What?” he said stupidly.
“Name and rank, soldier, now!”
“Centurion Marcus Fabius Gaius, commander of the Fourth Cohort of the Legio I Apulia.”
“Wrong! No centurion in this army would consistently refuse to acknowledge superior rank, would refer to a Senior Tribune as ‘lad’, no matter how young, and would have so little honour and self respect to name plans to pass his own -ups onto the lower orders. You’re no more a centurion than you are valorous.” This sparked a reaction from the older man, who so far had responded only with an on-going stare of ironic disbelief. As I finished, he drew himself up to his full height, and puffed out his chest.
“No one calls me a coward,” he snarled. However, before he could take it further, he was grabbed from behind by those around him, and restrained successfully. Kneeling on the grass, he looked around him in anger.
“Fools! Unhand me at once. I am an officer of this legion.” I stepped forward.
“No longer, Marcus Fabius Gaius. Henceforth, you are stripped of your current rank and you will be placed under military arrest for the charges of insubordination and refusal to respond to orders. Centurion Bestia?”
“Yes, sir?” The commander of the First Cohort responded.
“Centurion, place this man in irons and have him removed to the rear.”
“Gladly, sir,” Bestia acknowledged. He marched over to the kneeling Gaius, removing iron shackles from his kitbag as he did so. “You’ve had this coming for a long time, Gaius,” he said to the shamed man. Gaius continued to shout.
“I demand to speak the Legatus. On whose authority is this?” I stepped towards him.
“My own. Senior Tribune Caius Aurelius Cotta of the Legio I Apulia. You will be removed from your command and will face trial as soon as circumstances permit.”
Calling on two men from the rear lines, Bestia followed his orders, removing the still seething Gaius to the rear.
“Who is the Second Centurion of the Fourth Cohort?” I asked the still assembled men. One stepped forward; a strong looking fellow who looked as if he had seen a few fights. “Your name?” I enquired.
“Albinius Herius Falco, sir.” I nodded.
“Centurion Falco, I place you in temporary position of Cohort Commander.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He saluted, and I acknowledged him.
“Now, gentlemen, if we may be able to return to the matter at hand?” Murmurs of affirmation passed through.
“Good. We have pressing matters to attend to. The enemy will be upon us soon; we must dress the battle line. The First Cohort will hold the centre, with the Second, and Fourth Cohorts either side. The Fifth Cohort and the auxiliaries will make up the reserve. The cavalry will protect the flanks. Is that clear?” A few nods answered me. “I can’t hear you.” A loud chorus of “Yes, sir!” followed. I nodded, satisfied. “The why are you still standing here? Get a move on, we haven’t got all day.”
As the men around me hurried back to their respective cohorts, I watched as the battle line quickly evolved into the orderly formation of the legions. To the left, the Legatus’ cavalry had routed their enemy counterparts, and were returning to resume their protection of the army’s left flank. I too should return to the flank.
Remounting my horse, I, with my trumpet bearer, returned to my cavalry waiting on the right flank of the now formed up battle line. As I passed the men of the Fourth Cohort, I received an ongoing cheer from the soldiers. I was quickly taken up, but I was at the time ignorant of its source. I was not until after the battle I learned of the soldiers’ relief at the demotion of their previous Cohort commander; the man had as it turned out been excessively bullish and violent.
As the current crisis of our own battle line evened out, I finally got a chance to see the enemy’s deployment. They marched forward in a wide front; the whole of the frontline bristled with spear points, with the sun reflecting brightly off polished bronze shields and helmets. The army appeared organised and purposeful; the centre housed the heaviest infantry; the hoplites. With the enemy cavalry routed from the field, however, the infantry faced the danger of being outflanked on both sides.
They drew steadily nearer, and I began to hear the heavy tramp of boots and the jingle of equipment as they marched across the plain towards us. They were a magnificent site, and although I had tasted combat once today I felt a deep melancholy that our army would be forced to battle these splendid foes.
At last, the waiting was over. Almost without pausing, the enemy infantry smashed into the front battle line of our legion. As the auxiliaries let fly javelins, slingshot and various other missiles over the heads the legionaries, they were answered in kind by volley after volley of deadly arrows, zipping through the air with the thwack of taught bowstrings mixing with the dull clash of metal as the lines met. The enemy infantry covered the length of our own infantry battle line, and without wing support, their flanks were amazingly open. I knew the Legatus must have noticed this, for through the din of battle I was sure heard the call to advance. Looking round to my remaining men, I nodded to the trumpet bearer, who raised his instrument and echoed the call. Slow at first, then with increasing swiftness, our cavalry broke away from the wings, and rode past the engaged infantry.
As we finally rounded the battle line, I saw no sign of the Legatus’ cavalry. Inwardly I began to panic. Had that really been the call to advance? If not, we had left the right flank open behind us. If the enemy realised...
The sky above me suddenly darkened as the enemy toxotai let loose another volley over the heads of their mates in the frontline. I realised, ordered to or not, that we had to stop them.
“Form the line!” I called to my men, who hastily led their horses side by side, hooves stamping in the mud. As another volley sailed over our heads, I drew my sword, levelling it with the enemy. Our men started forward. By the time the first of the toxotai noticed us drawing closer and shouted a warning, I had already called the charge, and the stinging notes of the trumpet blasted through the air. The archers would have time for one for volley, I realised as I charged forward. If they aim it at us, we’re all dead.
“Faster, you fools! Ride them down!” I shouted over the wind blasting past my ears, urging my mount forward, crouching low in the saddle. As the first arrows began to sail through the air, time seemed to slow. I watched the arrows fly wildly, falling short or sailing harmlessly over our heads. These peltasts were not trained to receive a charge, and they had neither the training nor courage to calmly notch and fire into our ever closer forms. By the time they had begun to flee, it was too late; we were among them, swords slashing and spears stabbing into their unprotected bodies. But there were many of them. If they simply realised this, and turned on us, we would be in trouble. It was then that Asina’s cavalry ploughed into the opposite flank of the toxotai, scattering any remaining spirit of retaliation, as they abandoned their bows and arrows, turned on their heels, and fled the field.
I called the pursuit, but was answered by the signaller from the Legatus’ own cavalry to join with him. By now we were directly behind the main battle, some three hundred yards distant. Cantering over, I saluted the Legatus as I recognised him. His sword was bloody, and his face glistened with sweat, but he appeared unharmed.
“Tribune, where is your injury?” he asked me as I approached. Confused, I questioned his inquiry. “Your face is covered in blood, Tribune. Have you received a head injury?” I raised a hand to my face. I felt my swollen lips, a bruise rising along my jaw and cheek. It must have been from the brute I had fought in the initial conflict. I realised my face must look a mess, but could not see why the Legatus should appear so alarmed by it. Surely he had seen bruises before. Then my hand touched something else, warm and wet. Bringing it away, I saw it was covered in blood. My blood? I could not feel any injury so bad, and I certainly did not remember any blow from a weapon. It was not until I saw the streak of blood that had stained the white coat of my horse that I remembered the man whose skull I had split, in the first few seconds among the enemy. I remembered the warm splatter up my horse, arms and face.
“It’s not mine, sir. I’m fine,” I nodded. The Legatus simply nodded back, before continuing.
“Our line is not holding, Tribune. The enemy phalanx is pushing our light troops back. If the line breaks, we’re finished.” I understood.
“I’ll return to the line, sir. I’ll make sure it holds.”
“No, Tribune. There is no guarantee we could make a difference from our side. We must attack.” I stared at him incredulously.
“Attack, sir? That?” I pointed at the heaving mass of armoured infantry, stretching across nearly a half mile long front.
“Yes, Tribune. If you wish to stay here and watch, so be it. The rest of you, with me.” I could not stay; we all knew that. Whispering a quick prayer to the Gods, hoping that the Legatus knew what he was doing, I joined the front ranks of the line, next to the Legatus himself. He nodded to me, grinning.
“That’s more like it, Tribune. Let’s work up a bit of enthusiasm, shall we?” I laughed briefly, before again drawing my sword. I looked at the blood that had begun to dry, and to my astonishment wished to wet it again with the enemies’ blood. Was I becoming a monster? Or was it the thoughts of a soldier. I had no time to ponder on this. What happened after this was more of a blur; random images and memories I pieced together days or even weeks after the battle.
“Sound the charge!” shouted the Legatus beside me. The trill of the horns, the shouts of men, the press of bodies. Armour clattered as the horses collided with the shields and bodies of the infantry, their faces twisted into murderous expressions and emitting bone-chilling war cries. Men fell around me; our own and the enemy. I was feet away from our own men on the ground when my horse was knocked from under me and I fell to the ground. I remember hitting the floor hard, rolling to break my fall. I immediately felt an acute claustrophobia from the heaving mass of bodies all around me; the crash and boom of the fighting amidst the screams of the wounded and dying, both men and horses.
I was hauled to my feet by a soldier I did not know; a man of the First Cohort-I did not have time to learn his name, nor did I discover it after the battle. He simply hauled me to my feet, handed me his shield, before a spear thrust embedded itself in his throat. I avenged his death, along with every other man that was felled around me. Hacking, stamping, thrusting and screaming, we pushed them back, inwards and downwards. They had nowhere to go, so they stood and took the punishment. We piled up so many dead the survivors were tripping over the corpses, and crashing down in a heavy clash of equipment, before they too were killed where they fell. And I went to it with enthusiasm, just the way the Legatus had told me.

It was evening when I returned to the camp, blood stained and weary. Our men had been trickling back all afternoon, amongst the piling of the dead, the envoy to Tarentum and simply the aftermath of the battle. My first battle, and already it has dashed my boyish dreams of heroes and honourable duels between men. There was no honour on the field of battle, no heroes save the dead that now carpeted the plain. The legionary that had saved my live by giving his own stayed with me, and I would be lying if I did not sometimes feel ashamed for his sacrifice. Surely he had been a better man than me, a stronger fighter, courageous and fierce. Yet now he was dead, simply another statistic to be sent back to Roma in signed report of our victory, glazed over by the simple fact we had won at little cost. I would like to say it made me sick to think of it, but it didn’t. I felt little difference, only a numb cold that told me things were simply there, events like this happened. It’s the way of the world, the price we must pay for our continued existence, the Legatus told me when I met with him later that night. It just so happened we excelled at it.
I knew we had won; the city had surrendered as soon as Prefect Cato arrived at the city gates, demanding an entrance. Our losses were significantly smaller than they could have been, had it not been for the calm and knowledgeable presence of our commander. I looked to him in a new light; I had seen what he could do, and I vowed one day I would strive to match or even outdo his feats on the battlefield. He had a fine collection of men around him, and now his army was truly blooded. No more green recruits; the Cohorts had all had their fair share of combat today. It’s almost a shame many of those rejoicing outside the camp and in the city could soon die; we’re not staying long. Traitors hold the city of Rhegion, and we’ve been ordered to take it back and to deal with the rebels. I feel my life is only just beginning.

Caivs Avrelivs Cotta, Senior Tribune Legio I Apulia, 482 A.U.C

[desert]

After fainting in a bar in Roma, Servivs woke up in the middle of the night to find himself lying in a pile of horse excrement. His headache was exacerbated by the smell of stale s**t a few centimeters from his nose.

He also found that, to his misfortune, his little sack - which had contained all of his meager savings - was no longer in his possession. After wallowing in the filth for another minute, he suddenly sprang up onto unsteady feet, slipping a little on the fetid mush he had been lying on, and retched onto the street. He swore at the bartender, and accidentally swallowed a bit of bile.

After choking there for a while, Servivs stood up fully, went over to the tavern he had been thrown out of, and urinated into the window. Hearing a shout from within, he half ran, half tottered off down the street, periodically emitting small spurts of urine.

---TWO YEARS LATER---

A tan and muscular Servivs wandered the streets of Gnatia, a fairly important port city in Kalabria. It had quickly entered into alliance with Roma after the defeat of the Epeirote army near Tarentum, only a few months before. It was a fishing village when compared to huge Roma, but ever since getting chased out of Ausculum with only a loincloth and a stolen piglet clutched to his chest, Servivs had only sought work from freeman farmers, so being in a settlement of any size was a welcome relief.

Servivs had steadily wandered south and east after that...ignominious...day in Roma, following the Legio I. He had stayed in several cities, villages, and farms, working at odd jobs for a small salary (only bronze coins, of course, never actual salt!). Eventually he had passed into independent land, although Roma was slowly working to integrate its people as allies. And now he was in Gnatia.

Servivs planned on hiring himself as a crewman on a small ship, and maybe making his way towards Aitolia. He remembered that one of his grandfather's brothers, a trader, had settled with his family there, in one city or another.

He found a suitably run-down tavern (because they sold the cheapest drinks), and entered it.

As he waited for his drink, he overheard two Greeks speaking: "I've heard rumors that the Roman Senate is going to appoint a Scipio as provincial dictator of this whole region! With Taras as the administrative capital."

And so the beginnings of a plan formed in Servivs's mind.