Stories Thread

[navarro951]

Part II: The Story of Dentatvs

290 BC

It was the eve of battle. The last Samnites and Sabine army waited across a muddy field. The battlefield was some miles south of what is now the great Roman city of Capua.

Dentatvs had fought many battles now along side his legion,The Latium Conscription, and had finally accepted and won the nomination of Consul. He had just 7,000 men and faced nearly 7,000 Samnites and 4,000 Sabines. But his soldiers were far superior in the art of combat.

The Evening Before Battle in Dentatvs' Tent

A map was laid out across a long table. A much younger, Tribune Blasio, lay out unit markers across the map in a battle formation.

"If I may speak consul..." Blasio requested.

"You may young friend, of course" Dentatvs replied with a smile.

"Well we are obviously outnumbered, but we are not outmatched. The enemy has brought no cavalry to the fight. But we have 300 horsemen unto ourselves." Blasio placed a marker on the map to represent a cavalry unit. Dentatvs nodded, listening to his third in command with much consideration.

"Now, our good Legate Marcus had proposed to keep the cavalry as one solid unit to wing round and break the back of the enemy. But I see another plan. We separate the horse Blasio laid down another piece representing a half of the cavalry and set one on each side of the foot soldier pieces and we wing round squeezing them into a slaughter from our infantry." Blasio displayed this maneuver like a child playing war; knocking over all the pieces on the other side of the map, representing the enemy.

"Indeed a plausible idea. But our cavalry so divided? You think this a wise idea? Should they be vanquished it would leave the flanks of our men open to attack." Dentatvs slid his hand into the side of the infantry pieces.

"Indeed, but not if our best cavalrymen lead them."

Dentatvs' eyes opened widely and he grinned.

"Our best cavalrymen? And who would you say that is?"

"Well sir, you have taught me everything you know about being on horseback. And Legate Marcus, respectfully, has never failed in a charge before. I feel the both of us are up to the challenge." Blasio gulped. Dentatvs looked over to Legatus Marcus who had simply watched with a smile as the young Tribune had been laying our his plan. He looked to Dentatvs and nodded.

"Very well...then the fate of this battle may very well rest on you two. Wine!" A slave brought about three cups of wine and the three men toasted.

"To glory in battle! And the end of this tiring war!"

The cups clashed!

To be continued...

[Tiberius Claudius Marcellus]

Attention to Detail

The running footsteps of the soldiers and the metallic cacophony of their equipment were dying away down the street. That had been close, too close actually. Had it not been for this alleyway and the false wall he had accidentally discovered a week ago during a night of drunken revelry - a pleasure he should not have allowed himself - he would have been caught. The execution would have been swift, but not before the lengthy interrogation process and an all-expense paid stay in the local prison, courtesy of his unwilling Roman hosts would have been over.

Bilquart chastised himself. Yes, the prostitute had taken him to this alcove where she plied her trade; but it was probably she too who had alerted the guards to his presence after he left her a lousy tip. He had gone through too much training and too much personal sacrifice to have made such a mistake as to talk to her of his plans - even if she were intoxicated. As he thought about it now, she probably feigned drunkeness to encourage him to lower his guard so she could rob him. Fortunately, he was not as incapacitated as she had hoped. Bilquart sighed. She would have to be killed. He disliked taking lives, but it was necessary to protect his covert mission. It couldn't be a public death since the guard's suspicions would be confirmed, but die she must. He would probably have to cut off her face so that no one could recognize her - her face and her left foot, the one with the tattoo, he noted. One could never pay too much attention to detail.

Bilquart slowed his breathing and flexed each of the muscles of his well-toned body one at a time to work out the tension of his recent exertion. It was a game he had taught himself to master ennui, exhaustion, and even being exposed to cold temperatures. He had hated that last bit the most of all his training and travels. As far as Bilquart was concerened, Dido chose the most appealing spot in all the world to found a city; everywhere else, save for the impenetrable desert, was just so damned cold! As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his current hideout he furrowed his heavy brow, as he often did when under stress, and thought of the best route back to where he had been reconnoitering the military garrison and police forces. It was much darker now and he was sure he could remain unseen even with the increased patrols The weather was too cool for the families of Rhegion to be sleeping on their rooftops tonight, so he could have an unprecedented vantage point. Before he began his work anew, he needed something to sate his hunger. No amount of stealth in the world could cover the sounds his belly was making. It irked Bilquart that those soldiers had interrupted his evening meal. Very inconsiderate, these Romans.

Bilquart foze, the dark, coarse hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. Then he heard it again - unmistakable. Roman sentries were entering the alley. They were speaking in hushed tones; but even though Bilquart couldn't understand much Latin the conversation seemed casual. There were two....no, three - the third wasn't speaking, but his footsteps were out of step with the other two. Bilquart tensed and relaxed his muscles and slowly stood up on the balls of his feet, giving himself the necessary stance to spring into action if it were needed. He smoothly drew two daggers from inside his robe and whispered a prayer to Ba'al asking him to guide his blades. Eyeing them through the slimmest of openings in the facade, he saw the soldiers reach the end of the alley and stop. They gave the area a cursory glance and continued their conversation. One of them brought out a flask and took a long draw from it, offering it to his companion when he finished. The second soldier seemed happy with the offer and readily took several gulps from the water skin. The first soldier gave him a friendly punch in the gut, causing the greedy imbiber to spray some of the liquid from his mouth. The third soldier whipped around and tore the flask away, smelling its contents. He exploded in anger at the other two soldiers and emptied the contents of the flask onto the ground. "Spirits, while on duty," thought Bilquart, "how disgustingly unprofessional."

The soldier who had been punched looked down at the ground and made an inaudible acknowledgment while the soldier who owned the flask puffed out his chest and confronted the one who ended their merriment. That affrontery resulted in a solid backhand connecting to the face of the insubordinate soldier sending him reeling backward, nearly crashing into the false wall that separated Bilquart from the Romans. Before the soldier could hit the wall, the one who struck him, obviously the most senior of the three, grabbed him and wheeled about, landing a roundhouse kick into the soldier's kidney, sending him crashing against the side wall of the alley. No sooner had he slumped to the ground, dazed then the senior sentry was on top of him, yanking him to his feet. He then kicked out the legs of the stunned offender and smashed his face into the ground where he had poured out the alcohol, rubbing his face into it. "Outstanding discipline!," thought Bilquart. He sorely wanted to engage this one in combat.

After a few seconds the victor pulled the beaten soldier to his feet and spoke slowly and deliberately, each word spoken with a venom usually reserved for blood enemies and accentuated with a finger jabbed into the soft spot between the offender's chest and neck. When he was sure his point had been made he turned to the silent witness to these events and muttered something that must have been a command to get moving because the young man jumped to and practically knocked the others over in his eagerness to follow orders and be on his way. As the soldiers started to leave down the alley Bilquart's stomach grumbled like it had never before. The senior of the sentries stopped short and whirled about, cocking his head, straining to hear what he thought he had. Bilquart stopped breathing. He was on the verge of escape and it all came crashing down around him. Without warning the soldier who had been beaten for insubordination vomited all over the sandals of the soldier who had re-educated him causing the third, sheepish one to burst into laughter. A swift knee to the gut of the now-sick soldier brought forth more bile, this time covering the assailant's thighs and legs. The laughter continued unchecked even when the disciplinarian glowered at the young sentry. He stormed off without a word down the alley with the other two in tow, patting each other on the back, having got the last laugh.

Bilquart exhaled noisily when they were gone. He had nearly passed out from holding his breath so long. No more reconnoitering tonight. He would leave the city within the hour and live in the hills for a few days, posing as a leper should he be discovered. Once he sent a dispatch to Lilibeo he would return to Rhegion and continue his scouting. As he slid his daggers away he noticed an uneven glint of moonlight along one of the edges. Upon close inspection his blade had a chip in it. How did that happen? Bilquart sighed inwardly, it would be a good three hours once he had made camp before he could sleep, now. It was disgustingly dangerous and undisciplined to go to bed with your weapons in disarray. One could never pay too much attention to detail.