The Battles of Pictavis: Part 1
Legionnaire Decirius worried. He worried over a lot of things, his family back in Rome, the state of his Scutum, his looks, his recent promotion and keeping his feet warm were just a few of the things that worried him regularly, but today what worried his most was the 7,000 Romans the other side of the river. His Century was one of eight attached the Legio III, originally dubbed Genua as it was the first legion to be raised outside of Rome itself. He had served in his Century for more than a decade now, fighting their way across Northern Italy, Southern Gaul, all across Hispania and finally into northern Gaul. Among the men he was known as steadfast, stoic and strict.
Their Campaigns had gone well, earning them a reputation as formidable and indomitable, at the siege of Bibract, just four years ago, Decirius himself had been first through the gates, an unequalled honour. He had more than thirty confirmed kills to his name in that battle alone, and almost a hundred over the entire Gaelic campaign, his Century earning over four hundred between them. His actions that day had Caught the attention of Publius Vibidius Varro, the legio's commander and earned him the promotion to centurion. All Decirius remembered was running forward, his shield over his head as a seemingly endless rain of javelins fell on him before finding himself running uphill, yelling indecipherably at the bearded Celts while swinging his Gladius wildly. That was the moment of his greatest victory, the Legions greatest victory and it had earned him his promotion and Publoius a grand Triumph through the streets of Rome itself.
Decirius remember how proud he had been that day, how Publius had ordered the city looted and sacked, the legionnaires to take what they wanted of the town and its people. He had secured more than twice his annual pay in that first day of looting alone. Publius had been an inspiring figure, a proud man who believed in the glory of Rome and the army in particular. That was what worried Decirius the most as his unit took position at the bridge between Bibract and Nemosos. The planned siege of Cenabum would have been his first real engagement since his promotion and he had been drilling the troops with tried and tested anti-Celtic tactics for months now in readiness.
And then Publius, along with many others had Forsaken the campaign and his army, marched off with his personal guard and taken up arms at Bibract with those loyal to the senate. All the politics of the various families didn't really matter to Decirius, he didn't understand and didn't particularly care if Rome was favouring the Junia over the Julia, but he did care when he had to defend against a commander who up until some months ago had been his own. Still, as much as this all worried him and all his legionnaires, the problem at hand forced him to focus and put his doubts out of his mind. The 1,200 men of the third legion would hold their ground this side of the river, as instructed. Whether it was barbarous Celts or traitorous Romans made no difference to their orders.
Servius Sextilius Paterculus frowned as the banner of the enemies forward scouts came into view. He was a young man, new to warfare and command and he knew his troops thought little of him. It didn't matter, this battle would either make him a hero of Rome, or a shamed corpse. He steadied his horse and checked the lines were formed up properly, six centuries of some of the most experienced troops serving in the army, two elite centuries, hardened veterans of dozens of battles and various support troops from the auxiliaries. They had seemed so formidable on paper, a full strength legion at his beck and call! The making of an aspiring commander, but they seemed so disheartened by the approaching enemy, outnumbering them more than five to one.
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