Cyricus wearily trudged along the dirt path, which was slowly turning into a sea of mud with every drop of rain that fell from the heavens. Cyricus momentarily glanced at the men marching with him, it was going to be a long day up ahead and they were already tired. But Cyricus knew that he would be whipped if he stopped marching, or at least dragging his feet along. The milestones told him that he was in the very heart of Asia Minor, in the western parts of the Bucellarian theme. Mile after mile of wheat, olives and fig trees surrounded him, almost swallowing Cyricus and his comrades in arms up. The sky remained dark that day.
Originally Posted by Louis VI the Fat
Reply With Quote
Bookmarks