383 AD Winter, a bridge on the Lower Danube.



The Hun faction leader heads a final desperate attempt to cross the Danube

“I was supposed to be enjoying life in the capitol!” Constantine moaned to himself as he hurriedly buckled on his greaves. A messenger had rushed to his temporary lodgings - the First Danube Border Legion was under-attack by none other than the Hun leader Tukhechjen himself. Tukhechjen was sixty-five, but still a terrifying presence even to his own people and a general of unparalleled skill. A few years before Tukhechjen had shattered the First Danube Border Legion and broken the spirit of its commander, Manius. The Legion had only partially recovered and had been left leaderless thanks to Constantine’s manoeuvres. Only after the Legion’s summer battle with the Goths had Constantine awoken to the danger of leaving it without a replacement. Wth no substitute nearby, Constantine had reluctantly come to take up the post himself.

But Constantine had arrived too late. The Huns were crossing the Danube and the Legion had deployed to face them without a leader.

“How bad is it?” asked Constantine of the worried looking equite who waited for him.

“The Legion has beaten off the first attack by a Hun general called Kandak. But it is awfully cut up. The mercenary companies you hired have virtually been wiped out. The only frontline unit up to strength is a cohort of plumbatari.”

Constantine shook his head. He thought the two cohorts of veterans and one of Bosphoran spearmen would last longer than that. But the Huns were formidable adversaries.

“Have you got a fresh horse?” Constantine asked the tired equite.

The man nodded.

“Then ride with me, we may need every sword.”




Constantine Petilus, by his own account not a man of action, arrives at the bridge battle at a critical moment.




And personally slays the Hun leader Tukhechjen. The bridge over the lower Danube is held.




Soon the Huns follow their leader into oblivion.