The Rise of the Alemanni - PBM write-ups thread

[TinCow]

As the snows melted and the year 373 began, Hortar remained encamped at Vicus Crossing.

“You are nearing maturity,” Hortar stated to his son Bertgarda, “are you ready to learn the lessons of manhood?”

Bertgarda nodded his head eagerly. He knew his grandfather had ordered Hortar to hold the bridge and safeguard the Alemanni homeland, but the entire army was restless and wanted to march.

“Very well,” replied Hortar, “watch and learn. Romans are not just lambs to be slaughtered, they have teeth and can strike back if you are not careful.”

At that moment a commotion came from the Vicus road. A large group of Alemanni nobles had arrived from the capital to survey the defenses and remind Hortar of his duty. Hortar knew he could not abandon his post and march on the Romans while under their disapproving eyes. Suomar could overrule the nobles, but he was the leader of the Alemanni and Hortar was still only the heir.

The nobles ate and drank and talked; they always talked. Endless talk, how he hated it. As if Thor had heard his words, a scout appeared at the entrance to the grand pavilion, disheveled and tired from a vigorous ride.

“War chief, a large Roman force is closing on our position; they mean to force the crossing!”

Hortar smiled at the news. If he could smash the Roman force decisively, perhaps the nobles would give their blessing to his march. He grabbed his sword and rushed to assemble the men.



It was a simple plan. The archers would harry the enemy as they approached, the spearmen would hold the enemy after they crossed, and the berserkers would crush them from the flanks. The nobles stood back on the hill, watching the scene with curiosity. Hortar knew he would have to impress them in order to receive their support.



As the Romans charged and the arrows fell, the enemy horse surprised the war chief and began to swim the river rather than further clogging the bridge. He knew he had to rout the enemy foot before they finish crossing or his spear line would be flanked. Hortar unleashed the berserkers.

…

“Could you believe it?” exclaimed the drunken noble. “Those damn berserkers are insane!”

Hortar nodded and raised his drink in agreement. The ‘zerks had not only won the battle, but they had so impressed the watching nobles that not only had they permitted the march, they were joining it themselves. Those crazy Quadi Lombards had devastated the enemy foot in an instant. However their bloodlust was so high that they refused all reason and rushed to attack the enemy horse in the middle of the river.



The noble shook his head. “Never have I seen a man swim and fight at the same time, let alone against a mounted foe! With such men, no army can stand against us.”

Hortar grinned. As the jubilant army had looted the bodies of the enemy, they had discovered that the force they had just obliterated was not just any army, it was the garrison of Augusta Trevororum. No scouts had escaped to warn the city of the defeat; the Roman city was nearly empty of defenders and ripe to be plundered. What better way to commemorate Cimberius than to sack the city and use the bounty to aid the Alemanni peasants whose farms provided the majority of income?

Hortar knew it was a precarious move though. His army was not large and he would be abandoning the strong defenses of the bridge. “Plunder and revenge are the only motives,” Hortar reminded himself. “We will strike fast and return fast. There is no danger if we are done before they can react.”



…

Suomar shook his head in exasperation. Hortar had disobeyed him and left the road to the capital open… and in doing so vastly enriched the treasury. His tactics had been flawless. Hortar had marched immediately upon Augusta Trevororum and sent night raiders over the undefended walls at midnight. The gates had been opened to the Alemanni and the city was bathed in blood. A force of heavy Roman horse had put up a fight in the town square along with the garrison commander, some easily forgotten Roman noble. While Carus still evaded him, Cimberius had been partly avenged with the blood of so many vile Romans.

Suomar had ordered that the treasury be dispersed to the entire realm to improve the farmlands and provide a better income in the long term. Such generosity would ensure that Cimberius’ memory lived on amongst the people. Hortar himself had made only one request: that the Roman temple in Augusta Vendelicorum be knocked down and a new shrine to Thor be erected as thanks to the berserkers whose actions had allowed this great boon.

The smile faded from Suomar’s face as he remembered what lay ahead. In the summer of 375, a large Frankish army had entered Alemanni territory and was encamped only a short distance outside of the capital. Hortar had rushed south with the bulk of his force, leaving the now mature Bertgarda in command of Augusta Trevororum and a token garrison. Bertgarda would abandon the city if a large enemy force appeared, but until then he would hold it, strengthen it, and milk it for all the gold he could.

As expected, the treacherous Franks had declared war and besieged Vicus Alemanni with the young Hrodgar still inside. Suomar’s youngest son was not a fighter. He was more comfortable with parchment and quills and had ably managed the city in his father’s absence, but he could not defeat the Franks. Suomar had left Augusta Vendelicorum to add his forces to those of Hortar’s. With such a large Frankish force attacking the city, every man would be needed. Their forces had met up south of the capital, but the joy at seeing his eldest son had not lasted long. Shortly after combining forces, messengers arrived with dire news.

In the east, the Eastern Empire had unexpectedly launched an attack on Campus Quadi. Rumor had it that a berserker had stolen the daughter of an Eastern noble, but the cause was no longer important. Barely a handful of berserks held the town and they were vastly outnumbered. To make matters worse, Athanaric had been besieged in Carnuntum by a vast Western Roman force and he would be unable to march to the aid of the loyal berserkers. Fast thinking had allowed Suomar’s third son to hire mercenary Alan horse archers and Equites Veteranii. He had dispatched them to aid Quadi before retreating inside the city and preparing for the Roman assault. Hopefully they would arrive in time.

In the west, the news was just as grim. A small Roman force had caught Bertgarda unware and trapped him inside Augusta Trevororum. While the city defenses were strong, Bertgarda himself was untried and his forces were minimal. Suomar feared for his grandson, but the worst news came last. Shortly after Suomar had departed to join his son for the fight against the Franks, Jovianus Carus had returned at the head of a massive army and besieged Augusta Vendelicorum.

All five Alemanni provinces were besieged by superior forces and only Suomar and Hortar’s combined force remained in the field to aid them. This would be a bloody year and the future of the Alemanni was in the balance. Suomar steeled himself for the fight ahead. First he would deal with Franks, then he would take Carus’ head. Hopefully Bertgarda could hold out until then. Athanaric and the berserkers were too far away and would have to take care of themselves.



…

Suomar and the Alemanni had won every battle they had ever fought against Carus, but Carus had taken the warchief’s eldest sons. Suomar wanted to scream as he looked out at the vast and seemingly empty forest. Somewhere out there was Carus and his force, searching for Suomar. They would find him here, alone, and it would be done.

Hortar had fought valiantly beside Suomar outside of Vicus Alemanni.



The Frankish force had been smashed and scattered to the winds despite the late arrival of Hrodgar’s men from the city.



The celebration had been brief though as the Alemanni force was immediately turned south to face Carus.



The battle had been glorious. The spears had held the center while the bersekers smashed the Roman right and Hortar led the mounted nobles against the Roman left.



It was there that he had fallen, leading his men in their charge. Another battle won, another son dead and another escape by Carus.



Hatred and anguish had clouded Suomar’s mind. He had forgotten about his grandson Bertgarda’s plight and pursued Carus south to Mediolanum, determined to finish him once and for all. The gods were good though, and news of victory poured in from all directions. The incredible berserkers and a single band of spearmen had routed the Eastern Roman force with barely any help from the haughty mercenary cavalry.



At Carnuntum, Athanaric cunningly abandoned the walls and hid his men in the streets. The Romans became lost in the maze of passageways and arrived in the town center in three separate groups. Athanaric was able to defeat them piecemeal and eliminate the threat to the eastern provinces. Even Bertgarda had prevailed, showing that he had inherited his father’s abilities with blades and men. He stood his meager force on the walls and gave no ground. It was a bloody affair, but his choice proved to be the right one and the small force held.



So many victories, and yet the one that truly mattered to him had not arrived. Carus still lived and now Suomar had been caught by himself by a Roman force sent to aid Carus. They were getting close now, though Carus and his fellow family member were still far behind the main body. What cowards they were. This other one, Gratianus, was such a craven that his own men had named him “Lily-Livered.”



“It will be over quickly,” the Alemanni leader said to his loyal bodyguards as the heavily armored enemy appeared. “Do not flinch from the blood, we earned this day.”

His face was passive. It showed no emotion at the apparent glee in the enemy’s shouts as they ran towards the lone group of mounted men. It showed no emotion as his vast army rose from their prone positions all around him in the forest. It showed no emotion at the horrible screams of the Romans as they were surrounded and the butchery began.



Carus and Gratianus finally arrived only to discover the field strewn with the bodies of their men. They ran, but Suomar would not allow it this time. As the berserkers tore Gratianus from his mount and inspected the color of the Roman’s liver for themselves, Suomar led his bodyguards in pursuit of Carus. When at last the coward was overtaken and his blood soaked the ground, a smile finally crossed his face.



“Hortar ensured that Cimberius would not be forgotten,” Suomar stated to his men while standing next to Carus’ body. “Now let us ensure that Hortar is not forgotten either.” He turned and gestured in the direction of Mediolanum. “The city is empty but for defenseless Romans. I desire that it be empty of them as well.” When it was done, all marks of the name Mediolanum were obliterated from the buildings. From now on, the city would be known as Hortarium.

…

Two years passed in peace. The armies were strengthened, the cities repaired.

In the winter of 379, Suomar returned north, leaving Hortarium in the able hands of Adalmun, Hortar’s second son. It was time to return the favor the Franks had given them three years before.



Standing over the body of their slain leader, Suomar spoke to the surviving Frankish men and women.

“You sought to take our lands, kill our children and burn our houses. In reply, I take your lands and your houses, but spare you your lives. Leave now, take what you can carry and go east or remain and spend the rest of your lives as slaves. I will not butcher you,” he coldly stated, “but neither shall I be merciful.” Thus began the migration of the Frankish hordes eastward.

“I suspect we have not seen the last of them,” said one of the nobles standing near Suomar.

The Alemanni leader looked at him. “You may be right, but there is not a brave soul amongst them. Look at the numbers of that horde and look at ours; yet who flees from whom? We may fight them again, but we will never fear them.”

…

Suomar was tired. He had led his people through many trials and much bloodshed and now he wanted to rest. Vicus Alemanni was close by and soon he would be able to.

The last few years had shown that the small kingdom he had created no longer needed him to solve all of its problems personally. Shortly after taking the Frankish lands, Hortarium had been besieged. Suomar had gone south to aid the city, but before he got even halfway word came that Adalmun had won a heroic victory.



Hortar’s son had burned the Roman siege weapons and then trapped them in their hour of victory.



As they had poured through the sapped walls, he had unleashed the berserkers and ridden down the enemy personally.






As expected, the Frankish hordes forgot the kindness of Suomar and the strength of the Alemanni. Their massive force entered the eastern provinces and a vanguard besieged Campus Quadi.



Once again Suomar set out with his army to save the kingdom from disaster. Once again, his aid was not needed. Athanaric positioned himself at the bridge crossing to draw off the horde into a battle that would favor him, but even this was not needed. The berserkers single-handedly drove off the vanguard of the Franks and the horde moved north into Lombard lands, showing that they still remained fearful of Alemanni wrath.

Athanaric’s force was in turn pressed by an Eastern Roman force which fell into the trap that he had laid for the Franks. Suomar, hearing of his eldest living son and heir’s growing reputation on the field of battle, decided that it was time to rest. He was nearing 60 and had spent little time at home in the last two decades. He dispatched the strength of his army, a vast force of Chosen Axemen and Noble Warriors, to ensure that Athanaric’s army could stand against anything thrown against them. This completed, he turned his remaining men for home.

Yet rest was not to be his just yet. Shortly before reaching Vicus Alemanni, a terrible plague reached the city, preventing him from entering.



As Suomar sat in a cold tent outside the walls, word came that the Burgundii had made a grab for the former Frankish territory.

“Have we no friends?” sighed Suomar. “Why must we spend so much time fighting fellow pagans when it is the Roman threat that we should all be concerned with.”

Leaving the Vicus Alemanni garrison in place for fear of spreading the plague, Suomar once again broke camp and marched north. When he finally came upon the Burgundii encampment, he nearly wept.

“Such a pitiful force! I do not enjoy battles such as these. Swatting flies is not the mark of a warrior. Come, let us be done with this mockery and return home.”



The short battle was predictable and unremarkable. The plague finally abated and Suomar once again made his way towards Vicus. Now, here he was only miles from home, but he was having doubts. He could rest and live out the remainder of his years in peace, managing the affairs of the capital and passing on his able war counsel to his sons and grandsons. He wanted to do this, but deep down he also feared it. He had been a warrior all his life, could he truly leave that life behind? His kingdom was not powerful, but it was strong and able to defend itself. Yet, it was surrounded by enemies on all sides and there was still much work to be done.



Perhaps there was room for at least one more ride…