Re-unification - WRE PBM write-ups thread

[Mount Suribachi]

Winter 363 AD

By the time Gratianus Flavius finished reading the scroll from his uncle, Augustus Leontius Flavius, he was almost weeping with joy. He had been assigned a new governorship! No longer would he be stuck here at the edge of Empire keeping watch on the barbarians across the frontier, no longer would he wake up every morning wondering if this would be the day when he would receive the news that the Alemni were on their way. And he knew that that day would come, oh yes, it was only a matter of time. The prospect of Barbarian hordes sweeping down to rape and pillage Rome’s weakly defended border provinces dominated his thoughts, both waking and sleeping. Just that night he had dreamt, as he did almost every night, of fighting against waves of Barbarians. The dream was always the same – wave after wave after wave of the savages, too many, always too many to fight. And as the hordes closed in on Gratianus, he would wake up in a terrified cold sweat.

And now he was to be moved away from the borders, no longer would he spend his days poring over reports from watchtowers and spies, no longer would he obsess about whether the barbarian attack had already started, if he was a dead man already. He put the scroll down and smiled at the officers around him, trying hard not to show their curiosity at this message from the Emperor.

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Gratianus was busy explaining details of the handover of the governorship to his officers when she walked in

“I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY NOW YOU USELESS LILY LIVERRED COWARD!!!”

All conversation in the room stopped.

“L-L-Livia” stammered Gratianus. He had been dreading this moment, knew it was only a matter of time.

“I can’t believe I let my daughter marry you! I knew I should have never let her marry you! It was only her father, God rest his soul, who let it happen you know! Wouldn’t listen to me, oh no, thought he knew best, typical block headed man!” Her voice changed to a whiny, mocking tone ““But Livia” he said “his uncle is going to be Emperor in a few years” he said, “he’s going to nephew of the Augustus” he said, “he’ll get some prime jobs” he said. GAH! Stupid, stupid man! Wouldn’t listen to his wife, oh no. I told him, oh yes I told him, I said you were a craven coward, I said you were scared of your own shadow! If I told him once I told him a thousand times, oh yes, as God is my witness I told him! But he wouldn’t listen, I might as well as been talking to myself for all the good it did! I don’t now why I bother I really don’t! You’re just as bad as he was, never listen to me! If you’d listen to me occasionally perhaps you wouldn’t be being transferred in disgrace! Oh the shame of it, how will I ever be able to hold my head with pride if I ever get back to Rome – or Massila since your granddad made that stupid decision to move the capital to that backwater! Why he did that I’ll never know! Oh I know why he did it alright, it was that Decimus Flavius, always too clever for his own good that boy! That’s why he thought it would be such a good idea, always got his head in the books, adding up the accounts, no idea of what a capital is really all about! He might want to spend all his time musing on trade figures but some of us like to have a social life you know! Not that I’m ever likely to spend much time in civilized Roman high society again, thanks to YOU! That’s it, your careers effectively over now, you do realize that don’t you?”

She carried on ranting of course, this was just the warm up. She could go on haranguing Gratianus for 30 minutes or more without let up and no-one else in the room would be allowed a word in edgeways throughout the entire performance. Nor would they be allowed to leave. One or two officers had tried to sneak out when Gratianus had first arrived in Augusta Vindelicorum with his mother-in-law in tow. It was a mistake they never made twice. Better just to stand there and intently study the ceiling or the floor – anything to avoid Livia's tongue.

Of course, the entire army was glad to see the back of the pair of them. Gratianus was a real contradiction – he actually had an excellent grasp of military theory, his knowledge of tactics and logistics was first class. Unfortunately he had no guts and combat had a paralyzing, terrifying effect on him. And if he was a coward at the best of times, then barbarians reduced him to a quivering wreck incapable of any effective command. Roman soldiers could forgive a commander who was tactically inept but brave as a lion, but they would never trust a military genius who was a coward. And as for Livia…well she constantly undermined him in front of all and sundry, from the lowliest ranker to the highest ranking visiting dignitary. Yes, this army on the edge of Empire knew that their new Augustus had made the right decision in relocating their governor and his mother-in-law somewhere where he could do less damage.

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Having arrived in Mediolanium and installed himself in the Governors palace, Gratianus wasted no time in implementing one of Leontius’s directives. The new Christian Emperor wanted a united Christian Empire and had instructed all his relatives of that religion to begin tearing down the pagan temples and building churches in their place. Gratianus set to his new task with relish.

He never anticipated the backlash that stripping the Temple of Mithras of its treasures and razing it to the ground would have on the people of that almost exclusively pagan city. He never anticipated the rioting that would break out in the city. He never anticipated that the rioting would go on, and on, and on. He never anticipated that eventually the mob would work itself up so much that it would storm the governor’s palace. He never anticipated that whilst he hid in a cupboard that Livia would stand in the room berating him for causing all these problems, for not being man enough to stand up to these plebian scum who were burning the city around them. He never anticipated that the mob would burst into the room and literally tear them both limb from limb before spiking their heads on the city gates.

Thus ended the life of Gratianus the Lilly Livered.

Eventually a leader emerged from the rioters, one Andragathius Galerius, and flush with confidence following the murder of their governor, and in protest against the attempts of their new Augustus to impose Christianity on them, elected him as a rival Emperor in the west.

Such crimes could of course not go without retribution, nor could a rival Emperor be tolerated and so Leontius ordered his younger brother Caius to retake Mediolanium. Caius was on his way to Dalmatia, there to strengthen the Eastern borders when he got the news to turn back. Taking charge of the troops who had fled from the city when the rioting had gotten out of control, and picking up a few cohorts of other troops along the way, he laid siege to Mediolanium.

[Mount Suribachi]

Caius Flavius put down the scroll. His face was stony, his countenance resigned.

“Well, what does the Emperor say?” asked his senior legate, Constans Heraclianus.

“He says we have been sat outside the walls of Mediolanium too long. He says that his son Marcus has fought 2 major battles in the last year against the Alemni, and although he won both of them that his losses have been heavy, and that not only does he have no troops to spare, Marcus has priority over any reinforcements he does manage to raise. He says that not only have the Eastern Empire cancelled our alliance, they have the gall to ask for 6000 denarii tribute every year or they will attack! To reinforce this threat they have a large army milling around the eastern part of Ilyricum et Dalmatia. He says that the loss of Mediolanium has been a serious blow to Imperial finances and it is only the financial genius of ***** Flavius in Rome that is keeping the economy going and there is no money to spare”

Caius sighed.

“Our request for funds to be released so that we may hire mercenaries has been denied. We are to assault the city as soon as possible”

“Does he not realize that we are outnumbered by the defenders of Mediolanium? We have only 400 men to their 600! And they are disloyal rebels, they will fight with a fury, for they know they cannot expect mercy! It wouldn’t be so bad if we could recruit some cohorts of Foederatii - they are so much cheaper and easier to recruit than Roman troops!”

“You know the Emperors orders. No more Foederatii. No Foederatii infantry, no Foederatii cavalry. Flavius hates barbarians, and he thinks that the reliance on them to fight our battles has weakened the character of the Roman Citizen. Not to mention the fact he thinks barbarians stink. You know I think he has a point, about the weakening of Rome - the greatness of our Empire has always been built on the warrior spirit of the Roman man. We must cultivate that warrior culture amongst our people once more.”

He paued and grinned at Constans, “But I’m not denying a few cohorts of Foederatii wouldn’t come in useful right now.”

Caius took a deep breath

“Still, did Gaius Julius Caesar complain about lack of troops or funds at the great siege of Alesia? Or Scipio Africanus outside the walls of New Carthage? This is what makes Romans great, the ability to win great victories against the odds. And Augustus Leontius will be grateful for our success”

“I doubt it” thought Constans “too busy counting the gold he’s stolen from the treasury, gold that could be used to hire some much needed mercenaries.” But he was wise enough to not say it to the Emperors brother.

“Inform the other officers, make the preparations to assault the city.”

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Not enough troops, not enough troops thought Constans, not enough troops. They’d got over the walls well enough, but once inside the city the rebels resistance had stiffened. The remnants of the defenders had gathered for a last stand in the cities main plaza, and it wasn’t going well. Andragathius Velerius, the rebel leader with his bodyguard of heavy cavalry was wreaking havoc amongst the assaulting troops. Caius Flavius had to lead his cavalry into the melee, but Constans could see it was too late. Outnumbered to begin with, they’d lost too many troops getting to this point and Constans began to look to rally the troops around him, hoping to execute a fighting withdrawal. It was then he saw a sight that was to break what was left of the army. In the thick of the fighting, Caius was pulled from his horse and disappeared into a throng of rebel troops who set upon his body. The Roman army ran for the gates.


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At the end of that year, 368 AD, the great and the good of the Flavius family were gathered in Rome for the marriage of the Caesar Marcus. The celebrations were muted by the failure to re-take Mediolanium, and the death of Caius, a Roman of the Romans, beloved by his family and the people. The bad news continued to come thick and fast. A large army of the Eastern Roman Empire had got bored of living off the land in Ilyricum and laid siege to the city of Salona – and trapped inside was the Empires best general, Nero, the nephew of Augustus Flavius. But even his military genius would not be enough to drive off the besieging army which greatly outnumbered his garrison. Aquincum was the latest in a long line of cities to riot, the arrival of Spurius Flavius and his powerful Christian preaching upsetting that pagan city. It was only a matter of time before his ability to teach others of Christ, and the miracles that his holy relics were capable of brought the people of Aquincum to the Lord, as all the other cities Spurius preached in eventually did. But for now, the pagans were in uproar. To the north the Alemni, undettered by being badly beaten twice in the last couple of years had crossed the Rhine and laid siege to Augusta Vindelicorum.

The newlywed Marcus the Gambler headed straight north, collecting what troops he could along the way, and with his archer heavy army annhiliated the besieging Alemni.

That winter, using reinforcements drawn from the garrison on Sicily, Appius Flavius landed to the north of Salona, trapping the Eastern army between his army and the besieged city. The battle when it came so nearly ended in disaster. The armies of Appius and Nero needed to hit the army of Manius the Mean from front and back at the same time to take advantage of their superior position and numbers. But due to a command mix-up half of Appius’s army was sent way out to the left when battle was joined. Luckily for Nero and Flavius these troops managed to run back to the fighting in the nick of time. The Eastern army was routed, losing 600 men, the western Empire only 150. Salona was relieved, and more importantly for the future of the Empire, Nero Flavius and his army survived.

But this success was the exception rather than the rule, as the Empire continued to struggle. 370 AD was another bad year. The rebel army in Mediolanium sallied out and caught 2 cohorts of reinforcements heading north, forcing them to withdraw – reinforcing the fact that as long as Mediolanium was in rebel hands, the route north from Italy into Germania was dangerous. The Eastern Empire, undettered by their defeat outside Salona, sent another diplomat to Leontius, demanding that he submit to the Eastern Empire as their protectorate. Not surprisingly, the demand was turned down. Desperate to end the fighting with the Eastern Empire (at least till he was stronger) Leontius decided to send a diplomat by sea to Asia Minor, but the small flotilla of Triremes carrying him and his entourage was caught by succession of Eastern fleets, and harried round the Mediterranean before finally meeting its end off the coast of Macedonia, thus ending Leontius’s hopes for peace, and sending the last of his Mediterranean fleet to the bottom.

By 372 Leontius had managed to scrape up enough troops to lay siege to Mediolanium once more, but they were outmaneuvered by the field army of the rebels and forced to withdraw, hoping to meet up with an army coming up from Rome, but before they could make contact Captain Romulus and his 485 men were cut off by 890 rebels. Romulus found a hillside where he hoped to make his stand, he wasn’t expecting to win the day, merely hoping to take as many rebels with him as he could before the inevitable happened. In classic formation with his spears in front and archers behind and a wood protecting his left flank the men charged down the hill towards the advancing rebels more in hope than expectation of victory. Yet somehow, and the survivors of the battle never knew how, they won the day. Nearly 700 rebels lay dead on the hillside, 200 Romans, and Captain Romulus was hailed as a hero throughout the Empire.

Following this decisive defeat of the rebels in northern Italy, 2 years later Decimus Flavius was able to storm the walls of Mediolanium – this time no chances were taken with using an undersized army, an army of over 900 men had been assembled to take on the 400 defenders. 250 men were lost taking the city, but as 200 of these were Foederatii Infantry recruited by previous Emperors, Leontius was quite pleased. In fact he was very pleased, Mediolanium had been re-taken from the rebels, and most of the blood that had been spent to re-take it was barbarian.

To the North, Marcus the Gambler continued to fight battle after battle against the Alemni. It was almost tradition by now that every summer they would cross the Rhine, and every summer they would be soundly defeated by Marcus who was growing to hate Barbarians almost as much as his father. Sick of fighting defensive battles he decided to launch a raid into Alemni territory and met and routed an army led by King Suomar, a mighty warrior with a fearsome reputation.

More good news came from Greece. Nero Flavius, relieved and reinforced by Appius Flavius had set out from Salona looking to take the fight to the Eastern Empire. In the winter of 373 he assaulted Thessalonica, and for the first time Nero fought at night, a feature that would come to characterize his great military career. He had a large army of 1400 men at his disposal, and the 250 defenders stood little chance - although Nero lost 170 men, half of them valuable comitenses, caught on a part of the wall which collapsed when it was successfully undermined by sappers. It was a costly mistake which Nero reproached himself for having made. Having taken the city Nero left a small garrison and marched out to meet an Eastern Empire army coming to the relief of Thessalonica. His 850 troops destroyed the 640 strong enemy army for the loss of only 40 men.

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Augustus Leontius Flavius gave up trying to sleep and sat up on the edge of the bed. Sleep was hard to come by these days. Food was of little intrest to him and what little food he managed to eat normally went straight through him. His wife kept telling him he needed a rest, a nice relaxing trip to one of his villas on the Tuscan coastline. She didn’t understand – couldn’t be expected to, being a woman and all. She couldn’t grasp the concept that the reason he couldn’t sleep or eat was the same reason he couldn’t possibly leave the capital and get away from it all. When Nero took Thessalonica, Leontius began to think that the Lord was going to bless his reign after all, but since then it had been an endless litany of bad news.

First it was those damn Alemni! Where on Earth did they get all their troops from? Every year Marcus would rout them, and the next year they would be back on the offensive again. Following the death of King Suomar in 374, the new King, Hrodgar was back the following spring with an even larger army, nearly 500 men. Marcus, his legion worn down by the constant fighting and lacking reinforcements had no alternative but to retreat back to Roman territory, evidence of Roman weakness that angered and embarrassed father and son in equal measure.

Then came news that those Eastern pretenders to the Roman throne had made an alliance with the rebels in the west! To make matters worse they even came to an arrangement with the rebellious faction in the east that claimed their own throne in Constantinople. So whereas Leontius was surrounded by enemies and traitors, his main rival seemed to be able to make alliances at will.

In Brittania, the rebels struck again, taking over Londinium. The garrison there fled for its life, double-timing it north to Ebaracum and safety.

Then the Saxons, long a fear lurking in the far reaches of Leontius’s mind declared war. A large army, over 1000 men marched into Gaul and laid siege to Colonia Agrippina, and a Saxon fleet blockaded its port.

Meanwhile Thessalonica had never gotten used to being ruled from Rome instead of Constantinople and despite Nero’s balanced and just governorship they kicked him and his army out (the fact that up to a third of the city’s income disappeared in Nero’s purse never occurred to Leontius as a possible reason for the rebellion, as far as he was concerned that was one of the perks of office. Rank Has Its Privileges as he liked to say).

Then came news that the rebels had taken Lepcis Magna. Another city joining the rebellion. With every city that switches sides we grow weaker and they grow stronger lamented Leontius.

And though they weren’t causing trouble yet, Leontius was sure it was only a matter of time before he was at war with the Vandal hordes milling around Sirmium and Huns swarming round Campus Lazyges.

Leontius had difficult decisions to make, and he decided to take as many troops as he could spare from Brittania load them into what was left of his northern fleet and land them in the rear of Saxon territory. His plan was that these provinces should be lightly defended given the large Saxon army camped outside Colonia Agrippina. This army would be able to loot and pillage the lightly defended settlements and draw away the besieging Saxon army.

That was the plan anyway. The small fleet got as far as the Saxon coastline, but as they searched for a suitable landing point they were caught by Saxon warships. Although they lost the battle, the Roman fleet managed to escape, but they sailed straight into a Pirate fleet who they were in no state to resist. The entire fleet was lost, the entire army drowned or sold into slavery by the pirates.

What little hope the small garrison of Colonia Aggripina had of holding out against the Saxon Army that vastly outnumbered them was gone, and in the spring of 376, the city fell. The Saxons moved onto Augusta Vindelicorum and put it under siege. The hatred of Barbarians that burned inside Leontius had become a roaring furnace, yet it seemed there was so little he could do to stop it. He rubbed his tired eyes and shivered in the cold night air. Why could he never sleep at night when he was so tired in the day? He was already awake when the officer of the night watch came into his room to tell him that a messenger had arrived from the Eastern frontier with urgent news. Leontius felt his stomach turn to ice, urgent news was never good news. Not during his reign. He found some clothes and went down to meet the messenger as dawns first rays were piercing the night sky. “Why does it always get colder just before the Sun rises?” he wondered.

“What is your message trooper?”

“Your Highness, I bring urgent news from the East. The army of the Eastern Emperor has besieged Aquincum. I was about to leave Salona with this news when the Vandal hordes arrived outside our city walls, with a giant army, maybe 5000 or more, mainly cavalry. I managed to sneak out of the city at night using a secret exit and have raced here with this news”

“I see” said Leontius “And what of my kin, what of Spurius? Is he still in the city?”

“Yes Sir, even as I left the city, he was speaking to a large crowd of citizens, assuring them that the Lord God would not abandon them to the Godless barbarians, that as long as they put their trust in Him who saved their souls, He would not abandon them.”

A weak smile broke across Flavius’s careworn and tired face “Good old Spurius” he grinned “never misses an opportunity to preach the Gospel. Well, we will not and we cannot abandon him! More importantly we cannot afford to lose the fragments of the One True Cross to those stinking barbarians! Who knows what they will do to them? I doubt they shall even realize the significance of what they posses and will probably use it as firewood! I shall not let that happen!” Suddenly, all the tiredness, the world-weariness seemed to have left Leontius, the thought of losing this most Holy of relics had filled him with a new passion, a new zeal. He turned to the messenger. “Do you know where my brother Nero and his army are camped? I want you to ride there as fast as you can, tell him I’m sending 6 cohorts of troops under Captain Attalus to reinforce him, and that he has first priority on all new troops that we raise. Tell him he must, he MUST break through to Salona and relieve Spurius. We cannot, we cannot, we MUST not lose the fragments of the cross on which our Lord died. Go, go! You have my authority to commandeer as many fresh horses as you need to get to Nero” He turned to the duty scribe. “Scribe, write a letter to my nephew Decimus in Rome, tell him to start raising as many troops as he can afford in Italy, and that as soon as they are trained they are to be marched to Dalmatia to reinforce Nero’s army. And make them good troops mind, troops Nero can use, comitenses and the like. And NO BARBARIANS. I don’t want good Roman legions contaminated by Foederatii scum”

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“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged because of the King of Assyria and the vast army with him, for there is a greater power with us than with him. With him is only the arm of flesh but with us is the LORD our God to help us and to fight our battles”

Spurius Flavius paused in his reading from the book of 2nd Chronicles and looked up at the vast crowd before him. It was a constant theme in his preaching in the besieged city of Salona, the Vandals as a kind of modern day Assyrian army, vast and ruthless. And if the Vandals were the modern Assyrians, that made King Gondegusulus a kind of modern day Sennacherib. But as he repeatedly assured the people of the city, if they put their trust in the Lord God, just the people of Jerusalem had in Hezekiah’s day, then God would save them. And the inhabitants of this previously pagan city were flocking to the cities church in ever-increasing numbers. There they prayed to the bones of Martha the Martyr, there they knelt and prayed in front of the reliquary that held fragments of the One True Cross. Already many miracles had come to pass, blind people had regained their sight, cripples had walked. Spurius silently thanked God for His goodness and returned to his sermon.

“So let us pray the prayer of Hezekiah, as recorded by the prophet Isaiah “ O Lord Almighty, God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, you alone are God over all the Kingdoms of the Earth. You have made heaven and Earth. Give ear O Lord and hear; open your eyes O Lord and see; listen to the words Sennacherib has sent to insult the living God.

It is true O Lord that the Assyrian kings have laid waste all these peoples and their lands. They have thrown their Gods into the fire and destroyed them, for they were not Gods but only wood and stone, fashioned by human hands. Now O Lord our God deliver us from his hand so that all Kingdoms on Earth may know that you alone are God””

And the crowd stood before Spurius spellbound. Wherever he went his powerful preaching and the power of his relics had won a great many converts for Christ, but here in this besieged city, with the threat of annihilation so near, they had flocked to hear him like never before. To the people of Salona, only Spurius and his God could save them from the Vandals.

Just as the God of Spurius had used an Angel of Death to save the children of Israel when they were in slavery in Egypt, just as He had used an Angel of Death to save the people of Jerusalem when they were besieged by the Assyrians, so He would answer the prayers of the people of Salona with another Angel of Death. Only this Angel had a name, and it was Nero Flavius.


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The scout dismounted and marched towards Nero, “Report” the general barked.

“Sir, as you thought, there are 2 Vandal armies in this valley, but they appear to be separate from each other, we saw no evidence that they are in contact, and they appear to think that we will not attack now that it is dark. I estimate the first army has just under 1000 men, the other just over. Mainly horse archers, but some spearmen as well.”

“Very good, prepare your men to move out again.” He turned to his legates “Well then gentlemen, just as I thought, lets show these barbarian scum what dangers lurk in the night”

Just as Nero had planned, in the darkness the 2nd Vandal army was unable (or unwilling) to come to the aid of the 1st army under attack from Nero’s legion. In the darkness Nero had outmaneuvered the enemy and instead of being outnumbered 2 to 1, the numbers were roughly even. The large numbers of enemy horse archers had inflicted over 300 deaths on the Roman army, but unsure of themselves in the darkness, and threatened to be over-run by the Roman Infantry, the Vandals had withdrew before Nero could win a decisive victory. But to the Vandals, un-used to being forced to withdraw by a smaller army, it sure felt like a defeat, and it started to sow the first seeds of doubt in their soldiers minds. And those seeds were watered and nourished 2 weeks later when Captain Attalus, coming down from Italy with Nero’s promised reinforcements out-manuevered and annihilated a Vandal blocking force of 650 men before meeting up with the Generals legion.

His Legion brought back to full strength by the reinforcements, with enough left over to form a reserve, Nero launched a 2nd attack on the Vandals camped east of Salona. To his dismay, over 1000 enemy troops led by the Princes Gildo and Marobodulus slunk away into the night, leaving the 100 troops in their outpost to be massacred by Nero. Lacking large numbers of light cavalry, his infantry heavy army had been unable to pursue and engage the retreating enemy. Not for the first time Nero rued the lack of horse archers of his own. And again he had failed to win a decisive victory, yet as before the Vandals had been forced to retreat at night feeling that they had been defeated once more. Confident that under the leadership of Spurius that Salona was secure for now, Nero withdrew to the foothills east of the city as the year 376 drew to a close. Close enough that the Vandals and the people of Salona knew he was there, far enough away to be safe from Vandal attack. Or so he thought.


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“TO ME!! TO ME!!!” Nero cried. He wheeled his horse around, covered in sweat, breathing hard, the noble beast had run itself into the ground, but Nero knew he would have to coax some more running out of it yet. Over there was a group of half a dozen Foederatii, he made his way towards them “Reform in that wood!” he yelled at them, pointing with his bloodied sword towards a small copse on top of a small hill. A bit further behind them he spotted about 20 comitenses, clearly exhausted by the days killing and dying. He repeated the command to them, and they wheeled round towards the trees, clearly encouraged by the sight of other Roman troops using those woods as a rallying point.

Nero was starting to feel a little better, perhaps all was not lost after all, when he spotted maybe 200 yards away some more of his troops, just a remnant of what had started the day as a full cohort of Roman Comitenses. They were being pursued and whittled away by Vandal cavalry. “FOLLOW MEEEE!” he screamed, and charged towards the enemy, his loyal bodyguard following in his wake. The Vandal horsemen, so caught up in chasing down their rabbits never saw the Roman Cavalry till it was too late – they were smashed to pieces in seconds. The centurion leading this band of stragglers didn’t even have time to thank his general for saving them before Nero was barking out the same orders “Reform in those trees over there”. In this way Nero shepherded what was left of his army to the comparative safety of the woods. When he was sure there were no more of his men left to save he too entered the woods, the last Roman to leave the battlefield that day. The surviving centurions had done a fine job of reorganizing the stragglers into some kind of fighting line. All of them could see the Vandal horse archers tentatively approaching the woods, firing off their arrows as they came in range, but unlike out in the open, most of these arrows were filtered out by the thick canopy overhead. The senior centurion marched over to Nero, exhausted by the days fighting, grief-stricken by the losses, but proud that his men had fought like Romans of old. Julius Caeser, Scipio Africanus, Pompey the Great, they would have been proud to have these men in their legions he thought. “Centurion, prepare the men to withdraw through the woods in an orderly fashion”

The centurion looked at him aghast “Sir? Retreat? But sir, we can ‘ave em! We’ve given ‘em a right good kickin’ today, there can only be a few ‘undred of ‘em left sir! And the men ‘ave given everyfink fer you today sir, I’ve never seen Roman soldiers fight and die like this sir, this is just like it must ‘ave been in the old days like, sir. We can ‘ave em!”

Nero looked at him “I don’t think so Centurion. They may only have a few hundred left, but they’re nearly all horse archers, and me aside, we just don’t have any cavalry left. If we leave these woods we’re easy targets for their arrows. And like you say, we have given them a right good kicking today. Better to withdraw now, it’ll soon be dark and we can meet up with our reserve back in the foothills. We’ve got more reinforcements coming in the new year and we can have another go at them then. They thought they would crush us like a fly today, instead we’ve given them one hell of a bloody nose and we’re withdrawing under our own terms. Let their survivors struggle back to camp and tell of the courage and fighting prowess of the Roman Legions”

“And the courage and leadership of Nero Flavius. We couldn’t have done it without you Sir” grinned the Centurion.

And so the remnants of Nero’s Legion silently made their way back off the battlefield. Most of the men were thinking of their dead comrades they had left behind on the battlefield who even now would be being stripped and looted by the Vandals. Nero on the other hand was ruminating on how it had come to this. To his alarm, that Autumn the Vandals had sent 2 armies in a pincer movement towards him. With the mountains behind blocking any retreat, Nero was forced to meet the Vandals who outnumbered him 2,800 to 1150, his reserve too far away to join the battle. He found a small ridge upon which he lined up his infantry. On his flanks he placed his precious Sarmatian Cavalry. Though not as fast as the Vandal light cavalry, they were tougher and stronger, and if they could close to fight hand to hand they were vastly superior. As was proved when battle was joined. The Sarmatians fought heroically, time and again charging the Vandal mounted archers, and his infantry played their part too, destroying the Vandal infantry. But the Vandals just had too many archers, and eventually he had run out cavalry. Unable to drive off the horse archers, his line began to break in places and Nero had had to order a retreat, knowing full well that he would lose many more men as they were chased down by the Vandal cavalry. Although he had lost nearly 1000 men, he reckoned the Vandals must have lost over twice that. The Vandals may have won the battle, but he had forced them to pay a huge price, and he had survived, as had enough of his army to form a core around which to re-build his legion. If only I had more light cavalry he though, and resolved that when he sat down to write he report to the Emperor he would emphasize his need for horse archers of his own.

[Mount Suribachi]

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[Mount Suribachi]

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[Mount Suribachi]

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[TinCow]

Nero Flavius glared at the forest that engulfed him. It had been over six months since he had departed Sirmium; he should have been in Massilia in a quarter of that time, yet here he sat.

“RUFUS!”


Where was that man? For all his tendencies towards piousness, Nero could not help himself from wishing great harm upon Lucius Vibius Rufus. A full year ago Marcus had sent this guide to bring him to Massilia for the inheritance ceremony. Nero snorted at the thought. Marcus Flavius Felix… EMPEROR. The sheer insanity of it made him want to weep.



Nero Flavius Valerius was the foremost general in the Empire. While his father, Emperor Leontius, had been busy losing territory, Nero had been busy winning it. Britannia, lost. Africa, lost. Belgica, lost. Even Sicily, the first territory made into a province! Rome had controlled that island for nearly 400 years, but his father had lost it when Eutropius had betrayed them and joined the rebels. Meanwhile Nero had taken lands. He had won glories, been proclaimed Master of Infantry and his name was feared by both barbarians and Roman traitors. Meanwhile Marcus had indulged himself. Sure, he had his share of victories, but the man was known as “the Gambler” for a reason. He had been proclaimed Count of the Saxon Shore, yet the Saxon Shore had been lost years ago. It was a hollow title for a hollow man. Yet he had inherited the throne, not Nero.

“It seems he had the one thing that was more important than all my accomplishments,” he mumbled, “An extra year.” He eyed the trees around him. “Maybe Eutropius was smarter than I thought.”

“Who, sir?”

Nero turned in his saddle. The dirty, red-headed peasant was standing behind him. How could such an ignorant buffoon move so damn quietly? “You had better have good news.”

“Certainly, sir. I have found a small village where we can spend the night. It is just a short way in that direction.” He pointed back through the underbrush from which he must have come.

Nero sighed and gestured to the man to lead the way. Hopefully he would not lose his way again. When Marcus had been proclaimed Augustus, he had obviously seen the value in his brother that his father had missed. Rufus had arrived with a message that Nero was to be made heir to the Empire until Marcus’ son Illus came of age. Nero had waited long enough for his adopted cousin Procopius to arrive from Salona, then he had turned over his military retinue and title and set out with Lucius Vibius Rufus for Massilia. Giving up his Legions had been difficult, but it had been worth it.

Everything should have gone smoothly, but this fool of a guide had spoiled all of his plans. It was strange, now that he though of it. Rufus seemed to move with intelligence and experience, but they always ended up in the wrong place. While it was true that the roads in these areas were poor and the numerous bandits had made the area difficult to cross, the journey should not have taken this long. Soon Illus Flavius would be twelve, another year closer to maturity. That did not concern him though; neither Marcus nor Illus would live long once he was proclaimed heir, and not even this incompetent pleb could get lost for another four years. Fratricide may be a sin, but surely God would not mind the death of a couple blasphemous Nestorians, especially not if it would make a true Christian like himself Emperor. Nero crossed himself and turned his horse to follow Rufus.

It took an hour, but eventually a small settlement appeared before them. As they passed through the gate, Nero looked curiously at the construction of the wooden walls. They had certainly looked Roman from afar, but close-up it was clear that they had been designed by someone with far less experience than the average engineer. Where had Rufus led him them this time? Nero sighed, resigned to yet another night of nearly inedible food and lice-infested bedding.

He was still looking at the walls when the arrow struck him in the chest. Somehow Nero managed to stay in his saddle, but he knew in an instant that the wound was mortal. He grasped the shaft protruding from his breast, staring at it, unbelieving. Why were there bandits inside the walls? Why had there been no demand for ransom? Another shaft struck him in the right shoulder and he toppled to the ground.

Men closed in from all around him. With great effort, Nero looked up towards the center of town. Lucius Vibius Rufus was on the main road, in conversation with an elder villager. For a moment, the guide’s eyes turned towards him. The last thing he noticed before the knives bit into him was the slight smile on Rufus’ face.

[TinCow]

“Close the doors!”

It was all Spurius’ fault. Burdigala had been a peaceful city until Cnaeus’ brother had arrived in the province. True, the people had been poor and far from happy, but they had never rioted like this. This had started with Spurius’ religious rantings. For the past year he had been traveling the province, preaching to anyone he came across. Many had converted, many more had not. With Cnaeus as governor, the province still officially remained Pagan, despite the fact that the temple to Jupiter Best and Greatest had been destroyed long ago and never rebuilt. Spurius’ new followers were not pleased with his refusal to their demands for a church and the daily gatherings had quickly erupted into open violence in the streets.

“Put archers on the roof. Kill anyone that gets close to the walls.”

His bodyguards rushed to comply. They feared him almost as much as the city did. Cnaeus the Harsh they called him in public. In private, the words were far less polite. Let the Furies take them. It was all coming to an end anyway.

Once the Romans had been the mightiest people on the planet; now the very fabric of the Empire was being torn asunder. In addition to the territories lost under Leontius, Colonia Agrippina and Augusta Treverorum had recently revolted and joined the rebels. Over a third of the Western Empire was now no longer under the control of Rome.



“You!” Cnaeus gestured at the nearest servant, “bring me wine!”

Rome. How the name made him want to cry. It was no longer even the capital of the Empire. It was a betrayal of all that was true to move the center to Massilia. Not even Emperor Marcus liked it enough to reside there, he chose to stay in Mediolanum if rumors were true. At least it wasn’t Arles, the chosen seat of his adopted son Petronius. The man had achieved nothing, become nothing.

“I should have known better than to adopt a Christian,” he said to no one in particular.

The worst part of it was that Petronius was the best relative he had left. He was grandson to Emperor Valentinianus, nephew to Emperor Leontius and cousin to Emperor Marcus, but his own family had all been miserable failures. Both his father Cassius and his younger brother Gratianus had been renowned for their cowardice before they died, but at least they had been loyal. His older brother Titus had been the man who led the first rebellion and his adopted grandson Crispus had joined him ten years later. At least his son Lentulus had been good enough to die in battle. Now there was Cnaeus and Petronius the Nothing. And Spurius, the cause of all… this.

To be fair, there had been hopeful news lately. The Celts had proposed a peace, though that was largely an empty gesture since Britannia was lost with no prospects for re-conquest.



More significantly, Appius Flavius was besieging Augusta Treverorum and would hopefully bring that city back under the control of the Emperor. Even better, the great Macedonian city of Thessalonica was currently invested by Procopius Flavius.

Yet none of this mattered to the crowd gathered outside.

“cnaeus…”
“Cnaeus…”
“CNAEUS…”

The angry chanting was getting very loud; it would not be long before they were at the walls of the Pro-consul’s Palace. Suddenly there was a huge crash and the fortified doors shook under an impact. Muffled shouts came from the battlements where the archers were preparing to loose. Shortly after, piercing screams came from beyond the door.

The next thirty seconds passed like an eternity. Finally, Cnaeus exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. The demonstration seemed to have worked; there had not been a second blow to the doors, though the chanting continued. When this was done, the leaders of these rioters would be dealt with even more brutally than usual. Attacking the Palace was a serious offense, and Cnaeus was not known for his lenience.

“In the name of Bacchus, where is my damned wine!?”

He spun in place, looking for the servant he had seen before. Instead he found himself staring into the face of his chef’s new assistant. The man must have been standing there since the pounding; there was no other way Cnaeus could have missed the sound of his footsteps.

“Your wine, Governor.”

Cnaeus took the proffered cup. “You had best learn to respond faster if you expect to remain in my service,” he said icily. Torture always calmed him. Perhaps this man could contribute more than wine to his master’s peace of mind.

“CNAEUS...”
“CNAEUS…”

That damned chanting would probably go on all night. Maybe if a few more of them grew wood and feather appendages, they would quiet down. Cnaeus turned and marched off to find a guard. First he would deal with the rioters, then he could relax to screams of pain rather than anger.

“Guards! Guards! A rioter has killed the Governor!”

It took a moment for the words to register. He stopped in his tracks and was just beginning to turn when the tip of a blade sprouted from his chest. He looked at it curiously for a moment, before crumpling to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. It was as if a block of marble was crushing his chest. Cnaeus fell fully to the floor.

He could see the chef’s assistant now. The man was waving and shouting frantically, pointing at Cnaeus. His last thought, as the darkness closed over him, was to note how rare it was for a Roman to have such vibrantly red hair.