Re-unification - WRE PBM write-ups thread

[econ21]

410 Summer, Salona

Spurius Cipius stifled a yawn. Eugenius Flavius, the Quaester Sacri Palati, was droning on endlessly about the priorities for reconstruction of the city. Salona had been sacked by the Samartians en route to Italy and then occupied by rebellious Illyrians, reluctant to return to Roman rule. Eugenius was stressing the importance of building ports, mines and markets. The city dignatories sat, feigning interest as Eugenius nervously stumbled over his words. They are probably grateful they were treated so leniently after the assault on the city by Eugenius’s men. Well, having to sit through this lecture punishment enough, Spurius thought with a grimace.

When, after what seemed like a lifetime, the meeting ended, Spurius took Eugenius to one side.

“You could not wait for me?” Spurius said, half in jest. “You had to retake the city yourself!”

Eugenius looked earnestly at his Emperor: “The city has suffered too much, your majesty. It would have been a crime to leave it a day longer under such lawlessness and anarchy.”

Spurius nodded, without conviction, so Eugenius took him by the arm.

“But really, does it matter, who does what, so long as God’s will is done? And you know, I did nothing. It was our men who stormed the city. The cohort that reached the walls first slayed over 600 and lost fewer than 20.”

Spurius looked at the hand on his arm and smiled at the man who dared to admonish an Emperor for his vanity: “But Eugenius, you are not without your own bravery, are you not?”

Eugenius pulled his arm away with a gentle self-conscious laugh. “Your majesty, would you join me a prayer of thanksgiving? Not only for Salona, but also for the liberation of Colonia Agrippina from the Huns and for Illus Flavius’s capture of Ancrya from the imposters in the east.”

Spurius smiled wryly. “Yes, but why do I have the feeling that all that was the easy part?”



Illus Flavius takes the lightly defended city of Ancrya by storm

[econ21]

410 AD Winter, Colonia Agrippina

Attalus sank exhausted onto the couch, his limbs aching. After the city had fallen, he had fought in four consecutive battles, pursuing the horde of Huns that had taken flight. Each battle had been the same. Marching in the dark, through fields wet with dew, towards the torches of the enemy. The Huns, remorseless fighters themselves, had not seemed able to cope with determination of the Roman general, Rufinus Potitus. By attacking at night, Rufinus had managed to surprise the Huns and defeat them piecemeal. The battles with the Huns were not unlike Attalus’s encounter with the Sarmatians outside Mediolanium. However, Rufinus was a more outstanding general than Sertorius. At the final encounter, 900 Romans had met 1660 Huns and killed 1588 barbarians for the loss of only 69 Romans. Still, the fighting had been brutal with the Hun horse archers in particular being lethal and elusive enemies. Now, thankfully, it was over.



In the battles against the first Hun horde in 410AD, Rufinus Potitus could invariably be found at the decisive point, leading his escort to smash that of the enemy general.

The door flung open and Attalus heard loud footsteps marching into the room. He looked up, to see Rufinus striding in. The vigour of the older man seemed to spark off the walls and so, painfully, Attalus raised himself up.

“Should we go after them, Attalus?” Rufinus asked, intensely, pacing around the room.

“General, the Huns are finished.” and so am I, Attalus thought self-pityingly, rubbing his forehead, trying to focus.

Rufinus siezed on the younger man's words: “Yes, that’s it. We have them now! Four times we have smashed them. One more blow and they will be gone forever.”

Attalus spoke wearily: “What can they do? Their forces are less than half the size of a proper field army.”

Rufinus was now pouring over the map on the table, muttering. “One more blow…”

Slowly, Attalus levered himself off the couch and moved towards the map. The smell of candlewax seemed to have a sobering effect on him.

“If we pursue them, we must leave the city undefended. We will need every man. Every battle has cost us dearly. And this place has not known Roman rule for many years. A small garrison would likely be butchered by the Hun sympathesisers or the Saxons. Even if the whole army stays, I am not sure we can avert a rebellion.”

Rufinus nodded, seemingly unconcerned, as if the loss of the city were a price he was willing to pay to finally eradicate the Huns.

Attalus was wide awake now and animated: “Is that what we have liberated the city for? Just to lose it again? Do we want to leave these women and children at the mercy of every thug or barbarian on the border?”

Rufinus looked at his military Tribune with renewed respect: “Very well, we shall rest. After all, what can the Huns do now that we have killed more than 5500 of their men in one season?”

And so, with relief, Attalus returned to his couch and the Huns were able to slip away.

A year later, Attalus was still relaxed to learn that the Huns were besieging Samarobriva, once a Roman city but since passed into Saxon hands. Taking time to make sure Colonia Aggripina remained loyal, the Romans slowly mustered an army to challenge the Huns. But, en route to Samarobriva, Attalus learnt that the city had fallen. The Huns, who he thought were finished, now had a new powerbase to build from. Replenished, they would be free to horde again once the Romans stormed their new capital. On learning this, it would be some days before Attalus could bring himself to stand before Rufinus Potitus.



The second Hun horde that materialised in 418 AD after Rufinus seized Samarobriva. Rufinus will again pursue the steppe horsemen, defeating them in five battles until only a skeleton force remains.

[econ21]

420 Summer, west of Ancrya

So, Lord, I am dying. And I die here, in the east, as my army prepares to give battle with that of the false Emperor. Not much of a general, was I, Lord? Never even saw a battle.

Have I served you well, Lord? My hands are clean. I have put no towns to the sword. I have forgiven those who rebelled against Rome. No free man born within our rightful borders has been enslaved. Even the barbarians on our borders, I have left undisturbed.

And you, Lord, have rewarded us well. You delivered Salona to Eugenius Flavius; Ancrya and Ephesus to Illus Flavius; Constantinople and Lepcis Magna to Andragthius Flavius; Colonia Agrippina and Samarobriva to Rufinus Potitus. And, most miraculous of all, you even returned Londinium to the fold, by inspiring Aurelianus Donatus to lead a loyalist rebellion, much as you inspired me to do in Syracuse so long ago.

And so now, Lord, I am ready. There is much still to be done. But I have just been your humble servant. I have no doubt Eugenius was right. It matters not who does what, so long as your will is done. Andragthius will take up the throne as he was promised. By popular acclaim, Rufinus Potitus will be his Caesar. And me, Lord, I just give thanks for what you have given us and pray forgiveness for all my sins.

Spurius Cipius
Augustus, 406-420 AD

[TinCow]

The baggage train was still making its way through Carthage’s western gate. Andragathius Flavius gazed at it absent mindedly.

“Emperor?”

Andragathius blinked and turned to look at the man who was holding the document, awaiting his seal. Whenever he heard that word, he had to resist the urge to kneel.

“How long will this take to get to Massilia?” he asked the clerk.

“Two months, more or less, sire. The Eastern naval forces are too strong for the fleet to take a direct route. They will have to seek the protection of harbors in Sicily and up the Italian peninsula.”

Andragathius nodded and pressed the Imperial signet into the seal. The clerk bowed and walked off towards the docks.

The Emperor of Rome gazed back at the flowing stream of men and materials of war, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Emperor. Augustus. Divine. He was only a man and he knew it. What had he done to distinguish himself above all others? He was a good Christian and had been loyal to the Empire, but other than that he was merely a common man. Emperor Spurius Cipius had given him the benefit of the doubt, had allowed him the opportunity to prove his worth, but Andragathius knew that deep down Augustus Cipius had always thought of him as a “Flavian.” If he was, it was in name only. He bore the nomina and was the great grandson of Emperor Valentinianus, but his branch of the family tree had achieved little. Neither his parents nor his siblings had ever accomplished anything remarkable. They had all predeceased him as well, leaving Andragathius alone, isolated from the Imperial dynasty. Yes, his nomina was Flavius, but he was not a Flavian.



“And that, Andragathius, is why you will be a good Emperor.” He remembered a Senator saying those words to him when he had been called to Massilia for the ceremony indoctrinating him as heir to the Empire.

Augustus Andragathius Flavius knew there was wisdom in those words. For all the wealth and power that came with the position, the Emperor was simply the foremost servant of the realm. So, he would serve, and he would do his best. He would make up for his own shortcoming and lack of knowledge by utilizing the advice of the Imperial retinue. They were good men who knew how to handle to mechanisms of Roman governance.

“Listen to your advisors and do your best to help Rome,” the Senator had told him. So he had done and so he would continue to do. No sooner had word arrived that Spruius Cipius had died than he had been forced to lead an army into battle. He had waged war before, but he had no particular talent for it. He had listened to his military advisors, as in previous battles, and they had prevailed. They were good men and they knew how to conduct the affairs of war, as well as peace.

He glanced back in the direction of the docks, but the clerk was lost in the sea of people that was Carthage. Such a simple document, but hopefully an important one. He would continue the campaign in Africa, but the rest of the Empire still had to be governed. Spurius Cipius had done much to secure the provinces and to improve the lives of all Romans. Andragathius would continue his holy work. The document laid out the broad objectives of Imperial governance, as agreed upon by the Imperial council, with the details to be handled as the local officials though best.

First, the Slavs had to be dealt with. Their emissaries claimed they were merely travellers with no hostile intentions, but they were no different than the other hordes who had killed countless Romans and ravaged a dozen provinces. Eventually they would turn hostile and have to be confronted. An army had to be assembled to confront them, but that would take time. Anthemius Senecio was ordered to take his newly trained elite cohorts east towards Pannonia, where locally raised forces would join him. In the mean time, assassins would be employed to quietly eliminate the more aggressive Slavic leaders. Andragathius did not like this last method, but he knew that the lives of a few pagan warlords were a small price to pay for saving countless innocent Christians. Hopefully the assassins could stave off war until Senecio was prepared.

Second, the wealth of the Empire would be directed towards the restoration of the Border Legions, which had proved so effective at their prime 300 years ago. The Empire would be divided up into four regions. Each region would have one full strength Legion of Rome’s finest soldiers, supported by the best Auxiliaries, and supplied with the finest weapons and armor. These Legions would in turn support individual border forts that protected all avenues into the Empire. Each border fort would be manned by a single cohort of frontier troops. The forts themselves would not be designed to hold the enemy, but merely to delay them at the choke point long enough for the Legion to arrive and deal with them. In this way, the entire Empire could be guarded at all times. From west to east, Legio I Italica would be responsible for the Gallic territories, Legio II Italica would be responsible for holding the Alpine passes, Legio VI Claudia Pia Fidelis would guard the Pannonian borders, and Legio V Claudia Pia Fidelis would watch the Danube crossings in Moesia. This system would take time to create and it would cost vast sums to implement and support, but it would more than pay for itself in the long run by securing for the Empire. Nevermore would an eastern horde ravage Roman lands.

Third, the foothold in Asia would be secured and expanded. Once stable and prosperous territories were added to Roman rule, the reunification of the Empire would be assured. This would be the most difficult task, with the might of the Eastern armies to contend with.

Finally, Africa would be retaken. Andragathius had been ordered on a campaign to restore the African provinces to Imperial control before Spurius Cipius had died. It was a mission that was to the benefit of the Empire, promising to restore glory to Rome civilization and to secure the Mediterranean for trade fleets. Tingi in particular was of critical importance. The wealth generated from new trade with Africa and shorter sailing routes would greatly benefit every province. Andragathius saw no reason to abandon these plans simply because he was now the supreme ruler; he had ordered the march to continue as planned and would see it through personally. When the west was secured, then he would march back east towards Egypt and open a second front against the false Empire.

The rear guard was now passing through the gates; it was time to go. Augustus Andragathius Flavius walked over to his mount, held by one of the Imperial bodyguards. He nodded to his men and mounted. As the group began to move, the most powerful man in the world prayed in silence.

[TinCow]

Manius Ulpius yawned and cracked his knuckles. Legio VI Claudia Pia Fidelis had been marching since dawn. General Senecio had been driving them hard to reach the Pannonian front ever since they had received orders from Massilia.

Ulpius just wanted to sleep.

“God curse all noblemen,” he said to no one in particular. All soldiers complained, but few as much as Ulpius. He glanced behind him and could barely see the glint of sunlight off of the weapons of the first cohort in the column.

“God curse all centurions too.” Mettius Nepius Cotta, centurion of the Third Cohort had overheard him complaining the night before about the marching and had rewarded him with the ‘honor’ of scouting the road ahead of the Legion. The ‘honor’ being that the scout was always the first to die when the enemy was waiting in ambush.

Ulpius winced as his foot slipped and he banged the blister on his big toe against a rock. “God curse all bloody rocks. Was it really necessary to make so many of them? One sun, one moon, two damned people and more rocks than all the whores in Gaul.” He sighed and squinted at the road ahead.

They were not far from the border fort south of Aquincum, maybe 15 minutes or so and he should be able to see it. “I should be able to bloody smell it right now,” he said to the wind. “God curse all unwashed barbarians. What kind of people don’t take baths? Bloody animals, they are.” Ulpius shook his head.

If the rumors were true, the border fort would be seething with them. After crossing the Empire’s border, some of the Slavic lords had begun to die in bizarre accidents.






The horde had taken this as a sign of ill omen and turned back north, leaving Roman territory. The first of the border forts had been built behind them and garrisoned with local troops. It hadn’t taken long for the Slavs to get their nerve back though, and this time they didn’t ask permission. They had stormed both the forts south of Aquincum simultaneously with rams that they had built elsewhere and taken with them on the march. Refugees said the southern fort had resisted the first assault…






…but it had been overrun by a second, more determined attack.





Ulpius didn’t even like to think of what had happened to the garrison of the northern fort.



A short time later, he crested a small slope and the remains of the fort appeared in the distance. There was little left other than the fortified walls; the gates were destroyed and the interior gutted. The open fields surrounding the fort were strewn with countless fire pits and campsites. It was as if the gates of Hell had opened up and the demons of…

Ulpius blinked. There was no one down there. No one alive, at least. He could see scavengers picking at a few carcasses of man and beast, but nothing else moved. The Slavs were gone.

“Filthy bastards, aren’t they?”

Ulpius spun around and nearly wet himself. A cloaked man was standing not two paces behind him, grinning smugly.

“You scared the damned wits out of me!” Ulpius snarled.

“So sorry,” the man laughed, “I’ve been waiting here for you for hours. Are you from Legio VI?” He took Ulpius’ blank stare as an affirmative. “They’re gone you know.”

“Gone? What do you mean gone? The Slavs?” The man’s grin returned. “All of them? Gone where?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know; wherever Slavs go when there’s no one telling them what to do.” The confusion was apparent on Ulpius’ face. “You see, their king, or whatever they called him, had an accident. There wasn’t anyone left to tell them what to do… so they left.”

Ulpius’ eyes narrowed, “what do you mean he had an accident?”

“Oh, that part is quite simple,” the man grinned, “he accidentally slit his throat on my dagger while he was sleeping.”

[TinCow]

“Burn, damn you!” For a moment, the men near Rufinus Victor almost expected the massive siege tower to burst into flames. Not even fate dared disobey the great General, what chance had a pile of wood?

The tower did not burn though. Two detachments of archers were pouring flaming arrows into it from either side, but the Celts seemed to have covered this one with wet hides. It simply would not catch fire. As Rufinus watched the siege engine, he began to slowly count backwards… 7, 6, 5, 4…

One of his personal guard looked at him quizzically.

…3, 2, 1…

The drawbridge on the siege engine slammed down and a swarm Celts wielding huge two-handed blades stormed onto the city walls. Rufinus sighed. “Now,” he said, casually shaking his head, “this will take all afternoon.”



They were brave, Rufinus would give them that, but they were barbarians. They outnumbered his men nearly three to one, were attacking the city walls from two directions, and had siege towers and ladders moving towards more sections of wall than he had men to hold them. But they were barbarians, and barbarians were predictable.





A runner came from the south gate. “Sir, the Captain of the Second Cohort reports that the southern ram has been set alight and that the Plumbatarii are holding strongly.” Rufinus nodded and dismissed him. Both rams and one of the two siege towers had been set alight by his archers.





He was thankful for that. Had they broken down one of the gates and spilled into the streets, the fight would have lasted into the evening as well. That would have delayed his bath.

Rufinus had been fighting barbarians for decades. He had won countless battles against overwhelming numbers of the enemy. They didn’t die like ordinary men though, they died far easier.

When Andragathius Flavius had become Emperor, Rufinus had been hunting the last of the Huns in Saxon lands, south of Campus Frisii. He had been recalled and sent west to protect Samarobriva from a large Celtic force that had landed nearby. He had been looking forward to that fight, but it never came. Only days before he arrived, the Celts had disappeared. His scouts had scoured the forests for them, suspecting an ambush, but no sign of them was ever found. The Admiral in charge of the channel fleet claimed that no ship had been seen to take the army away, but Rufinus knew well how outmatched Roman ships were in those waters. Half the Celtic homeland could have walked from Britannia to Belgica over a bridge of boats and the Admiral would probably claim that nothing had occurred.



He had been ordered to remain in Gaul and supervise the organization of Legio I Italica, but that was a job for clerks. The Celts had returned to Britannia, and where barbarians went, Rufinus followed. With nothing more than the occasional Saxon raid to contend with on the Gallic frontier, Rufinus set his men to the construction of a more formidable fleet to secure the waters and transport his army north.

It had taken time, but in the summer of 423 the new Roman fleet had swept the channel clean of barbarian raiders and Rufinus and his men had crossed. They found Londinium besieged by a small force of Celts being led by a chieftan named Ciniod. When Rufinus’ force appeared, the Celts had abandoned their siege engines and fled west. He had caught them a short ways away at a river ford.





They must have thought themselves clever for defending such a choke point. Too bad they hadn’t noticed a second ford only a short distance to the east. Rufinus had sent half his cohorts across the river there and had crushed them with simultaneous attacks from two directions.





He had then marched north on his own initiative to take Eburacum. That city had been lost to the Empire generations ago, it was time they started paying their taxes again. Taking the walls had been a simple affair; the usual ladders at midnight trick always caught barbarians off guard.





Only weeks later, news arrived from Gaul that a small bandit raiding party near Colonia Agrippina had been destroyed by Legio I Italica. Upon closer inspection, it had turned out to be the last “King” of the Huns and a handful of starved vagabonds.



The garrison had left their corpses for the vultures. It bothered Rufinus not one bit. He knew that barbarians like the Huns were little more than dangerous animals. Cull their numbers and maim them and they will all turn into cowardly scavengers. Yes, they were animals. Rufinus liked hunting animals almost as much as he liked a good bath.

It was then that the phantom Celtic army had reappeared… at the gates of Eburacum. They had brought friends as well. A small group of Foederati had been sent north as reinforcements by Aurelianus Donatus, but they had been caught in the field and massacred. And so the assault had come from west and south.

Rufinus had gambled on his archers and Celtic ignorance. He did not have enough men to defend all threatened points, so he left the gates unguarded and ignored the landing sites of the siege towers. Two cohorts were placed to repel the entire southern attack with the rest dispersed to meet the ladders coming towards the western walls. As a reserve, the two detachments of Sarmatian Cavalry had been placed in the city square, where they could quickly move towards any threat that managed to reach the streets.

Everything had gone as planned, except for that second siege tower. It had disembarked men in an area only held by archers. The Eighth Cohort was nearby, but they were occupied fighting off one of the Celtic ladder groups.

“Runner!” Rufinus bellowed. A lightly armored soldier stepped forward. “Tell the Fifth Cohort to leave the northernmost section of wall and report to the gatehouse immediately!” The man ran off into along the wall.

Rufinus gazed back up at the wall. The archers were fighting bravely, but they were unarmored and their daggers were of little use against the massive blades being thrown against them. In no time at all, two-thirds of them were down. It would be only moments before the last of them broke and the Celts took the tower behind them, giving them access to the streets below.



Whoever was currently leading the nearby Eighth Cohort saw the threat as well. With a momentary lull in the Celts storming up the ladders to their section of the wall, the men moved as one to take the Celts from behind. They fought desperately to break through the rear of the barbarian infantry, eventually succeeding in drawing off their foes from the remaining archers.



“Get them off the walls!” Rufinus shouted, gesturing to the archers. “Pull all archer detachments back to the main square, this is no place for them now.” Men rushed to comply as a massive of heavily armored men arrived from the north.

“Sir! Fifth Cohort reporting as ordered sir!”

“Up those walls soldier,” Rufinus commanded, “use the gatehouse stairs and then take them from behind!” Orders were shouted and men began to crowd into the narrow passageway.

Rufinus looked back up at the wall. The Eighth Cohort was finishing off the last of the Celts from the siege tower, but dozens more were coming up the now undefended ladders behind them. The Eighth had save the tower, but only temporarily. There were only about 50 men still standing and it would not take long before the Celtic masses overwhelmed them. The tower on the other side of the wall had already been occupied, but it did not have access to the street and all of its windows faced outwards. It’s loss mattered little to the scope of the battle.



The first men of the Fifth were now arriving on the wall, but there were easily a hundred Celts between them and the Eighth, with more pouring up the ladders every minute. This would not do.




“Runner!” Rufinus bellowed again. Another man in light armor appeared. “Bring the cavalry up here immediately!”

The minutes crept by and men died. Only a third of the Eighth was still standing when the Sarmatians reached the western gate. “Sally and sweep them from the ladders.”

The doors of the city creaked open and a hundred heavily armed horsemen poured forth to wreak bloody terror amongst the scaling parties.



With the enemy scattered and disorganized, the cavalry rode unopposed wherever they went, sowing panic and confusion. The men who had yet to climb broke and ran, while those already on the walls died to the last, their fear making them ineffective against the cohorts. As the last of the fighting in front of the siege tower subsided, Rufinus could see that only two dozen of the men from the Eighth had survived, the wall itself a mass of dead and dying.



“Steward, get those men down and tend to them. Collect all the belongings of any Celt who fell on that wall or below it and split it amongst them.” Rufinus glanced back at the city. Now that the battle was over, the usual administrative duties would have to be tended to. He hated governance. Perhaps he would send for Attalus Commodus to supervise the city; that man actually seemed to like it. That was a decision for later though. He grabbed a nearby legionary. “Soldier, go tell my steward to heat some water and bring me my tub, the bronze one.”

The man looked at him in astonishment, “I don’t know sir… it’s… it’s…”

Rufinus stared at him, “What is it soldier?”

“It’s still pretty hairy out there… it’s a Celtic city…”

“Celts don’t bathe!”

As the army around him cheered, Rufinus Victor, the greatest general in the Roman Empire, retired for a soak.

[TinCow]

They were silly things to die for, Eagles. What kind of a symbol was that anyway? Eagles did not battle their enemies, did not confront them head-on with courage and strength. They were creatures which dove upon weak and defenseless prey from far above and retreated to the safety of trees and clouds when threatened. Lions, those were animals worthy of symbolism. Elephants too. Asterius Flavius had seen both fight in the Coliseum in Rome and he admired them.

He stared for a long time at the four gilded Eagle standards that lay on the table in front of him. Yes, such silly things to die for. With so many lost and so many more destroyed, did the Easterners even care about the things anymore? Was a trophy of any value if its original owner thought it disposable? Four Eagles, but thousands of enemies.

War had not stopped when Spurius Cipius had died. Asterius’ father, Illus Flavius, had given him command of the Ancyra garrison, while he himself supervised Ephesus. Asterius knew that his father had never enjoyed the challenge of warfare. He preferred a comfortable life in the city. Perhaps that was why he had been passed over. Illus’ father, Asterius’ grandfather, had been Marcus “the Gambler” Flavius; a ruthless ruler who had coldly and efficiently eliminated Roman and non-Roman rivals alike. Yet Illus had not inherited the throne, it had gone to Spurius Flavius and then to, of all people, an adopted Sicilian general who wasn’t even a Flavian. It was true that another Flavian sat the throne at the moment, but he was a Flavian in name only. The true blood of Rome’s divine sons flowed in Asterius’ veins and he knew it.

The same year that Andragathius Flavius had been crowned, Asterius had led the Asian Legion against Ioannes Velius and his host.



Asterius chuckled. The Asian Legion… it had certainly had the numbers then, but half of them had been mercenaries, as likely to fight against him as for him. Fortunately the mercenaries were not ignorant, they knew that Ioannes’ men were numerous, but inferior and cowardly and they held the line without wavering.





Ioannes had escaped with half his force, but the respite was only temporary. Asterius had cornered the survivors at the Hellespont and finished them.




He had captured his first Eagle the next summer, a feat his father had only accomplished at twice his age, after destroying a relief column that had been sent to reinforce the now non-existent army of Ioannes Velius.



His second had come that winter, when he had confronted a large Eastern field army that had blocked Asterius’ own reinforcements.







He had begun to gather the reputation he deserved then. One Eagle could be taken by luck, but two required skill. Asterius’ father had never captured a second.



After the Eagles, he had taken his Elephants. Not the gilded kind, but the real ones. He had met the false Emperor of the East outside of Caesarea. The man had brought a small force exclusively composed of mounted mercenaries. Some of those mounts were war elephants though, and that made the man cocky.




As Asterius had advanced, the elephants had charged his right wing, inflicting heavy losses on the flank cohort.




His men were disciplined though and the elephants did not panic them. The closely clustered men swarmed the beasts and they fell quickly, followed by the rest of the hired killers.



The false Emperor had tried to stare down the might of the Asian Legion, but his bravado quickly ended when the legion charged.





Asterius himself had personally pursued the man off the field, shouting insults at him from behind.



He had sought refuge behind Caesarea’s walls, but the Legion swarmed over them soon enough.




To their credit, the Eastern Legio V Fulminata had put up a brave fight at the gatehouse and had died to the last man.




In their honor, Asterius had given their Eagle to a captured Eastern soldier, who was released and sent back home. Honorable Romans deserved to be recognized. The Eastern Emperor’s body was fed to the pigs.



Skirmishes and garrison duty in Caesarea had occupied the Legion for several years after that, but finally they had marched on Sinope. The large garrison had sallied forth in a coordinated assault with a smaller reinforcement column.



Asterius had drawn up the Legion in a defensive formation around a destroyed villa next to the main highway.



The Sinope garrison was quickly driven off with massed arrows, javelins, and darts.



The Legion had then pivoted and dealt with the reinforcements.




A second relief force, this time much larger, attempted to break the siege the next season.



Asterius used the same position and achieved a similar result.




Sinope fell soon after. Asterius still recalled a strange dream he had had the night they had taken the city. In the dream, he had watched masses of legionaries streaming by under parade. He had heard a voice from far away saying that the Empire had been united and that he now ruled the world.



He had remembered that dream when he had woken, and every night since. No, it was not true. The Empire was not yet whole, vast territories still lay in the grip of the Eastern pretenders. Yet, perhaps some day it would be whole… and perhaps some day it would be him who truly did rule the world.

Victory after victory began to fall to the young general after that. He seemed to defeat huge armies almost without effort. First another Eagle was taken east of Caesarea…





…then another massive force was slaughtered while trying to force their way across the river south of the city.





Asterius had taken his fourth Eagle in the largest pitched line battle any of his men had ever seen.



The battlefield itself had been quiet, in awe of the beauty of the two approaching forces.



The struggle itself had been less impressive, though the enemy had made a strong push on the left flank.





Fate and good Roman highways had then led him south to Tarsus, where an army with a trio of Eagle standards awaited him. It too met the fate of its predecessors, though survivors managed to escape with all three trophies.



Finally the great and ancient city of Antioch had fallen before him. A few will placed bribes had opened the city gates to him, allowing it to be taken by surprise with minimal loss.



And so it was that he sat and stared at the Eagles. He heard the whispers around him. Some compared him to the famous Rufinus Victor, but he scoffed at such a claim. Rufinus had been adopted into the royal family and was rumored to be bastard born. Asterius was a pure blood descendant of the Imperial line. Rufinus had fought unwashed hordes. Asterius had battled Roman legions. Rufinus had taken barbarian villages. Asterius had conquered the mightiest cities in the world. Rufinus had died alone of old age, patrolling Hadrian’s Wall in the frigid north. Asterius was the hero of the Empire, and he was barely 30.

No, there was no comparison. Rufinus Victor had once been heir to the Empire late in his life. Asterius of the Eagles knew that, one way or another, he would be Augustus in the prime of his.