Re-unification - WRE PBM write-ups thread

[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.

[TinCow]

There was not much time left and Andragathius knew it. The decades he had spent in the desert had withered and aged his body faster than normal. He was not sad though, rather he was relieved.

For him, the role of Emperor had been a burden. He had been an ordinary man put into an extraordinary position. Yet, he had succeeded in some things, if not all.

The Slavic invasion had been stopped and the European borders of the Empire had been secured. From Britannia to Constantinople, a wall of Roman steel guarded every entrance into the provinces. In Eburacum, the capable Attalus Commodus had succeeded Rufinus Victor as governor of the northernmost province. At his disposal was a strong garrison capable of defeating any enemy that came across Hadrian’s Wall.



The continental provinces themselves were more secure than they had been in two hundred years, thanks to the restoration of the Border Legions. They had been implement exactly as planned.

In Gaul, Legio I Italica guarded the passageways to the Frankish, Alemanii and Saxon lands. Based in Augusta Treverorum, it was commanded by Tertius Atinius, a young nobleman with limitless potential. The Alemanii threat had receded, as the ruling warlord had died without an heir, but the Franks and Saxons were still very active and someone would soon claim Vicus Alemanni as their own.




In Cisalpine Gaul, Legio II Italica watched the Alpine passes from its home fort east of Mediolanium. Its commander, Ardabarus Mamaea was also young, but had command experience and the expectation of gaining more.



In Pannonia, Legio VI Claudia Pia Fidelis protected the river crossings and the city of Carnuntum. Aquincum served as its base and the city’s governor, Nepotianus Flavius, also doubled as its commander.



Finally, in Moesia, Legio V Claudia Pia Fidelis held the Danube from a fort east of Sirmium, vowing that the enemies of Rome would never again cross its waters. Its commander, Syagrius Flavius had been dismissed as governor of Thessalonica. His appointment had been a political one, secured by fellow Nestorian Heraclianus Cipius, know as “the Mad.” The son of Emperor Spurius Cipius may have been passed over for Imperial rule, but he still held sway in the Balkans. It was not a bad choice either, for while Syagrius had proven to be a poor governor, his deficiencies in civic management mattered little on a field of battle.



Further east, the war in Asia continued, but Rome had achieved great gains there thanks to the efforts of Asterius Flavius, who was known to the masses as Asterius of the Eagles. The Easterners were still a mighty force and much blood would be shed before they finally fell, but Rome had many provinces in Asia now and the Empire could not be dislodged.

Finally, there were the accomplishments of the African Legion, which had been led by Emperor Andragathius himself. The Berbers had been able to mount a serious challenge to the Roman war machine only once. On the march west to Tingi, Andragathius’ force had been assaulted by an equal number of Berbers under the leadership of King Qabus.



A strong defensive position had been taken and the mass of the enemy charge had broken on the Roman shieldwall.






When the enemy then hesitated, the lines had opened and the cavalry had spilled forth to ride down all before them.




It had been a mere formality to Tingi itself, held only by a handful of poorly trained men.



Andragathius had decreed that with the restoration of this ancient Roman province to the Empire, it would henceforth have the “s” returned to its name. The Berber Tingi was no more, the Roman Tingis had returned. The profits of this conquest began to flow into the Imperial coffers immediately. The trade between Tingis and Corduba alone was in excess of 3,000 denarii per season. To ensure effective governance of this most important trading province, Andragathius had left his own son, aided by the best of the Emperor’s own advisors, in charge of the city. He had then begun the long march east, to Carthage for reinforcements, and from there onwards towards the Eastern enemy.

The journey was uneventful, apart from two minor skirmishes with tiny Berber forces. When Andragathius and the African Legion had finally reached Cyrene, they found that it had rebelled against the Easterners. Diplomats spoke with the leaders of the revolt, but they refused to rejoin the Empire. Force of arms succeeded where words had failed.




And so it was that Andragathius Flavius found himself in the desert west of Egypt when his body failed him.

“Sire, we should attend to the last of your duties.”

Andragathius opened his eyes and squinted at the man in front of him. One of his oldest advisors, a true friend.

“Are we already done with the rest of it?” The affairs of the realm were being put in order in anticipation of his death. A morbid practice, but one he knew was necessary.

“Yes, Augustus. As we said before, the provinces that had lived so long under pagan rule have finally been brought into the light of God.”

“There were no difficulties?” Augustus knew they had discussed this before, but his memory was fading him and he had to know. He had to know the Empire was secure.

“There were minor revolts in Eburacum and Colonia Agrippina by those who would not convert, Augustus. However, Attalus Commodus was able to quickly regain control of the former…







…and Legio I Italica put down the revolt in the latter.”





Andragathius smiled. He was immensely proud of the Border Legions and regarded them as his most important accomplishment. “It is good to see that the Empire is finally secured, from within as well as without.”

“Yes, sire. In fact, you will recall that Legio I Italica was the first of the Legions to perform its duties against the barbarians as well. While still under-strength, they responded to the siege of a border fort by a Saxon army.”



“Despite being outnumbered and having to cross a ford in the face of a numerically superior enemy with a strong shieldwall, Legio I achieved a glorious victory and demonstrated for all the value of the system.”








Yes, he had been proud when he had first heard that news. It had worked. The Empire could be secured. Peace could be brought to the provinces.

His aide cleared his throat. “Sire, we still have not dealt with the final duty.”

Andragathius had delayed this moment, but it had to be done. The Empire needed to know who would succeed him. An Empire needed an Emperor. The people needed a leader… but who? There were many choices, but Andragathius knew there could be only one final result. The heir must meet the needs of the Empire. Europe was secure, the realm converted to Christianity, the coffers full. All that remained to be done was to reunite the Roman people under one banner; the Eastern rule must come to an end.

“There is…” his voice caught in his throat. He cleared it, took a deep breath and started again. “There is only one man who can reclaim the Empire. Asterius Flavius.”

“But sire!”

“Quiet, I will have none of that. I know from what blood he is descended. Remember though that I, too, have Flavian blood in me. Do not judge a man by his predecessors; judge him by his own worth. I have heard the rumors of his ambition, but he is a good Roman and he is a great leader of men. Ambition is not wrong if it is put towards just causes and the work of God. His sword arm is strong; we must pray that his head and his heart are too. Besides… the Empire is returning to its previous glory, it should have a ruler, not another steward of the state.”

Augustus Andragathius Flavius breathed a sigh of relief. At last, his work was done.

[econ21]

Asterius’s story

OK, let’s do this. Are you ready? ‘Cause I really don’t have a lot of time. Where did we leave it last time? Oh, right, I was stuck in Antioch. That fool, Qrestes Quirinus, thought he could cage me, so I busted out. It should have been a good fight too. But it was lame. The jackass deployed within range of the city walls. By the time we got to them, they had been shot to pieces. And you know what? That idiot Quirinus was just stood out in front of his army, like a general on parade. And all the while, his army was obediently dying behind him. That kinda riled me, so I spurred my horse and charged the sorry excuse for a general.



Sallying out from Antioch, Asterius launches a premature charge on the Eastern Roman General, Orestes Quirinus.

I know what you are thinking - dumb fool thing for a commander to do, charge in before his men were even deployed. Even dumber thing for an Emperor, right? Well, I guess you gotta point there. But come on, what was I supposed to do? They had no fight in them. I had to catch them before they turned tail and fled. Although for a moment there it did get a little hairy…



ERE units rush to defend their general, endangering the impetuous WRE Emperor

Got him in the end, though.



Quirinus dies fleeing the Asterius’s bodyguard

So, anyway, with that idiot Quirinus out of the way, the plan was to march south. We were gonna cut the enemy off from the sea. No coastal provinces so no fleets and no trade. Plus we could link up with the boys coming up from Egypt. Olympias Flavius was going to command them. The only man I can really trust not to stab me in the back. He knows it’s all going to be his sooner or later, so why put himself out, huh? You gonna to get his story too? Nah, why bother - the man’s a stiff. And what did he ever do anyway?

Ok, so where were we? Right, I was marching south to Sidon. We met an enemy army that had holed up on a hill, with their left flank anchored by some steep rocks. It was a straight up fight. We manoeuvred onto the hill and then ploughed into them. The Sarmatians worked their way round the enemy’s rear, of course. You gotta love those guys. Tore through the enemy general’s bodyguard like a gladius through a toga.



As the ERE infantry are engaged, Sarmatian auxiliary cavalry charged into their rear.



Riding down the ERE general and his bodyguard.

Sidon fell quickly enough. But then we had to race back to relieve Antioch. Now that battle was beautiful. As we marched on the enemy, the garrison came out behind them. I did not expect that. I didn’t order them to come out. And I damn well was not commanding them. But what the heck, it was good to see them. We trapped the enemy between us. Wham!



Asterius’s army presses down on the enemy - the sallying WRE garrison coming up from behind the enemy is visible on the mini-map



Asterius’s cavalry herd the enemy into the spears of the sallying garrison



And Asterius’s own bodyguard slay the second ERE general in a year.

Are you getting all this? Cause you look kinda bored. Look, why don’t you go work on Placus’s story now? Cause he was a real hero, not a loudmouth like me. We can get back to this. Yeah, yeah - it’s been a blast. Now get outta of here - I got an Empire to run.

[econ21]

Placus Cerealis’s story

The Abbess: We were most fortunate to have had Placus Cerealis. He was an unlikely hero, but a hero nonetheless. It was in the year of our Lord 439. With the Emperor - Placus was his brother-in-law, you know - with the Emperor determined to march south towards Egypt, that left Asia Minor exposed to an Eastern counter-attack. Placus was governor of Sinope when the inevitable happened and the enemy advanced on the city.

The Anchoress: He asked me: “Why me?” I replied “There’s no one else.”

The Abbess: It is true - there were no other generals in the region. So Placus pulled whatever garrison troops could be spared from Caesarea and reinforced the defences of Sinope. But then the enemy turned south and headed for Caesarea.

The Anchoress: A lesser man would have panicked. Placus prayed. And the Lord answered.

The Abbess: He raised two cohorts of veteranii using his own credit. And also recruited some bucellari, Bosphoran spearmen and Sarmatian horse archers. Along with hastily raised local troops, he had soon amassed an army of nearly 1000 men. Then it was time for the enemy general, Castinus Laetus, to panic. Placus’s army moved to relieve Caesarea and together with the garrison sallying forth, crushed the invaders.



In 439 AD, Placus Cearalis marches to relieve Caesarea.

The Anchoress: Even as he gave thanks for his victory, I told him the Lord had fashioned a mighty blade for him and that it would be a sin not to wield it.

The Abbess: Placus had a choice - to stay, waiting for more enemy incursions and paying a small fortune to maintain his army in the field. Or take the battle to the enemy and push east. He made the brave choice. Within two years, we were at the walls of Kotais. His defeat of an enemy relief force was perhaps his greatest moment.

The Anchoress: The wrath of God was in him that day. As his infantry fought off a flanking maneouvre by first cohorts of the false Emperor, Placus led his own bodyguard alone in pursuit of the enemy in the centre. His small band of true believers single-handedly smashed two rallying enemy cohorts and a troop of equites.



441 AD, outside Kotais - Placus's greatest victory.

The Abbess: On the flank, enemy first cohorts cut through some of our lower grade infantry. But thanks to Placus’s personal efforts in driving off the enemy centre, the first cohorts were overwhelmed. With the victory, the gates to Kotais were open to us.



443 AD, Plaucus storms Artaxarta and kills the ERE Caesar

The Anchoress: Placus was now unstoppable. He stormed Artaxarta and slew the false Caesar, Cestinus Laetus. The fallen city erupted in riots, but the fires merely fuelled Placus’s divine fury.

The Abbess: Placus hunted down another false Caesar and then marched on Phraaspa, trapping the imposter Augustus. But in his moment of triumph…

The Anchoress: The Lord called for Placus. He died fighting the false Augustus’ bodyguards in the centre of Phraaspa.



445 AD, Placus storms Phraaspa but falls to the swords of the Eastern Roman Emperor's bodyguard.



Placus’s men avenge their fallen general by slaying the enemy Emperor.

The Abbess: Phraaspa was ours - but only in name. Our army numbered only a few hundred and the people were enraged when we tore down the Temple to their false gods.

The Anchoress: But again, the Lord provided.

The Abbess: Jovanius Commodus, who had ridden all the way from Rome to bring a band of chirugeon to the Emperor, was sent to act as governor of Phraaspa. Soon under his leadership, we were able to continue the drive east. The remaining provinces of the Eastern Empire were now succumbing to a three-pronged assault. Commodus in the north, the Emperor in the centre and Olympias Flavius advancing in the south from Egypt. Our victory was inevitable.

[econ21]

Attalus’s story

What price victory? We are conquerors, the victors. But was it worth it? Ach, don’t listen to me. I’m an old man, all spent now. I’ve had my fill of battle. I saw it first under Romulus Sertorius. What, you don’t know that name? I’m not surprised. You could say he saved the Empire, defeating the Sarmatian horde in Italy and leading to their people becoming loyal citizens of Rome. You might have noticed their auxiliaries play an increasingly large role in our victories? But no, you probably won’t have heard of Sertorius, as no sooner had he saved the Empire, than he was abandoned by it - suspected of disloyalty, he was stripped of his armies and sent away on some minor governorship in Gaul. I should have learnt from that, perhaps.

But no, I was young and the young often do not learn the most important lessons life teaches. I then served under Rufinus Victor. Now there was a fighter - rivalled our great Emperor in his triumphs. So, yes, I had seen enough war. But in the year of our Lord, 445, I felt the call of battle stir within me once more. As Count of the Saxon Shore, I had worked hard to restore loyalty to the Empire in Londinium and Ebacurum. But all the while, the Celts had been massing north of Hadrian’s wall. It was time for a punitive expedition - to smash their field armies, burn down their camps and then return south.

Our first encounter was a slaughter. At the end of the battle, we counted 472 Celts dead for the loss of only four of our men. So we pressed north, besieging the huge Celt city of Dal Raida in the winter. In response, the Celts gathered an army of 1500 men from the countryside and marched to relieve the city. The garrison of 300 sallied out to join them.

The Celtish army was an impressive sight and I confess I was apprehensive. Most of the enemy army was composed of Gallowglass, fierce northern warriors not unlike the Saxons. The Celts were short of cavalry though, sending a troop onto our right to await a moment to charge in from the flank. Such a threat was intolerable, but luckily the cavalry had come far in advance of the main body of enemy infantry. Consequently, our Sarmatians were able to smash the Celtish horse before the battle proper began.



445 AD outside Dal Raida: as the main Celt line of battle approaches, the Romans neutralise an early threat to their flank.

We had deployed on a hill, with both flanks refused. The Celts strung their relief army out in a long line that threatened a double envelopment.



The calm before the storm…the Celt relief army approaches

But the Celts were too thinly stretched and their lack of armour told as they struggled up the hill under the hail of first our arrows and then our javelins. Their centre appeared to dissolve under our fire. Their flanks escaped most of the missiles, but crumpled under frontal attacks from our infantry combined with rear charges by our horse.



Attalus smashes the right of the Celt relief army. Their second line - the garrison - can be seen approaching on their left.

With the relief army falling back in disarray, some of our infantry pursued the retreating enemy down the hill. This was unfortunate, as they ran into the Dal Raida garrison, advancing on our right. For a moment, it was tense, especially when a band of painted giants appeared to support the Celt gallowglass.



The left of the Celt battle line - fresh troops from the garrison counter-attack the Romans pursuing the relief army.

”The Hounds of Culann”, I believe those painted giants are called. Fortunately, we spotted the threat in advance and our archers concentrated their fire on the giants, with our Sarmatian auxiliaries riding the remnants down in a charge into their rear.



With the relief army in retreat, the sallying Celt garrison are crushed by the Romans.

The enemy were utterly defeated. The Celts lost 1800 men - we lost only one hundred. We then took the city of Dal Raida and razed it to the ground. Our men slaughtered 19000 unarmed men, women and children. What price victory, huh?

But that was not the worst off it. A few rebellious officers demanded we settle in Dal Raida and Romanise it. The Emperor had strictly forbade such settlements, so I refused. We marched further north and east, hunting down the remaining Celt armies and indeed a large Saxon force. But in my absence, the rebel officers broke away and raised a army of 2300 peasants to claim the town. I returned to besiege the town, not meaning to storm it but merely to pass it by and return south.



While Attalus hunts down the remaining opposition, a rebellion breaks out in what is left of Dal Raida.

However, when the Imperial Secretariat heard of the rebellion at Dal Raida, they demanded I crush it. I was forbidden to return south before the town had yet again been stormed and put to the sword. The slaughter of fellow Romans sickened me.



The Roman response is brutal.

I now believe our action was wrong. Upon taking Dal Raida from the Celts we should have occupied it and brought to it the benefits of Roman civilisation. The rebels were right. Our mission is to bring light to the world. Hiding behind walls and frontiers will only ossify us and lead to decay. If the Empire is to endure, it must not be content with historical borders and re-unification. For expressing these doubts, I was stripped of my offices. Like my first general, Romulous Sertorius, I was pensioned off to be governor of some insignificant Gaulish province. So be it. But I notice now that the Emperor’s legions are claiming the land of the Allemanni, the Franks, the Saxons and the Lombards. The old frontier has been crossed; the rules of the game broken. Who knows what the future will bring?