[RS2.1 AAR] The Kingdom of Ionia - A Roman Reinterpretation of the Crusades [Updated: September 30, 2012]

[chaplain118]

Thanks for the reviews everybody. Next update will be this weekend. New developments will surface in the Kingdom, and Crassus may have found himself in deeper water than he previously imagined

[Diomede]

WEEKEND? Worth the wait. Seriously. A very original AAR, props to you.

[chaplain118]

Chapter IX

… It is difficult to come to understand the vegetation that seemed to have sprung up in this area. Much of the farmlands here have historically proven to be surprisingly rich despite the relative arid nature of the Ionian coast. The records indicate that during the transition period from Republic to Principate, the areas of the Ionian coast experienced a large boom in grain production. Similar models have been found in areas that have suffered large losses of men in combat. This leads us to conclude that if indeed the Kingdom of Ionia was in existence around this time period, the battles and carnage left by this short-lived Kingdom would have been enormous—possibly serving as a clue to its downfall and disappearance.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

A Regal Promise

-----

"I do not believe it." Pulcher refused to leave from the Praetorium, even as the riders came and informed him of the victory.

"Believe it. Ephesos has come, our prayers have been answered. The King's soldiers stand at the gates of Colophon, ready to be received by a man still loyal to the Kingdom."

The shadow of a sardonic smile played across Pulcher's face. "A man still loyal to the Kingdom. Would you claim that for me?"

"Each man has his chance to redeem his sins before the gods. The King's arrival to Colophon is a sign that the gods have granted you absolution. Don't waste this opportunity, Pulcher. The gates will be opened with or without your consent. The King will come, let he be your arbiter upon this world and the gods in the next."



Crassus surveyed the insides of the Colophon fortress. Much of the houses here were unoccupied. A handful of riders atop their horses waited for him. The few civilians unfortunate enough to be trapped behind Colophon's walls when the Greeks descended upon them lined up at the streets to look upon the King. Men knelt, women reached out their hands, and children gazed with wonder as Crassus entered.



He rode towards the center of the fortress, where the Praetorium was situated. A lone man with tired eyes stood waiting for him. He dismounted and said.

"You must be Pulcher."

"Has my infamy proceeded me thus?"

Crassus raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

Pulcher looked away.

"Look at me." Their eyes met. "If a man lives his entire life with deeds of wickedness, yet at his deathbed truly repents all the sins he has committed, is that man still worthy of salvation and absolution?"

"No."

"But that is where you are wrong. If he truly repents, if he truly bares his soul for the Fates and the gods to judge, then he is every bit worthy of absolution as a man who has spent his entire life in good deeds. Kneel, Maximinus Pulcher."

The once proud man fell to his knees. In full view of the troops that have gathered behind him, Crassus spoke. The words were familiar to him, and to the army of Ephesos.

"Be free of your fears, let it not master you. Be swift upon your horse, and deadly with your weapons. Be honorable in battle, for the gods will love thee for it. Let the enemy shake in fear when they face you, a rider of Ionia. Fear not death, for when we are, death is not. And when death comes, we are not! Now rise a new man, Maximinus Pulcher! Rise as a rider beside me!"

Tears streamed from Pulcher's face. Absolution had come, not through death but in life.

A father's pains

-----

But in the western gates of Colophon, Bubulcus and Pictor had other plans. The two entered the fortress with Bubulcus at the head of his Praetorians, much like Crassus had. The men that he had ordered and commanded during the battle marched beside him as well. Head held high and with the haughty arrogance of a King, Bubulcus rode towards the Praetorium.



"What is the meaning of this?" Atius Balbus intercepted the two on his horse before they could arrive at the Praetorium.

"I would recommend moving out of the way, if you know what's good for you." Pictor said.

"I will not yield to usurpers. Retreat and enter behind the King, lest you find yourself at the point of my sword."

Pictor snorted. "Your sword? In two months time you shall come to me begging for mercy. Tell me, do you think the chambers at Lebedos will be sufficiently comfortable for dear Atia?"

"I will not hesitate to have you executed, Pictor."

"Oh, by all means, please do. But it is a two day ride from Smyrna to Lebedos. I would have enjoyed your daughter many times aplenty by then."

Atius Balbus drew his sword. "Retreat. And submit to the King." His hand was quivering and his nostrils flared. The urge to plunge the sword into Pictor's heart had never been stronger. But he could not dare risk an open warfare between the legates while the Greeks still prowled across the Kingdom.

"I bow to no man."



"I swear by the gods, by the black Acheron itself, that if you should lay a finger upon my daughter, that you so much as looks at her, I will personally come to Lebedos with the army at Smyrna and take your head."

"Oh is that right?"

"Believe it."

A melodramatic sigh fell from Pictor. "Your words are of paramount importance, Prince of Ionia. Perhaps we should ask the King of his opinion on this?"

"The King wants you dead, and that spineless bastard of yours with you."

"Yet here we are, alive and at the head of our own garrison. I daresay that the gods favor us more than they do the King. You should be honored for your daughter, to lose her virginity to two men so beloved by the gods. It is a fate that many would die for."

Atius Balbus could not hear any more. He reached up with his sword and brought it down on Pictor's head. A pair of Praetorian shields parried the blow and then connected with his own chest, knocking him down to the ground. Struggling to get up, he saw Pictor over him.

"Perhaps you should stay where you are, or perhaps I should kill you here to spare you the image of your daughter beneath me."

He kicked Balbus in the face from atop his horse and the man fell, blood spurting from his nose and ears. Through a haze of tears he watched Pictor and Bubulcus march on and he was powerless to stop them.

[romulus753]

This is awesome! Will be following this.

[Alexandros I.]

Awesome AAR! The history is really addictive. Hope to read more soon. +rep

[chaplain118]

Chapter X

… In regards to a line of succession, there is no doubt that this Rex S. Pap Cra most certainly would have chosen someone to replace him should he meet his end in this brief Kingdom. Presumably, his choice was someone that all of his noblemen would have supported. We have no record of his successor, written or pecuniary, and all our assumptions are—once more—mere conjectures, stabs in the dark for a clue or answer that we in all probability will never know.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

Gambit

-----

Crassus chose to make winter quarter in Colophon rather than in Ephesos. The choice was one out of practicality. Colophon, being the closest fortress to Ephesos itself, had a certain magnetism about it. It drew the Greeks towards its battered wooden walls and Crassus had decided that here would be where he will take the first measures in defending the Kingdom's domains and expel the Greeks.

The winters of Ionia were warm, like those of Italia. Even in the midst of December, the praires still looked as pristine as ever, as lush and green as ever. Each day, Crassus would ride out from the gates of Colophon, flanked by his loyal guards and always conversing with one of his legates, whether Pulcher or Balbus.

From Pulcher, Crassus learned more about Decimus Sulpicius Camerinus the Coward King. But despite the stories of how the Coward King refused to charge forward during the prime of his life, Crassus would always remember the man's final battle. He would forever remember how the man had charged forward at the head of the army of Ionia into the Greek ranks. There were already whispers amongst the men that Crassus himself was coming dangerously close to being labeled a coward as the last King was. It was not that he feared charging into the enemy, but that he did not see a reason to. A King may be aggressive in battle, but if he died then it would have been a useless endeavor.

On the Ides of December, when accompanying fresh troops from Colophon, he expressed this concern to Balbus and received an unexpected answer.

"You cannot hope to remain King for long if you do not lead men from the front. The soldiers will soon forget your charisma and leadership and only remember that you ride at the rear of the army. They will mutiny at the first sign of weakness from you."

"Ah, weakness. Such a strange word is it not?"

"I warn you now, sire, you cannot let men such as Pictor and Bubulcus gain control of the army."

"They won't."

"They will if you continue to conduct battle like this. Their Praetorians are growing more and more impatient by the day. They wish to have a greater say in what goes on in the Kingdom."

"Why?"

"They feel that as they are the ones doing the majority of the dying and killing, that they ought to be rewarded with political power. It is a sentiment that even I cannot argue against."

Crassus shook his head. "Bah, politics."

"You cannot ignore politics any longer. Bubulcus and Pictor are circling like vultures over a battlefield. They're waiting for the moment to strike."

"And what of you?"

"Sire?"

Crassus smiled. "I'm not deaf, Balbus. I can hear the whispers around Colophon from the soldiers speaking of you as the Prince of Ionia. And why not? If I have a designated heir to the throne, then would there not be such issues?"

Balbus' mind turned to the threats that Bubulcus and Pictor made about his daughter and he shuddered. "Perhaps." He knew the dirty affair of politics while Crassus did not. The weight of the world seemed to crash down on him with the confirmation.

"There must be an official adoption ceremony."

He nodded and remained silent as Crassus went over the adoption details. None of the words sank into his mind. Only the threat against his daughter echoed in his head. The walls and barracks of Colophon came into view over the hill.

Accidents Unforseen

-----

When the Greeks renewed their offensive three days before the New Year, Crassus was in the midst of transferring more men from Ephesos to Colophon. Before he had a chance to link up all of the men, the Greeks laid siege to the fortress. And so, he was forced to push forward and sally forth once more.



The battle itself started out disastrously enough. He had sent the artillery pieces back to Ephesos for proper maintenance due to the fact that there were no means of acquiring the necessary expertise nor materials to keep the powerful psychological tools in working array. But even as he rode forth from Colophon, he saw the artillery crew run through the forest--their tunics dirtied and blood smeared upon their armor. His heart sank when he saw them.

"Soldier, where are the artillery?"

"Lost, sir. We had to leave them behind in the woods lest we want the Greeks to take them."



That was something he did not need to hear. He braced himself for the worst when he asked for which pieces were lost. To his surprise, the crew said.

"We had to leave the ballistae behind. But the larger artillery pieces, the Lithoboloi, are still functional. They left from Ephesos almost four hours behind us. With any luck, we can form up a defensive line upon the hill and approach the enemy from outside the walls. Wait for the heavy artillery."

Crassus mulled over the thought. To pull himself away from Colophon would seem like a cowardly move, but it made sense strategically. He looked at Balbus and received no clear answer from the man's gaze.

"Sir?"

Could he afford to make this decision? Would Balbus' prediction come true? Would he be labeled as a coward as Sulpicius Camerinus was?

"The man speaks correctly." Crassus turned in surprise. It was Pulcher.

"Do explain."

"The Greeks are approaching from north. Lining up our troops in the south will ensure that the artillery can arrive to provide covering fire when necessary. It is tactically sound."

"Yes, but since when do we take words from traitors? Please, King, allow both myself and Pictor to ride forward and greet the Greeks with our horses. Soften them up for you." Bubulcus rode over atop his black horse.

"You will ride to death. Your horses will grind themselves to death upon the spears of the phalanx."

"And what would you do? Remain here?"

Pulcher smiled. "In a manner of speaking."

"Pathetic. Cowards leading cowards, that's what this world has come to."

Crassus rubbed his brow. "Enough. We form up along the eastern wall. Let the towers cover our left flank and wait for the artillery. Keep the enemy in our sights while they're still far."



Pulcher started. "Sire! The danger to the cavalry--"

"Is a non-issue. You have sworn your loyalty to me." He turned his gaze to Bubulcus and Pictor. "As have all of you. We shall arrange the army along the eastern wall and wait for the artillery. To your posts."

Meanwhile, over the hill, the artillery pieces lumbered forward.

[chaplain118]

Chapter XI

… Excavations around the Colophon site show signs of battle near another section of the wall, but merely further away this time. Either these two battles were fought in succession one after another, or that they were separate campaigns conducted by Greek generals seeking the glory of expelling the Romans.

There exist several different spear heads within the site and many of them were of Greek origin behind what we’ve established as the Roman main line, hinting at a religious conversion process in which the Greeks were introduced and then (possibly forcibly) made to adopt the Roman religions.

Aside from the Greek spear-heads that we’ve found, there were also several sword buckles as well. Most of these sword buckles carry distinctive Celtic elements such as the boars that were hammered into them. It would seem that the various Celtic tribes still residing in Asia Minor in this time preferred not to become directly involved with the conflict but chose instead to simply supply manpower to the highest bidder.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

War path

-----

Crassus was growing anxious, far more anxious than he should be. The numbers were not to his advantage, but since when did he care about numbers? The acumen of a general made the true difference in the outcome of the battle. And while men like Bubulcus and Pictor are content to declare that it was the will of the gods who determines who should win and who should lose, Crassus still believed that each man could shape his own fortune--despite the will of the gods. Unfortunately, his trump cards--the artillery pieces--were still too far.



"Sire, the Greeks are coming closer." Balbus pointed in the distance.

Crassus squinted at the undulating mass of pikes in the distance. The Greeks certainly were persistent. He hazard a guess at the number, only to grow distracted by his lack of artillery. The words from the ballistae crew were an ill-fated omen, to be sure, but the news that the lithoboloi were still en route helped calm him somewhat. He tried to think, tried to come to a strategy, but his mind still turned to the grim prospect that after this Greek army may come another, then another, until Ephesos was finally wrested out of Roman hands.

He knew why the Greeks wanted Ephesos: the Great Temple of Artemis. But he also knew that when the soldiers of the first Great Pilgrimage entered Ephesos, they smashed all the statues, ripped apart the bronze plates that adorned its walls, and destroyed the cult of the goddess--replacing her with Juppiter instead. It was beneath that Great Temple that the Coward King had repelled the Greeks barely a year ago.

No wonder the Greeks are determined to take Ephesos. Crassus looked at his own legates. How many of them were fueled by the very same religious bigotry as the men of the first Great Pilgrimage? Bubulcus and Pictor to be certain, but what of the others? He knew that if he leaves the Kingdom in Bubulcus' hand, the man would carry out a series of grand military campaigns, supported by Pictor and consequently, the powerful Fabian family in Rome. The Kingdom's territory would double or even triple, but what would that accomplish? More Greeks seeking vengeance for what they considered blasphemy? It would lead to an endless cycle of war.

And the ones who suffered the most in war are the people that he had sworn to protect.

Ah, the voice in his head said, but are you not doing the same by refusing to expand the Kingdom's domains? Are you not subjecting people to further insecurity by merely pushing against the Greeks?

He tried to answer, but a cry rose up from the rear ranks that distracted him. The artillery has arrived.



"Well, King." Bubulcus rode over, a smug look on his face. "Shall we begin?"

Crassus could not help notice the hatred etched on Balbus' face when Bubulcus came near. The two would certainly tear each other apart given the circumstances. He must come to a decision to placate the two, lest he find the already fragile Kingdom shattered in two from the men's personal feuds.

"Yes, Bubulcus, I think it's time. Arrange your Praetorians and whatever men you may muster. I am giving you free reign this battle."

The comment shocked both Bubucus and Balbus.

"Free reign?" Bubulcus asked. He had not expected to have gained such a commendation, especially in the wake of his insubordination.

"Yes, Legatus, free reign. You have proven yourself an able commander, why deprive you of what you do best?"

"Sire, I protest!" Balbus trotted over. "His insubordination may lead to an adverse outcome in this battle!"

"His insubordination has brought us victory in the past. I will need the skill and leadership from all of my Legates in the coming days. I understand your concern, but this will be my decision to make, and my responsibility to bear should it go wrong. Is this sufficient enough for you?"

"No."

Crassus lined face broke into a sardonic grin. "So does that mean you will refuse my orders?"

"No. I merely wish to express my concern that--"

"All noted, Balbus. We shall discuss further behind the walls of Colophon. But for now, reinforce the left wing. Make sure that your own riders are able to provide support for the Army should we require it."

"So be it. May Mars and Bellona protect you." Balbus jerked the reins fo his horse and trotted to meet his troops.

"And you as well." Crassus muttered to Balbus' back.

"So, I will have my leave now?" Bubulcus asked.

"Indeed. May Mars and Bellona protect you."

Bubulcus dipped his head in acknowledgement. Crassus felt that he had somehow traded his soul away for temporary security. An uncomfortable fog settled on the battlefield, enshrouding both armies with tendrils of sighing mist.



He felt something warm behind him and saw that the artillery crew had ignited their munition. The round hissed and spat in its holder. The sinews powering the artillery groaned and creaked with each clank of the winding chain. Then, like a beacon, the flaming boulder hurtled through the air, burning away the mist in its path. Trumpets blasted. The Army of Ephesos marched forward.

That which drives us

-----

"He what?" Pictor was incredulous at what Bubulcus said.

"Free reign to do what we want in this battle."

"He must recognize his precarious position. Good. We have at least spooked him this much. Where did he leave that fool Balbus?"

"The left wing, directly against the walls."



"He must really not want his precious prince dying, does he?"

"Does it matter? We have achieved the first step of what we sought to do."

"Yes, yes, you'll soon become King. But I wonder if this is a ruse? What if he charges us with free reign, but we do not perform as adequately as we originally have been?"

"We'll worry about that when cleaning Greek blood from our swords." Bubulcus drew his sword and kissed it. When he saw the raised eyebrow on Pictor's face, he said. "For the gods."

"For the gods."

Meanwhile, the Greek army pushed closer.



Polybius looked ahead at the coming Greek army and shook his head. Why are there still men who would resist Roman rule? Do they idealize the days of the past when it was nearly impossible to walk the streets at night in fear of being attacked by thugs? Or when squabbling reagents would go to war amongst themselves? True, the Roman presence in Ionia had finally united the various warlords of Asiatic Hellas, but to what end really? When the Romans are gone, they would descend back into their squabbling conflicts.

At least the Romans brought security and stability to what was once a lawless land. Polybius supposed this was why he had renounced the cult of the goddess and bowed before the Roman Juppiter when the former temple was desecrated. He supposed this was why he personally recruited a host of spearmen to complement the army at Ephesos. Lesser men turned to the gods for salvation and absolution. Polybius turned to Roman discipline.

His banners were still Greek, his language still Greek, but in his heart, he was a Roman. He muttered a prayer to Mars, bloody Bellona, but more importantly, he sent his prayers to Juppiter, praying that his men would hold in this coming battle against the in-fideles--unfaithful ones. Though who was truly unfaithful, the Greeks who refused to come under the banner of the Roman gods or himself, Polybius did not know.



When the trumpet sounded, he ordered his men forward. The enemy lowered their spears. The clash would be bloody. He personally went through the forest of pikes and touched each man's shoulder as they marched. He prayed for each of their souls and asked the gods for absolution for each man that falls on the battlefield today.

His troops thanked him and he went ahead to the front of his lines again. The rows of pike heads were coming closer to each other. The first clash was always the bloodiest one. Even strong ash-wood spears would shatter upon impact. Shields often buckled and became useless. He himself stood personally at the right side--the side of honor. Like many of the religious zealots, he did not fear death. He had long ago embraced death as a welcoming end to his otherwise wretched life.

His family did not take kindly to his conversion to the Roman religion and they outcasted him before departing from Ephesos. His younger brother that had once looked up to him was rumored to have joined the armies of the Greater Asiatic Hellas.

Wood splintered, men fell, and Polybius wondered if his brother was perhaps wielding a sarissa on the opposing side.



Meanwhile, down the line where the Roman infantry stood, Titus Rufus had different thoughts as he watched the Greek pikes roll towards him. He had answered the call for Pilgrimage when his father's estates had to be sold to pay for the endless debts that had been acquired. When his mother died, his father sank into a bitter month of drinking that bankrupted the family even more. Titus personally watched each of his brothers and sisters being sold into slavery to help pay for the debts, but it was never enough. When the Pontifex Maximus had declared that all sins and all debts would be forgiven, Titus determined that he would join the Pilgrimage. He would earn back his siblings' freedom through his actions in the Holy Kingdom and purge the sins that his father had committed.

Before each battle commenced, his centurion would pass them each a tiny silver coin and told them to place it in their mouths.

"For the ferrymam." He said each time.

Titus had not done so. Instead, he tucked the coin into a small bag that he carried with him at all times. If they were here to fight on behalf of the gods, what need is there to pay the ferryman? With every battle, he earned another silver coin. He knows they would not be enough, and so he hoped for more battles and perhaps even a chance to sack a city. He would free his brothers from their servitude in the latifundia of Italy, his sisters from their services as maids or worse, prostitutes. But now, watching the seemingly endless rows of pikes coming towards him, he felt his own mortality gripping him. But still, he refused to reach into his pocket and place the silver coin in his mouth.

Instead, he prayed silently for protection.

The Second Battle of Colophon

-----

The battle itself turned out simple enough. Crassus was never one who abandoned a good strategy when he saw it. The Greeks had advanced far more quickly this time. His artillery was nearly useless. Therefore, he counted on his infantry holding the Greeks in place while his Praetorians charged the Greeks rears. He eyed that Bubulcus and Pictor had lined themselves up in the distance to do just that. His heart calmed down somewhat.



The trumpet sounded in the distance and the Praetorians charged forward, hacking their way through the Greek ranks.




Crassus saw that the enemy general, Agamedes, was attempting a counter-charge to restore the morale of his sandwiched men. He rode to Balbus at the foot of the wall.

"So, here is your opportunity to prove to me that you are a man who will still obey my orders."

"Sire."

"Charge Agamedes. You will personally rip him from his horse. I may have given the battle to Bubulcus, but you will have the glory." Was this what politics was about? Learning when to betray others and when to award them?

Balbus' eyes lit up at the prospect and spurred his horse into action. His riders followed after him and Crassus watched their figures ride towards Agamedes.


The battle would end soon. These Greeks will surrender once they see their proud leader fall from his horse.

Meanwhile, in the center, some of the Greeks, realizing that they have nowhere to go, refused to run. Bubulcus snarled in frustration. These Greeks were supposed to run. Their nerves were supposed to break upon first impact with the Praetorians.

In anger, he bellowed to the sky. "Mars! Bellona! Grant me the strength to cut through the Greek lines and break their resolve! I will devote each Greek who falls by my blade as an offering to you, Eternal gods of Rome! Grant me this, and I will honor your names in eternity!"



And so, he charged forward into the killing fields.



A roar rose up in the center of the fighting. Bubulcus turned. He saw in his dismay how Agamedes was pierced by three Praetorian lances. Dismay turned to rage when he saw Balbus administer the killing blow, slashing the Greek general's neck and sending a fountain of red towards the sky in a graceful arc.



But his prayer was heard. The Greeks, finally realizing their imminent defeat, broke and ran from the field.



When they rode back into Colophon, Crassus sat down at the Praetorium and looked over the troop placement of the Greeks. He called forth all of his Legates and sat them before him.

"Gentlemen, I have excellent news. The Greek presence within this Kingdom is almost wiped out. I have made my decision for our next step. We march to meet the Greeks in the east. That is where the bulk of their forces are located, and that is where we will reinforce the Kingdom's entry and provide a safe haven for pilgrims and the people of this Kingdom.

"Gather the men, we march to Noturia Ponta within the day."

Crassus had made up his mind: to do what he promised the Coward King, he must first break his promise of defending the Kingdom from a strategic position. He looked at the shocked faces of each one of his Legates.

"I gave an order, gentlemen. Now see to it that it is carried out."

Crassus watched each Legate file out of the tent to muster the men. Balbus was the last to depart. Before he left the tent, he looked back at Crassus and said.

"I hope, for your sake, and your soul's sake, that this is the best decision you can make for this Kingdom. You leave Ephesos defenseless if we depart. To lose this Holy City will be a blasphemy beyond any that you have committed in the past."

With that, Balbus departed. Crassus watched the fluttering skin that covered the doorway of the Praetorium. The words rang in his head. He would not fail, he decided. He cannot fail.

[romulus753]

Loved the update.

MOAR!

[Skull]

OMG...this is getting seriosly awsome...

[chaplain118]

Chapter XII

… The road between Ephesus and Sardis was an important trade route that must have been quite active during the period in which the Kingdom of Ionia existed. At least, that was the supposition prior to our current excavation. The Roman road however dates to a much later period, more along the times of Trajan than the period that we’ve placed the Kingdom into. The road must have been constructed following the destruction of the Kingdom and the subsequent pacification of the region when religious strife was no longer widespread.

The picture that arises from the dense darkness of history becomes ever clearer in light of these different discoveries. We can safely conclude that one of the main reasons for the Kingdom of Ionia’s relative longevity is the lack of roads within the kingdom—preventing the Greeks from amassing a strong front against the Romans. However, this would have also been a curse in that remote corners of the kingdom could not be defended quickly enough. The city of Lebedus was all but abandoned and small signs of siege were seen near the northern borders as well.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

Upon Twin Black Horses

-----

The news of the fall of Agamedes sent ripples coursing through Asiatic Hellas and later across the world. Rumor took flight and poured words into blind ears. Agamedes, the royal Prince to the City of Sardeis, had fallen against the Romans. To the Greeks, this rekindled the age-old flame fanned by the hatred of Trojans. For here were the descendants of Teucer and Dardanus, the heir to the despised Paris, and proud reclaimers of Troy. The Greek cities still remember the Roman conquest along the Ionian coast and how the Romans desecrated Greek temples.

This death?

It just fanned the fire even further.

Horns went up in various Greek cities. The banners of war were unfurled. City-states united across the Hellenic world. For if the heir of the Trojans struck back at Hellas at the heart--where ancient Troy fell--then what is to stop those same descendants of Troy from striking at all Hellenic cities. Day by day, Hellenic troops poured into recruitment centers to be blessed by the priests for battle. Day by day, armies from across the Hellenic and Hellenistic world marched forward towards Roman settlements. Religious men bellowed the sacrilege inflicted upon the great temples in Asia. They took advantage of the renewed religious passion and declared eternity in Elysium with fifty-five nymphs as accompaniments for any man who would die to rid the Holy Ionian coast of Roman presence.

Politicians looking to expand their power called for the same but with all Roman lands. Soon, the two found themselves in open warfare. The Romans crucified every Greek village they encountered, leaving a sign above each hung corpse that read:

GRAECIANA FIDES DELENDA EST

The Greeks enslaved each Roman outpost and tore down every temple. Borders became lawless lands where death is both certain and preferred. Every depraved act is committed along these lines. No child here grew to the age of fifteen without losing their innocence, whether from watching a friend murdered, raped, mutilated, or from being exposed to those same brutalities themselves.

Still, the armies marched on, driven by religious fervor and fueled by brutality.



Of course, in the pathetic patch of land that is the Kingdom of Ionia, these did not matter. To the men there, they had no idea that their actions had just propelled the world into conflict over the beliefs harbored since the Days of Myth. They had no idea of a growing divide between two religious orders: the Western Latin and the Eastern Greek. To them, they had merely won a small victory against an endless onslaught. To them, they must continue to push the enemy back, continue to strike at the enemy until Ephesos is no longer threatened.

They would need a miracle. There can be no more delays in their offensive. The Greeks must be pushed back while they still reel from the loss of their Prince. Perhaps Sardeis will fall to the Kingdom and a buffer state can be established.

This was what Crassus and his Legates were discussing when Titus Rufus ran into the Praetorium.

"King! Two Greek messengers! Armed."

Crassus looked up in annoyance. "Then deal with them."

Rufus shook his head. "They say they bring word from Mikon of Segesta."

Bubulcus raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Mikon of Segesta, Legatus. He commands 5000 men under his command in four different armies."

"How did you get that information?"

"One of the messengers said that."

Crassus strode over. "We are not to believe such hearsay. But let them enter the camp and speak. I wish to judge them myself."

Rufus saluted and left.

Crassus crossed his arms and waited for the Greeks to show up. He wondered if what he heard was true. If Mikon of Segesta did control 5000 men at his command, why split them up? More importantly, where did those men come from? And how did a man from Sicilian Segesta manage to sneak all the way to Asia with an army? A bead of sweat rolled down his spine. In the corner, Bubulcus and Pictor looked at him with hungry eyes. The look of Balbus' face was unreadable, but Crassus detected a hint of anger and smug self-righteousness from the man's eyes. He cannot afford to alienate Balbus. The man's open support for Crassus in the days of coronation earned him command of the Smyrna garrison--the largest one in the Kingdom. If Crassus were to alienate Balbus in favor of Bubulcus and Pictor, what he gains in Praetorians will be lost by the garrison at Smyrna.

Unfortunately for Crassus, he feels as if he's alienating all three of the men. Would these Greek messengers tell him exactly the same as what he already heard? Something else troubled him. No commander would ever let the enemy know how many men he has at disposal, not if the enemy could...

Crassus looked up in alarm. There was no time. He motioned to Balbus and whispered.

"I hope what you said to me will not come true." Before the man could answer however, he turned to his Legates:

"The Greek messengers are no messengers. They ride forward to tell us that Mikon of Segesta has decided to move against us. I say let him bring his 5000 men! Let him bring 10,000 if he so wishes! We will repel them all. Our cause is greater, our crusade more righteous! I've vowed to protect this Holy Kingdom, and you swore your allegiance to me! The Pontifex Maximus promised us our salvation, let there be no hesitation, no remorse, and no fear of death! We go forward as one, the Kingdom of Ionia. Let the Greeks look upon our banner and tremble in its righteousness."

He pulled out his sword and held it to the sky.

"Assemble the army!"

Meanwhile, the Greek messengers rode away back to their camps with their report.

Attack is imminent.

The Graces of the Gods

-----

In an ironic twist of luck, Crassus' action to meet the Greeks head on may have been what saved them. The messengers were not lying when they said that Mikon of Segesta marched at the head of 5000 men. What they did not mention was that Mikon had split his forces, with one being the escorts of Agamedes and the second being his own. His personal elite troops numbered a thousand on their own and so he split the rest evenly between himself and Agamedes.

The Romans were also unaware that Mikon was the second in line for the throne at Sardeis. His title was largely of his association with his father--Diomedes of Segesta--who had fled from Segesta during the bitter struggle Rome had against Syracuse. By some divine intervention, the young Diomedes caught the eye of the queen of Sardeis and in the heat of the Asian sun, beneath twin oaks of Sardeis reserved only for Kings to lie, he planted Mikon within the queen. It was only by the timely death of the former King for Mikon's mother to become the reagent in power. But despite his mother's status, his bloodline was in doubt and despite being older than Agamedes, Mikon was relegated to the sidelines.

Now Agamedes is dead, and Mikon, if he can destroy the Romans, if he can bring back Ephesos and restore the honor of the Great Temple of Artemis, he could be king to all of Asia. Worshipped like a god. A god-king. Not altogether a bad prospect.

He would have been able to do this, if he were to have concentrated his troops together with Agamedes instead of taking the route directly towards Ephesos.

Now, he was stalled to the south while Crassus came bearing down on his troops from the north.

But of course, neither commander knew of this. The ignorance of the commanders, much like the sins of the father, is passed to their troops. The army marched, but formation was not kept as tightly, and battle orders were rather confusing. Polybius found himself marching aside Roman and Gallic troops. Were it not for the presence of his own men, he would have been rather uncomfortable.

Enboldened by his troops, he spoke with the other men. From all the ones that he talked with, he found the Roman Titus Rufus and the Gaul Brennus most interesting to speak with. Despite their different backgrounds, they each had enough similarities to at least not want to kill each other. As they marched and conversed, Polybius learned of how Titus Rufus wanted to bring his family over from the West, how Brennus wished to become the richest man in Asia. He himself shared how he wishes he could one day build a temple equal in scope and just as grand as the Great Temple of Ephesos.

"Tell you what." Titus Rufus held out his hand. "Let's make a pact."

"A pact?" Brennus' eyes narrowed. He did not like binding agreements.

"A pact, that we'll all achieve these things. Now pick the god you want to make this agreement to."

The three looked at each other and placed their hands together. To their own surprise, the god whose name they said was:

"Juppiter."

It was agreed. They would each achieve their goals or die trying. The sun dipped slightly in the west, casting longer shadows in the mountains but the day remained as bright as ever. The warm Anatolian winter puffed against the men's faces. The mountains rose up around them and familiar sights fell away to distant memories. They look up at the crags and see how small pebbles shook under the noise and vibrations of the marching boots.

[Porunga]

looks interesting...

[chaplain118]

Chapter XIII

… Following along the Roman road towards Sardis, we unearthed a number of additional relics suggesting several battles along the Kingdom borders. These battles suggest one of two things: a massive counter-attack to secure the horrendously porous borders or a pre-emptive strike intended to cut through the entire western portion of Asia Minor.

All presumptive issues aside, the existence of several battles along this corridor is something that we can conclude. However, as one clear picture emerges, it is quickly obscured by the fact that the leftover weapons found were of such dizzying variety that we could not paint a true picture of what occurred in battle, the number of men involved, and their origins.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

On the Eve of Morrow

-----

The Greek army's size was intimidating, but it wasn't altogether something that they feared. The night prior to the battle itself, Crassus ordered the men to pitch a loose camp in battle formation, so that they may rise up at any time should the enemy make an attack. When none came, he felt it safe enough to let the men pull up the pre-built palisade. He knew what the enemy was waiting for:

Mikon of Segesta would be arriving soon.

Within his own tent, Crassus was busy discussing the situation with his legates.

"The enemy will come in a pincer formation." Balbus pointed to the drawing they hastily made in the dirt. "Here and here. If we do not prevent one army from pinning us, we will be flanked."

"Leave that army for us, Balbus." Pictor drawled. "I'm more concerned with Mikon's main army. His own personal elite troops, now that would be a feat worthy of Roman arms."

"If you think that these armies are mere pushovers, think again. They were the escorts to Agamedes had he not stretched his lines so thin. An act of sheer bravado and hubris, much like what you show now. And you know how the gods punish you for hubris, don't you?"

"I would not take such a tone with me if I were you."

"This is not the time for such arguments. But Balbus is right, we cannot let the Greeks pin us in place while they smash our flanks. The first arm of the pincer must be routed, and quickly too." Crassus rubbed his eyes. The night was starting to become light outside, and he needed rest soon.

"How do you propose to do that, King?" Pictor asked, putting as much emphasis on the last word as possible.

"Pull the army back and let both arms of the pincer come to us. We use our artillery to crush their morale, and then pin them in place with our own infantry."

"And then attack their flanks?"

"Correct, Legatus."

Pictor bowed. "You have my Praetorians."

"Thank you." But Crassus had no need of those men. With each victory brought by the Praetorians, Pictor's own influence grew within the army. Soon, a power struggle would emerge, and the Praetorians would all back Pictor. And why wouldn't they? The Fabian family was the wealthiest one in Rome. As such, they would be able to supply more and more Praetorians. Crassus wondered how long before Pictor grew desperate enough to petition for another group of Praetorian riders to be assembled. Crassus intended on using the artillery to his benefit instead. He hoped that Pictor would be too slow to react, but he had his doubts.

Meanwhile, in the camp itself, the three men who had befriend each other during the day sat by the fire and watched the camp around them rise up in activity. Polybius' own men were busy praying in a corner. Even though Polybius himself was Romanized, his men still practiced their own religion. As such, they drew stares from the other soldiers, including Titus Rufus.

"What are they doing?" Rufus asked.

"Praying." Polybius spat an uncooked seed into the fire.

"To whom?"

"Ares."

"That is a Greek god."

"Still, to a man entering the battlefield, it's good to know that one god was listening to you, Roman or Greek. Praise the gods, Titus Rufus, it is Proper to praise them."

"You must praise the right ones to avoid an eternity wandering the banks of the Acheron."

"Greeks only believe in one hundred years of wandering before disappearing into the Stygian pits." Polybius smiled at Rufus. "Will you pray with me?"

"Of course."

The Dogs of War

-----

The battle, like all battles, started with a charge.



The Greeks had rearranged their army and changed their tactics. A mix of barbarian troops, drawn from the localities of far Galatia in the north, swelled the ranks of the army from Sardeis. The commanders of the first wing of the pincer, Heralkides, purposely put the barbarian troops in the front as shock infantry designed to rupture the Roman lines in a massed charge. Even in the distance, Brennus could see that these men were armed purely for attack, and nothing else. The other men around him flipped their swords in their hands. The thrill of combat called to them.

Brennus was different from them. He did not enjoy fighting as was expected of him. He did enough to avoid getting in trouble, but no more. To him, fighting was pointless. Dying in the glory of battle meant nothing. He would know from the countless nameless corpses strewn about each battlefield. Far better to live and earn an honest living.

But he had no time to think of such thoughts. The enemy shock troops rushed forward, holding their falces high in the air.



The fight itself quickly broke apart from the neatly established set-pieces and into a mish-mash of confused screams as sword clanged against falx. Men groaned and grunted while their lives flowed from their wounds.



But as the lines stabilized, the Greeks found themselves pinned once more against the Roman infantry. Pictor rode behind the lines, shouting words of encouragement to the infantry while amassing his cavalry and whipping them into a fervor.

"Think of the glory you will have gained for your family. Think of each drop of infidel blood that you spill as another drop of hallowed water to wash away your sins! If you refuse to think of the glory, think of the absolution promised to you by the Pontifex. Each man's past transgressions will be forgiven ten times over for each infidel that he sends screaming to the Underworld. The man who kills Heraklides will receive this personal relic from the Pontifex Maximus, a treasure held since the days of Troy: the dagger sheathe of Hektor, Tamer of Horses. With it, a man is guaranteed victory on the field of battle and will secure for himself, an everlasting spot within Elysium!"

A lie, of course, but when said with enough conviction, the men believe him. The thought of owning a piece of relic from the Age of Myth was a powerful draw. The thought of an everlasting spot within Elysium was a far stronger one. And so, the Praetorians charged.



Balbus did not trust Pictor. The man has grown more and more audacious with his antagonism to Crassus. And as such, he believed that Pictor would want the entire situation to develop so that he would become a savior during this battle.

Something that Balbus could not accept.

But he had no riders to truly accompany him. Most of them had followed Pictor on his own murderous charge. The only other man Balbus could truly turn to was Bubulcus. The thought of asking Bubulcus sickened Balbus, but he had no choice.

"I need your riders."

"Why?"

"You must've seen what Pictor is doing. He leaves the wings unprotected by taking the Praetorians."

"They seem to be doing well." Bubulcus pointed in the distance. And he was right. Pictor's riders were cutting through the enemy like a scythe through a field of wheat at harvest.

"Listen, Pictor is going too far. He leaves his backside open for a flanking maneuver by the Greeks. If the second pincer of the Greeks arrive and catches us in an inflexible position, we'll be annihilated. Forget your own ambitions for the crown. Pictor would doom us all."

The threat of losing his potential chance at the crown gave Bubulcus a moment of doubt. Balbus realized that this was his moment.

"I will cede my crown to you should I be coronated. One hundred days after coronation. I swear it."

Bubulcus' eyes lit up. "You swear it?"

"Yes. Now lend me your riders. I will ride around this hill and check for additional Greeks moving towards us."

"Yes, yes. Take them."

As Balbus rode away, he smiled. That was easy.



Meanwhile, over in the distance, the second column of Greeks came ever close.

[Diomede]

Oh... you. You. Rep deserved.

Edit: I need to spread it, apparently.

[chaplain118]

Chapter XIV

… A single legionary standard bearing the inscription of Coh II Eph found along the junction of the main highway is the most definitive relic of battle within the borders of the Kingdom of Ionia. Having reconstructed a rudimentary map of the region during those days, the location of the legionary standard must have acted as a waypoint in the road, demarcating the split to either Noturia Ponta or onward away from the Kingdom.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

Broken Pincer

-----

The man who led the first Greek column, Heraklides, was a rash man. The barbarian troops he had enlisted still could not breach the Roman lines like he hoped they would. Frustrated at the slow progression, he leapt down from his horse and personally led his bodyguards on foot towards the melee. When he arrived at the frontlines, he was shocked by the corpses strewn about the field. The wounds were horrific. Some men broke away from the heat of battle, clutching hands or arms that had been lopped off. Some, their legs useless stumps, tried to claw their way out of the battle. The Roman infantry were ruthlessly efficient. Their stabbing swords left deep fatal wounds. Heraklides walked over a body. He glanced down and stared into the eyes of a seventeen year old boy clutching a massive coil of intestines that had fallen from a deep stab wound to the stomach.

The boy's mouth was still open when he died, and black flies were already busy devouring his swollen tongue.

The smell grew fouler as he approached the lines of clash. The mixture of feces, urine, sweat, and blood nauseated Heraklides. He knew what was happening, the bodies were enough to tell him:

His lines were breaking.

But before he could draw his sword and shout a rally cry, something pierced his side. The pain radiated to his shoulder and he felt rough wood entering into his chest. Clutching his wound, he turned around in surprise to see the black Roman horses bearing down on his lines from the rear. He reached for his sword, but his vision had already darkened and his soul wailed towards the gloomy shades.



The message rippled through the front lines. The commander had fallen.



Pictor, however, was not done. The death of Heraklides gave him yet another laurel he could add to his achievements. Without pausing to give the Greeks a chance to re-group, Pictor spurred his horses forward and charged again.



"Legatus! Greeks, coming fast!" One of his riders galloped over.

"What?"

"There!" The man pointed to the north. Sure enough, the forest of pikes from the second Greek army came into view. Pictor was not troubled by how many there were. He felt his heart sink at how close they were.

There was no time to give pause or attempt a flanking maneuver. There was one chance, and one chance only. Break the phalanx before the pikes lower. Pictor turned to his men as the Greek line rolled forward.

"When we enlisted upon this Pilgrimage, we agreed to an oath. To rid this land of the Greeks that threaten to overrun it. To purge the infidelity from this sacred earth. We have done much in our short time here. The borders of this Holy Kingdom has been secured far more than before we've arrived. Each man here has accepted that he may die at any moment. Still, he rides. Why?

"Does he ride out of his love for this land? He has never been here until this year. Does he ride at the beck and call of his commander or does he ride because he knows that death is but immaterial? I say he rides because he fears no death for he is already riding in Elysium. Look at your swords, at your spears, at your shields, and even at your horses. Do you not see the blood caked upon them? Can you not hear the sounds of dying Greeks? These are the sounds of infidels screaming for mercy. Well I say we show them none! I say we continue to pursue them. I say we ride them down. What have we to fear from those pikes of the phalanx that comes towards us? We break that line of Greeks now, and we win this day. We win this day, and we will save this Holy Kingdom from perdition and ruin! Now ride!"



The Praetorians ground themselves against the Greek phalanx, leaping over the spears into the massed ranks of men. The horses shied in the face of the gleaming spear points but their riders urged them on. They rolled through the first wave of unprepared phalangites, but found themselves stuck against a well-prepared phalanx behind the first wave.

Rise and Fall

-----

"The man wishes to die." One of Bubulcus' rider said to Balbus.

"To die here, in the defense of the Holy Kingdom, makes one a martyr. He will earn distinction for eternity. Peasants will dip their hands in his blood and claim that it has cured them of all illnesses. He will become a demi-god."

"I see. So shall we ride to our death as well?"

"No. I have a better idea."

They rode past the Gallic foot soldiers that were still locked in combat with the falxmen.



Brennus was growing tired. The falxmen had done some nasty damage to the soldiers around him. The falx, previously a farming tool, was now used to deadly effectiveness on the field. It ripped through shields as if they were cloth. It took arms off in a single clean swipe. Parrying those away became dependent upon using one's sword rather than shield. Unfortunately for him, a lone falxman chose to pursue him and him alone. He had already tossed his broken shield aside. Sparks rose when their weapons clashed and he fought back with every drop of strength in his body. The falx pressed closer to him. Realizing that brute strength was not the answer, Brennus rolled to the side.

The falx sank into the ground. As its owner was trying to pull it from the earth, Brennus buried his sword to the hilt in the man's back. When he pulled his sword out of the dead man, he saw the black Praetorian horses charging elsewhere in the distance. Anger bubbled inside of him. Despite the fact that he prayed to Roman gods, fought on behalf of the Romans, his race relegated him to a second-class citizen. The Legates could clearly see that the barbarian troops were most heavily battered ones, yet not a single one of them sent riders to relieve the pressure--instead content to let these men die to provide time for themselves to execute dazzling maneuvers that meant little to nothing.

He had heard words from Pictor and knew that the man was not speaking to him, nor to anyone else who wasn't of Roman descent. He turned around, righted the helmet on his head, and charged back into the fray.

In the distance, Balbus and his borrowed Praetorians rode on, pressing their spears against Greek armor and flesh.



Crassus gazed in the distance. Ever since the artillery pieces were lost in the swamp, he had been hard-pressed to replace them. The lack of engineering skills meant he could not easily build a new set, but that did not stop him from trying. He had ordered his crew to survey how the Lithoboloi worked and shrink the technology to the same level as the ballistae. What resulted was something that resembled both but worked vastly differently.

The new ballistae fired their bolts like the types captured by the Romans, but they were faster to reload, and included a turning mechanism that allowed each one to fire up to four projectiles before needing to be reloaded.



Desperate for victory, the Greeks charged forward in a last-ditch attempt to break the Roman lines. But the battle was already decided when the ballistae entered the stage. To further cement the victory, Balbus fell upon them from their rear. In a single moment of mad confusion, the Greek resolve, formerly merely wavering, now finally broke.



Crassus descended from his horse and approached one of the cohorts.

"Soldiers, what's your name."

"Titus Rufus, sire."

"Fetch me your signifer."

"Yes sire."

When Titus Rufus came back with the signifer, Crassus asked for the standard to the cohort.

"Sire?"

"As a gift to the gods for providing us with this victory. The standard please."

He dug a small hole and planted the standard into the ground.

"One day, when the Kingdom of Ionia has spread far from the gates of Ephesos, men will come visit this spot and know its significance upon this Holy Kingdom."



The Greeks melted back to Sardeis. Crassus pursued what few he could and let enough escape to spread tales of Roman invincibility on the field.



The road to Noturia Ponta was open, and the only man blocking it was Mikon of Segesta. Crassus himself wondered, if he could defeat both Agamedes and Mikon, would the gates of Sardeis swing open? And if that were the case, would the Kingdom of Ionia finally receive a buffer state to its east against the endless Greeks?

[BLIP99]

Good update, the story is really getting a nice "crusades" feel to it now

[chaplain118]

There will be 2 updates next week.

One on wednesday, and one on saturday.

Keep your eyes peeled. Mikon of Segesta is not going to take the last battle well and he is hell-bent on doing some serious damage in the Kingdom.

[chaplain118]

Chapter XV

… Our attempts at shedding light upon this obscure time period brought us to Sardis, where we discovered scrolls documenting several important events that have occurred. Namely, that Mikon of Segesta, proclaimed Prince of Sardis, had issued an edict to his own armies with the promise of “driving the faithless to the edge of the sea and drowning them by Poseidon’s wrath.” This increasingly hostile religious rhetoric on part of the Greeks is indicative of an increasingly reactionary response to the Roman religious fanaticism.

If these words are true, then the Kingdom of Ionia, in an odd but now understandable way, would have been the predecessor to the doomed Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Excerpt from “Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D

The Wrath of Mikon

-----

Mikon was not a stoic man, and news about the destruction of his northern army did not help his aggravated mood. Already, his reputation amongst the army had deteriorated after the death of Agamedes. Despite the fact that these men were levied by HIM, they pledged their fealty to Agamedes. It was maddening. The loss of the northern army meant that the men were practically on the verge of mutiny. He needed a way for them to channel their anger and frustration elsewhere, but Ephesos was too far, and his army was ill-equipped to attack Noturia Ponta. Despite the repeated attempt at the walls of Noturia Ponta, the man behind the walls--Numerius Aebutius Drusus, proved to be a worthy opponent against all of their attempts.

Mikon had been able to rein in his troops when Agamedes was still alive. There was no instances of soldiers attacking Roman civilians. Mikon had been determined to show that the Greeks rose above Roman barbarity. But now, faced with such a devastating loss and the possibilities of a revolt, he no longer cared about civility. This was war, and wars were brutal. Most brutal were wars of religious conflicts. The Romans came into Ionia in an orgy of rape and pillage, desecrating holy temples and be-spoiling the priestesses. The Greeks would now repay that favor in full.

The loss of a segment of his army had been the final push that drove Mikon over the edge.

"Xanthippus, how are the men?" He asked one of his riders.

"Restless, Strategos. They wish to be behind the gates of Ephesos."

"All in due time. But we cannot allow it to happen so fast."

"Strategos?"

"You see, the Romans will continue to hold support in the region if they simply declare that they can keep us from harming their women and children. But if the news is correct, then the main army of their Pretender Kingdom is days away."

"So we strike Ephesos now?"

"No, as close to the city as we are, the Romans are closer. We will be trapped between the walls and their army. We turn south."

"Surely you don't mean?"

"Of course not. Only a fool would attack Noturia Ponta. The Roman boy knows how to defend a citadel, I'll give him that. We'll strike at the various villages scattered about the region."

"But they provide our armies with food!"

"Food that we can take readily when they're dead. How close to the nearest settlement."

"Not far, about a day. Our army grain merchants regularly receive payments of oats and barley from the locals."

"I see, how many souls?"

"No more than a few hundred, I daresay."

"Men, women, children?"

"Mostly women and slaves."

Mikon nodded. Turning away from Xanthippus, he said.

"Assemble the army. We march to Noturia Ponta. Each man that fell on the fields against the Romans near Colophon will be avenged. We wipe these southern Roman settlement away from the face of the earth. The inhabitants are infidels who deserves neither pity nor mercy. Burn the town away, carry the women to do with them what you will, and strewn salt on the ruins to make sure nothing grows again. Forget that you are Greeks but imagine yourself fierce Galatians--terrible in war, still more terrible in conquest. Or think yourselves arrow-bearing Parthians--bound by no civilized law of Hellas and still clinging to the old tales of the Persian Kings. Each man will have his share of the women so that we will breed the Romans out of existence if we must."

He turned around to his rider, a cruel smile on his face. "Relay the orders, Xanthippus."

Sin Splattered Doves

-----

Rufilla had been at the grazing fields when the Greeks first came. She was not yet a woman but no longer a girl. Eager to explore her own womanliness, she had often snuck outside to be with the shepherd boys, batting her eyelashes at them, laughing at their obscene jokes, and every once in a while, feeling one of the boy's lips pressed against her own.

Today the boy who had caught her fancy was a local boy named Epimetheus. He was a year older than her but his height and strength made him stand out far from the other boys. Yet despite his size and brawn, he was incredibly gentle. The other Roman boys taunted him, said that he was soft, a catamite. But Rufilla knew better. She knew when he could be assertive and she loved every second of it. There were occasions when she would tap his chest coquettishly with the back of her hand, simpering at shaking her curled hair out of her eyes. And her heart would skip a beat when he smiled back.

They sat underneath the large oak tree while the sheep milled around them. His arms were wrapped around her waist and she felt his warm breath tickling her neck.

"Epimetheus?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it'll be like this forever?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Greeks constantly coming through this area. Remember when we were little and they would always take all the apples away?"

"Hmm, yes. Though the apples weren't very sweet." He gave her a squeeze. She blushed.

"Do you think it'll be like this forever?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I don't like it. Maybe we can leave from this place. Head somewhere else."

"Like where, mea columba?"

Her eyes lit up. "Anywhere! My father is always talking about Italy and Rome, how it's the most beautiful city in the world and the best place to be."

"But Italy is far, I wouldn't want you to go there."

"Why not?"

His hand traced the contours of her shoulder and turned her face to his. Sapphire eyes met emerald. "Because I can't do this."

He leaned over and kissed her, pulling the breath from her lungs.

The oak tree sighed and swayed in the wind. The sheep still milled about the pasture. But far in the distance, a plume of dust was slowly rising. If someone were to put their ears on the ground, he would hear the rhythmic poundings of boots and hooves.

Mikon was coming, and the unfortunate farmers who lived further away from Noturia Ponta had already experienced the horror of meeting him.



But the two young lovers did not notice the plumes rising in the sky. Their thoughts no longer thought about the war as they became entangled in their limbs. When they did hear the pounding hooves and the hammering boots, there was nowhere to run. Epimetheus tried to put his own body between Rufilla and the other Greeks. But they shoved him aside and grabbed her.

"Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!" He screamed at them, not in Latin but in Greek.

The soldiers stopped and turned around. One of them clutched the struggling Rufilla by her arm. Her dress was torn, revealing a sliver of flesh under the Ionian sun.

"A Greek? And what about you, pretty miss? Won't you say something?"

She had never learned Greek, only a few words here and there. Useless with these men. Tears swelled in her eyes and the world became blurry. She could only shake her head and sob, knowing that there was no escape.

"Give her to the boy. He's a proper Greek."

The soldiers tore away her clothes and threw her on the ground before Epimetheus. Angry welts swelled on her arms from where rough fingers handled her. They held her down and forced her legs open.

"Well, boy? Hurry up!"

His lips trembled. He couldn't move. One of the soldiers pressed a sword to Epimetheus' throat. "You didn't seem to understand, did you?"

"I'm sorry Rufilla. I'm sorry."

Rufilla's sobs could still be heard amidst the hoots and jeers of the soldiers around them. She felt a stabbing pain as Epimetheus entered her. On another day, she would've welcomed it, but now she struggled to cover herself. Her writhing movements drew more jeers and she sobbed even more. She felt something warm spreading and watched through the haze of tears as a rough man pulled Epimetheus away. A spurt of red shot up into the air. She smelled copper. A body fell to the ground and she wailed.

The soldiers each took their turn with her. And as they continued, she felt ashamed as her body arched up and a slight moan escaped from between her lips. When they were done, they left her on the side of the road with blood on her legs. Nobody else paid attention to the girl with the face full of tears trying desperately to cover herself. A cavalryman stopped beside her, leapt off his horse, and swept her up into the saddle. She was too shocked and too tired to resist. So she lied still in the saddle as the man fondled her. There were no more tears left to cry.

The Greeks chased the sheep ahead of them, set the pasture ablaze, and continued towards the village.

[romulus753]

Wow the story just got dark... now I wanna know what happens next!

[Ganbarenippon]

I have just caught up with this. I am in absolute awe (and more than a little jealous) of both this AAR and your skills as a writer. Breathtaking. At turns beautiful, dark, character and plot driven, this is a very special AAR indeed. I can't praise this highly enough. I await the next update with bated breath. + Rep, and I would give more if I could!

[Crozimodo]

Another brilliant update Chap, nice to see a writer who's not afraid to tackle the harsher subjects of war, adds so much depth to the piece.

Fantastic as ever mate