[RS2.1 AAR] The Kingdom of Ionia - A Roman Reinterpretation of the Crusades

[chaplain118]

Chapter XVI

… A series of small villages existed along the borders of the Kingdom and no doubt suffered a great deal of hardship during the Kingdom’s existence. Originally believed to have been temporary settlements established by the Greeks to provide residence for those who were coming from the East to pay homage to the Temple of Artemis, it is very possible that the Romans converted these villages to frontier towns that nevertheless retained their original Hellenic purpose.

Signs of destruction and attack have been unearthed at these villages, with those towards the eastern border seeming to have received the brunt of the assaults. The pottery shards and other relics discovered seem to indicate that the assaults happened simultaneously, or in very quick succession, suggesting that the previous battles described must have triggered an equally concerted Greek retaliation.

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

A Chance Meeting

-----

Atia was nervous, she had never sailed before and the Tarentine skies were already darkening from the mass of bruised storm clouds gathering above the bay. Merchant ships were heading their way back into the harbor. Only a few tugboats, manned by captains who desired money more than their lives remained in the water, tugging at some of the larger vessels to bring them in. The military transport was moored in the harbor, the soldiers manning it were busy loading its provisions. Their captain had deemed the storm clouds a "non-issue". Of course, he would say that when offered well over fifteen talents for simply transporting these troops across the southern Hadriatic to Dyrrhacium. A man could live out the rest of his life in luxury with that kind of money.

"Ma'am, the ship's ready." A young, round-faced soldier smiled at her.

"I see." She nodded, not really paying attention to what he's saying. A crackle of electricity surged through the storm clouds. She very much doubted that they would even make it out of the harbor, let alone the storm plagued Hadriatic.

"Do, do you need some help?" He was blushing.

"No thank you. My slaves are more than able to carry my things."

"Well, if you should need anything, let me know." His face was beet-red now.

"Of course."

"What, what's your name?"

Atia gave him a quizzical look, but having inherited her father's prominent brows, it looked like a glare. The soldier shrank.

"I'm sorry, it's just... just that I was curious."

"No, I forget sometimes that my father's eyebrows aren't nearly as flattering on me as they are for him."

"I..." He was at a loss for words.

"I'm Atia."

"Quintus, Quintus Fabius Pictor."

The name sounded familiar. Hadn't she heard of another Fabius Pictor once? Yes, almost two years ago, the man with the thick eyebrows and those cold, calculating eyes. He had came to her home with several other men, demanding to see her father. Then they left and her father soon left for the Holy Kingdom. She remembered feeling a sense of unease around the man. They had looked at each other for a brief moment in that time and Atia remembered feeling something running down her spine as she gazed into old Fabius Pictor's eyes. It was as if he were probing her soul for a weakness, stripping her down to nothing and inspecting every inch like a slave on auction day. All within a brief moment.

Yet this round faced boy who couldn't even string together a sentence shared a name.

Maybe he's a distant relative. Atia thought to herself. She didn't have time to keep thinking when Quintus Fabius Pictor started asking questions again.

"Wh-why are you going to Dy-Dyrrhacium?"

"I'm meeting my father."

"Is he in the E-east?"

So he had a stutter. Atia felt a twinge of pity. The boy had been kissed by the gods, too blessed for this own world.

"Yes." She didn't want to say anything else, so she kept it brief.

"M-my father t-too. H-he's in Ephesos."

Ah, so this was the son of Numerius Fabius Pictor. She searched his face for the coldness in his father's eyes but found nothing. Either Quintus Fabius Pictor was different from his father, or he was much better at hiding his emotions. She decided to test it for herself.

"So is my father."

Quintus' face lit up. "Wh-what is h-he d-doing there?"

"He went to fight."

"S-so did mine."

She searched his face for malice and found none. Lowering her guard, she smiled at him and said. "You know, Quintus Fabius, I think I could use some help. If you'll see Merricus, who should be by the dock loading my things, he'll be happy to let you help him."

"O-of course." His smile stretched from ear to ear. He scurried to find Merricus and started to carry the few meager belongings that Atia had towards the ship. Atia noted that unlike others, Quintus Fabius Pictor spoke to Merricus as he had to her. He was certainly different, she made a mental note to herself.

"All aboard! We sail for Greece soon!"

As she boarded the ship, she noticed the other soldiers staring at her. Whether from resentment or lust she did not know. It was a two day journey to Dyrrhacium and she was glad she had her own quarters aboard the ship. Quintus Fabius appeared from nowhere and stood beside her. The other soldiers averted their gaze.

He grinned. "Th-they know wh-who my f-father is. You'll be s-safe. I p-promise it."

She smiled back. "Thank you."

Perhaps they could be friends. It would be another two weeks before they arrive at the port of Athenai. From then, it was yet another two days of sailing before reaching Ephesos. Atia wanted to have someone to talk to, someone who would listen to her instead of slaves who had no opinions of their own. A friend. She was escorted to her quarter. Quintus stood at the door, bowed and said.

"I-if you n-need me, j-just come f-find me."

"Of course."

As the door closed, she remembered that he would not remain her friend for long. He would be embroiled in the war while she remained behind in a house in Ephesos. As all fleeting things in the world, his friendship would disappear as soon as they disembarked. She would only know him for the brief time of traveling and no more.

The ship shuddered as her moorings were untied and the tugboats took her out of the harbor. Storm clouds billowed and swirled, salty spray splashed against the hull. They set sail for Greece.

Twin Thunderbolts

-----

The settlements between Mikon and Noturia Ponta had only in recent times erected a series of small palisades to deter the random incursion of bandits and rogue Greek soldiers looking for a quick loot. For the most part, these defensive measures were enough. A gentlemen's agreement existed between the two sides. The Greeks would not attack the Roman settlements if the Roman settlements continued to provide food to the Greek grain merchants. It could almost be described as peace, with the occasional outbreak of violence. As such, only a band of volunteers were necessary to ensure relative stability.

They stood no chance against Mikon's forces.

Rufilla was kept bound and gagged on her captor's horse as they rode through the countryside. She dared not move in case that drew attention. But with each step forward, she recognized the path to her own village. Each step brought her thoughts of escape. Mikon's army had been on the move for two days with almost no time for stopping. They had passed by similar pastures to where she had been raped and abducted, and she had seen other women suffer the same fate as hers. But she was considered fortunate. A great number of women had been killed afterwards, their naked body left to rot.

When the army stopped, they did not pitch camp. Instead, they had arranged themselves with their battle gear. She stole a gaze and nearly cried out when she saw that it was her own village that now stood before her. Storm clouds formed above them.

She heard the officers speak, but only understood a few words. She saw a group of infantry march forward while the main army remained behind. The gates to her village opened and a small band of men came forth. She knew who they were and knew that it was all futile.



The sky disgorged its content upon the ground, mixing rain, blood, and mud into one. Thunder rumbled. Within a few hours, the village palisade were torn down and the Greeks entered. Children still lined the streets, playing. The market was still in operation. Rufilla could not believe that ordinary life still carried on. Her abductor dismounted from his horse and walked up to girl whom Rufilla recognized. He pulled out his dagger. Rufilla closed her eyes.

With her eyes shut, her hearing was enhanced. Here and there, she could pick out distinct voices. She lay trembling atop the horse. She felt warmth on her face and a brilliant red lit up behind her eyelids. She opened her eyes.

Houses were set ablaze.

Screaming from behind her gag, she tried to wrestle free. But it only drew her abductor's attention. He had blood on his sword and tunic. His eyes glinted with a carnal madness. He ripped the gag from her mouth and cut her down from the horse. Dragging her by her hair, he pushed her against the wall, ignoring her sobs.



The rainwater put out the fires that night and Rufilla lied on the floor while her abductor slept on the bed. She wondered if she could escape, and where she would run to. She was bound again and her limbs were stiff. The Greeks had encamped within the village. She knew the roads, but she could not free herself. Here and there, sobs rose up only to be silenced by a hiss or a slap from the groaning men.

She looked over at her abductor. He was snoring loudly, a cup still in his hand and bits of wine still within it. He must've been an officer or else he could not have a room all to himself. Revulsion rose to her throat as she looked at him. His dagger was sheathed on his body, but his sword hung on the wall. She struggled to get up, but only fell to the floor.

He stirred, muttered, and went still again.

Watching him for a second longer, she inched forward. The grained wood rasped against her bruised skin. To her horror, she found that the ropes that bound her was tied to the bed post. She could go nowhere. Tears streamed down her face, but she steeled herself. She needed to escape, not cry. There will come a time for tears later. An idea formed in her head, but she felt disgusted by it. Still, it was a chance. She knew that if she should fail, he would no doubt kill her.

So be it, she thought bitterly. Better to die than to live like this.

Hating every bit of herself for doing this, she inched towards him and placed her lips on his neck, kissing it. The Greek started and went back to sleep. Frustrated, she tried to move closer, but only fell on the floor again.

This time, he woke up.

Panting, she said nothing but splayed her legs. Still in a drunken stupor, he cocked his head and shrugged, not willing to pass up her offer. He removed his shirt and tossed it aside.

His dagger went with it.

"Hands and knees." He said in broken Latin.

Her plan had failed. Tears came again as he pumped against her. Outside, the storm continued to rage. Twin lightning bolts flashed across the sky and Rufilla prayed for absolution to come.

[DarthLazy]

Your getting clobbered in the actual campaign arent you?

/jk

Going well keep it up

[chaplain118]

No, just having trouble uploading the pictures

[chaplain118]

Chapter XVII

To Tartarus

-----

The Army of Ephesos had arrived too late to save them. Bodies were strewn across the plain and the stench of death permeated the earth. Flies fat from feeding flocked the bones bleached white from the sun. Already they passed by the settlements of Interamnium, Coriolanum, and Vibium. The bodies grew increasingly disturbing with each step, sometimes arranged in grotesque shapes, other times mutilated beyond measure that it was impossible to tell the gender.

When they came upon Antepontum, they found the head of children mounted on pikes along the road into the village.

"Greeks." Titus spat. "And they call us Barbarians."

Polybius could not say anything. Instead, he prayed for the children silently. With each day closer towards Noturia Ponta, the attitude of the entire Army became more and more hostile towards him and his men. He found solace with Brennus, but even that relationship has changed. Brennus has grown more distant and Polybius could see the hint of distrust in the man's eyes.

They stopped that night inside Antepontum. The men slept in houses devoid of families while Crassus and his Legates conferred over what is to be done.

"Mikon has been busy." Balbus muttered over his crossed arms as they peered down at the makeshift map scratched into the table. An "X" marked each settlement that Mikon had decimated. A calculation was called, and the number of deaths amounted to nearly two thousand unarmed civilians.

"While you argued to remain in Colophon. We should've arrived here much earlier. These people would've lived, Balbus. Your doubt in this campaign has painted you with the blackest of sins. You have earned your spot in Tartarus." Pictor snarled.

"And your hubris in seeking another victory will spell the end of this army, the death of this kingdom, and blasphemy far beyond my sins!"

"Are you willing to put your life on that?"

"Enough!" Crassus barked. "Our situation is dire. Mikon holds the entire south eastern edge of the Kingdom, to let him continue his marauding ways would mean increased terror and lawlessness."

Pictor asked. "So when do we attack?"

"Morning."



Mikon's army had been divided again. He left his numerically superior wing to the north as a defense against the Romans while he himself continued his orgy of rape and pillage. When he heard news of the Roman attack on his wing, he shrugged it off and turned his attention back to the sobbing girl he had ripped from her mother's arms the other night.

Xanthippus had been wounded by a stray brick when they first sacked a settlement, and without his most able commander, Mikon was forced to assign the northern wing to Podaroes. The man was capable and smart, but he was no Xanthippus. Instructing the men of the northern wing to leave their loot and prizes with the head of the army, Mikon noticed something peculiar.

Podaroes left one girl and one girl only. Mikon had caught a glimpse of this girl as Podaroes departed. From her battered and souless eyes, Mikon knew that she had seen and experienced horrors beyond what she thought possible.

Podaroes was his subordinate and simply another commander replaced at will. He was the prince, no, future King of Sardeis. He could take this prize if he wished. The sobbing girl beside him no longer attracted him. Picking up his dagger, he waved it in front of her eyes. She became still and shook her head slightly while tears continued to stream down her face. She annoyed him with her incessant crying. He slammed her to the bed, covered her mouth, and sneered as the dagger came up red.

He emerged from his chamber and called one of his body slaves. "Bring me Podaroes' girl."

Meanwhile, amongst the wooded plains, Podaroes brought his two thousand infantry against the Army of Ephesos.



"That... is a lot of Greeks." Titus muttered. He, Polybius, and Brennus were standing next to each other, waiting for the battle to commence.

"There are more. This is but a portion of Mikon's army." Polybius said.

"Well, shall we meet in Elysium?"

"I'll meet you in the closest wine bar." Brennus chuckled.

"Done, and you'll be buying." Titus replied.

They had arranged their ballistae on the wings of the army. It gave them room to maneuver, but also left them dangerously exposed. Podaroes must've realized the importance of those artillery pieces, for he sent his crack troops after them. Armenian infantry armed to the teeth and whipped into battle frenzy with intoxicating herbs of the east. They charged forward, undeterred by the clanking bolts of the ballistae.



Meanwhile, the Romans wheeled themselves into action, running through to cover their flanks as the wall of Greeks came closer.



Mixed amongst the Armenians were several men from nearby Galatian tribes. Gauls with a Greek education and reasoning. A perfect mix of brain and brawn. Brennus found himself knocked to the floor by a massive man and rolled to his side, narrowly avoiding losing it.

When he picked himself up from the ground, the Gaul had already felled two men and swung his broadsword again. Raising his shield, Brennus bellowed a challenge.



Meanwhile, the remaining barbarian troops of Ephesos slammed into the the first lines of Podaroes' phalanx.



The ballistae continued to fire, now unmolested by the Greek main infantry.



But in the center of the line, where both armies refused to give ground, the fighting became intense. Brennus had dispatched the large Gaul, personally ripping the baldric from the man's shoulders and adding it to his spoils. The lines surged back and forth; the formations were disrupted.

"Didn't fancy seeing you here." Brennus heard a voice. He turned and saw Polybius, dust caked and stained with blood.

"Or you." He swung again, and a Greek screamed his soul to Pluto.

"The left wing's a mess. We were told to come here instead."

"That bad?"

"Not yet."

The two stood at the center of their lines, facing two direction. Polybius pressed his back at Brennus' shield, and the two continued to fend off Greek advances.



What Polybius didn't realize was that the left wing had been stretched so thin that it was on the verge of breaking. Titus and his lone maniple were all that's left to hold the area, and they faced odds of eight to one.

In the distance, Balbus saw the shifting black bronze against the red Roman shields.

"We need to move. Now." He said to his riders. Many of them were still on loan to him from Bubulcus, and now they were less inclined to go.

"What are you doing? Ride, damn you!"

"We're not following you. We're waiting for our Legate."

"I'll have you all arrested and crucified!"

"So be it." They remained still.

Balbus cursed and wheeled riders still loyal to him around. He didn't have many, not after the last battle. Now he would have even fewer. Should the struggle for the throne come to military arms, he feared that Bubulcus and Pictor would have the distinctive advantage.

Regardless, he charged towards the mass of Greeks.



Far beyond the right flank, the Kappadocian noblemen had encountered upon a group of runners attempting to relay information to Mikon's main base. Pursuing after them, the noblemen's composite bows made short work of the runners.



Balbus found his horses slamming into a wall of pikes. The Praetorian horses were strong, strong enough to break through, but the losses were astonishing.



A renewed offensive by the Greeks occurred on the right flank, and Crassus sent his barbarians charging to plug the gap.



Still evaluating the situation from atop his horse, Crassus attempted to figure out just how he could turn this battle around. It was obvious that they were losing. But if he could somehow break the enemy before they lost, or worse yet, before Mikon could arrive, then there was still a chance for victory.

But how hollow would that victory be? He would have no army to continue defending the Kingdom, no other way of securing himself against the enemy. The Kingdom is as good as finished. Just as he briefly pondered the uncertain future, he heard a great crashing noise.



The enemy had destroyed one of his prized Lithoboloi.

Cursed

-----

Rufilla trembled as the man approached her. He was clearly a high ranking officer, judged by his clothes and the air of arrogance around him. She had been led from her original captor's house to this new one. A multitude of slaves undressed and washed her, removing the grime from her hair and skin. Their touch were gentle and she would've enjoyed the treatment were the circumstances different.

An old slave woman peered between her legs, brought out a basin, and began washing her. The wash cloth came back slightly pinker than before, until finally, Rufilla was no longer bleeding.

Satisfied, they bound her arms with silk and left her standing there, dripping wet and naked for the man to inspect.

His gaze searched her soul and she shrank from it. Closing her eyes, she felt his rough hands touching and squeezing like someone testing the ripeness of an apple at market day. Someone shoved her and she opened her eyes.

They headed to the bed chamber.

The house was quiet, as if the world outside had ground to a halt and this was the only thing left in the world. Rufilla wondered for a brief moment if this was what her life was relegated to. A plaything for these men to enjoy at any time they wished. The doors opened, and the stench of blood and death wafted to her nose.

The man turned around and spoke to her in perfect Latin. "Lay down on the bed."

She did as she was told, her hands still tied behind her back. She turned away as the man stripped himself naked, but her eyes caught sight of the girl whose crumpled body lied on the floor and she gasped.

It was her friend Mela. Her large eyes, once filled with life, was now empty. Black specks of dried blood dotted her slashed neck, her exposed breasts, and her bruised body. There were more wounds on her, and blood ran in rivulets. Her hair was disheveled and crusted over.

Rufilla started to cry. She felt the man pry her legs apart and smelled his body over her.

Just then, the doors slammed open.

Someone was speaking in Greek, and the man answered back. Then, he snarled, stood up from the bed, and dressed himself. She opened her eyes and saw both men leave. He had left his dagger. Struggling over, she reached for it with her teeth. The dagger landed on the ground, beside Mela. Trembling, Rufilla lowered herself to the floor and started cutting the silk that bound her arms. As she worked, she looked at the door, afraid that someone would enter. But she was left in peace. Finally cutting away the bounds, she was free--to a certain degree--at last. She looked at Mela's lifeless eyes and sobbed, clutching her dead friend's body.

Dipping her hand in Mela's sticky blood on the ground, she smeared it on Mikon's bed.

"I curse you, and all the men under your army. Let black Acheron receive you warmly, let fiery Phlegethon consume you forever, and may your souls be forever sealed inside the pits of Tartarus, facing neither pity nor mercy."

She repeated the curse over and over and over, each time adding another line of blood on the bed. Taking the dagger in her hand, she made a small cut, drawing fresh blood that she added to the lines already there.

When it was done, Rufilla closed Mela's eyes and kissed her forehead. There were no windows, and she was not dressed. Huddling in the corner, she tried to make sense of the past two days, and her mind kept flashing back to the horrors instead. She kept her eyes trained on the door and prayed.

[Stingray970]

You know, I absolutely love this AAR.

Are you an author? Because this is amazing work.

I also love how every time there's a new post, I can be certain there's a new chapter.

[romulus753]

I feel so bad for Rufila

It's good to see actual battles again

[Ganbarenippon]

Excellent as always!

[ReD_OcToBeR]

I just started reading this, and skimmed thru some pictures and paragraphs etc. One word: Wow.

[Porunga]

good update

[SonOfAlexander]

I seriously need to go back and read the rest of this... I've just jumped in at the last chapter and it's absolutely spellbinding, haven't seen writing like this for longer than I care to remember, certainly on an AAR!

[chaplain118]

Chapter XVIII

… There certainly was some mobility between the East and the West during the time period. There have been several sites along the Ionian coast that seemed to function as reception halls for those who came to the Kingdom of Ionia for purely religious reasons. It’s not surprising to see why, the eastern Classical world is filled with the Ancient Wonders, and to the Roman population being introduced to these things, to see them would have been the opportunity of a lifetime.

No doubt there were instances of merchant ships ferrying private citizens, slaves, freedmen, etc. to the Kingdom of Ionia as pilgrims wishing to pay homage to the wonders of the world. And any time that there were civilian movement across the Aegean, it is safe to assume that an equal military movement would have occurred as well.

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

Beneath Bruised Cerulean Skies

-----

Ships, Atia found much to her dismay, were nothing like the litters that she took in Italy. Her entire world shook with each wave and soon she became nauseous. Clinging to her cot that was more a tiny stretcher than a real bed, she heaved but her stomach was already empty of content.

Do people die like this on voyages? What about everyone else? Are they sick too? She tried to answer her own questions, but even the thought of speaking made her sick again. Her slave Merricus looked equally as sick, but he fought to keep his nerves. She glanced at him.

"Water."

He nodded, his face already green, and left her room. She heard retching from down the hall and wondered if that was him. The smell in the room, sickly sweet yet sour and putrid, made her feel even worse.

"D-do you n-need some h-help?" She looked up at Quintus Fabius Pictor's concerned face. She nodded, her vision blurring with each motion.

"H-here." Extending his hand, he reached out and gingerly carried her to her feet. "L-let's g-get some a-air."

They passed by Merricus, who was vomiting in a corner of the ship. Atia wanted to tell him to come up with them, but the smell kept her mouth shut. It took some effort to move her to the top deck in the rocking boat, but somehow she found herself outside. She gasped when she looked around her.

Dark storm clouds circled above them. Lightning crackled and the small motley crew running the ship was busy dashing about, ensuring that everything was done correctly to keep the ship afloat.

"Quintus Fabius, I don't think we should be here."

"N-nonsense. You'd f-feel better up h-here."

"But it's not safe!"

"They k-know what they're d-doing."

"Yes, but if the gods wish us to perish on this trip, no mortal knowledge can keep us safe." She shivered. "And it's COLD out here."

"H-here." He unfastened the brooch around his cloak and draped the cloak over her shoulder. When she looked him in the eyes, he shuffled his feet and said. "I-I'm not c-cold."

"I think we should go back inside."

The wind whipped up again. A loud roar suddenly slammed against the thick air. Atia jumped at the sound. Quintus laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"That." He pointed behind her. The sail had been unfurled once again. Pulled by the strong gales, the sail bulged out and made snapping noises each time the wind speed changed. The boat skimmed above the water, cutting a line of white through the waves.

Regroup, Retry

-----

They say that when battle cohesion breaks down, then it's down to each individual soldier's courage to win the day. Titus Rufus wanted to believe that, but as he watched each one of his own fellow soldiers fall to the ground, he grew more faint at heart.

"Titus! Left!" Another soldier bellowed at him.

He turned around in time to parry away a blow from a Greek soldier. But the soldier who warned him was not so lucky.



Just as they lost hope, just as their nerves were about to break, the black horses of the Praetorians galloped forth and slammed into the enemy formation, scattering them about. Titus looked up and saw that Balbus had personally led the charge this time, somehow breaking through the line of Greek pikes that he had charged at before. He barely had time to nod before the Legate rode away with his horsemen, chasing down this portion of the Greek army and heading for another one.



Meanwhile, the right flank had calmed down. Pictor and Bubulcus sat atop their horses and surveyed the battlefield below them.

"What's that?" Bubulcus pointed in the distance.

"Looks like horses."

"Ours?"

"Not likely."

The two men exchanged looks. They knew what came next.



It turned out that the horses were indeed Greeks. Light lancers hoping to exploit the breaking left Roman flank. But they had the bad luck of pursuing the Romans from across the field and were intercepted.



Having cut the enemy cavalry off, Bubulcus and Pictor wheeled their horses around and headed towards the left flank. Clashing by the shadows of the broken siege engines, the dust rose with the cries of men and the clashes of swords on spear, ash on oak.



But they had succeeded, the Greeks were driven from the Lithoboloi and began fleeing.



However, fighting still raged on in the left flank. Balbus' suicidal charge had been effective. The Roman infantry, previously on the point of breaking, now rallied and continued to hold the enemy in place while Balbus pulled back again and again to strike the enemy.



Spears swung forward again, attempting to catch riders. Shields went up to parry them away.



All this time, Crassus stood atop his position on the hill and looked out at the battle. The lines had stabilized somewhat, but they were still in danger of being crushed by the sheer numbers of the Greeks.



"Oh not this again!" Titus groaned as he looked forward to a wall of pikes rolling towards him again. He and the few men from his cohort had temporarily joined up with another cohort. The Greeks were pounding them with everything they could muster. The slowly advancing phalanx reached them without suffering casualties because the Romans had run out of missiles.

"What's wrong? Scared?" One of the older men laughed.

"I'd be insane if I weren't!"

"Oh, wise guy, eh? Be sure to remind me to have a word with you back in camp."

"If you live to be back in camp."

"If I live, you're buying the wine."

Titus rolled his eyes and muttered. "Why do they always want more wine?"



The Roman infantry held the line still, giving Balbus enough time to rally his forces. The few Praetorians still riding with him were tired.

"Sir, our horses are buckling. We can't press on like this."

"Nonsense! We go now, or else we leave those men to certain doom. We break the Greeks here, right on this spot, we'll take back Noturia Ponta, avenge all those innocent men, women, and children who were butchered! We take back Noturia Ponta, and we will have another citadel to defend this Kingdom with. This is a Holy Kingdom that you have pledged your fealty to. Regardless of who commands you, you ought to seek death in defense of the Kingdom! Do I have your words?"

"Sir..." The rider looked away.

"Now comes a time when a man must decide to do what his instinct tells him and what his duties demand him. What will you choose? To live your life as a coward or to die as a true Roman, with sword in hand, war cry upon your lips, and the enemy to your front?"

"I..."

"You what? Fear death? We fear no death, for when we are, death is not and when death comes, we are not. Was this not the Creed of the Praetorians?"

"Yes sir."

"Then why stand there still? Why continue to evade your duty? Ride with me, for there is no greater joy than to die upon the field. Will you ride with me?"

"Yes sir."

Balbus pointed at the rest of his riders. "And the rest of you? Are you with me?"

They bellowed in unison. "Yes sir!"

Balbus smiled. "Then we shall go."

They charged uphill, urging their tired horses on despite their own muscles burning from fatigue. Impact shook along their trembling arms and each movement through the Greek phalanx became a struggle. And still Balbus rode forward, his eyes burning with passion and ardor for battle.



Crassus continued to watch the situation unfold in front of him. The situation was under control. Or to a certain degree. The lines are stablized now. He would only need to give the signal to any one of his Legates and they would charge through the enemy lines, utterly smashing them.

He smiled in the light breeze. Perhaps this battle would be won soon after all.



But his hope for winning the battle soon was shattered when the unmistakable horn of a Greek Strategos rose up from the east.

Mikon has arrived.

[Ganbarenippon]

Finally, Mikon enters the fray! Who will be left standing at the end of all this I wonder? I really love this.

[DarthLazy]

Get the mercenary phyrgian cav, if battles are taking this many men you need help!!!

[chaplain118]

Not far north enough to get those mercs...

[DarthLazy]

No you are in the perfect place, Just go a bit towards Tavion and you will find them.

[Gaddzooka]

Great AAR matey!

+rep once i figure out the rep system

[SavageFeat]

You can't rep until you have 50+ posts

[chaplain118]

Chapter XIX

… As for the route that the pilgrims would have taken upon entering the Kingdom of Ionia, it is logical that they would proceed first to the port city of Lebedus, and from there follow the roads that led them through the narrow and often times winding roads that trace the locations of ancient temples and other relics of the pre-classical age.

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

Dyrrhacium

-----

The first impression Atia had about Greece was not that its people spoke differently, but that it was really dirty. Piles of garbage lined the piers at Dyrrhacium and there were several vagrants stretching their hands out at the passing Romans, receiving nothing but dirty stares and sometimes worse.

"Sh-shame, isn't it?" Quintus Fabius Pictor whispered as he helped her from the ship.

"Who are these people?"

"Easterners, they're the G-Greeks who've been dr-driven from the Holy Kingdom after Sulpicius Camerinus f-first carved out all of Ionia for R-Rome. They sought refuge h-here. A-at first th-they were treated w-with respect. B-but now." He gestured at the soldiers now disembarking from the ships. The vagrants withdrew their hands and looked down, not daring to tempt the soldiers who looked for excuses to kill them.

"This isn't fair."

"W-war isn't f-fair. S-such is life, no?"

"To be discriminated for what you believe in, for the gods that you pray to, all of whom are one and the same. I refuse to believe that life is destined for such cruelties."

"R-refuse to believe? The p-proof is before your eyes. You c-can't ignore it." He looked away. "I w-would know."

Atia tilted her head in puzzlement. There was a brief moment of sadness followed by intense anger flash through Quintus Fabius' eyes. Yet she couldn't understand why. So she asked him, and received no answer.

"Quintus," she said, dropping his family name altogether. "What happened to you?"

"I w-was not b-born with this s-stutter. My f-father b-beat it into me."

"But why?"

"I w-wasn't brave, big, strong. N-nothing like my brothers. S-so while th-they received patronages from Senators, I-I worked beside s-slaves, c-construction workers. H-he never treated me l-like a son, more like a d-disease not fit to be in the same h-house as he." He pointed at his armor and cloak. "Th-these? I earned th-these myself with my work. Not a single as from my f-father. I h-have only his name to d-derive my auctoritas, n-nothing more."

She finally realized. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she asked. "He doesn't know you're coming. Does he?"

He jerked from her touch, almost as if frightened of something so gentle. He looked away, blinking fiercely, and nodded.

"Then why are you going?"

"Th-they say that the H-Holy Kingdom will p-purge you of all sins. P-perhaps I sinned w-without k-knowing, and the gods sent my f-father as punishment. Perhaps this w-will take him away, and m-make me new. Brave, strong--"

"No longer stuttering."

"Ex-exactly."

"I think you're a thousand times the man your father is. He may have the power, the auctoritas, but he has no heart. If he cast out his own son, then he has already turned his back on the gods so far that even the Holy Kingdom cannot absolve his sins."

"H-he will try."

A centurion approached the two. "Quintus Fabius, you are here to fight, not socialize. Now back in formation before I break my cane on your back!" He pointed at Atia. "As for you, miss, understand that if I see you distracting my soldiers again, I will place an order to have you removed from our ships and put on a merchant vessel heading to the Holy Kingdom."

"Y-yes sir."

The centurion shook his head. "And to think your father is a Legate of Ephesos, father of a Stutterer. You sicken me." Before either Atia or Quintus could do anything, the centurion stick rose up and whipped across Quintus' face, leaving an angry welt and a bleeding lip. "Get back in formation."

Watching the centurion walking away, Atia helped Quintus up. "He shouldn't have done that."

"I've h-had worse." There were tears in his eyes, whether from pain or humiliation, Atia couldn't tell. And she decided to not investigate further.

"I sh-should go. Perhaps I'll s-see you in the Holy Kingdom." And like that, he walked away.

Pity clawed at Atia's insides. She whispered to his disappearing shadow. "Perhaps."

Merricus emerged from the ship, paler than before and noticeably skinnier. Bowing before Atia, he asked. "Domina, where to?"

She had an idea. Reaching for her lunula, she opened the sacred pack and pulled out a small toy that she often used to play with as a child. It was a tiny doll made of gold. Pressing her lips to the cold metal, she kissed it and handed it to Merricus. "Give this to the stuttering soldier. Tell him that it has my blessings."

"Domina..."

"That is an order, Merricus. Now do it, and get something to eat. You look dreadful."

Fear Death?

-----

Mikon's entry into battle threw both lines into confusion. The very first line of Romans buckled and wavered at the sound of the Strategos finally appearing on the field, but the rear lines still held. Luckily for Crassus, the men that held the rear were his spears, which gave his forward infantry little room to run back to. But still, here and there, engagements between phalanxes still occurred and ashen spears clashed under the Asian sun.

Polybius found himself in one of the few phalanxes actively engaged with the enemy phalanx. He had grown tired. His vision blurred, his arm felt heavy, and his breathing became strained. He stared forward as a sea of rolling spears approached him from uphill, gathering speed with each step closer to him.



"Hold the line!"

"There's too many!"

"There were too many within the walls of Ephesos, and we still lived have we not? The gods love thee, have favored thee, have chosen thee for greater destinies than to die unmourned and forgotten here, on this blood-soaked land! Have no fear of death, nor of numbers!"

"Sir."

Polybius snarled. "What?"

"I'm scared."

Polybius paused when he saw who had said that. It was Asclepas, a boy no more than fifteen who had eagerly answered the call when Polybius went searching for troops at the behest of Crassus upon receiving news that they would take the fight to the enemy. There were tears in Asclepas' eyes. He already had a deep cut that was still bleeding on his arm, and his tiny body seemed comical behind the shield that fit him more like a hoplite than a phalangite. He nodded at Asclepas and said nothing.

The boy would learn the horrors of war and grow hardened from these ordeals. If he survives, that is.



Balbus' inspiring words earlier had inspired his men to certain victory for a while, but their exhaustion had caught up with them. Their arms grew tired and their movements became sloppy. A rider by the name of Varrus was unseated from his horse. As his life flashed before his eyes and the ground impacted against his body, Varrus briefly saw the life he could've led had he remained in Rome. But everything faded to black and pain and blood and bone.

In the distance, the Kappadocian noblemen had finally re-entered the fray. Casting aside their powerful composite bows in exchange for their lances, they charged forward, obedient to the Roman flag. Their heavy armor clamored like death bells bellowing their victim's deaths.



Crassus looked at the situation before him once again. Balbus was having trouble against the mass of enemy infantry. Bubulcus and Pictor were both still trapped. He was in danger of losing his legates and his best horses. This simply cannot continue. Riding up to several legionnaires who had retreated to catch their breath, he asked.

"Soldier! What's your condition?"

"Exhausted sir!"

"Not good enough, have you been trained in artillery firing!"

"Only once."

"Anyone else?"

Two other soldiers raised their hands.

"It'll do. The three of you, pick up the remaining lithobolos. We need to show that we're not defeated yet."

"Sir, I don't understand..."

"Go! Load up the artillery and launch a single flaming round towards the enemy."

"Whom do we aim at?"

Crassus smiled. "The gods. Let them know of our courage."

As the soldiers scrambled to the artillery piece and loaded up the shot, Crassus personally took his riders and charged forward. The clanking chains and twisting sinew of the lithobolos faded beneath the pounding hooves of the horses. Then, like a comet shooting across the sky at night, a flaming round, sizzling with enraged ember, tore through the blue heavens, leaving behind a single smoking trail.



"See this as a sign!" Crassus bellowed as he charged into the enemy. "See this as a sign, that the sons of Mars will never back down! See that we can raise our machines from destruction and launch our attacks again and again and again! Mars stands on our side, bloody Bellona has filled the enemy's hearts with fear, what stops you from moving forward and ending their lives? Is it exhaustion? Was Horatius not exhausted when he held back the Etruscans from the gates of Rome? Was Scipio Africanus not exhausted when he pursued Hannibal to the plains of Zama? Every great Roman has been tired, yet every one of them have continued on!

"What? You say that you are no such men? That their strength came from the gods, from the shades of the heroes of old? Well why not you? You stand upon the shores of Ionia, on the plains that first loaned aid to Troy! The blood of Teucer, of Aeneas, Dardanus, and countless other Trojan heroes flow in your veins. Call upon their souls! Call upon their shades! Your body is but flesh and blood, that may be true, but your hearts are more resolute than steel, and your willpower unbreakable! Push forward!

"Do you fear death? Why fear the inevitable? What does it matter if we meet our end now, here, in battle? What does it matter if our lives on this transient world disappears? We shall spend eternity in peace and bliss! Welcome death! Know that your salvation comes with it!"

Lost in his own rhetoric, Crassus realized too late that the sound of the Greek horn rose up behind him. By the time he wheeled his own riders around for a counter charge, Mikon's personal knights have already lowered their spears.

[Diomede]

You're not allowed to stop there. Not allowed!
(Oh, and repping the hell out of this)

[Ganbarenippon]

Very little time, so I'll just say that this was outstanding and save the superlatives for the next update. + Rep.