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

[DarthLazy]

So your last army has been smashed against the walls of Sardeis, a few more are to come, yet you see a billion greek stacks waiting for you?

[chaplain118]

well when you put it THAT way...

[DarthLazy]

The truth always comes out. Doesn't it?

[chaplain118]

Wait and see, Sardeis still isn't taken yet

[chaplain118]

As I've realized that this AAR has been a work that is largely unedited (and by largely I mean completely) when posted, the next few weeks will be spent editing the content already here. Mostly small tweaks like making the narrative more coherent, tightening up the dialogue, expanding upon areas that could be expanded upon, etc.

On another note, what I thought was going to be the doomsday of the Kingdom of Ionia (aka, a few more turns/battles/years from what's written here) turned out completely fine (to a certain degree), so if I play my moves correctly, there should be quite a number of more updates coming down the pipes.

[ReD_OcToBeR]

that sounds good that you'll be touching up this. And I hope the kingdom does not suffer the same fate as Jerusalem!.

[chaplain118]

I'd suggest you take a look at some of the first chapters again. Content hasn't changed dramatically, but certainly does receive a new flavor in terms of narrative framing, most of which I'd have to say was inspired by SBH's AAR The Nowhere Legion

[chaplain118]

The update progress has begun. Introductory paragraphs from the fictitious academic paper "Forgotten History of the Ionian Coast” by C. Krieger Ph.D and J. Connelly Ph.D have been included at the start of certain chapters. The first chapter has been edited and re-written in parts so that there is more of a narrative structure for the readers to be rooted into.

Other chapters will be updated as we go along, expect most of the updates being establishing a setting for the scenes that they depict.

In other news, the next update (yay) will come soon.

[chaplain118]

Chapter XXV

...Superstition has long been a mainstay of Roman religion and beliefs, wherever they went. Often times, archeologists tend to find quite a number of new inscriptions that grant a tiny glimpse into the multi-faceted world that ordinary civilians led. It is when we examine those that we are reminded that in spite of all the political turmoil and fantastical histories of the legions, there are still normal people eking out a living during those times.

Our findings in Sardis shows quite a number of these superstitious inscriptions. Some of them were quite inflammatory, such as cursing one's neighbors for alleged pilferage, while others were very tender that they could almost be considered prayers to gods for love. While these findings would have been considered a bonus find in any other region, much of these inscriptions bear the same name: Ti. Ruf. Perhaps this Ti Ruf was an important merchant who quite possibly bridged a connection between Sardis and Ephesus during the tumultuous period in which the Kingdom of Ionia existed. Perhaps not. In either case, we can conclude that this Ti. Ruf must have been a key player in the region--not politically but economically and/or socially.

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

Push On

-----

The assault died down as the rainwater washed away the blood. Shields floated in the currents gushing through the streets and the Army of Ionia settled in. A few unfortunate men were assigned guard duty as the hours passed by, shivering in the rain while their comrades dried themselves by hearths. Lightning, mingled with rain, cast dancing shadows on the walls and the guards jumped each time the thunder snarled in the dark. The large rectangular shields became stretchers that ferried the wounded from the frontlines to the houses. Surgeons worked tirelessly by candlelight to reset broken bones, stitch up gaping wounds, and sometimes even performing the mercy kill to relieve the dying men their pain. The officers worked tirelessly, going over their rosters in their mind and silently removing the names of the men who had died. Meanwhile, Greek bodies floated in the torrent. Uncared for.

Titus remained on the tower. The boy's body was safely tucked away in a corner. Only when the walls of Sardeis crumble away will it be disturbed. Alone, Titus gazed down again. There were dozens of bodies underneath the tower. Who will bury them and conduct them to the other side of Acheron? He felt the coins in the bag by his side. It was growing heavy. There were easily a hundred tiny silver coins in them. He could afford to free one of his siblings from the eternal bondage of slavery.

The Kerkis flower wreath was still visible. Its flowers did not break apart under the heavy rain but instead seemed to glow with life with each flashing lightning bolt. Putting his hand over his brows to keep the rain from his eyes, Titus looked deep into the city. The streets seemed to stretch on forever into the dark. Only the pattering rain now marched on the cobblestoned roads. The enemy had gone to hiding, perhaps to regroup until the morning, perhaps to wait in ambush. The wreath seemed to call out to him. Dipping his hand into the money pouch once more, Titus made a decision and descended from the tower. The musky stale air greeted his nose like an old friend and he shivered when he realized just how cold he was.

Lightning flashed in the sky in twin thunderbolts when Titus first arrived beneath the walls. The bodies here were bloated from water and much of their faces were no longer accurate depictions of their former self. The storm's gales drove the foul odor of death away, but nevertheless, Titus pulled the scarf around his neck to his nose before he reached down and grabbed the first body by the feet, dragging it underneath the walls. Once the body was shielded from the rain by the imposing walls, Titus pulled out the sword by the body's side and began digging in the earth. It was exhausting work despite the soft mud the waters made. Here and there, he ran into large numbers of stone that took far longer to remove than he remembers. Digging camp ditches was easier, and even those had been back-breaking enough.

When he had finally made a hole sufficiently large enough for the body to fit into, he placed the now dulled blade in the hands of the dead Greek and gently lowered the body into the pit. Fishing out two silver coins from his bag, Titus placed them on the eyes and gently whispered a prayer to Charon to accept the payments before pushing the dirt upon the body. Cremation would have been the proper choice of burial, as would a sarcophagus, but Titus had none of those methods available to him. And so, into the earth the bodies went and along with them were his blessings.

He worked tirelessly, one after another, repeating the same ritual until his muscles burned with fatigue. Once, the fast waters of the streets nearly ripped one of the bodies from his weakened grip. But he clung to it like a baby clings to its mother and brought it to its proper burial ground. The rainwater was starting to lessen and stars were seen here and there. The sound of crickets and other insects rose up around him, a welcoming companion to the work.

"You cannot hope to save them all." He jumped at the voice. When he turned around, he saw that it was Crassus himself who stood there.

"Then I have little time to delay." He pushed past the King and grabbed another body.

"Why do you do it?"

"Someone has to."

Crassus nodded. "Admirable. What is your name, soldier?"

"Titus Rufus, sire."

"Titus Rufus, I shall remember this name. You are one of the few exceptional men remaining who still has a shred of honor, a single sliver of justice, and a firm grasp of morality."

"Thank you, sire. But please, you are impeding my work."

"Then let me help you." Crassus walked over and grabbed one of the bodies himself.

"Sire?"

"I came to the Holy Kingdom to atone for my sins, not to commit murder. Now let me help you."

"If it pleases you."

The night sky cleared up and the two men worked to bury the bodies. Mounds rose up beneath the walls with each passing minute and the number of bodies in the street dwindled. Titus winced when he thought about the unburied bodies outside the walls. A bead of sweat rolled into his right eye and he looked up from the sting. Dawn was beginning to break in the east and already streaks of pink were burned into the sky.

"Sire, perhaps you should return to your tent. You will need energy to direct the troops."

Crassus shook his head. "A few more men, Titus Rufus. A few more men. Come!"

They worked until a pair of runners with torches fetched Crassus. But even then, they almost had to drag the King of Ionia away from Titus to attend to his duties. The sky lightened up even more. Morning had come. Body aching from exhaustion, Titus struggled on. His vision blurred with each labored breath and the bodies, previously only a slight burden, now felt like unmovable pillars.

New footsteps were heard on the cobblestone. These were not the uncoordinated sounds of random runners, but the steady beat of marching boots. Titus leaned against the wall beside the hole that he had finally dug. With a final heave, he rolled a body into the hole. Placing his last two silver coins atop the body's eyes, he began piling the dirt back on it.

When he looked up again, he stared into the eyes of a Greek hoplite.

It took Titus seconds to realize that the hoplite was not alone. Behind the hoplite were over a hundred other men. They all stood in silence and watched as Titus raised his hands in the air to show that he was not armed. Their eyes turned to the mounds by the wall and a tacit agreement was formed. The Greeks pointed their spears in the sky, turned around, and left.

Meanwhile, in another section of the city, Brennus and his host of Gallic mercenaries stared into a coming wall of spears. Their massive shields glistened with leftover rainwater in the new day's dazzling sunlight. Each man was refreshed, well rested, and prepared to carry on the bloody work of the previous day. No one in the entire Army knew of the single legionnaire who had buried the enemy's dead.

No one, save for Crassus.

Lament of Sardeis

-----

The final remainder of the men behind the walls of Sardeis did not give ground to the advancing Roman forces. But even against overwhelming odds, even against the relentless assault they stood fast at the citadel. Refusing to surrender, refusing to give away to the attackers, they stood their ground and died with wounds in their front.



The sun dangled above the citadel when Crassus rode in atop his horse. Dirt and grime and blood covered each man. Tired as he was, he summoned enough strength to speak to the troops.



"This city is ours. Her inhabitants the subjects of our Kingdom. For this small victory, this tiny step in our quest to expanding our Kingdom, we have paid much--both in life and in death. And for this I thank you."

The men would have cheered if they still had the strength left to cheer. A reverent silence descended upon the citadel. Crassus looked around him, meeting each soldier in the eyes, before he resumed his speech.

"But when we take this city, when we finally lay claim to her, we must remember who we are and why we come here. We are not butchers. We did not come into Sardeis with the hopes of laying her to waste, of destroying her utterly and leaving her in ruins. Remember that you all came to the Holy Kingdom for a purpose. You came to absolve your sins, you came to search for an answer to your questions. To lay your hands upon innocents would only place you deeper into the pits of Tartarus, deeper into the Unhappy Fields, and deeper into the sucking mud of the Stygian Pits.

"I now ask for Titus Rufus to step forward."

Murmurs rippled through the soldiers as Titus limped from formation. Mud covered his face and arms. There were bits of blood and cuts on his clothes. His armor was severed at several places, testaments to the damages done by a Greek blade.

"During the storm, I saw Titus Rufus by himself, burying the dead of the Greeks who fell defending their homes. Amidst the bloodshed and the violence that had been so instrumental to our taking of the city, Titus Rufus stood as a man of reason. He worked until dawn before joining his comrades in arms. He has personally seen fit that a host of souls will now find solace and quietude in the next life. I urge you to do the same. For that, I award Titus Rufus five hundred iugera of land fifteen miles from Ephesos and offer him the chance to be relinquished from his service in the Army of Ionia. What say you, Titus Rufus?"

Titus stared back at Crassus, incredulous at the news. Five hundred iugera of land. That was all he could have hoped for. The years of fighting in the Holy Kingdom had finally reaped their rewards. At long last, here was absolution begging him to take it. He looked around and saw Brennus and Polybius' eyes. He looked at Crassus and the black horses of the Praetorians. The emaciated faces of the Legates, the vacant expression of soldiers who had seen too much bloodshed, and the hushed whispers of the women and children that had accompanied the Army into Sardeis seared themselves deep into his mind.

A simple word of acceptance would have been sufficient. But he looked around again and saw the dead bodies, the corpses whose screams froze in their throats, and the face of the boy he left in the tower. A tempting offer, but an offer he knew he could not accept.

"I am sorry, sire, but I cannot take up such an offer. To know that I will retire to comfort while the rest of my brothers continue to fight for this Kingdom and continue to die for this Kingdom is unacceptable."

To his surprise, Crassus smiled.

"So be it. Back to your stations."

However, despite Crassus' words of restraint to his soldiers, men would always be moved by greed and lust and want. When the night descended, the streets could not be kept safe. Doors were barred and the smell of wine permeated alleyways. Rough hands from rough men reached and grabbed at any women that they saw. The brothels operated beyond their capacities that night. Behind closed doors, however, Pictor and Bubulcus sat over a cramped table.

"He is using this Titus Rufus as a way to put himself in better light. You know as well as I do that the men are looking for blood. You know as well as I do that when they do not receive what they want, they will rebel. He is looking for a way to keep bloodshed to a minimum." Pictor stared bitterly into his cup.

"Can you blame him? We cannot lose more men in this campaign. It would ruin us utterly. We barely have enough to push on to Pergamon."

"Pergamon." Pictor scoffed. "We barely have enough to hold Ephesos let alone come here. He needed this victory to cement his legitimacy, for himself and that Prince of his. And now, with this Titus Rufus, he portrays himself a demigod. Disgusting."

"What would you do to supplant him? If I recall correctly, you promised me nearly a year ago that you will seize the crown for me. Yet here we sit in this filthy place and I am still not King."

Pictor shot Bubulcus a venomous gaze. "Patience! That is your first lesson in becoming King."

"My patience runs thin. I expect you to deliver me the crown soon."

"For a man who is not king, you are acting like one."

Bubulcus leaned forward. "Only because I've learned from you. Which brings me to my other point. What would happen when I become King? What would you do? You have a penchant for manipulating people, Pictor, you have a penchant for luring them into traps and then turning on them at a moment's notice."

"If you are so worried that I will turn on you, then you can put the thought of kingship far from your mind."

"Then deliver me the crown!"

"If you want the crown so much, then wait. I have the solution for you."

"Tell me."

Pictor stood up and opened the door. In the distance, the great temple of Sardeis stood in distance, silhouetted against the sky dotted with stars. Its presence dominated the entire city, and the top of its gilded roof could be seen by anyone at any place.

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Chaplain118, this is a magnificent update. The human drama and intrigue is expertly drawn. The toil of Rufus burying the dead is wonderfully contrasted against both Crassus and the ambitions also of Picator and Bubulcus. This is worthy of a novel in its own right!

[DarthLazy]

You update the chpater after months and I still have to spread rep

[Ganbarenippon]

Unbelievable chapter! You have a genuine gift for writing...this AAR is just beautiful.

[chaplain118]

SBH, thanks for the kind words. I've considered submitting this to the MAARC but then saw you were competing with The Nowhere Legion again

Sith|5|DarthLazy, funny how that works out eh

Ganbarenippon, the same to your AAR

[Boustrophedon]

It seems like ages ago that I did a review on this piece! So great to see it develop in an epic tale, because so many AARs don't get to this point really!
Lovely work you've done here, chaplain, and anxiously waiting for a new chapter ^^

[chaplain118]

To my loyal readers:

No, I have not given up this AAR. It's just that within the past few months, I have been very busy dealing with graduation and making the transition between the collegiate world and the real one. But I feel that on this night, as the clock strikes midnight and beyond for many of you, that it is appropriate that I bring you the next installment in my magnum opus (at least for an AAR) as a gift to many of you.

So knock back some eggnog, tell your loved ones how much you've appreciated their presence in your lives for the past year, and enjoy some honest to God, drunk chaplain writing

Chapter XXVI

... Our pursuit of the elusive Kingdom of Ionia led us further from the coast from which we had originally thought this mystical land had existed. As we delved around Sardis during the hot dry months, we chanced upon what we have surmised to be a burial site. Once more, the frustrating deterioration from age has left us in the dark, but at least a few letters have survived through the millennia of ravaging sands and brutal time: Q At Bal. These letters have been carved with delicate care upon a stone that carried the insignia of a tiny eagle, if our surmises are correct at least, suggesting that the individual must have been an important figure to this land.

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

Paths Cleaved

-----

When the hull to the ship opened and daylight stun his eyes so used to blackness, Quintus Fabius Pictor shied from the bright sun of the East. Shuffling from his position, limbs stiff from the long journey across the Aegean, he picked up his gear and joined the ranks of soldiers gathering at the port of Lebedos. He had been dreaming before the ship roughly jarred him from his dream--of crimson lips from a maiden named... no, he smiled to himself, her name was far too pure to taint with THAT dream of his. Yet he could not deny that it had been her that had floated into the foremost of his mind as he slept in the miserable hull reeking of vomit and unwashed men. He could not deny that her face was what helped him keep his composure in front of the other men who had ridiculed his stutter. Looking down at his clenched fist, he could see the small figure that she had given him. It had left a slight red indentation in his palm from the squeezing, but still retained its shape. Putting his lips to it, he closed his eyes and kissed it, imagining that it were her lips, not lifeless brass, that brushed against his. Looking around, he hoped to see her once more before departing upon the old military road long established by the family of the man who had brought him here. But the civilians had been shuttled from the ships long before the soldiers were even roused. Even now, his eyes only caught sight of the departing baggage train. Sorrow rose to his throat but he stopped himself before making a fool of himself again.

What month was it? He could not tell. The air carried the scent of the sea to his nostrils and he savored the crash of the waves against the rocky beach. How he longed to be in the foams! For a brief moment, his mind imagined a world where conflicts did not reign supreme in this Kingdom. For that brief moment he imagined himself atop a spotless stallion, his hands upon her waist and galloping through the eddying currents swirling around the horse's hooves. He could swear that her laughter was ringing in his ears. But when he looked around again, all he saw were war-horses and soldiers encased in steel armor. Only the knell of iron and brass sounded while Atia's voice faded to a mere whisper--a whisper that he desperately clung to but could only helplessly hear it slip from his mind like water through the seams of his fingers.

Grabbing his war-gear, he threw one last mournful look towards the direction of the old Pilgrim Road. He will see her again. Both their fathers were Legates to the Kingdom. One way or another, their paths will cross, just as they have already crossed now. But when that day comes, he will meet her as a soldier worthy of the Holy land that his feet now tread upon, and worthy of professing his own feelings to her without the stutter.

**************************************************************

Little did he know, her eyes were cast back at the black ships upon the shore--the ships with their prows pointing in to land. With each step that Atia took away from the harbor, her mind lingered back towards the soldier who stuttered in his speech--the soldier who was not afraid of displaying his heart upon his tunic. She had left him her own charm, her own luck, and her own fortune. The sails became tiny dots in the horizon and she knew they would soon be out of sight. Nevertheless, she still turned her gaze towards the shore and the everlasting ocean. In a whisper audible only to herself, Atia whispered:

"Ave atque vale, may the gods bless you with fortune."

Only when the hills rose up to obscure the ships did Atia turn her gaze away. In the distance, the ancient battered walls of Ephesos beckoned. There would be her father, bearing the same sardonic smile that she had inherited--a sardonic smile that she had not seen since childhood, when she remembered his large hands picking her up and swinging her about like a feather. Oh how she screamed in delight as he twirled her around. She would be far too old for him to twirl again, but she has grown old enough to hear and understand his stories of war, of the conquered cities and defeated enemies. More importantly, she has grown old enough to inform him of her growing infatuation with the son of a man whom she had once feared.

The brilliant sky stretched endlessly across the world like a canvas, and soon even the sea disappeared from the horizon. Only an infinite earth laid itself before her. The paved cobblestone road clacked with each footstep and she directed her eyes forward, certain of her future.

**************************************************************

"You were given an opportunity of a lifetime, yet you scorned it." Polybius shook his head at Titus.

"Could I have left you behind?" Titus asked. He looked at Brennus. "Or you?"

"We knew our stations and of our lives. We knew that our fates would lead us to one road. Mine would forever be a heretic in the eyes of your gods, and Brennus would always be a Gaul deserving of neither pity nor mercy."

"That is not what I saw. I saw two loyal friends who would stay by my side until the bitter end. I saw no reason to cut my bonds to them."

"You are an odd man, Titus Rufus." Polybius sighed and drew his cloak closer towards him. Sardeis had been quiet in the subsequent sacking. Those men not slaughtered were pressed into slavery. Women opened their doors and their legs to the Roman soldiers in hopes of receiving some respite. Despite an order from Crassus of anti-looting, less scrupulous members of the Army had their fill of carnal pleasures in the days following Sardeis fall. However, regardless of where they went, Titus seemed to have drawn a certain admiration from the populace. Polybius attributed it to his piety and adherence to burial customs while Brennus simply said it was a matter of fear from the people.

Whatever the case, the three found themselves sitting in the atrium of an old woman on a lazy afternoon, sipping water from elaborately wrought goblets that she had gladly filled. Beside them was the girl that Titus had saved from Mikon's camp, Rufilla. Neither Polybius nor Brennus had any idea what to make of her. She hardly spoke a word, as if struck mute from her personal witness of the carnage of bloodlust from the campaigns. She refused to meet the eyes of any soldier, and on the rare occasions when she was caught staring at someone, her eyes would dart away so quickly that the gaze might not have occurred at all.

"Odd." Titus swirled the water in his goblet and muttered. "But not entirely irrational. Have you thought about them, Polybius? Have you thought of the dead who lay unburied upon the fields? Not only Roman corpses, but also Greek?"

"Poor souls, doomed to wander at the banks of the Acheron for eternity."

"Yet, had we stopped for a single moment, we could have saved them all."

"One man cannot hope to save them all."

Titus did not look Polybius in the eyes as he answered. Instead, he fixed his gaze upon Rufilla's bowed head. "No. Yet if I can save one, why can I not save many?"

"You speak of the works of gods."

Titus did not respond. His eyes remained on Rufilla. To Polybius' surprise, the girl looked up and did not avert her gaze from Titus.

Warpath Once More

-----

The walls were not yet secure when Crassus made the announcement to his army that they would be moving once more. The truth was not that he was prepared to move, but rather because he could not afford to remain behind the walls of Sardeis. Pictor and Bubulcus' actions have grown more bold during their brief stay at the city. The proud temple of Hades that once stood at the city center had burned for days in the anarchy that briefly reigned upon the city's fall. Now, a black cloud hung above Sardeis. It was an omen that the soldiers quaked at and one that Crassus knew better than to remain under. Prior to departure, he pulled Quintus Atius Balbus aside and asked:

"Do you think it is wise, Quintus Atius, to depart now? Before the army is rested enough?"

To his surprise, Balbus' response lacked the typical long-windedness Crassus had been long expected from him:

"It is your choosing."

There had been another reason for Crassus pursuing this decision. The taking of Sardeis has once again upset the regional balance of power. With the removal of the two former princes of Sardeis and the imposition of the will of the Kingdom of Ionia upon the ancient city, other Greek kings in the region now grew restless. Euryanex of Libethron has already crossed the northern river, marching at the head of a small force. Though he bore the olive branch atop his horse, he also bore the hoplon and sarissa of war. When Crassus had sent an envoy to Euryanex to discuss terms, the only thing he received from the Greek tyrant was the head of the emissary.

It was clear to Crassus. The rival Greek kingdoms did not see a reason to cease the fighting, nor did they see the foothold of Roman power as something to be expected. And so, the tired and battered army of Ephesos found themselves drawn into battle formation once more. But no longer were they fighting upon the land that had nurtured them. No longer were they fighting upon a land that they knew. Gone were the walls of Ephesos from their backs. Only the still broken rocks that made up of the wall around Sardeis stood behind them.



The marches began once more. Soon, the familiar shapes of the Sardesian walls disappeared behind the horizon--replaced instead by the endless rolling plains of Asia. The Army marched forward, its banners swaying in the lazy wind.



Balbus rode ahead of the army, holding a tiny scroll within his hand. His loyal band of riders had been whittled down to a paltry few. Each step he took away from Sardeis felt like a thousand endless miles. Constantly he looked backwards, imagining that he had seen the Greek army showing up. Though he could have sworn he had seen them, the armies always disappeared into the mist or forest.



Day after day he read the scroll again and again. Finally, on the fifth day after departing from Sardeis, he could bear no longer. Summoning a scribe to ride beside him, Balbus began dictating a letter that would be sent to Ephesos.

He composed his thoughts, carefully planning each word that he would put down. But everything he said seemed so contrite, so false. Finally growing frustrated at his attempt, he sent his scribe away and took up the stylus and papyrus himself. Jostled around upon the horse that he now rode upon and in full view of his riders, Balbus began writing.

My child, Atia....

Yes, that will do. He turned at looked forward. The familiar sharp pain shot through his side once more. Balbus remembered the words that the Greek Sinon had muttered in his dying breath. It had seemed a lifetime ago that he had heard those words. He looked to his King and saw an emptiness he never thought existed before. He looked at Pictor and Bubulcus and saw only ambition coiling up like an adder ready to strike. A tear came to his eye. He had come with Crassus all those years ago to seek absolution to his sins, yet here he was, heading into battle after battle yet feeling nothing at the end of each. His heart remained as tormented as ever, and still he continued to bury his emotions from his family.

The words flowed from his stylus like water. He could not re-read them once they had been placed upon papyrus. He felt himself writing his own eulogy. His heart tore itself apart as he thought of his daughter's face. How many years has it been? Five? Six? Days had become blurs. Months rolled by and he had not noticed. He had left her a child, and now she would be a woman, ready for marriage and awaiting his approval of a husband.

Yet he would not be there to see her.

His nose stung and his boxy eyes could no longer hold back the drop of tear that now welled over its boundary. The salty droplet mixed with the ink on the paper, smudging out a single word:

Live

[romulus753]

I waited for a long time for this update, and you didn't disappoint. Congrats on graduation man, and I hope you'll finish this AAR

[Darth_Revan]

awesome AAR! got me hooked can't wait for the next update

[Ganbarenippon]

Congratulations on your graduation my friend. And a Happy New Year to you an yours. I would tell you how brilliant the last update was but I seem to have run out of superlatives!

[Boustrophedon]

Been a while since I last commented here but your story is progressing very nicely!

[chaplain118]

Chapter XXVII

... the name of Q. At. Bal cropped up many other times alongside the old Roman road stretching from Sardis to the site of Pergamum. The more we looked for him, the more he seemed to appear. By the time we've traced the road to Pergamum, we were able to draw a conclusive picture of this Q. At Bal. We can surmise that his name was Quintus Atius Balbus, and that he had been a favored candidate as the successor to the king of Ionia--held by what we has ascertained to be Servius Papirius Crassus. We knew he had a daughter by the name of Atia who was buried at Pergamum--as per the archaeological records. From this, the picture becomes ever clearer: the Kingdom's fate must have ended with Quintus Atius Balbus. Whatever his station in life, whatever triumph or downfall he may have pursued, so followed the Kingdom of Ionia. Perhaps he never outlived Crassus and that had plunged the Kingdom into anarchy and chaos due to the complicated nature of succession. Perhaps he had become a great statesman alongside Crassus, sharing their powers much like junior and senior consuls of the Republic until the inevitable tide of Anatolian Greeks blotted out the tiny Kingdom.

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

Our Stations in Life

-----

"Courier, take this letter and deliver it to Ephesos." Balbus said from atop his horse. "Make sure it finds its way into my quarters. You shall be paid one hundred denarii upon completion of this task."

The courier received the letters in his trembling hands and carried it like a newborn. With racing feet, he leaped atop his own horse and rode off to the West. Balbus turned his attention back to the vast plains stretched out before him. They were approaching a river, one which has not yet been added to the Roman lexicon. Balbus, being the one to lead his band of Praetorians first to the river, was afforded the honor of naming the river. It was an honor that a few years ago he would have accepted, but one he no longer felt himself obliging. Politics have worn him down, and he felt thin and spread out, like a drop of oil within a pond--thinning out bit by bit before disappearing forever.

When his own riders pointed out the flowing current, Balbus merely nodded and trotted on. The weight of his own rank felt as ponderous as the world upon Atlas' shoulders. He had enough of this life. His own sins no longer mattered. Let Pictor and Bubulcus have the kingdom, his conscience said. Let them know the hardship and fear of becoming supplanted.

The river soon faded to the distance as they rode on. The land changed. Trees and shrubs began to appear over the horizon while the mountains slowly began to dwindle. They were a fair distance away from the head of the Army, which, Balbus surmised, must still be crossing the river. The rhythmic clap of hooves beating against the pliant ground soon had Balbus batting his tired eyes. He realized that they had been marching for almost an entire day with little rest. They had been pushing towards Pergamon at breakneck speed, hoping to arrive before Euryanex could meet them.

Insects buzzed around him, raising their din to the heavens in sporadic bouts as they complained of the warmth. Each time the buzzing started, a single shriek from a bird would bring silence once more, but only for a little while. The grass became softer and muffled the sound of hooves. Only a dull thudding remained where clear clops were once heard. Balbus shifted his seat, relishing in the brief surge of blood into his legs. In the distance, a plume of dust was rising in the air. Perhaps a distant shepherd had not heard of the news of war, instead happy to imagine that the wars with Ephesos were conducted in faraway lands.

"Sire, do you see the plume?" One of his riders matched his speed.

"I see it."

"Shall we investigate?"

"Are you well rested?"

The rider looked away. "Yes."

Balbus inspected the man. There were visible bags under his eyes and his shoulders hung forward, drooping from exhaustion. The rest of the riders fared no better. They ought to be resting now if they were to make good on their march to Pergamon. Balbus turned his attention to the sky. The sun was moving steadily westward.

"We may as well examine it. Find a suitable camping ground for the army."

Kicking their tired horses, Balbus and his riders pushed on. With each jostle, Balbus felt his horse shudder and pant from the weight. The beast had served him tirelessly throughout these years and it has only recently began showing signs of slowing. He would need a new war horse soon. The thought had never previously crossed into Balbus' mind. But now as he felt the bones of his horse rattling with each trot, he had began to seriously consider the notion.

"Quintus Atius! Look!" One of his riders pointed through the woods towards where the plume of dust rose from.

Greek soldiers.

**************************************************************

The message was relayed to the main army after initial skirmishes were had and a few men became bloodied. The messenger himself was busy wiping the blood from his spear when he informed Crassus. The sun was dipping dangerously into the west and flares of flaming crimson licked the clouds. Crassus surveyed the ground around them and gave only one word:

"Attack."

From the left wing, Pictor and Bubulcus rushed forward like a pair of mail-laden fists. Their war horses, far from showing signs of exhaustion, were well groomed and fed. Their strong hooves dug into the ground, throwing clods of dirt into the air with each thunderous step. Riding from behind the main line of infantry, the two men led their Praetorians forward amidst a resounding ocean of cheers.

"Listen to them Bubulcus, they adore you. The Army is yours in all but name." Pictor laughed.

"And what of it? Their adoration is no sign of my Kingship!"

"After this battle, it will be."

"How?"

"You would do better to know nothing, lest it robs you of your future title that is so close to your grasp."

A trumpet blasted. The Army lurched forth.

**************************************************************

It turned out that the men they first encountered were the screening force intended to defend the field artillery that Euryanex had brought up against the Roman forces. Balbus had arranged his riders into a sickle and plowed forth, driving the spearmen back. With the spearmen now scattered across the plain before his black horses, Balbus drew his riders tight around him and charged forward. The formation drilled into the heart of the artillery crew, mowing them down under shattered spears and banging shields.



A column of dust rose near the river. Balbus looked up and assumed that the full Army had made their way to meet the enemy. With a barking whistle, Balbus rallied his riders around him.

"Quirities! I see all of you, tired beyond belief and ready to sleep. But one more obstacle remain before us. One final push before we're in comfortable beds and resting for another day."

He pointed to the distant dust plume.

"There, our lines and the Greek lines have met. Knowing our own position, I cannot say the line will hold for very long. We must close the distance at all costs and deliver the punishing blow to the Greek lines. We have already driven the Greeks forth in this small skirmish. Now let us utterly rout them!"

**************************************************************

The actual line of combat was drawn along a jagged pattern, lacking all sense of a true battleline. Brennus and his Gallic mercenaries were the first to taste the steel of the Greek soldiers. Mountain men who dwelled far from cities but whom the urban citizens were fond of employing in their armies. At the realization that this battle between the two mighty civilizations were being settled by foreign mercenaries, Brennus chuckled. Always will there be others to bleed and die for a king with a shiny coin. As his sword cleaved a man's skull, sending brains spurting to the thirsty earth, Brennus wondered if this dying man was like him and if this man viewed the darkly amusing reality as he did.



Brennus kicked a man to the ground and plunged his sword deep to its hilt. Raising the bloody sword into the air, he swung it thrice and bellowed his war-cry. His voice roared across the earth as drops of blood were flung about himself. His voice roused the other men of his mercenary band, and newfound excitement pounded through their veins, urging them to press forward. Their motions became energized once more. Power coursed through their blows and bloodlust replaced reason.

But while the Mountain men scattered from the bellowing rage of Brennus, a far more powerful force set its eyes upon the band of Gallic mercenaries:

Euryanex of Libethron, fresh atop his own washed steed and accompanied by the finest riders of his land, thundered towards the Gauls. Brennus had enough time to turn before he felt a pike pierce through his well-armored torso. His feet scrapped against the unyielding earth. A sickening crunch issued from his knees and pain exploded across his body. For a brief moment his body felt light as a feather before slamming down upon the earth. His ribs cracked and blood poured into his lungs. In his final dying breath, Brennus tried to raise his sword to attack the rider that had cut him down. But the polished armor of Euryanex blinded him. He felt a pair of hooves step atop his bleeding chest. Pain radiated forth as his bones cracked from the heavy hoof. His scream of pain was caught mid-throat when the horse shifted its weight. As he felt his soul being dragged deep into the underworld, he prayed that Titus would come after the battle and give him a burial to keep him from the horrid existence of wandering along the banks of the Acheron.

The Turn

-----

Praetorian horses were pushed against Greek troops, herding them away from the river. They had chosen their place well. Outside of view from both Crassus and Euryanex, Pictor had managed to push the Greeks back from the left wing. Now that he swung forward, he could see the main body of Euryanex's troops coming forward. He nodded to Bubulcus and the man peeled away, accompanied by a lone rider.

Their plan would now come to fruition.

**************************************************************

"Quintus Atius! Quintus Atius!" Bubulcus cried as he came closer.

"What is it!"

"Euryanex! He has arrived at the field. Look" Bubulcus pointed to the rising plume that grew in intensity. "He has collapsed our right wing! We must hurry. The men are tired and are looking to you for hope. It is only a matter of time before he reaches the King!"

Balbus felt a streak of panic run through him. The plume was too small to resemble a successful cavalry charge. But there was no way of being sure, not under such circumstances. The sun dipped ever lower in the sky, lengthening the shadows. The fiery crimson in the sky turned blood red and Balbus nodded to Bubulcus.

"Lead the way, Legatus."

Kicking their horse, the two men sped off. Balbus' own exhausted riders tried to keep pace, but the Legates soon disappeared towards the fighting, leaving behind only a trail of dust tumbling to the sky.

**************************************************************

Pictor had spread out his own riders as thinly as possible while still maintaining a formidable presence. It was this that allowed him to pass surreptitiously behind the main Greek line. He had guessed, quite correctly, that Euryanex would attempt to restore order at the breaking portions of his formation. It was a tactic that Pictor himself would have used. However, this made Euryanex predictable. Predictability, Pictor reasoned, led to one being defeated. And as such, he gave the order to his riders. A solid line of Praetorian horses rushed headlong against the Greek soldiers, penning them into a box with enemies on all sides. Even more perfectly, Euryanex himself was trapped amidst the panicking Greeks.



Finally having the leverage he needed, Pictor shouted. "Euryanex of Libethron! If you will fight, then you will most certainly die. If, however you lay down your arms and dismount your horse, then I will spare your life and merely hold you captive! What say you!"

"I'd rather fall upon my own sword than to bow to you!"

So be it, Pictor mused to himself. Pulling out his own sword, he hacked his way towards Euryanex.

**************************************************************

"Legatus! Where is the enemy?" Balbus asked. They were in the woods now and all sounds of fighting have faded away.

Bubulcus slowed down to a halt and beckoned. "The enemy? Come, I will show you."

As Balbus approached Bubulcus, he did not notice Bubulcus nodding to the other rider. However, he did feel the hardened point of the steel blade pierce under his armpit and severing his artery. Enraged, he turned around to attack Bubulcus, but his blow was parried away. He barely had time to scream in pain as life poured out of him. In his final moment, a single name came to his lips:

Atia

Tears slid from Balbus' eyes, and Sinon's first prophecy came true.

Bubulcus carefully cleaned as much as he could from Balbus' wounds. Sheathing Balbus' sword, he looked at his handiwork. It was believable. Throwing one last glance backwards, he saw that the plumes of Balbus' riders were approaching. Taking out his own sword, he flicked it against Balbus' horse. The beast neighed its discomfort and took off towards the lines. Smiling, Bubulcus hurried after it. He watched Pictor's riders open up a line to allow Balbus' body into the mass of panicking men. He hid his satisfaction as Balbus' already lifeless body tumbled to the ground after it had entered. Kingship would be his. And to the rest of the army, Balbus had died a hero. A reckless hero.

Burial Once More

-----

The battle ended when Pictor unseated Euryanex and pinned him with his sword. Panic rippled through the Greek ranks and they scattered into the mountains. Euryanex proved himself a useful man. After a few sessions with a number of "specialists", Euryanex felt that it was appropriate that he loose his tongue. But none of the information mattered at the moment to Crassus. Instead, he looked on at the body of his most treasured Legate, at the man whom he felt certain that his Kingdom would pass to.

You're surrounded by ravenous wolves ready to tear you apart at a moment's notice. He told himself.

Pictor and Bubulcus did not hide their wild ecstatic looks upon seeing the body. There had been suspicion of foul play, but all the stories were verified by multiple sources. Bubulcus had came to inform Balbus of the predicament the Army had faced during the concentrated assault. The two legates then set off to meet the threat, out running Balbus' Praetorians. Finally, Pictor's own riders affirmed that Balbus had ridden forward towards the enemy, where he was unseated from his horse.

They gathered whatever weapons they could from the battlefield and raised a pyre for Balbus. Placing the fallen Legate's sword at the top of the pile and gently washing away the wounds, Titus Rufus was the one who looked over the entire ceremony. He had requested that the girl Rufilla be the one who conducted the ceremony beside him. As the entire army gathered by the pyre, Titus raised his hands into the air and uttered the prayer.

Bands of torches were lit and carried by the soldiers one by one to the pyre as Titus prayed. Songs and chants were raised, first quietly but growing in strength. The voice of a thousand legionnaires and equal number of horsemen rumbled between the tents. Swords and spears rattled with each word as the choir went on. They sang of when Pallas had fallen to Turnus. They sang of the Horatii, of Scipio, of Marius, and of the other heroes of history. Finally, the song ended upon Balbus' name and silence descended upon the camp. The torches spit and cracked as the stars silently looked on. The wind halted and the grass refused to rustle. Not a single bird chirped. No bugs sang its nightly melody. Only the torches and the silent weeping of thousands of men issued forth a whisper of a sound.

Finally, one by one, the torches were thrown atop the pyre and the flames soon consumed Balbus' body.



As the ceremony wound down and the mourners returned to their posts and tasks, the camp slowly rose up under the cover of night. By nightfall, the camp doors were closed and the army returned to its normal sleeping schedule. Titus, however, sat staring at a fire. He heard footsteps but did not look up as Polybius sat down beside him.

"I still have not found Brennus, nor any men who had been with him."

"No need to pretty your words, Polybius. I already knew."

The flames cracked and hissed. "When?"

"A little after sundown. Before the ceremony."

Polybius nodded. "So the tears you shed..."

"Brennus."

Silence sat uncomfortably between the two before Polybius asked. "You have not found the body yet, have you?"

Titus looked away, blinking fiercely. Polybius heard a quiet sniff and asked no more of it.

That night, stars streaked across the sky, carrying souls from this earth to the next.