Quinta Macedonica Legio - completed and retitled in honour.

[Diocle]

Thanks to you SBH, I'm reading the Strategikon and I chose the orders that seemed more appropriated to the situation, but I do not really know what could happen by giving them, in that sequence!

[Knonfoda]

Amazing stuff SBH, I could almost feel the sand vibrating beneath me as those armoured riders slowly advanced on the roman lines. Your writing really does convey that emotion, that grittiness of battle and as always, an impending sense of doom.

[tomySVK]

Another amazing update! Thanks

Edit: I forgot to mention, that I gave you a well deserved rep!

[Ybbon]

I sometimes struggle to say anything new that does justice to the quality of writing. Suffice to say I wait for each new episode and read it as soon as I see it is there and I'm never disappointed.

[Vindictus]

I love the work =) It flows and is soothing. Especially in the prologue. I do have to say you have extremely long sentences, however. An affair with run-on?

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Thanks for the feedback, guys! It's good to read and always appreciated!

That Revenge Which Is Soft As the Sand Underfoot

Thunder and iron came upon us and the ground itself seemed to tremble. It was a wave which fell and collapsed and crashed about and onto us – full of the long hard thrusts of the contus, the high rearing hooves, the sudden lash of sword tip and mace head, the aching fall of horse-flesh now rent with blood and ragged muscle, of the armoured Saraceni tumbling down like a broken statue upon us – and we in our steadfast discipline held strong amidst this chaos. We ground that endless wave upon a wall of shields, pushing them up and out, and shouting out the old battle-cry – the barritus - of the legions as we did so. Men shouldered in then against those in front, ramming the oval shield hard into the back for support, even as the rear rankers hurled the last of the spiculii – the heavy javelins - high over their heads. We had fought these heavy cavalry in the past deep among the Sassanids but never at such close quarters and alone among the dunes. But we were eight men deep and twenty men wide and all veterans. ‘Hold the line!’– nemo demittat – ‘do not fall back!’That refrain echoed out from my throat and the throats of the lesser officers down the line – Octavio and the biarchii – as that endless wave rose above and about us. It enveloped us – dust, the glint of iron, the mad eyes of a horse rolling as if possessed by a demon – and in an instant we checked that awful momentum in a froth of blood and hacked flesh. Horses crashed at our feet in a spray of blood and lather or shied away at the last with their riders rolling forwards, thrusting that long lance deep onto our walls of acanthus flowers.

And then I saw a huge red silken banner floating high above it all, like a ruby weal in the sky, and it seemed to posses such aching beauty that for one moment I felt apart from the slaughter before me. It rose and rippled and dipped with such majesty of motion and I wondered then on those gods who walk among us and the forms they take. I traced a single slow gust of wind along its entire length as if a hidden spirit sheltered behind this red silk and forgot the weight of the spatha in my hand and the raw breath in my own mouth. And I felt grace then in battle and war and knew that despite the protests of the Christians the old gods walked still among us both in mockery and in awe of our feeble flesh. And so I smiled even as that majestic banner seemed to falter and then slowly coil in on itself as though dying. I smiled as it collapsed up against the grim old discipline of a Roman legion so far from home and respite. It fell into a wash of blood and was torn and sullied like a cheap rag – and I knew that no matter what happened now among us mortals in this broken ground I had glimpsed a mystery only I had understood.

Sheets of arrows carpeted the sky overhead and it felt as if hailstones were falling without let but few hit us. Behind our ranks, the lads under Magnus and Silvanus were firing and hurling as fast as they could and their aim was murderous. Even the ragged numeri were darting in and out on the flanks – firing those little wooden arcuballistae of theirs – sharpshooting the officers and ensign-bearers of these armoured Saraceni. Horses fell in a tumble of screaming and neighing and soon a tiny wall was building up – a vallum of dead horse-flesh – which aided us. Each rider and horse we brought down only impeded the others from reaching us with those vicious long lances – lances long enough, it was boasted, to impale two men at once. And our line held – despite the chaos and mayhem along the front-line. It held and that wave faltered, hesitated – and then stumbled backwards. We had checked these armoured Saraceni, these desert cataphracts, and now they faltered despite their discipline and armour – they faltered even as we stood unbowed before them. In that moment, I glanced down the line and saw with grim satisfaction a solid field of shields with the flowers blazing in all their glory. Splashed, yes, and battered also but unbroken – and behind each glorious acanthus flower lay a snarling Roman, his face hard and unmerciful under the iron rim of a helmet. Behind me, Suetonius strained to keep the draco standard high and straight, all the while using his free arm to batter away the long contus thrusts with his spatha. I saw Octavio at the opposite end of the Maniple bawling out some ranker who had taken an unwise step forward to behead a writhing rider and put him out of his misery - and I knew that despite that merciful act he would be written up for punishment later. A few unlucky men were being manhandled back to the rear ranks with gashes and cuts – and one legionary was being hauled up from the ground, his helmet broken and with blood pouring down the left side of his face. His eye-socket was shattered as if pulped and already the rear rankers were tearing up strips to bind up that awful wound. Before me lay an obscene mound of flesh. Steam rose from the hot blood which now lay on the hard ground of the Harra. A score of these Saraceni cataphracts lay like upturned lobsters and struggled to turn or rise up – knowing that if they failed in that struggle we would be among them with our daggers and blades to end of their lives. One horse tried again and again to rise among the ragged strips of its wounds only to sink eternally in a bath of its own gore.

A sudden shout brought me out of that chaotic scene and I saw then with an exultant leap of joy in my heart that these Saraceni cataphracts were now falling back in order, wheeling their mounts about and trotting back to the safety of the remaining advancing lines. Dust rose up high to gild them and I fervently prayed that it choke them in all their hot armour. Around me, the men shouted out catcalls and swore oaths against them but the biarchii checked that impulse and shouted them all into silence and order. The stench of offal and faeces overwhelmed me then in that momentary lull and I knew that the heat would soon boil all these smells into an infernal concoction that would make us all lean over and retch if we were made to stand here much longer.

It was then – as the Saraceni riders turned back in order – that we all saw a strange and magnificent thing which even to our hardened eyes brought a flicker of admiration. In that widening gap between our unbowed line and the broken ground before us, as the cataphracts fell further back, a solitary Saraceni rider suddenly wheeled about, causing his horse to rear up on its hind legs, and then slowly trot as if on parade along our entire length. He rode with insolence and a certain haughty air, as if on parade – and despite the heavy armour he wore, I felt his stubborn and undefeated gaze rest on each and every one us as he passed down that line. He caused his mount to dance lightly as if both honouring us and daring us – and as he did so he sang a sibilant song like poetry to us, tipping his head now and again. His words echoed the dance of his horse so that it seemed as if both words and movement were one thing – a paean both fluid and provocative. I caught a single word as he passed down our line – tha’r - and it seemed as if this word was his signature; his oath and motto.

He danced that magnificent horse of his along our line, singing his desert song, and we in our way honoured him back by allowing him that moment of defiance, of display, and each legionary that he passed smiled back as if to honour that act – and then at the end of the line, he wheeled again in a complete circle to finish and then trotted away to join his retreating comrades without a glance back, the sunlight flashing from the armour and shield rim, the wind ruffling the ostrich feathers on his helmet.

It was Octavio who later told me that he had been singing his lineage to us – that he was Jubl of the Bani Kalb, son of Asd, who had summoned the ashannaqah – the armoured riders – when the morning star was still visible; with their bodies clad in long coats of mail and all full with a pungent reek – the Centenarius had shrugged at that image – that they had sallied forth to encounter the faithless Rumi in battle as a body of lofty warriors whose extent was like a sheet of falling raindrops; that ‘revenge’ – tha’r – would guide their limbs under God’s grace and these heretic soldiers of a faithless emperor would all rot in the Black Desert . . .

All this I would later learn from my Umbrian Centenarius around a campfire all the while binding our wounds but in that moment when this imperious desert rider spurred his mount away from us and the torn remains of his compatriots, we were silent with exhaustion and our own pride. In that moment of respite, I looked away to my left, over to the Third Maniple, who had also repulsed these cataphracts riders. Barko was laughing and joking with the legionaries around him and I saw that they too were relatively unscathed after that battle. Behind us, the sagittarii and the skirmishers kept up a volley of missile fire to harass the retreating Saraceni. Both the First and the Fourth Maniples – under Sebastianus and Arbuto – remained untouched so far while far away neither the heavy Clibanarii under Parthenius or the assembled body of guards around the Dux had advanced forwards at all. I knew then that this first battle was merely the opening gambit – a probing assault – and all that we had done was merely to hold our ground. I cursed then and spat into the dust at my feet. These Saraceni had thrown in their best cavalry and we had repelled them but in doing so had used up the bulk of our arrows and heavy javelins. We would not be so fortunate on the next assault.

It came with astonishing speed. No sooner had these armoured riders fallen than the foot warriors surged forwards in tight hard blocks of men – and I saw that as a cestus swings first one way and then another then so too was this ‘Dog’ swinging first on one side of our lines and now on another. With a wild yell, these Saraceni moved up in a veil of dust and slammed hard into Barko’s Maniple on my left, swirling around its far left flank and into the waiting ranks of the Fourth Maniple under Arbuto. This was no blind onrush of barbarian tribes but a calculated probing which would test our weakness all along the line.

Biting back my impatience, I shouted out to hold the ranks even as battle and blood fell upon the other half of the line while we stood almost in silence as if alone and apart from it all. Discipline alone would save us if anything would . . .

[Boustrophedon]

I'll read this chapter after the New Year, but one small criticism: the first picture is rather strange. Either my eyes are getting worse or that picture is very out-of-focus. Not sure what the effect is meant to
be but it's not my cup of tea. It seems almost like you've blurred the entire picture? Other than that I'm sure to enjoy the prose as I always do hehe

Have some rep (soon can't give now) and I'll see you in the New Year, mate!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

It is a little out of focus - I use a filter which can be adjusted. Normally I just use it to blur the edges and give it a soft effect as if looking back through time (sort of thing). In this one, I made the margins wider than usual as it is not an 'ingame' battle shot. I cropped and enlarged it also. Perhaps both effects were too much? See you also in the New Year - have a good celebration!

[Diocle]

'...the Old Gods walked still among us..'

Thanks SBH and Happy New Year!!!!

[Ybbon]

What a way to end the year, heralding in the New Year with the promise of more glorious descriptions. May the New Year bring you fresh ink (well figuratively anyway), fresh ideas and prosperity. A wee bit of Robbie for Hogmanay sir!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
and surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

[McScottish]

Happy New Year/Hogmanay to you, SBH, and to all! That singular Saracen rider moment reminds me so much of Zulu, made me smile quite a bit. I can only say that I look forward to more.

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

It WAS a weird moment in the game as he sauntered along the lines unscathed! I had to write it up to honour him. And Happy New Year to one and all too!

[Diomede]

Reminds me of a glitch I sometimes come across where one of your units just scatters... literally. In XGM I once had a unit of scutarii cover literally a quarter of the battlefield! What a great addition to the chapter, anyway.

[tomySVK]

Nice update, I also like the screenshot of the single rider, did he left the battlefield unmolested? And Happy New Year of course.

[Knonfoda]

Indeed, a happy new year and what can I say that possibly hasn't already been said. Your prose is of the highest quality, I seldom recall other times of reading that evokes more emotion and a feeling of actually being there than when reading your AAR SBH. Very very good work indeed!

[Diocle]

Waiting for update, looking at the sunset (SBH in these days the sunset is a real spectacle, never saw in January anything similar!!) on the Tyrrhenian see, from an hill here in Janua, with some beautiful acanthus bushes around here, and asking myself what could be happened at the guys of the V p.f. in the final stages of their adventure in those remote lands, so far from our Mediterranean beloved achanthus, only a slowly disappearing image on their shields!
Do you see the effects of the Mediterranean invernal sunset on an (increasing) old mind?

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Update soon, Diolce, but work shifts are horrendous at the moment - one day off this week alas. I would love to have seen that sunset with the acanthus in the dying light - very apt and poetic!

[Diocle]

Here in Liguria the acanthus is rather common, but that we have in the garden comes from Greece (well it is identical to our Italian plants, but....it come from Olympia!! so it is special for us!!), I learned to draw when I was a child looking at my mother, who taught art, while she was drawing; one of my first art memories is about her drawing a Corinthian capital and saying to me: 'Do you see it is simple two laps of leaves of acanthus and in the middle of the upper one, the Caulicolo, the acanthus flower!'. Your novel touched some deep zones of my mind/heart!!! Only a lateral observation: my acanthus have white flowers, the flower you described at the beginning, if I'm right, is red! Is it a poetic license or is there a variety of acanthus with red flowers?

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Poetic, I am afraid. I first became aware of the acanthus signficance for Rome when I walked around a monument built during Augustus' reign in Rome 3 years ago and read about how it was carved into the stone and what that flower meant for Rome. The acanthus symbolised for Rome the ever branching and intertwining reach of the city out across the world.

[Diocle]

I studied architecture, so I find a duble fascinating meaning in the acanthus' flower of the beginning of your work:
The acanthus was the more artistic and naturalistic capitol used by the Roman-Hellenistic Architecture, it was used in the sequence of the orders, in the upper part of the buildings;
the sequence was Doric (the force) for the basament of the building, Ionic (elegance) for the middle part and Corinthian (lightness) for the upper part before the roof and the sky.

The quality of the sculpture of the Corinthian capitals of the Hellenistic tradition rapresented well the naturalistic inspiration in the concept of beauty in the Classical Art: the sculpture of the acanthus leaves in the Corinthian Capital, is copying from nature, the beauty for the Hellenistic Art, was always natural beauty!
After the middle of the III century, slowly, the Acanthus leaves became more and more stylized, until, in the Byzantine art, we cannot distinguish any similarity with the acanthus leaves of the Classical Tradition: Now we see an abstract intricate embroidery, instead of the natural and simple elegance of the acanthus leaves; they had forgotten (or were no more interested in) the natural beauty of the acanthus leaves, like they forgotten the old Legio V Macedonica and its old symbol on the shields, they had forgotten their own civilization, the Calssical Antiquity had died, the Ancient Gods were gone forever.

Do you see, my dear friend, how many materials you evoked in my poor mind? OK, I could seem quite mad, similar artistical disquisitions are off-topic in this total war forum, but as I said, I'm starting feeling my age, so I can be forgiven if I let it go to some bizarre speech!
But I had to try to express some of the reasons why I find your work muuuuuch more than a simple AAR.