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Thread: Quinta Macedonica Legio - completed and retitled in honour.

  1. #541
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Dear SBH do you mean 'That' Robert Howard???.....Robert Ervin Howard?.....the man who created Conan?........The Great True King of Heroic fantasy?.....The friend of Lovercraft?....SBH you are like a tresaure full of wonderful surprises, even when you post your replies!.........R E Howard,......well, well, welll........here a large reprint has just begun...........


    Quote Originally Posted by Luxchamp
    Are we quoting LotR now?
    Sorry Lux, (if you was referring to me) but actually not any quote of LotR but only the Gulf of Genoa I was watching from the window here, in one of its wonderful and glorious Tyrrhenian sunsets!!

  2. #542

    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Quote Originally Posted by chaplain118 View Post
    I've been reading this AAR again and again. It still astounds me how SBH has managed to create a world that is completely visible to me, but so hidden away at the same time. Reading this is sometimes discouraging because it makes my writing feel so... what's the word, flat.

    How do you do it? How do you create a story that simply draws people into it so easily and effortlessly? How do you describe scenery that puts just enough in our minds to see but gives us the freedom to fill in the missing pieces with our minds?

    I stand before my master with a thirsty cup yearning for the waters of knowledge
    Ditto but for me it's a bit more about the characters. I've caught myself on several occasions (not related to anything to do with Twcenter or RTW) now thinking in the lines of "what's Felix up to?" or "what will be the fate of the other guy (the Gaul whose name I can't remember but know him as he-who-took-the-spear)".

    In all fairness, the same goes for Chaplain's Titus or McScottish latest Laenas (which I'm way behind on).

    Or, you know, just thinking "man, the dux is so bad a$$ that he's the most awesome of them all" as I'm reading the news. Don't ask me what's the connection, there is none
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  3. #543
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion



    The Shades of the Past Renew the Present

    In the ancient times the festival of the blessing of the standards had been a sacred act, in which rose petals and palm leaves and other offerings had adorned all the vexilla and the aquila of the legion. Priests had chanted the rites to Jupiter Maximus and swung little orbs of incense while the legate with his tribunes and the centurions had ordered the legionaries to prostrate themselves and re-dedicate their oath to the respublica and the Augustus. It was held at midday as the sun stood over the castellum and all the men of the legion would then eat and drink their fill of sacrifices and offerings, clad in their finest arms and armour, all sporting their torcs and armillae . In this way the standards would be renewed and purified for another year. That evening after the garlanding the men would line up to receive their yearly coin from the legion’s pay chest - somewhat worse for wear and often unable to count correctly - much to the amusement of the veteran soldiers who were waiting to gamble all that coin into their hands . . . It thus remained a sacred moment in the yearly Kalendar of the exercitus of Rome. It echoed still among us but as with all things Chronos loosens his touch and everything withers and fades.

    At midday we all assembled on the wide, flat and dusty campus beside Nasranum. The Quinta stood in the centre with its six maniples in full formation, the sunlight gleaming from helmet, shield rim and lancea tip. A little forwards were the vexillarii of the centuries, twelve all told. In front of them stood the lonely draconarii, Suetonius among them, of the maniples. Before us all, in honour, was the old aquilifer of the legion - a lean and sparse veteran from the rugged lands of Anatolia we all called ‘Canus’ for his white hair - while the Ducenarii and Centenarii ranged themselves in a long line before the rankers. All were spotless in white tunicas and yellow cloaks. Crests had been fitted to our helmets and the scale and chainmail armour was burnished clean of rust and dirt. On our right stood the Clibanarii, faceplates raised and holding in their hands the reins to their proud Nissaean horses. The latter’s manes and tails were all bound up in scarlet ribbons, the bridles and saddles adorned with gold coins and medallions. At the head of the vexillation stood three vexillarii and then, all alone, the troop’s draconarius. On our left were ranged the two Arabum numeri with their own thin standards that seemed drab and thread-bare compared to ours. Behind us, stood the newly arrived camel troopers of the Ala Antana Dromedariorum usually based at Admatha but now detached to us as escorts and messengers. These latter were all of Arab stock and were as filthy and greasy looking as their mounts. The camels were kneeling in the dust to the rear, snorting and eyeing us all with their great rheumy eyes, all the while chewing and spitting.




    Before us, lay a wide rostrum upon which stood our Tribune, Angelus. Beside him was Aemilianus, praepositus of the Arabi, Parthenius, Vicarius of the Clibanarii, and to one side the praefectus of the camel troop, Tusca, sweating in the midday heat. Before them all stood our Dux, Cassianus, resplendent in silver-chased armour, clasping a massive helmet in the crook of one arm. A rich scarlet cloak draped his shoulders. Along the front of the rostrum at ground level were his guards, all equally magnificent in armour and helm which contrasted oddly with their harsh Illyrian faces. In the centre of all rose the labarum of Christ, emblazoned with the emperor’s icon.

    It was midday under the scorching heat of the Harra and we began that ancient rite, the Rosalia Signorum.

    Cassianus began then by praising the generosity of the emperors, Valens and his brother Valentinian, their concern for the welfare of the respublica, the valour of the legions and the vexillations and the auxilia in defending the empire from the barbarians. He raised his voice in the dusty air and mouthed the usual formulas of piety and devotion that were required. He talked of service to state and god and emperor that we had heard a dozen times over and again at this time in the ritual Kalendar of the exercitus of Rome. His words were dry and thin like a papyrus being slowly torn asunder by a bored hand. I remember looking slowly around and seeing men beside me, their heads lolling in the heat and the dry air. Sweat fell into the dust at our feet from their brows. Behind me, I saw Suetonius lean in against the pole of the draco as if using it for a support. Its long silk tail was flaccid. Up and down the long lines of the soldiers, the little red flags of the centuries seemed faded and thin, already covered in that dry sand of the Harra. And his voice droned on as that magnificent and awful sun blazed high over us all and I felt a drowsiness fall like heavy chains over my limbs and I blinked to clear my eyes.

    Something happened then and for one unlucid moment I felt as if I had slipped into a dream state and that a vision was ensnaring me. Something brushed my face as if cold water had been thrown across it. I rose my head and frowned.

    There upon that rostrum the Armenian was pulling off his armillae one by one and throwing them into the dust below. He was silent now and that dark face of his was sombre like a man who has seen an unwelcome truth in his heart. Each golden arm-band spun through the air and landed with a dull thud. Little tufts of sand marked where they fell. Lastly, Cassianus unclipped the massive gold torc about his throat, held it for a moment before him as if weighing up a decision, and then too threw it away from him. It sparkled for one solitary moment as it flew away from his open hand. The sound of its landing was marked by the silence of all of us who stood arrayed before him.

    He stood divested of his medals and awards. In his face there seemed to war a strange thing - vanity, pride, ambition - but against these brittle humours another arose and asserted itself and that thing which possessed his face was the thing which made him strip away his external show: shame . . .

    Shame possessed Cassianus. I saw it as bile in his mouth and repressed anger in his eyes. I saw it in the clenched fists as he pulled off each golden arm-band. In the manner in which he threw them away from his body. I saw it in his stiff jaw that seemed to want to shout and rail against a thing unjust and uncalled for. But he did not rail or cry out. He stood alone surrounded by his officers and guards shorn of honour and reward. He stood mute, his eyes blazing with an anger that only shame can stoke up. Below his feet lay those gold ornaments all abandoned and neglected.

    All around me, men stiffened and I felt a sudden tension coil about us all.

    He looked up at us then and smiled the smile of an Armenian lion. ‘Commilliatones, I came here in arrogance and pride. I rode the imperial steed of authority and resented that I had under me nothing but worn-out legionaries and forgotten soldiers. I chaffed to be posted to a lost fort that no-one cared to remember or even name. I desired nothing but service under the sacred Valens and battle in the north of Cappadocia against this usurper called Procopius. What did I care for Nasranum and these Saraceni who drift out here like locusts? What honour or victory could lay out here in a desert peopled only by bandits and vagabonds and thieves? And so I came here on the cloak of arrogance and bitterness. I abandoned men in battle. I left Romans to die. I deserted the castellum under my command and marched north to a fruitless victory in an oasis lost to water and respite. I opened the west to these thieves and tent-dwellers no better than beggars. This fort is a broken fort now. It holds nothing but shame and dishonour. I have betrayed you one and all. We all stand now in oblivion and I alone am responsible.’ He paused for a moment then and his eyes fell upon the glittering ornaments in the dust and sand at his feet. ‘We are all alone now here in the Black Desert. This enemy I have despised has swept through us without even battle or challenge, we are so low in their eyes. They have swept on past us, laughing and spitting upon us. They ride now west into the respublica, the eyes of their riders shining with contempt, the banners and standards flowing high in the wind of triumph. They ride west and leave us behind as worthless, as scuff and rags on the wind. I have been robbed of honour and dignity and the truth of it is that it was I who did this. I alone am responsible. And so I throw away now the marks and emblems of my pride and hubris. I throw to my feet these gaudy baubles. They are nothing but a mockery in my eyes.’ He reached up then and unclasped the rich scarlet cloak at his shoulder so that it fell lifeless to the floor. ‘I have betrayed Rome. I have betrayed the emperor.’ He tossed away the helmet as if it were nothing but a broken wine vessel. ‘I have betrayed you all and am not worthy of standing here under your gaze.’ He reached down then and unsheathed his spatha. It was a magnificent weapon encrusted with gems around an ivory handle crowned with the head of an eagle. He unsheathed it and held it across his hands as if offering it up. His dark eyes glittered - and he raised it above his head, high. ‘This alone I retain. The sword of Rome. This sword. It took the words of one man here among you all to make me realise what all of you knew in your hearts. He spoke and I saw the truth in his heart. He spoke and I saw that far from being of no worth and being held in contempt, these Saraceni and their Persian pay-masters have committed a grave sin. They have left us all alone here far behind them as they sojourn into the west. And I ask what shall we do? What shall we do now that they have swept over us as if we are of no worth? And this man among you made me see that it is we who should be feared. It is we who should be marching with our eyes bright and our weapons sharp. It is we, Romans, who should be falling upon our enemies in vengeance and blood. He spoke those words and all here on this rostrum heard them and not one here disagreed. I made a pledge then. I place down the command of the Dux Palaestinae and all that it holds. I place aside that imperial title and its authority as I have these baubles. It is said that there is another title lost to Rome as we have become lost to Rome. A title stolen in battle over a hundred years ago far in the east by the Euphrates. It sank in ignominy as our pride has sunk. Last night deep in the gloom of anger and shame that title was offered to me as a final crown of thorns and I embraced it. I took it up and wrapped it about my head. I stand now before you all not as a commander appointed by the sacred Valens but instead as a commander raised up by the Tribune of the Quinta, saluted by the commander of you ragged men I abandoned in my hubris, honoured by the acting commander of these clibanarii famed across the Roman world. I stand alone now as the Dux Ripae, the Commander of the River - and the authority I wield is nothing but this sword. As this title has no honour left so I too will not bear gold or silver trinkets. I stand before you as nothing but a Roman soldier vowing to avenge this insult. I will march to the Euphrates and reclaim that title in battle among the corpses of our enemy. I will march east towards that scorpion which is Persia and mark that march in blood and vengeance - not for God or the little gods still left in your hearts, not for the emperor and his glory, and not for the vanity of triumph or the idle boast. I will march and carve out of the bodies of these Saraceni one word alone and that word is honour. I will march east until I cannot march any longer and the last thing I will hold in this hand will be this sword. That sword alone will redeem you all, this I swear on my life.’

    He gaze swept us all then and by all the gods and goddess I have ever known, in battle or peace, in day or night, in passion or repose, I saw not a man upon that rostrum but something else. Something divine touched him then and it was as if another stepped into his flesh to own and use it. He stood there, his arms high, that naked sword offered up, his face filled with shame and that desperate yearning to wipe it clean - and I saw something few Romans had ever seen. I saw not a man but one dedicated now to death and sacrifice. I saw the ancient Roman act of devotio and knew that although he stood there above us on that rostrum, his officers all phalanxed about him, he was already a dead man pledged to offer up his blood not to save us in battle but instead to wipe away that shame which marked us all. A shiver ran through me then and all around me, in the ranks and the files of the legionaries, among the iron-clads of the cavalry, and even among the numeri and the tiros all herded together to one side, something moved through us; a sweet wine; a breeze which caressed our limbs in a cool balm - and it was as if the gods fell upon us to watch and breathe in this act. I heard a distant murmur at my back and felt rather than understood that ancient Etruscan litany Octavio always uttered. Those dark words encased not so much my ears but my soul and I felt the heat vanish and the sun fade away until all I could feel was the cold touch of the underground gods who feast on sacrifice and blood. The earth underneath me shelved as if a great beast was emerging below. I stared wildly about but all I saw were men whispering old chants to themselves or repeating without understanding those blasphemous Etruscan words - words whose syllables tasted like black wine on the lips - while others repeated the names of the saints in honour of a martyr who yet lived above them. A shiver swept through us all and it was the breath of the gods of the dead marking one for their own.

    Dux Ripae . . .’

    It was Arbuto, that Frank, with his blond hair always untamed, who uttered that phrase which broke the spell over us. He uttered it and stood forward stripping his own decorations and rewards as he did so. There was something wild in his Germanic eyes and I saw a grim fatalism as if he gazed upon the end of his gods which I had never seen before. He strode forward and threw down his armillae and he tore off the torc from his neck and then he drew out his own sword and pledged it high to the Armenian above him - and then his men followed slowly, pulling off golden arm-bands, ripping away the torcs, throwing them all into the dust, while raising up that dull iron of the sword in both hands. And then all around me, men were flinging away their honour and their awards as if they were nothing but cheap copper or bronze trinkets. Gold littered the campus. One after the other, the spatha was held up and from each mouth rippled out that new command, ‘Dux Ripae’, and I saw knuckles whiten about the blades and handles of the swords. That command echoed out across the wide ground, across the desert, across the broken black ground sheathed in bone and detritus. It rolled up against the walls of the castellum like a battle-cry. It housed itself deep in the soul of every man there. And there was not one single man left who had not divested himself of all the honours he had earned.

    We, the Exercitus Euphratensis, stood before our lord and commander, our weapons raised to honour him his sacrifice and I saw blood drip from the blades. It ran down the hands, the arms, across the white tunicas, to fall gently into the sand at all our feet. As he pledged himself to us so we pledged ourselves back to him under that high midday sun deep in the Harra, as Romans, as legionaries, as soldiers, as comrades.

    Cassianus nodded then, once, and in a fluid movement swept his sword down and into his sheath. He stepped forwards to the edge of the rostrum and bellowed out the command which heralded the ritual:

    ‘Standards, Down!’

    And one by one, the labarum, the eagle, the dragon and the red flags dipped, ready for the blessing and re-dedication . . .





    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; April 17, 2012 at 08:37 AM.

  4. #544
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Quote Originally Posted by Diocle View Post
    Dear SBH do you mean 'That' Robert Howard???.....Robert Ervin Howard?.....the man who created Conan?........The Great True King of Heroic fantasy?.....The friend of Lovercraft?....SBH you are like a tresaure full of wonderful surprises, even when you post your replies!.........R E Howard,......well, well, welll........here a large reprint has just begun...........




    Sorry Lux, (if you was referring to me) but actually not any quote of LotR but only the Gulf of Genoa I was watching from the window here, in one of its wonderful and glorious Tyrrhenian sunsets!!
    Yes, the very man! I grew up on his prose and poetry and recently re-bought all his fiction work to travel down nostalgia lane! Wonderful stuff.

    Quote Originally Posted by Yeepeep View Post
    Ditto but for me it's a bit more about the characters. I've caught myself on several occasions (not related to anything to do with Twcenter or RTW) now thinking in the lines of "what's Felix up to?" or "what will be the fate of the other guy (the Gaul whose name I can't remember but know him as he-who-took-the-spear)".

    In all fairness, the same goes for Chaplain's Titus or McScottish latest Laenas (which I'm way behind on).

    Or, you know, just thinking "man, the dux is so bad a$$ that he's the most awesome of them all" as I'm reading the news. Don't ask me what's the connection, there is none
    I like 'He who took the spear' - very evocative!

  5. #545
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    .....No words!...The ancient "Devotio" act, the final sacrifice of themselves to the Republic and the Gods and Goddesses!!

    .....now in the IV century!...A "Devotio" here lost in the sands!!! The True Ancient "Devotio" by the old Cassianus!!!! Great!! This is pure class!!.......

    I did not expect something similar!...Again no words....Only: Thanks to the author!!! reading, I was among the soldiers of the V, it was like a dream!!....fantastic!!....a"Devotio"!!!!...fantastic!..........fantastic!......

    Attention guys: This is not only a great 'coup de théâtre' by Cassianus! This is an holy act, the greatest and final sacrifice of a Roman soldier to the Res Publica and to the Gods!
    Here we do not see a drunk berserker, here we see a man who lucidly and voluntary offer his life to Roma!...There is no return!

  6. #546
    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    I second "no words". Excellent pictures and immense dialogue, this is truly an update worthy of a published work, I'll admit my eyes began to hurt a little as I read his speech as one big block of text, but all-in-all even that minor pain was worth it in the end.

    Where shall this go next...in the words of the fifth, nowhere.

  7. #547
    Ybbon's Avatar The Way of the Buffalo
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    What we do in life echoes in eternity. Russell Crowe eat your heart out!

    What he really needed was cloud that was broken by a shaft of light in his speech - would seem a little bit of an anomaly in the Harra though.

    Excellent the way he throws away all the old accoutrements as he throws away his shame. And now death has well and truly paid notice, I'm sure he'll be following right in the Dux's shadow until he claims him in the end.

  8. #548
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Sorry for my irruption, but this 'devotio' is really a wonderful moment, so here I want to explain what was really the 'Devotio', and Livius can do the work batter than me.

    Livy preserves the prayer formula used for making a devotio, that represents a traditional formulary as might be preserved in the official pontifical books. The attending pontifex even dictates the wording.The syntax is repetitive and disjointed. Livy even explains that he will record the archaic ritual of devotio at length because "the memory of every human and religious custom has withered from a preference for everything novel and foreign."

    The prayer is uttered by Publius Decius Mus, the consul of 340 BC, during the Samnite Wars. He vows to offer himself as a sacrifice to the infernal gods when a battle between the Romans and the Latins has become desperate:


    The pontifex instructed him to don the toga praetexta, to veil his head and, with one hand held out from under his toga touching his chin, to stand on a spear laid under his feet and speak as follows:

    'Janus, Jupiter, Mars Pater, Quirinus, Bellona, Lares, divine Novensiles, divine Indigetes, gods whose power extends over us and over our enemies, divine Manes, I pray to you, I revere you, I beg your favour and beseech you that you advance the strength and success of the Roman people … . As I have pronounced in these words, … I devote the legions and auxiliares of the enemy along with myself, to the divine Manes and to Earth.'



    Both the Lares and the Manes are often regarded in ancient sources as the deified dead. The intended recipients were evidently gratified by this sacrifice, as the Romans were victorious.

    P.S.:I read about devotio in many books but they are in Italian so here I gave a short description by Wiki, anyway it is good!

    Again sorry for the space but this episode was magnificent, I couldn't restrain myself

  9. #549
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Thanks for the detail there, Diocle! It is a shame that Cassianus lives in later period with its mixture of pagan and christian beliefs. He act out in spirit rather than the letter of that ancient ritual - which is also some way an instinct in all of us wipe away shame with blood.

    McScottish - I know it is a long text but I wanted pull the reader deep into his thoughts and hoped that would be the best way to do it. A gamble, I admit, though!

    ybonn66 - Hmm, the Russell Crowe reference may be apt (but only for much later at the end of the AAR as you will find out . . .).
    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; April 17, 2012 at 11:24 AM.

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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion






    That Boundary Which Is Both Death and Redemption



    There was no drinking and no feasting later that day nor the day after. Orders rippled out from the officers about the Dux Ripae and they were fierce orders which brooked no delay. No sooner had the standards been blessed and re-dedicated, when all the Ducenarii and Centenarii were summoned to that rostrum as the bulk of the troops re-entered Nasranum in their files and centuries. A slight wind had arisen and wisps of dust fell about us in a desultory fashion. As I mounted that rostrum, my helmet under my arm, I glanced back and saw the campus littered with cast-off gold and silver. It gleamed in the sand like the bones of some Midas-like creature hacked into bits.

    Silvanus, at my side, caught my gaze and rubbed his fingers together. A grim smile clothed his face. ‘I will miss those rings, Felix. Each one was a prize worth winning, eh?’

    ‘You didn’t have to slip them off,’ I replied. ‘There is no honour in a wager.’

    He laughed sourly at that. ‘Ah, Felix, there is always honour in winning no matter what the prize. The honour lies not in the thing you see but in the grace in which you receive it.’

    I wondered at that and looked again at the piles of torcs and armillae lying in the dust. A swirl of sand enveloped them all then and, slowly but surely, they began to vanish from my eyes as if they had never existed. ‘Perhaps there is more grace in putting them away,’ I said. ‘For such is vanity.’

    He laughed but it was a sad laugh. ‘Oh Felix, are we making a Christian of you, then?’

    ‘Hardly, Silvanus, hardly!’

    ‘Care to wager?’ he said, smiling, spreading out his fingers.

    Men crowded around me then as the last of the officers stepped up to the rostrum and Silvanus drifted apart from me. A few swept their cloaks about them to shield them from the dust now blowing about us. Together we formed a rude circle about Cassianus. The latter was pouring a cloak-full of sand onto the rostrum and shaping it with his foot. Nearby, Angelus was gazing in that cold lazy way of his about us all. There was a strange smile playing about his lips but I could not recognise it. He looked privy to something but what I had no idea. Parthenius was lifting off that heavy silvered casque he wore, the mask of which mirrored that ‘v’-shaped scar on his forehead. Although only second-in-command of the cavalry vexillation, the Tribune, Longinus, was so badly wounded that all now thought of him and him alone as the true commander. I saw Aemilianus lounging along one edge of the rostrum and gazing with curiosity on the sand that the Dux was spreading out. His grey eyes were still but in them I thought I glimpsed something different - a gleam of expectation which I had not seen in him before. To the rear of all the officers and principes wavered Tusca as ill-fitting among us as his camels are among the cavalry of a Roman field army. His bullish face was still swollen with that bruise under his eye and all his swagger was gone now like mist on the wind. I saw with surprise that even he too had divested himself of what little ornaments he had worn and wondered on that - that a mongrel Arab used to riding only the supply beasts of the empire had sworn with us in a blood sacrifice as old as the respublica itself. I felt again the power which had descended on us through the words of Cassianus and how even a superstitious Arab had fallen under its sway, perhaps not even realising what it was he was committing too. I saw him glance at me in nervousness for a moment and I threw him a comforting smile back. He would need whatever crumb he could find to survive the days to come.

    Cassianus threw the cloak aside then and nodded with satisfaction down at the sand spread out around him. With the tip of his sword he then traced out several lines through it. In one hand he held a few pebbles and these he now littered across it so that several connected up the lines. He stepped back then and gazed on all of us. Without that rich scarlet cloak, his awards and ornaments, and finally that mantle of authority thrown on him by the emperor himself, he looked shorn now of affectation and I saw revealed a mountain man, his limbs strong and bronzed, his face square-cut and framed by a mane of black hair like a lion’s crown. His eyes were moody now; sombre, and they roved about us all as if he were caged and desperate to be free. One fist was gnarled about the spatha and the veins in it were swollen. I looked upon a dead man and had never seen him more alive.

    ‘This,’ he began, stabbing the tip of the spatha towards a little pebble, ‘is Nasranum here in the Harra. Behind us Bosana. Up here Callinicum and Palmyra. Down here Aila, the old home of the Tenth Fretensis, guarding the Scorpion Pass -'

    Barko snorted at the mention of the legion. ‘Phagh! Once named pia and fidelis! Once only!’

    Angelus motioned him to remain silent then he pointed down towards the pebble named Aila. ‘Whoever wants to assault Aegypt will need to cross that pass and that means the Tenth. That would be a fool’s errand.’

    Aemilianus broke in then. ‘Not if the Saraceni under this Nu’man are swift and ride ahead of any report. They will be over that pass before the legion can muster. A door is only good if it is closed. The sacred Valens has denuded most of the Oriens for the war with Procopius further north. Nu’man and his column are riding in a one-chariot race.’

    ‘Agreed.’ Parthenius stepped forwards to peer over the sand-map, frowning in a way which made his scar flare up white. ‘So why don’t we reverse the running course?’

    ‘Meaning?’ asked Cassianus.

    Parthenius gestured then to Tusca and nervously the camel-officer stepped in among us. ‘You, camel-rider, how fast are your troopers? - and no stubborn boast neither but the truth!’

    Tusca glance about him. ‘I would never lie, dominus -'

    ‘Tell him what he needs to know, praefectus,’ said Cassianus brusquely. ‘There is no time for bluster. That is long gone.’

    The Arab swallowed then and looked up. His hands shook. ‘It is difficult to say, my Dux. It depends on the weather. Supplies. Camels are temperamental beasts -'

    Parthenius raised a hand. ‘Let me make this simple. How long would it take your fastest riders to overtake that column heading for Aegypt?’

    ‘Aegypt? Why would -'

    ‘Answer him,’ said Cassianus.

    For a moment this Tusca seemed frozen with nerves, aware that the weight of a dozen or more officers of the imperial army fell upon him. I smiled once more into his flickering eyes and nodded to him. He swallowed again and pointed down to the sand below us all. ‘If I were to assign a single trooper with, say, five remounts. Enough hard tack for ten days. Strip all his equipment down to nothing but a Saraceni cloak and a javelin, then my best rider could reach that column in less than five days -‘

    ‘Absurd!’ burst out Magnus, his hard face snarling around that word in contempt. A few of the Centenarii around us all laughed with him.

    ‘Forgive me, Roman,’ said Tusca quietly and I saw his head bob nervously up and down, ‘forgive me, but what in Jesu’s name do you know about dromedaries, I ask? Nothing, eh? Well, I do. They feed the army of Rome here in the Oriens. They travel as messengers across the deserts. They are the galleys on this sea - and when I say my best rider - with remounts - can overtake that column in less than five days, I do not boast.’

    Magnus still scowled at him but I could see that his bile was reined in a little by the Arab’s retort.

    Angelus spoke then. ‘The point is why would we want them to?’ He looked across the sand-map. ‘Parthenius?’

    The cavalry Vicarius smiled then. ‘To deliver a message, of course. And not just to this Nu’man but to our Kalb and his master Amru and those others also up to the north and west.’

    Cassianus nodded slowly then. ‘Not just a message, is it, Parthenius? You mean an invite, don’t you?’

    His smile deepened. ‘We have allowed them free passage into the Oriens. They have raced into it carefree and without looking back. If we are going to march eastwards to the Euphrates through the lands and oases of these tent-dwellers then the least we can do is invite them along, eh?’

    Angelus frowned. ‘Why would they? It would mean abandoning all their preparations. I can’t see the reasoning in this.’

    ‘I can.’

    We turned to look upon Aemilianus. He had drifted closer and was on the edge of that sand now, looking down. He reached up and ruffled one hand through his bronzed hair, deep in thought. ‘No, this is subtle. We march east, yes, but if we can draw these Saraceni back after us? As Parthenius says? We invite them to follow us. It is the last thing they will expect. We are nothing but broken Romans in a lost fort. If we strike east as Felix here proposed last night but also send riders after these columns telling them what we are doing - they will have no alternative but to turn around and follow us.’

    It was then that Tusca said a small word. A word I heard before sung by a proud Saraceni as he pranced his steed all along our battered lines at the Merchant’s Bane. A word Octavio had unravelled for me later -

    ‘Tha’r.’ - Revenge.

    Cassianus nodded back and smiled then into the little Arab’s nervous face. ‘Explain, please.’

    ‘It is against an Arab’s code to leave those under his protection helpless. Warriors fight only warriors. To threaten the weak and vulnerable is a despicable act and calls down vengeance from all the gods here in the desert and above. We insult their code and their manhood by not fighting them and going after the women and the children. No Saraceni would hesitate in seeking tha’r and no phylarch, no matter how powerful, would be able to stop him. It is a matter of honour.’

    ‘No Persian neither?’ asked Angelus.

    Tusca shook his head. ‘No. It is too deep in the blood, Tribune.’

    Sebastianus spoke then - the oldest Ducenarius in the legion, commander of the First Maniple. ‘If we do this, we are crossing more than the desert. We are breaking all bonds of war. We are reviling them in that place which matters most - their honour.’

    ‘And how is that different to how they have treated us, Ducenarius?’ Cassianus gazed on all of us then and there was no respite in his voice. ‘Understand this - there is no return from this. No retreat. No surrender. No terms that each can give the other. We march east until there is not a drop of blood left in us and we satiate our swords until they smoke in the blood of our enemy. We kill everything without respite so that these Saraceni lackeys turn back in horror of what they have unleashed among their kin and families. It is blood or nothing. Revenge or death. Nothing else.’

    There was a moment’s silence among us all then as the import of his words sunk in. That silence seemed to shiver in amongst us as if the touch of a nameless god passed over us and it was a god no man would name out of simple fear. I think it was then that we - the officers and commanders of the rank and file - really understood that we had passed a boundary, a limitrophus, few men had passed. We were under the aegis of a man already dead in the eyes of the gods and those infernal dead under our feet. Unlike Caesar who crossed a river, we were to drown in it, and that river was death itself.

    It was Aemilianus who broke that unhallowed silence. ‘Then if we are going to do this, then by all the gods, let us do this in a manner no one will ever forget.’

    ‘Speak on,’ invited Cassianus.

    And it was then that we heard our fate finally. It was then that Aemilianus spoke of what he knew in the east, towards the Euphrates and that vast emptiness which fronted it, of the places men hesitated in naming unless hubris bring them down. Places written in blood and horror whose names on the scrolls always seemed unsure as if the hand writing them were shaking still. He named our route not to aid us towards the east and that great shining river but instead to drag those Saraceni columns after us into dark places and barren places so that in the end the journey itself would be as much a battle with them as we would be at the end. He talked then of that place a little to the south and east - he named it and swept a foot over the thin map on the rostrum as if naming a well at the end of the villa - and in that casual sweep as his boot passed over a few grains of black sand in our minds loomed the desert to end all deserts: that place no army had ever marched across nor returned from. He named it and gestured so casually we almost missed his import. Almost . . .

    . . . In the writings of the Romans and the Greeks, it is called the Desertum Saracenum, noted by Ptolemy and Strabo, enshrined by Jerome, and mentioned in hushed tones by all the officers of Rome stationed here in the Oriens; in the ancient Coptic tongue of Aegypt, so Barko was later to tell me, it is referred to as the Ghoroud, The Bleakness That Has No End; the Aramaics and Syrians here along the fringes of the Mare Nostrum refer to it as the Sea of Swords for the long curving edges of its huge dunes; and the sedentary Arabs - the Nabateans, the Palmyreans and the long departed Saba - all called it the Alij, the Crimson Waste, but it is the roaming Saraceni here who alone call it by its true name which means only the great dunes - the Nefud . . .

    The Nefud, fringed by watch-towers of adobe, nibbled at by dusty roads moving east and west, broken into partially by small and desperate oases only ever fitful and sparse, the Nefud, that empty barren quarter which stains all the maps and itineraries which trace that ancient land from Syria east towards the Euphrates and the Persian lands of Assyria and Mesopotamia, for in all of them lay a vast emptiness that all men in all their tongues still struggle to name and by naming own. It stained that land as an emptiness; a void; a gap no map nor tongue could ever hope to illuminate. It was the rolling endless dunes which rose up like frozen red waves along whose crests drifted particles of glass and stone, all haloed by an eerie shriek that smote all who fell into the desert and drove them mad. It swallowed those who drew near it and tossed their desiccated corpses deep in its red waves like the ancient mummies of Aegypt now sunk forever in an endless sea. None emerged and none conquered for this was the blasted landscape of nameless gods, the unfinished weave of the stuff of the earth left to rot, and doomed were those who ended up in it. It was said that the Titans of old avoided this place for it was forsaken even for them. The anchorites of the Galileans never venture into it and it is even whispered that Jesu alone braved it - to find only his twin deep in it mocking him with languid eyes and a sour laugh which taught him that even he was nothing but vanity in this place. It was nihilum and nusquam itself.

    But I think we Romans have named it truest when we call it the Desertum Saracenum - for there is a subtle pun in that name. Those who know of it and these nomadic barbarians know that it is not the desert of the Saraceni but instead that deserted by the Saraceni - for even these hardy travellers of the dunes and the wastes - the Harra, the Black Desert, the Sinai - will not enter the blankness that even God has disowned.

    That is until now.

    We would brave the Nefud and drag them all after us lest we emerge and wreak havoc upon their kin, the shame of which they would never forget. We would teach them the true meaning of our legion’s battle-cry and they would fall as flies with that word stuck in their sand-caked throats like a volcanic-glass.

    We would dare them to enter that nowhere even the gods have abandoned . . .



    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; April 17, 2012 at 01:31 PM.

  11. #551
    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    All I can say is more. This is getting very interesting indeed, and I cannot wait to see what happens next.

  12. #552
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Thanks, McScottish! Your support is valued as ever!

  13. #553
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    So this is the road!.........As McScottish said: more!!!!!!

    Little side note dear SBH: A little map? Maybe a screen of the strategical map?......

    I'm playng a very successful () Procopius Campaign so I know the map, but this road or this strategic location and all its implications are very interesting and important for the readers...........so Clarissimus.........maybe a little help for your followers?........

  14. #554
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Of course!

    Here is Nasranum with the 'Alexandrian' column of Nu'man heading south and west. Just in the very northern edges you can see Palmyra and Callinicum under siege (well at least the former is and the latter is about to be!) with the edges of the Sassanian empire also.



    OK - here is the route east and we are already marching. Nasaranum is where the watch tower lower right is located (now gone as abandoned). You can see that Nu'man has already about faced to march back after the Exercitus Euphratensis while another Sarceni army has retreated also in pursuit (Whose, I hear you ask? All shall be revealed). Now in terms of Syrian geography, the lighter bits are the upper swirls of the Nefud (which is distinct from the higher plateau regions of this area). Those of you who have seen 'Lawrence of Arabia may remember the Nefud BUT a) the real Lawrence never crossed it and b) what is in the film is not the actual Nefud which is a vast sea of red dunes some up to 300 metres high. You can divine from this map the ultimate destination of Cassianus IF they survive a) the Nefud itself and b) the avenging Saraceni columns following in pursuit.

    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; April 17, 2012 at 01:34 PM.

  15. #555
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Addendum: a map of the area:



    You can see that SAI geography isn't quite accurate in relation to real geography.

    And for Diocle, devotio:


  16. #556
    Ybbon's Avatar The Way of the Buffalo
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    I looked upon a dead man and had never seen him more alive.

    Unlike Caesar who crossed a river, we were to drown in it, and that river was death itself.

    We would dare them to enter that nowhere even the gods have abandoned.

    3 lines that would be moving in any one AAR much less all in the same update. You are just raising the bar ever higher!

    Fabulous. Just fabulous.

  17. #557
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Thanks, ybbon66. Shame it is all coming to an end soon (oops spoilers . . .)

  18. #558
    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Quote Originally Posted by SeniorBatavianHorse View Post
    Thanks, ybbon66. Shame it is all coming to an end soon (oops spoilers . . .)

    AH-HAH! I thought as much...

  19. #559
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Oh I am such a tease, lol . . .

  20. #560
    Ybbon's Avatar The Way of the Buffalo
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    You know, that new avatar reminds of a comedian, an American one, just can't think of the name off-hand

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