Quinta Macedonica Legio - completed and retitled in honour.

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Wow - German Expressionism meets Chess! I love it!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

That Vow Which Is Also A Betrayal . . .

In moments, we were deep in the hidden folds of the ruins. Walls of loose sand piled up high about us and soon we were cut off from the dying light outside. I followed Aemilianus as we weaved in and out of a maze of broken walls and the shells of once proud buildings, now all cloaked in the unending dust of the Nefud. Darkness soon fell on us and I saw Aemilianus open up the wallet at his heavy belt and take a out a small tinder-box. He struck a light on a taper, a dried-out reed stalk he found at his feet, and we moved on - a tiny flickering glow above our heads. The sheen of unknown marble passed by me and more than once I reached out to brush my fingers along its cool surface, wondering at the age of it. After a while, I saw Aemilianus pause and look down, holding that thin light out above him. Peering over his shoulder, I saw only a well of inky blackness falling away below us.

‘Tartarus beckons,’ I said, in a whimsical voice.

‘Perhaps,’ he replied, and then I saw him scramble lightly down a rough angle of loose debris and rubble into the black well. That light bobbed down with him, a phantom guide into who knew what hole.

For a heartbeat, I paused, watching that figure and its solitary light drop away from me, hearing dirt tumble under his feet, seeing his hands scrabble for holds, and then I followed him, cursing under my breath as I half-climbed and half-fell after him. It was obvious from the manner in which he moved that he had already scouted this hole and knew what was below. In moments, we were both standing in a shattered chamber musty with age and dust. The light from the burning reed flickered uneasily and I saw mushrooming about us odd shadows and shards of colour. Aemilianus moved forward a few steps and I saw that this chamber opened out into a wider room or hall. It rose above our heads untouched by sand or ruin and seemed somehow apart from all the collapse and aging that we had passed. Without saying a word between us, we both moved a few steps into that hall - and the light, now freed from the tiny chamber, flared up and out filling the space.

It was a wide hall, square in shape and domed on the ceiling. Four pillars were built into the corners all made of obsidian. The walls were a light yellow marble flecked with silver. A million motes of dust filled the dry air and seemed to sparkle from the light. It was as if the air itself shone and gleamed before us. Across the stone floor lay a curious shattered object as if something of tremendous force had pressed down upon it and then I realised as my eye took in its details that it had been a heavy throne of some sort; a royal or priestly seat all now broken and in pieces.

‘There, Felix, on that far wall . . . Do you see?’

The light from the reed taper was barely strong enough but there emerging as if from a gauze of shadow I saw a face, implacable and cold, eternal. It seemed to hover there as though part of the far wall yet not part of it - almost as if it lay in another age and that now a shadow or half-remembered imprint remained. I took a single step forwards and I swear it was as if that face fell back before me, hovering, uncertain. I swore under my breath at that and heard Aemilianus behind my laugh lightly.

‘She is wary, it seems.’

‘She?’ I asked, my eyes still fixed in that hovering imprint.

He shrugged in that affected Gallic way of his. ‘Who else? She who raises up all cities and empires as Her children. She who nurtures and then destroys. Mother to us all in this little world we play in.’

That face glimmered before me, ovoid, the eyes huge and blank, the brow wide and framed by a mass of locks and ringlets. It covered the far wall, regal and disdainful, and I noticed that through the glittering motes She seemed somehow aware as if following our thoughts. Something in me shivered then and I fell back.

‘Aemilianus, what are we doing here?’ I asked in a low voice, turning to him.

‘I thought you would want to see this -'

‘No,’ I cut him off. ‘I mean here, in the ruin, this Akkad. What are we doing here?’

I saw him sigh then and for one moment he glanced back at that huge image on the far wall. His voice hardened and I saw a different mood take him; a colder mood and one that would brook no argument. ‘Finding an end, Felix. I thought that was obvious.’

‘For you or for us all?’ I countered.

‘Is there a difference?’ The light above him guttered and became nothing but a dim spark. Darkness draped his features. ‘What are we but figments in the minds of the gods? We struggle and love and die at their whim. Nothing more. And as so is Man so is Rome. All this was here before Rome was dreamt of and there will come a time when Rome too shall be nothing but a ruin. A remnant in men’s memories. What we have is nothing but a fleeting moment in eternity, a single spark of life, bequeathed to us, nothing more, and it is up to us to blaze as brightly as we can before that light is expunged.’

‘Sol above us all -'

‘Ah, Felix, we drift oblivious in that augustal light swamped in our own arrogance and consumed with a passion for a glory which blinds us to the true light.’

‘Which is?’

I felt him smile in the gloom. ‘I was admonished once, Felix - ‘Set a strong watch upon yourself: reverence us and us alone’, I was told in a whisper sweeter than a lover’s tongue.’

‘Roma?’ I said Her name before I could check myself and in the moment that name slipped from my tongue I felt a shiver in the shadows about me; a tremor as if something flitted about us, scenting, sniffing, but not yet finding . . .

‘Her indeed. Yet She abandoned me at the last. It was said that Mars himself cleaved the night above my tent as She left me. And I fell further than any of Her subjects have ever fallen.’ He turned then to gaze dimly on that face on the wall. ‘Do you not find it odd that here in the oldest ruin we find Her echo? That goddess who underpins all empires? Look upon the face of Anu, Ishtar, Athena and Roma, Felix, look and despair . . .’ The sadness in his voice was palpable. ‘We are celestial by nature, Felix, enjoined by Sol, of Sol, blessed by that unearthly light, but cast down upon the earth, to reap virtue and piety from our own conduct, to aspire upwards again towards that celestial light. And earth alone supports us in that endeavour. She guides us. She is the goddess underneath us all. Whence we create out of virtue and piety this world our bodies and minds dwell in, and we call it home and hearth and city and empire. She alone supports us in that effort.’

‘Except when She abandons you?’ I ventured in a quiet voice.

‘And I am doomed to fall, yes. Betrayed by Roma Herself.’ I saw him standing alone in that chamber, the dark shadows about him, cloying and inevitable, his face hidden, and I knew that before me stood not that Gallic imposter - that role he had donned even as its original had bled out while garbing himself also in the mask of a dying emperor - but instead the other now, alone, near the end of his hunt. He stood mired in the dark under the oldest city - that first city and empire of which all others are mere reflections - and it seemed as if he smiled a cold empty smile knowing that this quest he had put himself upon, that dim odyssey in which he had hung himself among the poor and the neglected, in rags and the lowest title, would be over soon. One way or another. And I? I stood there near a man I counted a friend; a man I had saved from almost certain death, whose humour and easy smile warmed my own heart; knowing that it was all an imposture; a deceit. I stood there and saw him retreat into darkness as that tiny taper finally flickered and died and the last thing I saw was that magnificent face of a goddess whose name was so old now that no echo of it survived. That face grew as the darkness overwhelmed us both, its eyes boring into us, the scope if it almost absorbing us both, and I knew then that before me was a man consumed with betrayal and a desperate longing for a reckoning, no matter what the cost . . .

‘This is Her birthplace, isn’t it?’ I asked, as he vanished from my eyes. ‘Her first sanctuary?’

He laughed then, this man I knew and did not know, this man my friend and my emperor, he laughed and hearing it I yearned for a light, any light, to see by.

‘And Her last, Felix, Her last . . .’

. . . We braved the dusk, its fading light, and scrabbled again up out of that accursed place. I did not look at Aemilianus as he strode away from me, the numeri appearing as if by conjuration at his side, as if they had been waiting for him, for I knew that I would not know who it was I stared at. He walked away into the gathering night trailing sadness and resolve behind him like a tattered cloak - and I let him. I let him. And by all the gods who laughed at us and mocked us and toyed with us, I shivered knowing that in his fall and that long hunt he had finally found that which he had been looking for here in the blasted empty city, this Akkad, the White Ruin, what the legionaries were now calling the Ruina Candida. His love and his betrayal.

Around me, the sounds of men digging and laughing and cursing fell on me. I saw a notary rushing up, a rough scroll in his hand and a concerned look on his face. Nearby, a small knot of detached legionaries rose up from a mound they had been sitting on to approach me, watching out for me, guarding me. A mule squealed nearby under the lash of some impatient slave, its back burdened with reed baskets of rubble. Two tired men, rough cloaks thrown over both their shoulders to stave off the sudden chill, sat hunched over a little latrunculi board, carefully moving counters with that inevitable click of stone on wood. A small black counter was plucked from the board and bundled away into a leather bag - a fierce curse following it. I smiled at that and looked up into the emerging stars above. Venus rode high as She always did alone in Her beauty. And I wondered on what gods remained up in the heavens and what games they played and who here amongst us mortals would not be plucked aside and thrown as easily into that grave called oblivion? That grave which was no more ornate perhaps than an old leather bag . . .

[Knonfoda]

Haven't read it yet, but I have to say before anyone else does:

Epic screenshots!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Thanks - your help was appreciated, of course!

[Diocle]

Latrunculus chessboard and pieces, now I'm obsessed! so I searched for the damnd game.....and I found some interesting links, the guys of EB on the Org. have a thread about 'Ladrunculus'!!!!...and from there, I found this link, to the supposed rules and game description,.....obviously Archeologists found various types of chessboards, probably referring to the Ladrunculi game (but not only!)....In the end I found a nice PDF which speaks about chess-games in the Antiquity, I'll give all the links:

Here the game and its description:
http://www.aerobiologicalengineering.../latruncu.html

The thread at the Org:
http://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showth...337-Latrunculi

PDF interesting (very!) about board games in the Antiquity:
http://ludicum.org/publicacoes/bgsj/1

I'll build my chessboard and pieces for sure! ....but this is only a personal fun......

Clarissimus sorry for the aside talk but your suggestion about 'Latrunculus' has been terrible for my mind! I'm totally absorbed by Latrunulus!!!

So Iulianus is here to close the counts with Her!.....But in which way?...and why here?...He wants her back to Him, or He wants to destroy Her presence in His mind?...What is happening in the mind of Iulianus? ....too many questions and only the future can answer to some of them.....
Like Knon: wonderful images SBH! and wonderful reading o.c.!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

I am obsessed also! I found an online playable latrunculi game - BUT IT IS FOR THE MAC ONLY . . . Gutted. So I propose another thread where we attempt to devise an online version of PCs. We could have a Late Roman tournament . . .

Or adapt the GO board online maybe???

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

Ok - ignore the music but here is an i-phone app for the game:





or this one!

[Ybbon]

I always used to lose to my younger brother at Chess - one time I beat him, and have never played him since - thus, I am unbeaten by him in 20+ years

Now, great as the writing is, I am beginning to get a little, hmm, vexed, with Aemilianus and Felix indeed, clearly Aemilianus is not entirely playing with the full set of Lantruculii counters right now, but functioning well enough others follow him blindly. Because he is determined to have his final laugh at Roma, or find her and die - or so it seems, he's managed to drag the whole Legion with him and sacrifice them as well as himself! Pah, Arrogance!

Makes a hell of good story though!

[Diocle]

Ohhhhh!!!!..................Cooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooolllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!

I'll build my chess board and the pieces, a dream!!...We need a program for PC!!!...and it is more like a wargame than a chess game....Fantastic...the rules are simple but ...in this way the game can be more and more complex (Wittgenstein: 'Theory of the Games' in 'Tractatus Logicus Philosophicus')!.....Now I understand the strategy of Felix!!!........It is good! ...to take Cassianus they'll try to surround him....and in this way they will be pushed to make a mistake...that can cost them the entire game!!!

I want my chessboard and my little pieces, I've already some good idea about the pieces....what a beautiful find my dear friend!!!....Thanks Clarissimus!! GGGGGIIIIGGGGGAAAAA ++++RRRREEEEPPPP!.......

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

I always used to lose to my younger brother at Chess - one time I beat him, and have never played him since - thus, I am unbeaten by him in 20+ years

Now, great as the writing is, I am beginning to get a little, hmm, vexed, with Aemilianus and Felix indeed, clearly Aemilianus is not entirely playing with the full set of Latrunculii counters right now, but functioning well enough others follow him blindly. Because he is determined to have his final laugh at Roma, or find her and die - or so it seems, he's managed to drag the whole Legion with him and sacrifice them as well as himself! Pah, Arrogance!

Makes a hell of good story though!

It does, dosn't it? But all is never as it seems in the AAR.

Ohhhhh!!!!..................Cooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooolllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!

I'll build my chess board and the pieces, a dream!!...We need a program for PC!!!...and it is more like a wargame than a chess game....Fantastic...the rules are simple but ...in this way the game can be more and more complex (Wittgenstein: 'Theory of the Games' in 'Tractatus Logicus Philosophicus')!.....Now I understand the strategy of Felix!!!........It is good! ...to take Cassianus they'll try to surround him....and in this way they will be pushed to make a mistake...that can cost them the entire game!!!

I want my chessboard and my little pieces, I've already some good idea about the pieces....what a beautiful find my dear friend!!!....Thanks Clarissimus!! GGGGGIIIIGGGGGAAAAA ++++RRRREEEEPPPP!.......

Wouldn't it be great if someone wrote a program and we could play online, though?

And what fool would try to surround a wounded Armenian Lion???

[Diocle]

I've a suspect: if they also used some dice to establish the amount of distance that the single pieces can cover in a single move?.......like a real wargame?......

Cassianus is the pyramid, to take him they'll launch all their units against him!...as in the game he will attract many units tward himself!...in the end it is a good plan!

Yes it would be nice to play online, but I fear Ybbon, he is able to predict the future!............My dream would be playng latrunculus with you, dear friends in the ruins of the fort of the V,.....losing every single match, but happy (and drunk!!! )

Side Note:

Some Latin:
'Latrunculus, -i' m., II decl.: 1) Mercenary Soldier, 2) Brigand, Outlaw, Robber, 3) Chess Piece.
Ex.: 'latrunculus ludere' = to play chess.

Lt. Latrunculus: It.: 'Ladruncolo' (En.: 'Petty thief') In Italian the word is the same, but the meaning is restricted and diminished in value (no more 'Outlaw' but only 'Petty thief').

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

The Latin meaning is already referenced two updates back:

My spatha drew not a battlefield but those crisscross lines of a gaming board and each maniple and century on it was a little counter in my design. We would fight a ‘robbers’ battle here across that gaming board and it would be a game that the Quinta would play under my hand despite our own Dux who stood among us now.

And I fear you are right about Cassianus, the 'Dux', who is already pledged to sacrifice himself and the blood of his enemies . . . like any good gaming counter . . .

[Diocle]

Indeed, Clarissimus!......but I wanted only to add some informations by the Old King, the Latin Language, because I have some harmless senile fixations, among these, the Latin Language, probably, is the more annoying for the people here!....... Nevertheless, I thought it might be of some interest, to highlight that the name of a game, practiced mainly in military enviroment, in Latin, had the meaning of 'Mercenary Soldier' and, at the same time, that of 'Outlaw, Brigand, Robber' (like in Italian today) and that of 'Chess Piece' o.c.,..........and the men of Felix will try to 'steal' the Victory from the hands of the Saracens, as you clearly wrote!........so the Latin creates really an interesting situation here..........Anyway, I'm reading your wonderful updates with great attention, Clarissimus! It was only a silly add-on by me!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

I appreciate your additions, Diocle, as they are wonderfully given with great spirit! I looked at my GO board which can be cut down into a latrunculi size. The counters will serve. All I need now is some friend here to play against me!

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

That March of Words and Deeds, Each Reflecting . . .

It was the dead of night when I finally was able to repair to my little ‘butterfly’ tent and fall exhausted on my cot. Outside, the night was cold and bleak, punctuated now by the distant shout of watch word and reply. In the tents of the legionaries and the cavalry troopers little could be heard. The Arabs under Tusca were wrapped up in cloaks near their beasts while the numeri seemed never to sleep and could be heard arguing dimly over food and water and whatever coin they had salvaged from the detritus we had discarded on that long march. I fell into the cot, wrapping the cloak about me, bundling my tunica and breeches into a ball for my head, not caring that I would emerge rough and unkempt in the morning. On the ground about the cot lay my weapons, newly oiled by a slave, while on a rough cross-post hung my armour and helmet. The oval shield remained propped up nearby at hand. A small writing table was the only other item under the canvas of the papillio. On it lay the eternal reams of parchment, a stylus, and a little pot of ink. Sheets were scattered all about. Some clean and newly scraped. Others were covered in the scrawl of my Latin writing. An old bronze oil lamp stood as a weight on these sheets, its wick pinched cold now.

We had done all we could to prepare for tomorrow. The redoubts were fashioned as best men could do in limited time. Orders had been given and relayed back so that we all knew what it was that was expected of us. I had personally visited each Ducenarius and confided my plan in detail. All had agreed on it - even blind Sebastianus, with that tiro at his side like a faithful puppy, even he had nodded and gripped my arm, smiling at that recruit, calling his ‘eye’ his oculi, in words oddly devoid of sarcasm or mockery. Blind Sebastianus had conferred on me his approval and for once did not attempt to bully me out of keeping him in command of the First. That grip on my arm said more than his words and I knew in my heart that he was approving something else also but I stubbornly refused to see it, to feel what he was giving me, and I had left him alone with his oculi throwing cheap words of valour to me as I did so . . . All the others vowed their agreement in this game of counters over battle and I knew that come what may tomorrow they would all play and move to my command.

It was the dead of night and I was exhausted, lying on that small cot, and yet I could not sleep. The heavy shawl of the cold pressed down on me. I was hungry and thirsty. I ached for wine. My limbs were sore. My throat was hoarse from the harsh words I had mouthed over and over again. And still the sweet folds of sleep eluded me. I looked over to that writing table, at how flimsily it stood in the dark, the white sheets lying over it like unravelled skin. My mind wandered to Oescus, that castellum along the limes of the Danube, the old ancient home of the Quinta, and I wondered if these sheets, these endless lines of writing and doom, would ever find their way there, to the far north, the frontier of Rome, of the respublica, wreathed in snow and bordered by forests and snow-capped mountains. Oescus seemed to my weary mind a phantom place now; a place as remote to my senses as Akkad was real to us all here. I tried to picture that castellum and all I saw swimming before my eyes was a dim outline of mist and river and stone, the gleam of a legionary’s helmet on a parapet, the distant unreal flutter of a draco tail on a wind I knew I would never feel again. Oescus was a dream-place. A myth now - and so I wondered that if that were true, why did I still write these Latin words in all their faint martial lines? Why did I write knowing that writing would never find its way back to that heart and soul of this legion and its many detachments and vexillations all across the empire?

I sat up on the cot and lit the wick. Slowly a gleam of light filled the tent. The white of the parchment glowed as if alive and I looked again on all those untidy sheets. I pulled one aside. On it lay those words describing that first meeting with Aemilianus at the Battle of the Unending Sighs, of the instant when he had emerged angry only to find me reaching out to grip his arm, smiling, knowing that I had found a friend though he knew it not yet. I re-read those little words seeing that already the ink was fading here in the desert heat, that the sun and the wind had scoured that parchment - and all the others - so that even my own words were fading slightly now. Why did I write? Because Angelus had commanded me - but he was dead now and I was in his place. Why did I not command some other to write instead? Silvanus or Barko, perhaps? Suetonius even? I shuffled the reams about and read another. It was that moment I had sacrificed the white horse in that dry dusty oasis outside Nasranum and I had noted Aemilianus among us hidden in a hooded Gallic cloak and refrained from naming him - another sheet: Palladius, ever Palladius, falling away from us, from me, throwing me that one word which branded us all deeper than any legionary tattoo, that word which was everything and nothing . . . And finally, I saw a sheet alone, apart from the others, and it was empty and pristine. No word on it. No stain of ink yet. And I smiled at it. I smiled knowing now why I wrote and it was really only because I had begun a thing and that thing was not yet over though it would soon be. Every writer knows that to write an elegy is also a mourning and how could I cease from this writing while that thing I mourned was not yet dead, though it were soon to be, though it were soon to be . . .

I rose then from the cot, dressed, threw the cloak over me and walked out into that cold night. It was not enough just to write, I realised, as I pinned the cloak about me, feeling that cold pinch sharply about my head. It was not enough just to pen all this. I had to shape it also - and for that I needed help. I went into the night marvelling at the stillness which surrounded our camp, how the night above was clear and brilliant with stars, and that the air was clean like pure water. I saw sentries drifting about the vallum of the camp and marvelled that I knew each one by name. I heard the watch words exchanged on this dark night, words chosen by me - ‘Aeneas’ - ‘Virgil’ - and thought how odd for these words to be heard now among these broken places, this Ruina Candida. I walked then seeking that which I needed and did not for a single moment wonder on where to find it. I saw him the moment I left my papillio tent outlined on a sharp embankment, alone, in silhouette, a statue in the night. I strode up to him, passing the tents, weaving about the dead braziers, through the guarded entrances to the camp, until finally I climbed that embankment and reached his side, a shadow against a shadow in the night.

And Cassianus remained alone staring out, sunk in his thoughts, knowing I was there but not turning to welcome me. I stood a few paces behind him and saw that above us both lay a field of brilliant stars while below lay the dark folds of the Nefud broken only by the strange white ruins which it had swallowed. We stood poised between heaven and earth, midway between them, and I knew he contemplated dark thoughts almost as if he were communing with those gods and shades he had pledged his life and blood to. And while I knew Aemilianus looked always up to that Sol he revered above all else, even Roma Herself, here this Armenian, born in the mountains, now looked down into that dark realm where death and despair resided; a place he was pledged to discover with a shattered parade at his back of all his enemies dragged along behind him in chains of blood. Chains he had forged himself. As one man who was dead now returned, his face bathed in the rays of Helios, another who was alive sought death itself down in that tomb beneath all our feet . . .

It was why I had placed him on that board as nothing more than a sacrifice; a piece players fear to lose but which is sought out by all opposing players also.

‘Cassianus, Dominus,’ I said, breaking in on his unquiet thoughts, ‘Is that Greek notary of yours still alive? I would like to use his services.’

‘He is like all Greeks, alive but moaning of the fact.’ He turned then and looked me up and down in a cursory way. ‘What would you have with him?’

‘I must dictate some final things. My writing hand is not fast enough,’ I lied.

He shrugged. ‘Take him, then, but be warned his words of complaint are like the pecking of crows on a tiled roof.’

He turned away from me, dismissing me, so I stepped backwards down that embankment, turning to leave.

‘Felix?’

I looked back up and he was still facing down into the darkness of the Nefud.

‘Dominus?’

‘If Hector had known that his doom was to fall at Achilles feet, do you think he would still have left Andromache’s side that morning?’ he asked.

‘He knew.’ I replied. ‘It was his fate and his name, Cassianus. Hektor, ‘to hold fast’. It was the only fate he knew.’

He remained silent at that and so I left him alone on that embankment.

I kicked his Greek notary out of his rough blanket and bade him follow me back to my tent with his writing materials. The man was all complaints and spitting out Greek in a gibberish-dialect I could not understand but a stern look followed by some harsh commands soon put the slave in his place. Once inside, I placed him at the writing table and fell back onto the cot. I saw this Greek notary glance disdainfully at the sheets about the table top and his narrow eyes seemed to glitter with contempt at my writings.

‘Ah, a Caesar at his campaign table, eh, I wouldn’t wonder?’

I weighed him up for a moment and then reached under the cot to pull out a stoppered flask, uncorking it as I did so. I poured out a measure into a small wooden cup. ‘Alexandrian, undiluted, for the cold, you understand?’ He eyed me greedily as I held out the cup. ‘I expect we will finish this off before the sun rises, eh, Greek?’

‘A Will, is it, soldier?’ He snatched the cup from me and tasted a drop. I saw his eyes light up in appreciation. ‘A last testament should you fall in battle tomorrow?’

‘Not a Will. Not quite. Something else. A reckoning, perhaps.’ And I told him about the parchments on that table and how I had been writing them under orders and that as a result they were all a mess and that now as a result it was time to place them on a higher level, a level somewhere between that of a Commentary and an Anekdota. It was time, I told him, to write about the writing itself and lend these parchment sheaves something heavier; something more noble. He watched me as I reeled off this desire which had possessed me and I saw that the cup in his hand remained unmoved, that it did not touch his lips, and all the while he regarded me with his beady eyes as a little frown touched him. I finished and leaned back on the cot.

He took a long sip and then placed the cup on the table. He reached into his wooden box and pulled out writing materials with a speed and a precision that I did not expect. When he turned back to me, a stylus ready in one hand and a sheet spread out on the table, I saw that he was calm and quiet.

‘It will work like this, Dominus. You will read your writings in order here and I will copy them but as you do so you will add thoughts, observations, reflections as they occur to you, and I will insert them. Do not be afraid to talk quickly. I am skilled more than you know. Be honest. Be unafraid. What you say tonight to me is not for me but for you. Do you understand?’

I nodded back as he shoved all the parchment sheets over to me.

‘Good - and fill up that cursed cup, will you? I am good but as the gods bear me witness I am also a drunkard. First though, you must introduce yourself. It is only manners, yes?’

I filled up that wooden cup and placed it by him on the table and then I told him everything as if he were not a notary but a prospective father-in-law, a Senator whose daughter I yearned to marry, and I watched dispassionately as he began to write, pecking across the white sheet so that in moments it was filled with the black marks of my life . . . And I marvelled that such a thing as a life could be reflected in such tiny words . . .

‘My name,’ I began, ‘ is Flavius Corbinianus, a native of Carthage, Punic by birth, Roman by right, and I am called Felix in the legions from that day I enrolled when a star was seen across the heavens at the moment I crossed over the threshold of the legionary headquarters. That name became my military name and it is all I am now. I enrolled under the eagles of Constantius and have fought in Gaul, Illyricum and the Oriens. I survived the fall of Amida to Shapur and have tasted more than enough of the dust of battles and marches than I care to recall. My father is a Senator whose pagan beliefs and philosophy exiled him from glorious Carthage into a villa retreat and who lives now in books and scrolls. My mother is dead. I am exiled from home because my father abhors the military seeing it as the woe of the state. In truth, I enrolled to vex him but found in doing so a calling I seem suited for. I have been ordered to write of this legion, this Quinta, by the Tribune Angelus while still a Centenarius and was promoted to Ducenarius and am now acting-tribune. Angelus is dead and still I write for that which I write about is not yet gone. These are my words and my deeds and my reflections . . .’

And on and on I spoke as the wine was consumed and this Greek notary scratched away, correcting grammar, editing, calling me to task over phrases and images, asking me what I thought, why I reacted, and how a dealt with things. These insights he added as we progressed through the dregs of the night so that what had been a mere detailing of events became now a reflection and a commentary on them. In doing so, I lived again all those moments since I had started writing under Angelus’ orders and realised how those events were both shaping me and being shaped by me even as I had written them . . .

We finished the last of the wine and words as the pale light of dawn filtered in on the low canvas. It speckled us both as this Greek placed his stylus down and sighed slowly. He reached over and clicked shut the little ink pot.

‘A new day, Flavius Corbinianus, of Carthage, and shall I leave a page for later or shall we sign this and be done with it?’ He eyed me carefully and I knew that he was testing my conviction.

I smiled at him. ‘Always later - or else why do we remain living in hope?’

I stood up to stretch my legs outside the papillio tent as he packed away his things into the wooden box. Dawn was arriving across the Nefud in a glorious wash of crimson leaving only Venus alone, the last of Her kind, above. Tubas blared out their cry and the sentries fell back in response even as others moved up to take their place. With surprise, I saw that Cassianus was still standing high on that embankment not having moved at all in the night - but then even as my eyes fell on him, I heard another tuba cry out and he turned around at that, half-falling and half-running back towards us.

It was Aemilianus, loping past and buckling on his spatha in a hurry, who told me what was happening, pulling me along with him to meet the Dux Ripae -

‘They are here, Felix! And they are sending up a party to negotiate!’

[McScottish]

Excellent, as always! I can feel some finality coming to the tale, though when I cannot say. I certainly like Felix as a character, and find it interesting to know more about him that I had previously. Whichever way this tale ends, I will always be glad that I was here to read it.

[Diocle]

OESCUS

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Oescus, the home of the V! Wonderful update Clarissimus!
I very liked the description of night of Felix, in medieval Italy it was named 'Veglia d'Armi' or 'Veillée d'armes', so our Felix was from Carthage, son of a Pagan Senator! Interesting!........the incoming day will be terrible and decisive!

All I need now is some freidn here to play against me!

Can I suggest trying some match with your 'Domina'? The 'Clarissima Domina' might be your first opponent, a good tester of the game, Clarissimus! And if you are not too much competitive between yourselves.........it could be a fun first experience with 'Latrunculus'!

Mega rep if or when it will be possible!

[Ybbon]

I always find that your descriptions fit that which you describe so perfectly, I may never have heard something described in that way, but it seems to fit just right, for example:

"The heavy shawl of the cold pressed down on me"

It really describes how a cold night feels when the heat has gone out, like a heavy object slowly pressing on your shoulders, and this has happened throughout.

kudos and rep when I can give some more.

[Knonfoda]

I am not familiar with an actual military plan named after the board game! Rather Felix is using a theme he began that night in the tent when Cassianus planned to shame Aemilianus . . . I wonder what your formation was?

What I meant was that like, much like Chess (and latrunculi by the looks of it) by the middle of the game you don't end up with a line but more like a mish mash of pieces all over the place. In EB I've frequently employed lines that were serrated so to speak, or had large gaps between them so as to lure the enemy in, only to find themselves fighting two "protruding" cohorts/maniples on each flank and so on.

Just confirms that the allies actually did nothing during WWII. The Americans actually won it for us, so thanks to them.

I don't know about that. Personally I find the American contribution to the European theatre of WW2 to be overrated. True, they supplies helped and so did their joint bombing effort towards the end of the war (not to mention the actual invasion and all that followed) but it was actually the Brits who saved their own asses during the Battle of Britain. If anyone 'won' that war, it was definitely the Russians, who would have probably overran Germany with or without Allied support.

I agree with you Diocle, that scene's the reason I can't watch the movie ^^'

btw, go on a holiday in Saumur, France, preferably in July - at the local tank museum (the largest in the world after Kubinka - Bovington IS smaller :p) there stands, among a Panther, Jagdpanther and Tiger, the LAST REMAINING KING TIGER IN WORKING CONDITION! and every 2nd year in july, they gun the engine and take it for a little ride across the courtyard...and last time i was there, i stood 1m away from it as it rumbled past me O_O

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

sorry for the off-topic post SBH

It is a very powerful scene in the movie, and a very good one I think.

+Mega rep!!! for Lux!...Fantastic videos!

Did you listen to the sound of the engine?...It is....'evil'...it is deep and evil! That is a damned machine! the Machine Spirit is powerful in that engine! Its sound/voice inspires pure terror! better: it is Terror!

Wonderful tank! The Sherman is like a toy, a Mikey Mouse machine! all rounded! it is funny! But the Tiger...no, it is terrible even today! The modern tanks are larger, more powerful o.c.! But that machine have something.......something evil......I cannot explain...it is a personal feeling!.....

You guys should play Battlefield 1942, in particular, a mod by the name of BattleGroup42. Seriously, it puts World of Tanks to shame. It has the most complete, detailed and historically accurate set of tanks, armaments, uniforms, battlefields and so forth of any first player WW2 game. The whole thing, despite dated, is a joy to play. They also use real WWII sounds for each individual piece of weaponry.

The tanks are just scary.

[QUOTE=Diocle;11569467]Ohhhhh!!!!..................Cooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooolllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!

[CENTER][B][SIZE=3][FONT=Times New Roman]OESCUS

Amazing pictures Diocle, simply superb. I love how it looks as if the whole thing could have been there yersterday, with that stelae just sticking out the ground where it fell. That really annoys me about a lot of ruins, I think SBH will be able to understand what I am talking about here.

Much like Oescus, apparently the Roman fort at Longovicium (Lanchester, County Durham - England) had walls of up to 2m high all the way up to 1850 ~ 70, as reported by a local vicar. Which means the fort stood nearly intact for nearly 1400 years after it was abandoned, only to be robbed of its stones in the last two centuries! How annoying is that!

In any case, hijack over.

I'm loving where this is going SBH, I really am. I'm eager to see how this 'game' plays out, and in particular, I am kind of looking forward to some birds eye views of the battlefield too, to give it a more tactical angle, in addition to the dramatic ones already employed.

The writing as always flows and just feels riveting and engaging, especially as we are now getting to know more about our protagonist(s) and what their role will be in the final debacle. I'm also loving how you are building up the suspense over a series of episodes, you can definitely "feel" the calm before the storm.

My one qualm is; will Felix be able to fight after spending an entire night awake?

[Diocle]

Yes Knon, Felix will be able to fight!!! As were all the medieval European Knights, who practicised the 'Veillée d'arms', praying in full armor, all the night before the battle!!! It was like a form of 'self hypnosis' before the battle! Or Von Paulus who passed the night before the invasion of Urss, listening to the simpony IX of Beethoven!....