[RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Serving Your Oppressor [COMPLETED]

[McScottish]

Just ignore this...the actual post is below.

[McScottish]

Through Mist and Snow - Summer 580 to Winter 580 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The wooden palisade surrounding the hill-fort, the roughly built and hinged gatehouse and the very mist and snow which shrouded Leucaristus from any accurate assessment of strength or defensive positioning, all this bought to me a familiar feeling which I had not felt in previous sieges or pitched battles.

Perhaps it was our cohorts proximity to the borders of Dacian territory, just a few miles east, but it was certainly an emotion bolstered by the small force of Dacians under a headman named Eburon whose meagre forces had arrived in the night and been placed at our disposal, or more truly at the disposal of our sixty-year old legatus, a senator and local hero to the Romani and who now, along with our six centuries and five cohorts of the Legio I Adiutrix, was stood ankle-deep in numbing snow and glared from beneath the rim of his helmet at those wooden walls, mere obstacles to be breached for the good of the Res Publica.

I should tell you, dear reader, that by this time I was thirty-nine years of age, a wizened old man in my own right, but I shall not complain about that and will instead tell you of events which had taken place from our leaving of enslaved Eburonum until the present situation, events which can be told something like this...

Not long after leaving Eburonum we were intercepted and given word by Primus Pilus Numerius, now also a senator and appointed Tribunus of the Plebs, that our former holdings in Germania had been placed back into the hands of the native Marcomannii and subsequent Romani forces pulled back to Eburonum. He also advised us of a change of orders, come straight from Roma, that we were to take a vexillation of the I Adiutrix, as well as accompanying auxiliaries, and head north-east towards the minor Boii oppidum of Leucaristus and take it 'with all haste'.

Meanwhile, further to the south, overwhelming Res Publican forces of legions and mainly Thracian auxiliaries had moved north to besiege the Boii capital of Carnuntum. Once it had been taken and held secure, they were to establish a secure frontier area with the Dacians and Germanii to our north and east, taking control of all corresponding mountain-passes, river fords and bridges therein.

From what I heard, and as a centurion I heard more than I had ever heard as a common auxiliary, legions and supporting troops were also being moved into Asia Minor and the borders of the Seleucid-held Syrian strip.

Mobilization and logistics are a part of the Roman military machine which have never failed to impress me.

As ordered, we turned towards the north-east and marched, we marched through dense forests and sparse forests, along carefully laid and covered roads and weaved through woodland using goat-tracks which were no more than trails of dirt trodden into the earth and dotted with the hoof-prints of varied livestock, we filed through ever-changing terrain until we came upon a small band of 'barbarians' ahead of us.

At this moment they could not be seen clearly, friend or foe, and we approached with extreme caution, one of them catching sight of us and shouting to his comrades. They did not run, a good or bad sign, but contrarily turned about and began to make their way towards us at a slow walk and, for their light cavalryman, a trot.

It soon became apparent that they were not going to attack us, Spurius calling a halt to our column and, along with several German horsemen, riding out in front of us as their leader did likewise. Soon the pair were deep in conversation, both speaking latin or else our legatus had picked up some 'Dacian' from somewhere.

Before long the column was on the move again, our new-found guides leading us by the best tracks towards our target and also mingling quite freely with the auxiliaries, most of whom had come from tribal lands not all that far away before singing the line of servitude.

Over the next few weeks, snowfall becoming more frequent and black-foot prevalent amongst those of us who were unprepared, we drew closer to the hill-fort and within only a few more days stood gazing at it from a nearby tree-line. Our guides as good as their word. Spurius put us to work there and then, to construct rams to rupture the walls, to dig a trench around the hill-fort but out of range of any archers, and to see to the disposition of the supply train.

This we did, and did it well, and in only forty-eight hours stood ready and waiting to begin the siege, four rams manned by auxiliaries positioned carefully so as to give them the most direct line towards their target area of the palisade, the five legionary cohorts formed up in two broad lines one behind the other some distance back, and the legatus with his large savage-looking Germans formed up likewise to the left of the foot-soldiers. Although our Dacian allies had separated from us, we knew they would return, their forces waiting patiently on the other side of the hill-fort for our rams to smash through the wall.

**********

Let me return now to my account of the siege itself.

As I have said, we were stood ankle-deep in the snow, chilling flakes of it still drifting down upon us and the fog so thick about us that one century could barely see another. This murk clung to you like a wet cloak, much like the Gallic one I was wearing at that very moment, causing you to squint and wonder what was happening a few feet to your front and flanks.

“Rams...for-ward!”

With a creak and a rumble of carefully smoothed wheels, the grunts and curses of men carrying to my ears, four of my brother centuries heaved forward with their siege equipment and were shortly swallowed by the fog. We could all hear them and most strained their ears to the fullest, so as not to lose 'sight' of our comrades. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the loud thumping of wood-against-wood began rhythmically and we knew our brothers-in-arms had reached the walls and main gate...or at least we assumed as much.

So onward the sound went, over and over, like a death knell for our enemies and the beating of a marching drum for our own forces. Stood, as I was, with my century and another beside me, the constant sound began to get on my nerves, my eyes asquint and one of my hands raising up to wipe the water away from the lip of my helmet.

“Ah-oooooooo, ah-oooooooo,” the sound of a horn drifted back to us, the signal that the gates had been breached, and a cheer went up from all around. It was time for my century and I to go into action once more, my hand religiously straying to the pendant around my neck.

“By the quick march, century, century forward!”

Keeping our ranks close, our sister century advancing to the left beside us, we marched at a quick pace through the mist and gradually came upon a melee taking place around the gateway. Boii youths wielding clubs of varying sizes and shapes ran at and amongst our comrades ranks, battering aside shields and attempting to force the auxiliaries, already through the gate, back out the way they had come. To our left the sixth century made their way through a hole further down the wall, caused by the men of the fifth, and moved in to attack these impetuous club-wielders from the rear.

“Keep formation, get stuck in.”

The forth century, my century, trotted through the gates in time to see a force of light Keltoi cavalry hammer home into the flank of our brothers. Pressing myself into the front ranks of my men, as I should, I led them by example, the men of the second century from further up the wall following quick on our heels, into the fray just as the sixth joined on the opposite side of the scrummage.

It was hot work, my sword covered in the entrails of men and animal by the end, a tattooed adolescent nearly taking my head clean off of my shoulders but receiving a gladius in the belly for his foolishness. Of course, he could not know that I had not earned this crest and torque by sitting on my backside when battle sang its siren song into my ear.

“Press them, press them,” I yelled, the enemy beginning to back away, horsemen breaking off and the smooth-faced youths nearly all dispatched, “form up the fourth, form up!”
Two lines of three were neatly presented to the enemy, six centuries of bloodied auxiliary infantry, the snow having stopped and the mist cleared but with no sign of the Adiutrix or our commander forthcoming. We were heartened, however, by the sight of our keen Dacian allies advancing from our rear, at a walk, allies who would be there when we engaged the enemy again.

From my right came a shout from Gneo Opsius Gallicus, a grizzled Insubrii centurion who was acting cohort commander in Numerius' absence, his voice lifting above other sounds and calling for us to advance into the centre of the settlement and take the fight to the rallying enemy. This we did, with relish, sucking in large breathes of throat-chilling air and once more raising our weapons for the advance.

Almost leisurely we marched down a narrow corridor, buildings and fences present on either side of us, squashing our centuries together but never truly breaking cohesion in the formation. Up ahead could be seen a massing of the enemy, men armed with the long Keltoi spears and others with thureos shields and the longswords commonly seen being wielded by their nobility.

When their chieftain, Ricetorix, also nominal Boitrix, or king of the Boii, at that moment charged headlong towards us accompanied by his wealthy bodyguard we could not really believe our luck and responded more sluggishly than we otherwise would have. Locking shields together, gladii at the ready, our frontward ranks prepared to receive the charge of horsemen, those still with pilum sticking them out like spears or very short sarissa. The Boii noblemen did not hesitate for a moment, ploughing their horses into us with great glee and whoops of mirth, longswords swinging downwards from up high to split helmets and shatter skulls, take away limbs and cripple Dacian and Cisalpine Gaul alike.

Behind us, the sky clear for the moment, we could see the legionaries finally advancing towards the hill-fort and Spurius galloping alongside them. Nearer at hand were the Dacians under Eburon, his own light cavalry from the Carpii between the rivers Porata and Hierasos charging forward and nimbly through our ranks to get to grips with the enemy. Soon his slingers, baring wickedly curved knives, and his bearded infantry, wearing thick furs and wielding spear and sika, had joined the combat as well and for the first time in years I felt at home again.

“Enemy coming up, keep the ranks solid.”

Behind Ricetorix his spearmen and tribal champions were advancing at a run, howling their warcries and jabbing their weapons into the air, hitting us and our allies with the force of an avalanche and causing us to slowly give ground. From then on it became a combat of attrition, as Hannibal said we would 'find a way through our make one', which is exactly what we did. For nearly an hour we tussled, limbs detaching from torsos and the putrid stench of emptied or opened bowels stinging the nostrils of those nearby, our armour, training and equipment getting the better of our adversaries and step-by-step forcing them backwards.

To the rear Spurius and his Germans charged, straight into the back of the Boii, sealing their fate more certainly than the rising of the sun. Every man was cut down, by sika, gladius or spatha, in any number of manners or ways in which a man can be killed.

It was simple butchery and so ended the siege of Leucaristus and the seizure and enslavement of its inhabitants.


- M.Laenas

[McScottish]

Boys, we're going home - Winter 580 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Some weeks after the siege was over, we received fresh orders, orders congratulating us on a well earned victory with a side-note telling our legatus to take our remaining forces of the vexillation and stamp out resistance in the lightly defended hill-fort of Carrodunum.

At this time there was some bitter blood between those of the auxiliary and those of the legion, an after-taste of finding not a single legionary body amongst the glorious dead at Leucaristus, amongst the many Dacian and Gallic auxiliaries as well as the free Dacians under Eburon. It was an issue easily contained by order and discipline but one that could also explode into something larger, if the right catalyst was used to set it off.

Every century in the first Dacian and Gallic cohort had suffered casualties, some more than others, men from the lesser damaged centuries shifting commands to be placed in those worse effected. My century was one of the least effected, luckily, but therefore also stripped of men until only myself, my signifer, the centuries cornicen and fifteen miles of the century were left of the fourth century.

Those men I had left to me, including my good friend Dizas, were hardened veterans and during one particularly stormy night, which I remember well, Legatus Spurius Laenas called me to the praetorium.

“Salve Marcus, please, come and sit with me...why you're sopping wet.”

I gave the required salute, standing in an adequately furnished part of the praetorium, and dribbling rainwater onto the grass-covered earth which made up the floor of the large tent. My cloak clung to my body like a child clutching to his mother and I wrenched it away, flicking it over my shoulder, my red-feathered crest drooping most ignominiously as I removed my helmet with its 'crista transversa' and tucked it neatly into the crook of my arm.

“Come, sit, you have no need to stand on ceremony with me.”

In my best fashion, I marched over to the stool placed before his camp-desk and seated myself rather awkwardly, in as stark a contrast to the way my superior sat as could be possible. He relaxed and with an air of confidence, dry and dressed in a fine breastplate moulded to his body, me stiff and ill at ease with my surroundings and this meeting.

“What is it you require of me, sir?”

“Centurion Laenas, you have served this cohort well and your service will not go unnoticed. You have been awarded twice, killed two enemy leaders and inspire the men to ever greater feats...”

I knew there was something more and I was not disappointed in my presumption.

“...but there is a second cohort being levied in Mediolanum, your Dacian brethren seemingly more interested in joining our military than they previously were. Perhaps even because of you,” he said with a smile and a pause to let it sink in, “as such they require experienced men and officers...”

He did not have to finish, I knew what he was about to say.

“...and you want me to take my seventeen men, the remnants of the fourth century, go back to Mediolanum and help to train this raw, untried and untested cohort?”

Spurius gazed over touching fingers at me, leaning slightly forward, and gave a barely perceivable nod of his thinning head. The next moment he had a scroll in his hand and was sliding it over the desk to me.

“These are your transferral orders, simply show it to your superior when you get to Mediolanum. They expect you there by late next year at the least, do not allow the reputation of this cohort to be stained by tardiness on your part, centurion.”

There was not much more to say, I had been given my marching orders. I slipped my hand onto the desk and clenched the scroll in a fist, rising to salute the man from who I had taken my name, the man who had led and fought with me in Greece, Germania and in the lands of the Boii. From a dark-haired young man to the old man I now saw before me, much like Sextus Maximus in his twilight-years, Spurius now sixty years of age himself.

“I hope very much to see you again, sir, before either you or myself go to meet Dis Pater in the underworld.”

Now it was his turn to stand, striding quickly for an aged soldier around his desk, clasping me tightly around the forearm in an iron-fingered soldiers grip as old as Roma herself.

“And I you, Centurion Marcus Laenas, and I you.”

**********

“Alright lads, we are returning to Mediolanum. Prepare to march.”

Fifteen fully armoured and equipped auxiliaries stood before me, along with our standard-bearer carrying the centuries vexilla and our horn-blower with his distinctive animal-hide uniform. These men were all soldiers I had fought and bled with, men who I could trust with my life, men who would return to the city in Cisalpine Gaul and assist me in the training of a cohort who could one day even come to replace us.

Each man was spotless, his equipment sharpened, cleaned and ready for use at a moments notice but inside...inside I knew they saw this as deserting their comrades-in-arms, running from the fray, emotional scars which each would bear and each would have to deal with in their own way. As for myself, well, there was only one thing I could say.

“Century, century, for-ward...at the quick...march!”

Outside I was as silent as a stoic, we all were, save for the jingling of equipment and mail but under the surface there was only one thing I could think of as the ground rushed past beneath me.

“Eunike...I am coming home.”


- M.Laenas

[Diomede]

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I love it.

[McScottish]

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I love it.

Hehe, a good record, though broken, is still a good record.

[Derbiean]

I'm out of superlatives

[Diomede]

I'm out of superlatives

I might just quote this the next half a dozen times. The quality of AARs at the moment is soooo high.

[McScottish]

I'm out of superlatives

I might just quote this the next half a dozen times. The quality of AARs at the moment is soooo high.

Thank you both, very much, any comments, negative or positive are welcome and the writing shall continue as always fuelled by encouraging comments.

[Ybbon]

Negative comment time....

I can't cope with 2 AAR's of such quality, my brain hurts

OK it's not really negative.

[McScottish]

Negative comment time....

I can't cope with 2 AAR's of such quality, my brain hurts

OK it's not really negative.

Sorry ybbon, can't stop writing though.

[McScottish]

Homecoming - Winter 580 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

We, my seventeen men and I, arrived back in Mediolanum on the XVIII dies Iovis of Novembris 580 Ab Urbe Condita, cold, wet and worn out to the bone but there was still much to do. The very first of these was to report in to the auxiliary barracks before dispersing to either our rooms in the barracks or, for those such as myself, our properties outside them.

“Password, sir!”

The man challenging me was clearly a youngster, not even able to shave, no sign of growth visible in the shadow caused by the rim of his bronze helmet. Needless to say, I had no idea what the password was, only recently having come across the border of Pannonia Superior and into Gallia Cisalpina. Instead I unhooked the document from my belt, where it had been flapping against my thigh all through the march, and shoved it into his face...I was tired and irritable at the time.

“Well...” he read the document twice to make sure he got it all, regularly glanced up at my men, and finally, with a nod of satisfaction, gave me a salute and stiffened his back, returning the scroll to me with great formality, “...this all seems in order, sir, and the password is 'Neptune's Trident'.”

After gesturing for my men to go in and find their own living-quarters, embracing my Thrakian companion tightly before he followed the rest, I turned back to the auxiliary on guard-duty and made a grand show of looking him up and down as if he were on parade. He responded as I had expected and when I finally spoke, my voice at a normal volume, he nearly soiled himself.

“Soldier, do you know the whereabouts of a local midwife, goes by the name of Eunike?”

Fortuna was on my side that day, the man seemingly relieved, his shoulders drooping slightly and a broad grin crossing his face.

“Yes, sir, she delivered the two children of my wife safely into this world. She lives not far from here in a rather fine insulae just off of Sextus Road, the wife of one of the soldiers here I believe.”

Realisation did not dawn on the man, his face showing no sign of changing from its 'matter-of-fact' expression as he spoke and kept his eyes levelled in the foreground. He was not as bad a soldier as I had first taken him for, that much was certain.

“Carry on soldier.”

“Sir, yes sir, I shall sir.”

**********

When I first came upon my wife again, it was not where I had expected at all. I had hoped to meet her in her apartment with a smile on her face and a loving embrace, my children following quickly after, my mother and Anakletos greeting me warmly. Instead, as I had learnt was usually the case when expecting or planning things, I came on them in the forum and what I found did not make me any bit happier than I was already.
Before them, blocking their path away from him, stood a clearly drunk, or just ignorant, legionnaire from the local legio V Alaudae. My wife, standing beside a bronze-sellers stall and who I could hear as I got closer, was clearly telling him to go away and beyond hear, greyed, stooped and smaller was a scared-looking figure clearly recognisable as my aged mother.

I quickened my pace, my vine-rod in my hand before I even realised it was, coming to a sudden halt behind the man with his distinctive feathered-helmet and letting out a loud cough, then bellowing at him in my best parade-ground voice.

“What, in the name of Priapus and his inflamed phallus, do you think you are doing!”

The man turned to speak and, the smell of home-made alcohol clear as day on his breath, there was no doubt in my mind that he was drunker than any respectable legionnaire had a right to be in a civilised Roman settlement.

“Centurion...was just chatting to this nice lady...was going to invite me back to her apartment, weren't you lovely?”

His hand reached out to touch my wives face, but I was faster. The vine-rod rapped across his forearm, the rough-and-ready Gaul flinching back like a wounded beast, his eyes blazing with violence and hatred as he glared first at the livid-red mark on his uncovered arm and then back at me.

“Do not even think about it, son, I will have you on a charge faster than you can say “I love Roma”. Name, rank and unit.”

Something, something ingrained by vicious military training, probably enforced by my appearance, for my uniform was in pristine condition in spite of the travelling and my helmet and vine-rod showed my rank quite efficiently, snapped in him and he straightened with a salute before listing off the required information.

“Manius Samoniccios, sir. Legio V Alaudae, third cohort, second century. Sir.”

“Manius, go about your business and do not let me see you harassing another soul. If you do then you will see that I can deal out a lot more punishment that you just received.”

Without another word, knowing his place even through the drunken haze of his mind, Manius gave a ragged salute and wobbled away towards the separate legionary barracks on the other side of town from my own.

“Thank you, sir, that man had been following us all day.”

For a moment I could not even speak, the words stuck in my gullet, my beautiful Eunike unaffected, so it seemed to me, by the passing of years. To my sight she looked no different from when I had first met her, give or take a wrinkle or two, but I decided to keep up the charade a moment longer...for my own sadistic pleasure.

“You are welcome, ma'am. I am but an auxiliary centurion, a junior, and would likely not have been able to do much about him. Thankfully my legionary counterparts uniform looks little different from my own.”

It was my mothers turn to speak, her voice dry and with a reed-like quality, but a Dacian bred determination still visible in her eyes.

“Who are you, centurion, that you would help a women in need?”

“My name is Marcus, Marcus Laenas, of the fourth century of the first cohort of Dacians and Gauls.”

“Really? My son signed into their ranks, Thiacus, a Dacian of good breeding, I don't suppose you are familiar with him?”

It was then that I decided enough was enough, removing my helmet casually and, as I had many times before, slotting it into the crook of my elbow. Once that was done, I simply looked at the pair of them, seeing if they would recognise the semi-bearded centurion standing before them. It was Eunike who responded first, stepping forward and pressing a cool hand to my heated cheek, like ice to a burn.

“Thiacus...” a sharp intake of breath followed, only a moment later two arms with a clinch like iron were around my neck, “my Thiacus! You have come back, you have come back.” I felt the tears roll down her cheek, her own pressed against my face now, and knew that I was home.

**********

“Children, come and say hello to your father!”

The apartment that Eunike shared with my family and extended family was quite a fine property, well built and sturdy, not like those around it. It contained a small courtyard, two floors, a kitchen and three bedrooms and a balcony. All-in-all my wife seemed to have done well for herself.

First to appear was Arzas, my daughter, eleven years of age just like her brothers and as beautiful as I had been told. Long platinum hair rolled down her back, her eyes gazing shyly at me as she walked forward. Eventually, with a little hesitation, I knelt onto one knee and she began to stroke my face with a childish spurt of laughter as she ran it over my beard.

“Father!”

My two boys, both strapping young lads, paced towards me in a nearly identical fashion, as identical as their appearance. One was dressed in a more Roman fashion, his tunic finely decorated, while the other dressed more like a Dacian, the trousers and longer hair being a clear signal of 'otherness' to the Romani of the community. But they were both my sons.

“Bolinthos, Diuzenes! Embrace your father, come.”

We clasped one another tightly and how all of them had grown simply amazed me, I could not take my eyes off of any of them, Arzas playing with my phalerae and taking a seat on my out-bent knee. Bolinthos nodded as he looked my armour over, giving me a salute I assumed he had learnt from one of the local soldiers, while Diuzenes tried to show me a sika he had began constructing from scratch. All the while Eunike looked on with a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes, my mother nodding proudly beside her and even old Anakletos looking that much happier for my return.

“Come, children, I am tired and must rest. Tomorrow I shall give to you all my time and you may ask what you will. This I promise.”

**********

With aching joints and sore muscles I removed my armour, my helmet and its crest, my scale-mail and my greaves, my leather harness with its medals and finally my tunic.

My wives room was a simple affair, a window overlooking the courtyard and a plain bed made up well in one corner with a three chests in the other. My wife entered while I was stripping and wrapped her arms about my waist, her soon-to-be-naked body pressed tightly to my back and the slam of the door causing me to twist in her grip to face her.

“Salve,” I said with a smile on my face and she responded in kind, slipping a hand below to...well...I will not go into detail, “salve centurion, I hope you are not too tired?” Well, with what she was doing, I fail to see how any man would have been too tired. Especially when he was stood to attention.

So it came to pass that we made love all through the night, passionate and fervid, marks left on me the next day which were extremely hard to explain to my children. I am skipping ahead of myself though and, as I lay silently with my wife next to me, I found myself wondering whether I ever wanted go back to a martial life.

I was thirty-nine and would be fifty-five by the time I earn my discharge. The only way to be discharged early was to be a bloody hero and, as you do when you are a military man, I decided that that was exactly what I would do.

- M.Laenas

[Aiskhylos]

This is truly fantastic, I haven't caught up just yet- started reading today- a really absorbing style. Well done.
P.S. I like the contemporary pictures at the chapters opening
P.P.S I see your doing a Thracian AAR for Heg, will have to go and read that also

[McScottish]

This is truly fantastic, I haven't caught up just yet- started reading today- a really absorbing style. Well done.
P.S. I like the contemporary pictures at the chapters opening
P.P.S I see your doing a Thracian AAR for Heg, will have to go and read that also

My thanks to you, Demetrius, I hope neither AAR nor the chapters therein will disappoint. I enjoy writing and stretching my imagination and if the reader can't feel that a tale is worth reading, well, then what's the point?

[McScottish]

I'll get an update done by Saturday, other things currently occupying my time. Just a heads up if anyone wants to read it. Just be patient until then please.

[McScottish]

Interlude VII - Taking aboard slaves - Summer 582 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The next year, I do not have to tell you my devout reader, was one of practically pure bliss. I made love to my wife, played father to my beautiful and dedicated children, met with comrades of the fourth century for spates of inebriation at one of the local taverna and, in short, had the life I had always dreamed of having when I retired.

All this, of course, could not last and once more the life of the military called me...but I shall get to that, first let me tell you of another incident in the summer of 582 Ab Urbe Condita, on a sweltering summers day when the sun was high in the clear blue sky and sellers manned their stalls.

It was during one of my regular walks about the town, unclad in my armour and with only my military-issue gladius at my belt to show I was a soldier, that I came upon a sight that I, oddly, had not seen before in Mediolanum.

Allow me to tell you before I continue, that Romani settlements, of any size, were always better organised than anything I had ever been accustomed to. Their straight streets so different from those that I had walked, what seemed a lifetime ago by then, during my own adolescent years. A man, or woman, could walk from one side of Mediolanum to the other and back again without any fear of getting lost or, due to the security provided by a mixed force of auxiliaries, legionnaires and vigiles, being accosted by thugs or members of the local gangs. At least during the daylight hours.

Anyway...

Mediolanum had never. Truly, been a slave town, and business amongst the flesh-merchants there was commonly known to be rather slow and their produce and profits slim. As I walked the streets though, usually quite unperceptive, I could not help but notice the increase in the size of the slave-market and sellers calling out to potential patrons and owners for their rather fresh-looking stock.

It took me even longer to realise, as I saw the same form of tattoos, psychical features and clothing, that the greatest proportion of those inside the slave-pens of Mediolanum were the blood-kin of the Cisalpine Gauls, the men, women and children were previously free people of the Boii tribes and now they were in the slave-markets of Mediolanum being auctioned or sold off like so much cattle.

I will not shirk away from the truth, and will tell you that my curiosity got the better of me and, without thinking, I approached the nearest seller and his wares. At this point in my years, as old as I was at forty-one full cycles of the seasons, I had seen many, many, slaves taken away into bondage but had not once clapped eyes upon the end result of their incarceration before.

Frankly, I did not know whether to stand and gawk or to begin to weep tears for these people, these people torn from their homes by a foreign power and flung into captivity. Even as I walked along the rows of cages, called pens, not one of those inside would lift their eyes to meet my own, beaten and starved into submission and with no spark left in their pitiful states.

All, that is, except one.

He was a well-built man, even covered only in his filthy and torn rags, blue and black bruises visible on his face, arms and legs, his previously glorious moustache equally caked in grime and the blue tattoos all over his person barely perceptible to the eyes unless one squinted and looked closely. Even as I stood there, my eyes meeting his, he began to stand and make his way towards me, so opposite to those around him and, even the two Syrian guards standing on either side of the cages outside, though they did not move, looked somewhat flabbergasted. From this viewpoint I could see more of him, his physique impressive, with the muscles of a well-fed and trained warrior, as opposed to a metalworker or athlete.

Eventually he got to the bars of his enclosure, shared by one other man who looked to be already dead, and actually beckoned me over with a sharp gesture of his hand. I was too inquisitive and dumbfounded to ignore him, so instead I approached him cautiously, genuinely glad that there were bars between us, and gave a small nod to him when I was but an arms length away.

“Buy me,” he grunted through thick facial growth in thick latin, his fiery mane of hair as wild and unkempt as the rest of him, “but me, Roman, and I serve you well.”

Now, good reader, many things passed through my mind at that point; Should I buy him, should I not? Could he be trusted not to slaughter me as I slept? Was that a gleam of madness I saw in his eye? Could he be trusted at all?!

In the end I bought him, and I shall say no more on the whys and wherefores of my decision, but I dragged him home in his half-living state and he was washed by my wife and mother and his bruises were seen to by elderly, but still living Greek freeman, Anakletos.

**********

“We believed we could sally out and beat back your warriors, dressed in their gleaming scales and carrying short blades of death...we were wrong.”

So, this is how my...relationship with Catavignos of the Boii began.

After we had washed, fed and dressed him, we sat him in the courtyard of our home, well away from any sharp objects and the entrance guarded by two of my comrades from the slowly replenished fourth century. It took a while to get anything out of him but, knowing he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, he told my gathered family and I the events of his capture and news I would not have heard from anyone else.

How Numerius had starved he and his people inside the hill-fort of Carrodunum, until there was no choice but for he and the remaining warriors to attempt a break-out...which failed. Sixty of his tribe were taken prisoner, thirty warriors and thirty civilians, dragged away and now he was here.

It also transpired that, until his enslavement, he had briefly been Boitrix, most other members of the chiefly line of the Boii killed by my comrades and I throughout our campaign against them.

He also informed me of how a mainly Thracian auxiliary cohort had repulsed a relief force to Carnuntum and how, though he did not know for certain, his capital city was likely lost along with his people.

Sufficed to say that I excepted him into my household, excepted his oaths as a Kelt and a warrior that he would not harm us, even if the circumstances presented themselves, and that I never trusted him for a single moment.

I had been a 'barbarian' myself, once, and I knew their mind-frame too well to have any thoughts of friendly relations with this man. At least at the time.

- M.Laenas

[Aiskhylos]

Very good, I have caught up now

[DarthLazy]

Weird how you manage to keep my interest without any picture . Since I only read books on history and nothing fictional, that's a pretty big achievement

[McScottish]

Weird how you manage to keep my interest without any picture . Since I only read books on history and nothing fictional, that's a pretty big achievement

And I count it as such!

Perhaps because I try to make things as close to history as possible? Honestly, I don't know though, just glad you do like it.

@One and all: I realise this AAR is going a tad slow and that's my fault, been caught up with Thracians recently, but I shall try to get more updates and more regularly. Our forty-one year old hero still has a long way to go, still got fourteen years left in service to the Republic and a century to lead.

Only one question...where to go next?

[DarthLazy]

ParthiaGaul

[McScottish]

ParthiaGaul

More Barbarians, ey?

Well...I would need to go through the Pontics and Armenians to get to Parthia, so the Gauls are an obvious choice really. Maybe somewhere a little bit hotter...I dunno...we shall see.