View Poll Results: Vote for your favorite entry.

Voters
18. You may not vote on this poll
    The results in this poll are hidden.
  • Entry 1

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 2

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 3

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 4

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 5

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 6

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 7

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 8

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 9

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 10

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 11

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 12

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 13

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 14

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 15

    The results are hidden 0%
  • Entry 16

    The results are hidden 0%
Results 1 to 11 of 11

Thread: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

  1. #1
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    Here are the submissions for the Themed category. Please vote for your favorite one.

    Also, please bear in mind that anonymity is still required here. Authors of any works below may not declare what submission may be theirs, or in any other way ruin the anonymity of theirs or another member's submission. Those found to be doing so here or anywhere else will be rightly and sneakily punished. The thread is for discussion of the articles at hand and voting, NOTHING ELSE.



    Brutus of Albion - Entry #1
    Brutus of Albion My sons, listen to me. I am dying. I may leave you my lands, my wealth, my isle but until now, I have never been able to leave you my legacy. You have often asked me of my beginnings, why old men speak of a land lost to us. Now, I will tell you. I was not always a king. I was not always honourable. I was not even born on this land but from afar in a grand city. The city stands atop a majestic hill, overlooking six others. Beneath it runs a fertile river, nurturing the surrounding land. That is the city I came from. That is Rome.

    Crack. I pause, waiting for the deer to move. Glancing down to the twig I’ve just split, I let myself slip a quiet sigh. It seems to be relatively unobservant – especially for this time of day. Most mornings, any deer would have bolted. This one seems to be content with focusing on its meal. It doesn’t realise that is exactly what it is about to become. The faint sun casts a dappled light between the branches, enough for my imminent surroundings to be clear.
    But not my father. He is a true hunter. He can conceal himself in any environment but he notices everything else. If the harvest is bad, other families starve but we always have food. And now he is showing me how he does it. His expert shots have always been supplement enough for me but he thinks my own are a rare talent. Only last week I managed to hit a target from 50 paces.
    Let’s see I well I fare with this shot. If done well, it will be my first proper kill. I grip my bow. Raising it, I select an arrow from my quiver. It is fletched with feathers of a goose and has a strong iron tip. I think back to my father’s guidance, “Concentrate. Focus on your target and completely blind yourself to the outside world.” Silently, I bring the arrow up to my eye line; then slowly draw the bowstring. Aiming it just below the hind’s eye, I steel myself as a sudden rush of adrenalin reaches me hands. My father is here somewhere, possibly looking straight at me. On that final thought, my fingers snap and the arrow flies. A second, maybe two it takes for it to reach the deer. Time slows as it races past the creature’s ear. There is no blood, no collapsing animal; just a deer racing away from the stench of my failure.
    And a thud.
    Then a scream.
    Then silence.
    That’s when I saw him. My father, lying helplessly, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, was still. Half covered by a bush behind where the deer had stood. I had killed my world and future. Ended by an unsuccessful first hunting trip. My mind raced. Should I return to my home? I couldn’t tell the authorities what I’d done. Murder results in death, we Romans know that all too well. And if it was a hunting accident I wouldn’t fare much better as not yet being sixteen, I’m not allowed to hunt. Most of what my father owns – owned – would be confiscated by fines and my mother would be left with nothing. My mother! I could not lie to her. Leaving is my remaining choice. I could flee to the neighbouring Etruscans but they are the enemies. How can I fight my own people? The only way I can go is to the new port, Ostia. I can find work on a ship and leave for somewhere like Carthage, Massilia or Syracuse.

    So I left to Ostia. It was but a small town though it was growing fast and with the city of Rome becoming powerful, it was a hive of merchants and sailors. I found acted as a marine on board a galley laden with wine heading for Greece. I was supposedly a marine, to guard the goods but realistically I was merely a passenger. The journey was mainly uneventful but I learnt a bit about sailing there. I would need to for my future. Upon reaching Greece, I became a mercenary and joined a group of archers from Crete. They recognised my skills but discovered I was also adept with a sword. We largely fought brigands and outlaws though once, we were called upon to stem a riot in one of the cities. There we joined forces with Phoenician pirates who were trying to free a group of Trojan slaves and were glad of our help.
    After releasing them, we all set sail, knowing we could no longer remain in Greece. We became a force to be feared and set up many hidden forts in islands in the Mediterranean. We were involved in skirmishes with people as far off as the Nile. A force grew and over the years we became powerful. I married your mother who was sister to the descendant of the Trojan king before it was razed. When her brother was killed, it left three in charge. The captain of the Phoenicians, Monesil; the new Trojan leader, Corineus… and me, Brutus. Corineus was younger brother to the previous leader and we both wanted a land to settle down in.
    We left Monesil and his Phoenician raiders to their riches taking many vessels and many people from across the known world. Our first idea was to forge a new kingdom in Gaul. Landing slightly north of Aquitainia, we saw the land was fertile and prosperous. We set up many towns but we also faced fierce opposition. Corineus and I we led many attacks against the local tribes. Another tribe, the Venetii, were also helpful, they gave us guides and local knowledge however we were too few. Turonus, son of Corineus died at a skirmish on the River Liga. I saw him fall after he killed many of the foe.

    A solid wall of battle-hardened warriors faced us. I withdrew an arrow from my quiver. It was routine. Nothing like the deer. I hit my target every time now. This time, a bear of a man was my aim. Boasting thick skin and thicker muscles, he had to be brought down now. He stood before his line, as I did mine – and I shot. It took him between his eyes and a look of shock came over his scarred face as he sank to his knees. His axe fell beside him and everything went silent apart from the slow river between us.
    Then they charged.
    Like a lions, they came at us hewing and tearing. Fuelled with revenge and the faith they could kill us all, they fought. But we fought back. No last chance, it was death or glory. From beside of us over a hundred mailed warriors armed to the teeth with spears, swords and shields surged towards us. But it was Corineus. He and his men encircled the enemy and after a short chaos of anger, they surrendered. On one condition. The nephew of the man I’d killed wished to face my nephew. Turonus. It was a fight to the death.
    He had joined with his father and together, they had cleaved their way through the Celtic ranks. But his opposite was equally strong and had much experience compared to him. They faced one another, each sizing up his opponent. Then they fought. Iron clashed like thunder each time their swords met. It was equal. Neither could inch themselves ahead of the other but neither made a single mistake as they raged. For an hour they fought, and still nothing. Then Turonus fell. He rolled towards the river but the Gaul was quicker. He stabbed his leg, pinning him to the soft mud, stained with the previous bloodshed. The young Greek cried in pain and Corineus threw his knife at the champion. Both warriors lay, fallen on the riverbank. The Gallic survivors, rightfully cheated, surged forward and hacked Turonus apart while we launched one final attempt to save his body.
    It was not enough.
    The enemy lay dead, but so did my nephew.

    We set the young hero a shrine there. We couldn’t stay in the area, there were too few of us. However, the Venetii led us out. The chief of the Pictones, our foe, let us cease the bloodshed and even gave us the chance to settle where we buried Turonus. A few did, mainly Venetii and most of the other Gauls we spent company with and they named the city Turones, in his honour. The majority of us left were now Trojans as we set off for our new home. The Venetii taught us of a place they knew, called Albion. It was an island that we could claim but it was owned by giants. Veterans of many Mediterranean ‘monsters’, we took up this challenge along with a number of Gallic allies looking for glory.
    We land on a beach overlooked by huge pure cliffs. They were perfectly white. After leaving our boats, we set off inland in hopes of greeting a friendly tribe. We couldn’t have been more wrong. The locals were a tribe though not friendly, and quite frankly – giant. They weren’t massive beasts, with one eye or three arms but more like the berserker I shot at the Liga. Wearing only blue patterns from a plant they call ‘woad’ they were truly menacing. Atop each oaken frame, they sported flame red hair which flowed like blood down their backs. We arrived during a festival or some other spiritual ceremony. They were sacrificing babies in a huge wicker frame of a man. And that is all I wish to tell you of those memories.
    Three years of fighting left us in control of most of Albion. They were reduced to living in the northernmost lands they call Caledon. The last giant in this part of Albion was Gogmagog. He was High-King of Albion and was the most powerful man here. After we killed his clan in battle, Corineus challenged him to a wrestling match. He had become distant since his son died and I don’t think he cared for his own life any more.

    They squared up to each other, staring deep into the soul of their enemy. The giant lunged first and hoping to easily bring down the weaker man. However, the Trojan was lightning fast, and I could barely keep focused on him as he flew round the giants back. He caught him first, wrenching his head sideways but the giant merely growled. He used the momentum to swing his head and stared into his assailant before reaching back for him. Corineus ducked and landed a square blow on the back off the giant’s head before leaping off. The giant charged yet again, this time anticipating the evasion and smacked the Trojan squarely in the jaw. He went down rolling fast towards a cliff edge but stopped just in time. The giant stood over his helpless foe, my helpless friend just as the Gaul had his son. He bared his teeth in a wicked grin before reaching to lift his broken prize high in the air. But his broken prize blurred and had him. The giant shot upwards, startled at the smaller man’s strength before leaning forwards. He toppled over before hurtling over the cliff top and down towards the ground below.
    Corineus had won.

    We had complete control of this isle thanks to Corineus and I offered him authority over it. However, I think he still thought of his son and chose a secluded territory in the south. We named it Cernow after him but he has since died without heir. As thanks to the Venetii who have honoured us over the years, I have given rule to one of their tribesmen who helped Corineus greatly after the passing of his son. As you know, he is called Dumnix. The majority of the people there are Gauls who crossed with him – the Dumnonii: followers of Dumnix. Now it is left that I must divide the land between the three of you. You will each rule a portion of this land under guidance of two of my must trusted advisors.
    Kamber, as my youngest son, I leave you western Brutannia. Corineus built a city there and called Corinum. Go with Silura. He was an exiled Iberian prince before he joined me and is close friends with Atrabatos, a Trojan survivor.
    Albanactus, you will inherit Alba. The Caledon region is still occupied by the giants but they are no longer a threat. Take Veniconis and Epidises. The northernmost of your land is nearly inhospitable so you can force the giants there. Your court will rule from Luguvalion.
    Locrinus, you are my eldest son so to you I bequeath southern Brutannia. Your capital shall be here, Trinovantum – New Troy. You shall rule with Catuvellon and Isensis. You will also claim the central region upon the death of your mother, Brigantia.

    Leave to your future realms, and prepare for my passing for I will die soon. That is the story of Brutus, son of Silvius and High-King of Brutannia. I sincerely hope my land prospers long after I’m gone. But make sure you tell your sons, and their sons of a far off city called Rome. After all, it was their home.


    2 Years of Hell - Entry #2
    2 Years of Hell
    2 Years of Hell
    He wasn't a soldier. He was but a common man made into a soldier. Yoroah had been a baker before hell itself was unleashed upon his home city.
    For 2 years things had been at a constant standstill, with arrows and catapults taking his friends and his relatives. His 2 year old son died early in the war due to malnutrition. His wife was killed when a catapult had crushed her and their house. The list goes on and on, now all that was left was him and his 9 year old son Shafat. He was all that was left but Yoroah knew he couldn't afford to trust in his survival. Survival was a luxury here. Over the two years him and his son had grown distant after this. Shafat had taken to befriending the professional soldiers of the Carthaginian defense and began to pretend he was one too, widening the gap between him and his father.
    Though none of that mattered now. Word had gotten around that the Romans were preparing for a final assault, bringing in fresh soldiers and the new first consul of Rome, Scipio Aemilianus.
    To prepare Yoroah and his fellow Carthaginians began to bring out the mass amount of weapons, armor, and catapults that they had made constantly for the last two years. It was going to be bloody.
    The Carthaginian leader, Hasdrubal, also ordered for the patrols on The Wall to be increased as well. After two years of fighting, Hasdrubal was no longer considered the sole authority, everyone had fought together and died together, warranting an equal share in authority, so things had grown a bit laxer in the area of command. This order was a sensible one, however, and the patrols were increased to 3 times there size beforehand.
    Yoroah himself was chosen for patrol duty, and that caused severe anxiety for him. The Wall, as it came to be called, was Cartage's first line of defense, and the most lives were lost on it. So Yoroah needed to be careful.
    He grabbed his spear, he never took his armor off in case of a raid, and joined the line of men and women heading towards the wall. And what he saw, was horrifying yet mesmerizing. Across the beach where the Romans had their siege engines were thousands of Roman ships waiting to land and deposit their soldiers.
    "Get down, you idiot!" said a man next to him as an arrow flew over Yoroah's head.
    "Oh, thank you."
    "Eh, whatever, wouldn't want another corpse, I need a man who can watch my back."
    "Sure, I guess I can do that. For me to protect a man, I should at least know his name, though."
    "Abdosir's my name and please don't wear it out, what's yours?"
    "Yoroah." Yoroah asked then to district himself from the impending invasion. "What's your story?"
    Abdosir then launched until a tale encompassing his two years in Carthage. Apparently before the war he was a blacksmith, and he made quite a bit of money until the port was blockaded by the Romans. After which he began making weapons for the city's defense. He had also lost his wife and his 16 year old son in the siege.
    Yoroah then began to tell his story, as the two men sat with their backs to the rampart, protected from any incoming arrow fire. They soon became good freinds, their laughter filled the ramparts. The other nervous soldiers sometimes looked at them like they were mad, but neither Yoroah or Abdosir cared. That is, until all other talking on the ramparts faded away along with Yoroah's and Abdosir's. General Hasdrubal, was calmly walking along the ramparts examining the men and the Romans.
    "Men, today we make the final stand! We will beat back the Roman invaders and reclaim the city as ours! All that have died before this was not in vain, we will make their sacrifices count! Fight your hardest and the day shall be OURS!" He said.
    "Hear, Hear!"The men yelled their loudest, scaring the Romans below.
    Just then, the Romans began to unload their fresh troops, among them a large amount of cavalry, but mostly Roman infantry.
    The Romans let out a cheer as the thousands of their fellow Romans poured out of the ship.
    It was time for the final push.
    The Romans began to move their siege engines into place as well as their huge battering ram towards Carthage's gate.
    Through the slits in the wood, Yoroah could see the scared Roman's faces as the siege engine got closer and closer to the wall.
    Hefting his spear he nodded towards Abdosir, as if giving a final goodbye. Then all hell broke loose.
    The Romans charged on to the walls, killing the untrained Carthaginians left and right.
    Yoroah charged in with his spear as he stabbed a Roman right in the gut, the blood spurting onto his tunic.
    "For my wife!" He yelled as he killed another one.
    "For my son!" He yelled louder as he killed a third.
    "FOR CARTHAGE!"He shouted above the din as he killed a fourth.
    He took blow after blow as he slayed one Roman after another, not feeling much of anything, until the Carthaginians were forced to retreat leaving a wall of dead behind them.
    They slowly moved backwards, up the hill towards the Carthaginian capital building. As the men fell around them Yoroah and Abdosir kept the Romans at bay with their long spears, until Abdosir's spear shaft was severed from the point by a Roman sword. He quickly pulled out his sword and was forced to charge into the mass of Romans.
    "Keep moving Yoroah! DEATH TO ROME!" He yelled as he was stabbed in the shoulder, not noticing, he killed the Roman who had done so, until he was disarmed by another Roman and put on his knees. The Roman then quickly decapitated him, and the last thing Yoroah saw was Abdosir's eyes staring into the sky. Abdosir was dead.
    "NOOOOOO!"Yoroah yelled until his throat was raw, but he knew he had to keep moving or he would join Abdosir.


    Once they reached the capital building they were completely surrounded. And that's when Yoroah saw him, his son was with a group of other soldiers keeping the Romans at bay. Yoroah ran towards him and quickly helped the soldiers fight off the Romans.
    "Son, I'm glad your still alive." He said as he hugged his son.
    "Hello father, I'm glad your alive too. Now lets help beat these Romans back." Said Shafat, a nine year old boy, covered with scrapes and bruises, who had experienced war at it's brutalist.
    "Right."Yoroah said as they joined the mass of soldiers who were heading inside the temple. The Carthaginians were soon trapped inside with no way out. This was how they would die.
    "WAIT! I am willing to negotiate a surrender." Hasdrubal said over the din.
    That's when they saw him. Scipio clad in the full armor of the Romans began. "You know that that is not possible for you Hasdrubal. If you surrender yourself, I will spare the lives of the rest of the Carthaginians, and they will be sold as slaves back in Rome. Make your decision for there will be no second chances."
    With that Hasdrubal looked at the men around him and said quietly."I accept your terms."
    The Carthage defenders dropped their weapons and the Romans began tying them up.
    That is when a scream was heard outside.
    "No! You have forsaken Carthage, you filthy traitor!" Said a women holding two young babies. It was Hasdrubal's wife and children just outside there home right near the capital building. Behind her and the babies were 10 odd people in Roman clothing. Roman deserters. These people had apparently been hiding in the house.
    "I will not be sold as a slave, and neither will our children!" She then knocked over a lit lantern next to her setting the house on fire. The blaze went up quickly and the people walked serenely straight into the fire, dying instantly.
    As the house burned slowly to the ground, the Romans and Carthaginians alike looked at it until a strange noise was heard in the silent room.
    Scipio was crying.



    The Emperor and the Centurion - Entry #3
    The Emperor and the Centurion
    Blood dripped down the cobbled road in rivulets, dark and glistening in the amber kiss of the streetlights. The Centurion punched again and drove his fist deep into the gut of the man lying prone on the ground, his Imperial mantle fluttering with the breeze of the Centurion's punch. A tooth was spat out in a manner befitting of an Emperor.



    "Et tu, Brute?" a hairy hand grabbed the greasy forearmed attached to the fist which was latched into the purple folds of his toga.


    "What's a simple guard to the likes of you, anyway?" growled The Centurion and moved to headbutt the Emperor. Such an act of insolence! But the Emperor simply rolled away from it and grabbed the hair of The Centurion, trying to push him into the cobbles himself. The Centurion roared in anger and stood, squaring his sizeable bulk, his gut settling into the chiselled abdominal muscles of his armour like jelly settling into a mould. The Emperor rolled away and levered himself up slightly further away, scowling and keeping his eyes of The Centurion's fists.


    "A simple guard has always been my friend?" the conciliatory tone was met only with a derisory snort


    The Centurion hoiked a gobbet of phlegm to swirl with the blood on Rome's cobbles "Yeah, the friend of an Emperor? Simply your subject, ridden roughshod as your ride everyone you can!"


    "I am sorry to have hurt you." the Emperor had controlled his temper, as his status would demand and did demand so offer, and his handsomely chiselled visage was bent down in a meek pose which still kept the Centurion fully in view. Which was handy, because it meant he could deflect the next blow.


    And the next, too. "Don't you play high with me. We grew up together, rough and tumble all over this city. We were equal and we fought and we ran and we chased and then we went our separate days and it was all you you you and now look at you. Coming to see me and acting like you don't know what you've done."


    "I..."


    "Shut it. Can barely pay to keep our mum in bread any more, because you and your bastard policies. Not a thought for the rest of us, is there, with your big ideas about commercialism and the market?" his fists were clenched white tight, sweat dripped down his face like a Rubicon. "None. You don't care. You couldn't give a flying monkey's givings about us. Or about anyone other than you and your friends in high damn places."


    "Look, I..."


    The Centurion nearly bit through the flesh of his mouth in anger. "Do not play the fool with me. You are the cleverest man I know and you think that means you rule the world."


    "Giorg..." he missed this punch and didn't even roll with it.


    "Don't call me that, Emperor. Don't talk down to me like you do everyone else. Just leave me alone. You lead your life and I'll live mine."


    The Emperor stood alone in the cobbled street of the Eternal City and watched as the Centurion hit his helmet to clank down the visor and strode off, his gait belying any wounds he may have received. Once he was sure the brute had gone, the Emperor spat at the ground again and hit his pocket for water. He took out the crunkled plastic bottle and gladly poured it down his arid throat. Refusing to let himself think of his erstwhile friend, he turned around to the streetlamp and bathed in its sodium gaze as he mounted his scooter and fumbled the ignition. He swore in Italian, which is a good language to swear in.


    With a grudging whine, the scooter kicked into action and the Emperor surfed the streets of Rome. Past the Coliseum, past the Basilica, past every iconic icon of the city. It was a needlessly circuitous route, but his were a romantic people and his soul a romantic one. Shame about Giorgio. He swerved to avoid some Americans and hurled a deluge of beautiful abuse at them. Shame about the guy. Childhood friends, they'd both gone into the dressing-up-as-icons-of-Rome-and-getting-money-off-tourists-for-photo-opps trade as innocent youngster. They'd grown fat and old and maybe the Emperor had grown too ambitious. Too ambitious for fat Giorgio, anyway, who mainly concerned himself with eating and drinking. Pfui! What did it matter?


    Life was so ridiculous. He had had an argument with a man who resented him working for a company of men-who-dress-up-for-photo-men, rather than being a freelance man-who-dresses-up-for-money. Lost a tooth for it. And now he was riding a scooter home and brooding on it like a lovesick teenager. The Emperor threw his head back and laughed as he coursed through the city.


    The night settled like a fume-ridden blanket over Rome, city of a thousand whispering dreams, hundreds of thousands of Vespas and even more stories untold.


    Caesar Rap - Entry #4
    Caesar Rap
    Caesar Rap

    Now here's the story 'bout the man we follow, all us Legions today and tomorrow,
    Born to Aurelia and Julius too, he was destined for greatness was our young hero,
    Daddy died at the tender age of Sixteen, no time for playing games only time to scheme,
    Yo Julius, now you da man, time to grow up and get a plan.

    Uncle Marius had himself a war, fought with Sulla – such a bore!
    Marius and his mate Cinna, beat back Sulla and thought themselves the winner,
    Times were good as was life, Julius was happy, got himself a wife,
    Bad news for Julius tho', Uncle Marius lost, and Sulla took Julius’s money as part of the cost.

    Did what we did my friends, and just as sharply, got himself along and joined the Army!
    Hey Ho my lads and what a fine sight, all glammed up he was, a picture of might,
    Got himself a crown of oak leaves, pursuing villains and hanging thieves,
    Lived it up in Bithynia 'til Sulla died the old rogue, once more in Rome Julius was in vogue.

    Played some politics, learnt the game, say what you will boys, it got him fame,
    Made himself some lucre and lost his wife, not to worry lads, no more trouble and strife!
    Got himself some friends, Pompey and Crassus, the better to inflame the masses,
    What a fine fellow our Julius had become, loved from the palaces to down in the slum.

    Went to Hispania and saw a Greek, realised his ambitions had been far too meek,
    Politics is grand but will drive you barmy, let's face it men, he needed the army,
    Got himself four Legions and took himself North, showed some Gauls a Romans true worth,
    Did a grand job and sent them packing, now just needed to do some sacking.

    Julius took his Legions and went to Gaul, got to winning and had themselves a ball,
    Along came some Germans spoiling for a fight, and gave the Gauls a right good fright,
    Never one to shy away, Julius said follow them and the Legions they were into the fray,
    Germans got smart and crossed the Rhine, burnt their boats, to be safe was their design.

    Can't be dissing old Julius that way, he got to making a bridge to the Germans dismay,
    Took himself across and gave them a good hiding, teach them manners, their anger subsiding,
    Not to be fooled a second time again, burnt his bridge 'til not a post did remain,
    Germans were defeated and stayed over their river, mention of Julius had them all a-quiver.

    Gaul and Germania all peaceful and quiet, Caesar needed a new place to have riot,
    Heard of an island all verdant and green, decided to build a fleet to see what could be seen,
    Sailed to Britain with their men all coloured blue, he killed them, what else could you do?
    But those Gaul's back South decided to rebel, back he came and showed them good Roman metal.

    Back in Rome his mates did the dirty, carried on in secret and Pompey made himself boss, absurdly,
    Julius was having none of this carry on, got together some men and crossed the Rubicon,
    Started a war with Pompey and his senate, such treachery could not be allowed to perpetuate,
    Gathering his men he roused them all with interest, let’s go said Julius, Alea iacta est!

    Pompey ran all the way to Hispania, chased by the Julius and his Legions forged in Brittania,
    March and march and march some more, fast he drove us, boys, we were footsore!
    Up the mountains and down the valleys, across the plains, no time to dillydally,
    Tried running to get away, but find them we did and Pompey’s men we did slay.

    Hispania to Greece, back we came, to battle with Pompey again and again,
    Getting out of Dyrrachium by the skin of our teeth, on we fought, no let up, no relief,
    Got cocky did old Pompey, gave us a beating before and thought he’d won the day,
    Julius knew it could be disastrous, so led us to victory, beating Pompey at Pharsalus.

    Sailing across Mare Nostrum, chasing Pompey to Egypt we followed our drum,
    But those Gytptians chopped off his head, right there on the beach, Pompey was dead,
    Saw a cutie called Cleo and Julius was smitten, swayed by her beauty, she was a vixen,
    Beat up their armies and set sail for home, we'd been gone a while, time to see Rome.

    Now we are back and in her bosom, Rome bestows honours and riches her generosity fulsome,
    Old Julius he is the man, sorted out the polticos, got made dictator and that was his plan,
    Made a new calendar and minted some coin, no more Republic, it's the Empire we join!
    Now I come to end of my tale the fourteenth of March, on the morrow, to Parthia we depart.

  2. #2
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    The Gold of Tolosa - Entry #5
    The Gold of Tolosa

    Decimus sat up straight on his horse and looked over the column that was forming up for the days march in the early predawn light. He commanded a five hundred man cohort on a very special mission: Guarding the 15,000 talents of gold in four hundred mule drawn wagons bound for Narbo. It wasn’t a very long journey, but it was slow due to the weight of all that gold and the steady speed of the mules, even if they were faster than oxen. The column of legionaries and wagons would be starting the sixth day of marching, roughly half way to the small port town.
    Decimus led the forward half of the cohort at the front of the column, the other half brought up the rear, two miles back behind all the wagons. Yesterday the company had passed by the outpost of Carasco high on its rocky hill. But now they were heading downward to Narbo and the going would be easier. The whole group, anxious to get there, was feeling better because this day promised to be extremely good for traveling, sunny but not overly hot, as days in late Sextillus typically were.
    The column had been going forward for three quarters of an hour and the sun rising up in the east was in their faces. So when the thousand raiders came charging from straight ahead, it was quite a surprise, as this was also a generally peaceful part of southern Gaul. Decimus, shocked at this attack, turned to his second in command, the only other mounted man among the front guard, to have him ride back to warn the rear legionaries, but he was already being pulled off his mount. What had just happened, Decimus thought? How had the joy of the last month vaporized so quickly?


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

    The army of the Consul Quintus Servilius Caepio, all six legions of it, was camped outside the Gallic town of Tolosa. They had traveled up the Via Domitia to get to here, the main village of the Volcae Tectosages, a neutral tribe of Gauls. The army had been following a large force of Germans, which was most likely encamped near Burdigalia, further northeast. But Servilius Caepio had no intention of losing his army by falling into a similar trap that had destroyed last year’s consular army in the same area. So he waited to see if they would come here on ground of his choosing. Personally, Servilius Caepio did not care if they ever came, for while he would certainly enjoy the fame it would bring him, he was not much of a military man.
    A more important reason for staying in Tolosa however was the myth of a vast hoard of treasure stored here by the Gauls and protected by the Volcae. Apparently it was all the wealth they had collected along their migration into Greece, the plunder of the temples there and elsewhere. Somehow the multitude of tribes had split up after that and the Volcae were entrusted to guard the gold here in Tolosa.
    And now Quintus Servilius Caepio was here in the village and he could smell the treasure in the air. If he could just discover and unearth it he would become instantly famous in Rome. But there was no semblance of any treasure of any kind here! A few small statues stood in the temples here, and a gold torc and some minor silver artifacts were found in the chief’s residence, but nothing that the myth promised. He ordered his legionaries to search for it; they dug under temples, in random locations around the town, high in the hills behind the town, everywhere they thought. But still no gold could be found. Where could it be?

    And so it happened that one sunny afternoon a few legionaries were swimming in one of the nearby lakes during a day off. While they dived and swam and splashed around some of them noticed the bottom of the lake was giving off a golden glittering reflection and so they investigated it further. Caepio was soon informed of the discovery of the hidden gold at the bottom of the lakes and he called his core of engineers together and ordered them to begin draining them at once. Ten thousand talents of silver and fifteen thousand of gold were found horded in the lakes. Soon after, Caepio talked to Decimus about the transportation of the gold and silver. They decided to move the silver first then return with the wagons for the gold. Decimus thought it was an extreme honor to be asked to lead the cohort who escorted the
    wagon train down to the coast. But that was three weeks ago...

    *****************************
    Decimus hacked downward from his horse into an oncoming marauder's helm, and then kicked the dying man away as he yanked his sword back into striking position again. Things were not looking very good, as they were outnumbered and half his men were miles away. Already his force was down to less than 20 legionaries. Suddenly his horse reared up and a long spear immediately went into its underside as someone must have been waiting for that. Decimus tumbled away, landing hard but coming up on his sturdy leather soled sandals. He did not have his shield, so he pulled out his dagger for his off hand. A man roared and charged at him, but a quick parry to deflect the man's blade and a short stab ended that threat. Another raider quickly took his place, a large hide covered round shield and the short gladius sword as his gear. Their swords met with the ringing sounds of steel on steel. Decimus stepped back and struck with his dagger first only to be blocked by the round shield. Another step back put him in a crouching position from which he could move quickly in any direction. The raider moved forward and their swords crossed again. This time his enemy took a step back, however, he lunged forward with his shield trying to stun Decimus. But Decimus, an experienced legionary, had been expecting this and used the raider's momentum to roll off the shield and to the side of his opponent. Now Decimus had a clear path to strike, and his own sword stabbed forward into the upper thigh. The man howled in pain as the sword slid out, ready to strike again. But a killing stroke did not come. Shock at the recognition of the raider's face, illuminated now as the sun was higher, showed a man from another legion from Caepio's army. Decimus nearly dropped his sword. He looked around his at the dead and dying men, at the individual duels still being fought, and all of the raiders were Roman! They were not dressed as legionaries, but he now saw many familiar faces. A single thought came to Decimus now as he stood motionless... Caepio. Only the consul could have prepared this. That greedy old patrician. Damn him! But Decimus would have no chance to call Caepio out. For as he stood there watching his men, his own cohort become destroyed, a sharp pain pierced his body from behind. He dropped to his knees, his right hand instinctively going to the wound. When he brought it forward, the thick red blood confirmed that he would soon be dead. “What a fool I am” was his last thought, as his life force left him there, dying in a pool of his own blood.


    Choosing Sorrow - Entry #6
    Choosing Sorrow
    Choosing Sorrow

    The Roman commander was defiantly looking at his foes while trying to maintain at least some cohesion amidst the bloodbath.

    _”This one will be hard to break,” a chieftain remarked. “He repelled wave after wave of our warriors. If he’s not eliminated quite soon, he might start to get annoying.”
    _”You should have gotten rid of him before leaving,” another added.
    _”I know,” Arminius replied.

    All the same, they all knew that this was the last stand of a shattered army that had been crippled by three days of a ferocious fight.
    Three days, ten days, twenty days? He wondered how long it would take before Octavian would know about Varus’s crushing defeat. It took him several months to reach Rome when they brought him there as a hostage, at the age of ten. But back then, it was not a priority to get him to Rome as fast as possible. Would Octavian believe it? Would Rome believe it?

    Upon his arrival in Rome, he could not speak a word of Latin. But he was brilliant at picking up this odd language and within a few months, he had a native-like accent. It did not take him long either to get used to the way of life of the “urbs”. Roman history, the Iliad and the Odyssey soon became as familiar to him as the Old Norse mythology. At the same time, he started developing a strong feeling of affection for the city and lifelong friendships came into being. More often than not, he would hang out with Titus Cornelius, and when he was not, it was because, although he was a trusted ally by now, he had still some obligations as a hostage. Titus and he had known each other forever. They had been raised together and shared a common vision of Rome’s civilizing mission.

    Then, they had been sent to Germania and they saw what being civilized actually meant for the like of Arminius. And humiliation was more appropriate to describe the state in which Arminius’s people was held than any other word. For Titus, it was just a matter of time before the benefits of civilization appeared to the unlearned barbarians. For Arminius, on the other hand, it was a dramatic realisation. The realisation that Rome’s ideals were not put into practice in its far-flung provinces, that corruption and greed were ruling his land. And for him, that was far too much too bear.

    Gaining Varus’s trust was not too hard. Uniting the barbaric tribes under his command was easily done. Ordering the massacre of three Roman legions in the depths of the Teutoburg forest was a no-brainer. Leading the charge had been his dearest will since he had arrived in Germania.
    And now, all that remained was this last Roman commander, fighting his gut out to stay alive. His brother. His friend. Titus Cornelius.
    They outnumbered them ten to one, and even if he had wanted to, he knew that his men would never allow him to spare his life. So, he did the only thing that he could do: he ordered the attack and personally led the charge, hoping to offer a glorious death to the last of his enemies still fighting. And he did…

    _”Why are you crying? Today, we have defeated the mightiest army on earth. Today, we broke them into pieces. Today, we smashed them, chased them and destroyed them to the last man. Today, we are glorious warriors and the gods must be proudly watching over us. Today, we are free men. “
    _” Yes, today, we killed Rome. We killed its ambition. We lost hundreds of brave men and killed a whole lot more. And yet, today, I killed my best friend.”
    Precisely at that moment, did Arminius spot Varus’s corpse in the chaotic remains of the battlefield. Walking towards it, a faint smile appeared on his face as he uttered:
    _”Woe to the vanquished.”

    And so did I behead Varus. Octavian will know. And I will not be the only one to have lost a friend. I am glad that we were the victors today. So that I can grieve for my friends. And give them a decent last place to rest.

    Liberty is what we gained from this bloody mess. We had better make use of it as best as we can. Before Rome retaliates as it definitely will.
    Was it worth it in the end if all it brings us is more destruction, tears and blood? Yes, it was. Because, it will be the sufferings of a free people that willingly chose its destiny and which is ready to accept the consequences. It is what you would hope for a friend. It is what I did to my friend. And it was the right thing to do.


    Scipio: The Bane of Carthage - Entry #7
    Scipio: The Bane of Carthage

    Scipio: The Bane of Carthage



    Scipio crouched down, and swiped his hand across the rough grains of dirt, on the flat plains of Zama. He gathered a handful of the grains, and opened his hand. The grains fell, carried a short distance by the gusting wind. It was an unusually cool breeze under the beating African sun.

    Scipio's assault on Carthage's grain supply, from further into the African interior had succeeded. His intentions to draw Hannibal away from Carthage, and Hadrumetum, had worked. Hannibal marched out to meet him, at his chosen site. Scipio was keen to defeat him. With Carthage's armies depleted after a long, drawn out war, and their foolish mistake to breach their recent treaty with Rome, this is what the war had come down to.

    "Macer. Report on Hannibal's strength?" Scipio said, still crouched down, looking over the vast plain before him. He could not quite see as far as Hannibal's camp, but knew the man had brought his armies forth, across the massive flatland.

    "Fifty thousand infantry. Five, or six thousand cavalry..." Macer's voice tapered off eerily, as if he had something else to say.

    Scipio swiveled his head around, and looked at his adjutant, "And?"

    Macer cleared his throat, either parched from the beating African heat, or a loss for words, as the news he had to divulge was not good. He struggled to get the words out. Scipio noticed his hesitation.

    "What of his special units, Macer?"

    "A century..." Macer struggled to get the words forward. The man was clearly distraught, by his failure to conjure the words, and put them forth to the edge of his tongue, "elephants. War elephants."

    Scipio nodded his head. He knew full well the devastation that elephants have caused the Roman ranks in the past. They were a devastatingly destructive unit, and they terrified the cavalry, and even more so, the men. He knew he had to figure out some type of maneuver to overcome the odds he faced. Unless Masinissa, the King of Numidia, and his ally, came soon, he might not be able to defeat Hannibal, with an underwhelmed force, on his enemy's doorsteps. This battle would make or break the war, for either side, he knew full well.

    "There's something else, General."

    Scipio just looked at him, and rose his eyebrows, to signal the man to speak.

    "The Carthaginian General, Hannibal. He wants to meet with you."

    Scipio took a deep breath, he looked away from Macer. He looked back over the plains, and stood upright, from the crouched position he was maintaining. He looked deep over, to his foe's camp, in the distance.

    "So be it. Send word to the Carthaginian camp. I will meet their commander." Scipio looked up, the sun was setting as of that point. Still as beating hot as it had been at midday. "Macer," he garnered his adjutant's unwavering attention, "Dismissed. It's getting late. Convene my council, we prepare tonight."

    LATER THAT EVENING...

    "The cavalry shall carry the horns. It will break Hannibal's elephant ranks. I assure you, though he has the advantage in numbers, his ranks lack proper training. He is relying heavily on his advantage in his elephants. If we can remove that advantage from the equation, then our legions will make quick work of his army of mercenaries, and peasants. We also hold superiority in cavalry units."

    Paetus laughed randomly, drawing the attention of everyone, and the subtle ire of Scipio.

    Scipio noticed the insult, "Something to say, Paetus? Would you honor us with your insight, and tactical expertise?"

    The other generals laughed at the mockery. Paetus did not think it was very funny. He cleared his throat, "I apologize, General. It's just, the horns. They might work on breaking the elephants, but if they don't, then the hastati will be left to dry-"

    Scipio held up his hand to silence Paetus. "I will worry about that, Paetus. It is on my shoulders that Rome expects nothing but victory here, in Africa. And I will most certainly give them what they are after, I assure you. Even if Masinissa doesn't arrive before battle, we will engage the Carthaginians, regardless. Rome relies on only it's own sons."

    Scipio then began to silently focus on the battle plans they had just finished discussing, revolving around their strategy should his Numidian allies not arrive on time.

    Scipio looks up, "Council dismissed. Get some sleep."

    All of the general staff parted their own ways. Scipio remained, by himself in the war room. He figured he wouldn't get much sleep that night.

    THE NEXT DAY...

    Scipio's envoy rode out, accompanied only by a small entourage of his general staff. He had never met the heroic Carthaginian commander, but he was at Ticinus, Trebia, and Cannae, where Hannibal secured decisive victories earlier in the war. Scipio, then, had only just been a boy, barely of military age. He had nearly died at all three battles. But he survived, perhaps through divine intervention from the Gods, he sometimes let the thought pass through his mind. Now was the moment. This man, who, had he met him on the battlefield when he was a youth, he would surely have just been another Roman whose blood would adorn Hannibal's blade. But now, he was Scipio the General. 'The Bane of Carthage', many called him. His victories in Hispania, against Hannibal's colleagues, rivaled that of even Hannibal's own victories in Italy. He had definitely earn the respect of his adversary, at least in his own eyes.

    Hannibal waited, underneath an open tent, shielded from the sun, and being fanned, to assuage some of the brutal heat. He leaned back on a cushioned bed, awaiting the Roman general's arrival.

    The Carthaginian commander feasted on grapes, and sipped wine from a golden, jeweled chalice. Scipio had no idea just how pampered the Carthaginian was. He wondered if this was a common display by Hannibal, or whether he was simply altering his disposition to seem boastful, despite the face that his forces had dwindled to being barely able to protect Carthage itself, as Rome recuperated after a long Carthaginian campaign of ravaging the Italics countryside.

    Some thirty yards from Hannibal, Scipio dismounted from his horse. He ordered his men to wait there, despite their protests that he needed protection nearer. Scipio ignored the protests, and continued on foot, walking towards the Carthaginian envoy.

    Hannibal, unlike himself, had taken the measure of having bodyguards within close proximity of him. A habit or measure he surely instituted in Italy, as he was such an important target for capture, killing, or assassination, in Roman eyes. Here he was now, Scipio thought to himself, it was his moment. He would finally meet his adversary.

    Scipio arrived, before Hannibal, who remained down. He turned his head, looking away from Scipio, and could be seen sucking at his own teeth, as if he had some grape stuck in them. He ignored the Roman's presence for a few moments, before acknowledging him.

    "So your Publius Scipio," he said, looking down at the man, eyeing him from head to toe, sizing him up. Hannibal got off the bed, as a slave knelt on the ground providing his back as a stepping stool for the Carthaginian commander to step down to solid ground. Hannibal stood taller than his Roman adversary, "I thought you'd be taller," he uttered in mocking tone.

    Hannibal snapped his finger, and another slave brought up a wine jug. "Perhaps I can interest you in some wine? A measure of good nature between two of the known world's greatest generals?" He let a smirk up his face, but saw that Scipio was not amused in the slightest.

    "May we get to business, Hannibal? You wished to speak with me. Do you propose terms?"

    Hannibal raised his eyebrows, shocked, "Bold, indeed. You are the man they say you are. My men, they call you the 'Roman Hannibal'. I find it entertaining, as there has been, and will only ever be one of me."

    "And there will only be one of me. It won't be such a fancy status you hold so dear, come the end of tomorrow's battle, I assure you," Scipio said boldly.

    "You are too serious, Scipio. Enjoy life as it comes at you."

    "I was at Cannae. I saw how serious your armies were."


    Hannibal smiled, as a slaved handed him another chalice of wine, "Ah, yes... Cannae. That was a glorious day. They erected a statue of me, in Carthage, after news reached them of that mighty victory. Eighty feet it stands."

    "Carthage is some distance away from here, it will give me plenty of time to figure different ways to knock it down when my legions make quick work of what remnants you still command."

    Hannibal emptied the wine chalice, and tossed it to the ground. He walked up close to the young Roman general, and looked right into his eyes, "Careful who you insult, Roman."

    Scipio took a step to the side, to get out of the Carthaginian's personal space, "Terms?"

    "Sicily, Hispania, and Sardinia, are Rome's. Also, my guarantee that no army of Carthage, or it's immediate allies, will ever strike at Rome again. In exchange, Rome is to pull all forces out of Africa, and leave our lands, forever."

    Scipio scoffed, "Never. We didn't come all this way so to be 'given' what is already ours. Sicily, Hispania, and Sardinia are Rome's. Carthage holds no might strong enough to deny our presence, or administration over those regions." Scipio shook his head, smiling in disbelief, "False promises, you make. We've seen what Carthage did with their first promises, of which, you were a large part of, which began this Gods forsaken war. There will be no terms, Hannibal Barca. And that's the end of this parley. I bid you good afternoon, as on the morrow, you will regret the day you presented your forces to mine. Sleep well, for you, nor crumbling Carthage will ever be the same, afterwards. I will look for you on the battlefield, rest assured."

    As bold as his words were, Scipio turned around, and left the Carthaginian hero a loss for words. He mounted up, and returned to his camp, with his entourage by his side.

    Tomorrow would be the day that decides the fate of Rome, and Carthage. Tomorrow, will become known as the battle of Zama...


    A Call for War - Entry #8
    A Call for War

    I awoke to the smell of ash. A cold breeze brushed across my face,filling my senses with the smell of burnt flesh. My vision blurred as my eyes began to adjust to the glaring light. My head throbbed, my body ached... I couldn't focus my mind. What happened... Where am I? Alfwin? Fridumar? Only silence answered me as I slipped back into unconsciousness.

    A cough racked my lungs and jolted me awake. I sat up a bit too quickly and nearly fell back over from dizziness. I shook it off and forced myself to stand. Once my vision cleared... I wished I had been blinded. All that was left of my village was gone. My childhood was left in ruins, torched along with my friends and family. It all came back now... Soldiers. They came from nowhere, like a mist from the sea. They marched in to my village, speaking in a harsh tongue that I could not understand. The elder came to greet them; he was given as word to the gut. From there, my memory fades....

    As soon as I awoke, I made haste to the east. Our tribe had not been under the Suebi's protection and the Romans took advantage of that. Our land was scorched, our women and children enslaved and our men – including my father – all slain. How I managed to survive, I am unsure.

    I knew my lands were no longer safe. The Suebi to the east were an alliance of the most powerful tribes in Germania, and I knew that they would be able to satisfy my hunger for revenge. I ran quickly through the dense underbrush of the Hercynian forest, as I knew the Romans wouldn't be far. If I were to be discovered it would mean the torture and inevitable death of me. I continued to flee until night fell. I could run no longer, and I set about searching for a form of shelter. I came upon a mighty oak tree whose roots had risen through the topsoil. It shown through the dark night like a beacon. I felt a powerful presence drawing me closer. I moved cautiously towards it,like a stag watching for danger. Beneath its mighty trunk, its roots had separated and moved the earth, forming a hollow large enough to fit several people. I crawled in and immediately felt the mighty oak's protection. I laid down amongst the soft sod and slipped into a deep slumber.

    I awoke to the sound of voices. A harsh tongue echoed back and forth through the trees – the very same tongue I had heard in my village.I crawled silently to the opening of the roots and peered out. Not more than fifty paces ahead of me was the Roman army. They must be moving against the Suebi...I must warn them. Before I could move a small contingent of soldiers began to walk towards me. My breath froze in my chest. They stopped a few paces from my hiding place and began conversing. They spoke quietly amongst each other, and I recognized their language. They were members of the Batavi, whom we had traded with many times. Why would the Batavi be among the Romans...? I shrank back into the hollow. I must warn the Suebi. I must. I then noticed something heavy around my neck. I clutched at my chest and felt a small wooden hammer - a Donar's hammer. This...the power I felt... Could this be Donar's Oak? My mind raced with questions, however I had little time. I slipped out from under the roots and snuck away into the misty morning.

    Every twig snap, every rustling branch jolted my senses and sent adrenaline running through me. I was ready to run into the Batavi scouts at every turn. I knew that I must travel quickly and quietly and reach the Suebi before they do, or my chances of survival – and the entire alliance – would die. As I rushed through the primeval forest, I couldn't help but feel very alive. I had grown up under these beautiful trees; running, hunting and playing with my father and brothers. I was as much of a son of the forest as I was my own parents. I felt my body changing as I bounded over the green ferns,over fallen trees and mossy ground. I ran as the wolf, leaping and flying through the misty woodland and rocky streams.

    As the forest grew less dense, I heard voices and laughter echoing through the trees. I crouched, and crawled up a nearby ridge. I peered over and there were the Batavi warriors. "Bite your tongue, you dog," one warrior complained, "She was not a wench!" The others laughed and clapped him on the back merrily.The soldier in the front of the group turned around and glared at them. "Be silent you fools. Do not forget where we are," he growled quietly. He was clearly the leader of the pack; he was much taller than the others, and very well built. Scars lined his jaw and cut into his cheek. He was experienced to say the least. I can't get past them...I didn't know what my next move would be. My inner voice told me to turn and run, but to be a coward was to go against the gods.
    I noticed slow movements through the trees. Unknown to the Batavi, they were being stalked. Dark figures moved silently through the mists. At first I believed them to be wolves or forest spirits – however,three materialized from the mist barely thirty feet from me. They were warriors, painted completely black and wielding wicked framea and swords. They creeped closer and closer to their unknowing victims, waiting for the right moment to pounce. My heart seemed to slow down in anticipation, when a naked sword pressed lightly against my neck.

    "Getup," a voice whispered in my ear, "or I'll slit your throat right here." I recognized the thick Batavian language and slowly rose to my feet. "Hey, we have a spy over here!" He called out to his comrades. The black figures had disappeared, and I wondered if I had gone crazy. He shoved me over to his companions with his sword to my back and laughed wickedly. "Found this jogethe watching us. I don't know what he was doing but I say we have some fun with him..." He laughed again. His laugh was cut short, however, when a framea pierced through his throat. He gurgled and fell to the ground. Before I knew what I was doing I grabbed his sword from his dead hand. Time slowed down and I moved as if I did not have control over my body. My left hand thrust into one warrior's jaw and my sword drove through his abdomen. As quickly as it went in, I pulled it out again only to slash across one of his companion's throat. The black stalkers were back, and descended upon the Batavi. Within minutes every single member of the scouting party lay dead. The warriors circled me with spears raised. They stood, silently watching me – daring me to make a move.

    "Lower your weapons," a deep voice commanded.They did as ordered, and moved aside as a tall man strode into the middle of them. His fierce blue eyes looked into mine and demanded my attention.

    "What is your name, boy?" His voice filled my head; it reminded the crush of a waterfall.

    "Gaufrid... My name is Gaufrid, of the Usipii."I felt as if his eyes were burning into my soul.

    "You've entered the lands of the Ermundeurjoz.You are clearly not one of them," he pointed at the Batavian bodies, "so what are you doing here?"

    My voice choked as if something blocked my throat."I... have come to join the Suebi."

    The man chuckled. "You think you have what it takes? Why do you wish to join our alliance?"

    His face grew serious as he saw the look of grief that tore across my face. "The Romans burnt my village to the ground... My entire tribe is dead. I want revenge."

    "You have a natural killing talent. That, you have shown me. However, you need training. You need an education. You need a family. Welcome to the Suebi, Gaufrid. You have bathed in the blood of your enemies. However, Gaufrid is not a very warrior name... From now on,we shall call you Ansuharjaz.It means "warrior of the gods" in our language. This I see from your necklace..." His eyes looked approvingly at the pendant on my neck. "Come now, little Ansu. We shall take you to the halls of the Samanonz."

    With that, we began our journey north. During our travels I learned much from the warriors. They were of the Harjaz tribe, brought from the east to protect the border. Their leader was named Heruwulfaz, which meant "Sword wolf" in their language. They taught me how to move silently through the trees like an animal – as they called it, "wolf walking". Hunting and ambushing were part of their daily lives, and I learned more and more each day. We traveled over mountain and through forest for several days, with the Harjaz spirits growing brighter and brighter. We reached a hill crest and there in front of us lay the Suebian burg of Luppfurdum. Some of my new friends gave a mighty whoop and leaped for joy. As we ran down the hill a horseman approached us.

    "Heruwulfaz, you old fool, good to see you!"The rider exclaimed as he leaped off his horse.

    "Harkilaz! You dog, come here," Heruwulfaz replied as he gripped his friend in a tight embrace, "How have you been?"

    Harkilaz smiled grimly. "I'd be much better if not for that bit of news you sent us. The King wants to see you. Bring your small friend as well." My heart leapt into my throat. King Marobod... This can't be good.

    As we traveled into the city I was in shock at how large it was. I had seen several hill forts in my time with my father, but none of this scale. As we walked through the packed earthen streets I looked around at the large houses and buildings that looked as if they were carved from a forest itself. The whole place felt... alive. However, I noticed something strange. There were next to no merchants throughout the town – no marketplace, few civilians, only a blacksmith here and there. That's when I realized that this was a completely military fort. Not long after I realized that, we came into view of the large wooden palace in the center of the city.

    We entered the great halls, and walked across the full chambers. Every warrior in the hall watched us with wary eyes. As we approached the middle of the halls, the warriors parted way to let us through. In the center sat a beast of a man. When he caught sight of us, he stood up and clapped his hands. He beckoned for us to follow him, and retired into his personal chambers. We followed suit.

    "Heruwulfaz... Thank you for warning me. You have saved our lives – all of us are still alive because of you. But we are not out of this yet. Tell me everything you saw."

    And so, for a half hour Herulwulfaz explained his story. He told of how the Romans almost stumbled upon them and how they escaped. He told about how they watched the Romans, and followed them along. Then they told the story of how they found me and my induction into their warband. The king then heaved a great sigh.

    "So... You wish to be one of us. Heruwulfaz vouches for you; you have been blooded. So, you will not go through the many rites of passage that most warriors do. We do not have the time. I give you this spear and shield, to aid you in what is to come. You will need it. Now, it is time for us to plan our attack..." With that, he called for several of his commanders to come in the room. They sat down and looked at him worriedly. His brow furrowed as he spoke.
    "They have superior numbers and training... We will not defeat them in an open battle. Therefore, we must hit them before they realize it. We must take that advantage and use it against them. First, we must send one of our women-folk screaming into their camp, crying for help. If she can lead them towards us, or send them in our direction, they will not bother being fully prepared. From there, Aragisalaz will take a division of our cavalry and skirmish with them. Don't make contact, just pepper them with framea and arrows. Be wary of any Batavi cavalry they might have. Their heavy horses will be of little use in the dense forest compared to your much lighter, more agile horses, but ensure they do not catch you unaware. Lead them along the Bode river – we will stop them at the end of the gorge. We will be there to stop them before they can get back into formation. We will have archers positioned on each side of the cliffs, so while they are trapped in such a tight formation, we will let loose upon them. Heruwulfaz, you will take your Harjaz, some dugunthiz and some of my finest bear-shirts. Follow behind the Romans, and when they are trapped – attack. They will not know what to do. Ansuharjaz, you will follow Harkilaz and his men. They are fine warriors and will make sure you gain your first true kill. Perhaps we will have a place for you in my warband one day. When the battle is done, Heruwulfaz will be your shield-brother. Now," he clapped his hands and stood up, "Is the time for rest. We must be prepared. Tomorrow, we attack."

    I went to my new bed and laid down. This is the first time that I've slept in a bed in many days... I made myself comfortable and grabbed my spear and shield. I admired their craftsmanship thoroughly; as the son of a blacksmith, I ought to know good iron when I see it. Although this wasn't the best, it was still good enough. The spearhead was jagged and sharp – more than deadly enough to kill. Its shaft was neither short nor long, but wonderfully balanced. The grip made it clear that this was not a simple stabbing weapon, that it could be used in many other ways.

    Heruwulfaz approached me and nodded towards a nearby bed. "Mind if I stay next to you, little Ansu?" I smiled at the new nickname, and shook my head. He smiled back."That's a wonderful spear, is it not? We Suebi know how to make a good weapon. Have you ever used a spear before?"

    I nodded. "My father allowed me to test his weapons when I was young."

    Heruwulfaz let out a chuckle. "Testing weapons is not using them in battle or training to do so, my little brother. Allow me to show you."

    He stood up quickly with a spark in his eye and grabbed his own spear. "The spear... Do not think of it as a piece of wood. It is simply an extension of your arm – the blade is your hand, the wood is your arm. You may swing , or stab, or slash. Spin around to keep from being surrounded by your enemy. But most of all," he looked me dead in the eyes and stopped, "Remember that the weapon is a part of you. It is only as strong as the resolve of the one using it." He laughed again, and laid down to sleep.

    I pondered a bit, but realized it was time for me to rest as well. I laid my head down and immediately drifted off in thoughts of tomorrow. However, I was jolted awake by a quiet thud, and a soft voice cursing in the dark. Nearly silent footprints walked very near by to me, and I knew that there was nothing good about that sound. I stood up and grabbed my spear. I didn't bother with my sword or shield. It was time to test Herwulfaz's training. I bent down, almost to all fours, and creeped along the wooden floor. If I made noise, I was unaware – I was too focused. I followed the footsteps until it reached the doorway to the king's bedroom. I could make out a hooded figure now, and the glint of steel as a sword was unsheathed. The figure slipped inside the bedroom, and I followed suit. As I crawled in the door, I saw the figure raise its sword above its head, and prepare to slay the sleeping king. I let loose a fierce cry and charged the figure. It startled and turned to face me... Only to have my spear thrust through its chest and sprout from its back.

    The king, awoken by my cry, immediately lit a torch."Ansuharjaz... What's going on?" He said sleepily. I nodded and dropped the limp body to the ground. "He's dead my king... You are safe." Marobod reached forward and lifted the cloak off of the figure and shook his head. "One of my most trusted thanes...I knew this would happen someday. Perhaps there is place for you in my warband after all, Ansu. Will you join it?" I laughed and retorted, "Wouldn't I be a fool if I said no?" And with that, I slept by the king's side.

    Marobod kept true to his word. By the first light of day we had traveled several miles through forest to reach where he had spoke of. Where the Harz mountains met the hills, we lay in wait. King Marobod sent forth the bait, and we waited for what seemed an eternity. Then we heard it. A woman's voice screaming, and harsh shouts echoed through the mountains. Aragisalaz gave a whoop, then rode forward with his cavalry along the river. Still we waited – however, now time seemed to be moving too fast. I was starting to sweat; my shield arm weakened, my legs threatened to crumble. Marobod looked at me with his cold blue eyes and smiled – the first time Ihad seen him do so. It made his eyes much more welcoming to see the wrinkles of kindness along his brow. He moved closer to me, clasped a massive hand on my shoulder and whispered words that I will never forget;


    "What the gods have brought forth in you... Let no man ever destroy."


    With that, my grip on my spear tightened. I felt all the hair stand on my body as I readied myself for the war cry. I could feel myself starting to slip away, and I knew that I had found the warrior's bloodlust.

    "Be ready men. They will be coming soon,"Marobod said quietly. We could hear the shouts of men getting closer,as well as the thunder of a thousand feet marching. Suddenly, Aragisalaz's horsemen burst from the river canyon, riding for their lives. No more than a few moments later, the Roman army appeared. Marobod stood up and shouted, "Loose your spears, men!" The Romans appeared stricken with confusion as hundreds of spears flew into their unready formations. A dull growl began resounding in Marobod's chest; it soon became contagious as it grew into a massive roar coming from each of the Suebian warriors. I found my mouth open and air escaping from my lungs in a force that I had never felt before. Marobod lifted his sword, and daringly charged his enemy. His entire army followed suit.

    The battle flashed before my eyes. It had gone exactly as Marobod had planned, to the disbelief of every one of his thanes and commanders. Every Roman who stood and fought died with a sword or spear thrust through them; every man who attempted to flee into the Bode river was drowned in his heavy armor. Before I knew it, they were all gone. None were left to flee, and few had laid down their weapons. Their commander attempted to break through our lines to escape death – but after his legionaries were slaughtered he was ripped apart by the hoards of Suebi warriors who surrounded him. In our frenzy we hung his body parts from a lone oak tree as a sacrifice to Donar, and left his head on a pole underneath it. My energy drained away like water and my vision began to fade. I collapsed in a heap of sweat and blood.


  3. #3
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    The Long War - Entry #9
    The Long War
    The Long War (This is Historical Fiction)
    (The story is told from both sides)

    There we were, standing alongside a man who crossed over the alps with an army that numbered in the thousands. A man who they said could move mountains with his will. A man they said never knew defeat. A man named Hannibal. (At the Carthaginian camp near Ticinus) “I know the Commander is competent” said a disgruntled Mercenary solider.

    “But why did we need to bring these stinking Gauls with us!” he said then spat in the fire. “If we die tomorrow, which is more than likely, I hope they all come with us” And with that he left. As I thought over what he said while sitting there, a firm hand patted me on the back. The face of the man looked bitterly scarred and with a forehead deep with memories. “Yep I know that look, self pitying and last minute prayers to the gods… my name is Philosir.”

    “I am Yaroah”

    “Listen boy, I have been with Hannibal Barca his brothers and their father in many battles, and one thing is certain…they know what they are doing." The look in his eyes were serious, that of a man who has seen death’s door and decided not to open it. I still was not too sure about it all as I had never seen battle before; my unit was either too late to the fight or in the reserves. I told him as much and he decided to show me some of his tricks to keep alive for the next day of battle. He said if I lived long enough he would keep training me.

    (In the Roman camp) “It is true…I have done things I am not proud of…but I do it for Rome. I am a legionaire and I live and die for Rome. I remember the days when I first started fighting for this bloody army. Day in, day out, exercise and drills is all we ever seemed to do. When battle came, we killed the enemy, took loot, sent it to Rome and back to work again. I am sick of it. I am sick of killing and destroying for some fool of a Senator’s ego”

    “Haha… Amatus you never change!” My friend Seius seems to almost enjoy it. Friends are valued in the Army. They seem to die too quickly though. “Lighten up! Tomorrow we kill some Barbarians then go to a nearby Roman city as heroes! Doesn’t that sound like it is worth a few thousand illiterate pig’s blood to you?”

    “Perhaps,” I was done arguing. Besides it was my shift as sentry. I wonder if this Hannibal is any different from the other Commanders.




    “It is so cold” I said out loud. Philosir looked at me with a grin, “good, then you will not die of heat in the battle”


    “Is this going to be as bad as they say it will be?”

    “No…worse”

    The Romans are moving their columns forward across the river at an eased pace. They seem to think that we will break just as any other foe to their Nation would. “They will be proved wrong,” I thought to myself.




    “FORWAAAAARD!” shouted the Centurions up and down the line. I have seen this move a thousand times and I will probably see it a thousand times more. Once again, into the large lump of enemy Barbarians and then begins the slaughter. Or so I thought. CRAAASH! The loud deafening clang of steel in my ears once more. Now on to our bloody business. I do not know why, but I always look forward to that noise…I guess that is why I am a soldier.





    (side Carthage)Man after man falls down in front of me. I see that I am going to get my first taste of combat! The roman wall seems unstoppable, it keeps coming no matter how many fall. I took my sword and gathered all the bravery I could and thrust my sword into the face of an enemy soldier who was coming with the wall of steel and flesh! When I saw he did not get up something woke up in me and I was not sure what happened after, but the next thing I knew I was falling backwards past several fallen comrades. I looked up and there a Roman soldier was ready to thrust his gladius into me. Is this it? Just Then, Philosir appeared and rammed his shield into the approaching Roman soldier who fell backwards and disappeared into the crowd of soldiers. Looking at Philosir, I said, “Things are not going too well are they!?” He looked at me and just when he was about to answer a large group comes charging from the far right side of our line! At its head is none other than General Mago Barca’s detachment! This must have been an ingenious plot set by Hannibal! The Romans realize just how unmatched they are and turn to run. It is almost too late, but they manage to escape with a salvageable force. General Scipio himself was at the brink of death on the field and would have been killed or worse if not for his son riding out to save him!



    It was unthinkable. We lost. The words seemed to be on the lips of all who were there…yet none said the awful words that would befoul ones lips if it escaped. Roman blood had failed…

    “CURSE THOSE SWINE!” That was something one rarely saw…Seius losing his temper “THE NEXT TIME WE MEET THEM WE WILL CUT OUT THEIR THROATS AND HANG IT OUT TO DRY IN THE LATIN SUN FOR ALL THE CHILDREN TO SING SONGS OF THOSE FOOLS WHO OPOSE US!”

    “Calm down” and he did. My words seemed to always take more effect no matter the number of them. “We will get them next time, how long can Hannibal last anyway. It would take a miracle for him to win against any larger a force.”


    “I hope our right Amatus. I PRAY you are right.”

    ...I wasn't.




    HANNIBAL! HANNIBAL! HANNIBAL! The joy that day was enormous. Hannibal personally congratulated us. Although we won…I felt as if I lost something… I lost who I was before. “I am a killer” No said Philosir. “You are a soldier.”

    “I think you were right when you were talking about these Barcas’ they do know what they are doing”

    “It seems to run in their blood” he said

    “You mean it seems to run with the Roman’s blood” I said with a grin. With a hearty laugh we went back to celebrating. It was there that I saw Hannibal staring out in the distance…as if looking right into the Romans eyes saying…I am coming. Looking at him I said, “I think this Hannibal is going to be greater than any of us think…”

    “I hope you are right boy”

    I was...



    Hannibal’s name was soon one to be feared…battle after battle he destroyed the Romans on their own home land. Hannibal managed to destroy the entire army of Gaius Flamininius Nepos, who died himself that day at the battle of Lake Trasimene. Although the Romans were unsuccessful on land, they were in the water at the naval battle of Ebro. The latter battle resulted in many Iberian tribes to rise up in an attempt to overthrow the Carthaginian Yoke. Hannibal seemed to be unable to be caught and when you found him, it was because he wanted you to. He seemed to always have answer to his problems, but growing discontent within the ruling parties of Carthage upset by his popularity attempted to hamper his progress. Despite these victories and triumphs for Carthage there was NOTHING …like Cannae.


    “Yaroah! Are you ready for the battle?”

    “I hope so, i will do my best for Carthage.”

    “I have heard the reports…the Romans come with 86,000 men”

    “Yes, but our 50,000 are favored by the gods. How else could we survive this long?”
    The Carthaginian troops took their position and awaited the command to attack.


    “It is clear to me,” said Consul Varro to Consul Paullus, “That this Hannibal is not as smart as we thought, or Scipio was just that stupid,” retorted Paullus. “He always was a brash one, perhaps it would have been better for him to just die at Ticinus.”

    “Anyway enough idle chat. “said Varro “We move forward with the standard triple layer frontal assault. Make sure to have the principes behind the hastati troop”
    “Very well, Varro I will have out allied cavalry to attack their barbarian cavalry.” Varro gave him a quizzical look “Do not underestimate the Numidians they live by the horse” Paullus left to give the orders leaving Varro to think to himself. “The game is over Hannibal” He said with a smile.


    The Romans were expecting the typical barbarian charge met with scutum shields and the gladius. What they received however, was a wedge shaped Carthaginian formation composed of individual blocks of troop.



    “So Yaroah!” Yelled Philosir smiling from the far right of his line. “Ready to see if these Romans have the same color blood as the others!” With a smile I replied “Just stay alive old man!”

    “HAHA I think I just might do that boy!”


    The lines Crashed with a now familiar sound to the Carthaginian side. However, things were not as planned for the Romans. Instead of a frontal attack and a cavalry assault, the Carthaginians continually spread their lines forcing the Romans into a concave shape and almost destroying the order of their carefully placed lines! The Carthaginians sent 2 detachments of infantry, one to each side of the Romans to assault the rear of the Roman lines! While at the same time, the Roman cavalry that was busy fighting the skilled Numidian cavalry was attacked in the rear by Gallic and Spanish horsemen belonging to Hannibal! Once the Roman Cavalry was destroyed, The Carthaginian horsemen led a charge right into the small opening behind the Romans completely entrapping them (a type of hammer and anvil maneuver). What took place next would be recorded as the greatest slaughter of Roman troops ever until the battle of Arausio. In total, only around 3,000 Romans survived the 2 hour ordeal. Consul Paullus himself fell with his soldiers.

    “I do not know to call this a victory or a massacre, but I am still proud to have fought and won alongside such brave soldiers.” Yaroah said with Pride to Philosir and his Comrades. Cheers were going up throughout the camp… Hannibal has done the impossible again.
    Despite this great victory for Carthage, more battles were to come and they would bring death and destruction to both sides...

    12 Years Later…

    “12 years… 12 long years and we seem to barley be making progress”

    “Always the pessimist, eh Amatus? The tide has turned in this war! Can you not see?! We have beaten the Carthaginian navy and their army. All that is left for them is Hannibal and that blasted city Carthage! We even drove Hannibal out of our Homeland finally!” I looked at him and was going to tell him that was not what I meant by progress, but I could see he was a lost cause. This war would never end as long as one of our nations were alive. “Drove him? Nothing drove him out he left! He probably left to reinforce his home front against us. I hear that the reason he was not getting supplies so often was not because of us, but because of jealous politicians in his beloved city.” I scoffed at him. Seius was a soldier at heart, he could not see the bigger picture as me and I could not blame him. The army was all he ever knew. We are going to set sail straight to the Carthaginian heartland. We would land at Utica and gather as many mercenaries and defectors as we could. Then we would keep moving towards their capital until they faced us.

    Zama, this is where the Armies met to decide the fate of the war that would decide the fate of the known world. It is said that Scipio and Hannibal met before the battle. The respect between these men was evident in the writings of old historians who said for a long while the stood there and marveled at one another.

    “Amatus ,” said Seius, “let us give these old scholars something to write about” I turned to him and replied “I think we might actually win this. This Scipio seems more patient than his father. Ha! they still talk about how he had to save his father at ticnicus, it seems his father will never live it down.” “Speaking of living watch yourself out there Amatus” Seius said.

    “Likewise my friend”

    “Yaroah I do not like the look of the sky… it looks forboding” “Ha you always say that Philosir”

    “I am serious this time…be careful out there boy” said Philosir. “Stop worrying about the sky, it doesn’t know anymore than we do. Hannibal has brought us victory this far hasn’t he? Good luck old man”

    The Roman lines were still and waited for Hannibal to make the first move, which he did. Hannibal sent his elephants to assault the Roman lines and destroy their order and to make openings in their lines for his troops. The Romans responded by sending out their own skirmishers to disrupt the elephants. At the same time Scipio had ordered his cavalry to blow their horns loudly to shock the elephants into rampaging. It partially worked. Disordering the left wing of Hannibal’s troops completely, the rest of the elephants were set to charge forwards. Scipio simply ordered his men to open ways for the elephants to run through which worked to perfection and the Romans where able to deal with the Elephants in the rear of his army instead of in the middle of it.

    “Not bad, eh Amatus? Looks like Scipio saved us from a stomping” “I wouldn’t get my hopes up just yet they still have their cavalry,” I told him. Just as I finished speaking I saw our Cavalry meet the Carthaginians at all sides of the battle…we would hold.

    The Roman cavalry engaged the Carthaginians cavalry before they could attack the rear of the Romans as well. Hannibal still had another trick up his sleeve. His veterans’ who were at the back of the 3 layers Carthaginian line. He hoped to save them until the end game of the battle, but he lost that opportunity to save his best, when the relatively new first and second line of infantry began turn and run after meeting the Roman lines. The Carthaginian Cavalry retreated as well leaving only his veterans’ to stand and fight. The veterans’ fought the Romans to a standstill, until the Romans moved all their cavalry to slam into the rear or the Carthaginian troops! They would be slaughtered.



    “THIS DOES NOT LOOK GOOD PHILOSIR”I yelled to him just as I finished off another Roman attacker. The sky darkened a bit, we looked up to see hundreds of pila fall down upon us.I managed to survive the deadly barrage…Philosir has not so lucky.Time seemed to stop still, as i saw that he had taken a pila into his chest. He looked at me and said “Told you I saw something Hah ha *cough* *cough* haaaaaaaaa….” “Rest in peace old man. You earned it” I managed to escape what followed. Of the 51,000 Carthaginians in the battle, 20,000 died 20,000 captured.Of the 40,000 Romans…2500 killed.


    SCIPIO!SCIPIO!SCIPIO! “HA! I tell you I never saw a mans’ eyes bulge out like when I stabbed that dog in the chest before!” Laughter filled the camp as Seius told his rather revised account of his number of killings, but it is something all soldiers do so I just enjoyed in it as much as anyone else. “Seius I do not think they will be able to get back up from this one heh maybe you were right. Maybe this war is going to finally end.”



    It did, when Carthage sued for peace. The condition? Carthage dissolved its army and entered a state of bankruptcy (though ironically it was able to recover due to the lack of an army to pay for). The Carthaginians also would not be able to have a military fleet. It also would not be able to wage war without the permission of Rome. We were sailing back to Italy months later and away from this accursed country. The war was over for now. It felt as though this was just a break. Just as I was musing to myself Seius came up to me. “So Amatus the Carthaginians are finished *sigh* I waited so long to say those words. You think it will last?” I stood there staring at the fading land that is the African Desert I told him what I said before “It will never be over. Not until one of us is no longer on this earth. You can destroy an army, but to kill a people… a legacy. THAT is impossible”.










    All rights to this story is reserved to the Author.


    Virtual Reality - Entry #10
    Virtual Reality

    2013AD
    Kyle sat in his room at his computer desk, heavily engrossed in playing Total War: Rome 2. His current campaign against the Germans was going well until the last few turns, in which it had literally ‘taken a turn for the worse’. He had a system going, with auxilia and javelin infantry occupying the bridges and fording sites along the Rhine, supplanted by three forts located to the rear - each with a legion, which he would deploy as needed when river guards came under attack.
    It had worked quite well – the light troops were able to inflict some serious carnage on the mauradering Germans before the legions arrived to finish off the rest. Then, as the Germans were increasingly able to concentrate more of their forces along the bottlenecks, Kyle’s defending armies began to take losses faster than they could replace them. Two turns later, two of the crossing-points were down to 20% and 25% strength respectively and were facing two to three stacks each – a ratio of 7:1. A breakthrough was imminent.
    That breakthrough occurred in 20AD.
    When it did occur, the Germans besieged the first legion base for three turns. Autocalulation of the battle resulted in a close defeat of the 6th legion. The 3rd legion, Kyle deployed and fought a field battle. The legion was ambushed practically as it left the gates and suffered 40% casualties. It was utterly annihilated in the next battle – but not before the men doled out heavy punishment on the German warriors.
    Now, with one army left in the upper Rhine and two frontier settlements practically inviting the Germans over for dinner, things weren’t looking so good. But Kyle wasn’t ready to call it quits yet.
    He ordered General Aemilius Insipidus, his best general, to Mogontiacum. Insipidus had been governor of Lugdenensis, where he was overseeing the construction of new facilities that, Kyle hoped, would be beneficial for an expedition to Britannia. With Insipidus heading to East, Kyle withdrew the 5th legion, his only remaining army, with orders to link up with the general at Mogontiacum. Gaius Strabo was currently the commander of the 5th, which was too bad because Strabo had been blessed with a knack for management and cursed with a lack of command. In other words, he was better suited counting stacks of coin and scrutinizing scrolls rather than trying to inspire men to follow him. Or, as it was now, he needed to inspire men to die for him.
    Kyle sighed. He’d been here for quite some time now. It was always that way. After school, he could sit down to play for an hour, only to ‘return’ (wait, he hadn’t really left – had he?) when his mom called him to dinner and it was growing dark outside. It was a splendid waste of time, maybe even better than a book.
    His mother had always said, “You were born in the wrong time period,” and Kyle knew she was right – as, he had found, she usually was.
    At the age of five, he had dressed as a Federal cavalry trooper from the 1870’s. At seven, he dressed in a Union infantry outfit with a cap-firing toy musket – which he had worn July 1-3 of that year with his grade school friends as they recreated key events of the battle of Gettysburg in the backyard. At ten, he had a WWII GI kit, complete with a M1 helmet from the local military store.
    Now seventeen, playing dress up was a thing of the past, but Kyle was still romancing the glories of centuries gone by. Speaking of which, he was well-aware that his current preoccupation with past events was the primary obstruction facing the possibility of finding actual romance in this life. It made him mad sometimes, but whatever…
    The Classical World was his primary interest now. And Total War: Rome 2 was his dream come true. If a time machine was an unattainable goal, Total War: Rome 2 was the closest tangible thing he could have. And it seemed to actually work… like hypnosis.
    It was easy to get lost on the vibrant world of Rome 2, where the tides broke upon the white cliffs of Britain, shrouded in mists, which gave way and the dark forests of Germany echoing with eerie sounds. In contrast, the sunlit fields of Spain dotted with hillforts and the lush Nile and Euphrates valleys offered wealth beyond imagine. When armies marched and thousands of soldiers fought with uncanny realism in each of these settings, Kyle often found it difficult to break from the trance-like state he entered. Finding his way back to the present was harder than getting lost in the past.
    In this world, he could write his own stories. It was as though he was a god from the ancient myths, meddling in the affairs of men, pulling tiny strings. Here, he was the Emperor of his empire, deciding where entire armies were to conquer next; and he was the general and centurion of his troops, ordering them to maneuver, charge, defend…to die.
    And he loved it. He couldn’t get enough.
    Turning off his computer, he glanced reluctantly at the clock beside his bed. Ugh, 12AM. Wishing for all the world he could just call in sick for school and stay home tomorrow, but knowing full well he couldn’t, he brushed his teeth and slipped on the boxers he slept in.
    As he lay in bed, in his mind’s eye he saw visions of ancient times. Wisps of smoke rose into the fresh, damp air over the red roofs of a Roman city. A legionary castra, a camp, was located nearby, its rectangular design containing perfect rows of barrack blocks and command buildings. Birds cawed, coyotes yelped and donkeys brayed, the sounds carrying over the grass valley with the wind. There were no planes in the sky, no car horns, no smog… it was quiet, peaceful – nature reigned.
    Drifting to sleep, Kyle thought to himself, if only it wasn’t a game. I want it to be my reality…

    Winter, 20AD
    General Aemilius Insipidus was displeased. And when General Insipidus gets pissed, someone will feel his hobnailed caliga in their behind. His troops call him “Aemilius malleus” – Aemilius the Hammer. Everyone and anything is his block of wood, and he drives the nails home. Take poor Gracchus, for example. The troops were setting up a marching camp and Gracchus was in the work detail that was assigned to dig the ditches that would surround the camp. Now, all legionaries know that they are to stack their shields and helmets nearby but keep their armor and gladii strapped on at all times while on duty in enemy territory.
    But Gracchus decided he was safe without his sword. He removed his baldric, leaving the weapon with his shield just out of reach. When the General caught sight of one of his legionaries working disarmed he ordered a nearby trumpeter to sound “To Arms”. Centurions shouted, the work details dropped what they were doing and ran to don their gear, and Aemilius made straight for Gracchus, grabbed his tunic and spun him about. Getting right into his face he said, “Your gladius is not needed, I see” and then raising his hand and in that commanding voice of his that broke through the swirl of chaos all about him, “Mars be praised! He has blessed this legion with the bravest of his sons. This man is willing to face those top-knotted Suebic beer-bastards sine armae!” And with that, he ordered Gracchus to charge the distant tree line - without weapons.
    The troops had by now formed ranks behind the half-completed rampart and stood silently watching, not yet sure if this was a drill or the real thing. Gracchus, clearly shaken, stuttered and was interrupted by Aemilius. “WELL?!! GO ON, Private! Go over there and flush those Germans out, NOW!”
    Gracchus looked at the trees, and, comprehending that he was being made an example of, said quietly, “General, I don’t have my gladius”.
    “What? Talk sweet to me, soldier!”
    “I removed my gladius, General!”
    Aemilius responded with mock amusement, “Well… I’ll be… removed his gladius. BOYS! This man LOST his gladius!” He pointed to the closest centurion, “Centurion! Get me the quartermaster.” Turning back to Gracchus, he said, “Your watch tonight, all night; latrine duty all week; no Pay this month. With that he turned on his heel and strode away, giving the order to stand down. The next day, Gracchus was the most unhappy man in the legion, for not only did he have to march after standing watch all night but so too had the quartermaster been ordered to give him some of the replacement gladii normally carried in the century’s baggage – 40 of them to be exact – which he had to sharpen, polish and carry during the week’s marches. They were turned in and counted each night – just to be sure he hadn’t “lost” any.

    And that was one of the more benign cases of military discipline involving General Aemilius Insipidus. He was also known to be a strong advocate of decimation if his men were suspected of mutiny or cowardice as well as flagellation and death by stoning. Oh, and he was incredibly competent on the battlefield. In fact, he liked to tell his men before battle, “I have never lost an engagement to those dung-begrimed mud-dwellers and I don’t intend to today!” And above all, Aemilius was incredibly fair. He was quick to punish laxity and incompetence, but was among the first to reward bravery obedience. He saw the latter two as the key virtues of the Roman Army. Although he never socialized with his men, and never let them see him eat or drink - which he believed would make him seem more human to them - he was quick to let them see him risk his life in battle and share in their hard work when morale was low. At times he made it a point to participate with the line centuries during physical training or weapons drill – and rumor was that he could outrun any man in the legion wearing full armor and nail a target at 15 meters with a pilum. When told this by one of his staff he simply replied, “Ha! They believe that? Well, that’s okay with me.”


    Early Summer, 20AD
    So, when the German warchief Sagovax invaded Gallia Superior and pillaged the Roman fort guarding the Rhine at Mainz, it was Aemilius Insipidus whom the Emperor dispatched to assess the situation and restore the frontline. And when Aemilius arrived at Mogontiacum - now the last army base before reaching the frontlines - and found that the half of the 5th legion was a five days’ march away getting retrained, refitted and relaxing for two weeks, he became a raging volcano of Vulcan’s righteous wrath. A true god made flesh – or was it flesh made god?
    The day had started well enough. The general enjoyed hardship and was enjoying a long, hard ride. The recent downpour that had soaked Aemilius and his staff had given way to a constant drizzle that seemed only to bring the flies and mosquitoes as the dead from their graves. The clouds now hung overhead like a blanket and the humidity grew noticeably worse as Aemilius made his way from Leon on the coast. The gates were open and the auxiliary sentries standing at attention as he approached the fort at a quick trot. He dismounted, handed his reigns to an aide and chatted briefly with the soldiers standing guard.
    “What’s your name, son?”
    “Quinctillius Nieallghas, General.”
    “I see you have worked hard to keep your helmet polished. Outstanding,
    Quinctillius.” Drawing the man’s dagger from its sheath he looked it over, tested the blade, nodded. “What do you use this weapon for, soldier?”
    “Sir, the pugio is to be used for cutting, stabbing and personal defense when the primary weapon is not an option, sir. It is also for camp tasks not suited for a gladius.”
    “Exact words of the manual. But what do you use it for, Quinctillius?”
    “Sir, I ram into German throats,” the soldier replied staring straight ahead, his face expressionless.
    “HAHA! Exactly!” Aemilius smiled. “I am here to see that you are provided with ample opportunity”. He turned and announced to the centurion of the guard, “Excellent work, centurion. Take me to the camp prefect.”

    Inside the headquarters it was dark, damp and cool. Light from candles cast fleeting shadows on the walls as the clerks quietly went about their duties. The stillness was shattered when the door was suddenly thrown open and the centurion of the guard stepped in, snapped to, and shouted,
    “ATTEN-TION! General Aemilius Insipidus Arrives!”
    The staff leapt the their feet just as Aemilius strode in.
    “As you were, gentlemen. Where is Prefect Strabo?”
    Without delay, a voice from the back of the room responded,
    “In the bathouse, Sir.”
    “He’s Where?” asked Aemilius, his voice louder with an incredulous tone.
    His inquiry was met with an uncomfortable silence before another aide cleared his throat.
    “Ahem, General. The Prefect likes to bathe in the midmorning, after his workout, sir.”
    “Oh, I’m sure he does,” said Aemilius, looking as though he’d just been offered a plate his own . Walking over to the sole unoccupied table and large chair, which could only be the Praetor’s, Aemilius remarked, “Hopefully he doesn’t take much longer. We set off at first light and there is much to discuss.”
    The clerks exchanged glances.
    Picking up a scroll from the table, Aemilius started reading. He suddenly looked up, his eyes wide.
    “You, quaestor!” he pointed. “Is this scroll current? It says half the men and auxilia are at Argentorate for rest and refit?!”
    “Yes sir.” The young officer replied.
    “By Pluto’s black balls! Why the are they all the way down there when they should have been marching already?!! Did you not receive word from my messengers that I was coming?!!”
    “Y-y-yes General,” came the sheepish reply, “but Prefect Strabo felt that the men shou-“
    Aemilius was already on his way out the door, the logistics of the setback were already racing through his mind.
    “It will take a week to get them here and another week’s forced march to reach the front by which point they’ll be so damn exhausted they’ll be crawling into battle on all fours… get me to the Prefect! I will personally hang his lilywhite ass out to dry.”

    Prefect Strabo was dozing in the hot water of the calidarium. The gentle darkness of the room enveloped him as the steam rose about him. He thought of the coming campaign, General Aemilius Insipidus, the legion and the stinking Germans whose deaths’ at his hands would soon bring him fame. Not bad for a Roman of my status, he thought to himself. Twenty-six years old and in command of the finest legionary castra this end of the Rhine. He knew he was about to leave his mark on history.
    Approaching footsteps reminded him that it was about time to head to the frigidarium for a plunge in the cool water before returning to his duties at the Praetorium. He stood, winced at his back muscles cracking audibly. Agh, my aching back. He laughed, said to himself– ‘still the horniest, best-looking bastard in the legion.’
    “Hello, Prefect Strabo.”
    Startled, Strabo spun about, covering his nakedness. Half trying to regain his composure, half angry, he started “How dare you interrupt me sol-“
    But his sentence ended rather abruptly as he made out the gleaming bronze cuirass adorned with muscle accents, an equestrian sash and the crested attic helmet of a general.
    “Yes? Well, what’s going on?” He asked hurriedly, alarm creeping his voice as he waded to the edge of the small pool.
    The pressure levels began to rise in the volcano contained within Aemilius Insipidus.
    “Did you receive my couriers and orders, Prefect?”
    “What? Your couriers…” Strabo trailed off, realizing he was speaking to General Insipidus, The Hammer himself. “I did! The men are getting ready for a fight, err, will be as soon as -“
    Feeling the blood in his cheeks beginning to boil in the heat of the room, Aemilius cut him off, his voice quiet, controlled and icy.
    “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve already lost, Prefect. See, the German has already crossed the Rhine and destroyed the garrison meant to contain him; pillaged three farming communities and raided the traders, inns and military supply trains in a seventy mile radius, enough to put him so close as to be in this very room with us.” A fresh channel of hot magma had found its way into the main reservoir. Aemilius’ voice was raising as he drew himself up to full height. “And you, YOU! You sit there in your tepid bathwater relaxing, with half of your best men five days away, RESTING, while our veterans and farmers are tortured and killed!” The volcano spewed cinders and flame. His words boomed in the large, empty room, reverberating off the walls before fading.
    In a voice piqued with fear, Strabo blurted, “But sir! The men needed new armor and retraining”. Strabo was nearly whining, incredulous that his efforts were being so harshly dismissed.
    Aemilius glared, his voice now a low rasp, like gravel. “Right, I see, Prefect.” He spat the word like a curse. “Since it’s so important to you, why don’t I leave you to sit in your little tub ‘til your skin softens up like a ripe grape while I take the 3,000 men you have here and get to work? You will join up me with the rest when they arrive back from Argentorate.” He called over his shoulder, “Centurion!”
    “Sir?” A centurion responded, stepping forward from the shadows.
    “I want a full field inspection before the evening meal tonight. Check equipment and issue new gear where needed. The men will spend the hours after mess is over getting everything ready for the ‘morrow. We march at dawn”. Looking back at Strabo still standing half-naked, at the position of attention in the steamy water, he added, “And you’d better be smelling like a fresh daisy when you arrive at the front.” With that he walked away.

    Argentorate
    Her breath whispered into his ear, soft and gentle as Artemis of the fair winds.
    Florus, it’s time to go. Florus?’
    Florus grunted and rolled over. He inhaled deeply, sighed.
    Florus. Let’s go sweetpea.’ Livia’s voice had an edge now. She shook his shoulder. ‘Mmmmm’, Florus brushed the hand away and nestled his face into the hay.
    Livia’s tongue brushed his cheek and forehead, soft and wet. She brayed like an ass.
    “Baby, you gotta stop. Gotta…sleep,” the half-unconscious Florus mumbled.
    A sudden cascade of lukewarm water smacked his face, shattering his blissful rest. He sat up with a start, gasping and rubbing the water from his eyes - only to recoil suddenly as a wave of dizziness wrenched his gut and wrecked his senses. He opened one eye slowly and peeped through the narrow slot, his eye catching a flickering tongue of flame from a nearby brazier; the resulting pain feeling like a crucifixion spike being driven through his pupil. He squeezed it shut again and groaned, pressing his hands to his throbbing forehead, which pounded back with equal force.
    He swore at Bacchus, god of wine and mischief, though he made sure to do it quietly lest the little goat sought retribution by pounding more insistently.
    “You awake Florus? C’mon, we gotta get you cleaned up.”
    Strong hands took him under the arms and helped him stand. After a moment, the dizziness subsided a bit and he opened his eyes. He recognized Paetus and Lepos helping him, and a mule, presumably the one that had been licking his face. He vaguely remem-bered he was in the legion camp outside of the city of Argentorate.
    “Whasss goin’ on guys,” he slurred, “we gonna be fightin’ some Germ’ns again?”
    Lepos allowed himself a bemused snort, though his aggravation was apparent, “Actually, no. You aren’t, at least. You got wasted on that cheap-ass Campanian wine again and passed out on your way to take a piss.”
    “That’s why you spent the night rolling in your own turds and getting your crotch licked by the mules,” added Paetus.
    It was still dark, before dawn. Florus around as they made their way past groups of legionaries huddled around small campfires and through the flap of their tent, half staggering, half running. Inside, they let go and Florus stood unsupported, swaying like an upright pole on a windy day. Paetus threw him a fresh tunic. It hit Florus’ face and fell unceremoniously on the grass of the tent floor. Paetus and Lepos stood staring at him.
    They exchanged a glace, then Lepos said, “You look like , Florus. Get changed and wash up. We’ll save you some breakfast. We strike camp at the end of first watch.” They went outside to join the rest of the men over the fire, leaving him alone in the tent.

    “Let’s go men! Up and ready, up and ready! Move it! We have to cover 350 miles in the next fourteen days. That’s twenty-five miles a day, every-single-day for those of you who can’t count!” Centurion Licinius was shouting - more to be heard than to be fearsome.
    Argentorate was a swirl of activity. Wagons ambled through the streets, donkeys snorted and stopped while drivers shouted at them. Runners and messengers dodged around them like mice in a mess hall. Files of legionaries stomped through the streets making their way to their staging grounds, their armor clanking and feet in perfect unison. Officers shouted at centurions, centurions shouted their men, and the men cursed at the cart drivers and messengers, whom pretty much generally just and got in the way.
    Florus felt a little better. That is to say that the mallets in his head had subsided enough that each new sound seemed less like a damned screeching Syren; yet the rising sun was beginning to shine brightly enough that he couldn’t so much as glance at it without squeezing his eyes shut and wait for the pain to run its brief course. His squadmates had mixed up some sort of herbal brew for him to drink, which he had, despite that it tasted like grass. They really were good chaps. Sergeant Silus had even agreed not to punish them all for Florus’ drunkenness if they would each give him two denarii (a bargain which never would have been struck had he known the squad left Florus outside all night alone). Good thing that last bit came AFTER the tea, thought Florus, lest they’d have all pissed in the cup. Ha!

    The legion left Argentorate just as the rosy fingers of dawn reached across the sky. Marching North, towards the enemy…


    2013AD
    Kyle awoke unsure of where he was. He expected to see the dark confines of a tent, its walls swaying lazily with the cool night breeze. After a moment, he realized he was in his room, at home. Sweat dotted his brow and his clothes were wet. Sometime during the dream he had kicked his covers off, and now he felt chilled. But that had been exciting! It was so real. The sights, the sounds, the smells. He remembered the smell of the legionaries in the camp – the sweat and body odor mixed with the damp grass and smoke from the campfires. He remembered the feel of the rough, hewn tunic; the itchiness of its wool on his unwashed body. He could almost taste the wine in his mouth.
    He breathed into his palm – just to make sure...
    And there it was – wine. How? He had never in his life had a glass of wine.
    He breathed again. Yeah, something… maybe. Now he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it or not. He looked around. No, it had all been just a dream. General Insipidus, Prefect Strabo, Florus and the legionaries – all of them were from the game and were fictitious characters. He sighed and pulled the covers over his head. But something caught onto the covers as he did so. Reaching up and feeling the back of his head, he tugged at something in his hair - and gasped suddenly.
    In his hand was a single piece of yellow straw…


    From the Memoirs of Ambrosius Aurelianus - Entry #11
    From the Memoirs of Ambrosius Aurelianus
    From the memoirs of Ambrosius Aurelianus...

    457 Anno Domini

    I, Ambrosius Aurelianus, son of Septimius, King of all Britannia, and Soldier of God, write so that the testaments of my actions shall be confirmed and my legacy remembered to stand the test of time.

    My people cry out in the streets. They ask for the life they once knew, the privileged lifestyle that accompanied being a citizen of the Empire. My kin, from an esteemed Roman family in Britannia since the time of Cladius, have protected this sacred island to the point of their deaths. Slain as a result of the Saxon invasion, my parents died honorably, as any true Roman should. They had been amongst those who tried in vain to call upon the help of Aetius, in the last desperate attempt to save our island. My father, a true Roman soldier and honored general, fought the barbarians his entire life. He battled Saxons, Picts, Angles, and traveled across the whole of Britannia to protect the citizens of the Empire. He adamantly opposed the Council assembled by Vortigern who called upon the Saxon tribes to assist in the fight against those who lived beyond the Wall. This is where my story begins, at the age of twelve, a young Roman thirsty for blood.

    To fully understand and appreciate my tale, once must look back to the time of Gaius Julius Caesar, whom I strive to be like. He is now a distant memory, a man defined by his own personal memoirs and the stories of our grandfathers. Fifty five years before the birth of our Lord, Julius Caesar established Roman contact with the people of Britannia. Though unsuccessful in the conquest of the island, Caesar planted the seeds in which Rome's relationship with Britannia would flourish. Almost one hundred years after this encounter, effectively beginning forty three years anno domini, the fourth Roman Emperor Claudius subjugated the first peoples of Britannia by way of Aulus Plautius. Commanding four Imperial legions and auxiliary troops, Plautius, an esteemed Senator and capable general, crossed the English Channel and landed on the shores of Britannia. It is from Plautius, who served as first Roman governor of Britannia, that Britannia adopted her Roman identity.

    In the ensuing decades, Rome's emperors and generals fought for control over the entire island, waging wars in Caledonia, though unsuccessfully. In time, a defensible frontier was finally established by Hadrian, and what is now what we call the Wall. Beyond the Wall lived the barbaric tribes of the North, who time and time again Roman generals struggled to subjugate. Time and time again, these men were unsuccessful, and the civilized Roman population continued to thrive in the South. Roman culture crossed the Channel and made a comfortable home in Britannia. Cities flourished with Roman architecture, arts, and Christianity. Roman government and law established itself supreme and Roman life permeated throughout the entire province. Britannia could once boast that some of the wealthiest Roman citizens lived in her lands. Now, that is far from the truth. Compared to the life and light of the previous three centuries Britannia finds herself trapped in a stage of darkness. Roman values and tradition now fight to survive on the war ravaged island.

    Beginning around the year 360 anno domini, various Germanic tribes settled in our country. Some sought land and fortune, others sought plunder, and even more were enlisted in Roman armies as foederati. The Alemanni, Saxons, and others began to poison our sacred lands. What was once a prosperous Roman province eventually grew to become a destination for the barbaric peoples of German forests. Then, during the winter of 367 anno domini the Great Conspiracy changed Britannia's identity forever...

    The winter of 367 anno domini saw the Roman garrison stationed on Hadrian's Wall rebel. The rebellious soldiers allowed Picts from Caledonia to enter Britannia. Simultaneously, Attacotti, the Scotti from Hibernia, and Saxons from Germania, landed in coordinated and pre-arranged waves on our island's mid-western and south-eastern shores. These barbaric and merciless warbands managed to overwhelm nearly all of the loyal Roman outposts and settlements. The entire Western and Northern areas of Britannia were completely overwhelmed, the cities sacked and Romano-British citizens raped, murdered, and enslaved. Local agents whom the Romans paid to provide intelligence concerning barbarian movements betrayed their paymasters for bribes, making the deadly attacks completely unexpected. Deserting soldiers and escaped slaves roamed the countryside and turned to robbery to support themselves. It seemed as though Britannia was lost forever...

    In the spring of 368 anno domini, Flavius Theodosius, a senior military officer who held the title of Comes Britanniarum, arrived in Britannia from Gaul with a relief force. He brought with him his son, the later Emperor Theodosius, who would re-unite both the West and East Roman Empires. With stunning efficiency, Theodosius the Elder marched across Britannia subjugating the barbarians and establishing a new civilian administration. By the end of the year, the barbarians had been driven back to their homelands; the mutineers had been executed; the Wall had been retaken; and order had been returned to our most sacred diocese. Considerable organization was undertaken throughout Britannia to prevent such a disaster from happening again. Frontier outposts once more were defended by Rome's soldiers, and Theodosius returned to Rome a hero. He became senior military adviser to the Emperor Valentinian I and his son would later become one of Rome's greatest Emperors. It is from the House of Theodosius, the greatest family to have ever inhabited Britannia, that my family comes from. I am a direct descendant of the Emperor who united both East and West, and whose father saved Britannia from complete and utter devastation. I am of royal blood, and I am rightful heir to the throne of all of Britain.

    Yet, as time wore on, and the Empire slowly crumbled, the people of Britain were slowly forgotten in Rome. Once more, civil administration and military defense began to fall apart. The invading tribes took advantage of our most unfortunate situation, resulting in chaos. Britannia no longer resembled a Roman province, but that of a backwards land fought over by various warlords and so-called kings. The last Roman troops had been usurped by Constantine III and Britannia was left defenseless. During the winter of 410 anno domini, a desperate plea was sent to Rome's Emperor Honorious, out of shear fear for our lives. Honorious refused to send any Roman soldiers to protect us from the barbarian invasions, effectively ending Roman rule in Britannia. Roman administration and law held no ground, and duly collapsed. Hundreds of small kingdoms and principalities emerged and the fight for Britannia resembled that of the first invasion by Claudius. Once more, in 446 anno domini, my people cried out for Rome's help. We were refused. Out of this rubble rose who many believed would be the savior of Britannia, and one whom we once called High King...



    The Catuvellauni, a tribe existing on the island of Britannia before the times of Julius Caesar, were amongst the strongest Roman factions still struggling for control over the island. The Catuvellauni Kingdom claimed to represent Rome, and Vortigern, their leader, claimed leadership over all of Britannia. Vortigern, our High King, esteemed and noble leader of the Roman citizens of Britannia, vowed to restore order and the old ways of life. He called upon all Roman Britons to unite under his banner and establish a solitary, united Roman faction. Of course, we believed in his promise, his sacred vow, and the former citizens of Rome flocked to his kingdom and flung themselves before him. Crying and weeping, they asked him to re-claim what was rightfully theirs, to protect their families and livestock. Noble Vortigern firmly re-assured them he would do all of that, and more, to restore the old ways. Calling upon all Roman men of age to military service, he established an impressive fighting force. He hoped to crush the Picts, who were raiding the east coast and creating havoc for those still living there. All of this happened around the time of 440 anno domini, when I was the age of four years.

    At the beginning of the campaign, the Roman Britons proved to be an effective fighting force. Earning decisive victories in Essex and East Anglia, the Pictish tribes were driven back, and Vortigern immediately became a hero. Soon, he claimed the title of High King, with very little opposition. His heroic achievements were told in tales throughout the land. But as time wore on, and crushing defeats to the Picts in 443 anno domini marred his perfect record, Vortigern's army began to disintegrate. Desertion became the norm, for common family men were not prepared to campaign for years, leaving their farms, family, and livelihood behind. Soon, the grand fighting force became no more than a simple militia, ill-equipped and disorganized. Vortigern's motley band of Roman Britons proved to be no match for the Picts who arrived in hordes pillaging the eastern coast. Vortigern needed a solution, and a quick one at that. He looked to the Germanic peoples of Northern Europe, and set Britannia down a path of further death and destruction...

    The Germanic tribes, seeking new land to settle and a fresh start at life, were eager to fight for the estranged and desperate British king. In the year 449 anno domini, Vortigern invited Angles, Saxons, and Jutes alike to settle on "the eastern side of the island." In return, they would serve in Vortigern's army as mercenaries. The Saxon tribes settled in an area known as Kent, and established prosperous villages, towns, and settlements. At first, the Saxon mercenaries fought with courage and bravery, and proved to be loyal soldiers to Vortigern. The barbarians filled the gaps left previously by Roman Britons in Vortigern's army, and provided a large source of manpower. In time, however, the Saxons mercenaries grew unfaithful. I assume they realized their position of power, fighting for a king they knew nothing about. Fighting for any enemy they cared nothing for. The barbarians realized they were more powerful than Vortigern, that he relied on them. Why the incompetent king invited these unfaithful, unclean, and barbaric brutes to the island in the first place is beyond me. Why he betrayed what Roman values he still possessed I will never know. Had he not learned from the events happening in Italy, in Gaul, in Hispania, in Africa? Had he not heard of the betrayal, the corruption, the devastating consequences of foederati who now endangered almost every Roman province? What had happened was inevitable. The Saxon tribes revolted, leaving Vortigern and the Roman Britons defenseless. In the year 455 anno domini, when I was nineteen years old, Hengest and Horsa, leaders of the Saxon tribes, crushed Vortigern and his pitiful army at the Battle of Aylesford. Here, Vortigern's son was killed, and the Britons abandoned Kent and with great fear fled to London. Yet the slaughter was merely simply beginning...

    At the age of nineteen, I learned of parents’ slaughter. I learned of my father’s last moments, standing in front of my mother wielding sword, prepared to defend his beloved wife to the death. I heard of his courage, that he had killed countless Saxons before they plunged a spear into his abdomen. I heard that he continued to slash at the unwashed heathens even as hot, sticky blood poured out of him. Finally, he fell. My mother, unwilling to let the murderers strip her of her dignity, thrust a dagger into her chest before they could lay a hand on her. She screamed in a high pitched shrill, “For Rome, for Britannia!” before she fell upon my lifeless father. For days, I wallowed in grief and despair. I lay in bed feeling helpless, helpless because my people were dying and I had done nothing. I needed to do something. I needed to avenge the massacre of my parents.

    Being of noble birth, enraged at the news of my parents’ death, and prepared to defend my homeland, I organized the fiefdoms of Dumnonia in Southwest Britannia. I despised Vortigern, and knew that his foolish actions in attempt for glory resulted in the deaths of thousands of innocent lives. As their leader, I was prepared to do all that was in my power to defend the people of Dumnonia, and establish myself as leader over all Romano Britons. However, my actions were not in time to save the people still living in terror from the Saxon hordes invading Kent. At Crecganford, only four months before this day, Hengest and Oisc of the Saxon tribes slaughtered four thousand Britons in pitched battle, and ravaged the countryside around London. The dead lay in heaps upon the battlefield, mercilessly killed with raw, unforgiving steel. Subsequently, the Saxons have added Sussex and Essex to their own kingdom, and Vortgern fled like a coward to North Wales. The Catuvellauni are only a symbol of weakness and broken promises for the remaining Roman Britons.

    It is now that I am ready to re-claim what is rightfully ours. I wear the purple of my ancestors. Unlike Vortigern, I will not break my promises. My armies consist of true Roman soldiers, Romano Britons trained to fight as legionaries. I will not employ the use of untrustworthy barbarians, and will look to my people for their advice and counsel. I invite all Romano Britons to unite under my banner, the true Roman banner, to fight and defend their homeland from the barbaric Saxon tribes to the East. I will restore order, establish stability and call upon God to assist in my struggle to restore the greatness of Rome! Though her Empire may be crumbling, Britannia shall not fall. I fight for Rome, for Britannia, for the glory of all those who live on the sacred island. I fight for those who may read this, that they know I did all that I could to save Britannia...
    Last edited by StealthFox; March 06, 2013 at 07:28 PM.

  4. #4
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    A Roman Fox - Entry #12
    A Roman Fox
    A Roman Fox 

    Prologue
    I am Miles, an agent of Rome, and I am the world’s first master spy. My adventures are many, so I have kept the story as brief as possible. Many may know something of the historical events of this tale; these are my rather pivotal contributions from behind the scenes. Oh, and as no doubt the master spies who follow my example will say, "Absolutely none of the events that I am about to relate ever happened."
     
    Chapter I
    A figure stood alone under the stars. He observed the campfires beneath him. The Parthians were master soldiers and expert horsemen. Their camp could repel any attacker and their checkpoints were cleverly sited. Good enough to stop the average spy, but not an agent of Rome. The dark figure moved through the shadows of the camp like a fish in water, pausing here, darting there and leaving no trace. Finally, at the General’s tent, a flap slowly loosened and the agent stole through. Many officers were clustered around their warlord’s table, as a voice with a slight Latin accent startled them.
    "Bugy, the stench of the Egyptians grows near."
    The officers groped for their swords, but King Bugiya raised his hand to stop them. The figure moved out of the shadows and a voice spoke from behind an arrogant grin, "I mean, Mighty One, the enemy approaches!"
    Pointing to the officers assembled, the king replied, "My Armenian, Pontic and Seleucid allies send me armies of cavalry, but all that my Roman ally sends me is a thief."
    Bowing low to the king, the figure rose and introduced himself to the officers, slowly stressing the Latin pronunciation of his name, "I am 'Meelays'…Agent Miles." Pulling a scroll from his robe, he placed it firmly on the table. "Can your trusty…newly conquered… allies tell you the strength of the Egyptian army that camps nearby?"
    Bugiya frowned, "You mean the army that besieges Palmyra?"
    Helping himself to a goblet of wine, Miles feigned surprise. "No, I mean that the army that was at Palmyra is now on the other side of the hills to the south. But you needn’t worry, your Roman agent slew their Egyptian ‘thief’ before he could report to their camp."
    Bugiya seemed unconvinced. He unfurled the scroll and studied it in detail as Miles drained his goblet. "What does this mark mean in the center of their camp?"
    Miles wiped his lips and flashed his green eyes as he said, "That, Mighty One is not the desert tent of a minor General. It is the great pavilion of an Egyptian Pharaoh!"
    The king’s eyes widened, "You know this for a fact?"
    Miles smiled, "Yes, he has a better vintage of wine than you do."
    The king began to grin. "You must teach your skills to my…agents."
    Miles replied shrewdly, "We have a saying in Rome. ‘The very wise should not spread too much wisdom’."
    The next day, Bugiya rode in front of his army and their cheers filled the morning air like the roar of lions. "The greatest gift that Zoroaster has bestowed upon me is to lead you, my brothers, into this battle. The Egyptians believe that their future is determined on the day that they are born. I believe that our future is determined on the day that our enemy…dies."
    Thanks to the information that Agent Miles had brought, the battle was less like a conflict and more like performing a piece of music that had already been practiced. Watching from a hilltop, Miles turned to his escort and remarked, "Your king is not only a great ruler, but also a great warrior. I no longer need your services. Go and tell him that Rome is pleased with this victory over our common enemy. May your king’s rule be long!" The escort rode away as Miles thought to himself, "As long as he remains an ally of Rome."
    Skirting the battle, Miles rode to the Egyptian camp. Disorder ruled, as all manner of camp follower fought with pavilion guards over anything that could be stolen and carried into the safety of the desert. Miles circumvented them without too much concern. Entering the Pharaoh’s chamber, he was confronted by many maidens from all parts of Egypt’s empire, in various stages of undress. A cry of surprise rose up and the women hastily attempted to cover their nakedness...some less hastily than others. Laughing boldly Miles plopped down on the Pharaoh’s throne and surveyed the puzzled harem. He then stated in perfect Egyptian, "Ladies, it seems that the Pharaoh won’t be returning this evening. However, the ‘Glory of Rome’ lies before you!"
     
    Zipos, the commander of the Parthian secret police, rode up on horseback to Bugiya’s headquarters, flanked by his escort. The royal guards immediately recognized him, and they were quickly granted unquestioned access to the king’s presence. The commander had urgent information on the recent murder of Babigna, the king’s brother and heir to his throne.
    "Mighty One!" he exclaimed, as he bowed before Bugiya. "I have much to show you."
    Bugiya raised his hand, "Let us speak in private, my old friend." The king motioned the secret police escort to leave. One of the escorts lingered and turned about, revealing his true identity. A familiar voice spoke, "Perhaps I should stay, too"
    Zipos was appalled, but the king just shook his head. "Agent Miles, do all Romans come and go like the wind? I haven’t seen you since I slew the Pharaoh and his army."
    Agent Miles helped himself to a goblet of captured Egyptian wine as he removed a parcel from underneath his robe. "You conquer the Pharaoh’s warriors, and I conquer his women." Miles’ voice was more solemn as he lifted his goblet, "A toast to your fallen brother. All Rome mourns your loss. As a personal gift, I offer you this red tunic that my grandfather wore in the wars against the Greeks. It is my humble desire that you may wear it in your victories over our common enemy." The king was moved by this noble gesture and nodded in agreement.
    Bugiya turned to Zipos, "Commander, please continue."
    The commander pulled a blood stained dagger from a leather pouch. "Forgive me, Mighty One, but this is the blade that the murderer used. Babigna was alone in his chambers and I had personally checked on him only a short time before his murder."
    Miles was intrigued. "May I see that?" The blade gleamed in the candlelight as he checked it from several angles. Showing it to the king, he stated, "This has an Egyptian marking on it, if I’m not mistaken. The hieroglyph for the god Set, the Destroyer. Set is the defender of Egypt from all foreigners. His followers believe that where Set walks, to his left and right, all that lives…withers and dies."
    The king spat, "The filthy cowards have no honor! I will slay every Egyptian’s son."
    The security commander continued, "My sources tell me that a great fleet is harbored in Alexandria that will bring a new army here to attack you."
    Miles sniffed the bouquet of the Egyptian wine and stated flatly, "My sources tell me that no army will sail here, because that army has already crossed the Sinai. An army that was on its way here even before your victory against the Pharaoh."
    The commander scoffed in disagreement, "What sources do you have, Roman?"
    Miles winked as he said, "Every man notices a concubine’s two beautiful breasts, but forgets that she has two sharp ears as well. Pretty maidens that live the boring life of the ‘Pharaoh’s favorites’, can remember in great detail the most amazing conversations."
    Zipos protested, "How can you trust such information?"
    Miles replied, "It is a Roman proverb that, ‘In wine, there is truth’."
    The king and his head of police glanced at each other in tacit agreement.
    Satisfied, Miles continued, "The Pharaoh was weak. A usurper was coming here to destroy you and contest the throne. The Pharaoh had hoped to make certain his rule by retaking Palmyra, but realized that he needed a quick victory instead."
    Bugiya scratched his chin and said, "So that is why the Pharaoh abandoned his siege?"
    Miles nodded, "Exactly! He moved to attack you, because he had to in order to remain ruler. Now he is gone, and the time is ripe for this usurper to strike. He is a fiery leader who claims to be the son of a god."
    Zipos scoffed, "This is Egyptian foolishness."
    Miles eyed the king and added, "It will not be foolish should the Egyptians respond to a savior. He is either very shrewd or very mad. In any case, he is very dangerous. One who would replace all other heirs and become Pharaoh by his own deeds. He says that he will prove his claim to the throne of Egypt to be just…by killing you. His banner is crimson red and contains the glyphs of his father’s name, the god Set."
    Miles returned the dagger to Zipos and commented, "I’ll see if I can learn anything else about your new enemy." He then bowed and left.
    Zipos was unable to control himself any longer as he turned to the king, "Mighty One, why do you indulge this agent? The Romans are only allies as long as it is to their advantage. Surely…"
    Bugiya cut the secret police commander off, "I only indulge this agent as long as it is to my advantage. Once the treasures of Egypt are mine, I won’t need any allies. Then that fleet in Alexandria’s harbor will carry my army to Rome! Until then, keep a watchful eye on our Roman agent."
    Zipos smiled as he twisted the dagger of Set in his hand, "I will do this myself."

    As Miles left the king’s tent the sun was just beginning to rise. He recognized a lone figure by a campfire. Walking up to the young man he greeted him warmly, "Ave Ardumanish! I give my deepest condolences on the passing of your father."
    Ardumanish, the only son of Babigna and new heir to the Parthian throne turned and smiled for the first time in many days, "Ave Miles. I had hoped to see you here. I have missed your stories of Rome."
    Miles grinned, "Your Latin is improving, but I expected no less from someone with your abilities. You look well."
    "I had always feared that my father might die in battle. When I learned that he had been murdered, it was quite a shock." Ardumanish took a deep breath. "When he returned home after the capture of Antioch, he was surprised at how much I had grown. He told me to come with him on this campaign. He wanted to show me the great library in Alexandria. ‘There’s much to learn there, my son.’ Instead of war trophies, he always brought me books from his conquests. I can read and write in four languages, but I can’t find the words to describe how empty I feel."
    Miles spoke softly, "Every day is a gift of the gods. Your father must have been a wise man to have wanted you to study so much."
    Shaking his head, Ardumanish looked through watery eyes as he answered, "My father was a great warrior and leader, but he was far from being a wiseman. He knew that I was quick to learn and he hoped that I would master strategy and tactics. Instead, I had hoped to master mercy and compassion. I asked him once, how it helped our people to conquer all other peoples." The young man clenched his fists in despair. "But now, perhaps he was right. If the Egyptians would do this..."
    Miles stirred the campfire and looked the young prince in the eye, "The Egyptians didn’t do this. Not the farmers along the Nile, or the nomads in their caravans, nor the scholars in Alexandria’s library. One Egyptian madman ordered this and I promise you that he will pay. You may yet master mercy and compassion as the king of Parthia."
    The firelight danced on Ardumanish’s face as he replied, "I’ll hopefully never be king. When my uncle has conquered the last of our neighbor’s, I’m sure that he’ll be able to produce an heir or two."
    Miles thought long and asked, "The commander of the secret police, he’s Armenian isn’t he?"
    Ardumanish was puzzled as he responded, "Zipos? Yes, he betrayed his homeland for a price and opened the gates to their capital for my uncle. Bugiya made him the commander of the secret police because he trusts him completely."
    Miles stood up and spoke quickly, "You must go to your father’s personal guard here in the camp. Tell them that they are your guard now. Learn everything you can from them. That shouldn’t be too hard for you. Eat and sleep with them. They must never leave your side. No more sitting alone. Trust me on this. I have a meeting to go to and I can’t explain."
    Ardumanish shook his head and laughed as Miles hurried away, "A meeting, no doubt with a beautiful woman!"
    Miles mounted his horse and thought to himself, "One can only hope!"
     
    Phrotas cursed himself for allowing his Parthian scouts to be captured by the Egyptians. They had followed a trail of desert brigands to this canyon, unaware that a horde of fanatics lined its walls. That so many men could hide in one place and strike so quickly impressed him. He went over again and again the endless questions that plagued his decision to surrender, but now only one remained. Why were they still alive at all?
    Cloth sacks were placed over their heads as Phrotas and his men were led from their holding tent into the cool night air. They stumbled many times as they were led to a low plateau overlooking a valley.
    "Talk and you die!" a guard yelled at them in broken Parthian. Their hands were still bound, but the sacks were removed from their heads. Phrotas looked up and saw a large pavilion surrounded by many red banners. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed that to the far side of his men was another figure in the uniform of a Parthian officer, but not of his group. The officer was bound as they and was looking back at him. Phrotas opened his mouth to speak but was struck by the guard, "Be silent, Parthian dog!"
    Glancing back at the officer, he saw him motion toward his hands. Phrotas’ eyes widened as he saw that the man was still armed with a dagger, and that he was cutting through his bonds.
    Just then, many drums thundered and the entire front of the pavilion was raised, revealing a throne in the shape of a giant scorpion. The scorpion’s pincers were the arms of the throne and its raised stinger formed the back. Upon the throne sat a tall, strong bare-chested man with a beard and a shaven head. He rose from the throne and came forward. The guards bowed before what Phrotas figured must be the Egyptians’ leader, the son of Set.
    By this time, the Parthian officer had freed himself and took the opportunity to strike. "Bugiya!" he yelled as he charged forward. The kneeling guards were caught off guard as the officer drove the point of the knife deep into their leader’s chest. Blood spurt out and covered the two of them, but the son of Set seemed unharmed. A demonic grin covered his face and instead of crying out in pain, he laughed. Then he grabbed the officer’s knife arm as the Parthian fell to his knees in horror. With his other hand, the demigod grabbed the knife and stabbed the officer in the heart. Blood trickled down the officer’s tunic as the Parthian screamed in pain, and then fell at the feet of the immortal.
    The guard turned to Phrotas and spoke, "It is the will of our lord that your lives are spared. Go to your jackal of a king and tell him that death stalks his army. Where Sutekh, the Son of Set walks, all that is Parthian will die!"
    The other guards turned the Parthians around to cut their bonds. This is when Phrotas saw another terrible sight. The valley was lined with Sutekh’s fanatics. More torches lined the valley below than stars were in the night sky above. He and his men mounted their horses and rode away as if chased by demons. The drums were pounded again as the army of fanatics chanted, "Sutekh…Sutekh...Sutekh!"

    Sutekh raised his hands and the horde of fanatics grew silent. "My children, these are the hills and deserts of your ancestors. Follow me, and the Parthians will never tread here. As Set is my father, I swear that no foreigner will ever threaten Egypt!" The fanatics filled the valley once again with the chanting of their new hero’s name. Sutekh returned to his throne and the front of the pavilion was lowered back in place.
    Alone in his tent, Sutekh looked at the fallen Parthian officer’s body before him. He closed his eyes and clapped his hands over his head, "By the will of Sutekh, rejoin the living!" The officer’s body became rigid. He sat straight up and gasped for air as his eyes opened wide. Sutekh looked in the man’s face and thought, "Now your life belongs to me."
    The man laughed and spoke, "You should have been an actor like me, Sutekh. In the amphitheaters of Thebes, you could have made quite a good living." He changed out of the Parthian officer’s blood stained uniform as Sutekh drained the last drops of cool, pig’s blood from the trick knife.
    Sutekh replied, "It is your performance, Hekhemmut, that will be remembered, once those scouts report back to their king."
    Hekhemmut raised one hand and pronounced, "A great admirer of mine once stated that when I die, no one will know if I am acting or not!"
    Sutekh grinned and added, "Perhaps your heroic officer will get an award for bravery from the Parthians…posthumously of course. If this act destroys the will of the Parthian army, I may give you an award, too!"
    Hekhemmut replied, "I shall be known as the actor who destroyed an army. Fabulous! However, you can keep the awards. You know what I really want. Don’t forget our agreement."
    Sutekh went to a chest and removed a small leather pouch. He gave it to Hekhemmut, who quickly poured its contents into his own hand. Hekhemmut held the jeweled scarab up to the candlelight and marveled at its craftsmanship. "Which of your benefactors traded this treasure for a continued position of power during your future reign?" Sutekh only shrugged. Hekhemmut laughed as he added, "I shall buy my own amphitheater with this. Farewell, O’ immortal Son of Set."
    Sutekh raised his hand, "Don’t forget your dagger." As he closed with Hekhemmut, he drove the knife’s point into the actor one last time. Hekhemmut started to laugh, but then screamed in pain as the warm blood from his own heart filled his tunic. Sutekh grinned and stated flatly, "Oops, wrong blade." Then he twisted the dagger of Set as Hekhemmut fell to Sutekh’s knees once again.
    Sutekh knelt down and retrieved the scarab as he wiped the dagger on Hekhemmut’s robe. "I guess you’ll also be getting that award from me…posthumously." Standing up, he kicked the actor’s feet. Rubbing his beard, he laughed as he muttered, "I don’t think that he is acting this time."
    Sutekh returned to his throne and struck a small gong. Guards entered followed by an Egyptian general. "Have that fool’s body fed to the wolves." Sutekh ordered. The General bowed low and remained kneeling as the guards carried Hekhemmut to his final performance. Sutekh tried to remember which of the old Pharaoh’s rivals had appointed this officer to lead his army. The guards left and Sutekh waited a little longer before addressing the general. He thought, "This trained dog must learn obedience to his new master." Finally Sutekh commanded, "Speak!"
    General Knumhoptep rose and reported, "My Lord, the Parthian traitor has sent word that he has murdered their king’s brother and heir. He sends this scroll and news that the new heir is but a boy and no warrior."
    Sutekh thought for a while, then spoke, "When I slay the Parthian king in battle, our agent can kill the heir. Then the leaderless Parthian army will disintegrate under the weight of my army’s numbers."
    Knumhoptep shook his head, "It is true that many more desert brigands join your fanatics every day, but they are hardly a disciplined army. Why not order the traitor to kill the Parthian king and be done with him?"
    Sutekh frowned, "You are a good military leader, or so I am told, but not much of a political leader. The king must fall in battle with me." Sutekh waived the dagger to and fro, "I kill the lion and the traitor kills the cub. This is how a man becomes Pharaoh." The general nodded as Sutekh continued, "Once the Parthians have been dealt with and I am Pharaoh, you will lead my armies to conquer the Roman provinces in North Africa. Then you will become the richest general in Egyptian history!"
    As Knumhoptep nodded, Sutekh opened the scroll and read the message inside. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "The traitor writes that the Parthian king will wear a red Roman tunic in battle. Have the tailors in the camp make copies of this design. Train your best archers to spot this tunic on the battlefield, and kill the one who wears it!"
    Sutekh gave the pouch with the scarab to Knumhoptep, "Send this to the traitor in payment for his work. Perhaps it will bring him better fortune than its previous owner. Send him this dagger of Set, too. He’ll know what to do with it."
    As Knumhoptep left, Sutekh wondered how long his promises would buy this man’s loyalty. How good of a performance will all of his benefactors give, when Set’s blade finds its way to their hearts? The gong sounded again and a guard rushed in. Sutekh commanded him, "Have my craftsmen make more daggers of Set for me."
    The guard bowed, "Yes my Lord."
    Sutekh grinned and added, "Have them make a lot more!"

    Chapter II
    Princess Aneksi was glad to be on solid ground again, after so many weeks on the merchant vessel. It seemed like only yesterday that she had been walking in Memphis, the ancient capital. She remembered how her mother had instructed her on the importance of what she must do. Aneksi’s brother was the rightful heir to the throne of Egypt, even though he was only ten years old. The princess was sent on vacation so that none of the rivals for the throne would suspect anything out of the ordinary. Normally, Aneksi's royal head was smooth shaven, but was now full of hair to add to her disguise. She must convince the Parthians to end this war if her family was to remain in power. Although she was less than twice her brother’s age, her mother had faith in her strength and intellect. However, Aneksi was still no diplomat. For the success of this mission, she would need the assistance of someone who spoke with a tongue like silver.
    The harbor that serviced Jerusalem was a busy place. It had been occupied by the Parthians without a fight and many of the harbor personnel were still the same locals that had worked under the Egyptians. Aneksi quickly located the harbormaster and approached him discreetly. She spoke quietly, but her beauty commanded his attention, "Sir, if you would be so kind as to help me. I am looking for a Roman."
    The burley harbormaster eyed the young woman from head to toe, then spoke, "Well you’re in the right place, dear lady. Aye, since the Parthian king has signed a trade agreement with Rome, the whole harbor is full of those buggers. Beggin’ you’re pardon, uh Miss."
    Aneksi was visibly distressed as she thought out loud, "Oh dear! I had not anticipated this possibility."
    The harbormaster scratched his chin and asked, "Can you perhaps describe this particular Roman?"
    Thinking back to all that her mother had said, she replied, "I was only told that he is the most arrogant, impudent, insolent Roman scoundrel that ever lived."
    Smiling, the harbormaster nodded and replied, "Oh, you mean Miles." He frowned and added, "I lost a cargo of wine rolling dice with him. There he is, over by the garden entrance to the Temple of Virgins."
    The princess thanked the harbormaster and proceeded straight toward Miles. The uncommon wooden soles of her shoes were a personal trademark that made a loud noise on the cobblestones of the harbor road. As she approached Miles she wondered about her mother’s description. Certainly, a man who would make an offering to the Temple of Virgins could not really be a scoundrel. As she drew near, she overheard the conversation between Miles and an acolyte of the temple.
    "Excuse me dear lady." Miles bowed as he addressed the young temple virgin. "I am new in this town and I am lost. Perhaps you can tell me..." The adept approached Miles with apparent interest. Miles smiled and looked the girl in the eye as he finished his question, "…the way to your heart?"
    Embarrassed, the young woman exploded with laughter, but quickly regained her composure as she exclaimed, "The head of our order warned us not to talk to men of your sort!"
    Miles replied with a charming smile, "Well, since we are already over that hurdle, perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Miles…"
    "Agent Miles!" Aneksi exclaimed. The temple virgin was startled, but managed to wink at Miles as she slipped through the garden gate. Miles shrugged and turned about, seeing the princess for the first time. Her hair was black and straight, as was the custom of the Egyptian women, but nothing else about her beauty was customary. Her deep brown eyes could swallow a man’s soul and her lips were too inviting to describe. The robe she wore was tight in all the right places and her complexion was a perfect tan. Miles thought back to the parting taunt by Ardumanish and spoke his thoughts out loud, "Thank you!"
    Aneksi seemed puzzled as she responded, "I am princess Aneksi."
    Miles bowed and replied, "Thank you, princess…for being…so incredibly…punctual."
    The princess did not look impressed, "I should have you bound and whipped for accosting a temple virgin."
    Miles smiled again, "Intriguing! Tell me, what shall we do after you are done whipping me?"
    Aneksi eyes flared as she stated flatly, "Obviously my mother was wrong when she thought that someone like you could ever help my family. I see no reason to continue this conversation." The princess turned to leave.
    Miles was undeterred as he asked, "How is your lovely mother? Does she still wear that golden pendant of a fox?"
    The "clip clop" of Aneksi’s shoes came to an abrupt halt. Turning around slowly, she asked, "You mean my mother’s favorite pendant. How did you know about that?"
    "Well I should know about the gifts I give." Aneksi bore a shocked expression so Miles offered a suggestion. "I can help your family now…as I have in the past. However, a harbor is hardly the place for a discussion. I have a room at a nearby inn that has the best menu in Jerusalem, as well as a very good stock of Roman wine. Actually, I sold the wine to the innkeeper for a rather embarrassing profit." Leading the way, Miles motioned to the princess, "Your Highness?"
    Aneksi seemed too stunned to argue. However, as she followed, the sound of her shoes became more forceful. Finally, Miles turned to her with a smile, "Nice shoes! I have a theory that shoes are like a window on the soul of a woman." Pointing at her small feet, Miles stated, "Take your shoes for instance. Hard and stern, announcing your presence wherever you go."
    "What else do my shoes tell you?"
    Miles smiled and replied, "This depends on whether you had the shoes made or if they were a gift from an admirer."
    Aneksi frowned and asked, "Do we really want to talk about shoes?"
    "Well, one of us does, but there is no need to continue. This is the inn that I had mentioned." Miles opened the door and ushered the princess to a private room. He caught the attention of the innkeeper and said, "Your finest dinner for two and a bottle of Roman wine."
    Aneksi interrupted, "I’ll be drinking from a bottle of simple well water mixed with honey, thank you." The innkeeper nodded as Miles frowned.
    Miles held the chair for Aneksi and then lit the candle at their table. The inn was a busy place and Miles did not notice a hooded figure follow them in.
    Aneksi explained that her brother would never live to be Pharaoh if the Son of Set returned to Egypt as a hero, "If the Parthians could somehow defeat Sutekh, then we would agree to a ceasefire that allowed them to retain Palmyra and Jerusalem. We could blame their loss on the Son of Set. If you could engineer this, then my brother would improve relations with Rome, perhaps in a trade agreement." Miles was impressed that Aneksi was not just a pretty face although she was a pretty everything else.
    A servant arrived with the meal and drink. Miles nodded to Aneksi and quipped, "Here’s my wine and your water, honey."
    Aneksi scowled and begged, "Agent Miles, have you listened to anything that I have said? I assure you, that I speak for my brother when I say that we are prepared to make these rather large compromises."
    Miles grinned and said, "I agree with you in principle, but before we make such ‘large compromises’, let’s start with small ones." Miles poured a mixture of wine and honey-water for himself. "I shall share in your Egyptian drink…" Then he poured the same for Aneksi. "…and you shall share in my Roman drink." Miles then raised his goblet in toast as he said, "To small compromises, princess."
    Aneksi lifted her goblet as well and drank reluctantly. Miles raised his eyebrows as if to question her and she stated, "It’s rather good."
    As the wine flowed more easily, Miles listened intently as Aneksi told him of the latest political events in Egypt. The constant wars, in which her father had indulged, had nearly left Egypt bankrupt. Now that he was gone, many men of power doubted that her mother could, or should, rule until her brother came of age. They knew that she wanted peace with their enemies, so that Egypt could heal her wounds. Such powerful men prefer a path to wealth that involves plunder and looting as opposed to commerce and trade.
    Miles refilled Aneksi’s goblet once more and she asked, "How did you meet my mother?"
    Miles replied, "Years ago, the Greeks were trying to expand into Salamis. A humble agent discreetly arranged for Rome to threaten to attack the Greek mainland and divert their strength. This allowed the Egyptians to retain control of the port. In return, Egypt agreed to respect Roman holdings in North Africa. Your mother was very instrumental in persuading the Pharaoh to forgo war with Rome and Greece. The pendant was sort of a joke about the nickname she had given me."
    Miles perceived that Aneksi was relieved to hear this and she began to relax and warm to his manner. He told the events of several of his adventures...some perhaps even true and he became fond of hearing her laughter. Finally he said, "So the Questor’s daughter yelled back, ‘Father, I’m just putting the cat out.’ I then kissed her one last time and slipped into the night. As she closed the door, I heard her father reply, ‘We don’t have a cat!’"

    Aneksi giggled as she drank the last of her wine, yet again. As Miles filled her goblet she leaned toward him and whispered, "I know exactly what you are trying to do."
    Miles looked into her brown eyes and asked, "What would that be?"
    Aneksi continued to giggle as she raised her goblet and garbled her reply, "Win the world with wonderful wine, you wily Wo-man." It was Miles’ turn to laugh as the princess continued, "I mean you rily Roman."
    The princess breathed slowly as she stared into the flickering candlelight. Miles looked into her face and wondered which Egyptian goddess of grace and beauty had molded her features. Her eyes seemed almost sad as she spoke, "Do you really think that I am stern like my shoes?"
    Miles smiled and replied, "No, I think that you are thoroughly delightful, Aneksi!"
    The princess shook her head and continued, "You don’t have to be nice. I’ve heard worse. One would-be suitor told my mother that I was as cold as the stone face on the Phinx."
    Miles expression was of confusion as Aneksi repeated herself, "The Phsinx…oh you know, the Sssvveeengzzz. I thought that you knew everything!"
    Miles added somewhat modestly, "There are a great many things that I don’t know, princess."
    Aneksi nodded in agreement, "Well that’s for sure. I’ll wager that you didn’t even know that the Parthians have a traitor who is meeting with an agent of Sutekh at midnight in the dockyard of this very port."
    Miles had suspected that the Egyptian spy network would know more about Sutekh than he. This information was what he had hoped for, but he proceeded carefully. "Do you know the identity of the traitor?"
    Aneksi leaned over and said, "Nope. But we will learn this in time."
    Miles relaxed somewhat and asked, "Are you sure of this?"
    Aneksi waived her index finger at Miles as she said proudly, "Mister Miles, you may have been interested in the goings on in my land for a few years, but I can assure you that my family has been involved with this for many centuries."
    Satisfied, Miles thought for a moment. Meanwhile, Aneksi took a deep breath and placed both of her soft hands on the table as she slurred out, "Excushe me, I mush return to my ship." She then rose too abruptly from her seat and her eyes closed as she began to wobble about. Miles was quickly by her side and his strong arms held her tight before she fell. Her own hands slid up his back and hugged him as well. Aneksi’s head cocked back as her dark eyes stared into his.
    Miles spoke softly to her, "Even a docked ship is no place for you to sleep tonight. A sturdy bed is what you need and I have just the thing for you upstairs." A sweet smile parted Aneksi’s lips as she nodded in agreement and gave Miles an exaggerated wink.
    Miles gently guided her up the stairs as the hooded figure left through the entrance to the inn. Everywhere his hands held Aneksi, her firm body felt good to the touch. Finally, he balanced her on a stool as he lit an oil lamp in his room. Aneksi stretched her arms and removed her shoes. As the lamplight grew, Miles' bed came into view. Standing up more carefully this time, she swayed over to the bedside. She pulled two strings on her clothes as they slid over her body and down her shapely legs, collecting at her feet. The princess then climbed into the comfortable bed and stretched out. Rolling onto her back, she giggled one last time and fell asleep. Miles turned to behold every bit of Aneksi illuminated by the lamp. He pulled a blanket over the princess and kissed her forehead.
    Cursing the gods that he could not be in two places at once, Miles whispered, "Sleep well, princess." Then he grabbed his own hooded robe and slipped through the window into the night.
     
    Chapter III
    Miles paused on the roof until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The port had been a busy place in the daylight, but very little was going on at this hour. Somewhere through an open window, a baby cried and in the distance a dog barked at a lone passerby. He thought to himself that it shouldn’t be too hard to find this meeting place. No moon shown, but the starlight was enough to cast shadows on the street below. He carefully picked a way down to the road.
    Finally, Miles moved through the shadows to the dock and the earthy smells of the town accosted him. Two stray cats fought over something in an alley. Miles smiled at the irony as he overheard a woman berating her spouse’s performance in bed. Finally, he reached the dockyard area. The ships at anchor were gently bobbing up and down. They reminded Miles of what he was missing with the princess. However, even such thoughts as these didn’t mask the feeling Miles had that he was not alone.
    Pitch black shadows are the perfect location for foul deeds. Two hooded figures met next to the dock on a byway that smelled like dead fish. Muffled whispers were exchanged. One figure passed a small pouch and a dagger and received a scroll in return. Then the figures parted and the shadows seemed to swallow them. Thus, events that shape nations are decided in the stench of dark alleys.
    Miles peered into the shadows and it seemed as though even his very heart beat quietly. Someone was there. Who was the hunter and who was the prey would be decided by a single noise. The sweat on Miles’ hand slid down his fingers and onto his throwing knife. Long minutes passed with no sounds other than the distant crash of the tide. The smell in the alley was unbearable. Then, suddenly a rat crawled out of a barrel. Its fur gleamed with the slime and blood of fish entrails. Finally, it started to claw at the leather on Miles’ shoe. Two more rats, even filthier than the first, followed. In the distance, a dog barked at a passerby. That was what Miles had waited for. He quickly stomped his foot on the rat as the other two scurried off. He started moving in the direction of the barking dog.
    Miles had the advantage and he moved swiftly into position, but the hooded figure that he pursued was also moving quickly. Miles’ robe billowed behind him as his heart now beat like a drum. Several times he came within a second of acquiring his target. He raised his blade to throwing position only to see his target dash away. The hooded figure was good, very good. He darted and dodged as he hurried along toward his destination. Miles finally came to a halt in the last bit of shadows, as he saw his prey arrive at the gate of the Parthian compound. The figure threw back his hood as the guards recognized him and passed him through without question. Miles sheathed his weapon as his lips parted in whispered exclamation, "Zipos!"

    After several failed attempts to find his way back to the inn, Miles was finally able to recognize some landmarks. He had cooled off and decided to be very cautious with what he had learned this evening. He must find out everything he can about Zipos. This would be the best way to proceed.
    As the inn finally came into sight, Miles darted back into the shadows. He noticed a group of Parthian cavalry gathered there. Two of the cavalrymen came out of the inn and reported to a mounted officer, "The Roman is not inside." The two soldiers looked at each other and smiled, "however, there is a beautiful woman sleeping in his bed."
    The mounted officer turned his horse around and looked into the shadows where Miles was. To the surprise of his soldiers, he asked, "A beautiful lady friend of yours?"
    Miles stepped out of the shadows and added with a grin, "All women are beautiful. They can grow little people inside their luscious bodies. I see a goddess in every woman’s face."
    The officer stated, "I recognize your arrogant manner. You must be the one they call Miles."
    Miles bowed in agreement. "There is no mighty Spirit but the mighty Spirit, and there is no Miles, but Miles."
    Seemingly unimpressed, the officer continued, "I am the captain of Prince Ardumanish’s guard. The prince has sent me to find you and bring you to him."
    Miles’ concern grew and he asked, "Did the prince say what it was about?"
    The captain peered down at Miles and said, "No. His orders were to find you and bring you to him, immediately."
    Miles nodded, "Allow me to freshen up and we can leave."
    The captain dismounted his horse and confronted Miles. "I’ll be blunt. I follow my prince’s orders to the letter. I’ve found you and we are leaving…immediately!"
    Miles glanced at the window to his room one last time, then spoke, "Well then, we shouldn’t keep the good prince waiting."
    The soldiers of the prince’s new personal guard were very tight lipped. Miles had started a conversation with the two guards who had seen Aneksi, but one glance from the captain and the guards were silent again. At the end of the day’s journey, they camped and the captain posted a watch. It seemed to Miles, that the watch was more interested in his own movements than anything else. Finally they ate. Miles took his meal and sat by the captain.
    "We’re alone at last." Miles said with a smile. The captain scowled and continued to eat. Undeterred, Miles continued. "You don’t like me, do you?"
    The captain continued to eat, then said, "I don’t even know you…" Then he looked Miles in the eye, "…and I don’t like you. I’m a warrior. I fight for my country. I don’t like agents who live by sneaking around in the shadows."
    Miles shrugged, "Well perhaps you should reconsider. I come from a family of great warriors. They all fought for their country…and died. Rome’s might grew great as my family’s numbers grew small. I prefer to live by ‘sneaking around in the shadows’, because I prefer to live. Like you, I also prefer that your prince will continue to live. You know that the best way to accomplish this is for us to work together."
    The captain considered this, and then spoke, "What is it you want from me?"
    Miles seized his chance, "What can you tell me about Zipos, the commander of the secret police?"
    The journey to Ardumanish’s camp was short. The captain dressed Miles in the uniform of a guardsman, so that he might enter the camp unnoticed. This was the bivouac of a large army and Miles could see that preparations were being made for battle. What struck Miles was the look on the faces of the soldiers. He had never before seen Parthian soldiers that looked afraid.
    Miles was taken straight to the tent of Prince Ardumanish and in no time he was standing before a great warlord in full armor.
    "Ardumanish," Miles exclaimed. "I hardly recognize you!"
    "Ave Miles. This is…was…my father’s armor. The good captain has shown me how to wear it, but I’m afraid I still have a lot to learn. However, I didn’t summon you here to address my fears. It’s the fears of the army that require your assistance. This is Phrotas, one of my uncle’s scouts. He has information that I need your advice on."
    Phrotas retold the events at Sutekh’s camp. Miles listened closely, but was mostly concerned with the fear in the man’s voice. Common people can become great warriors. Though they may have the heart of a lion, simple folk still have common fears of the unknown or the unimaginable. As Phrotas finished, he and Ardumanish looked to Miles.
    Miles laughed and remarked, "About two summers ago during an intermission at the Coliseum, a sort of exotic dancer created the illusion that she was pulling a seemingly endless stream of pigeons right out of her…" Miles motioned towards his crotch, then continued, "…or were they doves? Anyway, it was really amazing. Perhaps because I had drank too much wine."
    Ardumanish and the scout seemed totally confused. Miles looked the scout in the eye and said, "Look, I’ve been from one end of the Mare Nostrum to the other and I’ve seen a lot of strange things, but I have never seen the son of a god and neither have you. I don’t exactly know how Sutekh managed this illusion, but I can assure you that an illusion is all that it was."
    Ardumanish appeared pleased with what Miles said and even Phrotas nodded in agreement. "Too bad that you cannot tell this story to all the soldiers of the army." the prince said.
    Miles smiled, "We’ll tell them something better. Phrotas assemble your scouts and inform them that when you reported to the prince, he said that he would prove Sutekh to be an immortal."
    Ardumanish and the scout were once again totally confused by and Miles continued, "Tell them that he laughed. Then he said he would personally cut off Sutekh’s head and throw it in the sea. Travelers will watch his headless body swimming after it for the rest of days."
    Phrotas and Ardumanish smiled at each other. Miles asked, "Phrotas, would you recognize this Sutekh fellow if you saw him again."
    Phrotas quickly exclaimed, "I will never forget his face!"
    Miles winked at Ardumanish and added, "Have you ever considered joining the prince’s personal guard?"

    The next day started early, with lots of training. The captain knew his business well and Ardumanish was an excellent student. However, Miles noticed that the prince had some difficulty acquiring the target with his bow. Miles was offering advice when the captain stormed over to the prince’s side and barked, "What do you know about archery, Roman?"
    Miles was not flustered as he responded, "Well…it does look terribly difficult." He held the Parthian bow and an arrow awkwardly in his hands, then in an instant the arrow was cocked and flew true to the target’s center. He quipped, "Beginner’s luck, I guess."
    The captain frowned and snatched the bow. In less than an instant, his arrow split Miles’ own shaft in two. He looked at Miles and said, "Let’s try your luck with sword combat."
    Miles was equipped with a sword in a wooden sheath and a shield. The guardsmen were assembled in two lines. The captain stood across from Miles. "Battle ready!" he yelled and the men responded with, "Fit to fight!" The sword combat began in earnest.
    The captain demonstrated many techniques and Miles added some purely Roman methods for the prince. More than once, Miles wondered if the captain had forgotten that they were only demonstrating mock combat. The prince joined in with typical zeal. It was a good display of skill and all three learned something from each other.
    At the evening meal there was much talk and laughter. Miles noticed that Ardumanish was very quiet, though. He ate almost in silence as if in deep thought. Finally, he stood up and walked outside the tent into the night air. Miles followed as the captain watched.
    "You don’t seem to have much of an appetite." Miles said with concern.
    The prince shrugged as he spoke, "I think that it is my soul that is hungry tonight. I’ve never even seen an Egyptian, but now I spend every waking moment learning how to kill them. Somehow though, all the training and preparation is so, well, exciting. It’s almost intoxicating. All day, all I could think about was meeting Sutekh in battle and avenging my father. But just now, when I looked around the table at the faces of those men, I wondered how many of them won’t make it. I think that I am more afraid of one of them dying or being maimed than I am of my own death. My uncle commands the army, but I command them. However, they are all brave warriors. If I ordered them to throw down their swords and ride home, would they really do it? It’s insane, like riding a war elephant that’s running amok. I can’t stop this and I must go forward with it until the madness ends."
    Miles looked at the stars and said, "Choices never come easy to any leader. Many may want what you do not and the way will not always be clear. Use your wisdom to guide you and persuade others that your way is best. Control the situation, don’t let it control you."
    Just then the captain raised the tent flap and the prince and Miles returned to the dinner. The captain raised his goblet and commanded, "A toast to our prince!" The men stood and echoed with glee, "To the prince."
    The captain continued, "As the blood of our ancestors strengthens our sword-hands, let the blood of our enemies fill the desert sands."
    The men chanted, "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!"
    Miles eased his weary body onto his cot, but then he heard footsteps outside his tent and he sprang out of bed. The captain entered the tent with two retainers carrying armor. He looked at Miles with a stern face and said, "You’ve worn the uniform of a guardsman well. However, in battle you will need a suit of proper armor. This is my old armor. It served me well. It’s probably a little big for you, so these two will fit it to you."
    The captain turned to leave and Miles was too stunned to say much more than, "…Thank you."
    The captain turned around and added, "I feel that I know you better now. I may have misjudged you." He stuck out his hand and Miles shook it, although the captain’s grip was like a vice. "Of course, I still don’t like you."
    Miles shook off the tingling sensation in his hand as he replied, "Oh, of course." Then the two men grinned together.
    The next morning began as the one before. The prince, however, seemed more determined on this day. The men paired off in line as the training with swords began. This time, it was Ardumanish who stood across from Miles. Admiring Miles’ new armor, the prince remarked, "It is I who hardly recognizes you now."
    Miles stretched under the weight of the mail and grinned, "The captain is somewhat broader in the shoulders than I…although not as broad in the crotch."
    Ardumanish laughed and added, "Let’s see if that impairs your sword arm." He then looked to the captain, who nodded at him. The prince raised his sword and commanded, "Battle ready!"
    The men raised their swords and replied to their warlord, "Fit to fight!"
    Now, the prince led all of the training under the watchful eye of his captain. The men grew accustomed to his commands and he seemed more confident in giving them. The captain presented many different tactical situations and his young student showed a natural ability to master each one. At the evening meal, Ardumanish joined in all the talk, and the laughter.
    At one point, the captain found Miles alone with Phrotas at a separate table. Miles was sketching a picture of Sutekh with direction of the former scout. "My Lord has shown more spirit since you two talked."
    Miles nodded, "Yes. It seems that he’s no longer riding a raging war elephant. His spirit is becoming like one."
    "Good!" The captain added, "I strengthen his sword-arm and you his heart." Miles grinned in agreement.
    Just then, a courier entered the tent and gave Ardumanish a scroll. The prince read the scroll and stood up as the men went silent. "This is word from the king. The Egyptians are moving on Jerusalem. All camps are ordered to muster and move toward an assembly point. We are called to battle!"
    The men stood up and started singing a song in old Parthian. Miles did not know all of the words, but looking at the faces of the men, he could guess at the song’s meaning. He hoped that all that he had done thus far would not come to ruin in a single savage battle. Indeed, the plans of everyone in Egypt, Parthia and Rome would be influenced by the events of this one madness.

    The Parthians were principally a horse army that moved in dispersed groups that concentrated at the point of battle. As the groups met, officers hailed one another and new songs were sung. The best riders among the various groups challenged each other’s skill in displays of horsemanship. Many banners billowed in the wind, but none were greater than the prince’s. In respect, all were lowered at his approach, and it seemed as though each commander could tell Ardumanish a new tale of his father’s bravery.
    The captain always instructed Ardumanish with the proper protocol, but soon the prince displayed a natural talent to impress those new to him. Miles got the impression that the prince's words inspired those who mourned his father and that they came to admire him for his will and not just for his office.
    Miles had spent most of the journey branding the sketch of Sutekh onto his memory. He was certain that he could spot him on the battlefield. He was not as certain if he would get the opportunity. Miles was torn between sneaking into the Egyptian camp and dealing with Sutekh alone, or safeguarding Ardumanish as best he could. He decided to stay by the prince.
    Eventually, the prince’s wing of the army joined with that of King Bugiya. Ardumanish and Miles met quickly with his uncle. The king’s plan was straightforward. Both wings of the army would pelt the Egyptian line with volleys of arrows. As soon as disorder ruled, the king would lead his royal cataphracts through any holes in their front. Fast Persian cavalry would secure their flanks. No army had ever withstood their assault.

    Miles and the prince rode off to rejoin his forces and Zipos remarked to the King, "It seems that not only has one of you scouts joined with the prince, but also the Roman."
    Bugiya nodded, "It would be a real shame if I must report to Rome that their agent was killed in battle."
    Zipos grinned and replied, "I perceive, Mighty One. I will see to his ’well-being’ personally."
    Miles was in awe as he viewed the Parthians. This was even a larger cavalry force than had been used against the Pharaoh and he wondered if Rome could match such an army as this. Courier’s brought orders from Bugiya as scouts reported the latest movements of Sutekh’s horde. Several dunes separated the two armies from direct view, but great plumes of dust filled the skies where the soldiers marched and rode.
    Ardumanish read his instructions, and then turned to Miles. "I told you once that I doubted if I could order my men out of this battle. Well there is one that I can spare. This is not your war Miles. Stand down my friend."
    Miles bowed as best he could in the captain’s armor. "I am afraid that if I do not fight Sutekh here, then Rome must fight him another day. Death to our enemies!"
    Ardumanish nodded and drew his sword as he commanded, "Forward!"
    As the Parthians crested the dunes, trumpets sounded and drums thundered on both sides. Miles rode to the top of the last dune and he could finally see the army of Sutekh. The center seemed to be a professional group of spearmen backed by archers. The flanks were covered by great hordes of desert nomads from various tribes on horses or camels. To the rear, on another dune, was a small group of chariots and Miles strained to make out Sutekh himself. There did not seem to be as many Egyptians as the scouts had reported. Perhaps the Egyptians had decided that they would rather be with their mothers than with Sutekh.
    Ardumanish rode forward as the mounted archers fired one deadly volley after another. The center of Sutekh’s army held and their archers returned fire, but the nomads wavered. Both flanks of desert brigands routed before the charging Persian Cavalry. Soon, Miles saw Sutekh’s own chariots flee over the dunes and out of sight, and then the whole Egyptian army retreated behind the far dune. Bugiya drew his sword and ordered a full attack to pursue and annihilate the Egyptians.
    The Parthians rode over the far dune and Phrotas saw the Egyptians fleeing into a canyon as the army charged after them in great haste. This was all too familiar to the scout. The memory of his capture by a huge force of silent fanatics in just such a canyon was still fresh. He quickly rode to the prince’s side and yelled as loud as he could, "Wait, it’s a trap!"
    Chapter IV
    Ardumanish was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. Charging after Sutekh’s army brought a fierce beast to life in his spirit. Just then, Phrotas rode up along side of him yelling. "Stop, my prince! This is another trap like the one when I was captured!"
    Ardumanish looked at the man’s face. He remembered how Phrotas had looked when he was afraid, and he could see no fear this time. His expression was of one who saw the truth and spoke it.
    The prince raised his sword and commanded his wing of the army to stop, but the thirst for battle had overcome them. Only his guard and a few others near them stopped while the rest charged onward with the king. His captain looked totally surprised as he rode up with Miles. "My prince, we mustn’t stop here. The king will kill even you for such cowardice!"
    Ardumanish looked into his mentor’s eyes and spoke, "Phrotas warns that this could be a trap, and…I don’t know. It seems too easy. What if it is a trap?."
    The captain was typically stern as he looked into Phrotas’ face and spoke, "Sire, this man isn’t a real guardsman. The only noble thing to do is for you to lead the attack to destroy your father’s murderer."
    A fire was rekindled in Ardumanish’s soul for a vengeance that was quickly escaping him. Phrotas had fallen silent and the faces of the guardsmen resembled hungry wolves. Ardumanish had no fear of traps or deceptions as long as he could bury his sword in Sutekh’s heart! Then, he saw Miles. The Roman seemed to be studying him. Ardumanish remembered the advice Miles had given him. ‘Control the situation, don’t let it control you.’ Ardumanish took a deep breath and looked into each soldier’s face as he spoke, "True, Phrotas is only a scout. But I trust his advice, because he was surprised in just such a canyon by Sutekh. If it is a trap, only we can do anything to stop the destruction of the army. You are my personal guard. If you do not trust in me, then no one will, and the army will be lost."
    The captain spoke for all the men. "Forgive me, my prince! Humility is a new emotion for me. I never doubted your father, and I will never doubt you again. What are your orders, mighty one!"
    Ardumanish thought quickly as he looked around, "Phrotas take some of the men and scout around the canyon. Captain, have the bugler sound rally and collect as many men as you can. Send someone back to bring up the drummers, the cooks and anyone else left behind who can fight. Arm them with weapons from the fallen. Assemble them in that bluff. Anyone who tries to seal off the canyon will be at our mercy as we surprise them with our own trap."
    Phrotas and the captain rode off and Miles smiled with pride at Ardumanish. "Well done. What orders do you have for me?"
    The prince looked at Miles with remorse and replied, "I need someone whose arrogance knows no fear. One who would ride to his certain doom and warn the king. I…"
    "Is this someone taller than I?" Miles smiled as he and Ardumanish shook hands. "Farewell prince." Then Miles rode into the canyon of death.
    Ahead around the narrow valley, Sutekh’s archers climbed out of spider holes along the sides of both cliffs as deadly missiles flew from their bows. Many Parthian horse archers returned fire, but their arrows could seldom reach the top of the cliffs where the fanatics were.
    King Bugiya wore the red Roman tunic of Miles’ grandfather, just as the traitor had foretold. As he was rallying his army, the Egyptians aimed a volley at him. Most of the arrows missed or bounced off the King’s armor, but one pierced his neck as he fell from his horse. The Parthian army was now in total disarray. Groups of horse archers volleyed uncoordinated in every direction while the wounded scrambled to find a mount. No one seemed to be in charge and the situation was turning desperate as men began to panic.
    On his way into the canyon Miles grabbed a bugle and the banner of the prince. With a mental apology to the captain, he threw down his shield and helmet to lighten his mount’s load. Riding as though he had been shot from a bow, he began his pursuit of the Parthians. He hoped that the army was not already too far ahead for him to arrive in time.
    Miles needed all his strength to keep moving ahead. It was not fear that hindered him, but compassion. He had lost count of the number of wounded he had passed who had begged for assistance. Just a single drink of water before they died or a message to their families was all they had asked. Their faces would haunt Miles, but he rode on so he might save thousands while they still had a chance to live. Along the way, a few stragglers joined him. Soon, he could see the Parthians and he started sounding the bugle. He didn’t know any of the Parthian battle calls, but he blew as loud and long as he could. Slowly, the army heard him and rallied to the prince’s banner. However, this was an army in name only. Organization had failed and many units were leaderless or leaders had lost all hope. Miles lifted the banner and turned to run as the horsemen followed.
    The sound of the horse’s hooves echoed through the canyon behind Miles as he raced back to anticipated safety. The Egyptians were in close pursuit. As Miles rounded the last bend before the end of the canyon he saw the last part of the trap unfold. The horde of desert brigands had only ran away from the Persian cavalry. They had then circled and returned to seal off the canyon and trap the Parthians. Miles knew the army’s survival depended on the young Ardumanish.

    Ardumanish looked around at the men assembled in the bluff, but he could think of nothing more to do. His only knowledge of war was from the texts his father had given him. However, this was no lesson in strategy. This was his plan to save the army and Parthia from the evil Sutekh.
    Ardumanish envied the fire in the soldiers' eyes. He had studied medical scrolls by Hippocrates and knew full well what savagery awaited them. A beast in the forest could not match what a man could do with an battleaxe or a spear. No flood or landslide could kill so many so horribly as an army in battle. The muscles of the slain would empty their bowels. A village of pig farms could not rival the stench of a battlefield. Desert vermin would feast on the dead tonight. Only historians could find valor in this.
    Phrotas had spied the brigands. He had returned unseen to report that they blocked the canyon. Meanwhile, the captain had rounded up every Parthian that could still fight. They were a strange group. As Ardumanish walked among them, he saw the man who had made his breakfast. The cooks were actually soldiers whose age or wounds had kept them from further battle. One man was a grizzled fellow with a sword in his left hand and a shield strapped to the stump where his right hand had been. Perhaps he would scare the Egyptians to death.
    Some of the others were soldiers that had been wounded, but had refused more than rudimentary medical treatment. As Ardumanish tightened what bandages they had, he knew that some were most likely already dying. The guardsmen rode among the men, bolstering their courage. The fate of Parthia rested upon each of them.
    Then Ardumanish came up behind one of the drummers who looked even younger than he. The tall boy seemed lost in the armor that had been given him. The youth was struggling with a leather strap. Ardumanish bent over and tightened it.
    "Thanks mate!" the boy said as he turned around. Startled by Ardumanish’s uniform, he continued, "I mean thank you, sir."
    Ardumanish was surprised at how young the drummer really was. He wanted to tell the boy to hide until the battle ended, but the youth spoke first. "You are one of the brave guardsmen, aren’t you?"
    Ardumanish thought a moment and answered, "I hope to be. Where are you from, lad?"
    The boy continued to fiddle with his armor, "Oh, a small fishing village by the inland sea. You’ve probably never heard of it," he looked Ardumanish in the face and winked, "at least no one else has." Apparently satisfied that his armor was in place, he donned a helmet that nearly covered his eyes. The boy stood as tall as he could. It seemed to Ardumanish that the youth spoke as though courage was a game he had just mastered, "When you see the prince, tell him not to worry about us. We’ll do our duty."
    Ardumanish opened his mouth, but could find no voice with which to speak. Just then, another boy came and whispered to the first, "Come on! They’ve found some swords for us."
    The first boy slapped Ardumanish on the shoulder before he left and said, "Good luck!"
    Ardumanish remained speechless for what seemed like an eternity. Men rushed about all around him, yet he felt somehow terribly alone.
    Phrotas and the captain rode up to Ardumanish. The captain called out, "The army is coming! Miles made it. Now is the time to attack my prince!"
    Ardumanish mounted his horse and drew his father’s sword. All eyes were upon him as he yelled, "For Parthia!"
     
     
    The main force of the Parthian army was reduced to a rabble that came to a halt just short of the mouth of the canyon. A mass of desert brigands blocked their exit. Miles passed the bugle he was still carrying to an officer by his side and commanded, "Play the ‘call to charge’ as loud as you can." He then rode in front of the bewildered army and yelled, "Sons of Parthia lend me an ear. All cowards to the rear, those of you who are true warriors…follow me!"
    The officer sounded the bugle loud and strong, but the men could hardly believe what they heard. Miles rode on with the banner of Ardumanish flying behind in the air. He drew his sword as the sun sparkled across its length. Slowly, men without hope took up the call and coaxed their mounts on. Miles could see that the enemy was not impressed. He knew that he brigands’ numbers would slow the Parthians until the Egyptians closed the trap from behind. The last charge of the Parthians did not frighten the cavalry to his front.
    Then, another Parthian bugle sounded. A force of mad dogs sprang out of the desert and trapped the brigands between a hammer and an anvil. Now the bandits were surprised by the first charge of King Ardumanish.
    Miles charged into the bandits. He crashed the point of the prince’s banner deep into the bandit to his left, as he dodged under a sword blow from the one to his right. He then severed that bandit’s neck with a backhanded slice from his sword. Another bandit rode up to his left and Miles released the banner. He drove his sword down so that the man blocked with his shield. Quickly, Miles grabbed the ear of the bandit’s horse with his free hand and twisted it downwards so that the horse instinctively followed, spilling its rider on the ground. One more blow slew the dazed brigand. Then Miles swung down and scooped up the man’s shield. He drew the shield up just in time as an arrow slammed into it. Fortunately, the odds against him started to shift in Miles’ favor.

    Ardumanish saw that the brigand leaders had positioned themselves well to the rear of their own force. This put them safely out of the way of the trapped Parthian army’s attack. However, it also put them directly in front of the prince's surprise attack. They had little time to think as they saw the prince’s charge, but they all seemed to have come to the same conclusion. The commanders quickly fled, abandoning their mercenaries to their own fate. Leaderless and surrounded, the force of bandits was condemned to the merciless sentence that murderers and thieves deserve.
    Ardumanish fell upon the rear of the brigands with a terrible wrath. Flanked by Phrotas and his loyal captain, they cut a swath through the thieves that led eventually to his own fallen banner. The bandits were in a hopeless situation and they knew it. Camels and horses fled in all directions as every one of the hired killers fell to a sword or an arrow.
    The captain dismounted and pulled Ardumanish’s banner from the dead man and hoisted it high. The army responded with a mighty ‘Hurrah!’ He looked for Miles and saluted him with a smile.
    Miles yelled, "It’s about time that you got here."
    The captain replied, "At least you learned enough from me to survive until we could get here." The two laughed and shook hands.
    Ardumanish rode up with Phrotas at his side. He looked around and asked, "Where is my uncle?"
    Miles shook his head and replied, "I was unable to save your uncle, my friend. You are the king now."
    King Bugiya’s body was carried to Ardumanish’s banner by his guard. Ardumanish dismounted and knelt beside his uncle. He laid his hand upon Bugiya’s chest and whispered a prayer as the men around him knelt as well. Miles watched as Zipos moved up behind the new king.
    Phrotas, however, sprang to his feet. He heard a hauntingly familiar chant coming from the canyon behind them and yelled, "Sutekh is coming!"
    Just then, a horrible roar echoed from the canyon to their rear. Sunlight danced on the canyon walls, reflected by the Egyptians’ armor. Chariots came into view, followed by a horde of fanatics, disciplined spearmen and archers. As one they yelled, "Sutekh!"
    Bloodied and tired, the Parthians realized that the real battle had only just begun.

    At the mouth of the canyon, Sutekh’s chariot rolled up to a stop. He mistook what he saw. He had imagined this very moment for so long that his imagination lied to him now. "Excellent!" he exclaimed, "The Parthians are doomed. Now the traitor will reveal himself and kill the young prince. Victory shall be mine." He turned and yelled to General Knumhoptep, "Full attack!" Scanning the Parthian lines, Sutekh saw the banner of the new king. He grabbed his bow as he led his chariots in a charge at that banner.
     
    As Phrotas turned around, the valley behind him filled with Egyptians. Ardumanish rose quickly and gripped his sword as officers ordered their formations, "Captain, sound rally. Have all those men without horses form a skirmish line in front of the cavalry. Let the chariots through and then..."
    Ardumanish was interrupted as someone screamed in pain behind him. Miles' blade slit the throat of Zipos and he threw his lifeless corpse to the ground. The captain grabbed Miles and his vice-like grip closed on the Roman's throat. A guardsman dropped his own cocked bow and arrow to the ground and disarmed Miles. The trust Ardumanish had in Miles was dashed.
    Miles looked at Zipos and gasped, "Check him."
    Behind Ardumanish, Phrotas pulled a dagger from Zipos’ hand. The scout eyed it and said, "I remember the red banners by the pavilion where I was captured, Mighty One. This bears the mark of Sutekh!"
    Ardumanish turned back to the captain and commanded, "Release him. I am sorry my friend. Forgive us."
    Freed, Miles smiled and breathed deeply. Then he turned sharply to everyone’s surprise. He lunged forward and snatched up the guardsman’s bow and arrow from the ground. In a flash, the arrow was cocked. He quickly took aim as Ardumanish screamed, "No!"
     
     
    Chapter V
    The air by Ardumanish’s ear hissed as Miles’ arrow flew by. Turning, the king saw the true target was an archer on a chariot that was coming his way. Then he realized that it was not just any archer, but Sutekh himself. The arrow had struck Sutekh in the chest as he had shot his own bow. Sutekh fell against the driver and knocked him from the chariot. The horses turned away from the battle’s noise and the chariot raced into the open desert.
    Lowering his sword from Miles’ throat, the captain exclaimed, "Nice shot!"
    Miles winked as he calmly replied, "Not really. I was aiming for his crotch."
    Just then, Phrotas turned toward Ardumanish and cried, "My king…I am hit!" He fell to his knees as Ardumanish caught him. Sutekh’s errant arrow had struck Phrotas in the back.
    With deadly effect, the other chariots raced through the disorganized Parthian army. Screaming fanatics marched toward them as Egyptian archers moved within range. Dashing forward, the captain implored, "My lord, I will see to the scout. You must leave this place."
    Shaking his head, Ardumanish whispered, "It’s too late. He’s dead." Standing up with a terrible fury, Ardumanish looked around, "No coward was ever king of Parthia. Rally the men to that high ground. We’ll make our stand there." Trumpets roared as the remaining Parthian soldiers limped up the slope where they would die.
    Across the plain, Bes, the young Egyptian lieutenant ran up to Knumhoptep. He caught his breath and reported. "Sir, I saw Sutekh has fallen in battle. Also, the Parthians are retreating! They are finished."
    Knumhoptep almost grinned. He dismounted and ordered, "Have the men form up at the rally point."
    Dumbfounded, the lieutenant replied, "But general…the battle is won."
    Knumhoptep pulled a parchment out of a saddlebag as he stated, "I fight for Egypt, not for a dead madman." The general began to write on the scroll, but then looked up at the lieutenant, who was too shocked to move. "You have your orders."
    Drums thundered and banners signaled the command, as the disciplined Egyptian spearmen and archers turned from battle and marched to a prearranged assembly point. Ardumanish did not understand what kind of trick this might be, but he used every minute he was given to order his own troops. He and the captain had personally carried the body of Phrotas to a place of safety. Then to raise their morale, the king would command the army on the hill, while his captain would lead all the cavalry that remained. The men drank what water they had and said their last prayers.
    Ardumanish walked along his line of men giving words of inspiration. Finally he took up a position where he could observe the Egyptians. He asked Miles, "Can you think of anything else we might do?"
    Miles shook his head and quipped, "You might ask the Egyptians to surrender."

    The king scoffed grimly. He could see that the Egyptians had superior numbers. Had he chosen to run, most of his wounded wouldn’t have made it. His eyes narrowed as he spotted something and remarked, "What sort of trick is this?"
    Lieutenant Bes reported back to Knumhoptep, who looked up from the scroll before him, "Sir, the royal spearmen and archers are assembled. The chariots have fled, but Sutekh’s followers are going to charge the hill by themselves. That’s them at the base of the slope with their backs to us."
    Showing little concern, Knumhoptep responded, "Have the archers slay those fanatics."
    The lieutenant was bewildered and exclaimed, "But sir!"
    The general returned to his scroll and commented with an icy calmness, "Lieutenant Bes, if you ever hope to become a general some day, you must do something about your streak of disobedience."
    Dejected, the young officer answered, "Yes sir."
    The general continued, "Now have an emissary take these terms for an armistice to the Parthians. That’s all."
    The young officer left and muttered, "After which I will just go and get drunk."
    The Parthians watched as their fate was rewritten. The screaming fanatics were cut down by a hail of arrows and then brutally finished off by the Egyptian spearmen. Finally, a rider with a flag of truce rode up to the king’s banner.
    Ardumanish stepped forward to the rider as he spoke in Parthian, "General Knumhoptep offers a truce and asks to meet with you to discuss an end to all hostilities."
    Immediately the king replied, "Accepted! I have many wounded though, that I must attend to personally, but my second in command will represent me at this meeting."
    The Egyptian nodded and added, "Regrettably, Sutekh’s fanatics slew all of your wounded in the valley behind us. I am the surgeon for our army. My humble services are available to you."
    Ardumanish bowed, "Thank you, sir." He turned to Miles and asked, "Would you go with my captain and translate?" Miles bowed in agreement.
    The captain whistled a martial tune as he and Miles rode to the meeting. Miles turned to him and said, "You know for a moment back there, I actually thought you were going to cut my head off."
    Smiling for a moment without saying a word, the captain then continued to whistle.
     
     
    Chapter VI
    The sun was beginning to set as Miles and the captain arrived in the Egyptian camp. The bodies of the slain fanatics had been accounted for, and as was the Egyptian custom, one hand was cut from each corpse and placed in a grizzly pile. A lieutenant escorted them into a large tent. Miles recognized Sutekh’s pavilion from the description he had got from Phrotas. The red banners were being removed and the scorpion throne dismantled. Both were thrown onto a bonfire. Lamps were lit as scribes searched through the scrolls in Sutekh’s many chests. Miles noticed that the parchments were not being burned.
    An officer greeted them. He was older than Miles had imagined the Egyptian commander would be, though very fit and energetic. He spoke in Parthian as they drew near, "Gentlemen, welcome. I am Knumhoptep. Which of you is King Ardumanish?"
    Miles shook his hand and explained, "King Ardumanish sends his regrets, but he has many wounded to save. He respectfully asks that his aide temporarily serve in his place. I am Miles, a humble servant of Rome. The king has asked me to act as an impartial intermediary and translator."
    Knumhoptep nodded, "Yes, of course. Hopefully, his trust in me will not become a casualty."
    Miles was quick to reply, "I assure you, that the king has no reason to mistrust you. He is most pleased with your offer of peace, but…"
    The general interrupted, "…but he struggles to understand it." Smiling, the general leaned forward and continued, "I think that we are both struggling to understand each other." Miles nodded and the formal discussion began.
    The meeting was very cordial and an agreement was ironed out in time for an evening meal. Both Miles and the captain were sure that Ardumanish would agree to what was proposed. Finally wine was served. Miles took the opportunity to speak alone with the general.
    Miles raised his goblet to Knumhoptep and said in Egyptian so that the captain could not overhear, "Now that your talks with the Parthians have progressed, perhaps we can talk. I will tell you of the truths that I know, and you can tell me of the truth that I suspect." The general nodded. "Egypt was in political turmoil because of the constant warfare of the late Pharaoh. Sutekh was encouraged by…someone, so that all of the Pharaoh’s rivals would back him. Now Sutekh is dead and the rivals are revealed by their scrolls in Sutekh’s chests. You have all the Egyptians in one basket, so to speak. You spared Ardumanish so that a legitimate ruler could accept your offer, and thereby legitimize your new ruler. You and your men are much too good to be mercenaries. You were sent here to betray Sutekh."
    Knumhoptep leaned back in his chair and laughed, "Of course. I was sent by the Pharaoh’s wife with her palace guard. Now her son can reign without fear of opposition."
    Miles nodded, "I suppose that as soon as your men find enough evidence, then his rivals’ hands will be lying in a pile?"
    Knumhoptep stopped laughing and replied, "Why would we do so foolish a thing as to kill such powerful men?" Knumhoptep leaned forward once more and continued, "Look at the fire burning in that brazier of oil. Fire can be very dangerous. It can mutilate, blind…even kill. However, if controlled, it can light your way in the darkness. We all walk in darkness. Great men that we meet along our path can be dangerous…even murderous. Yet, if we can control them, they can help light the path to our destiny."
    Miles sipped his wine and added, "As I have helped you?"
    The general raised his own goblet and replied, "As we…have helped each other."
    It was quite late as Miles and the captain returned. They found the field hospital that had been set up for the wounded. Many men would owe their lives to the medical knowledge of their king. As they came near, Ardumanish walked out of the tent. He was covered with blood and his face was as stern as the captain’s.
    "Mighty One, you must eat and rest!" the captain implored.
    Ardumanish’s expression softened and he said, "I haven’t eaten since this morning. You’re right again, my friend."
    Food and drink for the young ruler were brought and the three sat down under the stars. The captain watched Ardumanish closely and spoke, "It is you who was right, my king. You saved the army."
    The tired king considered this and shook his head, "No, Phrotas saved the army. He saved us all, but he couldn’t save himself. He will be buried next to my uncle and his family will want for nothing as long as I live."
    Miles explained the Egyptian proposals as Ardumanish ate. Finally, both were finished. Ardumanish considered everything and spoke, "Agreed then. Tomorrow I will meet this general and there will be no more war between our two nations…ever." He looked up at the stars and added, "One of the first military books my father gave me was written by a great general from the east. In the margin of the last page my father had scribbled something that had always bewildered me…until now. He wrote that the only thing worse than fighting a great battle and dying, is fighting a great battle…and not dying."
    Exhausted, Ardumanish closed his eyes and fell asleep. The captain put his robe over him and carried him to the king’s tent. Miles watched, as they vanished into the darkness and he was again alone under the stars.

    The call of the vultures woke Ardumanish the next day. The captain had posted a guard to keep looters away from the dead, but this had proved unnecessary. Most of those who would have looted were themselves dead. Mass graves were dug as the vultures protested. The bodies of Bugiya and Phrotes were borne away and a few pyres were made with what wood could be found. Soon, only the stench remained.
    Ardumanish and Miles spoke little as they prepared to go to the meeting with Knumhoptep. Miles felt that the king was exhausted, but relieved. A guard arrived with horses and just as the two mounted, the captain ran up to them. "Mighty One!" he yelled, "A herald has arrived."
    He passed a scroll to the king and Ardumanish quickly took it. Trouble returned to his face as he read it. Finally, he spoke, "My uncle was a great military commander. He secretly had prepared for reinforcements to meet him here for the last drive into Egypt. They are less than a day’s ride away."
    The captain grinned as he said, "My king, you have not signed the treaty yet. You needn’t trust this Egyptian. You can still finish their army without dishonor. Why, we could be on the Nile in a month!"
    Ardumanish crushed the scroll in his hands and looked to Miles. Miles lowered his eyes and added, "He’s right, no agreement has been signed…yet."
    Ardumanish thought quickly and spoke, "If I am fated to destroy this Egyptian, then I would at least like to meet him first."
    The three rode with a small escort to a neutral area where a simple tent had been set. The Egyptian delegation had already arrived. Ardumanish went forward with Miles to a small table where the treaty lay. The Egyptian surgeon and General Knumhoptep also came forward. As was the custom, Ardumanish removed his sword and placed it flat on the table before him where a quill had been set, as Knumhoptep did the same. Miles and the surgeon reviewed the manuscript. He then nodded to the king that all was in order and laid the quill on the document.
    The young king was unable to hide his concern as he spoke, "I am told that you speak my language."
    Knumhoptep nodded, "Yes, after a fashion. My surgeon tells me that you have at least read our texts on healing."
    Ardumanish replied, "I learned Egyptian so that I could read your poetry. My father gave me the medical texts so that I …could better heal the wounded."
    Knumhoptep shrugged and added, "I see. I must also admit that I learned Parthian so that I might better know my foe. However, whatever language we use, there is still that which remains unspoken."
    Ardumanish looked Knumhoptep in the eyes as he said flatly, "I am told that we are still at war until I sign this treaty."
    "Yes that is correct," the Egyptian showed no emotion as he replied.
    Ardumanish removed the crumpled message from his robe, as he said, "A great army draws near, with which I could easily destroy you."
    Knumhoptep nodded, "Yes, I know. My scouts reported this to me."
    "Yet, you came here anyway?" Ardumanish asked with a look of total surprise.
    The general straightened his spine as he said, "It is my duty to Egypt to offer you this last chance for peace, even if I must die in the attempt."
    Ardumanish remembered all the wounded that he had treated and all the dead that had been buried. He was almost sad as he said, "I am advised that I should not trust you."
    Knumhoptep nodded, "I too have advisors. They tell me, that if you refuse our offer, I should not let you leave here…alive."
    It seemed as though remorse was all that the two leaders had in common. Ardumanish slowly slid his fingers over the tabletop to his sword as Knumhoptep watched. One signal and the peace conference would be just another field of battle. Then Ardumanish exhaled slowly and picked up the quill as he said, "If I kill everyone that I should not trust, then why should any of the living ever trust me?" He signed the treaty and passed the quill to Knumhoptep.
    The general signed and as they shook hands he said, "It is written that men are capable of great courage in the pursuit of war. Great men are capable of such courage, even in the pursuit of peace. Through this treaty, may our peoples prove their greatness."


    Frozen Plains - Entry #13
    Frozen Plains
    In this story I have used Roman measures and not Imperial. As such,
    1 foot = 0.296 m, or 0.971 ft.
    1 pace = 1.48 m or 4.84 ft
    Hours are the Roman temporal hours, with an approximate length on the Winter Solstice of 43 minutes.

    Frozen plains

    The day came, gray and grim. Where there was peace it was a day of feasting, the last celebration before winter came to suck the life out of the Earth. People would eat meat from the freshly slaughtered cattle, drink wine, sing songs, laugh and dance and make love. But not here. The western wind had turned even colder than during the night and brought with it a smell of snow. A storm was coming. Single snowflakes danced in the air, driven by the wind and on the ground a freezing army prepared to give battle.
    I put down the shield and the javelin to blow on my hands and rub them together. I stomped my feet on the hard ground, but in vain. I hadn’t felt so cold in my whole life. I looked over my shoulder at my men. Their breath steamed in the air and they looked thoroughly miserable. Some were shivering visibly. I have to make them move, I thought and paced back to the maniple.
    “All right brothers, listen up! We have a bit of time left.” I shouted to the whole maniple, “I want you to stretch, try to get your blood flow going. You have my permission to eat whatever food you have and drink your wine rations. I know you have them with you. Share with your brothers! Drop the shields and the needles, try to get warm. Not that you will in this gentle breeze” I added with a smile, which somehow made a few men chuckle despite their general misery, “But I want to see an honest effort!” I had to raise my voice to be heard above the noise. Above the sound of trumpets, the shouts of centuriones leading the maniples, the thousands of feet and hooves hitting the ground. Three full legions were deploying for battle against the invader and it was taking a long time. A hundred paces forward the skirmish line was struggling against the enemy light infantry and African cavalry. The din was terrific.
    Even though it made ants craw up my skin, I turned my back to the enemy, rested the shield against my body and yawned. It had the reaction I desired. Some men chuckled at my nonchalance; others yawned themselves and surprised themselves with laughter when they realized they had mimicked me. I needed to get their minds off the cold, the loss of sensation in limbs and the general anxiety that grips the heart of everyone before battle. My father had taught me that the mind can influence the body and also the other way round. Leave them to their unhappiness and by the count of three hundred they will be unable to lift a sword. Get them moving and laughing and their spirit will rise despite everything.
    Greek tore me from my thoughts. “How much longer, Centurio?” he asked and the tautness of his voice told me I hadn’t fooled this one.
    I looked back over my shoulder towards the skirmish duel, then to the sides, where our battle line was getting longer by the minute. I smiled and put my hand on the kid’s shoulder. “A quarter of an hour at least, Greek. Probably more.” His face relaxed a little bit at the news that the slaughter will not begin in the next five minutes. “Be a good lad”, I told him “and bring me some of that mint and thyme brew of yours if you have some to spare, will you? Then have something to eat, hear? ” He smiled mirthlessly and handed me his canteen. “Here, Centurio. Finish it, I left it for you.”
    I passed through the ranks, talking to the men, asking them if they had had a bite, encouraging them, trying to bring back their confidence. I felt I didn’t have much time. The skirmish was turning for the worse. The youngsters were armed with light javelins, which didn’t fly more than forty paces in the face of this wind. The Punic bastards had slingers, of which we had very few. And if it was true what it was said about them, that growing up they had to hit their food with the sling to be allowed to eat it, it seemed a pure miracle our boys were not being slaughtered by the dozen. Probably only the shields were saving them. Still, every few minutes one would walk back nursing a wound, or a friend would carry the unconscious velite to safety. As I watched them it was evident they couldn’t hold much longer. So I left my arms with Greek in plain view of the formation and walked back through the ranks. The eyes of the men followed me to the back of the formation where I demonstratively lifted the skirts of my armor and tunic and used a tuft of grass for target practice. When I was finished, I sighed with satisfaction I hardly felt. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst through my armor, my mouth was dry and I felt the butterflies flying around in my belly. You must conquer your terror, my grandpa used to say, or it will conquer you. You must show no fear, for it is contagious. That’s why instead of whimpering I took my time to adjust the belt more comfortably and leisurely walked back to the front where Greek gave handed me the shield and pilum and then walked back to assumed his place behind the century. I turned to face my men.
    “If someone needs to take a leak, might as well do it now.” I announced with my official voice. “Nothing wrong with that and Jupiter can testify I feel better already! However” I added, “do it fast, because we will soon be in business.” I finished loudly for the benefit of all.
    Some followed my lead. Others finished the last scraps of bread and took a last check of their equipment. I passed through the ranks, dressing the lines, uttering last words of encouragement. “Raise it” I told the signifier, who did an about face and raised the standard three times in the air. Then I went to my position on the place of honor, in the first rank of the rightmost file. The first-ranker on my left was Wolf, a monster of a man six and a third feet tall, hairy like the beast that was his nickname. I clapped him on the shoulder and took my spot.
    “Ready, Wolf?”
    He grunted.
    “Freezing and hungry. Though I reckon I’ll be warm soon enough.”
    “True enough”, I said. “And maybe those bastards over there will have some food?”
    Before he could reply the horns sounded the stand to. The line was formed.
    “All right, brothers”, I called without removing my gaze from the view before us. “Shields up. Needles up! Remember your training – aim low, stab, kill, move to the next man. Mars and Bellona bless you all!”
    The horns blew again, the four notes all were waiting for. Advance quickstep. The troops took up the chant-prayer to Mars Strider matching the pauses between the horns. Three hundred paces to go. The skirmisher screen was still dancing in front of the enemy, but without any visible results. Lots of them were rushing forward to hurl obscenities instead of javelins. The screams of the wounded came clearly to us.
    The lower, guttural sound of the tubas overcame the shriller horns, Skirmishers recover. We still hadn’t deployed for the final advance, so it was easy for them to pass through the gaps in the formation. They looked worse for wear. A few were being brought by their comrades.
    “Be careful. The bastards have lots of slingers.” - One of the leves stopped to warn me. He was a skinny youth with brown eyes and he didn’t look more than fifteen. There was a gash on his cheek, a finger below the eye. Blood still came out of the wound. He lifted his wicker shield and showed me a hole in it. “Acorn”, he explained, using the slang for the lead bullets slingers use. “er passed through the wicker like it was cheesecloth. Licked me and moved on.” He smiled, knowing had been very lucky indeed and that the danger was gone.
    “Did you see the line?” I asked. He nodded.
    “Gauls. Big shields, spears and swords. Their tails are up, the scum.“ the youth replied. I thanked him and sent him on his way to the rear. His part was done. Ours was just beginning.
    Two hundred paces. We passed by pools of blood, broken javelins and discarded shields. Mars Gradivus, I prayed silently and fervently, protect me in this battle, give strength to my arm and guard my men. Let me not dishonor my family and gens, help me slay the Gallic bastards and win glory. The trumpets sounded again. The line stopped to let the back centuries fill the gaps. I kept my eyes forward, where the enemy slingers were whirling their weapons.
    “Shields high!” I shouted and raised my own shield. “Shields high! Incoming!”. A slingshot buzzed by my head, another hit the boss and made it ring like a smith hammering at it. Another hit the wood with a loud boom. It looked as if all the enemy slingshot had come for me alone. But my shield, which had guarded my father and my grandfather, before that, it held. At that moment my fear disappeared. Boiling fury replaced it. Bastards. They are going to pay, I promised myself. Pay for the arrogance to invade the sacred soil of Italy, for the destruction they caused and for the women who would weep come tomorrow for their dead sons and husbands. For trying to kill me.

    The line reformed and as it started forward again the Punic horns recalled their light infantry. They moved not like us, back to the rear, but split in two to head left and right. I spared a glance aside. I could not see our cavalry, but it looked as if that Hannibal intended to place his skirmishers on the wings of his line. Fat good it will do to him. Our cavalry are nobles, spoiled brats the lot, but they’re glory hounds and they fight till they win or die.
    One hundred. I gripped my shield tighter and licked my dry lips.
    “Steady, brothers! Courage, I’m with you! Roma is watching!” I yelled above the noise as the Gaul started shouting their war cries. “Our families are watching. Make them proud!” I looked one last time at my men. None were shirking, none were breaking the ranks. I was so proud of them.
    Fifty. I gave the signal with my whistle and opened my stride. You need space to throw the pilum, you must not be bunched up with your fellows.
    “Needles at the ready!” I shouted and my voice was the raspy one that a dry throat produces. Pila were lifted in the throwing position and men chose their targets. The Gauls braced for the volley. Some were throwing javelins, but they were mostly harmless at that distance. I heard a few grunts and screams, fortunately not from our maniple.
    “Mars Gradivus and Bellona, give us victory!” I shouted as we trotted the last paces.
    Twenty.
    “Loose!” I roared and threw the javelin with all my might. Hundreds, thousands followed. It was a magnificent and terrifying sight, the whole line discharging this flock of death and suffering. Screams of men dying behind their useless shields pierced the air. The first ranks of the Gallic front became an entangled mess. Yet it was just a prelude. We had to use the seconds before they could arrange themselves.
    “Swords! Swords!” I screamed and drew mine, then waved it in the air. “For Roma and the Aventine! Follow me!”
    The horns and the trumpets blared the charge, the endless scream of a hundred furies and maddened beasts. With it came the war cry from thousands of throats.
    “Roma vincit!”
    Here we go.
    Last edited by StealthFox; March 06, 2013 at 12:16 PM.

  5. #5
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    Arguing the Greatest Roman Leader - Entry #14
    Arguing the Greatest Roman Leader

    Introduction

    Roman history is one of immense success. In only three hundred years a nation of farmers revolutionized into the greatest military machine the world has ever known. After conquering vast swaths of Europe, Africa and Asia, the Empire held together for another thousand years before finally being stamped out. At the center of this powerful engine of world changing potential were leaders who knew how to take control of such a magnificent entity as the Roman Civilization.

    The Roman Empire is easily one of the greatest empires to ever exist. They were efficient and effective in whatever task was set before them. This one track mindset allowed Rome to conquer and sustain itself for thousands of years. It is this longevity, this sheer will to press forward and advance as a unified society which mystifies me the most. Where other civilizations throw their hands up in defeat, Rome designed a way around those challenges. When the Republic needed to adapt into an Empire to retain control of their burgeoning civilization, they did. When the walls of coastal Carthage stood for a century in defiance to Roman rule, a Roman general learned to use the tides and literally walked an army though the harbor.

    I believe there is so much to be learned from analysis and close scrutiny of Roman records. Many of the challenges we face as a modern society are not in-and-of-themselves modern. The Romans dealt with unpopular wars in Afghanistan. The Romans handled a crashed economy. The Romans struck a balance between private sector innovation and public sector responsibility.

    This great ingenuity is what drives my interest in Roman history. I first learned of my love for Roman history on a road trip in 2006. I was with my dad and younger brother and we were one hour into a five hour drive. My dad, who is a very educated man, had audio lectures about great Roman citizens who had great sway in Roman history. For the remaining four hours I was shown the splendor of this long dead civilization by the now late Professor R. J. Fears. From then on I voraciously consumed any and all information about Rome that I could get my hands on. After years of working with Roman history I have come to a new topic to study, that topic is discerning: “Who was the greatest Roman leader?”

    Background Information

    The persons presented throughout this paper are the greatest leaders Rome produced in its nearly two millennia existence. These are the people who have had a great impact on Roman history, creating meaningful change. They have created lasting change and are remembered for their various achievements. Although these people may come from separate points of time, they all share the distinct virtue of being Roman citizens who achieved greatness, whether handed to them or well fought for.

    In the words of Walter Scheidel, a good leader is defined as someone who can see a crucial moment and create the best possible situation out of it. In many cases this means gaining powers through force. In the case of Rome, a very militaristic society, a good leader was seen as one whom would aggressively conquer and defeat enemies in grand spectacles, but who could also create stability at home. A great Roman leader, like any historical figure, isn’t just self-made, he is influenced by the people and events around him. As such, leadership is usually strictly dependent upon another’s actions. Another important attribute of being an influential leader is holding power for a long enough time so the leader could meaningfully create change, without interruption.
    The leader which historical documents cite as the greatest leaders are listed as follows, listed with their relevant time period (the names I will use for each person is underlined and bolded, as the naming structure for Latin names was different than today’s naming structure). Quintus Fabius Maximus, Verrucosus Cunctator, Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus and Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus Numantinus all hail from the Punic Wars era (300BC-150BC). Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, Marcus Licinius Crassus, Gaius Julius Caesar, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus Augustus, and Marcus Vispanius Agrippa all hail from the late Republic and Early Empire (100BC-50AD).

    The defining moment for each leader is different, however most revolve around the expansion of Roman territory and acquisition of more land. As Mr. Scheidel says, the events of their time defined the leader’s ability to rise to prominence. In the case of Fabius Cunctator, it was his steadfast resolution to refuse battle with Hannibal and effectively starve him out of the Roman mainland. For Scipio Africanus, it was finally defeating the scourge that was Hannibal at the Battle of Zama. Scipio’s direct descendant Scipio Aemilianus’ claim to fame is similar in that he ultimately resolved the problem of Carthage by utterly wiping the city out and enslaving the population (Fears). Many years later, Pompeius was off in the east conquering vast swaths of Asia Minor and bringing back untold amounts of wealth. Pompeius’ conquests added another Ľ of what the economy was at that time (Scheidel). Julius Caesar’s crowning moment was the defeat of Pompeius and the assumption of dictator of the Roman Republic. Augustus Caesar had arguably the most long lasting impact, as he restabilized Rome and created an effective Empire for the next 500 years (Rivers). However, without the tactical brilliance of Agrippa, Augustus would have been tied up in military conquest, instead of implementing the great reforms he made. In his own way, Agrippa was an astounding leader because he handled the western armies of Augustus so well it allowed Augustus to focus solely upon domestic policy (Scheidel).

    To understand what makes these people great, we have to understand the context of their lives. Rome was an ancient civilization which shaped the world we live in both culturally and physically. Legend tells that Rome was founded by Romulus around 1300BC. The official records recovered from Rome tell a different tale. After the destruction of Troy by the Greeks, Anneius travelled to the Italian Peninsula and founded a city 13 miles from the sea, on the Palatine Hills. However, the most likely story is that the peoples of the Palatine hills organized into a cohesive community due to frequent raids from pirates and the Etruscans. Whatever their origin, Rome got off to a rocky start and nearly collapsed under the might of nearby established civilizations. The Roman people had to scrap for their very existence until, in the mid-1000s BC, they secured a powerful alliance in the southern Italians and secured their spot on the peninsula (Fears).

    Rome then existed in a state of monarchy under the tyranny of the infamous Seven Kings until finally the last of the bloodline was assassinated and Rome plunged into civil war. Out of the ashes arose the fiercely independent Roman Republic. The Roman Republic faced its share of hardships, mostly brought on by the numerous wars they fought. One such long lasting conflict nearly destroyed them. This was the series of conflicts known as the Punic Wars. The Punic Wars started in 261 BC out of a conflict with the mighty naval nation of Carthage. Carthage controlled all trade in the Mediterranean, and as such had the most powerful navy of the time. The country stood on the northernmost coastline of modern day Tunisia and frequently assaulted Roman ships. The conflict would take hundreds of years to resolve with three major engagements against Carthage being the highlights of this period (Knox).

    After the finish of the Third Punic War Rome felt that Carthage was too great an enemy to let regrow. In this spirit they sewed the earth with salt to prevent anything from growing there ever again. A common legend, which holds some validity, is that before Rome’s final offensive, writers described the Punic North as lush and fertile; after Carthage fell, however, the salting turned the tip of Tunisia into the barren, rocky wasteland known today. After the fall of Carthage, Rome experienced great growth among her borders and trade, and a newfound sense of security. Carthage’s fall signaled a time of great expansion for Rome. With their greatest enemy destroyed, the Romans finally had supreme control of the Western Mediterranean. Using this newfound power, Rome’s boarders quickly expanded from Northern Italy to the Iberian Peninsula and from Sicily to Gibraltar (Knox).

    Three important figures in the conquest of Carthage are Fabius Conctator, Scipio Africanus and Scipio Aemilianus. Fabius Conctator was one of the Roman Consuls, a head of Senate, during Hannibal’s siege of the Roman mainland. Fabius pursued a strategy of non-engagement with Hannibal, refusing to give him battle. This strategy eventually starved Hannibal out of Italy (Plutarch) and opened the door for the next great leader of this period. Scipio Africanus earned his name because of his valiant fighting against Hannibal after Hannibal had been driven out of Italy. With the strategic defeat of Hannibal at the battle of Zama, Scipio Africanus effectively closed the Second Punic War (Axelrod). Finally, it was Scipio Aemilianus who led the final siege of Carthage and ensured her utter destruction in the Third Punic War in 241 BC(Scheidel).

    Rome continued to expand her borders for a great period of time, accruing territories that stretched from the Iberian Peninsula all the way to present-day Istanbul. Not 200 years after the final defeat of Carthage, Rome was again threatened. This time the aggressors were from inside Rome herself. A massive conspiracy, involving Marcus Crassus, Pompeius Magnus and Julius Caesar was in its final stages. The plot elevated Caesar to the position of head of the Senate and greatly advanced the standings of Pompeius and Crassus. However, Crassus’ death in 53 BC on conquest in the East combined with Caesar’s unchecked ambitions, Julius Caesar turned on Pompeius and the two ignited a massive civil war. Julius Caesar pulled troops from the western half of the country, while Pompeius used his lucrative connections in Africa and the East to fund his soldiers. In a decisive battle in 48 BC, Julius Caesar officially routed Pompeius and Caesar returned to Rome to take the dictatorship (Rivers).

    Caesar ruled in prosperity until he was assassinated in 44 BC. In his death, Caesar left a large power vacuum. Many of his generals tried to fill this gap, but none were successful for a long enough period of time to establish total stability. Unbeknownst to all but a few, Caesar had posthumously adopted his great nephew, Octavius Caesar. Octavius entered into an alliance with the shady Marc Antony and Marcus Aemilius after defeating them in successive battles. Given his great standings in the Republic and newly forged political alliances, the Triumvirate, headed by Octavius, assumed control of Rome for a period of five years. During this time, Octavius expanded his power and popularity among Rome. In 33 BC he accused Antony of treason (Aemilius had died in conquest by then) and led the provinces of Rome against Antony and his senatorial allies. In the Battle of Actium, Antony fled to Egypt where he and his lover, the Queen Cleopatra, committed suicide. Now unchallenged in rule, and with a severely weakened senate, Octavian announced a reconstruction of the Republic and announced his stepping-down from power. The weakened senate begged his stay and promised him absolute power over Rome in return. A series of increases in power left the newly crowned Augustus (formerly Octavian) head of Religion as Pontifex Maximus, and ruler of his new Principate (The First among citizenry) (Axelrod).

    Augustus Caesar led the new Roman Empire well. His leadership created a sustainable Emperorship for Rome. Under his rule, Rome experienced its greatest prosperity ever, expanding to almost the largest it would ever be. These expansions included the opening of Northern provinces in Germany and Britain (Axelrod). He further expanded public liberties, constructing many publicly beneficial areas, such as gardens and bath houses, as well as an extremely low taxation rate on citizens. Liberties for Roman slaves increased as well, as the slave population grew exceedingly (Rivers). Under the direction of his trusted general Agrippa, the Western Gaul became highly profitable and highly developed. Agrippa was also the right hand man of Augustus while he was driving Antony out of Rome due to his invaluable strategy and guidance (Scheidel).
    After Caesar’s death in 14 AD, a period of stability not seen in centuries continued in Rome. The Roman Empire would continue to grow for hundreds of years. The Empire saw its share of corrupt officials, assassinations and enemy onslaughts over the course of the next 500 years. Eventually instability ripped the country in half in the mid-300s AD. Christianity became the state religion, replacing paganism. War and corruption resulted in the utter loss of all of Rome’s holdings outside the Italian peninsula. Finally the Western Empire came to a close after successive raids by Ostrogoth and Visigoth Germanic tribes on the capital city of Rome (Fears). The Italian peninsula would remain divided for nearly another 1200 years. The Eastern Empire eventually fell in the 15th century due to the Ottoman invasions (Scheidel).

    Argument #1

    Taking into account the grand scope of Roman History, there can be no comparison between specific leaders’ accomplishments in different fields. It is impossible to analyze the quality of general of Julius Caesar and the political accomplishments of Augustus Caesar in equal footing. According to Walter Scheidel, an effective leader had four attributes. 1.) He could create meaningful change. 2.) He contributed favorably to Rome as a country. 3.) They live in a time when great leadership is needed and act upon that need. 4.) They live long enough to create a lasting legacy of change. First, I want to take a look at Rome’s financial leaders. The most prominent people in Rome’s financial history are Pompeius, Crassus and Augustus Caesar. All effectively contributed to Rome’s expanding economy; however, Pompeius most effectively expanded Rome’s treasury and the wealth of her people through his conquests of Asia Minor and his influence in the Senate.

    In accordance with the three ground rules for an effective leader, Pompeius clearly stands out compared with Augustus Caesar and Crassus. For Augustus, he could create meaningful change in the Roman economy through systematic conquest and reforms, he did contribute to Rome, however he did not exist at a time when economic leadership was required. Crassus on the other hand, was a superb economic figure, widely considered to be one of the four wealthiest people in history. Sadly, he did not contribute to Rome and instead hoarded his wealth for himself. In addition, Crassus died while on campaign in the Middle East before he might have even been able to contribute to the Roman state.

    Pompeius secured his spot as a wealthy Roman because of his intelligent political gamesmanship. The University of Dallas tells that in 70 BC Pompeius was elected Consul, the leader and head of the Roman Senate, along with fellow business man and political figure, Crassus. Pompeius and Crassus worked together to undermine the Plebian reforms and return power to the patrician state. This power ultimately resulted in an increase in taxes upon the people (“The First Triumvirate”). These tax reforms would come to play a large part in Pompeius’ accumulation of wealth as he moved from Consul to military General.

    Much of Pompeius’ financial success is tied to his military achievements in Asia Minor and Canaan. The Ancient History Sourcebook, a compilation of textual documents related to the construction of the Roman Empire and edited by Fordham University, holds that starting in 90BC, Rome began its conquest of Eastern nations. Ultimately, “In conquering Mithridates the Romans, almost against their wish, were forced to conquer most of the nearer Orient---especially all of Asia Minor and Syria.” Pompeius was called out to the Eastern front in 67BC to replace the unpopular general, at the time. The kings and countries Pompeius conquered held great wealth due to their accumulated treasuries and future taxability as states under Pompeius (Arkenberg). According to late Oklahoma University Classical Professor R. J. Fears, unlike Augustus Caesar’s conquer of the Gaul, comparable to Pompeius’ conquest of the East, Casear added lands which yielded far less in terms of taxation and conquered riches (Fears).

    After returning from war, Pompeius used his exalted position to make strong allies and control much of Roman affairs, ensuring his continued financial successes. In 61BC, Pompeius allied with his longtime friend/opponent/co-Consul, Crassus, as well as an up and coming General, Julius Caesar to form the First Triumvirate (“The First Triumvirate”). The goal of the Triumvirate was to once again gain control of the Senate. As Consuls can only serve for two years and a maximum of one term, Pompeius and Crassus needed Caesar to advance their aims. With Caesar as Consul, once again Praetorian, the upper class of Rome, legislation began to roll through, solidifying Pompeius’ claims as a wealthy citizen. In 53BC Crassus died on campaign (Fears). This death gave Pompeius the claim as one of the wealthiest men in Rome, having amassed a fortune of near $1 Billion, adjusted for modern currency (Arkenberg).

    Finally, Pompeius succeeds where Crassus has failed; Pompeius has created a lasting legacy through his finances. As Walter Scheidel, Chair of the Classics Department at Stanford University, states, to create a lasting legacy in Roman History, you needed to do great works for the public (Scheidel). Pompeius most definitely did great works. As all armies in Rome were owned by private citizens, Pompeius was responsible for providing compensation to his soldiers while after they had come back from campaigns. After his eastern conquests, Pomepius payed out nearly $229 million, adjusted for the 1998 dollar, to his whole army. In addition to this sum, he promised every soldier who fought under his command a farmstead. Furthermore, he celebrated his triumph with a two day holiday (Arkenberg). In Roman culture, a holiday is a significant event. All work stops. Not even the slaves, their numbers having grown by a few million due to Pompeius’ conquest, were allowed to work. Finally, Pompeius spent the remainder of his time as a leader of Rome constantly improving the welfare of his people through generous contributions of civic parks, gardens and bath houses (Fears).

    The only area where Pompeius falls short is his adherene to category four, though not of his own choice, in 48BC he is assassinated at the end of a brutal civil war spearheaded by his once great ally Julius Caesar (Rivers). When compared with other financial visionaries of Rome, Pompeius hits all of the qualities of an effective leader. He changes the course of Rome through manipulation in his area, in this case in finance by increasing the Roman economy by one-quarter of its contemporary size (Scheidel). Although others, such as Crassus who is considered one of the five richest men in history, had amassed great fortunes, they repaid very little of it to the country and their fortunes stayed locked away after death (Fears). Augustus and Pompeius both share another attribute of a successful leader in Rome’s financial history. It was through a combination of legislation passed by Pompeius, and the following rule of Augustus that the average Roman citizen needed to work only for three to five day a year to pay off all of their taxes. In fact due to Pompeius’ great addition of wealth and Augustus’ great management, the Empire began handing grain out to the poorer of her citizens, those who could not raise food or money enough to feed themselves. This leads into another attribute Pompeius has, the ability to recognize he was the right man for the job at hand. Pompeius saw the great wealth pouring out of Asia Minor and acted upon that opportunity. He seized a great opportunity for financial gains in a way Crassus did not, even though he lived at the same time as Pompeius.

    Argument #2

    Taking into account the grand scope of Roman History, there can be no comparison between specific leaders’ accomplishments in different fields. It is impossible to analyze the quality of general of Julius Caesar against the political accomplishments of Augustus Caesar in equal footing. According to Walter Scheidel, an effective leader had four attributes. 1.) He could create meaningful change. 2.) He contributed favorably to Rome as a country. 3.) They live in a time when great leadership is needed and act upon that need. 4.) They live long enough to create a lasting legacy of change. In the field of the Roman military history, there are a few major players. The most prominent generals in Roman history are undeniably Julius Caesar, Fabius Cunctator, Scipio the Elder and Scipio Africanus (Scheidel). The leader who most exemplifies the qualities of a distinctive Roman military leader is Julius Caesar for his expansion of Roman control beyond the Mediterranean and his mastery of strategy.

    There are many arguments for the generals of the Punic wars: Fabius Cunctator and the Scipii. Most notably, it was these great generals who were able to beat back Hannibal and preserve the Roman state. By this right, they fulfill categories three and four of effective Roman leaders; they are born into the right time and leave a lasting impact upon Rome. Unfortunately, they do not have qualities endearing them to categories one and two. These categories require a basic character trait of fierce determination to lead their own fate, as well as Rome’s. The great Emperor Trajan is often seen to possess this passion, expanding Rome to her height of power through military conquest of Germany, Britannia and the Middle East. Sadly Trajan falls short of category three. Although he does great work for Rome, he does it in a system set in place by those before him. At any other point prior to, or after, Trajan, the system was in place for great expansion of Roman territory (Hedrick). Julius Caesar possesses the perfect combination of underlying passion and power which allows him to fulfill all four categories of a great Roman leader.

    Julius Caesar was born into a moderately wealthy patrician family with deep roots into Rome’s founding. Early in his life Julius Caesar developed a keen sense of duty and shrewdness. In his young adult life, Caesar was captured by pirates and ransomed back to his family for an exorbitantly large sum of money. Before leaving, he vowed to chase down, capture and kill all of his pirate captors. Years later Caesar used his position in the Roman army to commission a pirate hunting fleet of vessels, successfully tracking down the pirates and executing them (Fears). Early in his career, Caesar established a mixed reputation of fear and respect.

    After returning to Rome, Caesar held various titles in the Roman political system, serving most of the time in Gaelic Spain. In 63BC, Caesar ran for, and won, the position of Pontifex Maximus, the head of the Roman state religion. It was in this position that Caesar accrued a number of powerful allies, including the wealthy statesman Crassus. Towards the end of Caesar’s term as Pontifex Maximus, he was appointed to a military governorship in Spain (Plutarch). While in Spain, Caesar’s 33rd birthday came and went. Supposedly, Caesar’s officers found him sprawled in his tent, clearly distraught. When asked what troubled him, Caesar responded that by the time Alexander was 33, he had conquered nearly the entire known world, and in comparison, Caesar had little to show for his life works (Fears). Julius Caesar is a man dedicated to doing work that will last for an eternity. The conquest of Alexander had happened nearly 300 years before Caesar’s time at the pinnacle of Greek expansion, so when Caesar compares himself to Alexander, he is really saying he sees himself as the man who can create a great Roman Empire. This ambition grows more and more evident as Caesar’s life progresses.

    In 60BC Caesar would run for the position of Consul of the Senate (the equivalent of a prime minister). The campaigning was fierce and in 59BC, he won (Plutarch). One of the many ways Caesar sought to sway the Senate in his favor was by allying himself with the great politician and general, Pompeius Maximus, by marrying his oldest daughter to Pompeius. Along with longtime ally Crassus, and the newly favorable Pompeius, Caesar established the First Triumvirate (Axelrod). Caesar didn’t smoothly cruise into the most powerful position in the Roman Republic without his enemies, however, and Caesar had powerful enemies. His political enemies essentially froze his private assets, making him unable to pay off massive debts gathered during his political campaigns and personal leisure. Rome had always been a militaristic nation, and as such a general on campaign was granted immunity from debt. In an attempt to conquer massive amounts of land to generate revenues and avoid his massive debts, Caesar appointed himself Governor of most of Roman controlled Gaul. Caesar’ shrewd actions secured him from debt and gained him control of four Roman legions (a legion typically consisted of ~4,800 foot soldiers, cavalry and soldiers tasked with supplying the army on campaign) along the borders of Gaul, for five years (Plutarch).

    It is in Gaul, a territory spanning from Switzerland to the English Channel, and east into Germany, that Caesar becomes the most like Alexander the Great that he will ever be. Caesar’s conquests begin as humbly as any massive, ten year conquest of a nation can. Quite simply put, in the course of a few years, Caesar eliminates two massive Germanic tribes intent on allying to push down the Italian Peninsula. Having pressed into the center of Gaul, Caesar’s actions began to worry the North Eastern Germanic tribes who rapidly armed and organized. Caesar took this rapid armament as a sign of aggression. He quickly organized two more legions, sending one off to claim the Normandy coast of modern day France. With his remaining five legions, Caesar began his push into modern day Germany (Axelrod).

    During Caesar’s conquests his Consulship expired and his term as a governor was up, meaning his debts would now be due, and, unable to pay his debts, Caesar would wind up imprisoned. This would have happened, had not Caesar’s old friends Pompeius and Crassus ignited massive internal turmoil in the Senate, plunging the Roman state into political discord. In its jumbled state, the Senate awarded Caesar five more years as Governor of Gaul. In 55BC, most of Gaul was considered pacified and official Roman territory (Fears). Unfortunately, two Germanic tribes frequently invaded Eastern Gaul. Caesar couldn’t let this injustice stand. Now, the lands the Germanic tribes called home were across the Rhine River, a torrential flow of water fed by the freezing northern mountains. Caesar, using his telltale ingenuity and efficiency, ordered his soldiers to clear the surrounding forest and build a bridge to span the stream. In less than thirty days, Caesar was across the river. After dispatching the tribes plaguing his lands, Caesar crosses back into Roman Gaul, burning the bridge on his way back (Axelrod). Caesar would ultimately invade Britain on allegations that a Celtic tribe had aided the Gauls against Caesar (Plutarch). Caesar’s military career would begin to blend into his later political career. Having been ordered to leave his legions in Gaul and return to Rome to face trumped up charges in the Senate, Caesar shows his fierce independence one more time. He crosses into Rome, at which point the Senate declares war upon Caesar. What follows lands Caesar as essentially the dictator of Rome. His conquests would eventually come to include most of modern day England, France, Germany, Spain and Switzerland (Fears).

    It is here that Caesar shows his true difference from many of the great Roman generals. The Scipii were master strategists, like Caesar, but lacked his passion. While the Scipii were given their jobs, completed them and returned to Rome with much pomp and faire, Caesar decides there is more to be done. It is because of this base passion that Caesar is the greatest military leader in Roman history. He creates meaningful change in Rome through his military achievements by forever shifting the focus of Roman power away from the Mediterranean coastline and into Central and Northern Europe. Furthermore, Caesar’s conquest provides new taxable land for the Roman state, generating greater revenue and adding to the common good of the Roman people. Caesar definitely fulfills category three, having lived at a time when great Roman expansion was possible, yet none had capitalized on the opportunity. Finally, Caesar’s lasting legacy to Rome includes more than 300,000 square miles and a redefined political system, paving the way for the Emperorship of his adopted nephew, Augustus Caesar.

    Argument #3

    Taking into account the grand scope of Roman History, there can be no comparison between specific leaders’ accomplishments in different fields. It is impossible to analyze the quality of general of Julius Caesar against the political accomplishments of Augustus Caesar in equal footing. According to Walter Scheidel, an effective leader had four attributes. 1.) He could create meaningful change. 2.) He contributed favorably to Rome as a country. 3.) They live in a time when great leadership is needed and act upon that need. 4.) They live long enough to create a lasting legacy of change (Schiedel). The category of a political leader is tricky, as it is very easy to say that a military coup has great effect on the political landscape of a country. That, however, is not true political leadership. A political leader is one who is able to fulfill the above criteria while still staying within the defined political structure of Rome. The most prominent political leaders in Roman history are Gauis Marius, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, Augustus Caesar and Constantine the Great. Augustus stands out as satisfying all four qualities of a great Roman leader, as well as following the letter of Roman law.

    Augustus Caesar is the greatest Roman political leader. Gaius Marius was an astounding statesman, and actually comes the closest to challenging Augustus Caesar for the title of greatest political leader. Born after Rome’s final conquest of Carthage, Marius worked his way through the ranks of Roman politics advocating benefits for the lower class, the plebeians (Plutarch). Were he alive today, Marius would easily find himself at home in the Democratic Party. Ultimately, Marius held the title of Consul, head of the Roman Senate, a shocking seven times, when many Consuls serve for only one or two terms (Plutarch). Marius satisfies condition one, as he creates meaningful change for the plebeian class, creating grain reimbursement initiatives and lowering taxation. He further satisfies conditions two and four by using his long reign to transfer much of the labor work to the slaves of Rome and off of the plebeian class (it is important to note that the slaves of Rome were treated more as indentured servants, oftentimes trusted with grocery shopping or other important household duties, and were allowed and encouraged to purchase their freedom Aside from mining and farming, many slaves led content lives) (Plutarch). These changes would culminate with only a mandatory three days of work per year for a Roman citizen to pay off their taxes (Fears). Sadly, for Marius, his reign of seven consulships was after the Carthaginian threat and before the coming Civil War sparked by Julius Caesar, and so he fails point three.

    Constantine the Great is nearly a household name, and rightly so, the original adopter of Christianity, Constantine has had arguably the greatest impact of any Roman leader. Dividing Eastern Rome from Western, Constantine kept Roman tradition and culture alive until the Renaissance, another millennia after Rome fell in 500AD (Herbermann). Furthermore, Constantine popularized Christianity, currently the largest religious group in the world (Fears). Unfortunately, his actions are barely legal, and he fails point two by dividing the great Roman Empire. Sulla’s great claim to fame was his handling of the Social Wars with the Italians. Sulla oversaw the development of an alliance and promise of full citizenship to Rome’s Italian allies. While some agreed to the deal, many of the Italians revolted against Rome. Sulla’s swift military maneuvers and political gamesmanship saw that the Italians states were pacified, allowing Rome to focus on the Near East (Plutarch). Sulla’s reforms to Roman citizenship standards had a great impact on what Rome had time to focus upon. Finally the Italian allies of Rome, which had aided Rome against the Etruscans, against the Greeks and against Hannibal, were granted the same rights as Roman citizens. Sulla fully works within the defined legal system, and lives up to points one and two. Sulla more than fulfills point three, although Sulla did not live in a time when heroic leadership was needed, he carved out a niche for himself in an area of great political tension and resolved the issues. For this, Sulla is very commendable, as although great leadership was not needed, it was Sulla’s mastery of the Roman political landscape which allowed him to be a great leader. However, Sulla retired directly after his second consulship ended (Plutarch), meaning he was not in power long enough to see his legislation fully enforced as it was often derided by opponents, meaning Sulla fails point four.

    Augustus Caesar fulfills all points of a great Roman leader exceptionally, while still working within the defined legality of Roman law to a greater extent. Born in 63BC as Gaius Octavius Caesar, he came into a decently wealthy political family with decent estates from years of dedication to Roman military service (Fears). Octavius’ early life was marred with death and tragedy. As a young boy, he passed from the care of his father, to step-father, to aunt and finally into the hands of Julius Caesar, Octavius’ great uncle, as an officer during the Civil War between Pompeii and the elder Caesar. Unfortunately, before he could ship out, Octavius fell ill. When he finally recovered and went out to Spain to fight alongside Julius, Octavius’ ship crashed off of Gaul. After Julius Caesar’s defeat of Pompeii, Octavius went to Macedon to study (Plutarch). After the death of his great uncle, Octavius returned to mainland Italy to speculate his windfall from Julius Caesar’s assassination. Already young Octavius showed great ambition and readiness to act against adversity.

    Quickly after arriving in Rome, Octavius went to work assessing the mess of Julius Caesar’s assassination. Julius had named Octavius as his living heir to 2/3rd of his estate, as Julius had no living children, which immediately gave Octavius recognition in the Roman political landscape (Fears/Plutarch). Julius loved his grand-nephew dearly, and Octavius reciprocated his feelings of familial love. Enraged at the death of his great uncle, Octavius swore revenge upon Julius’ foul murderers. Full of ambition, but with little bite to his bark, Octavius analyzed the shattered political scene, finding willing and useful accomplices in two great statesmen. Forming a political alliance with these two, Octavius formed the Second Triumvirate, homage to Julius’ own beneficial alliance (Fears). Octavius was not the only soul engulfed in a visage of vengeance, however. Clever Marc Antony, from the original Triumvirate, had once again shoe-horned his way into an alliance with another rising Caesar. The third in this alliance was a brilliant, but soft politician with great sway in the Senate, Marcus Lepidus. Octavius agreed to the Second Triumvirate on one condition, no haste in eliminating Caesar’s assassins.

    After a few years, all of Julius Caesar’s assassins had either been executed or exiled. The Second Triumvirate held a monopoly on political power and Octavius was quickly gaining renown for his Senatorial efficacy. History is always quick to repeat itself and all was not well within the Second Triumvirate, by 33BC the alliance was in shambles. Marcus Lepidus had fled into exile under threat from Antony and Octavius (Plutarch). The bonds between Octavius and Antony were very weak, unfortunately, as Antony had been gaming for ultimate control of Rome by scheming with his long-time lover, Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. The stage was now set for another brutal civil war. Octavius drove Marc Antony from Rome in a decisive rout after two years of fighting. Antony fled to the arms of his lover. In exile and under threat of execution, both Antony and Cleopatra committed suicide in 30BC. Antony fell onto his sword in grief and collapsed into his lovers’ arms, while Cleopatra allowed herself to be bitten by a poisonous snake (Rivers). It was readily obvious, henceforth, that crossing Octavius would lead to such a fate.

    With very meek opposition in the Senate, Octavius returned to Rome in full command of his army, as dictator. Outside the city’s gates, Octavius symbolically abandoned his army, eager to show his support of Roman Republicanism. It was at this time that Octavius underwent a symbolic transformation. He took up the name Augustus Caesar, cleansing himself of the bloody steps he had taken to ensure his control of Roman politics, Augustus hoped the Roman public would view him as a symbolically new man, making his next actions all the easier (Rivers/Fears). Beginning in 27BC, the newly ordained Augustus Caesar saw the bedlam and chaos decades of assassinations, exiles and internal power struggles had caused. In a show of humility, Augustus, the rightful head of Rome, returned all powers of legislation to the Senate, a move designed to show his support for traditional process. In reality, Augustus had just begun his consolidation of power. He knew Rome was not ready to accept an absolute despot, so he separated legislative and executive decision making, being appointed as Princeps, head of the newly ordained Principate, a hollow Republic headed by an authoritative leader. Augustus was then given permanent victory honors by the Senate, further lifting his celebrity status (Plutarch). Securing monetary and military assets, Augustus bided his time, knowing his public popularity gave him great sway in Senatorial matters.

    In 23BC Augustus’ power-plays were beginning to surface. His total control of Roman political functions boiling to the surface as decision after Senatorial decision was shown to flow directly down from him. Furthermore, Augustus Caesar had established his heir apparent. His absolute control of Rome was all but announced to the public. However, Augustus maintained the charade of traditional Roman Republicanism, holding yearly elections for the head of the Senate, the Consulship. Predictably enough, the chips were always stacked in Augustus’ favor and he almost always won Consulship (Rivers). After suffering a severe bout of illness Augustus was forced to retire from the public spectacle around 15BC, only holding Consulship again in 5BC and 2BC (Plutarch). For all intents and purposes, Augustus Caesar had established a stable Emperorship. Augustus Caesar was always a man of incredible symbolism, in life as much as in death. In 14AD, having secured an heir to his exalted position, Augustus passed away suddenly at the place of his birth-father’s death (Fears).

    Augustus Caesar fits all four points perfectly, while still legally seizing power. For point one, Augustus easily created the most meaningful reforms in all of Roman history, changing the bastion of Roman Republicanism into a juggernaut Empire. For point two, Augustus Caesar’s contributions to Rome are innumerable. He utilized the great stores of Roman wealth to create a thriving middle class, reformed an outdated military system to suit his expansionistic needs and revived a floundering and powerless political system into an efficient machine capable of enacting necessary change. In regards to point three, only during Rome’s fledgling state was there a greater need for transformational leadership. When Augustus Caesar took power, chaos was king and the Roman system seemed broken in a way no leader could properly address. Finally, Augustus Caesar lived until the age of 77, easily accomplishing his objectives and cementing a lasting legacy for centuries afterward.

    Conclusion

    My research is a thorough mix of translated Latin histories from the University of Chicago and contemporary analysis. This mixture gives me the ability to examine firsthand accounts of documents and view the current theories on these subjects. The sources most influential in my decision making process and analysis for my Points of Views were the two interviews I conducted. Both Walter Scheidel and Charles Hedrick helped me formulate my opinions by giving me a wide variety of leaders for every category I presented them with. Further influential to my research were the audio lectures recorded by Professor Fears.

    My first argument, that Pompeii is the most effective leader because of his mastery of economic leadership, is a fairly stable argument. I compared him to both contemporary economists, as well as his elders. Ultimately, my strongest argument boiled down to his ability to be appointed to very lucrative positions in Rome’s military (Plutarch). While this is no slight against Pompeii, it does somewhat invalidate his claim to point #3, in that he doesn’t personally act upon a need for great leadership. However, the strength of the argument for Pompeii lies in points 2 and 4. Pompeii contributes favorably, possibly the most favorably, of any leader discussed. He created the single largest economic gain in all Roman history through sheer determination (Scheidel). Another strong argument is presented when Pompeii is compared to his contemporaries such as Crassus, whose thirst for wealth was so great it was estimated his private accounts tied up nearly %5 of all Roman wealth (Plutarch). Pompeii’s gains all went towards the Roman state or his troops (Fears/Plutarch), making him a shining gem in a period of corruption.

    My second argument, that Julius Caesar is the greatest leader of Rome because of his numerous military exploits is also a very substantial argument. The one weakness in this argument revolves around Caesar’s assassination. Caesar’s ultimate goal, to see himself crowned dictator of Rome (Rivers/Fears), was never realized, and so he falls short of aspect #4 of a great leader. However, Julius Caesar is very accomplished. Caesar’s conquest of modern day Spain, France, Germany, Switzerland and Britain resulted in millions of deaths and hundreds of millions of square miles of territory conquered in a time when combat was hand-to-hand and it was impossible to travel faster than a few miles/hour with a standing army (Rivers/Fears/Scheidel). Caesar was able to harness the pure military might of an aggressive civilization and bring Rome to new heights of glory through dominant strategy and brute force.

    My third argument, that Augustus Caesar is the greatest leader of Rome because of his exemplary politicking, is perhaps my most solid argument. Through a series of decisive alliances and political appointments, Augustus worked his way up the political hierarchy, consolidating more and more power. Augustus Caesar seized control of Rome in 31 BC (Scheidel/Hedrick). His first acts, after stabilizing the greatly disarrayed political landscape (Fears), was to institute governmental reforms which gave all outward appearances of maintaining a Republic (Plutarch), when in reality almost all judicial power was left in his hands (Hedrick). In this way, Augustus transformed Rome into an efficient Empire, setting in motion a system of governance which wouldn’t fall apart until nearly 500 years after his death (Rivers). For these, and so many more reasons, Augustus Caesar fulfills points 1 through 4 of effective leadership.

    Coming to a singular answer about my essential question is difficult. All three leaders embody different aspects of Roman culture, so it is nearly impossible to ascribe ultimate success to one particular leader. However, the most prominent figure in this entire paper is Augustus Caesar. Although Augustus is not nearly the cunning military mind of his great uncle, or the fiscal savant of Pompeii, he is the most effective, efficient, impactful and beneficial leader Rome ever existed under. For the first aspect of an effective leader, Augustus Caesar is easily the most qualified. Augustus Caesar’s reforms to Rome’s economy fully utilized the economic boon Pompeii contributed. While Pompeii was unable to ever see his great additions to Rome be put to effective use for the populace, Augustus was able to create a system where the average Roman citizen needed to work little more than a week in order to pay off his debt to the government. Furthermore, Augustus’ changes to the political landscape of Rome far outweigh Julius Caesar’s meaningful changes. In the words of Walter Scheidel, Caesar knew how to conquer, but he did not know how to rule. Julius was able to conquer great swathes of land, and this was his singular meaningful change to Rome. In his long reign, Augustus was able to produce lasting changes like the institutional reform (his creation of the Emperorship), the census and grain distribution and the restabilization of Rome’s political landscape.

    This leads into the second point of an effective leader, to benefit Rome as a country. To compare the three leaders I look at how Rome was before their rule, and how Rome was at the end of their lives. Pompeii came into power in a time of great expansion, when Rome was pushing eastward into Asia Minor. At the beginning of Pompeii’s rule, Rome was just becoming a major super-power, and by the end of his life, Rome’s future was cast into uncertainty after a massive civil war and military coup by Julius Caesar. Caesar adopted this chaos, and for a time he forged a peaceful existence. Unfortunately his assassination once again plunged Rome into a brutal and bloody struggle for power. This state of disarray continued for many decades until Augustus took power. Driving many of the leaders of Julius’ assassination out of Rome, Augustus Caesar was able to restore order to the long divided Rome. Augustus Caesar is the only of these three leaders to live his final days in peace, strolling one of the many public gardens he helped to create, further exemplifying his unique claim to the fourth and final necessity of a great leader of Rome. Augustus Caesar is the only leader out of Pompeii, Julius and himself to live long enough to see his plans come to fruition, completely uninterrupted.

    My prediction for this topic is that we can never know what new archeological discoveries will be made to overturn long held beliefs. If new evidence were to arise (such as if it turned out that Julius Caesar didn’t die when we thought he did, but in fact engineered Augustus’ rise to power) it could completely overturn my beliefs. Furthermore, and definitely more importantly, who is viewed as the greatest leader much depends on the society posing the question. Contemporary society is looking for that awe-inspiring mediator, the messiah of peace who can return our calamitous political and economic systems back into some semblance of organization, just as Augustus Caesar was for the Romans. However, if you asked the war-like British of the 17th century, they would say Julius Caesar’s military mastery shows he is the greatest leader, as shown by Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. To the mercantile Italians of the Renaissance, Crassus, the great self-made merchant/statesman was the greatest Roman leader. So my prediction is that as society changes, so too will the debate over the most effective Roman leader.

    The following is an annotated list of all source materials used throughout this work:

    Arkenberg, J. S.; Halsall, Paul. ”Ancient History Sourcebook: Mithridates & The Roman
    Conquests in the East, 90-61 BCE.” Online: Internet History Sourcebook. June 1998. 17 October 2012. <http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/ancient/mithradates1.asp>
    This online database is run by Fordham University, a Jesuit college in New York. The Sourcebook is a copywrited compilation of all works pertaining to Roman history, specifically involving major political upheavals.

    Axelrod, Alan. Profiles in Leadership (Pg. 55-57 and 475-478). New York, USA: Prentice Hall, 2003.
    Alan Axelrod is a trusted author and Historian and has written a few volumes on the impact of various leaders. This work collaborates dozens of leader’s lives and organizes them into thirteen categories of leadership to create an easy to understand version of impactful leadership. Axelrod is persuasive in that he wants to present the strongest argument as to why each leader is ranked as they are.

    Herbermann, Charles, and Georg Grupp. "Constantine the Great." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. 2 January 2013. <http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/04295c.htm>
    Charles Herbermann was a classical historian, focusing predominantly on Byzantine culture and influence. This particular piece describes the life of Constantine the Great from his rise to political prominence to his declaration of separation of the Roman Empire and to Constantine’s death.

    Fears, J. Rufus. Audio Lecture: “Famous Romans.” March 2007.
    Professor Fears was the chair of the classics department at the Oklahoma University. He has released several studies and research papers on history. His studies cover how history impacts our modern life. This particular audio lecture covers the lives of 20+ famous Roman figures and shows how each left their mark on Roman society. I will use this to present accurate information on various leaders and information about historical Rome.

    Fowler, Michael. “How Classical Knowledge Reached Baghdad.” Online: University of Virginia. 10 February, 2007. 8 October, 2012. <http://galileoandeinstein.physics.virginia.edu/lectures/AthenstoBaghdad.htm>
    This map is an accurate representation of the boarders of Rome at the height of her power in 130AD. University of Virginia is a credible source as they have an extensive classical history department.

    Hedrick, Charles. Personal interview. 17 October, 2012.
    Charles Hedrick is in charge of researching Classical history for UCSC. He has written numerous pieces on both Greek and Roman history. Mr. Hedrick has written various novels regarding early democracy and governance in the Classical world.

    Knox, E.L. Skips. “The Punic Wars.” Online: Boise State University. 5 October, 2012. <http://europeanhistory.boisestate.edu/westciv/punicwar/17.shtml>.
    E.L. Skips Knox is a professor of classical history at Boise State University. He has compiled a complete anthology of European History which is available in the public domain and is used and reviewed by history professors from all around the country

    Plutarch. “The Parallel Lives.” Online: University of Chicago. 4 May, 2012. 5 October, 2012. <http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Fabius_Maximus*.html>.
    Plutarch is a great Greek historian, essayist and natural philosopher who compiled the lives of many of the great achievements of Rome. He studied under Plato at the college in Athens and was a firsthand witness to Rome’s conquest of the Mediterranean.

    Rivers, J.B. ed. Suetonius: The Twelve Caesars. London, England: Penguin Classics, 1957.
    This author translated the invaluable work of the Roman historian Gaius Suetonius Tranquilius. The reviser received numerous degrees in Classical History. The original translator of Suetonius’ work was Robert Graves, who was an English poet and novelist. Suetonius was a Roman philosopher and historian who extensively documented powerful Roman families.

    Scheidel, Walter. Personal interview. 18 September 2012
    Walter Scheidel is the chair of the classical department at Stanford University. He is considered the head of research pertaining to Rome, and is one of the most decorated professors in classical history, adjusted for his age. Mr. Scheidel is a credible source of information because of his esteemed position and his numerous works on Roman history.

    “The First Triumvirate.” Online: University of Dallas; DANTE. 21 October 2012 <http://dante.udallas.edu/hutchison/Fall_of_Republic/first_triumvirate.htm>
    This is the University of Dallas’ free online resource for information regarding the antiquity period. It is regularly updated and fact checked to ensure optimum accuracy of information, as it is primarily a teaching resource.

    “The Roman Empire” Online: The Roman Empire, An illustrated History of. 2007. 22 November 2012. < http://www.roman-empire.net/index.html>
    An Illustrated History of the Roman Empire is an interactive website designed to immerse a visitor in the rich history of Rome. This website caters specifically towards teachers and students interested in a more worth-while understanding of Rome. This site is trustworthy because it is routinely fact checked by teachers and professors.


    Aquila Invicta - Entry #15
    Aquila Invicta

    Aquila Invicta



    Castrum Invicta, 120 A.D.
    North of the Italian Peninsula


    His eyes opened, pupils dilating slightly to adjust to the misted light that swirled above his head. It was early morning, and it was cold, watching in odd delight as the hairs rose on his right hand. Slightly amused, Baetio rose up from the cramped position he slept in at the base of the stockade. With the golden pommelled gladius at his hilt, he grinned and frowned as he stretched his limbs in the shadow of the wooden tower gate. Baetio inhaled and held his breath. For a couple of moments his eyes drifted over the palisade, eyeing a low-lying valley nestled between the forested hills of the land north of the Italian peninsula. All he could see from the upper level of the stockade was the edge of a sea of dark green. Thick fog glided above his head and into the valley, blurring everything that was in the distance. Baetio frowned. He hated this constant fog.

    He turned on his heels and descended a flight of stairs to the middle level of the parapets, tapping his gladius against the coifs of the two watchmen sleeping beside the staircase.

    “Wake up.”

    One of the watchmen groaned. “They're here?”

    “Not yet, but they will be, especially with this fog,” replied Baetio.

    The half Carthaginian descended the last flight of stairs and stepped through the compound itself, wrapping the red Roman cape around his broad shoulders. It was too cold for him, born in the scorching months of Julius, but he got used to it somewhat by now. It's been two months they were stranded in this cramped space and there was still no sign of a relief army. It had been dark most of the times, surrounded by this haunted forest, and above all they were alone. They were still probably the finest warriors Rome had at that moment. But they were only ten, and they had only been ten.

    Baetio stepped on the soft earth with firmness as he paced towards the armoury, sliding past carts, wheelbarrows, swords, javelins, bits of armour and other supplies that they were too lazy to store in their designated places. The armoury, nothing more than a dining hall that housed their weapons, was warm and welcoming as he stepped inside. A delicious smell of soup wafted in the air, except that all four of his Roman brothers were sleeping soundly in their straw beds. He unceremoniously woke them up but omitted to wake the women who slept in the opposite corner. Baetio felt he did not want to disturb them. Stepping away from the armoury, Baetio circled the compound and screamed for their last companion, guided by the orange hue of dawn.

    He found Zyraxes, the Dacian, in a corner of the camp, resting beside his curved falx with his hands cupped in prayer to his forgotten God. Baetio knew better than to disturb him so he tapped his falx and walked away, leaving Zyraxes to his ardent prayers. Satisfied all of his companions were awake, he returned to the fortified walls and climbed to the top level of the stockade.

    “Cold, is in not, Baetio?”

    Baetio nodded, his black eyes gleaming in the mist. “Cold.”

    “They're coming, aren't they?”

    Baetio nodded. “Yes, they're coming. Wulfila's coming, and he's coming soon.”

    A low rumble echoed behind them as Julius, Baetio's second-in-command, climbed up the wooden stairs. Of middle height but built like an ox, he contrasted Baetio's tall and lean figure by making up in width what he lacked in height. He saluted Baetio with a quick nod of his head and tapped the helm of the watchman, Flavius. Julius flanked the guard and brought the velite shield to his girdle to protect his thorax as he leaned against the wooden wall.

    “Get your javelins ready, Julius.”

    “...and make sure you throw each one of them correctly. I heard that before, Baetio, but I hope this time they will have the courage to show up.”

    Baetio smiled. “They already did, just listen.”

    Julius turned to his commander, closing one eye in scepticism. “How are you so sure?”

    “Listen.”

    At first it was faint, but as the minutes went past it grew from an almost absent rumble to a cacophony of sounds, booms and yells that overlapped each other. It came from the fog, lost in the thickets of the dense forest that lurked for many miles in front of their compound gate. Baetio clutched his gladius tighter, mirrored unknowingly by Julius and Flavius who rose their small velite shields to their chests. A war horn echoed once through the fog, echoed twice and then thrice, raising more than a couple of hairs down their spine. They eyed the milky mist in agony, straining to see even the faintest outline of an enemy warrior. But they were not there, at least not in their line of sight.

    Julius scraped his shield against the stockade.

    “We're ten, they're more than one hundred.”

    Baetio nodded. “We all kill 10 each and we've done our duty. I hope you've learned your Greek mathematics, Julius.”

    “How about we count dead bodies instead of living barbarians?”

    Baetio chuckled. “That too, once we're done with Wulfila and his friends. Flavius, stay here and warn us. Julius, down with me, we have a plan to finish.”

    Leaving Flavius to the bitter cold of the sweeping wind, Baetio and Julius retreated to the warmth of the armoury for a final approach. Inside the armoury, in the midst of the dining table, the golden eagle of the legion stood proudly, engraved with the names of each and every one of them. They were ten, a little legion of elite Roman soldiers, tasked to stall the advance of Wulfila's own elite troops marching to hammer the defences north of Mediolanum. A barbarian captain from the Germanic forests, his attacks were coordinated with the help of his friends in Rome, seeing that they always coincided when Hadrian's legions were away. But they were never away. For two months they waited in silence at the border, hoping to hear Wulfila's war horn.

    Baetio glanced around him in the armoury. Julius stood upright behind him, sticking three javelins on his velite shield. Aemilianus and Kleon, the agile warriors of the group, propped themselves against the table with their swords sharpened and their eyes fixed on Baetio. On the other side of the table, Cornelius and Arsaces hauled their huge triarii shields on the table, throwing their massive spears in a loud clatter that echoed inside the dining hall. Meek, but knowing very well they were deadly, Baetio nodded to Livia and Arduinna who approached the silent group with deadly composite bows in hand. Flavius manned the gates... but Zyraxes was absent.

    “Zyraxes? Absent as usual?” moaned Arsaces, the huge Parthian cavalryman.

    Baetio nodded. “For the time being.”

    “Before you start, I'm ready,” countered Julius.

    Cornelius hailed Baetio with his spear. “About damn time, I was going to rot in this place. Finally I get to see Wulfila's ugly face again!”

    Arsaces and the rest laughed but Baetio and Arduinna kept their straight faces, hoping to get a glimpse of their real state of spirit. Baetio nodded to Arduinna moments later and unsheathed his gladius, slamming it down on the table. In the sudden silence, Baetio carved the outline of the walled compound and highlighted the gate with a quick flick of the blade over the square shape.

    “Wulfila's men are not particularly good with grapple hooks and they won't bother with them anyhow.”

    Julius held out a hand. “Battering ram?”

    Baetio nodded. “The battering ram Wulfila brought will aim directly for the gate. They will batter it down pretty easily, so no use trying to fortify it now. Our aim is to kill as many of Wulfila's men as possible.”

    Kleon held up his javelin. “If you're hungry for skewered barbarians, Kleon's Butcher Shop will be open in one hour!”

    The whole group chuckled, easing some of the tension that pressed over the table like a hammer.

    “Kleon, Aemilius, Julius, up on the left parapets and support Flavius. Livia, Arduinna, you come with me and we strike from the other side.”

    “And what's left for us? Our favourite task?” grinned Arsaces.

    “All yours, Arsaces. Boil as many as you want.”

    They stepped out of the armoury a moment later, coinciding with another loud concert echoing from Wulfila's war horn. The fog lifted slightly, offering a better view of the forest's edge, lined up with more than one hundred of Wulfila's savages. Even in the pale light of the sun, their sharp axes gleamed and Baetio thought he could almost see the viciousness in their eyes as he climbed the parapet. With their huge beards and odd clothing, some with even wolf pelts on their heads, they were used to strike fear in every opponent they met. Except that even if they were throwing taunts, all they got were sneering giggles from Kleon and Arduinna.

    But as Baetio expected, Wulfila's men wasted no time. Split into strategic groups, the main warband pushed the battering ram to the gate in a chorus of war horns and drums. The heavy siege weapon lumbered onwards to the gate, unmolested by any enemy fire. Once the battering ram came close enough, Baetio gave one last glance over the stockade and smiled. From the outside, the camp looked all but deserted.

    Moments later, the gates clattered with the dreadful clank of the ram smashing through the locks. Crouched behind the stockade to conceal himself, Baetio leapt forwards to the tower gate and pulled down the lever built in the wall. A trap door opened above the battering ram, revealing a small ballista aimed at the frontal side of the siege weapon. Baetio unsheathed his gladius and cut the holding rope, triggering the mechanism that fired off the huge ballista bolt into the battering ram. The bolt pierced the protective hides and smashed through the entire mechanism, shattering the whole log that swung backwards and forwards to ram the gate.

    Kleon winked. From the other side of the parapets, he lit up the tip of an arrow and leapt for the bolt rope. Doused in saltpetre, the rope lit up instantly in a ball of fire that bypassed the protective hides and ignited the dried wood inside the ram. In a matter of seconds the entire siege weapon was caught in an orange ball of fire, scattering the confused warriors that manned it. Taken aback, Wulfila's warriors were suddenly exposed to arrow fire.

    It was Arduinna who gave the signal. Her thin hands bent the composite bow and aimed for the closest warrior just beneath the palisade. She set her fingers free, the sleek arrow smashing right through the man's skull. On the other side of the gate Kleon and Aemilius wasted no time, aiming their javelins with deadly accuracy. Before Wulfila's warriors retaliated with their own archers, twenty of their kin were dead or mortally injured under the hail of projectiles.

    Baetio yelled, bringing his warriors down behind the protection of the palisade.

    “Retreat, the gate will burn!”

    Julius quickly saw that Baetio was right. Despite the stone foundation, the battering ram's flames spread to the wooden structure of the gate. Fires soon engulfed the battered gate and the edges of the towers. But while the gates would collapse quickly, Julius judged, the towers were built of damp wood, making their collapse a rather slower affair. Still, Wulfila's archers fired their flaming arrows, lighting up the two guard towers without much problem.

    The Romans formed up in a tight defensive position just outside the armoury, with Arsaces and Cornelius in the middle, Baetio behind them, Kleon and Aemelianus on the sides. Julius crouched in front of them, javelin ready in his hand, eager to kill as much as Livia and Arduinna who stood on the staircases with their bows ready. But as the gate slowly collapsed and Wulfila's warriors grew louder and louder, Julius frowned and turned to Arsaces.

    “Why are you tied to a rope?”

    Arsaces smiled devilishly. “I like to burn things, Julius.”

    The wood crackled and snapped, chopped and hacked to pieces by the barbaric axes that ripped it to splinters. They trickled inside the Castrum Invicta, one by one, almost berserk because of the death of their brothers in arms. Wulfila's warriors restored their small groups and charged through the gate, oblivious to the peril that lurked above their heads. Tugged by Arsaces and Cornelius, the two huge pots slowly listed forwards, spilling their boiling oil over Wulfila's men just as the barbarians broke off from the shattered gate. Decimated by the oil, the charging warband wavered in front of the Romans and were soon killed off, trapped between the upcoming wave and Baetio's sudden anger.

    Smashing left and right, stabbing overhand and underhand, Baetio parried and slashed with his golden gladius wherever he could find space. The half Carthaginian struck down a couple of younger warriors with ease, locking swords for precious seconds with one of the veterans until Livia fired off a shot in the man's neck. Sliding over the man's limp body, Baetio stabbed another one of Wulfila's men and immediately danced sideways to parry a high bow, sending the attacker reeling backwards. Far more agile, Baetio shoved low kicks and elbows, destabilising his opponent until his gladius sliced his jugular with a perfect cut. But as he danced with death for minutes, the tingle of despair did not escape him.

    Fearful, he gave off a glance to Arsaces who held his own. But Cornelius was wounded, the same going for Kleon who could not use his speed any longer. Parrying a right hand blow, Baetio reeled backwards as the sheer force of one of the attackers sent him tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust. But as he stood up, he was slammed in the back and rammed the attacker head first, smashing his coif in the man's chest armour. The attacker's head flew off seconds later from a clean falx cut, drawing a quick smile as Zyraxes's lean frame slashed and cut everything around him.

    Leaving Zyraxes to his own, Baetio jumped back in the fight, sending off two of Arsaces's attackers before the massive Parthian speared one of the axemen bent on killing the Roman. Baetio returned the favour a moment later, dancing around Arsaces to outsmart a young skirmisher armed with a javelin. As they speared, stabbed, slashed and aimed, more and more of Wulfila's men lay limp around them. Pools of blood formed everywhere, drowning the soft ground of the compound to turn it into a red lake. They danced two more times together, cleverly avoiding low handed blows that would have sliced open their bellies. They retaliated just as fast, spearing and stabbing the last pockets of fierce resistance formed around the edge of the gate.

    Exhausted and propped against the destroyed gate, with his gladius in hand and spattered in blood, Baetio collapsed on the soft ground, the black mist swirling around him.


    The Sands of Brittania - Entry #16
    The Sands of Britannia
    Leap, fellow soldiers, unless you wish to betray your eagle to the enemy. I, for my part, will perform my duty to the Republic and to my general.

    - The aquilifer of the Tenth Legion, Caesar: Commentarii de Bello Gallico, IV, XXV.

    The water lapped the long sandy beach, its serene sound drowned out by the whistle of projectiles, the thunder of chariots and the shout of our aquilifer. He had leapt from the bireme, bearing the golden eagle glinting in the sunlight into the deep waters which threatened to swallow him up; the first Roman to land upon this foreign soil, Britannia they called it, an isle of pearly white cliffs and hostile natives.

    It had begun before those mountains of chalk, where they had risen sheer from a short beachhead before the sea. Standing atop, the foe was innumerable; their dark silhouettes swarming like ants upon the clifftops, the terrain presenting them the chance to decimate our force of two legions before we even landed. Anchored offshore, we ultimately withdrew, navigating several miles along the coast to a place where the sands were flat and welcoming, the cliffs sufficiently distant to deprive the enemy of high ground to utilise against us. Nevertheless, as the great fleet of biremes approached the long stretch of beach, shapes loomed upon the horizon as the Briton chariots and horsemen descended upon the cold shores.

    ‘The barbarians want this godforsaken isle, why not leave them to it?’ Optio Flavius grumbled sourly by my side. Our feet were damp, our bodies cold and neither of us were willing to fight the foe on such unfavourable land; not only could I forgive him his misgivings, I shared them.

    ‘Caesar will set us right, he always has and he always will,’ I replied yet my words were half-hearted. Gaius Julius Caesar, ex-Consul of Rome, now Governor of Gaul, a man whose ambition seemed to exceed that of Pompey the Great, and soon too would his name. Gaul was subjugated, Britannia was next and it was with little doubt that I expected him to safely guide the Legions through this invasion. Yet regardless I prayed to Mars that our campaign here would be brief, for greatly did I desire to return to the peace of home, and hopefully settle down with a plot of land to make my own.

    Such a land of solitude seemed leagues away, indeed leagues of marching had led us to the northern shores of Gaul, and now a small fleet bore the Tenth and Seventh Legions across this narrow sea, to an isle supposedly allied to the Gallic Tribes that Rome had conquered. It was some relief that the Briton infantry were absent for they had sent only their swiftest forces, the cavalry and charioteers, to chase us along the shore; however they had speed where we had neither manoeuvrability nor horsemen – the biremes bearing them delayed. As our vessels drew closer to the shore, it became clear to us that our ships were as ill suited to naval landings as we ourselves were, their deep hulls preventing us stationing in the shallows. Anchored where the water still seemed treacherously deep I bore little willingness to order my men out of the ships, and then one of them cried out.

    The Briton charioteers were armed with javelins, though these were ones neither as neatly fashioned nor as expertly designed as the pila we bore; they killed, and that was all that mattered. In the initial volley many penetrated the bitter waters with a resounding splash, yet one arced down against the ship under my command, missing a soldier’s torso, instead slashing across his throat, severing the artery and sending a warm rush of blood over his armour.

    ‘Shields up!’ I ordered half-heartedly, though many were doing so instinctively.

    ‘It’s too deep, sir,’ my Optio warned yet even if he spoke the truth, even shallow water would hinder our advance up the beach, promising death to a unit unable to form up on such impossible terrain. I scanned the fleet, spying several of our heavier armed vessels advancing along the shore, oars swiftly slicing at the water sending up a great spray of water. On board, a garrison of slingers and archers were already returning fire upon the enemy cavalry and charioteers and as their projectiles rained down, in some places striking the Britons from their sturdy engines or unhorsing others as they galloped along the beach, I spied the heavier catapultae being turned and prepared for assault.

    ‘Men, ready!’ I ordered as I recognised the effects of these warships upon the Britons. The barbarians had never seen a ship so formidably armed, let alone experienced the wrath of these vessels. First Caesar would order these warships to flank them and the landing of the infantry would then drive them to a rout.

    Even so, it was with no eagerness that I considered the order of disembark – and then our eagle-bearer took it upon himself, leaping from the boat with far less protection from the Briton’s javelins than our standard legionary, his head bare to the elements and only a parma – a small shield – bound to his arm to keep his hands free to bear the standard. The icy sea caressed his torso and he seemed to be regretting his hastiness. Regardless he cried out at us to follow, muttering few grand words, instead gesturing to the shore. Nonetheless I was relieved to see him stand firm in the water and with that I leapt overboard.

    The water reached little over my waist, yet the shiver engulfed my entire body. Where a glancing blow would fail, the northern seas penetrated deep, caressing my flesh with a bitter embrace, instinctively I huddled close, left arm pressed close to my breast, holding the shield firmly before me whilst I used my free right hand to assist my wading through the depths. Glancing back I saw that the boats were emptying, men gasping audibly with shock as they splashed into these northern seas. If ever this barbaric land tasted Roman civilisation, I vowed to avoid the frigidarium of the local baths.

    A sudden spray of water from the landing of Optio Flavius beside me brought me back to the present. After awkwardly rubbing salt spray from my eyes – the action hindered by my heavy helm – I scanned the terrain ahead: though the heavy warships had initially appeared to demoralise the foe, they were escalating their assault upon our men, using the agility of their steeds and speed of their chariots to evade our catapultae. I pressed forward with the ocean’s current behind me, cautiously hiding behind my shield and all the while confirming the progress of my men in my wake.

    It seemed to take an age to reach the end of the water, all the while, the javelins sliced down, glancing off scuta or slashing through the water. Peering around my own shield, I saw comrades struck down where the missiles found gaps in their defence, but mercifully this was seldom seen. Our aquilifer advanced by my side throughout, Optio Flavius just behind me and, as the water grew swallower, I signalled for those at the front to slow, to wait for the remainder and so allow us to form up and advance in numbers. As men came into position, I checked the progress of the other cohorts, sighting few ahead of us and many lagging behind. Regardless I seized the moment when all my men were in formation, I raised my voice over the din of the dying and the death dealing to bellow:

    Pila!

    Where the Britons assaulted without coherence or grace, the javelins of my men were hurled and arced with a motion guided by Mars himself. In one swift movement did the arms draw back those carefully crafted pila, their long tips supple – allowing them to slam into shields and there bend, locking them in position, rendering the shields unwieldy – their shafts strong, expertly balanced. In unison did they ascend into the sky, like a flock of geese did they move, seemingly in formation but clearly in elegance did they rise and fall. As one stabbed into the sand, another struck a charioteer, hurling him from his carriage and into the sand, whilst his companion lunged for the reins. Too slow, the unguided horses acted with instinct, their turn sharp, so sharp that the chariot behind was dragged rapidly into the path of another and with an explosion of wood and scream of horses, two chariots met their end.

    I watched as another pilum missed a chariot yet glided gracefully between the spokes of one of its wheels, striking ground and in an instant hurled the chariot beyond control. The wood snapped free from the horses, the carriage slamming into the sand, trapping one rider beneath its weight, another being hurled into the water. I quickened my pace, the disciplined legionaries following my example, and I was the first to reach the fallen Briton.

    It is a Centurion’s right, a mark of distinction, to sheath his sword on the opposite side and from there, I slid the weapon free. Finely crafted silver steel glinted in the sunlight before I drove the full foot of metal into the Briton’s breast. The gladius was designed to stab and the weapon drove in easily, I twisted it as I pulled it free, pulling with it a fountain of vivid crimson blood. The rumble of a chariot’s wheels was growing louder, preceded by the thunder of hooves, and I pulled back into formation ere another chariot rushed past. As this one came, the passenger disembarked, reinforced by more dismounted charioteers and a surge of cavalry. As the footmen confronted us, the horsemen charged past, their longswords swinging down. As I brought my shield up to block such a blow, my sword thrust from the protection of the shield wall, stabbing into the horse’s flank as it galloped by, ripping open its belly, causing it to rear and fall, hurling the rider to the ground atop another Briton. One legionary acted upon instinct, lunging forward, too quickly leaving the formation, and though his sword finished one Briton, another leapt upon him before he could return to safety. ‘Hold ranks!’ I bellowed, my voice resounding over these barbarians’ fair white cliffs, overpowering the cries of death, stemming the chaos.

    Regardless, one foe into the broken formation threatened pandemonium, as I blocked the assault of a Briton before me, two made their attempt on those who had flanked the fallen legionary, exploiting the hole in the line. Desperately I thrust forth my gladius and, with Fortuna’s grace, tore open my opponent’s abdomen and though the blow was weak, I deemed it sufficient, and signalled a retreat by one pace. In unison, the front line withdrew, gaps reinforced by those in the rank behind, and then I signalled a charge.

    The weight of a fully trained soldier, a veteran of innumerable battles, pressed behind those towering shields can be an almighty force in numbers. The impact against the native infantry staggered the disorganised force, and then a ballista bolt struck the Briton flank, skewering not one but two warriors, its force hurling back those struck. I signalled the advance and as one we thrust ourselves forwards, gladii peeking out from between our own and our neighbour’s shield. One by one they flashed forwards, meeting resistance, then shields bashed forwards, unsettling the opponent’s defence, and it was then that they struck again, blades driving forward, opening fleshing, sending warm rushes of blood down their skin.

    It was then that the Briton infantry broke.

    As their horsemen swooped down upon us, I urgently halted any impetuous charge. Another ballista bolt slammed into the sand a few feet ahead of us, missing all but what beasts may have dwelt within; a moment later the cavalry surged past. ‘Pila!’ I shouted and the spare javelins rose over the legionaries’ heads. I watched the cavalry’s movements carefully, ‘Release!’ They rushed through the sky, plunging down upon the horsemen, steeds screamed, more animals wounded than the men who rode them. Those that evaded the javelins urged haste to their horses and galloped away, leaving the field ahead a waste of broken chariots and dying beasts. There would be no pursuit, our cavalry as distant as theirs were becoming.

    I turned around, eyes scanning my men, noting those present, and those not. Dead or, more optimistically, wounded. I noted no glint of gold in the sunlight, no elegance of the eagle. Then I cast my eyes down.

    An augur would observe that the fall of this bird spelled doom to the campaign or perhaps the death of he who led us, yet there were no men here to read omens, just a Centurion who knew how his men thought. From the ground I took the eagle, the first eagle ashore, prying it from the cold hand of the Aquilifer who had bore it. Considering some of the patriotic remarks I could make of the slain man, I raised the standard above the heads of my companions, the gold glimmering in their eyes alongside their optimism and audacity.

    ‘For Caesar!’ I shouted, ‘for Rome!’ and I plunged the Eagle into the sands of Britannia.


    Historical Note.

    In 55 A.D., Roman Soldiers first set foot on British soil, yet the invasion failed when the fleet was wrecked by the unruly tides of the Northern Seas of which Caesar knew little. Winter on the horizon and food dwindling, Caesar returned to Gaul. The following year, a second invasion was launched with more suitable ships inspired by those of the Gallic Tribe of the Venetii, and with five legions rather than two. Caesar won several victories over the tribes, establishing the first of many client kingdoms in Britannia. Caesar withdrew to Gaul, without leaving behind a Legion to enforce his conquests. Two years later, the Gallic Tribes revolted, led by Vercingetorix, culminating in the Battle of Alesia, perhaps Caesar’s finest military victory. On the 10th of January 49BC, he crossed the Rubicon to seize Rome, ultimately ruling as dictator perpetuo. He was assassinated in 44 B.C. The distant isle was never forgotten and when Emperor Claudius needed a victory to help Rome recover from the tyranny of Caligula and support his leadership, Britannia was ripe for the taking. Caesar’s invasion may have been initially inconsequential, yet it brought Britannia into the sphere of influence of Rome, whose impact upon this Sceptred Isle would resonate through the centuries to come.
    Last edited by StealthFox; March 07, 2013 at 08:43 PM.

  6. #6
    Shankbot de Bodemloze's Avatar From the Writers Study!
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Dec 2011
    Location
    Midlands, UK
    Posts
    14,834
    Blog Entries
    2

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    There are so many! Time to get to work...



    Best of luck everyone.
    THE WRITERS' STUDY | THE TRIBUNAL | THE CURIA | GUIDE FOR NEW MEMBERS



    PROUD PATRON OF JUNAIDI83, VETERAAN & CAILLAGH
    UNDER THE PATRONAGE OF MEGA TORTAS DE BODEMLOZE

  7. #7
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    Please note Entry 16 has been added. The poll will be updated shortly too when an Admin is available to edit it.

  8. #8
    Heathen Storm's Avatar Where's my axe?
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Location
    Vinland
    Posts
    2,895

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    Gods! So many wonderful stories... I'm not sure which to pick!

    Proud mod leader, modeller and public relations officer of Heiđinn Veđr: Total War


  9. #9
    torongill's Avatar Praepositus
    Join Date
    Aug 2009
    Location
    Canary Islands
    Posts
    5,786

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    I wish it were possible to vote like they vote for Footballer of the Year - 3 points, 2 points and 1 point. A lot of the entries are very, very good.
    Quote Originally Posted by Hibernicus II View Post
    What's EB?
    "I Eddard of the house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."
    "Per Ballista ad astra!" - motto of the Roman Legionary Artillery.
    Republicans in all their glory...

  10. #10
    Heathen Storm's Avatar Where's my axe?
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Location
    Vinland
    Posts
    2,895

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    So? What's the results?

    Proud mod leader, modeller and public relations officer of Heiđinn Veđr: Total War


  11. #11
    StealthFox's Avatar Consensus Achieved
    Content Emeritus Administrator Emeritus

    Join Date
    Nov 2010
    Location
    GA
    Posts
    8,170

    Default Re: Winter 2013 Scriptorium Writing Competition - Themed Category Voting Thread

    I have extended voting until Sunday night/Monday morning. I made an announcement in the main announcement thread in the Q&S thread. After this round the 1st place winners from each category will move on to a final round of voting to decide the medal winners. That will last for 7-10 days, and then we will have a winner!

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •