Vandalarius: The One Sword of The Romano-Gothic Empire [COMPLETED]- Updated May 24th '19

[Alwyn]

Wow! A bitter retreat indeed against an unstoppable onslaught. I don't know how TW: Attila works - can the Romano-Gothic Empire continue to exist elsewhere in exile, even if its home regions fall?

[Lugotorix]

Wow! A bitter retreat indeed against an unstoppable onslaught. I don't know how TW: Attila works - can the Romano-Gothic Empire continue to exist elsewhere in exile, even if its home regions fall?

Yes: If a Great Migrators faction loses all of it's regions it's remaining armies will turn into a horde. Not quite what happened but this is the middle of the story- not the end, don't worry. Thanks for reading!

[waveman]

Ye gods thats a lot of huns

[Lugotorix]

CENTUM CELLAE

443 A.D.

Centumcellae- The hundred halls of the Emperor in Latium

The harbor constructed by the Emperor Trajan in the second century, on Etruscan ruins, the Centum Cellae, was the closest point to the Tyrrhenian sea from Rome. There was a fort there, and by the winds of the sea casting sprinkling gales over the fortress, one would be of the impression that the Huns and their vassals menace was not quite as dire as it was. There was only the endless lapping of the harbor, and the boats that stood tall with the cross of Christ on their sails. Sailors and fishermen were everywhere about the fort. The fishermen would be making a killing, with the number of Goths seeking a new beginning here, with salted sardines which would not rot over the course of the voyage being the biggest seller. The prices were inflated to extremes by the Romans who would be staying behind to see out the siege, should it come, and Gesalec not settle for peace with Hunor and Elphrat. The Romans of course begged that we make better terms with the Huns, while we couldn't commit to them that we were leaving to show weakness, and the logistical nightmare of getting all of our troops and migrating people onto the boats we were constructing.

The Hunnic Kans made their request of ransom of the city of Rome to the Emperor Gesalec. I was present, with my depleted guardsmen, on the palatine hill. The emissary first was given the word of the Lord by Guitifrida, and as displaced as his understanding was, he did not pay heed to the death rite she had issued over him. The introduction was a funeral. He, Magor, spoke nonetheless. His face was gouged with the scars from the lamentation at Attila’s death, and I knew him to be a true believer, who would want to exact a heavy price from the Goths.

Gesalec would listen. If it was gold the extortionists wanted, he would grant it, he would mint it from the stripped skeletons of the temples and churches themselves if need be. Territory, even could be granted, in return for peace, but what this savage, Magor spoke caused the eyes of Gesalec, a usually placid man, to be incited to burning fury.

The Goths and Rome would be subject to the demands of the Huns forever more, and the Huns would settle in the Cisalpina they had just seen the ruin of, around the vicinity of Milano, the one city that had not been raised. In order to consecrate themselves as overlords of the new order, a marriage would be made with the legitimate granddaughter of Vithericus, Clotsuintha. The sky god Tengri would consecrate the marriage, and there would be a Hunnic Kan as emperor of Italy, for all of Attila’s victories, and the death of who they considered to be the true heir Ammius, their enemy who Attila had slain. I did not think of the Italian Romans would never accept such terms, I did not think of his impudence for bargaining with us, with our backs to the wall, while much of Italy remained free, and I did not think of the Lord Christ’s mercy, rather, I thought of Clotsuintha’s virtue. At the point that particular demand was issued by the emissary of the Huns, I had heard enough and forced him to kneel, before beheading him with my axe, which to Gesalec’s horror, was not suited for decapitations. The emmisary spat what a mess I the Praetor and Magister Miletum had made of my lordship, and I asked him if his motley lot could do better in a thousand years, before urging the princess to leave the room, and sullying the floors of the hill grounds in Rome with the blood of the heathen invader. The Huns outnumbered us in a lethal way, but we would keep our dignity in our retreat.

Fredebal’s vendetta against the Huns was burning within him. I had told him that there was no victory to the north, and that we would have insufficient strength to combat Tranquillus should he deny us safe harbor at Ajax, within striking distance of Caralis and the center of rebel power of the Western Empire. Gaatha, and the Queen Goiswintha herself chided him for being so impulsive, but as young as he was, there were the spurs to do something, anything, to stop our exile from the lands we had rightfully claimed. He believed the situation salvageable, and that Rome could be saved with a strong statement against the Burgundians, who were camped not far from the husk of Fiorentia.

While the first transports left for the Attian dynasties Africa, whose relations had cooled with us once they realized the number of criminals and other undesirables that could pay the fare across the sea from Malta to Lampedusa from the port of Naples, which had been sacked numerous times by the Abasgian protectorate of the Huns and Aksum, Fredebal made ready for war.

He gathered what volunteers he could to confront the Burgundian commander, near Fiorentia, which was overrun with the enemy. He was righteous in cause. He led the charge from horseback. He had reason to believe he might find victory. The Marcomanni, fleeing from the turmoil of the collapse of the east, joined his army there and fought. These Burgundians had sold their souls to the enemy of all that was just on this side of the Danube, and Fredebal fought bravely. He, with his sparse numbers, died to the man. The Burgundian scavengers and jeweled nobles were only better equipped for the effort. Gesalec was frightened when he learned of the news. ‘Foolish boy, that will only embolden the Huns.’ He stammered, looking to his letters from Attius.

And so I agreed, and begged the Emperor to move across the sea and wait for us in Tarragon with Mundus. He had planned on presiding over any uprising in Rome, and falling in it’s defense against the Huns, but with the Huns closing in cautiously, and the Abasgians just to the south of us, near Naples, his knowledge of his own mortality must have convinced him. He left on the first boat, escorted by several ships of the Quadrian armada. With Gundulf’s recklessness, we were lucky that Tranquillus kept to his word and did not consider us to be enemies as near as the Emperor’s flotilla passed to their island, which had been seized in the chaos. Perhaps he was building confidence, so that he could deal with us when our landing parties were vulnerable.

The black arrow was a fortunate one, judging by Tranquillus’ actions and many, at the time, expected Tranquillus to accept us as heroes for defending his homeland, while others, such as Armenius Promotus deserted it to the Huns desires. A missive I had sent to him, and heard back from, said something similar, and that he considered himself no ally of Lepidus to the south, that he was merely seeking shelter and solace with his army near the bones of his master Saturninus, where the Huns that were razing Gaul could not follow them. I wrote in reply that our intentions were something similar, and that he could join us in lordship when we reached Tarragon, with Corsica firmly in our grasp as a staging ground.

More good news came when the Emperor of Carthage Attius informed me that his ships would also protect us in our journey to Ajax, as well as deter any naval maneuvers of Lepidus against us, in a sea that belonged more to Carthage than to Caralis. Attian Africa would guarantee our safety, but their populace was very much against us, seeing Eutharic’s reign, and my management of the defense as a disaster, as well as Gundulf’s misadventure against their Gallic brothers. Labienus, Viceroy of Hispania would never be happy with us gaining a foothold in Spain, so we had his wrath to counter when dealing with the Africans as well. The Macedonians had two fleets in the south Mediterranean and were ready to move to assist us as well.

The Romans within the city of Rome soon began to formulate their demands, when they met in throngs in the plazas of the city, and among them was that the Gothic fleets should depart as soon as possible so that a Roman army could take their place, make terms with Lepidus and stand on equal footing in the negotiations with the Huns, which, from their perspective, we had botched. With Tarentum, Naples, Rheggio and Syracuse aligned against the Huns, a less fractured picture of resistance would emerge, one with us out of the picture.

In Centum Cellae, the hundred halls of the Emperor’s palace on the coast, I watched from a balcony the interactions of Vandalarius and Valdamerca with my wife Gaatha, while stroking my gray mustache. Vandalarius carried a wooden sword and was training with Filimer, who had joined us in our home. Every time he would make a mistake, Valdamerca would criticize him for it harshly, but the boy could fight, neither Gaatha nor I could deny it. He was becoming quite tall, like his father. He was sound in disciplining Liuva not only to obey, but learn lessons and understand their meaning. At times, he got the best of Filimer, and seemed faster than his adopted older brother.

Goiswintha took a seat in her shaul and coat, to stay warm from the ocean mist, but whispered into my ear urgently, as if she was at her last hour. The hour that would never come to me while I lived, I reminded myself.

‘The Romans are making plans to throw off our rule here. You need only give the world to Filimer and we will plunder this city of the necessities that will keep us warm in hungry years, like those in the cold Pindus mountains, when King Alaric lived.’

I waved her down, ‘We’re looking at our future now, Queen Goiswintha. Go speak to your granddaughter of how much better times were back then.’ I answered, smiling at those training in the courtyard below. She clawed the back of my shoulder in disdain and went down the steps, hobbling, looking as if she would bring her plan to Filimer herself.

With his family background, and his ability to coach Filimer as if he were one of his soldiers, we began to wonder amongst Gaatha and I, whether the castigating Valdamerca or the warrior Vandalarius were better suited to rule. Then we began to argue. Valdamerca had dark hair, Vandalarius was blonde, Valdamerca’s opinions seemed informed from watching others fight and give orders, which we both marveled at, but Vandalrius was both quick with his mind and quick with his tongue. He had presence. He could keep both Valdamerca, his younger brother, and Filimer all at attention, while he fought, no less, Gaatha insisted.

We argued until Clotsuintha approached the balcony in her dress, and reminded me. ‘They’re in competition because they’re yours. Remember your promise to uncle Gesalec.’
Gaatha and I looked to one another and I said. “And that one has consistency.”

The year went very much at this pace. With Filimer beginning to accept more council from the Queen, while Valdamerca and Vandalarius and Liuva, my children grew. I sired a child out of wedlock, during this time, and I could never had guessed her significance to a court which was beginning to see the house of Egica as the exit, and the house of Vandalarius as the entrance to all further climbing within our hierarchy.

The Romans within the city became more organized with their demands, with most opting to join Lepidus’ coalition and with Gesalec gone, they felt they had been abandoned already, and began to govern across the city with no Gothic soldiers in enough numbers to stop their protests and decisions. I began testing the waters with ten, and then another five transports to Tranquillus’ position at Ajax. They arrived safely and I realized the time of our second major migration was upon us. The ships at Centumcellae were all erected, even the warships, and I sent word to Radolf the Quadrian and the African and Macedonian fleets, that we would be disembarking Rome, and trusting to the winds, Tranquillus, and them.

[Lugotorix]

THE BATTLE OF THE TIBER

Vengeance Against the Burgundians

The ships, and the armada of Attius formed a Centum Cellae. I moved north and set up guard towers near the Tiber river to look for any Burgundians that may lay siege to the city while we were making these vital preparations.

A thousand ships, full of merchants, criminals freed from the jails, camp followers, brothel workers, explorers, refugees, noble Goths and Saiones with their own chartered vessels, and the Gothic people, who knew they would be hunted without the protection of our armies in Italy, joined the fleet. Roman soldiers, dependent on our wages, extended their tours under captains like Eucherius. Our course was the isle of Ajax, and my last correspondence with Tranquillus had been reassuring. It was then, that the northern towers reported the Hemfrid, the Burgundian commander that had slain Fredebal, was marching south towards a narrow ford on the northern end of the Tiber river, to move on Rome from the east.

Ever since the events prior to the battle of Adrianople, in the great Gothic civil war upon the Pontic sea, it had been some time since a standing army of the Vesi and Ostrogoths had confronted a sizable Germanic force on the field. I was reprieved of this banality, when Hemfrid, commander of the Helios Legion, loyal to the Huns, moved to the location. Clearly emboldened by what the reckless son Fredebal had wagered, he intended to cross the river.

Wary of a trap, I sent my scouts ahead, and saw that the Huns were cutting off any reprieve of Ravenna and Ancona, over a million strong: Achilius told me that the Hunnic chiefs were quite content for the Burgundians to sack the prize ahead of them, in exchange for better terms of surrender.

Hemfrid brought heavy horse, carrying a banner with the heads of Fredebal’s captains, and they came first, trying to force us into the shallows of the ford where the willows lashed by the early runners. There were adders in the water, but our men had their orders. Rather than let the Burgundians cross, we sent three divisions of horse across the river to skirmish and slow the advance of the Burgundian infantry, who wore deep greens and the color of blood upon their capes and cloaks, and striped patterns on their leggings.

Gaatha had pleaded with me not to take Vandalarius to the battle, but I had already promised the young man, and he served the in back ranks of Eucherius’ footed nobles. Besides, I wanted to see his ability in commanding men on the field: he was intelligent, and the sooner he served us, would delay a tragic fate out of action somewhere on an island God know where. The Burgundians were fond of chainmail, but heavy in spears and axes, and lacking in protection from the wilder falxmen who had in my army, so I sent them to take the even breadth of the river, just after the horses had crossed and already begun to harass, respectively, the horses and light infantry of Hemfrid.

We did not outnumber Hemfrid’s force, but I also had two divisions of cavalry in the reserves, to break the edges of the fray once it had commenced. I sent our Alani and Hunnic auxialiaries into the battle first. These were the ones who had joined Sandilch in her betrayal of the Hunnic cause, upon her orders. The steppe horsemen were lancers and bowmen, and seemed to know the heavily armored Burgundians better than we did: they used lassos to confuse them and drag them into the waters. Ropes were tangling all about the Burgundian spear-point, while the lances crashed against their bucklers and shields.

‘Sandilch has made good on her promise.’ Vandalarius smiled broadly. She was on a horse beside him, ordered here by Achilius, to ensure their willingness to fight in the battle.

‘Yes, Achilius has even more in store for Labienus when these Burgundians slaves of the Huns are dispatched and we reach the domain of Hispania.’ I nodded to him.

A horseman died in the middle of the river, which sparkled in the sun, and as soon as his horse screamed, both forces began to march towards each-other. Hemfrid was confident in his heavily armored nobles and barbed spearmen, who almost would have looked eastern if it were not for their fair hair, coming from a land even north of where the Goths had long called home.

The Magister Miletum wants Vandalarius to stay on his horse, away from the blood drenched waters- but young men are brash, and brave

Even though I was an old man, I was expected to fight, as it was not winter, and I took a central position on the river in my heavy armor with my axe, upon a great horse, while the narrows of the Tiber turned red, with the Burgundians that pushed through our retreating horses. I had called them back, but they turned on their own men, and due to the course of the river, where having difficulty filtering back through our ranks without falling victim to the enemy barbed spears, which were deadly against our otherwise nimble horses that became snagged and injured, creating barriers in the flowing water, and crashes of water that our men pushed on towards, even those near the edges of the ford, who could not swim, held their ground on the silt and gravel of the cold river.

I ordered the elite Ostrogothic pikes to form a V formation and charge to the center of the river, both to block their cavalry from crossing and forcing us into a rout, and to prevent the butchers of Hemfrid from leaving the cold water, which would exhaust and chill them after a time, making them less reliable. They spread as the battle continued, guarding our flanks, though some fell into the deep water, trying to stay above the depths by pushing with their heavy pikes, which just sank into the broken sand below.

It was very good that the Burgundians came to a rut in the river bed, because I could then order the Hunnic archers of Sandilch and my own longbowmen to fire volley after volley into the mass of them.

The Mistress Sandilch's loyal Huns and Alans fight in the midst of the vicious heave across the riverbed.

I’m told Vandalarius claimed his first kill on that day, of what would be a productive and long violent career, but I was to busy leaving my horse, taking up an emblazoned shield, and having my heavy scale armor cast off by a squire. We left it in the water to aid with the footing of those behind us who had not yet joined the battle at the river. There was a fear from the squire that I would be unseated from my horse and dragged down to the depths of the river by the weight of the armor. He placed a lighter battle helm upon my head, and I began gingerly reaving through our second ranks, patting men on their shoulders with the flat side of my long heavy blade, which resembled more of a meat cleaver than the axe I had wielded on my horse. I whistled for someone to take my horse to safety, and shouted for Vandalarius to stay out of the worst of the fighting while finding the center myself.

The falxmen did some of the bloodiest work of the day, to the south west bank of the river, and I was glad to have them, even though the times had antiquated their use in most battles, having no armor to withstand archers, which were forming so many of the armies of the day, and even gave us our victory that day.

Hemfrid and his elites were having difficulty placing my locations through the deluge of soldiers that spilled over the river. They never found me, but I had my share of fighting after we had crossed. The fool had left two regiments of heavy spears in his reserves and they did not confront us until we had crossed. What horses they had tried to cross the river and encircle us, but those that did were speared by the pikes just making it to the scene.

This was the Seekers of Glory, the finest legion of the former Empire, and they would defend the transports in Rome to the bitter end. We fought better than most days, though I suspect the weight of the Burgundian chainmail made them clumsy the deeper the water became.

Sandilch and the fabled sword of Theoderic in the hands of the narrator are pictured here

When the fighting had at first subsided, I strode through drowned men and horse, some squirming under the water and raised my sword for us to march forward and take possession of the river, a natural barrier we had once taken for granted. ‘Vengeance for the brave, vengeance for the young in this baptism of Burgundian blood! There will be time later to wash in the Tiberian river of Rome’ I wailed through aching lungs, aiming my sword for the clear sky.

Hemfrid was captured, ringed by Huns who wanted to make a trophy of him and I marched to where he was kept, informing him that the Burgundian’s service to the Huns had ended and that the survivors of the battle would row for our ships, and carry our burden when we reached Tarragon. It was never too late to take foederati out of the vanquished. The Huns had ordered these men to their doom, although they had the numbers to prevail in a similar circumstance.

As the waves of spear reserves of the Burgundian army charged for my general’s guard, I quickly took revenge for the death of the bastard Fredebal, the oldest male heir of Vithericus by cleaving the back of Hemfrid’s neck. I felt weak, shivering from the water, although it was my duty, to strike sure. I struck twice more to ensure he met what Heaven knows, and told young Vandalarius that his father's sword, which was in my hands, would be his one day. He rushed to the spectacle and shook his head, saying 'I'd never take your sword, Magister' , while Filimer butchered more men rushing to try to rescue the commander.

I roared, my voice ragged from debriefing the Burgundian commander, for our horses to cross the river and encircle the remaining spearmen. I wanted as many captives as possible. At spear point, with javelins ripping into their ranks, they would join us or die holding their ground.

Several made attempts on my regiment, but failed in the effort. Our archers cut most of them down from horseback before they could reach us, and they soon came to terms with my triumphant army drying off from the river, and mad as all hell. We taunted them that we were fashioning oars for them already, with no concern for spies who might escape fore their entire army was surrounded, with hundreds more injured or dying at the river crossing. Woe to the vanquished! The last hounds sent to worry us before we departed were gone, and the ships would be ready by now. I had bought Rome more time for an orderly withdrawal and the Romans who would pick lots as it's leaders under Lepidus after we had left. It was strange, killing the pale Germanic folk, but knowing that they were bound in service to the Huns made it feel righteous.

[waveman]

oooh, two updates in one day! Those pics of the river battle are very good and it seems like you've bought yourself some breathing room

[Alwyn]

Poor Fredebal! Great battle writing and pictures, particularly the lone horseman whose horse is rearing up, in between infantry who are holding shields over their heads on one side and cavalry on the other side.

[Lugotorix]

PART II: INSULAE OCCIDENTALIS
Spring 446 A.D.

The Tyrrhenian Sea off of Ajaccio in Corsica

Ajaccio, or Aiacciu in the tongue of the locals, was believed to have a Greek origin meaning both ‘good mooring.’ And ‘good luck.’, although I was not mentioned in Ptolemy of Alexandria’s histories. The city was incorporated into Roman Italy under the reign of Diocletian along with the rest of Corsica.

In it’s early history, the city took a secondary position on the island to Aleria on the eastern coast, but it was around the northern tip of the island and into the central western harbor that the great flotilla of Trapstilicus sailed. Radolf was aboard Trapstilicus’ flagship, the Black Arrow, more of a hostage, upon my personal request, than a guest, ensuring that his ships would bear us safely to landfall, as Gesalec’s golden chests had given promise. What was behind us, the in the port of Centum Cellae, few knew. There was only the chanting of the oars men, and the slur of one’s gut as the many ships churning through the Mediterranean, the wind whipping through our hair. I stood on the stern of my vessel with Radolf and Clotsuintha and Gaatha.

Goiswintha had asked Radolf in Latin if he knew Bertram’s kin, from the time of the Germanic alliances by marriage, before the Lombards and others had been destroyed. He replied in Germanic ‘ Nay, my lady. A noble in the Quadrian army has a price on his head that’s too big for his britches. Venal infighting keeps most leader’s pasts a mystery, if they haven’t been killed in the fighting in Noricum to begin with.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘But we have a new life here out on the open seas, a new family, and new ventures.’ He patted his sash of coin.

I spoke to Radolf as the first drops of rain fell. Two mountains were on the horizon, that of our island destination. ‘I suggest you settle in Tarraconensis once the fighting has abated. Pirates tend to increase tensions within the trade routes we will need to sustain our populace once we’re there. If peace comes with Lepidus, Maloria, Aleria and Ajaccio will not have enough land to keep all of our people content.’

‘Then take Caralis for your own. That will open a stream of good from Carthage directly where I can promise I’ll never mess.’ He waved to the African ships cruising in a huge formation to the south of us, and continued, trying to make a deal, no doubt because he had plans for shutting down any ships that Faustus Armenius Promotus sent from Narbo.

‘ Labienus will have no welcome for you in Spain.’ Radolf shook his head. ‘Caralis is vulnerable: The Emperor sits there content that Italy in falling into line with no more than two thousand men, and you’ll need walls if you’re to endure. The Huns may not follow, but balls that Archon Arxa of the orient Sarmatae would follow the Goths to hell once he’s had his way with the Romans.’

‘Never. Our course is Spain, where we may find peace with Labienus, if Fastida of the Alamanni can ensure our protection. He controls the south of the peninsula, you know. Tranquilus may be able to mend bridges in return for some of his old lands.’

Vandalarius was on the Telson Way, another grand liburnian with a hulking tower at it’s prow, with posts for archers, and a ladder leading up to the blue sails with the cross. Like Noah, like Moses, we had weathered the storm, and now we needed shelter. The biblical comparisons were all too apparent, but we had been chosen for ruin, and I wondered how Guitifrida, back in Rome, kept her faith, knowing that such a terrible fate had befallen the capital. She had insisted to stay behind and carry out the wishes of the pontiff, and so we parted ways. She had been a great ally in turning Hunnic agents and sowing dissent among the pagans, but all bridges were burnt in the end. Even the Illyrian Domatians made pacts with Lepidus immediately after we had informed them that we were leaving Italy. The defenders of my palace would be starving by now, and then mocking up dummies to delay the Huns taking Ancona, while they committed suicide.

There had of course been rioting, as we orderly loaded the ships with as many as their hull could carry. The Romans now had validity to the claims their leaders had been making in the senate for weeks now. And so, the noblest of Saiones were pelted with stones and bits of the street itself as they made way for the ships, while they shielded the lowliest urchin who would be joining us in our fortune with their shields. In cruel pantomime the whores made lewd cheers to the Romans remaining as they joined their lavish quarters upon the ships of the soldiers. If these were our last days, they would be joyous ones before the bitter end.

Vandalarius had distinguished himself in battle against the Burgundians, and I intended for him to serve as Governor of the island alongside Tranquilus, who would be more overcome with the number of Gothic exiles than my apologies for the tragedy in Tarragon.

The first day had been clear, and there were no indications that the weather would worsen. It was only on the second day, with the chop of the seas increasing that the thousand Gothic ships began to see the first signs of rain, and damp sullen skies, surrounding the island of Corsica which was on the horizon.

The thousand ships were well protected, by the armadas of Attius to the south, and the Admiral Radolf, who had been paid well be Gesalec long in advance.
By the time we turned about the island, our ships were rising and falling with the waves, and they slowed to prevent collisions. The African armada had seen us through safely, and their demands of spice and women and share of tariffs had been agreed. Their part was done. The rains began falling harder. ‘Good luck.’ I thought to myself. The city came into view after a hour of Radolf showing off knife tricks to Clotsuintha to her amusement, upon a table on the deck.

‘Princess, stay out of this cold rain.’ I instructed her. ‘There’s a man I’d like you to meet, Witigis a Burgundian Prince, who surrendered along with his people’s destruction at the Tiber. Not much of a fighter, he preferred to use a horn on the battlefield. You can tell he has some brains to him because he’s indoors, and alive right now.’
Chlotsuintha frowned. ‘For my special cooking? But what if he’s handsome.’ She laughed.

‘He is still handsome. As I explained, he is alive. We fought one another by Verona when I was acquiring Filimer’s inheritance from my estate. He proved he’s worthy of serving us as a commander, because he wisely fled to play his trumpet again by the Tiber, and turn himself in with the surrender of the kingdom at Rome.’
She gathered her things, bowed to Radolf, and made for the shelter of the bridges tower.

Radolf planted his knife in the table and laughed heartily, ‘Whose idea was that?! You’ll having the Burgundian survivors groveling like dogs as long as you live.’ Radolf laughed again.
‘Fastida’s. It’s the only way we could have a claim to alliance with Germania. His rotten son Chlodovech refused the proper arrangement. He’s always hated Vithericus’ line.’
And so we approached the city to find it a ghost town for military purposes. Civilians gathered in the rain, wailing for food. ‘Drop anchor, and prepare for landing at the port.’ I gave the order. So the first ten ships began approaching the docks, uncontested. Waves crashed on the beach and the shores. We had to find shelter soon. A storm was coming.

Chlotsuintha sat, wet from the rains, to Witigis' surprise at the table with Witigis. Around his neck was a farr, a circlet of the Burgundians. He wore their style of dress with striped burgundy and green leggings trimmed with yellow ‘Tell me about yourself, Witigis.’ He looked up from his tipped hat of musk rat with the feather of a robin. His barbed short spear was lugged on the shoulder of the lanista who clearly didn’t approve of her talking to the captive.

The light haired sinewy man before her with a thick brown mustache looked at her with bright blue eyes. He was not handsome as Trapstilicus had told her. He had a gouge of a scar running down the right side of his face. It was Trapstilicus’ vanity she realized, as both men had large eyes and thick mustaches. Beside him was a lanista, who was an owner of gladiator schools for the state.
‘First, you should know my name is not Witigis. That’s the name Orcus Manilius here gave me when I was captured. A Gothic name. To make me more suitable. Do you want to know mine?’ He said ashamed, clearly intimidated by the lanista who no doubt abused him, and was on state business to ensure that he behaved in the early months of his captivity.
‘Not really. I’d sooner know the name of a twenty year old dog.’ She smiled. ‘I’d rather know of how you came to the service of the Magister Miletum.’
The man, who could not be very old, leaned his head back, and drank some water. Mead, it seemed was restrained by the lanista.

‘He killed my uncle, the King of Burgundians, near Verona. He was taking back what was his from Crispianus. After that I came into the service of Hemfrid, who treated me like a commodity, like his property. He knew I had led men into battle, he knew I had read on tactics and politics. He had me blow on my favorite horn rather than fight, while we ran fools errands for the Huns that followed Attila. He couldn’t risk having the lions cubs coming back to rule.’

‘Could you fight? I mean, you weren’t always so broken.’ She kicked his foot. ‘You haven’t been, so, gelded.’ She grabbed his hand.
Witigis looked to Orcus, who nodded sternly. ‘Oh, no. Trapstila wanted to know the same thing. After he forced me to watch Hemfrid’s beheading, he threw me into the Coliseum in Rome, with Orcus here to, teach, me. If I killed no less than three, he assured me the line of the Burgundian Kings would end in the coliseum.’
‘And you killed three criminals.’ She looked at him, cruelly, with disdain.

‘No, I killed three Burgundians who were unaware, to show my new loyalty and left the pit. Trapstilicus decided to use me as a hostage from that day forth. He has told me that I will command one day. I told the Magister that I realized that once the Bastarnians had taken Milano that the Huns were using us as pawns. Now I ensure the Burgundians who have joined us stay from mutiny.’
‘ A traitor to both your peoples. You must have a politicians blood. I’ve never trusted them since the reign of Eutharic.’ She said.
‘We’re in this together now. My people are broken.’ He looked around. ‘Just like yours.’ He said that last word with a bit more insolence than she would have liked. On the deck, Trapstilicus, Gaatha, and Radolf’s sails had come close to the crashing docks. The rain was becoming heavy. Through the mist of the sea, they could see those who had came to greet them, and they didn’t look happy.

A priest walked to the center of a dock platform, calling out to us.
‘This is the island of Anicius Duccius Lepidus. Duccius Imperator of Rome! I could not stand the pestilence your people have brought to this island ever since the sojourn of Vithericus here. Turn back, in the name of the lord! Aleria already waves the banner of the true Emperor.’
Radolf laughed thinly. ‘You were saying of the peace with Lepidus, Trapstilicus?’

‘We bring no pestilence. Only food and riches.’ I shouted through the rain. ‘Where is the welcome of Tranquilus, Rex Gallica?’
‘Hiding from us in his tower in Ajaccio, the people of Emperor Lepidus.’ The people began shouting. ‘Begone, incite not the wrath of Arxa and Faustus the Armenian upon us.’

I did not answer, I simply walked indoors, shaking off the cold, and then walking up the plank stairs of the bridge. I was getting too old for this. I noticed Witigis holding the hand of Chlosuintha. The two of them were broken little things. I murmured to the lanista Orcus to teach the boy some respect for the flesh of my house. I heard Witigis’ hand slammed into the table while I ascended the stairs.

‘I am ordering the grain to be brought up from the hull. Sound the order to all of our ships fitted with ballistae, that we will show compassion to our hosts, and shower them with bread and bags of grain. We will take Ajax. Sound the landing after they’ve received our tribute. Anyone who’s not eating , tending to a stove, or guarding Tranquilus gets a spear.’ Then I saw them, horsemen, the riders of Gallica rushing down to greet us, with the banner of not Lepidus, but the fibulae of the Ostrogothic empire.

[Alwyn]

That's a creative use of ballistae! Witigis looks like an interesting character. Caralis looks like a useful base, a defensible stronghold at least for now - but will the Huns cross the sea? I like the cultural and historical details, the amazing images and the great story-telling.

[Lugotorix]

Tranquilus’ Sanctum

Ajaccio

The Year of our lord, 448 A.D.



Trapstilicus Black-Arrow Dons the Armor of Vithericus

I was in the modest throne room of Tranquilus, on a dreary winter night. Rain fell and the air howled across Ajaccio’s port. We were his guests, this Gallican Roman contemporary of mine, and his riders, the Equites Promoti, had made the best accommodations they could for our weary, sea sick passengers who arrived by hundreds of boats, to here in Ajaccio, and Aleria. We could not yet take over the island by military means, but as the mob swelled under the Gothic banner, even the eastern part of the island was becoming dissuaded from their support of Duccius Lepidus, by sheer numbers of those who had been delivered from the sword of the Huns by my exodus. It was the same old Tranquilus, but without the council of his trusted Rufus Eutropius, he was more of a suspicious and shrewd man. We hadn't just brought bread to relieve him over the past year, we had also brought women, comfort, supplies and riches from Latium. Filimer had only now confided in me that he had stripped much of the gold and jewels of ornate Rome, and was using it to quickly raise an army, through bribery.

He had, many times since we had dropped anchor, told me that the Goths were welcome as Foederati allies of Duccius, should we wish to settle on the island. I had greater plans, though I wouldn’t divulge them to Tranquilus just as of yet. He was as hunted as me and my men, wanted by Armenius Promotus, the land which he had fled from to reach Corsica. Radolf had informed me that the Varinian fleet had followed us, and was scheming for a point on entry on the island to confront us at the Huns behest.

Our armies grew and replenished in this time, but I knew a more unassailable position was needed to weather the storm of so many hunters taking to the northern Tyrrhenian to collect the bounties placed by the Hunnic commanders Elphrat, and Hunor.

The Goth arrivals to the island of Corsica did not get along well with the supporters of the Duccian Emperor, but their numbers instilled marriages that often gave us the stronger say. We had brought many soldiers with us, strong protection through fraternity for the women of the island, and within two years, Aleria had become the second city to support our claim to the island. Lepidus was willing to tolerate our presence, so long as we didn’t challenge his claim back in Italy, where he feared we might have intentions of returning to once the Huns had gained their plunder and ransom from the local governors and senators.

For the favor of sharing the night, men were willing to change the strangest loyalties and what hired women had come with us were experts in exploits the duality of situations: most of them reported to Achilius’ network, and those that didn’t were paid by the crown to spread Gothic propaganda in whatever courtesan’s did when they weren’t working.

Labienus of Hispania and Armenius Promotus had made several attempts to seize our destination, Tarragon from the grasp of our Emperor, though he ruled over little in these days, Gesalec, but both of their efforts had been denied, and Armenius Promotus had been killed in the second siege, a warning to the nation of Septimania not to trouble our shores again. I explained my complaints with our modest fortifications at Ajaccio to Tranquilus, and that we might be visited again by raiding parties seeking the Hunnic and Italian bounties on our heads. The situations around Ancona, the last city in Italy loyal to the Goths was becoming hopeless, and my men would soon carry out their last orders. Whether the Huns would take to the seas, or run rampant over their new possessions, remained to be seen, but already Pictish raiders had sought Arxa’s bounty on us by assaulting the port of Ajaccio. They were repulsed, but imparting with them, dysentery from the mainland, which was a nightmare in cluttered island life inside Tranquilus’ sanctum while our people fell to the disease outside. A quarantine had been imposed, but after a day inspecting the men with Filimer, I fell ill. We were vulnerable here, and it was a revolt in Tarraconensis that forced my hand. I read from the letters of Probinus and gradually became very sick, and wretched for over an hour in the chamber room. The guards must have thought Tranquilus had poisoned me, but did nothing to come to my aid. The knew little of my plans, and the position I was in now. The news was so sickening and the responsibility that now lay on my shoulders was heavy. The line of the Amali started by Vithimiris had been broken for the first time. The High King, the Magister Miletum was not of their bloodline, and the Goths were at a turning point, into military dictatorship

Gesalec fights alongside Mundus, vainly against Probinus, after already having defeated Promotus of Armenia



Gesalec fights to the end, a warriors death, for a model administrator born in the wrong century





Steward of a people caught in the middle, running out of places to hide.

Tarragon had fallen to Roman rebels under a man named Probinus, a dissatisfied general of Labienus who had great sway over the local people from his families long history governing the province. Probinus wrote to me, declaring his loyalty to Duccius Lepidus, and echoing his sentiments that we should disarm until the Roman Empire needed our services as foederati, and that with no Emperor after a bloody battle at Tarragon, we were disinherited from any further claim. Although he enraged me with news of Gesalec’s death on the battlefield, and us being at the least temporarily cut off from the mainland, he spoke truth. As Gesalec had instructed me, I was now the steward of the Gothic people’s destiny, until Chlotsuintha’s had any heirs. The Goths had a Gepid ruler, and I could think of no better race to nail the coffin in the destructive chapter the Huns had been for the Western Empire, but I knew my gambit would cost the Goths heavily, a debt that may take us up to fifty years to pay back. We were an investment, and bad investments often were cut out, to make even. I presided over this debt that we owed, and I prayed I would live to see it’s returns.
I reaccused myself from the chamber-pot, put on my linens, and entered the sanctum of Tranquilus.

‘ The Emperor is dead. Killed by Probinus, a rogue general of Labienus, much as Gundulf was such a thorn to you, when you lorded over those lands. I am now the executor of his will, and he has tasked me with our legacy, in Tarragon, which has just been lost to us.’

Tranquilus musted up the courage to confront me with what he would say. It naturally took him several draughts of wine. ‘If you are regent of the Gothic people now, I beg you, submit to the authority of Duccius Lepidus. He has fine arrangements for the both of us, and our graft is clearly unwanted in Tarragon.’ Tranquilus rose, and began suiting in his armor, no doubt to march down the breath of the island, take a ferry to Caralis and surrender.

‘Lepidus will be as dead as poor Gesalec. Am I, the vanquisher of the Burgundians and the Huns, a servant of the Twelfth Legion of my own empire.’ I bowed my head to Tranquilus. While he was being humble in the loss of his territory, Filimer and I had been making plans. Attian Africa was the hairpin that kept the Alemanni favoring us through their alliance. Chlodovech might have had his own pacts with the Huns, but with a cooperative effort, they would have much to think about before slitting the throats of pilgrims just reaching landfall. Attius had an official Roman state, and had been allied with us for over fifty years, he had official mint and coinage: None of the head-strong Italian duchies that rushed to join Lepidus had the infrastructure of empire for nearly as long, not Probinus, not Promotus, not Labienus. Not even the errant commander of the twelfth legion, Lepidus. And none controlled the seas in such a way: Radolf would obey in not harassing their trade lanes, and Radolf would be given an admiralship and foederati status by Attius, for joining in the blockade. If we did not deliver on the riches promised to him, Filimer had warned me, but the path was forwards, and our destiny lay in a stronghold straddling the Tyrrhenian, and the green fields and cattle farms of Spain.

‘Prattle. Has the fever touched your mind. Even if you had enough men to march on Caralis with the Quadrians, he would still retreat and lord over Italy, then Pictish, Varinian, and Abasgian bounty hunters would be the least of your concerns. I am going to give Ajaccio the Emperor’s mercy.’ He showed me a fist, to dissuade me from stopping him. The way he must have looked at it, he would be doing the both of us a favor. The lien my new allies would put on us, should we fail, would be harsh indeed.

‘I intend to decapitate the Duccian line, but not with the aid of my pirate, with the aid of a rival claimant.’ I answered sternly. I blocked his way, as under the weather as I was, and he was rebuked by the thought of the plague that gripped me.
He scolded me. ‘ Trapstilicus, if you are looking for a leader, look elsewhere, I have no lands to rule over and dare not invoke the wrath of Lepidus at our shanty town here, regardless of the gains in numbers we’ve made in Aleria.’ Tranquilus answered, annoyed. Every moment we wasted here, meant that Lepidus’ uncertain intentions for those who had taken root on his island became more offended, more hostile.

‘Nay, Tranquilus, I have promised the Attians of Carthage, whose claim is older than Lepidus, the ransom of all our riches in Caralis, which we shall seize, and Tarraconensis, when my son Filimer makes a crimson anchor there for our people. Their navies will ensure that Lepidus does not escape the jewel of Insulae Occidentalis at Caralis. Attius and I had been working on plans for the gates to open in a night. We will take the city peacefully enough, and it’s armaments, ammunition, and supplies will make Filimer more than an exile, it will make him a conqueror. It’s walls will give us endurance for the full fledged invasion of your old lands.’

I heard muffled breathing from outside the bolted door, and I turned a wary eye to it. ‘My guards.’ Tranquilus excused. I wouldn’t have this explanation, and I immediately thought that Tranquilus might have been making plans to interfere with mine and negotiate a surrender. I kept Tranquilus at an arm’s length, and quickly un-bolted the door, in the same motion pushing it open. There was a thud, and then laughter. It was Valdamerca, my daughter, laughing at the ill-fortune and bruised bulbous nose of Vandalarius who had been eavesdropping too close to the door. Chlotsuintha stood with her arms at her hips, frowning at the youngsters. The boy had seen battle, but his behavior was more fitting of his brother Liuva. Valdamerca, all gears and congeniality when situation demanded and upset her clockwork. Gentle Chlosuintha, my student Vandalarius, who had a harsh mistress in my wife.

‘ Uncle Gesalec, has passed?’ The princess asked with a sigh. She saw her answer on my face and began to quietly weep.
‘Yes, my girl. Should you have any children, they will inherit the kingdom I now lead.’

Vandalarius climbed to his feet, from where he had been knocked down. He stood up straight, a bit of blood by the bridge of his nose, with his arms open to embrace me. I thought better of it for the plague. He fully expected to be named as successor should I or Filimer suffer a deathly fate.

‘A cunning strategist, and a poorly spy.’ I regarded him. ‘ Run scouts through the woods before you force your men through them. Chlotsuintha’s father can attest to that. Our house is now the strongest among the Goths: I’m placing you over command of Filimer in an army that will march on Caralis, as you’ve no doubt heard. We will camp with the pretense of leaving at Aleria for Tarragon, but through night we will move to the walls of Caralis, where Achilius’ network will have the gates open. If only I had Gesalec now. The greasing of those walls is near to the ransom we will pay Attius for having his ships block escape from the city.’

‘Father. You honor me with this task. I’ve learned much since the last fray, and I’ll learn more still should the peace break once we’re within the city. I will bring you the crown of Lepidus. Embrace me as your son.’ Vandalarius said proudly.
I limped over to a bed-chest of Tranquilus and took a rag, which I swathed the lower part of my face with. I coughed and stooped to a knee.

‘Stay away from me, I’ve taken sickly and may pass the bad spirit, bless me, and you’re needed in the fight, Vandalarius.’

Filimer would not be happy that he was being placed under Vandalarius, his junior’s command. But it was Gaatha’s son that I had chosen to lead one day, knowing that he would forever keep safe my child, despite their rudimentum comedies.
‘Name me as your claimant father, and you’ll have no worries of Filimer growing too big for his muddy boots and the rags that strap the barbarian’s back. Why, just the stink of wine and I’d feel danger from him.’ Valdamerca said.
‘Probinus and Labienus have a stake in the war to come, they have lands, armies, levies, and Chlodovech might not be as welcoming as we’d expect in his domain of Cordoba. Your cunning, daughter, will not be needed. The adopted barbarian and the sword of Theoderic will be needed first.’

‘Yes, Filimer must lead, should our Magister become too infirmed. Though, I dread how fickle a dictatorship can be, much as the Countess fears.’ Chlotsuintha agreed. Her reasons were no doubt selfish: The longer the younger children of the house of Theoderic ruled, the more of a chance her heir would not be protected, and the greater the chance for calamity that would disinherit him or her. Filimer was only ten years or so my junior, the years of the collapse had aged him in my service. The sooner these intermediary rulers were in power, the sooner the rightful claim could be restored. And knowing Valdamerca’s cunning, she might never have a throne to give her son, or children at all. Valdamerca was generous, but scheming, and she viewed my and Gaatha’s house as the new nobility.
‘He will learn humility first. He’ll need generals in this task. How are your studies of Hannibal Barca, Vandalarius?’

‘They’re going well, we’ll need mercenaries as he did, if we’re to gain a foothold again in Spain.’

‘The men of this man of little faith will serve better than mercenaries. Filimer will win a victory and you will use it, boy. You will serve as governor of Corsica and Sardinia, when Filimer plans the invasion to take back the footings Gundulf and Mundus have gained for us. You will be his artful talon, Vandalarius, and if you keep your head around him, you might rise quickly.’ I motioned to Tranquilus and Vandalarius.
‘Can he be trusted. I heard his coward’s words.’ Valdamerca asked me. Tranquilus gave her a baleful look. He did not need to be further humiliated, by a noblewoman at that.

‘He's seen too much of Gothic war. We’ve been through worse, wouldn’t you say, daughter.’ She nervously laughed, as I laughed mightily. It was clear to Tranquilus that he was now our captive, though I would use him as a rallying point for Romans in Sardinia and Spain, where men were still loyal to him in the conflict to come. And he would be rewarded for taking us in as guests in our moment of duress as well as the support he had shown against those hunting us here.

When we approached Caralis at nightfall the following week, after a forced march, gallows hung from the guard-towers. Achilius’ men who were supposed to lower the gates, all strung up by their necks. Where these men had failed, others had succeeded in seeding rebellion within the city and a contingent of soldiers from the 12th legion still loyal to Gallica, hailed the arrival of Tranquilus as a liberating force. They hadn’t been paid well enough, and had been neglected as Ancius Duccius Lepidus hastily cobbled together the patchwork of Italian duchies into his new empire. He was within the city, and we used brute force to send flaming canisters of explosives into the towers and the gates. In neglecting his own base of operations, we had caught the 12th alone in the city, and much of it was underpaid as Lepidus secured positions for those who would join him across his new western empire. He had not expected the betrayal of Attius, nor Achilius’ agents to set the fires in the harbor signaling that the time for the attack had come. Although it was raining, their ships sank everything, taking merchant vessels as their own in the harbor, and lit beacons for our troops to meet them, deep in the city. I led on horseback, as sick as I was, with a lance I could barely carry. I ordered our onagers to bombard the city guard towers in a rain of fire, and soon they crumbled. Duccius Lepidus met us at the gates, and the fighting was a fierce contest, with his herculani seniores fighting to the end against our Germanic spear masters and Ostrogothic pikes. A celebrated general of rank when he had served, he was unprepared to deal with the brute onslaught that left him little room for maneuvering or tactics. He had anticipated our attack, but in sending for reinforcements from the sea and Italy, those ships were burning, adding an acridity to the air: He had not expected the navies of Attius to join us in the power seizure.

The towers crumble, giving a burial to some of Achilius’ spies within the city



Trapstila fights the best infantry of the 12th, the Herculani Seniores





The Emperor Lepidus’ last stand

His men panicked as the docks were ransacked and invaded by throngs of African marines, and his best fighters were by the gates, leaving the Attians to take control of the inner city and harbor district while we fought to take the walls. Vandalarius led a flotilla into the harbor and planted our flag near the capital building amidst choking rain that mixed with ash from the burning walls. In the cold rain, mud and blood, my vision grew blurry, but I could make out Lepidus falling from his horse. So went the final ambitions for a Western Roman Empire, Saturninus' dream. Roman Africa was in control of the Mediterranean now, and those who had pledged to join Lepidus would quickly defect to Attius now that they knew he was dead.

Filimer was not kind in the treatment of the palatine guard who tried to surrender to him. I cursed the basic Goth for casting aside any dignity we had remaining with the Romans, if they ever learned of his butchery. African onagers began bombarding the barracks, and soon after the walls fell, in a bloody splay of resistance, we marched, ankle deep in rainwater into Caralis, a city that was now ours. The merchant ships taken went toward my debt to Attius and sailed away, but the entirety of the city was preserved and even the barracks and iron and weapon smiths would serve us now in Filimer’s new mission, one of vengeance for Gesalec. The first order of business was to convert the stealth flotilla that had joined with the Roman Africans under Vandalarius and any ships that Radolf could afford to be hired into the fleet 'The Storms of Maeotis.' This would be the naval superiority that would take charge of the invasion to come in Spain, as well as protect from the hunting Varinians, Abasgians, and Picts. With protection of their own shores, the Gothic kingdom would be less indebted to Roman Africa.

The 'Storms of Maoetis', the fleet that will escort the transports and protect the new stronghold from naval incursions.

[Alwyn]

Dramatic events here, I wonder if there will be consequences in future for Filimer's refusal to accept the surrender of the palatine guard. Will the attempt to acquire Spanish land succeed - I look forward to finding out. (Something seems to have happened to your pictures - they have been replaced by a photobucket message saying 'Look who's popular' and inviting you to upgrade to Plus for more bandwidth. Hopefully this is just a temporary glitch.)

[Lugotorix]

The bandwidth has reset, so the AAR can be viewed once more! Alwyn, what had happened was I put an ad for this up on reddit my photobucket account couldn't handle the amount of views Back to normal and I'll resume work on this hopefully before the end of the month.

[diamutene]

Very good.

[Lugotorix]

PRIDE AND ROMANCE

The long summer of 446 A.D. At Caralis.

Young Filimer honed his skills with his mighty broadsword on a beach near Caralis. The sun was setting red in this, they early summer. The Mediterranean winds, and sprinkling in gales, were the only blessing and respite to the overbearingly hot and heavy, armor and sweat that furrowed at his brow. Setting just the mood to inspire passion in the two pawns. His adoptive father was frail and infected with the plague of Vithericus and then dysentery which still visited these distant shores, and now strength, strength of this sword, the sword of Theoderic, would be needed. He practiced his stance, the stance that would hopefully one day cleave Gaatha in two, for all her tinkering, once the weak lord who had lost Italy was in a grave, in here, the coward’s grounds. He wore a proud conical helm with a plume of jet blue dyed horse hair, gilded with gold and silver, taken from the trove at the fallen manor of Trapstila. His inheritance was his, his bribe into the service of Trapstila, plundered from crumbling Ancona, his, and no Latin nor woman would dissuade him from his right to rule as the male heir of the house of the Black Arrow.

Pride and romance were more cutting blades than even the mighty one at his beck in his muscled arms. The pride of Trapstila, never having a son of his own, and the foolish romance of Vandalarius and Valdamerca.

The blade whirred as it cleft through the air. Vandalarius would learn much in the war to come, but most importantly, how to serve, a taller, stronger and older man. He had begun enacting a series of events that would see his succession ensured, starting with making that gladiator crush of the princess swear an oath to him, and the new order. Witigis was quick enough to fall into line with Orcus secured by ransom, and the promises that the line of Vithericus, that of the daughter of Widimir, would one day rule. With the Burgundian at his sway, the princess would entrust her sacred throne to a steward, and who better, with Vandalarius green and inexperienced, and the King naught but a pox ridden ghost.

He swung the sword low, and his gut clenched as he winded the sword up and brought in down keenly. The air parted in a gleen. The helm was as hot as hell, and the already hot-blooded giant steamed under in and the falling sun. He focused his anger on Gaatha, who had put out the eyes of a true Goth, and the most valued High Judge from better times. Filimer had been named for this man.

Most of the nobles and Saiones were Taifali in some part and loyal to the House of Theoderic, which Vandalarius had inherited, along with Gaatha, the gold-digger. To supplant their loyalty, he relied on his skill in battle. If he could seize their hearts and minds in the coming war in Spain, the old loyalty would be replaced by a new generation forged by the war, and confident in a warchief who could prove himself in battle, a generation with no co-existence with the Latins, or respect for their order.

With the Duccian Emperor decapitated from his throne in Caralis, his supporters in Italy wilted, though maintained their independence. In Corsica and Sardinia, their support to Roman resurgence melted away, and with more loyal Romans and Goths arriving by boat by the day, the Gothic claim to the islands in Insulae Occidentalis were cemented, as pressed as the seal and mint of Trapstilicus. He became known as the King of the Seas. The Huns were ill equipped to sea-faring, and with the local navies indebted to the victorious Goths at Caralis, and it’s spoils, the Huns would not pursue, though marauders and pirates of the Abgasians took to the seas in the off chance an important Gothic figure would be parlaying with the mainland on a skiff from Ajaccio.

The resurgence of the Roman empire had sprouted Graeco-Roman Paganism in the east of the islands, where most of the holdings of Duccius had been, and Christianity was practiced only in the major cities, with the villages worshiping Bacchus and the Satyrs. These pagans danced wildly in the streets, splashing tubbards of wine, parades very quickly turning into drunken riots, as encouraged by Dionysus as they were. The sin of antiquity crept into the whore houses and dance halls and soon orgies of the Baccanalians and Saturnalians gave an introduction to the hot summer, where ravishing in the streets was all the violent fashion. Mars and Neptune were powerful cults in the city of Caralis, with no less than half of the population practicing paganism. The Ides payed a special tribute to Trapstilicus, who was seen as Aeneas of old, giving the island of Sardinia a fabled reputation.

The fervor became so much that the people would take to wearing the hides of goats and leopards, and harassing even soldiers, imbibed on nod and brandy. Such would be the volunteers to Filimer's conscription, these wild brave men, full of animal instinct, waiting to be unleashed. Filimer had promised them the spoils of war only pagans would enjoy, and the chanting and bagpipes filtered across the beach, from where Filimer practiced. These men knew full well the penalty of their antics on women from Latium. The pirates were some of the more outlandish of the practitioners, wearing the horns of ibex, and growing their beards long and black, with coal soot ringing their eyes, not all that dissimilar from their roots, such were the swarthy men of the near sea.


After Filimer’s barbaric treatment of the palatine guard, he was chastised by Tranquilus and Trapstilicus, and considered persona non gratis by the Attian Romans of Africa, and soon the daughter Valdamerca was again favored to rule, in a man’s world. Gentle charms would be wasted on Probinus and Labienus’ men in Hispania, however a general at the head of the refugee horde who showed little respect for Roman customs and rules of war would not be welcome in a world of mutual respect between the Alemanni and Romans who ruled in Spain, the last part of the world untouched by the ravages of the Huns, and one of trade partnerships between the Germanic and Latin peoples.

Filimer had his own plans, and soon began counting the strongest warriors in his personal guard. He was curt when talking to his liege, and at times he would snap, regarding the coming invasion of Spain, and leave the diseased cloister where the Rex kept his dwelling, lest he lose his temper entirely. Such was the character of the giant, and his patience with Valdamerca and Vandalarius’ courtship. He considered himself the pride of Trapstilicus’ house and his natural successor, for he alone had the strength to rule. He confided in his Saiones that Tranquilus would be cast aside should the Gepid liege perish, and that the Goths would determine their own destiny, with or without Latin approval.
Angered at his dismissal, he put a wrench in Valdamerca’s plans, by playing to her own weakness of meddling.

Valdamerca was known as ‘the beneficent’. Fair and beautiful, with golden brown hair and a baby blue jerkin cap, she was coveted by the younger Vandalarius. She was generous in character but would not spread her love around. His jealousy of any man who spoke to his step-sister was piercing, but she would not allow him to court her, even if it meant joining the two houses that held power next to the princess further. How many suitors had been struck down with intrigue from daring to offer their hand to the daughter of the Gepid Rex of the Goths, Trapstilicus, but she was not without guile and found ways to sabotage Vandalarius’ own affairs, who he took less seriously, but for the none of the dalliance of the attachments, they were still chastised, the poor girls, with personal calamities.

One day he came to her, clean shaven from the barbers with his kempt blonde locks, and smelling of the finest fragrance, dressed in silks and demanded his rights of flesh and matrimony, as she knew had been lurking in the back of both their minds, as too often happens with well off step-siblings of powerful families. She spurned his carnal advances with a powerful slap to the younger man, and shouted him down, telling him that perhaps his proposal could wait until he stopped his whoring, and her own father was dead, having never seen the day when his two step-children would elope. As punishment for his demands of her body, she had one of his lowly born consorts stripped of her employment in one of the Roman houses of Aleria, who provided the dandy with his fine silks. She informed Vandalarius by a messenger that his heart was now pledged to this no-one and that should he approach his sister again, the second injury to one of many beloveds would be permanent.

It was well known now that when Trapstila succumbed to his illness, Valdamerca would rule, with Vandalarius and Filimer as her two hands of military justice in the homecoming to Spanish shores, and so Valdamerca was the most prized unmarried woman in the kingdom and she wore a strip of crimson satin in her hair to indicate this.

Once Witigis fell under the favor of Chlotsuintha, to the surprise of his Lanista, Orcus, she gifted him a sterling set of armor to wear over his Burgundian leathers. He was appointed by Gaatha as her bodyguard, under the promise that he would never attend her dressings and never lay his hairy, grubby Burgundian fingers on the princess. Her womb was the destination of the monarchy, the future of the people, though they were lacking in territorial possessions, and from Caralis, the fleets of the Quadrians and Attian Africa splayed outwards, grasping like the withered hand of Trapstila for Spain, who breathed chokingly, kept to his musty quarters, while he would delegate his command to Filimer, his strapping son, and Tranquilus.

She doted after her father as he ailed, and he made it clear that it was his wishes that Filimer serve a general and her as regent, until Chlotsuintha’s male heir would come of age.

She was in the garden of grape vines in Caralis, when she saw something that invoked her ire. Her vision blurred, after having just seen her father in the palace, Vandalarius had the gall to show himself once more to her, riding a horse into the garden, disturbing the tranquility of the garden, harassing her, and her courtesans and friends who she had gossiped with about Chloe’s garnering affection for Witigis. A horse, an a garden, and upon it, Gaatha’s little brat. She thought of sending a complaint to her mighty brother Filimer, but she saw him already pacing pensively upon the palace walls, even as Vandalarius arrived.

Vandalarius left his horse, feeding it a ripe grape from the vines where he stormed in, and then confronting Valdamerca. ‘You conniving daughter of luck's inheritance. Olivia, the very girl you have disinherited of her rightful place in the court at Aleria is dying, Valdamerca: This is your doing. By Christ, how could I be so blind to what you are!’

Valdamerca was surprised. She had not given the order, but had been contemplating it, should the boy continue sending her gifts to sate his ambition. The pecking order was established, but he was simply embarrassing her.
‘It most certainly is not my doing. What is it, the plague of the Vithericus? You may want to consult with our mother. She would not have approved of this Olivia to start, as she practices apostasy in her devotion to that ancient Diana. Or perhaps she contracted something from the raucous docks, where she spends her time.’ Valdamerca answered insensitively and dismissively.

‘You cannot leave me to my own life, when counting me out of yours Valdamerca! Your low cunning offends the order of the Saiones this time.’ He would count on his soldiers to defend the dignity of a cloth maker’s daughter.
‘And it’s with the army that you belong.’ Valdamerca tasted a grape. ‘ I’ve reconsidered, I will order the best ministrations to this Olivia, to assure you I had no part in her malady.’

Filimer had left his post at the palace walls and marched down to the garden with two spear wielding guards. ‘Vandalarius, the time has come to return to the ranks of Trapstilicus’ army, not annoy his one and only daughter. She’s told you no, not while my sire is alive, and that will remain as a deadweight from now on. I’m warning you once. I have studies for you, for our upcoming campaign in Spain. But only when our liege passes, and a governor can hold down these islands while we make the journey, not having a sudden death of loyalty and integrity by any sudden death on campaign.’

‘Lady Valdamerca tempts me, Filimer.’ Vandalarius cried, high-strung.

‘And you tempt my sword arms.’ Filimer answered. ‘ A shame lady Gaatha would have none of it. You are married to the Bear Sons of Trapstila now. This is the end of this.’ Filimer ordered Vandalarius back to his horse, and glared angrily at Valdamerca.
Those loyal to him on the walls above laughed at the calamity of youth, the calamity of those who courted for what they wanted, most of them having taken what they needed in the pitch of sacking towns.
His sabotage had worked well. By poisoning the cloth makers daughter and toy of Vandalarius he had ensured his personal loyalty to the military and hampered Valdamerca’s plans of continuing with Vandalarius as her true man. Furthermore, he had brought suspicion to Gaatha, who would support Vandalarius as the leading man. Their scheming was futile. There would be one king, one leader, the strongest. He would pray for his adopted father, but he intended to bury his memory and lead by his example, not his teachings nor bond of kin.

Valdamerca was a supple device of the Alemanni and Fastada, but Filimer would not be manipulated, and he held no womanly weakness. Even if things came to head with the Alemanni, the Goths would create a new kingdom, independent, straddling Tarragon.

Achilius watched with disdain. This ploy of Filimer was child’s play, and with the hearts of children at that. Still Gaatha would want to know how Filimer’s ambition had played out. She had plans of her own, should Trapstilicus succumb to his sickness. Achilius answered to her, and the queen mother, the wife of Vithericus. Women were the power behind the throne now, and they would be upon the throne in the future. It wasn’t a matter of coin, Filimer had plenty, given to him by his father who he afforded little respect these days, but the man was a young brute, who had little need for the subtlety of the greater kings who had came before him. He smashed and took what he wanted, just like the poor Roman girl. Trapstila would want to know of his adopted sons scheming. He was among those greater kings, who had use of the eyes and ears, the serpent and feather, though he had inherited the worst mess of the kingdom’s history. Filimer was becoming headstrong, and Achilius sensed that he was just biding his time until Trapstilicus died to launch his invasion and seize power for himself. As with most people of a low profile, Achilius would survive the storm, as would his mistress Gaatha, and Valdamerca, but after it was weathered, pieces had to put in place. Vandalarius must not perish in the battle to come.

[Lugotorix]

The Sunset On the Pagan Isles




Titian- St. Dismas- The Good Thief

Trapstilicus Black-Arrow had the pox. He wondered, of the many Romans and Huns who cursed him with the pox, which one of them was the authentic seer. Vithericus had often threatened him with the words of ‘see how your flesh burns.’ But Vithericus was dead, most likely burnt in some pyre at Salona, lit by the late Bulgar Abjar. Gratianus Seneca had the most verity to his curses, having donated so much to the churches of Southern Italy, and he deserved it, he guessed, having thwarted his plans in the ancient yore of Agrimund the Bolt. Christ, that man had been stupid, and so Trapstila of Gepid birth had passed his genes on, and Agrimund’s legacy of bastards were in a whore house for all he knew. He had no children with Gaatha, thank God for that, no, she had bestowed him a finer colt.

Warm baths only stripped the boils from his skin and he reeked, he stank of disuse and the clammy sweats that came from fleeing the sun. He had taken to the company of Tranquilus, who wore a rag over his face at all times to ward the sickness. In the Levant it was called the curse of slander, and the Cornelii had long known of the ailment, followed by extreme sickness, the dysentery, no doubt. Some three or four times a night the Gepid lord of the Goths would excuse himself to the latrines. His face was withered from the quickness of his metabolism, and the scars of the plague. Two ailments, curse his luck that he would never see the security of his command in a new land.

Tranquilus was a good companion to the Rex, quiet in a manner of speaking, but even Trapstila knew he could not dote on him hand and foot. To that task, he had assigned his daughter, Valdamerca.
There was a dank keep of limestone, beneath the tower of Caralis where Tranquilus and Trapstilicus dwelled, and it’s denizens were a motley collection monks and friars, sailors and captains of Radolf’s fleet, and the captains of the Storm of Maeotis. One thing all of these men had in common, was utter indebtitude to Trapstila, for securing the belongings and plunder their families had acquired and bearing them safely across the sea from Italy to Sardinia.

He prayed at first to the Christ, as Guitifrida had instructed him in her letters from near Milan, which was now a dreadfort ruled by Bastarnians and their Hunnic masters, and cast it’s bellicose gaze on those Italians who would not pay tribute to the hordes ranging across the north, even going so far as to sack Bordeaux in Gascony.

The more he prayed to the unanswerable man with the infected back and crown of thorns, the more Trapstilicus thought himself to be the unrepentant thief, to the other side of Christ and Dismas. There were two thieves, strung up with the Galilean, and one had spoke that he deserved his fate, while the other demanded a miracle. The thief who thought he deserved his fate was delivered to the heavens, so the story went. Trapstilicus had little regrets, and deserved a soldier's death, not rotting here. Trapstilicus had killed many men, and now with the aches and pains of fever, and the liquid offal, he was demanding a miracle from a man who would not condone the Christians slaughtered by Trapstila’s orders, under Eutharic, under Widimir. He had done it not for Christ, but his liege lords, his titles, his powerful marriage he had come into, his daughter, his family, and he was unrepentant. It was some survivor of the plague of Vithericus, casting the sickness to the air he breathed, or the flea bites of meager years, not some comeuppance for putting down Roman rebellion.

Valdamerca had taken special kindness to the care of the girl Olivia, and after assuring her that that is was her wish that she became friends with her, that her dalliance with the son of Gaatha would remain un-reported. Trapstilicus had never seen the girl take such fervency to a task, and it reminded him that she was not only trying to dis-acquire the ire of Vandalarius, but gain his favor. She would give his lover standing in the court, and his suspicions would be removed from her, and firmly onto Filimer, as Achilius had assured both him and Gaatha in a secluded meeting, was responsible for the meddling.

Trapstilicus had warned his daughter that the boy was the Kingdom’s future, and that all efforts must be made to regain his trust. He had not counted on them entering into a tryst once more.
Tranquilus told him time again that the end times were upon the people and the Western Empire, and that only his soul could be saved, and that was no small thing. But the more he thought of the Galilean, the more inviting he became to the offers of witches Saturnalians, and Baccanalians of the pagan isles. A little brandy never increased his pain. The followers of Mars worshipped him as a demigod of the end of the Pantheon, and this was as far as either path would lead the two of them. Spain was in the power of the church, under Labienus and Probinus.

Could Christ save his daughter from jilted Vandalarius and his scheming boy? His glassy eyes certainly could not. The men never looked happy or rewarded when they died, the just looked at worldly things that caught their interest at the end of the hay ride.

He endured in the company of Tranquilus, until one night, while above the keep at a banquet, his saiones had reveled, Tranquilus brought several guardsmen in chain mail, to the sanctum beneath the Caralis. The priests left as they heard the commotion at the door, making the sign of the cross to Trapstilicus who had a balaclava rag over his mouth, and eyes that looked black as pitch and starved for the light of day. Even the torches glared to expose the secrets those eyes held as his squinted to see a man brought in shackles before him, tall, in silks brought from the traders of Carthage, embroidered with gold. He recognized the shirt as Filimer’s.

‘This man means to defy your orders.’ Tranquilus said. ‘I have witnesses who say that he planned to excurse with the fleet and began preparing an invasion flotilla at Majorca. His target was Tarragon.’
‘Off with his hood.’ He coughed, hiding in the back of the room, trying not to expose the guards to the sickness.

‘You heard him, behead the traitor.’ Tranquilus said in latin to the guardsmen. They hesitated, Trapstila would never give such an order should he know who the accused was.
Trapstila whined and rose, un-scaffolding the rags around his mouth. ‘Off with his hood. Tranquilus.’ The words were not dissimilar in old Germanic.

He hood was grabbed off, revealing the hog drunk face of Filimer. Trapstila was angered, but not surprised.

‘Insubordination. Insubordination. I’ve already approved Filimer’s plan.’ He waved a finger at both Filimer and Trapstila.

Tranquilus answered: He had expected to be rewarded for having Achlius ply the word of the invasion from someone close to Filimer, who was, of course, now dead. ‘Not while you are ailed. Not with mine and Radolf's ships. Not with the Storm of Maeotis, tonight. While those that know better are drunk and leaving the King to die.’ Tranquilus answered, his jaw set.

‘He was ordered to sail in the Fall, with or without me.’ The summer was quickly nearing it’s end. The season was changing over the bay of Caralis.
‘And I will not wait for you, old man.’ Filimer answered. Their relationship had been strained ever since it had been interceded by the fortune of the estate at Ancona. Bring a little coin into any situation, and it will go sour, that was one thing he had learned. Still, his boy had saved his life in the first battle against Attila the Hun.

Trapstila walked to his ward-robe, from which he fetched the short sword of Vithericus. He placed an iron crown on his head and walked to his boy.
‘And what of his plans for me, once he’s sailed off?’ He brought the blade level with Filimer’s throat.

‘Nothing, excellency, only that Valdamerca was to be left behind and un-notified.’ Tranquilus answered.
Trapstila looked to himself for judgment but found nothing, only guilt for holding his leathered grey hands to his son’s healthy face.

Voices emerged from the stairs leading to the main hall above the keep. It was Valdamerca and Vandalarius. Apparently the two had reconciled. Brandy and wine from Provence had that effect.
‘He has a cold.’ The two laughed, unaware the door in the winding stairway was open at the bottom of their descent.

‘It’s a bad one. He can still speak to us, if he’s sheltered.’ Vandalarius answered. They laughed again, then muffled breathing, it sounded like the two were embracing upon the wall, his own children, her in her gown, and him in his shirt and leggings.
‘Where is her highness, Chloe? We must tell him the way her and her Burgundian dog have been carrying on. He must have more courage than a normal man, being uncouth.’ He stifled a hissing laugh.
‘Perhaps he protests too much. She is a princess, after-all. Choir boys have been made for less.’ She giggled.

Filimer was aghast, hoping that Trapstila would not kill him before the two arrived and discovered his plan. Vandalarius was a captain under his command, and had clearly not been briefed of the departure of the armada.
‘Vandalarius.’ Trapstilicus roared. ‘Come quickly, my boy.’ His sick spittle caused Filimer to flinch.

Vandalarius rushed ahead of Valdamerca, and said. ‘We were planning on telling you tonight, lord Trapstila!’

Trapstila eyed him sternly with the blade raised, beckoning for the seal to be bolted.

‘Not that, fool boy, this captive; you were ignorant of his plans to take the Baleares.’
‘Without me?’ Vandarius marched forward and whipped his head around to face Filimer.

Valdamerca began shivering at the sight before her. A drunk Vandalarius, grateful for her assistance to the wellbeing of Olivia, before her father, who was holding blade to his adopted son’s throat. She shrieked.
‘Quiet, daughter. There are many loyal to this, man.’ He looked aside, ‘In this fortress.’ Trapstilicus said quietly. ‘Close the door.’

Valdamerca was white with fear and closed the door. Filimer breathed a sigh of relief, because he knew the King wouldn’t kill him in his daughter’s presence.

‘Because you can’t be trusted, Vandalarius. The moment I told you, you’d want to bring Valdamerca as luggage.’ Filimer said, perhaps a bit too tizzy for his own good.
Trapstila answered, his voice cold. ‘You swore on your eyes to serve my house.’ He was more talking to himself at this point.

‘Yes, I did. And your wife took the eyes of the greatest son of the Greuthungi for less of a crime. Filimer, High Judge of the Goths. For him I am named.’ He was red in the face, and his a thick vein ran down his forehead.

‘ Aye, you're a bastard. But it isn’t just that, it’s serving in the house of a Gepid?’ Trapstila looked Filimer deadly in the eyes.

‘The men are loyal to me. I was to sail with twenty thousand of them.’ Filimer answered, perhaps too mushy and tizzied from a night of drink. Trapstila thought of how he would have heaved at the night waves in his condition and laughed.
‘He’s right, I saw them preparing for some kind of exercise in the morning. He must live, without him, I’ll lose the men’s support.’ Said Vandalarius quizzically.
‘You’ll?’
Trapstilicus queried, annoyed.
‘We’ll’ Vandalarius bowed his head. ‘We can’t kill him, embrace this effort and learn all you can of it, tonight, while he is your captive.’ Vandalarius was not going to miss this invasion flotilla. Disobedience was disobedience, but the mighty Filimer was needed for the men's support.

Trapstila had already planned on have Filimer questioned. The preparations could be advances, but to keep Filimer at the head of the invasion, he wanted assurances.
Filimer nodded. He agreed with the child. There was no reason not to brief the King of his glory to come.
‘You are out of my house, and to stop the King’s justice I ask but one thing of you.’
‘What’s that?’ Filmer asked. He felt disgraced, though he had never asked for this man’s blessing.
‘For as long as you live, you will protect and keep safe my daughter, your liege. Swear to it or be cursed before Christ almighty, forever more.’

‘I swear to it.’ Filimer answered. He was out of breath.

‘Not good enough.’ He held the blade to Flimer’s neck, coughing. ‘Fetch a scribe and a priest, and put them on the first boat to the ministry of Friaress Guitifrida in Milan with his confession. All Italy shall be this, sir’s, witness. And soon Majorca and Spain, where he plans to land.’
Filimer backed slowly away from his liege. And then began to tell his story of how he would re-capture Tarragon.

[Alwyn]

Great descriptive writing, from the heat and sweat as Filimer swings his sword to the burning flesh of Trapstilicus Black-Arrow. I like the way that you use themes such as pride and romance and that you use things that are happening in the game (such as a resurgence of Graeco-Roman Paganism in Caralis) as part of the story. The Christian imagery, with Trapstilicus seeing himself as the unrepentant thief, works well for me too.

[Lugotorix]

CHAPTER VIII

THE BARBARIAN KING FILIMER, the Bounty Hunters, and the
SPANISH CIVIL WAR

Fall of 448

His eyes are as steely as the sword of Theoderic in his iron grasp

Part One- The Trophy of a Warrior

AJACCIO

The Caucasian Archon, Arxa was having dinner guests. The dead sat amongst the living in Ajaccio. With a young girl as their leader, nothing would deliver the fledgling Gothic kingdom from it’s doom. But what remained was who would have the glory of sending them to the bottom of the sea, or driving them into it. The Storms of Maeotis were sunk, in the harbor of Ajaccio, and Romans lured by Arxa’s promise of lordship, once his stalker Machares had finished his grizzly task there, were attending council with the High Archon. The girl wasn’t there, if she wasn’t there, she was with her ghost of a father, the codger Trapstilicus, who may yet live to see his people utterly vanquished. The Abasgians had swept over Narbonensis, installing a man called Sulla, to replace their losses there.

With the fleet sunk in the north, only one of the twins of Theoderic remained as admiral, as the warchief Filimer’s marines stormed Tarragon.

Sulla of Narbo, the Septimanian Romans, bent the knee, and now Labienus. Italy was a husk of it’s former glory, and what Roman power remained was in Hispania, gloated over by Fastrada, and his warlike son Chlodovech, who had allowed both the Abasgians, the Bastarnians, and the myriad of tribes under rule of the Huns such as the Burgundians entrance into the west. Bordeaux was the high water mark, and promises had been made by Arxa that the dissipating Huns would cross no further than this.

The hunt had begun. Many sought the death of the weakling Valdamerca, wherever she was hiding, and the unwelcome guest of Spain, Filimer. Theobald, chieftain of the surviving Burgundians would want the notch in his belt, as well as the Picts of Adbitos.
Many sought the bounty, but Arxa intended to collect it himself, instructing his newly triumphant general Machares to land in the territory of Sulla, and march on Tarragon. Filimer and his wife Kriemhild had given birth to a son, Eutharic, named after a true Gothic warrior who had died valiantly at odds with both the Huns and Romans, and the boy would be marked as well. Valdamerca saw a new dynasty forming and sought her father for advice.

Arxa snatched a chalice from the dead hands of the former Admiral of the Storms of Maeotis, Fritigern, and offered it to the terrified Western Roman who had been given pagan rule over Ajaccio. The Christians had been killed, they were too loyal to the ideal of the Pope’s Rome, and viewed the Archon as a traitor. The initial cause of the dispute would soon be moot. If his spies were correct, Dacia would be walking away from Filimer just as fast as Africa, which had seen a coup against the Attian line and was now under the rule of the Tigidius, Secundius Vatia. The Eastern Romans were busy in Jerusalem, Aelia Capitolina, with the settling Vandals who had found safer shores, and once his vengeance was finished her, he would visit the last Roman allies other than Tranquilius of the Goths, in Constantinople.

Vantage

‘ The arc of the Gothic empire has come full circle. Once we were hunted by their loyal and royal Illyrian Domitian Emperor of Eastern Rome, now they are the hunted. By my marbles, bring me the head of this Filimer. It would make a fine ornament for the tomb of Attila, our patron.’

‘And the daughters of Widimir and Trapstilicus will make fine ornaments to the lesser courts of Anacopia.’ Machares answered. ‘I will bring them as gifts to the east, in bondage, not the gowns that were once sent from it’s shores.’

Valdamerca would be the first trophy, so that they would have the honor of fighting a man to the death for the fate of the cursed Goths, but wherever could she be. Chlotsuintha, well, if she would agree to an Armenian marriage, and forget about her fancy for the Burgundian traitor Witigis, she might give some legacy to the Goths after-all, in the east, where the Agorians and Domitians had started this bloody vendetta. The vendetta would end with the corpse of Trapstilicus in a gibbet in Anacopia across the Pontic sea, and the head of Filimer in Arxa’s camp.

MACHARES, the Hunter tasked with taking down Filimer by High Archon Arxa

CARALIS

Labienus had seen the storming of the Roman governor’s mansion at Tarragon, as an affront to himself personally. What he had gained out of it was Probinus, who had fled the city into the protection of Labienus, who agreed to demote him under the command of his iron handed general, allowing him to forgive the insolence, and take exception in one movement. Hispania was the last of the Roman kingdoms. He remembered the blade of Achilius and how it had hobbled him permanently. Now the enemy were no lords of Italy, and at his mercy. Tranquilus was a minor player in the heraldry of the Goths. These motley barbarian consorts of the Huns, Abasgians of Machares, and Burgundians of Theobald, and Adbitos, seeking a reward from Arxa, would mete barbarian justice to the barbarian chief Filimer, but first, Labienus had instructed his two strongest generals to deprive him of a base to leech onto the Spanish interior. That meant taking Tarragon.

‘ They have left me at last, my daughters.’ Trapstilicus said. He scalp was as red and bald as a blistered robin’s egg.

Tranquilus had joined the armada of Filimer and partook in the raid that had seized the port city of Tarragon. He would act as an observer for the Regent Valdamerca, who would be far from the fighting. They all had heard of the sacking of Ajaccio and the installation of pagan Roman governance there, but they had doubts as to whether the Abasgians would raid the harbor here, or cut and make an assault on Filimer, where the money was. Filimer had made good on the promises he had made for the pagan berserkers and Saiones loyal to him, and his capture of Tarragon was barbaric. After losing the city, Mundus had been leading a guerilla war in the hills near Caesaraugusta, and joined the assault on the city. Slaves were made of the Roman defenders, and the raping and lamentations of the women were from an age unseen since the years of the Danube, the years before Saphrax and Vithericus.

All the gold bloated Filimer’s war chest, and Tranquilus had used them to incite a civil war amongst the Spaniards. Surviving men were given a choice between bondage and fighting for wages, and soon Tranquilus had the muscle to be the rightful governor of Tarragon, while Mundus sparred with the Hispanians in skirmishes, and Filimer went to confront the first challenge to his anchor in the peninsula, Probinus of Spain. Probinus then reported to an accomplished general named Secundus Niger, the right hand of the cripple Labienus. Tranquilus had held territory across the Pyrenees before, and many legio comitenses were willing to fight for him, which bolstered the horde of Filimer.
‘And secured the future of our people.’ Valdamerca answered to her dying father.

Trapstilicus coughed, and waved a hand to Achilius. ‘You have not heard. Filimer’s success has been brutal but has gained him much loyalty: he ignores Tranquilus now, using him as a pawn to gain Romans in their ranks. I had trusted that his word, spread to Italy and Spain would dissuade him from taking his own course, but with every victory he grows more independent, and no son of mine. No, we must trust in Liuva, younger brother of Vandalarius, who has been seduced by the war prowess of this conqueror. He is the hunted, he is the boar, the Bear Son of Trapstila, and with every one of his hunters he dispatches, his legend will grow.’

‘A Roman governor such as Tranquilus who gives safe haven to our people is no small blessing, give me the word, and we’ll not have a wolf leading our flock.’ Achilius answered.
‘Your mission is set forth already, Achilius.’ Trapstilicus answered harshly.

‘Lady Valdamerca. If Filimer wants to take power for himself, you must be far from both these islands and Spain. I’m taking you to the east.’ Achilius said.
‘Never.’ Valdamerca shushed. ‘I will never leave my sweetheart Vandalarius. Not to marry that pagan Roman Olivia, or worse.'

The Half-Brother Twins of Theoderic are ready to command!

‘ He may yet be killed in battle, Valdamerca. Any attachment he has to you may get him killed by Filimer. Filimer relies on his younger brother Liuva, but he may not need a navy for long, he is undefeated in battles on land, and Liuva has already borne him across with his brother. Vandalrius has been instructed to hold off Sulla of Narbo and the Burgundians until Filimer can stabilize relations with Hispanian Rome.’

‘King Theobald is vengeful for the loss of their leadership at the Tiber. He’s not to be underestimated. Arxa has promised the Huns will not cross Massalia, but he’s said nothing of my bent kin, nor the Picts.’ Witigis said, with Princess Chloe in his arms.

‘And you, Witigis? Will you support Vandalarius? My child commands the memory of the men. This may surpass any glory they have gaubed in Filimer’s conquering.’ Gaatha, who was also in Caralis asked.

‘ I will break my former people under his command, m’lady. They should have learned their lessons, and stayed to their gains in Italy. However I fear the lanista Orcus has been taken into the household of Filimer. He’ll try to make a possession of me yet. Again, I differ to our king.’

Trapstilicus answered. ‘Serve Vandalarius well. The boy is destined for his father’s legacy, but beware the new King. All men die, and I am but a man, not fitting of the crown of Gesalec, the crown of Vithericus. You now enter the service of Filimer the Goth, Filimer, son of Filimer, High Judge of Aquileia, King of the Goths, short, a productive safeguard and bloody be his reign.’

THE HILLS OUTSIDE OF TARRAGON

Tarragon was a collection of plumes on the horizon. A Roman city, however brief it’s occupation by Gesalec. Fires had broken out. Looting, rape, murder, thievery, all Gothic pursuits. Mundus had kept the insurrection going for long after the city fell and Gesalec, the last Emperor worth serving was dead. The women of the city had Gothic seeds in their bellies, and the plunder had been magnificent. This was the life he had chosen, that of the old ways. Trapstilicus was a means to an end, and now that end had been secured. Goths fled the calamity of the Abasgians in the pagan isles, swelling in numbers here.

Labienus had made no secret of his hostility to the new city-state refuge of the Goths. The pagan isles were falling, and with it the old order. A new one would be forged here, starting with Mundus taking a hill from the Spaniards. There would be no pretense, no charade, only the bitterness between enemies and the coveted cities of Pompaelo and Caesaraugusta, the resources commanded by both fine assets.

Liuva had been sent from the port of Tarragon, a place still slick with blood, and the carrion birds and wild dogs eating corpses left there by the landing. His orders, to blockade the Duccians at Ajaccio, just as he had blockaded the port here, before the frenzied storm. His men had followed orders and butchered the defenders, and watched their commander follow suit, even lead the charge with his golden plume. His blue eyes sparkled at the blood mist. Now was the time for strength. Now was the time for the son of the Blind Lord.

Mundus’ force was heavy in cavalry and reinforced by the garrison of Tarragon. The cavalry were directed to a high perch on a smaller hill, being skirmishers, where they were joined by the archers. Let the Spaniards come to them from their high hill. From his vantage camp, he could see them with their onagers on the high position.
There was a tree near their lower position. The skirmishers and legio comitenses recruited in the city by Tranquilus howled for the enemy cavalry to come down from their slope and prove themselves as men. Secundus Niger watched his men from his high hill. He nodded, and the cavalry brought their lances to bear, and advanced at a trot, increasing in pace as they neared the brigands and legio on the small hill.

The Spanish forces were heavy in cavalry and they carried lances. Mundus had brought pikes with his force, and hid them behind the hill. He was not looking to fail liege Filimer. His troops began the long ascent up the steep hill, legios of Tranquilus mostly. Tranquilus was at the battle of course, on his steed, inspiring the Romans who supported the new occupation of Tarragon. He fought bravely, even exceeding the forty two years of age Filimer had weathered.

Tranquilus, still able bodied in middle-age. He had served Filimer well, but with his men dying, his usefulness in in question to the conqueror

A blast from an onager struck the branches of the tree, and soon the tree was in flames. The men fought among the falling embers, as footsoldiers, legio of Secundus Niger, joined the battle at the small hill.

‘Send them back as high as their Latin arrogance.’ Mundus cried. ‘Pikes, advance!’ The pikes emerged from behind the hill and began skewering the heavy horses.
Mundus joined the battle, and soon was fighting with his Saiones among the stampeding, foaming horses. He cried battle slogans after roaring curses, and urged the bodyguards on against the horses.

Secundus, from his position high on the hill watched the enemy being butchered below. He ordered his archers to fire on the swelling squall of combatants. If it was a war of attrition Filimer wanted, he would have it, and he would lose, as it always favored Secundus and his lord Labienus, they, the infuriated hosts. A red flag was raised from the onagers. They had been hunting for Mundus from the onset of the battle, and now that he was located the arrows concentrated their fire on his location, and the Roman men of Spain, Funditores included took their cue and engaged him.

Mundus was impaled on the longsword of an enemy legio and fell, but the casualties were grievous for the defending Romans who had descended from the hill. Many of Tranquilus’ legio were dead, and even more of the skirmishing horses, brought down my the cavalry charge. Still Secundus Niger, sated by the guerilla Mundus’ death, had little left with his legion ‘The Fury of the Emperor’ and surrendered the hill to Filimer.

Filimer watched approvingly. There was no confusion as to whom were enemies and whom were willing to pay the price for victory. Secundus may flee, but the onagers would be unable to, and would become the property of the conquerors. Filimer’s voice boomed on the clear day. ‘I am the boar of Kalydon, come get your fill, jackals! I heard your women cry in Tarragon and offered their prayers to Lugus, the only one who’s listening in the city of Goths! ’ He laughed mightily. Then the yips of a jackdaw. His men followed him in the calls of the jackdaw.

Probinus listened perturbed to the ranting of Filimer. ‘Leave the onagers? You must be slipping, Secundus.’ Probinus said to his commanding Magister Miletum.

‘ The pride comes before the fall. Rex Labienus, bless his injury, has appointed me regent, and has a surprise planned for this savage. Let him grow bold, he told me. Let him become Rex, so that his people can fall with his foolish courage. If not, we bury the hatchet with our old friend Tranquilus’ Secundus Niger answered to Probinus.

‘I can only hope that the Abasgians don’t steal my glory. They’ve landed in Sulla’s territory.’ He said, smiling and turning on his horse, ordering the retreat.

Valdamerca said her final goodbyes to her father and his wife, the legendary Gaatha, before receiving Gaatha’s permission to be smuggled into the camp of Vandalarius by one of Liuva’s dromihete.

She had not only instructions, but much to learn from him, as he marched an uncertain future against the Septimanians.

[Lugotorix]

-The Battle of the EBRO RIVER-

-Machares- vs.- Filimer the Exile- and –Vandalarius-

My beloved wife, Gaatha. So from the good of the blind lord springs the evil of Filimer, so from your intrigue springs the good Vandalarius, caretaker along with my friend and compatriot, Tranquilus, of my good and giving daughter, Valdamerca sprung from the blackness of my soul. I deserve my fate, lord knows, but I thank him for the strength to ensure a legacy that will have a chance, like a paper boat in the tempest of Tarentum, even if led there by the scourge of god, but then, when I think of my chances to attain what I have in this wild life of strife, as was I, unlikely but written. This is the legacy of the Goths. And the insurance of Romans.

Yours, in Christ, Trapstilicus Amalius Vandalarius the Black-Arrow

Some legends fade away. Such it was with Trapstilicus, who succumbed to the plague in the forty fifth year of Filimer the exile conqueror’s life. His daughter traveled to the camp of Vandalarius, where she learned much. She told him that her most trusted eyes an ears told of a mysterious pact between the allies of allies, and that a great coalition was emerging to push the Goths back into the sea, to the doomed pagan islands where uprisings of the cults of Mars were returning control of the islands back to the Romans. Duccius had many supporters in southern Italy, and they would not relinquish their claims easily. One of these eyes and ears of Valdamerca, Achilius, smuggled her into the camp of Vandalarius and there they embraced, as friends, as brother and sister, stirred together, and now bittersweet to part.

Vandalarius told her first that Filimer’s successes were gaining him enough support to revoke on his word, as well documented as it was, and rule in her absentia. Valdamerca instructed him to keep an eye on the interactions between Filimer the warlord and Tranquilus. Tranquilus, a Latin man, and indeed the writing had been in latin from that fateful night at his sanctum beneath Caralis, would be the paperweight that would keep Filimer to his agreement. The brute was not without cunning and would soon find a way to rid himself of Tranquilus’ oversight, now that her father, our narrator, was dead. They kissed, and Vandalarius assured her that he would continue the military tradition of his father’s house, and that Trapstilicus had been like a second father to him, of the same general’s lineage, those that had saved Rome for so many years.

The Exodus was in full momentum, and the legend of Filimer grew as no longer a chief, but a king of the Goths, in his new kingdom of Tarragon. Filimer now spoke in public of being the son of Filimer, the Blind Judge of Venetia, and that he was of the Balti dynasty, the traditional rivals of the Amali in the Visigoths and Ostrogoths, now one people. Such were the times that forged dynasties. That the former grand protector and Magister Miletum’s wife had blinded the respected Balti, was the stuff of gossip and town criers, and so the songs fell over the taverns of Tarragon, which was calming with each boatload of Goths that arrived, fleeing Italy still, and those who did not feel safe even in the pagan isles. One of the things Valdamerca had confessed to Vandalarius, before she had kissed him, not tenderly, but passionately, was that she was to serve in the Domitian court of Illyrian equestrians at Constantinople. There she would learn to rule as an Empress, and learn of other warrior queens such as Mavia of the Tanukhids.

Probinus, once more under the wing of the lame Rex of Hispania, had been checked in aggression against the city he had abandoned in the bloody looting and chaos, Tarragon. Secundus Niger gathered his forces for another assault against the city, but Filimer had been making ample use of the barracks in Tarragon, and Romans of Hispania, even those who had not been captured in battle, began to join the side of Tranquilus. Once again, the Goths were beginning to gain Roman support in foreign lands.

The first sign of calamity came with the breaking of the military alliance with Dacia, which after a series of military rulers, no long had the strong familial ties that had once bound the two kingdoms and empires. Soon after Dacia lost it’s last possessions in Pannonia, and they scattered into highway bands, more like brigands than organized armies loyal to their Illyrian cousins.

Then, seeing that Filimer would hold no promises to Roman Africa, as Valdamerca would, and spotting Valdamerca on a ship destined for the Eastern Roman Empire, Tigidius abruptly ended his trade agreement and alliance with the Goths in Corsica and Sardinia and Tarragon. Without trade, much needed iron was missing from the war effort, as well as lead munitions. Filimer would stand alone in a treacherous world, and tagging along, would be Vandalarius.

In 449 A.D. the Abasgians under Machares were honing in on their crimson quarry. Inaction by Secundus Niger, no doubt due to the surprise his lord had planned for Filimer, had allowed the Abasgians to camp on the eastern bank of the mouth of the Ebro river. They set up fortifications, hoping to wait until late spring to recoup their losses from winter attrition, traveling down from Narbo, where Sulla had granted them safe passage but not shelter. Instead they were confronted by two armies, one led by Vandalarius who was traveling the same way they had come, and Filimer, who was keen to knock off another suitor for the death of his kingdom. Filimer’s army had doubled in size from the casualties he had suffered under Mundus, mostly Master spearman of Germanic stock, with Tranquilus joining him with several cohorts of legio.

Filimer figured that caution was the greater part of valor and ordered the bulk of his forces across a ford at the mouth of the Ebro river, while he stayed behind with two regiments of pikes, and one of spears, while the ranged infantry, funditores and elite Germanic longbowmen, formed a south eastern flank. Their intent was to lure Macheres from his camp, as softly armored as they were and with Macheres outnumbering this first force by nearly 2-1. Vandalarius would earn his stars in this battle, with Filimer preferring him to lead the men in the effort to lure the Caucasian hunters from their position. The hunters carried the standard of the blazing sun, perhaps a symbol sacred in Kartli and Abgasia before their conversion. Arxa was an adventurer, and considered himself separate from his grounded countrymen.

The two camps sent an envoy, with Vandalarius demanding that the Abasgians return to the east of Massalia, never to return, and Machares refusing, telling them not to put up much of a fight, as it would just spoil their trophies, already being bludgeoned by their flails and maces, and make the sacking and despoilment, the butchery, as he phrased it, that much worse for the city of Tarragon. He also offered Vandalarius a bribe to turn over Filimer, to which Vandalarius replied that Filimer would surely show his face to a vulture bounty hunter, when Arxa would show his hyena’s face to his true foe. He also relayed the message for Macheres to come and meet him, across the river, true to Filimer’s bold style, giving away his location to taunt his opponent. As for funerary rites, he gave what assurances two predators would have for each other, though to be fair, he insisted the man was naught but a traitorous vulture, an abomination of the Eastern Empire and it’s holy binds that had once protected it, and that he was the Boar of Calydon. It was time, Filimer boasted, for the cravens to get the goring they had been seeking.

The slingers began peppering the Armenian spear ranks, which were a wide and surefooted formation, but it was the onager, which was brought across the river, which truly sparked the Abasgians into their hunt for Filimer across the river. The cavalry of the Caucasians were heavily armored, in cataphract armor, and the light ranged divisions were too tempting a target for the cataphracts of the Abasgians. Soon enough, they would be met by steppe lancers, relics of the days of Hunnic invasion in Italy under Sandilch, who had made the journey across the seas, all the way to Tarragon.

Sandilch's Huns still make contributions to the war effort, even as the Huns begin to disband across Italy, leaving only a blockade at Ravenna to keep the Apennines under their heel

The Abasgians had brought not only Armenian spears with them on the hunt, but Bosphoran Infantry. The Germanic Spear Masters were more than a match for the Armenians, but the Bosphorans fought their way all the way to the ford itself. They fought in a bloody stalemate of spear formations crushing against each-other for almost an hour, but when duress was on the southern flank by Bosphorans pushing in, Filimer sprung his trap with his reserves and crossed the river, entering the fray.

Machares knew that retreat was a death sentence from his Archon, Arxa, and his heavy cavalry crashed again and again, decimating the lighter infantry, while trying to stay away from the spears which had engaged the Bosphorans in hand to hand combat. Machares also had shortbow cavalry that could strike at very close range, and these brought down many of the legio who had joined the march north.

The pikes could not be troubled with those pushing towards the river, and they made a charge, as gingerly as their heavy armor would take them, into the cataphract nobles of Macheres. This boar hunt turned into a bloodbath for both sides. When the dust had cleared, and indeed it was a dry, sun scorched day, the noble hunters remained on their horses and the pikes lay slain, flanked from behind by the Bosphorans. The spears had made a mess of the Armenians but now the heavy horses had a showdown with the Saiones, who were on foot.

The horses were tired, and their riders baking in the Iberian heat, and the humidity of the river, and the Saiones out maneuvered them, finally with surviving spears making way into the fray and bringing down the mace-wielding Abasgian nobles.

In the battle, Machares proved just as elusive as his quarry. He dodged death, and was bloodied and bruised before he was finally cornered and gutted, literally.

Vandalarius’ own guard had slain Machares before the evening had come, a sword disemboweling him, knocking him from his horse in a fount of gore, and the sun made way for lynxes to take their spoils from the latest and bravest hunter who had pursued Filimer the Exile King.
Machares lay in the dust, splattered with blood, and Filimer walked over the man, with his thick moustache, clutching his innards that had spilled from his horse onto the field. Filimer traced the sword of Theoderic through the sand at the whimpering Macheres. ‘Rise, stone.’ He said. Machares seethed curses at the towering barbarian, ‘ Very well, you will not give me battle, I have little time for weaklings. May the bearded vultures take you, curr.’ He laughed.
And so it was that Vandalarius continued his campaign north-east towards Narbo, and Filimer’s men had gained experience that would aid them against what Secundus Niger had planned. But with whom?

[Alwyn]

I like the way that you identified Machares as the man assigned to hunt down Filmer, leading to the dramatic scenes in the latest chapter.

[Lugotorix]

THE ROAD HOME

After destroying Machares force and taking one hundred and seventy Abasgian captives, Filimer had them bound by a single rope on the march back to Tarragon. It was the late fall of 448 A.D. and the weather was growing colder, the trees barer. By the time he had stopped at every village with Tranquilus to rally forces who might serve Tranquilus. Their ill treatment of the Abasgians became a story in Tarraconensis. The exile who had cheated death was making an example of those sent to hunt him.

The people, who insisted that the banner of the Cantabrian horse stay high, were very reluctant to join Tranquilus. All signs pointed to a victory for Secundus Niger, Probinus, and Labienus, and the people would not heed Tranquilus’ convincing lest they be dragged down with him and his Gothic ally.

By the coming fall, once the forces had been evened in rank to avoid two tents that had been decimated losing morale, they had only three regiments of Elite Ostrogothic pikes, and three regiments of Germanic spearmen. The Romans, with the exception of the equestrians of Tranquilus, had been left under the command of Vandalarius, who would make his first command with the hopes of his nation relying on him.

The captain of the spearmen, a Alemanni deserter who had joined in the hope of receiving the spoils of Vandalarius assault on Narbo, who was named Luitprand, made an offer to Filimer and Tranquilus one night, as the red sun set on Hispania and the world, and the red leaves of the trees lay in heaps around the camp, as to not be singed by the main bonfire in the center of the camp.

There was a rugged boar on a spit in the center of the tent, which had rough burlap sails, and Filimer sat upon the throne of the old king Vithericus, which he had told the men, would only return to Tarragon with victory. Now that he had it, he had learned of the boatmen of Liuva in the Storms of Maoetis, Vandalarius’ younger half brother’s recapturing of Ajaccio. This army, the head of the Gothic army in Spain, was known as the Bear-Sons of Trapstila, and Filimer’s mighty paws held a cutting knife as he made a feast on some boar shank on a platter before him.

The men had come to sit by the fire, from the un-seasonal autumn chill, and they looked haggard. Many had been killed in the defense against Machares camp. There were no women to despoil from the Abasgian camp, and they yearned to be back in the city, where the fires had been put out, and order restored, by a general named Vithimiris, a cousin of Widimir of Lugus, and the illegitimate son of Gundulf. He chose his fathers passion, but his mother's way, the very devotion that had made their marriage void.
Vithimiris was the one who did the dirty work when an uprising of Roman challenged Gothic occupation of the near region. He was proud of his work quelling here and there, as this city had given his father a curse that he would follow to the death. Pagans were frowned on, but Filimer had to give it to Vithimiris that in some exploits, they excelled. His men were weary. The discipline of the Western empire had deserted them, and their morale and integrity sagged, as they were told there would be no plunder to be had in the villages on the way back to the city. The women of Spain, raven haired beauties with fair skin, would not be offended, as Filimer did not want to wear out his welcome in the new lands, and wanted the best face forward to potential recruits.

‘ Like the Geminis, Vandalarius and Liuva remain loyal. I pray your soldiers do not fail the older of them, Tranquilus.’ Filimer said. ‘What say you turncoat of the Alemanni, why are you groveling before me.’ Filimer turned his attention across the tent to Liutprand, who approached, removed his cap and held it in quavering hands, and bowed. He was clearly afraid of the giant, who wore the mighty sword of Theoderic on his back with his crimson shield. Vandalarius had nowhere to desert to and outmatched Sulla, who did not have the Praeventores that Probinus possessed to the north of the city, biding his time, as the Spanish resistance grew. With the threat removed from Ajaccio, trade could resume between Italy, the islands, and flow into the port of Tarragon. It pleased him seeing that Liutprand had bent the knee.

‘Your Excellency, if I may say, we are outnumbered, and will not have time to train many more divisions in Tarragon when we arrive home. I have contacts in the hills not far from here. Men who have left the kingdom of the Alamans in the south of Baetica because of the undeserved leadership of the Prince Chlodovech, called Clodovicus. He folds on the soldiers in pay, to keep the Romans under their control there, rich and corpulent.’

‘How many of these turncoats like you are there, Liutprand? How many men of no tribe. And why are they not condemned by great High King Fastrada? I need men of will, not men who will falter at the first gleam of battle.’ Filimer said in his iron voice. His wife Kriemhild sat on a chair beside him. She wouldn't leave his side, watching all of his battles under guard from a hill.

‘Two thousand, Excellency. ‘Great’ Fastrada is hoping they will not organize against him, and hopes to buy their loyalty one day, when his son prepares to succeed him. A man such as me cannot be bought, that is why I fight for the Goths and Tranquilus, who was once my ally in Gaul. But these men, they are the best soldiers of the south of Spain, horsemen, with fine Iberian steeds, some of them, some of them too well skilled for the pay and feudal lordship of Clodovicus. Some have taken up raiding the roads, but others make a living as sellswords to the people. They are of the merchant’s persuasion.’

‘ What matters is if they will hold their ground against Probinus. I’ve heard he’s camped to the north of my city, growing stronger. We’ll need horses to run down his Praeventores, willing to make multiple charges, from the flanks, and if these mercenary so drunk on gold and their own necks could stomach it, from the front. I cannot break both Niger and Probinus at once, so I’ll need them to have ambushers in their number, and good archers, with keen eyes that can seek targets at night.’

‘They are the finest horsemen, Filimer. They, we, take pride in our work, and will never serve Labienus.’ He bowed deeper, taking a knee, spear in one hand.

‘Very well, we will hire all two thousand of these men with the spoils taken from Tarragon.’ Filimer said, finishing the matter, rising and clapping with both hands. ‘Wine, wine for Liutprand, he has swelled our numbers, now come to my ear and tell me the price of these men, to hold under the threat of hellfire.’

Liutprand handed a guard his spear, and limped to the side of the towering Goth. He had a leg injury, from fighting against the Abasgians.

Filimer listened, then his face turned a bluish hue of purple, and his eyes bulged. ‘You waste my time, curr!’ He pushed Liutprand to the ground. ‘ As I said, Filimer, the best men for our defense. Consider their terms.’ Liutprand protested.

‘I wouldn’t pay that much to defrock Guitifrida.’ Filimer shouted, kicking at Liutprand, who scampered back.
‘Why, I’ll kill you for the suggestion! This is an outrage, you forest hound.’ He pushed over the table before him, and the platter and food fell and broke on the canvas of the tent. He unsheathed the sword of Theoderic.

‘They are skilled, Filimer, I meant no offense.’ Liutprand pleaded.

Tranquilus shouted above both of them. ‘I will pay it. Neither of you notice we have no other recourse against Probinus. By God, whatever the ransom of these hillmen, I will pay them the entire chest of my house. Filimer you forget, this man is the captain of our few remaining spears.’ Tranquilus glared at the taller man standing with his sword pointed at Liutprand. He patted him on the shoulder, and massaged his paultron, ‘Forget it, my friend. There is more at stake than gold.’

A Villa outside Caeseraugusta in Tarraconensis

‘Probinus, are you good for anything but running?’ Secundus Niger jested querulously in an even voice at his villa in Caeseraugusta. Probinus bowed his head to his superior. ‘ I couldn’t have the city at governor, but I’ll have it as a servant.’

‘First man in a little village in Gaul, is it?’ Secundus Niger asked. He had large haunting eyes that were never frantic and a long face. Sterling teeth and a black cap upon his head. Probinus was a plump faced man with high cheeks, and wore his armor even in doors. He had just sent scouts to inform on the movements of the Gothic army parading around their conquest, their numbers ravaged by a battle with hunters of Arxa, who wouldn’t follow the Goths this far west. He was expected to serve now. His men would have followed him to the end, but instead he had let the jewel of the eastern coast of Spain be sacked by the barbarous Goths, these ones even more savage than the Eutharic clown of years past. Rather than execute him for not bending the knee immediately after disobeying Labienus, he chose to keep the mans sound tactics, the tactics that had staved off Mundus for so many seasons, and the loyalty of his legion, which was only growing stronger.

Secundus Niger had convinced Labienus to spare Probinus, and not even Probinus could have convinced Secundus Niger not to smother Labienus, just twenty minutes before, in one of the upper rooms. The weaker child cannot be at the head of such a disgrace, as the loss of Tarragon. Ever since his crippling by the man with poisoned feathers, that ghoul of Vithericus, Labienus had never been the same. A cripple who could not ride, the man would have cut the wages of the soldiers to pay off the Goths to the south. There was no compromise to be made.

Labienus had done some arguing for the head of Probinus, when he returned, tail between his legs, but the men had to be kept. He had persuaded him, by saying that after Probinus had recaptured the city, he would retire, and then promptly informed Probinus that he had saved his life. This bought him loyalty and time. With Labienus deciding how to instruct young Probinus, Secundus was left to his devices, namely a bloodless coup. Labienus who had paid a ransom to the Goths for peace in the past, and look what this peace had bought, more savages spilling over the shores into decent Spain.

Once Secundus Niger had them all in one house, he had the Praetorians take the sword and buttons of the Governor, and assumed military command with a pillow of quail feathers.

‘My runners report to liege lord Labienus.’ Secundus interrupted him, ‘I am commanding the legion now.’ Probinus looked perturbed, ‘I see.’ ‘My runners report to you, Magister, that they have turned northeast, into the hills north of Tarraco.’

‘The hill men. Lovely. They’ll cut them to shreds. No-ones walking away from this.’ Secundus answered smiling.

‘May I continue? In their company was the former Rex of Burdigala, Tranquilus, and his car, guarded by Gothic soldiers.’
‘The Goth Trapstilicus has perished. But the fool still won’t seek a beggar’s life in Constantinople. Lovely.’ Secundus answered.

‘I must say, Tranquilus is a wealthy man, Magister.’ Probinus answered back, removing his helmet.

‘Pah! He’ll never have enough for two thousand of those goons on their high horses. The principle is against their payment. No matter, we’ll have to buy up as many of the Alemanni as we can, before he does, send a messenger to the nearest village from the hill men’s camp.’ He rattled his fingers on his table, where a map of Spain lay.
‘I already have. You doubt me much. We have enlisted several hundred foederati, and promised them estates in Cantabria, we may have to push the lines against the Maurians who have taken up residence in Gallaecia.’ Probinus shot back proudly.

‘Well done, outfit them in mail and leathers, and sent them to your camp, Magister Probinus.’
Probinus squelched the smile that burst onto his face. ‘A test is it?’

‘Not at all, Labienus is dead. There is no compromise with these Goths. He would have defrauded us for peace once more. As I said, I am in command, I’ll discuss the details with you over whores, thrushes, and olives.’

Probinus nodded curtly and a bit awkwardly, not wanting to say anything inappropriate, helmet in hand, leaving the room to dress in more casual attire. The most capable general of Spain was now it’s leader. The most important question, was just how much of a fortune Tranquilus had made in the days since he lost his kingdom. Secundus Niger would return to his capital at Pompaelo after the two had become drunk discussing how to settle the Alemanni. He would divide his forces, just as the Goth Filimer had. He had planned on joining with Fastrada, but he would be needed to push the Maurians out of Gallaecia for the Alemanni estates. Fastrada would not approve, but he was not long with this world. Clodovicus would rule, and with him, the seed of hate long planted against the Goths who had failed the Alemanni in the east.