Fractured Eagle <Historical Fiction> -Updated 6/30

[waveman]

I like this idea and want to participate but I have a couple questions: are you looking for a character type or a named character, and do you care where this character is from/where he/she I'd at the time?

[baozi]

I am looking for any type of character, as long as I can fit them into the story. Submissions are more than welcome to have a place of origin, but I may or may not modify it. I promise to stay true to most of their backstory, which you provide along with all of their personal traits. Provide as much as you want to the backstory, it will be a valuable in influencing your character. Naturally, people change. And over time their personal traits will be altered as they interact with my Roman world.
To make it easier, just copy paste this as a temple:
Name:
Backstory:
Personality:

[waveman]

I like this idea a lot; I'm looking forward to how it turns our (and if my submissions are used and if they survive/how long they survive)!

Name: Leuthar
Backstory: Germanic soldier (perhaps of Gothic stock) employed by Rome in Gaul originally in command of a small group of soldiers, rose through the ranks to a certain high-ish point.
Personality: Decent fighter but good at motivating his men, intensely ambitious and proud, vengeful. Dislikes being looked down upon/insulted for being a "barbarian" despite the fact that he is more successful than many Romans

Name: Jorunnr Hrattbladth
Backstory: Germanic/Norse mercenary leader in Britain/Gaul/Rhine area; if Britain then like 3-7 ships' worth of men
Personality: Stubborn, not very clever (but not stupid), fearless, in search of wealth and/or power, does not tolerate treason

Name:Rosalind, daughter of Jorunnr (or something along those lines)
Backstory: Brought along with her father to wherever he is serving in the hopes of making a good political marriage - her family might not be wealthy or high nobility, but she is beautiful
Personality: Clever, loyal to her father, submissive to male-dominated society but tries to manipulate people

Name: Aulus Norbanus Pullus
Backstory: wealthy landowner in Britain/N Gaul
Personality: Doesn't really care who the emperor is, just wants his land and money to be safe - so will support whoever looks strongest with as little money as possible

Name: Tiberius Servilius Spurinus (+ title Belgicus?)
Backstory: Roman general or commander of some sort with few political allies
Personality: exxasperated becasue he can't get enough troops, money, equipment


Name: Gunther
Backstory: (historical figure) ex-foederati and king of Burgundian kingdom West of the Rhine
Personallity: likes puppet rulers, untrustworthy
picked this one bc he seemed interesting and Wiki was pretty vague about his so there's quite a bit of creative freedom to be had

Name: Daenerys
Backstory: Has dragons.. oh wait

Good luck with all this! Take any you want

[Lugotorix]

Greatly enjoying this on my smartphone. I like how it's told from key characters point of view over a broader theater. I have a character suggestion, but he's more of a wandering minstrel that makes appearances in every story I write. I'll edit in his description once I see how he could fit into this. Keep up the good work!

[baozi]

CHAPTER 6. The chance to break

As morning gave in to the heat of the sun, the two armies opposing forces are finally ready for battle. When the two armies first encountered, the Yorkist commander Batiatus rushed his men to battle formation but did not engage, instead using it as a delay tactic to bring up Artillery.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Gratian saw through this tactic, and countered it by slowly withdrawing his army up to high ground in battle order. Thus, when Yorkist Artillery did arrive, the Southern army was on top of the hill, out of range.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Nerveless this all gave time for Batiatus to set up Scorpion turrets on Gratian’s flank. Those 4 turrets and their two hundred escorts make a formidable holding force. The Scorpion, with its steel shaft javelins make short work of limbs and can pierce through an entire row of heavy armored warriors.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The turrets along with his artillery provided Batiatus with an excellent defensive position if Gratian is to attack. He then ordered his men to rest and celebrates, replenishing his army’s strength and taunting the southern army at the same time.

On top of the hill, Gratian and his few officers stood by overlooking their enemies. They stood bitter in anguish, licking cracked lips while their stomach became an annoyance with their groans. And that’s just the officers.

Most of the men are in total despair. Wounded men who fought all night on pure adrenalin are now crying out in pain. Groups gather to pray while a few sit idly, traumatized by the turning of their fate.

But none of the men dared to conspire against Gratian, because next to them sat four hundred legionaries of Legio II Adiutrix. Legio II Adiutrix was a comitatenses regiment, part of the Rhine Army group tasked to defend the German frontier. Legio II Adiutrix withdrew to its native Britannia in a taskforce from the Rhine army group to bolster the Province’s defense against the Picts.

The Legion was personally commanded by the last Supreme commander of Britannia, Marcus Dumarius. Gratian himself came from this legion.

The men of Legio II are battle hardened, well equipped, and firmly in support of the commanding officers. They are the ones keeping the Southern command alive.

Gratian spat as dust kick up underneath the hill.

“Your Grace, they are advancing.” Hevatus sighed as he watched assembling Yorkists.

“Then let them come,” Gratian took up the helmet and buckled the strings to his chin. He had lost his golden helm with Antonius, who wore it during the breakout to lure away pursuers.

The ambush last night had caught him completely by surprise. He had thought the Yorkist army would try to fight a prolonged siege to exhaust his supplies. But instead Claudius took the fight to him, and shattered his inexperienced army in an ambush. Gratian’s army was made of mostly fresh recruits trained in conventional roman warfare, where cohorts line up and maneuver in formation. The unconventional tactics employed by Claudius was nothing they have ever seen in their trainings, and they were easily shattered.

But now it’s different. Two battle lines drawn up from side to side, marching down an open terrain. This is the kind of battle Gratian knows, and this is the type of battle his men wins.

“Let them come,” muttered Gratian as he licked his cracking lips, “ we have equal numbers, and the higher ground.”

He pointed to the trees on his left flank, “These woods continue all the way down this hill, you lead the entire second, down and flank them while I march with the main line to draw their forces.”

“The second should be with you.” Hevatus was concerned.

“If I send down the recruits, half of them will flee before they reach the enemy.” Gratian replied with a sad smile, “but worry not, I am going to give those Northerners a good beating.”

Under the mountain, the Yorkist army halted their advance

“Brothers from the south, we prepared two things for you.” Batiatus’s aide-de-camp rode in front of the army and shouted, “You can wait for us to come up and eat our swords. Or, you can come down, and dine your fellow Romans in good will and reconciliation!”

There was no reply. The aide looked to Batiatus, who gave him the nod.

“Advance!” the officer drew his sword and shouted, the horn rang behind him and the Yorkist army begin to march up the hill in columns.

“A splendid attempt,” laughed Batiatus and the young aide returned to his side, “I particularly enjoyed your contrasting rhetoric, very appealing. If I were a starving peasant I’d run down for sure.”

Both men shared a lighthearted laugh.

“You’re a good orator,” Batiatus continued, “But I can’t help put detect that shake in your voice. Nervous?”

The young officer blushed as he tries to stop his teeth from grinding, “It’s more of excitement, sir. I’ve have never spoken to a mob before, nor have I come this close to combat. And thank you sir, I practice in speaking when i'm in the Bathhouse.”

“And he has a good sense of humor,” Batiatus replied, “what is your name, lad?”

“Decius Livius Vortigernius.” the aide replied eagerly. Those blue eyes filled with dreams of recognition and glory.

“Ah yes, I remember you now. You’re Numicus’s nephew” Batiatus smiled, “So this is the last clutch.”

He looked to his marching troops in worried gaze. His forces are mostly battle weary troops and third of the line reserves. The Yorkist detachment he commands is not nearly as disciplined as the crack troops who engaged Gratian last night. Most of his command staff is composed by Quartermasters, Accountants, and other auxiliary officers. Everyone else is with Claudius engaging the southern relief force, or in the woods hunting for stragglers.

Vortigernius for one is supposed to be a mess officer, in charge of distributing meat loaf.

The force he commands cannot execute any sophisticated tactical maneuver. Any complicated commands Batiatus pass down will be extremely difficult to realize. This lack of leadership reduces the advancing Yorkist army to little more than a thick, two layered battle line.

“This is my first time commanding an open battle; let’s hope I am talented as you with your voice.” Batiatus said to Vortigernius as he drew out this sword. He then turned to the rest of his escort that lingered with him overseeing the advance, “this is chance at immortality! Brothers, advance!”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The front lines collided. Shields cracked and spears snapped as the two lines tried to push each other back.

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Skirmishers from both sides followed behind heavy infantries, lobbing projectiles into the melee.

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One the left side, two cohorts smashed against each other to a grinding halt.

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The Yorkist cohort, being more rested than their starving foes gradually pushed back the opposing cohort. Some were cut down in combat while the unlucky ones got knocked to the ground, and met their end by a rampage of blades. Either way, bodies pave the mud, and the wounded chocked on dirt and blood as they sink into the earth.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Just a valley away, on another hill, the regiments from Camulodunum stood in good shape. They have largely been ignored by Yorkist forces after they retreated to the hill, so most of the men went through the night unscratched.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Day came. Pansa held his position on the hill, looking down the forest he swore to himself that he will never in his life be ambushed again. Pansa was humbled by what Claudius did to Gratian. He knew he was no match. So when noon comes, as Vistus comes with reinforcements, Pansa stayed neutral. Agitated, freighted, and camped on a hill.

“Good god it’s nice to see you Tiberius!” Pansa was thrilled to see that the Yorkist negotiator sent by Claudius is his good friend and cousin, Tiberius Julianus.

“I should had listened to you and stayed back at Camulot. Eating my grapes and raising my kids.” Pansa continued as he embraced Julianus with his arms.

“But now we have to make the best of it.” Smiled Julianus. The two walked together, Pansa’s retainers followed by a distant.

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“So? Peace, or surrender?” Pansa cut straight to the point.

“Peace is surrender, Just a better name.” sneered Julianus in reply.

“Do my men end up tonight as guests or as prisoners, I need to know.” Pansa was having none of it.

“Your regiments of course, are very welcomed,” Julianus muttered as he walked by a roll of Pansa’s soldiers. He then turned around, “But you? That’ll depend on your actions.”

“What do you mean?”

“Claudius, he’s the real deal.” Julianus put his arm around pansa and begins, “You know all this crossing the sea and aiding the Empire, defend Britannia from cross the sea. It's all a big front. He’s going to cross the channel and break the Empire.”

“That sounds like a fool’s dream,” dismissed Pansa, “Stilicho still holds the Empire firmly together, and even if Claudius did break the Empire he wouldn’t survive the wars that follow.”

“Stilicho is cunning and ruthless, but no matter how many daughters the Emperor marries, he’s still an outsider. Now his ward the Emperor has come to age, he would soon be cast aside.”

“Even without Stilicho, Emperor in the East can easily intervene.” Pansa smirked, “I’m not going to end up on a cross with you and Claudius.”

“Please. Don’t be so dramatic,” Julianus laughed, “Honorius and Arcadius hate each other to their guts. If Arcadius does come, it’ll be Honorius’s problem.”

“I think you are far underestimating the Strength of the Empire.” Pansa remains cynical, “The Emperor’s uncle guards Hispania, and Hispania will always support a Theodosius.”

“Marius Theodosius is feeble and timid. He has no clue in military matters, and his sons fight over each other for inheritance.” Julianus reputed, “They’ll be too busy killing themselves.”

“There’s also The Gothic Lion.” Pansa reminded, “The Marshal in Illyria, Champion of the Germani migrators. Alaric of the Visigoths, he has the experience and prestige to stabilize the Empire.”

“He is also a savage!” Julianus waved him to stop, “That Arian filth. No matter how Roman he thinks he is, he’s still a barbarian. No decent roman will support him; he’s got too much Roman blood on his hands. He’s like a stray dog without a hole, it’s a matter of time he ends up strangled underneath someone’s triumph.”

“Well it seems I’m not a betting man.” Pansa was annoyed at the circles Julianus is taking, “Then enlighten me Tiberius, who does god favor?”

Julianus turned around and faced Pansa, with a wide grin, “Dear Lucius, It is you and me who God favors. Only with the Empire shattered can we nameless men break the shackles of obscurity, and rise to the top of the world. But you must take the opportunities given to you! God is fair, he gives everyone the chance. You just have to take it. Stay here and do nothing, you will live, but your power will be relinquished. Join the cause now, attack Vistus and finish off Gratian, demonstrate your loyalty. And see the path destiny planned!”

“We walk part of the way with Claudius first. But when the time comes, we break away.” Pansa muttered.

“Exactly.” Julianus gripped Pansa by the shoulder and looked into his eyes, “Exactly.”

[baozi]

Hey Lugotorix, I'm glade you are enjoying my story. The smartphone version of the page is more visually appealing. I just checked out the site with my Windows phone and the layout is much better. The narrow screen condenses the text and fits nicely with the pictures.

Is there a way to narrow the text margins on the sides? Watching my paragraphs become thin spaghetti lines are quite annoying.

[Lugotorix]

Hey Lugotorix, I'm glade you are enjoying my story. The smartphone version of the page is more visually appealing. I just checked out the site with my Windows phone and the layout is much better. The narrow screen condenses the text and fits nicely with the pictures.

Is there a way to narrow the text margins on the sides? Watching my paragraphs become thin spaghetti lines are quite annoying.

I wish there was. I think it was Shankbot or M who convinced me to left align everything, if you use center justified you can indent the first paragraph, and breaks with tabbing. Try left aligning it in portions, or breaking it up, with different text settings in 'advanced.' Or you could ignore the text blocks and just edit how you want it to look yourself.

[Antiokhos Euergetes]

Thoroughly enjoyed reading this epic story. It was Lugotorix's AAR that brought me over to find more stories, glad I did.

[baozi]

CHAPTER. 7 First Cracks

Mascezel and Claudian rode pass a modest Villa in the suburbs of Rome. Servants worked on the fields while their masters entertained themselves on the balcony.

“So my brother and I met in front of the two armies, and I said: ‘Stand down, you’ve gone too far.’” Mascezel said as he turned to a pair of wealthy girls standing on top of their parent’s balcony. He smiled and waved, leaving the two girls embarrassed for starring at them, and blushing as they continue to discuss his exotic Moorish features. Being satisfied, Mascezel continued: “but Gildo, my bull head brother said: ‘I already gone too far.’ So I took out my sword and struck his standard bearer’s arm, lowering his command eagle. ‘It’s over’ I shouted, ‘It’s over.’ And his army dispersed.”

“A glorious display of valor and gallant, your grace” Claudian, the Emperor’s court poet replied. There was no sense of flattery, only excitement, a tone of admiration, and a hint of jealously.

“But how? Why would the African legions just disperse?” Claudian asked

“Because they haven’t gone that far, the African legions are in revolt but they didn’t do any damage to the Empire. They supported my brother in rebellion only because they thought Stilicho was dead. Stilicho is alive and they don’t have a chance. They made a good choice and we let them walk, but my brother of course paid with his head.” Mascezel replied wide smile, an egocentric pride for his play on reason.

“Know yourself and Know your enemy, and you will know victory. It is true what they said, the miracle in Africa” sighed Claudian. His face warmed up as he pictured the scene with his romantic mind.

Mascezel looked to Claudian as the poet let off a series of epiphanies, and chucked “Of course, the power and soul of Jesus Christ protected his Imperial Majesty’s legions. And by the Grace of God, that is his Grace to his Imperial Majesty and the unconquerable Empire, and of course, his grace to his holiness, first of the disciples. He divinely granted me this miraculous victory.”

“A modest gesture I will surely pass along.” Claudian smiled in reply.

The group arrived at a river fort on the outskirts of Rome, the first stop of a military inspection of garrisons behind the front lines in Northern Italia, where Supreme Marshal of the Western Empire, the Magister Militum, Stillicho, is battling Aleric, Marshal of Illyria in the Eastern Empire.

“In Africa, inspection is a surprise. That is the point of it.” Mascezel muttered as he dismounted.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

A fully decked out officer with shinny golden armor greeted them outside the gate.

“Of course, no one on the wall: every soldier in a mile radius is probably greeting us in the camp center, Italian bureaucracy.” Mascezel continued to complain as he and Claudian are led to the shallow river in the center of the fort. When he saw the soldiers standing there, Immediately, his face darkened.

A soldier stopped Claudian from proceeding, but did not disrupt Mascezel, who continued to the river bank, where the soldiers stood beside a broken bridge. The soldiers standing there are too disciplined, too spirited to be garrison troops. Each of them wore shinny armor and bright crests, indicating high placement in their pay grade.

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“What is this?” Mascezel was unimpressed.

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“This is Justice.” A voice all too familiar came from behind him. Mascezel turned and faced the pale eyed man clad in golden armor.

“Stilicho,” Mascezel could not hide the hate in his eyes, “Is this how the Emperor rewards his loyal subjects?”

“It will be a cold day in hell, when the name Mascezel brings loyalty to mind.” Stilicho sneered unsympathetically, “By the authority of the Emperor, I sentence you to death.”

Two soldiers lunged on to Mascezel, striking off his hat while they forced him to his knees.

“On what grounds?” Mascezel protested, Stilicho waved the soldiers to leave Mascezel alone, and responded as Mascezel dusted his cape: “Treason.”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“What?” Mascezel was in shock, “I marched against my own family for the Emperor, I cut off my own brother’s head to prove my loyalty!”

“If a Master wants a subject to die, the subject dies.” Stilicho continued on with his cold tone, “Your relationship with the traitor Gildo deeply annoys the Emperor…”

“A relationship by birth and fate!” Mascezel cried out.

“An annoyance his Majesty was willing to overlook!” Stilicho raised his voice, angered at being interrupted, “Instead, you bad mouth Imperial policies and dissent within the Military.”

“Look at you,” Stilicho closed in and continued in disgust, “You have been the governor of Africa for four months and you are still delaying the deployment of African Legions to the front. What loyalty do you have to the Emperor? You have betrayed the trust and expectations placed upon you by both me and his Majesty. Palatines, strangle this man.” Stilicho ordered.

And the soldiers were set loose upon Mascezel





“Ready yourselves,” Hevatus whispered to his men crouching in the shades of the forest. He walked pass the legionaries, dragging his sword on the surface of their shields. The clinging of metal helped the troops to focus on something other than the growling of their stomach. They hid themselves along the trees and looked to the battle ranging on outside the woods.

Across the field behind the Yorkist line, Batiatus and his staff sat on their horses with a clear view of the upslope battle happening in front.

Vertigernius and a few riders rode back from the battle.

“I don’t see the second legion,” Vertigernius shouted as he hurried to Batiatus, “we saw no standard, just militia reserve.”

“Front line officers report no contact with cohorts from Adiutrix.” Another scout reported.

“And we are sure it’s Gratian on this hill?” Batiatus was ready to put his attack on full swing.

“Absolutely sir,” Vertigernius replied, “watchers around the mountains spotted no enemy breakthroughs.”

“Send in half of the reserves.” Batiatus ordered, “have the men flank from the far left, I want to force out his reserve.”

Moments later a two hundred men contingent marched out with a crowd of skirmishers.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

In the center, Gratian ordered his army to charge at Yorkists in waves to make Batiatus’s artillery less effective.

Yorkist columns are attacked by waves of few hundred soldiers each at segments on the line. These attacking groups from the southern army are backed up by skirmishers who cover their retreat by blocking presuming attempts.

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The southern army harasses the attacking formation simultaneously, when one group pulls back, another attack at a different section.

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“Order the artillery to bombard the forests with explosives. Flush out Adiutrix.” Batiatus shouted, he turned to Vertigernius and laughed, “I admit, Gratian is taking ‘harass’ a whole new level. He is saving his best legion as a breakthrough force.”

“He’s not breaking out any time soon, the formations he’s sending are useless. We are pushing them back easily.” Vertigernius replied in excitement, the shouting of men, clashing of steel, and the roar of explosions has set his blood to boil.

“I wouldn’t say they are useless.” Muttered Batiatus as he squinted his eyes.

“You’re right sir,” Vertigernius replied as he took a better look at the battle, “our center left and far right are thinning.”

These are sections of the line Gratian had not attacked, and troop from these parts responded to attacks on neighboring sections. These reinforcing maneuvers are of course not issued by Batiatus, as he is too far away to give micro-orders. Instead, these maneuvers are carried out by cohort officers, who are too close to the line to have a good view.

“The real threat on the field is Leigo II Adiutrix. A tough legion I heard,” Batiatus said as he scan the forest in front of the advancing Yorkists, “Artillery should flush them out. When they are in the open, they will be an easy game.”

In the distance, Vertigernius can see the artillery receiving orders and aiming for the forest.

Exploding projectiles pounded the woods, setting the defenders rushing forward to engage the Yorkists.

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Fire and smoke erupted and wind brought the gray fog down upon the attackers.

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Smoke choked the advancing Northerners while the dust watered their eyes. And through the smoke came arrows and javelin. And the defenders, using the smoke as cover, rushed up to the attacking lines and avoided artillery fire.

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Batiatus and his men were completely caught off guard. They could do nothing but hold their position. They have to wait for the smoke to clear to see what’s going on.

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“This might be where Gratian attempts his breakthrough.” Vertigernius suggested. The shouting from the smoke has become more and more violent, the intensity of the battle has reached its apex. Not far from the command staff, Batiatus’s two hundred men reserve are now clenching their swords nervously, their commander pondering if they should charge into the smoke.

“Go, ride to the reserve and make sure they don’t move until the smoke is clear.” Batiatus ordered as he sees the agitation of his reserve. Vertigernius eagerly rode off the carry his message.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear and Batiatus can see the chaotic battle. The battle is raging on from the burning wreckage of Lindin forest. But there is no breakout force.

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“Oh, no.” Batiatus muttered, an explosion caught his eye; it came from the artillery positions to his right, which is now being charged by cohorts.

Cohorts from Legio II Adiutrix




Hevatus signaled the charge as soon as the artillery concentrated its attention on the bombardment to its left.

“Ready yourselves!”

The Yorkist Artillery’s infantry escort rushed up to position, and the scorpion turrets loaded their bolts.

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Artillery volley fired in panic, and completely missed. Scorpion bolts began to provide resistance, but their fire rate is too low to make suppression.

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Nerveless the iron projectiles are deadly. A Scorpion bolt whizzed by Hevatus and took out a roll of his men. The bolt tore through the formation, dropping a dozen men to their backs and shattered their limbs.

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The artillery crew gathered themselves and reloaded for a second volley.

Hevatus led his cohorts from the front; they are now only a few dozen yards from their enemies.

A fire ball lunged out from behind the Yorkist formation, drawing a trail of flames as in descends upon Hevatus.

“Cohort, Split!” Hevatus shouted. And his cohort split in to two as it charged, leaving the projectile to explode in between the two halves.

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Discipline and maneuverability, that’s what makes a good legion.

"Projectiles!" Hevatus warned as he raised his shield, catching a javelin at its center.

the rest of Legio II received the javelins hurled by the defenders, and engaged the Yorkist legionaries in close combat.

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“Do not panic! We still have artillery!” fear as risen among the defenders as they watched Legio II Adiutrix maneuver through artillery fire in ease.

Batiatus shouted as he rode up to this section of the battlefield, “Turrets, shoot the sides of the enemy! Infantry on the right, give them some ground, we’ll make sure they die on it!”

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The artillery and scorpion turrets opened up on the flanks of Legio II Adiutrix, bringing much needed assistance to the Yorkist defenders who are outclassed in experience and skill.

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But the shots also forced Adiutrix to fight harder, as the men rushed to break through the artillery bombardment. Soon, the Yorkist line defending the artillery begins to wave.

“With me!” seeing he’s done all he could, Batiatus charged into the fray with his bodyguards.

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In the center of the battlefield, Gratian and his last reserves also charged into battle.

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Without Legio II at his side, his starved, inexperienced army are losing ground, and finally began to rout.

Once the rout begins there was no coming back, more and more soldiers in the back fled to the woods, others threw down their weapons and begged for mercy.

On the far right, Legio II Adiutrix managed to push the defenders back, and captured the Artillery pieces while under scorpion fire.

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Hevatus ordered the men to use the guns against Batiatus. But just as they push Batiatus's force back, another army arrived.

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Pansa finally decided to join the battle, and arrived with overwhelming force. He crushed the resisting Legio II. Hevatus, and over three hundred men of the legion, lay dead.

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Two days have passed since the Yorkist victory at Lindin forest, a day since Gratian’s defeat and death in the woods beneath the hill of Lindin. Outside Claudius’s camp, thousands of soldiers from Gratian’s army that was scattered in the fighting gathered to strip off their armor and weapons in exchange of food.

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Their leader during the chaos, Lustinianus, is submitting to Claudius in the center of camp.

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A Crowd now follows Claudius around, most of them were Gratian’s vassals just a few nights ago. They held at a distance, Claudius's black mailed sub officers stood between them and Claudius.

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Amongst them Lucius Pansa now holds three thousand men. Pansa threw his bit on Claudius and attacked Gratian, killing him in the process. He also conspired with Vistus's officers leading them to defect after they assassinated Vistus. Gerontius, the leader of those officer, was given control of a full strength legion of 2000 men. The rest of the vassals make another 2000 men.

Claudius, after the victory, have bolstered his force to eight thousand men after the battle, absorbing over five thousand of Gratian’s recruits.

“There are no need for such formalities,” Claudius stopped Lustinianus from kneeling, “from the chaos, true men emerge. A man who soldiers look to for unity is a man I want by my side. Genus Lustinianus, I name you Legatus of Legio XI Britannia. “

“Your grace!” Lustinianus was thrilled to receive this unexpected commission. He was only a centurion a night before, and he was quick to play his part, “Thank you, my liege. To death, I will fight for your honor.”

Claudius smiled as he received this declaration of loyalty. All of Britannia is rushing to submit to him, the indisputable ruler of the Province. Soon, he will have control of all fifteen thousand Roman troops in Britannia. He has order further recruitment for his army and commissioned contracts with Saxon Mercenaries. He as declared his intentions: to cross the channel.

“My liege,” Pansa stepped out, “As we ready to cross the channel, into a Gaul that is overrun by Barbarians, I fear there will be cowards who offer hands of friendship, only to jab us in our sleep.”

“What the Empire thinks of us is something we will have to find out,” Claudius responded, “Now the pressing matter is to stop the savages from destroying Gaul. And rescue our fellow Romans from the grips of flames.”

“Your Grace,” Gerontius also stood out, “The Empire is rotten to its core, and will certainly conspire against us. If we declare against the Empire, Romans of Gaul will surly support us. We can sweep the Evils out of the Imperial Court!”

“The deed of Constantine! My liege, we beg you to claim the purple, and bring light back to the Empire!” Pansa kneeled.

“We beg you to take the purple.” Claudius’s other vassals all proclaimed, and kneeled down. Claudius’s retainers went along with them and also kneeled, then the guards followed their example. Even Lustinianus, who just swore his vassalage, is on his knees.

Only Claudius, Batiatus, Helvetius, and Julianus are left standing.

“Rise, my companions.” Claudius responded with a wide smile, it’s always a good day when your army ask to proclaim you Emperor. But Claudius knows he’s nowhere close to doing the deeds of Constantine. He lacks the force and popular support to storm the Capital.

But now, he is a serious player in the Empire.

“Rise,” he continued, “these are heavy burdens you entrust to me. I have neither the deed nor merit to be compared to the great Constantine. I am humbled by your appreciation…”

Claudius smiled, and looked to the men left standing, his core advisers.

“But let it be ingrained in my heart, the memory of your trust. I will aspire to the responsibilities of every roman: to cleans Evil from this world, and bring light to the lands. Just, temperate, humility, diligence, It will be known where ever I go, that I aspire to these virtues of Constantine. I, Flavius Claudius, cannot accept the purple because I lack the merit, but I accept the name Constantine, for it is he I strive to be.”

“All hail,” Helvetius was the first to lead the cheer, "All hail Flavius Claudius Constantinus, Magister Militum per Britannia!"

“All hail Constantine!” the men shouted, "Marshal of Britannia!"

The cheers spread from the center of camp, soldiers, guards, and even the prisoners now clutched to their meat loafs are declaring their loyalty at the top of their lungs.

And soon, miles out, the echos can be heard:

"All hail Constantine, Magister Militum per Britannia."

[Antiokhos Euergetes]

Loved it ...cannot wait for more I hope the new Constantine is recognised by the East, though pretty unlikely considering the family ties to the current emperor.

[baozi]

Loved it ...cannot wait for more I hope the new Constantine is recognised by the East, though pretty unlikely considering the family ties to the current emperor.

Its a fair game so far, the two Emperors hate each other and Claudius Constantinus is still officially subordinate to the authority of the Emperors. The east might very well support his campaigns of "cleansing" the Western court.

Now the Prelude chapters are done, Constantine and his legions will cross into Gaul against the Barbarians. And of course, the Roman troops in Gaul will have to choose who's order they follow: the ones from the Capital, the legitement authority of the Empire. Or Constantine, the self proclamation Marshal of Britannia who is rallying them against the invaders


Breakthrough on the editing side. I finally got customized single units to work.

[baozi]

CHAPTER 8. Coming of a tide

The black smoke fueled by industries of Camulodunum accompanies the excitement in the air. Every day, hundreds of arrow heads, spear heads and blades turn out form the forges, equipping Constantine’s ever expanding army.

All of Britannia is at Constantine’s command. He used the tax he collected to put all of Britannia to work, buying all surplus supplies and manpower.

Today was especially special. The city’s 3 legions, 6000 men are boarding onto ships leaving for Gaul. Quite a crowd gathered for their farewell. Most of the recruits are from youths from the countryside, or unskilled laborers from the small towns. They are bolstered by men of the Limitanei, part time police-militia units that are conscripted for the campaign. They’ve come a long way since the death of Marcus, and then Gratian. The Limitanei of Camulodunum transformed from a glorified police force to the core units of the new Britannic Army. They are supplemented with recruits from the country side, and their spears make up the bulk of the “New Model” Legions.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

In Constantine’s new reformed Legions, these units support heavy armored infantry that act as break through force.

Next to the crowd of women and children sharing their goodbyes, quite a different crowd gathered.

Those are the wealthy elites of the region.

“We agreed that’s how we are going to raise him. My child is not your political career!” Pansa’s wife Gilla gave his husband her last goodbyes as she slapped him in his shoulder.

“Yes, yes I love you too.” Pansa waved impatiently, and headed towards his guards standing on the side. The crowd smiled, and he smiled back, reaching out to shake the forearms a few very notable individuals in the process.

His son, Authorius Pansa greeted him in front of his men in full armor, and begins to accompany him to the transport ships

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“Legio V Britannia volunteers for vanguard operation, Imperator!” Authorius was eager to have his first sight of combat.

“Relax my son,” Pansa dismissed coolly as they begin heading for the ship, “We are not the first British force landing in Gaul. Constantine had already sent his son with a hundred men across the channel few weeks ago.”

“To do what?” Authorius was quite confused about this infiltration tactic, and defiantly Constantine didn’t need to endanger his son to scout the terrain.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“To make allies, he wants to make a statement about the type of realm he wants to run.” The elder Pansa replied. They walked pass the last few contingents of their men and into their ship, “If you met his son Constans, you would know what I mean.”






The other side of the channel is a dark and gaudy place. The town of Crocatonum was one of second wave of settlements that was overran, after the defeat of the Roman counter attack to stop the German hordes pouring through the Rhine.

The town is filled with refugees from cities further into the frontiers and peasants seeking shelter from the country side.

The scene is rather confusing. A large Germanic warband came right after the front collapsed, and ensured the protection of the town in exchange for food and money. An agreement was reached but the town hasn’t heard from that them since.

Next to palisade walls a small party ready themselves for departure. They are led by Aulus Norbanus, an Engineer. They are about to go on a mission to check on the Large city of Rotomagus, to see if any roman civil authority still stands.

“Horses are too easily seen. We’ll be avoiding the roads, better to hide from the barbarians since we carry weapons.” Norbanus said to the commander-mayor of the city, Tiberius Servilius, who stood worrying beside him.

“When you get to Rotomagus, tell them we can hold off on our own. Just ask them to include us if they are negotiating. ” Servilius reminded.

“But that comes after the aqueduct, we can’t keep losing people fetching for water.” Norbanus muttered as he looked to fields beyond the town wall. Those familiar hills are now crawling with various Germanic bands with different allegiances.

The two exchanges their goodbyes and the small group of a dozen men begins to make for the hills.

Snow had just begin to melt, revealing the well preserved bodies hidden beneath, attesting the chaos in the past months.

Most of the dead were Germanic warriors, killed by each other. But it was still common to see the butchered remains of a Roman family who tried their luck in the hills after Imperial forces retreated.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The party stayed away from the roads taking the hill paths along the aqueduct, but still they saw from afar charred remains of what once were Roman settlements. But as the trail went on, hills and forest gave away to the flat planes of Gaul.

Worse, now they know they were followed.

“Romans, what are you doing?” the sound of crude Latin spoken by a Germanic came from the side. The party immediately drew out their weapons.

A few Germanic youths stood up from their hiding place, some wearing roman tunics. Their leader, who wore a hood, approached with a big smile, “come on, relax, no one is trying to get killed here.”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“We are protected by Dornic and his host.” Norbanus identified himself to the Germanic.

“Yes we know, Dornic is our chieftan. We were sent here to make sure no misunderstanding happens.” The Germanic replied, his sharp features and bright pale eyes were calming to look upon, and his tone was friendly.

“I’m not taking chances with these Germanic scum.” One of the men in the party whispered to Norbanus. The youthful Germanic heard their whispers, but only smiled politely at them.

“But we’ll have to walk along the aqueduct to find the part that needs fixing. If we are going to be in the open, might as well be with a few Germanics.” Norbanus turned and whispered back, making sure the Germanic didn’t hear him this time.

Finally the rest of the party agreed to be accompanied by the few Germans, who strolled beside the party. The group walked in the openly along the aqueduct and soon, the party came across another band of Germanics.

But this time, they are professional warriors.

“Ahh Bruder!” the young Germanic that walked with Norbanus went forth with open arms.

The Germanic leading the warriors was unimpressed. He went forth to Norbanus and his companions, and begins to scrutinize each of them while conversing with the Young Germanic. Bargaining as he moved to look at the next Roman.

“That’s it, we are leaving.” Norbanus is unnerved by the secrecy of their conversation, and drew out his sword. The rest of his eleven companions followed and readied their spears. The Germanics standing around them responded by also arming themselves and began to shout at the Romans in foul tongues.

“Relax you idiot!” The young Germanic shouted as he ran back to Norbanus, “Do you know how hard I am trying to get us out of here?” His voice was anxious.

“These people are not my people! But they think we are your people!” The fear was real, and indeed, many Imperial citizens are Germanics, or part Germanic. It is also not uncommon to see Germanic warriors in service as sell swords in Roman territory.

“Then get on with yourselves, we our getting out of here” Norbanus replied as he shoved the youth back, he didn’t like how close the Barbarians are getting.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Around twenty warriors, armed with shields and axe, wearing chainmail.

And suddenly, the Germanic Youth leaped onto him.

“What are you doing?” Norbanus shouted in horror as the young German grabbed his sword hand; shouting began all around them as the Gemainic warriors unleashed themselves on the Romans.

The youth gripped Norbanus by the wrist, and with a tiny knife in his other hand, plunged into Norbanus’s sword arm. He then left the wounded arm limp down with the sword, and with a now free hand, knocked Norbanus on his back with a punch to the face.

When the poor roman finally regained his vision, he saw the Germanic youth standing on top of him

“You are a slave now,” The youth smiled as he juggled the coins in his hand, “he is your new master.”

A Germanic warrior in full mail crouched down new to the Roman, and begins to scrutinize the downed man.

“If you think I will kneel down to a savage, you are dead wrong.” Norbanus shouted, he still had his dignity “I AM A ROMAN! I am a freeman, a thinker! An INTELLECTUAL! I am a free thinking being and I will not be the property of another! I AM A CITIZEN OF THE EMPIRE, YOU SAVAGE!”

The German warrior remained crouching, his eyes filled with amusement. And finally, with a crude accent, he uttered in Latin:

“I can’t wait to break you.”

[baozi]

It's been a long month of summer school, and I admit my slothfulness got the better part of me. But Flavius Claudius Constantanious is coming back with full force, along with a few historical characters I'm blending in for good measure.

As some may notice, I've created a few units especially for Constantine's "rebel faction," his armies will be more of a medieval blend, but not as professional as the western Army

Tell me if you like the style I'm going for, any tips with picture/ character clothing and writing techniques are all very welcome! Its the satisfaction of you bro's im working for!

[Alwyn]

I look forward to the return of Flavius Claudius Constantanious and am intrigued by what you will do with the historical characters. You've created some units for this story - that sounds impressive. You asked if readers like your style. I like your writing. You use dialogue well to set the scene and to develop the drama - I particularly enjoyed the surprise for Mascezel. The opening of Chapter 8 worked very well for me - the full strength and industry of Britannia supporting Constantine's army. Your screenshots are well-chosen, the way that you use them to illustrate characters and conversations is very effective.

[baozi]

Thanks for the kind words Alwyn! I'm a real try hard when it comes to camera work, especially since I want my readers to forget that the pictures are from an RTS game. I defiantly love to dance around battles and have a bunch of backstory lead to an epic confrontation. I just hope my slow pace doesn't put off too many readers

[baozi]

CHAPTER 9. Desolation (I)

The Bishopric and town of Saint Lo rest peacefully under the stars: its abandoned buildings half hidden beneath snow and ice. The nature claims it now. Weeds are overtaking gardens while crows’ fest on the remains.

The bishop in charge of the town mistook retreating roman troops as a Germanic vanguard, and greeted them along the palisade wall.

He paid for that mistake dearly. Now, his frozen, half rotten corpse hangs on its neck in the town market.

“Turncoat” Muttered Batiatus as he read the pig blood painted on the dead bishop in Latin.

The British convoy had just arrived into town. They landed mere hours ago under cover of the night. They are tasked to reach Rotomagus, the only City on the Northern Gallic coast with a deep sea port that’s capable of harboring large transport ships.

Now, they stroll through the desolated market. Around them, dead litter the melting snow.

“Find a mill to grind the grain, and fetch water from the fountains.” In the background, Vertigernius ordered the men to scavenge for supplies. While roman towns are desolated, their infrastructures and sanitation systems are still in function.

As the men scattered to carry out orders, Batiatus walked up to a counter stand and placed his hands on the cold surface.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“This land is God’s now,” He sighed.

“God is with us, not with the land.” Young Flavius Claudius, the eldest son of Flavius Claudius Constantine, replied as he walked up to the same stand. He still dressed modestly in black, the same style as he wore in the monastery, and did not wear armor nor carry arms.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The young man followed Batiatus’s gaze to a dead women just feet away in the middle of the square. Her head split open, her hand, still clenching to a cross on her neck.

The winter frost preserved her perfectly. Along with the scene of her execution.

“The glory of god is no longer felt here,” young Claudius sighed as he fixed his eyes on the dead woman, “if we die, we stay as god’s monuments.”

The two men were silent. Here in Gaul, they have no allies. Barbarians will kill them as Romans and Romans will kill them as rebels. It would not be far-fetched to say they could soon be in place of those frozen corpse.

“The only thing I no longer feel is Imperial presence,” Batiatus replied as he attempts to brighten their mood. He helped himself to the wine left on the counter and continued, “but If god is all you speak of to Rotomagnus you better rethink your speech.”

“Barbarians are coming and they are sheep; Imperials troops are abandoning them. We are the only thing they’ve got.” The young man laughed lightly as Batiatus handed him a drink, “Fear, intimidation, what else do I need.”

Batiatus looked to young Claudius coldly as he latter enjoyed his drink in euphoric.

“What? Have I got something wrong?” young Claudius asked.

“The bishop had been hanging there before everyone else died. The winter preserved the bodies and his is half rotten.” Batiatus sipped his wine as he leaned back on the counter and begin to hypothesize: “Imperial troops probably hung him to keep the town in line, but abandoned their position soon after. There are signs of fighting but all the dead are romans. Chances are another town turned on their own.”

“For what?” asked Claudius shockingly, “all the wine and goods are here. What could turn a Christian against his own in this dire of a time?”

“Bread, of course,” Batiatus replied without hesitation.

“Sir, the grain storage was ransacked.” Vertigernius’s report confirmed Batiatus’s theory. Constans sat down his up, obviously sickened by the actions of his fellow Romans.

“Smarted up lad,” smirked Batiatus as he shifted his gaze from the rotten bishop hanging in the market square to the dead woman clutching to the cross, “All the good Christians are dead.”




###############################################################

A half Chapter update to let everyone know I'm still alive. I've been writing a bit of the story, working out some plots and developing the story line of characters who provide perspective from the POV of the Imperial Court in Italy. The squabble over Northern Gaul has started and things will pick up quite quickly. I've also changed the chapter formatting so now each chapter will be many parts, and I can crank out chucks more efficiently and update more frequently, at least within chapters.

I can't promise routine updates due to my horrible work ethics and real life. But be assured, the plot will be sophisticated, and a web of intrigue will be in place for your amusement.

[Alwyn]

Great update with impressive images. I like the idea of Batatius and Claudius caught between the barbarians and Romans and the way that they work out what has happened in the town, based on what they see.

[baozi]

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

CHP. 9 Desolation (II)

A string of lies is a house of cards

Aulus Norbanus sat in a cart, a moving slave pen escorted by two dozen men. He had been traded four times in the last ten days.

But his latest owner have been extremely generous. Not only was he well fed and clothed well, they even got this cart for him so he won’t have to walk.

The cart is driven by warriors serving his new master, who is trading “skilled slaves” for silver.

“We got screwed Jorunnr,” The war chief’s companion muttered to his leader, a giant Norse with long blonde hair and scruffy beard, “everyone’s looking for big able bodied men who can work the lands, no one need these…tutors.”

“Yeah, look at him,” another Norsman added as he spat, “They are useless, slow, and deceitful. We also have to feed him and the horse that drags him, we can’t sustain this!”

“The men who sold him to us are idiots,” Jorunnr replied to his men, “They dressed him in rags to grind down his pride. Little do they know it is his dignity as a man that makes him valuable as a slave. The same man, bathed and well clothed make the difference of a hundred silver.”

“Rats in the dark see only what’s in front of them,” agreed Rosalind, Jorunnr’s daughter, “Those chiefs are just farmers, who are sons of farmers and will have sons that are farmers. We need to travel deeper into Gaul, towards the front lines, were we can find real warlords.”

“But we are already too far from our ships!” Another warrior reminded, “If we lose our ships, we will be trapped here.”

“No one cares about a few longships when you have cities made of marble in front on you.” Jorunnr dismissed, “And besides, best we forget our ships and go across Gaul. Then, we take a ship home from the other side.”

“You heard the chief; you are too stupid to lead so keep driving the cart.” One of the warriors joked, the men continued strolling down the Roman paved road talking excitedly about the riches that will fill their future.
Rosalind took the time to stay by the slave cart, eyeing at his father’s new purchase.

“What are you?” She looked to Norbanus, who is sitting by the corner.

Norbanus was startled by her well-spoken Latin. But claimed down as soon as he saw it was a girl wrapped in leather.

He stared her straight in the eyes and leaned back, “A Roman.”

Rosalind sneered.

“Look at you, in a cage. Yet you still feel so superior.” Rosalind mocked.

“And I had to be in a cage for you to feel superior.” Norbanus shot back, “you speak good Latin for a barbarian. But knowing the way I wear my tunic doesn’t mean you know me.”

“I know you enough to know you’re not a physician,” Rosalind looked to Norbanus’s primitively patched wound, “with an arm like that it won’t be long until your flesh rots. We’ll have to cut your arm off then, the men are just talking about that.”

The two looked to the Norse Warriors in front of them who are still talking in excitement.

Blood drained from Norbanus’s face.

“If that is God’s will. But I know I am too valuable, 20 silvers remember.” Norbanus spat, he his numb, he’s seen to much the past months to fear the bloodlust preached by the bishop during mass.

“I’m afraid I will have to,” Rosalind replied, “Your wound is infected, your arm will die without treatment. That’s why you are only 20 silvers”

“Then do something.” Norbanus ties to keep cool, but his arm immediately begins bursting in pain as sweat filled his forehead. All the dirt, blood, sweat and cloth his wound had touched, it’s no surprise it is inflected. And of course he’s worth more than 20 pieces of silver. His fields bring in at least 200 silvers with a good harvest and that’s the just his fields.

“Then answer my question slave! What are you worth saving for?” the girl shot back.

“I am an architect, I work with the aqueducts.” Norbanus sighed.

“You are useless.” Rosalind sneered as she begins to walk away.

“Wait! Wait! I am not useless,” Norbanus rushed to the fens, “I build things, I know mathematics, Geometry and Algebra.”

“That means nothing to me” The Norse girl stared back at him blankly, “but you better hope someone we meet is willing to pay for that.”

The party arrived at a ruined town and the group came to a stop.

“Why are we stopping?” Rosalind asked her father as the cart come to a halt, “The gods would not be pleased that we disturbed the dead.”

“To sustain ourselves we must live off the land” Jorunnr replied, “or whatever you call picking up after the dead. And also, here we will find good cloth to dress our noble friend in the cart. What did your mother used to say? Dress makes the man. And seal his wound, it’s not infected but it doesn’t look good, I want to get as much as I can out of him, I’m thinking 400 pieces of silver.”

“Loot? Isn’t that how they found mother? You brought her, you didn’t save her.” his daughter frowned. She signaled the men to take Norbanus out of the cage and begin to gather fire to heat a blade

“We are merely wonderers, we didn’t kill them, we didn’t disrespect them. We are just worrying about what they don’t have to worry about.” Jorunnr stressed to his frowning daughter.

Rosalind did not reply but rather fixated heating her blade. Her father, feeling the tension and disapproval in the air, left with most of the men to scavenge.

“So? What is your trade, what is geometry?” Rosalind asked as she heated her blade, and for a second her face flushed with excitement of intrigue “I mean, I know you sit in rooms with scrolls but what do you do?”

“It mathematics, very complicated.” Norbanus frowned.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“I’m the one with a heated blade,” Rosalind smiled half-jokingly as she brushed the blade next to Norbanus face to let him feel the blades warmth.

She leaned down, and the knife’s glow illuminated her pale face. Norbanus could not take his eyes off of her. She was white, extremely white like the most savage of the barbarians, and dressed in skin and fur like her fellow hill-mens. But she wore her hair like a Roman and spoke elegantly, like a proper raised woman who understands the world of men.

He condemned himself silently as he found himself drawn to her exotic beauty.

“I’m an Architect, I use Geometry to calculate and build.” He answered softly “That’s how the Empire build it’s Towns and Cathedrals…. Ahh.” Norbanus did not brace himself for the blades burn, and for a second flesh sizzled.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“Did you live well?” Rosalind continued curiosity.

“Am I worth a ransom?” Norbanus rephrased her question and laughed bitterly, “There won’t be anyone to pay if you keep slaughtering people like this.”

“Save up all that righteous speech for the people who did this, we are like you, just trying to get by.” Rosalind whispered.

“Your mother is roman?” Norbanus did not answer her question.

“Was,” The girl answered quietly, “She used to live in Germania Inferior.”

“So you are a servant then, just like me.” Norbanus laughed, Rosalind did not correct him but proceeded patching his wound.

“How much do you want?” mistaking her silence as sadness, Norbanus changed the subject .

“I want to stay.” She replied as she looked into the distance, where lush grass creeps out of the snow, “Can you make it happen?”

“Would it be crazy if I said yes?” Norbanus looked into her hazel eyes and said, “I know you are betting on the Empire, as so am I. The Empire will strike back. Rome will strike back as we always do.”

Rosalind looked away, but Norbanus gripped her by her hand.

“Listen, I know you are not a citizen.” He whispered, “But I can help you… I can protect you.”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Rosalind pulled her hand away. She looked up and down Norbanus as if she met him for the first time, “Who are you to the Romans?”

A scream from the distance interrupted Norbanus.

“What is going on” Shouted Rosalind

“Römischen Truppen!” someone shouted. Norbanus didn’t need to know Germanic to know what’s going down. But he also knew no Roman force patrols this north in Gaul.
Fighting and shouting can be heard coming from the desolated town. And Rosalind’s men rushed towards battle, leaving her to defend the merchandise.

The clash of steel stopped, and they saw torches in the distance, followed by cheers of Latin.

“Quick!” As the victorious Romans approached them in the distance, Norbanus grabbed Rosalind by the arm and pulled her onto the cart with him.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Soon, a dozen Roman military men surrounded their cart.

A leader leaned forward so he could see Norbanus and Rosalind clearly under the torchlight.

In the cart, Norbanus held Rosalind back, who is still clenching to a dagger knife.

“Thank goodness you have freed us” Norbanus shouted quickly, before the soldiers could ask any question, “Those savages took me and my wife as slaves!”

The leader’s eyes were immediately filled with sympathy

“Sir. My lady.” The soldier nodded to them politely, “You have suffered too much. Gaul Have suffered too much. But have no fear, the Britannic legions are here.”

[waveman]

Excellent, and its certainly nice to see this piece back. I'm certainly interested to see how the Brittanic legions fare

[baozi]

Chapter 10. Rejuvenation (I)

While the Rest of the Empire rejuvenates itself from the bitterness of winter, spring has long arrived in Italy. For many months the citizens of Rome lived in fear as Aleric’s Gothic army grinded their way toward the eternal city. But there are days when spirits are lifted, and today is one of such day.

On Milvian Bridge across the Tiber, two regiments of men are reenacting a historical battle that defined Christendom.

Men with white cross painted on their blue shield took the field and the crowd went wild, throwing at them bundles of flower and bronze coins. Before them, Imperial household troops who serve the organizer of the event formed a thin line to hold back the energetic crowd.

“Bless you! Bless you!” women and men cheered alike as Constantine’s cohorts played by Italian boarder troops approached the bridge. The people of Rome needed this; they needed the legions of Italy to demonstrate their martial power. They needed to feel safe in this uncertain time.

“Fine citizens of Rome, reenacted by the urban cohorts of the Eternal city, I give you: THE LEGIONS OF MAXENTIAN!” the announcer shouted as men with red shield crossed the bridge.
This time the crowd cheered harder, at the top of their lungs.

These are the certain advantages of a home field.

But when everyone watched eagerly as the two lines inched closer to each other, Claudian was scanning the crowd looking for someone.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Then he saw the Imperial banners clustered around a group of guards, and he knew he found her.

“Pardon me, excuse me.” The court poet apologized as he squeezed through the crowd to reach the front, next to a famine figure surrounded by Imperial bodyguards.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“Your highness,” He whispered as he reached the beautiful woman surrounded by guard, “thank you for meeting me.”

“Speak, but don’t look at me,” Replied Placidia, the Princess of the Empire, “It is best if no one knows of this conversation.”

The crowd roared as a cohort drew its sword in salute to the spectators. Placidia and Claudian clapped along.

Indeed, a mob is the best cover.

“I didn’t want to meet through proxies, what I have to say is far too dangerous for a messenger.” Claudian continued.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“Then spill it, I am here.” smiled Placidia as she waved back to the young officers saluting her again and again hoping to catch her eye.

“Mascezel didn’t drown. He was executed.” Claudian went straight to the point, “Stilicho was there and he gave the orders.”

The crowd went wild once more as the two opposing sides came face to face.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Claudian clapped along. But Placidia, still digesting the news, did not.

“Who else knows?” Placidia asked

“No one,” Claudian replied, “Only I and Mascezel entered the fort. Everyone else in there served in Stilicho’s guard, Barbarians who probably didn’t even speak Latin.”

“A gross exaggeration, but I get your point.” Placidia frowned. Claudian was tasked by the Emperor Honorius himself to accompany Mascezel. Executing Mascezel in front of him was way out of line. Even for Stilicho.

“Did he have the consent of His Imperial Majesty?” Claudian asked. If anyone would know, it’ll be the Emperor’s sister. They’ve always been close.

“Not that I know of,” The princess sighed as her heart tightened. Both she and Honorius were practically raised by Stilicho; they saw him as the fatherly figure. But even a father has fine lines.

“Where does your loyalty lie?” Placidia suddenly turned and looked Claudian dead in the eye.

Claudian drew a cold breath. Her eyes were cold, the same look he saw in those of Stilicho before he had Mascezel strangled.

“To my patron; the Emperor” Claudian responded firmly as he met the princess’s sharp gaze.

“Even above Rome?”

“Yes, even above Rome.” affirmed Claudian

Placidia eyes softened as she turned back to the mock battle raging before them.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“You are an honorable man, Claudian, to be ready to lay your life down for your patron, ” She whispered to him, “but no matter how strongly you feel, no matter how far Stilicho oversteps, you must make sure my brother continue to follow his advices.”

“Stilicho is bypassing the authority of his majesty! Many of us in court have seen it for far too long. Olympius, the captain of the Imperial guard has hinted to me repeatedly that many in the Italian legions feel the same way.” Claudian’s face brightened with passion as he tried his best to suppress the volume of his anger.

“Stilicho is the only force holding my Brother’s Empire together; without him, the Empire fractures, your patron fells. Both you and I are in no position to think otherwise.” Sneered Placidia frankly. She paused for a moment and continued in a much softer tone, “Claudian my dear, you must make sure the court continues to take orders from Stilicho as if they come directly from the Emperor. In this day and age, the House of Theodosius must remain united; we are already fighting a proxy war against my dear brother Arcadius. We cannot afford to have a coup.”

The crowd cheered again. But neither the two were in the mood to pretend along. Claudian stood silently as he processed what the Princess just said, and the Princesses waited patiently for an answer.

“Yes, your highness.” Claudian looked up and replied in determination, “I will labor day and night to maintain the balance of power between his majesty and the Magister Militum. I will be a flea at Olympius ear, reminding him constantly of the consequence, should he ever move against Stilicho.”

“The Emperor must never know. He will be devastated if he found out Stilicho has gone around him. He is a father to us,” Placidia reminded as she gave him the gesture to leave, “now please, I would like to watch these men playing soldier.”

“Of course your highness,” replied Claudian.

He gave a quick nod and disappeared into the crowd.

“He’s gone?” The Princess asked her guards moments later.

“Yes, my lady.” A retainer replied.

“Good, send words to the Magister Militum. Tell him I’ve taken care of Claudian and secured the loyalty of the Imperial Court.” Ordered Placidia coldly, she then paused for a second before continuing, “And prepare a ship, it’s time I pay my brother a visit.”

“Your highness, It’d be easier if we take the road to Ravenna,” one of her guard suggested

“No,” Placidia turned around and began to make her way out of the crowd, who are still glued to the reenactment, “We are going to Constantinople.”