Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 6/2/12]
Originally Posted by Mr. Bean Laden
Ah, the feeling of power, that hundreds or thousands of men are under your command. It's such a feeling that my Melas doesn't really have yet. I'm anxious to know if there will be any rebellions that need to be brought down by Laenas in "his" new lands. Keep it up!
I doubt it. It's only one tiny section on the world-map and, with Geminus keeping order/being pretty good at management, I reckon it'll leave Laenas free time to get on with the important things. Like building stuff and preparing for an inevitable attack by the rest of the German tribes. Oh, and raising his own personal army.
We had been at, what I had renamed, Chattium, caput gentis of the Chatti people, for a number of weeks and already the “fame” of the large settlement had spread throughout the Roman Empire.
Before long, my own province was near overran with both Romans and peregrini from various places all over the empire. Not only that, but we also became host to a number of the Roman worlds greatest minds, in return for a substantial fee of course.
Architects the like of Publius Crispus the curly-haired, a Roman provincial of Carthaginian descent who happened to be one of the greatest creators of buildings and sewage systems anywhere in the Roman world at the time. With him came the likes of Titus Horatius Marcellus, a former first spear centurion from the Legio III Gallica, one that had made the journey from Asia Minor to Germania because he refused to serve under Titus any longer, and was warmly accepted as a trainer of Germani. Another figure, one essential to any growing province, was the wise and long-bearded Eirenaios of Tyritake, a town in the Bosporan Kingdom known for its wine and fish but also for the most excellent administrative and organisational mind of Eirenaios.
It was with these three men, as well as Geminus, his optio and the Angle brothers, acting as “representatives” of the German tribes, that I had my first official gathering of opinions and minds as rector provinciae of the former Chatti tribe-lands.
**********
The wild, whipping, winds buffeted the stalwart and the stout outside of the walls of the German long-hall, the thatched rooftop sopping with the water of three days of rain but still keeping those inside dry and relatively warm. What warmth was not kept in by the rooftop was more than made up for by the blazing fire in the hearth of the hall, waves of heat washing over those sitting at the thick-legged and long oblong table dominating the halls centre, the hearth hollowed out into the left wall of the edifice and the wood then covered in thick layers of clay to make the wood proof against the fire.
My cloak, the cloak of my grandfather, spread dripping droplets of rain all across the rush-covered floor as I made my way to the head of the table and the position of power. There was really nothing special about the chair, imported, like the ones on which my comrades sat, from Italia herself and bought here, but it gave me a sense of ownership and possession when I sat at the head of the equally imported table and asserted my dominance over others.
In fact, nothing within the hall, nor most of the hall, were actually German-built or German-crafted, the hall having been smaller and without a hearth when I had first taken semi-residence in it. Originally, as was the way with Germans and other barbarians, there had been a central fire pit in the room and the assembled elders, warlords etcetera, would have sat about it and discussed whatever issues were overtaking their peoples.
As it was, I much preferred a more civilised approach to discussion.
“Thanks to Crispus, for his completion of the hall,” I laughed as I gestured to the African with a grin on my face, “without which we would have no place to conduct business or such a place worthy enough in with to drink ourselves into a stupor.”
There was a spatter of chuckles as I took my seat, placing my hands and elbows onto the table before me, raising a hand for silence.
After all was still and soundless, a slave came out from the columned alcoves carrying a tray on which stood Gallic-crafted drinking vessels and wine imported from the best vineyards of Hispania, everything which was needed available in the interior provinces of the empire if one had enough coin to pay for it. I was so fortunate.
Once the slave was gone, his face downcast the entire time, invisible beneath his long Dacian locks of chestnut brown, our cups well filled and our pallets eager for speech, I began the proceedings with a toast to the Emperor and his heir and then we got to the real issues.
“Crispus, speak to me.”
“Everything is on schedule, praetor. We have all the raw materials we need to construct whatever you should desire, whether from the mines in the bosom of this landscape, or from its vast forests that encroach on us from every corner.”
My eyebrows raised a little and I nodded contentedly, “defensive structures?” His lips twitched upwards at the corners and he leant forward in his seat, “we already have the palisades in place, higher than a man and thicker than a body, and are currently working on replacing that with a wall of stone and, in time, towers and a gatehouse as well. Stone in something not so plentiful here, except the course and not easily moulded type, but I shall see it done.”
This was all I needed to hear from Crispus, because if he told me it would happen, then there was no doubt in my mind that he would get it done.
“Centurion Marcellus, what have you to say about your current charges?”
The Evocati stood stiffly, his back straight and rigid as a spear, his scarred visage and heavily set square jaw appearing to barely move as he spoke, even though the gravelly voice still rolled over our ears. I smiled slightly, he reminded me so much of the Roman Berengar, stout, broad and muscular. I also had it on good authority that the two of them got on very well together.
“Praetor, as I have said before, these German lads are natural born warriors, every single one, even if it is not their actual profession. So far we have neither the facilities to train them as nor the uniforms or weapons to equip them as true auxiliaries of the Roman Empire. So, at this time, they are being formed into various warbands and assigned officers of Roman origin to act as numerii for the time being. Once we have enough mail, helmets, and so on to equip an entire cohort, then you shall have your soldiers.”
“I like you and thank you Marcellus,” I replied by way of a compliment, “you are straight to the point and wise in your own way. Please, be seated, my friend.”
Lastly was Eirenaios of Tyritake, his long, almost snow white, beard in stark contrast to the clean-shaven face of Polymestor who now sat next to him and had rapidly formed a bond with his fellow Hellenic Bosporan kinsman. Much like them Geminus and Crispus had formed a pair with one another, and of course the two brothers German had, now it seemed that Marcellus and I were somewhat isolated.
“Eirenaios, your views then, if you please.”
“Praetor, it is my belief that these peoples can be taught to appreciate the finer things in life without the overuse of force. I believe too that they should be more than capable of learning to speak both Latin and Greek fluently, in time. Writing, however, may be a little harder to teach. For they have no writing system but what they call runes, and runes are not written lightly or often because they are believed to carry great power.”
I raised a hand to silence him, telling him that I understood this and would not hold him responsible if it took longer than needed to spread the ways of civilisation to them. I then asked about their beliefs and the Greek answered with well measured and researched thought.
“Each tribe worships the same group of deities, though they fight one another unflinchingly, telling the same tales of these Gods throughout Germania and using artistic depictions of them on brooches, sword-hilts, jewellery and the like. Women are also well respected, especially holy women, seen as servants of the Gods and treated with reverence no matter what tribe they are from or what tribe they travel to.”
I swung my head about to look at Avidius, the astute Chattian inclining his head in a slow nod, confirming all that the Greek said to be true.
“Now to those who know this land best...is all prepared, my friends?”
Avidius, as usual, translated for his hulking mass of a brother and the other one smiled beneath his shaggy mane, giving me a wide-mouthed smile and a thorough shaking of his head.
“It is, Praetor. The chieftains of the neighbouring tribes will begin to arrive within a few days, they have requested a traditional gathering in the style of the Germanic peoples and not of the Romans. More importantly though, they are willing to listen to what you have to say, as long as you can make it convincing.”
**********
And this is how it all began, my trail into a newer life, one I could not not have seen coming.
I shall leave you with all this, for now, but soon I shall return to tell of further meetings and the forming of relationships that some could consider unbreakable.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 10/2/12]
Aha! Caught up, finally!
Well, where to start?! I think I said I was surprised to see you skip a generation, but it made for quite a fresh approach nevertheless, and I am now quite enamoured with B.M. Laenas. To me, in some aspects, he seems a lot more 'human' in his approach, and I dare say Roman. He is urbane almost, especially in the later Chapters where he has seemingly given himself into luxury and the power over a province. I also liked that he began not as a coward so much, but 'green' and that he bolted and fled, even soiled himself, in his first battle.
I think it really makes the story that much more believable. I can also just picture your band being attacked by the Dacians, whom were ever at peace with you. It happens quite frequently in my campaign too, it just doesn't make sense. But it makes for good reading nonetheless! I'm also quite happy with the entourage he has gathered, in particular the two German brothers, and the fact one of them doesn't speak Latin, also quite real and believable. It reminds us all that the Roman army wasn't all homogeneous. It was also a sad end to Thiacus, killed by his own countrymen, at the age of 81, and quite ironic too! For he did die where he wanted to I suppose... a tragedy no doubt.
There were a few times however when you lost me, ie the Romans in Gotland. Were they Roman rebels who had taken residence there? Personally I thought that part felt... I don't know, out of place maybe? Also, you mentioned Jesus of Nazareth, now, I don't know if you are following historical events as they should, or if because of player interaction, history has changed in all the obvious and none-obvious ways, but wouldn't Christ only be born for another 70-100 years? Isn't it like 100 B.C at the moment?
My only other feedback would be to maybe bring B.M Laneas' emotions and personal struggles a little more to the fore. So far he doesn't seem to have developed any interests in women or suitors, or slaves even, and I keep forgetting how old he is, so maybe reference that every now and again? I really enjoyed reading those bits in the previous AAR, like when Thiacus was knocked in the back of the head by a recruit, or when his friend died, hell, even the exchange between him and the guardsmen at Mediolanum. All little tidbits that add to the flavour of the story I feel. I was also quite surprised he seemed to forget his pledge to utterly destroy the Dacians, I know he fought in the battle of Sarmisegethusa-Regia, but I felt there could have been a bit more hatred from him there, after all they did kill his grandfather and he did swear to kill them all.
Other than that, this is an excellent work, and I really can't wait to see how it develops now that B.M Laenas is in a position of power! Will be abuse it? Will he go to far? Will he be nice to the people? Please do continue!
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 10/2/12]
On the ball, as usual, and seemingly taking a greater interest in my writing...not sure if I should feel complimented or very afraid. Anywho, down to the drawing board.
There were a few times however when you lost me, ie the Romans in Gotland. Were they Roman rebels who had taken residence there? Personally I thought that part felt... I don't know, out of place maybe? Also, you mentioned Jesus of Nazareth, now, I don't know if you are following historical events as they should, or if because of player interaction, history has changed in all the obvious and none-obvious ways, but wouldn't Christ only be born for another 70-100 years? Isn't it like 100 B.C at the moment?
About the island; yes, it was out of place, even for me. I discovered a group of Roman rebels, from the second triggered rebellion in RSII had actually survived and apparently gone to Gotland. Only found them again by accident, being so small and what-not that I had never noticed them there before.
About Jesus; Again, you're correct. Apparently it's about 125 BC at the moment, but I'm not really fussed about that. I feel it adds to the tale, then again this is also an alternative timeline. Nonetheless, your point is well seen, and I shall keep an eye on things like this in the future.
So far he doesn't seem to have developed any interests in women or suitors, or slaves even, and I keep forgetting how old he is, so maybe reference that every now and again?
Good point, missed out on that too actually, totally skipped my mind. He is currently 24 though, just so you know. As for his interest in anyone...well you've not read the next update yet, so I'll say no more on that.
I know he fought in the battle of Sarmisegethusa-Regia, but I felt there could have been a bit more hatred from him there, after all they did kill his grandfather and he did swear to kill them all.
True, true. The thing is that an overwhelming Roman force went into Dacia, he was leading the German Bodyguard and therefore had to remain with Publius Augustus and his son whilst other forces assailed and took Dacian strongholds/destroyed Dacian armies. But, yes, I see what you mean about that too.
Thanks for your always honest, and commonly flattering, assessment and I shall hope not to disappoint with the rest of my writing.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 10/2/12]
Originally Posted by McScottish
On the ball, as usual, and seemingly taking a greater interest in my writing...not sure if I should feel complimented or very afraid. Anywho, down to the drawing board.
Haha well like I said, I was late on the boat with this one! And afraid... lol don't be silly
Originally Posted by McScottish
About the island; yes, it was out of place, even for me. I discovered a group of Roman rebels, from the second triggered rebellion in RSII had actually survived and apparently gone to Gotland. Only found them again by accident, being so small and what-not that I had never noticed them there before.
Oh I see. That's what I thought, but it is very hard to know as a reader, as we can't see what you're seeing in the map. I've not come across scripted rebellions in any of the mods I played, so I was quite confused you see.
Originally Posted by McScottish
About Jesus; Again, you're correct. Apparently it's about 125 BC at the moment, but I'm not really fussed about that. I feel it adds to the tale, then again this is also an alternative timeline. Nonetheless, your point is well seen, and I shall keep an eye on things like this in the future.
Oh it's not a problem at all, I wasn't sure if it was an oversight or a conscious plot element by your part, but now that I know, I will remember to take it in that spirit in the future.
Originally Posted by McScottish
Good point, missed out on that too actually, totally skipped my mind. He is currently 24 though, just so you know. As for his interest in anyone...well you've not read the next update yet, so I'll say no more on that.
Originally Posted by McScottish
Thanks for your always honest, and commonly flattering, assessment and I shall hope not to disappoint with the rest of my writing.
Oooh.. good, I look forward to reading it then! And glad to be of help.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 10/2/12]
No such in depth analysis of your writing from me Mr McScottish, however I like the way you have with words...I can sit there, read it and imagine the course of events unfolding in vivid detail.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 10/2/12]
Many Meetings, Part II – Winter 629 A.U.C
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
The Germans loved to feast, or so I was told by anyone I questioned on German etiquette and festivity.
They loved to feast, carouse and make merry as often and as heavily as they could, especially when it came to swallowing whole amphorae of wine and horns of their own thickly brewed beer which, to us Romans, tasted much like the Germans looked and spoke, robust and heavy with a kick and that usually ended up giving one a headache the following day.
It was on the recommendation of my Germanic comrades and the wise Bosporan Greek long-beard that I decided, to indulge our soon-to-be-visitors, as well as to place myself firmly in their graces, to arrange and orchestrate the largest and greatest feast ever seen in the land of the Chatti before the Boii occupation of earlier years.
Of course, as any reader will know, though I will tell you anyway, such a course held other targets in mind. For example, the Chatti, unlike tribes such as the Suebi, were a reasonably united people and more than happy to follow a single leader to battle, war and in all things, if he could prove himself worthy.
Once Decimus the Killer had dispatched the entire Boii royal line, a feat I imagine shall never be repeated by any other, there had immediately emerged a loss of a figurehead and direct leadership amongst the Chatti and, as governor and servant of the Emperor, I saw it as my sworn duty to take as direct control of these people as possible.
Such a path, a choice, was open to me now, and I would walk it with a firm stride and resolve until the entire land within the folds of the Hercynian forest and running to the edge of the plains lay under my direct authority, along with the people therein.
During the winter, one which never seemed to end in these frozen northern lands, I had learnt much about the German peoples and even more about those under my direct sphere of influence, Avidius and Berengar being of great help as usual. To me, the Chatti were a fascinating people, and if I was to place myself as their figurehead and leader then I would need to understand them or fail miserably in my self-appointed task.
Where to begin...well, as I had come to know, the women were treated with a good degree of respect. I can state now that it was certainly a greater amount than afforded to many of the women in the Roman Empire, women expected to be and made very much as robust as the men by their exposure to the constant dangers and the environment of Germania and its clogging forests of blackened wood. It was also bought to my attention, strolling as I did through the streets of Chattium as was my want, that a good many of the Gods representatives were female but also that, on that topic, there were no real shrines or edifices created to honour the Germanic deities, who were instead worshipped freely in the open places of the countryside, in the forest clearings, by the babbling brooks, beneath a waterfall or anywhere the recipient wished to pray to or beseech the Gods.
Another custom of the Chatti, though not exclusive to this particular people, is the growing and then shaving of hair after the first blooding of a young warrior. They grow their facial hair, and that of their head, until they have killed an enemy in battle, only then able to cut their hair and shave their cheeks clean. This can be done after a battle, removing and taking the adversaries head as proof, or in the midst of combat whilst standing astride ones prize, like a hunter rising above ones kill in a proud display of might.
Along these lines are a special sort of combatant, what one would call members of a warrior caste amongst the Chatti, who wear an iron ring about their neck and grow their hair wild and free in the manner of the Dacians or former wild Gauls. These men , young and old alike, act more like mercenaries than warriors, forming a specific band of warriors who take to the field before any other and leave when all others have gone. They appear to know no fear, no pain, no gratitude to anyone, but will give their honour and a grudging respect to anyone who has earned it.
Veering away from their customs, to the people themselves, they are hardy and vigorous folk, the men strong of limb and straight of cause and the women attractive and unusually chaste for members of a barbarian society.
Both sexes usually dress in rough-spun clothing, the German matrons not known for their crafting of silk or fine garments as are our own, and delight especially in bright colours. Each gender also wears clothing similar in that they are tight-fitting, the men wearing trousers commonly made of leather or animal hide, adopted readily by cavalry alae stationed on the Rhenus frontier, with cloaks fastened at the shoulder covering their torso, commonly with a tunic beneath it or nothing at all, whilst the women wear bodices and close-fitting garments which are often covered by an outer garb in the form of a cloak or animal hides.
Weapons amongst the tribe, as learnt with the help of Centurion Marcellus, are not all that varied and indeed most are not quite as lethal as those used by Roman soldiers either. In fact some, such as simple wooden clubs, could well be considered extremely inadequate in battle. If I had not seen clubs used as lethal weapons before, then I may well believe so myself.
Spears are the most common weapon, simply made and roughly hewn, an assortment of different shaped heads forged in flame and expertly made to kill a man or an animal. They use these averagely six-foot weapons with proficient skill, the men of the Chatti well practised in their use no matter their occupation. It is a testament, I think, to the simple lifestyle and economical mindset of the German that such a singularly simple weapon can be turned into their primary weapon of war, some even theorising that the word and name Germani comes from a native word ger, meaning spear, and the mani or people or men.
Other implements are crudely forged daggers, axes, both for throwing and closer combat, and hunters bows, swords being both a rarity and a sign of status amongst many of the tribes. The sword is also used as a sacrificial item, remarkably thrown into sacred bogs and rivers with some frequency to appease or pay the Gods.
It was my judgement that, should I be able to equip such a fierce people with Roman arms, and add Roman discpline to their wild and savage nature, they would make first-class fighting men and the conquest of another province for the empire would be assured. Should they decide to turn against us, however, we would have a fight on our hands such as never been seen since before I was born.
It was a risk that I was more than willing to take, for Roma, and, with all honesty, for my self.
**********
“Praetor, sir!” Said Marcellus as he snapped to attention just inside the door of my tent, his arm raising itself in a well-drilled salute and his eyes focusing on an area just over my shoulder as I changed clothing, “the tribal chiefs and their retinues have began to arrive. I've asked Geminus and your two Germans to make them comfortable, sir.”
I frowned for a moment when he said “your two Germans”, but dismissed it almost immediately, gesturing for him to leave with a lazy wave of my hand toward the tent flap. Arranging a cloak over your shoulder and clasping it together was hard enough without someone interrupting and standing to watch you.
A sigh escaped from between my lips as I put the finishing touches to my apparel for the cold evening, hoping to make a good impression on the guests I was receiving for the promised feast and negotiations. Already I knew that Geminus and his Gallic cohort would be ushering the tribal leaders, one chosen man and a translator, into the main long-hall whilst the rest of their retinue and any gifts they may have bought along to Chattium were sent to another, smaller, hall only a few feet away. I only hoped nothing untoward would happen between the various delegations, at least not until I got there anyway.
“Mirror,” I yelled, “bring me a mirror!”
In no time at all, the mere blink of an eye, the same Dacian slave that had served us wine only days earlier ran through the flap and presented me with a full-body mirror of the best quality to be found. He kept his head down as I admired myself, taking in both him and the reflection, my physique that of a twenty-four year old in his prime and with the body of a Greek Olympic athlete, swathed in my grandfathers Gallic cloak and a pair of tightly fitted trousers made of deer-hide, a brooch holding my cloak together at the shoulder and my longer-than-customary hair tied back to trail down the centre of my shoulder-blades. My face, as usual, remained free of hair and my feet were bare this night, as was my upper body, as I was so determined to show these Germans exactly what a Roman was made of. If that meant going as far as to adopt their fashion of dress, then so be it.
“Slave...” I said, the startled man barely looking up as I questioned him, “what is your name?”
“M-m-my name i-is Rudaspes, master,” he finally managed to stammer at me, “thank you Rudaspes, you may leave now, and summon my escort if you would.”
It had been my first time noticing the youth, who just happened to be a slave, and I ran a hand over my smooth jawline in thought, such thoughts interrupted by the arrival of Berengar and his older brother to my tent, along with six of the finest-looking Chattian numerii which could be found.
Both brothers were truly a sight to behold, dressed from head to toe in the clothing of their own people, with a few changes and modifications which had been influenced by exposure to Romans and our military style.
The older of the two, the more wizened as well, wore from head-to-toe an iron helmet from a legionary, a short-sleeved tunic of white covering his torso and in turn that covered by overlapping scales, like that of a fish, stitched onto toughened leather. His lower body was enveloped in a pair of saffron coloured trousers, drawn in at the waist and ankles, boots of animal hide and leather straps running upwards to just below his knees. On his belt sat a pugio and, like my own, his hair was tied back against his head like a horses tail of sort. Lastly, a cloak of ruddy red covered his torso when it was not thrown back over his shoulder.
Berengar, on the other hand, kept to a much more minimal style of dress. His torso went unhindered by any clothing, his mouth letting out a small chuckle as he saw me, some words exchanged between he and his brother, while a pair of woollen trousers in a dull grey colour encased his legs, hide boots of lesser quality than his brother nonetheless containing his feet inside. A sword, finely crafted, sat at his waist and on his belt, a slender-headed spear distinctive to the Anglii clutched in one meaty paw and a shield with straight hexagonal sides in his other hand, the face of it bearing the artistic impression of a howling wolf.
Once I lifted the tent flap, stepping out into the cold, a gladius hung over my shoulder by the baldric and my grandfathers sica on the opposite side of my hip, I stood between the eight Germans with the brothers at the head, Berengar flashing the steely gaze of his blue eyes in every direction as we marched, and strode through the ankle-deep snow until we reached the square entrance to the long-hall and I could not longer even feel my feet.
Straightening everything, my cloak, my weapons and my back, squaring my shoulders and standing to my full and considerable height for a Roman, I paced stiffly between two surprised Gallic auxiliaries and into the feasting hall, their eyebrows nearly rising up to the height of those engraved into their helmets, my miniature comitatus following right behind me.
**********
As soon as I entered the hall proper, my sense were assaulted from possible every direction and I felt drunker all-of-a-sudden than if I had consumed an entire amphora of uncut wine all by myself.
From one direction came the loud bellowing of warriors, yelling in their granite tongue to one another, the sound of musical instruments dispersed throughout and only able to be heard when one side stopped talking to quaff some more beer or wine.
Another direction, and sense, battered me with the million smells of spitted and roasting game, cooking in their own juices and sprinkled with all manner of vegetables and herbs, my mouth watering even as my head pounded within and caused the room to spin.
Lastly, and probably most painfully, was the sensation of warmth that enveloped me and tossed my blood about like a ship in a storm, torturous prickling sensations shooting through my feet like invisible and minute arrows, only getting worse as I walked to take my seat at the 'head' of the circle around the vast central fire.
I did not need to look about and see their stares, no more than I had to watch for my own genitals, because I knew my genitals were there and, just as such, I knew without having to think about it that they watched me. Watched me, some probably mocking me and laughing at me, and others pointing as I took my seat on the earthen floor.
There were long tables and benches, smoothed down and made of the finest woods, around the assembled tribal leaders and their chosen pairs of men, each leader taking their seat around the central fire though, the tables and chairs only there so that after all was finished the feast could commence.
I asked Berengar to call for the gathering to begin, and he did so without so much as a moments hesitation, filling his lungs and cutting off the shouting and music all in one breath. Men mumbled to one another as they got into their groups and each took a seat by or near the fire, the chiefs, nobles and leaders sitting nearest and their chosen men and interpreter on either side and a little to their rear. At the doorway, where my six men stood, the two thick doors of the hall were swung on their hinges and tightly closed with a loud thump, then all inside was silence.
Amongst this silence, letting it wash over me, I finally lifted my eyes to peer through the gloom, penetrated only by torches placed around the outer walls and the fire itself, and took in each of the amassed delegates. Knowing what was on my mind, as well as what I was doing, Avidius slid forward on his knees and leant in to whisper in my ear, elongating the silence as he informed me about these strangers who I did not know.
There was a trio from the Chatti, formed of three noblemen who had come to make sure that they would not have to rebel against their newest chieftain, led by a man named Gislin. There was no 'son of the last chieftain' or such, luckily for me, since the Boii had done so well in wiping out any trace of that bloodline when they had come to the region after fleeing from Romans military might. Gislin was a quite effeminate man, for such a masculine people, with no hair on his face and flowing locks of golden hair curling freely about his shoulders, his dull purple cloak doing little to hide a slender, smooth, and unmarked body beneath it. How he ever got to such a position amongst his people was beyond me, at least at that point in time.
Hadufuns, son of Hunberaht, was the cumbersome but wily leader of the combined union of the Usipetes, Tencteri and Mattiaci, cousins of the more northerly Batavii and Cananefates. A solid mass of muscle, much like Berengar, but gifted with enough brains to have taken command of three tribes and enough battlefield knowledge to have killed their former leaders. His bluish-grey eyes looked out from under thickset brows, his mind clearly working away, his hand ever at the dagger of his belt, and his stony face an expressionless mask half covered in shadow. I would certainly need to win him over, if I was to stabilise my position.
One named Sigurix, his name influenced by those he came into contact with, was leader of the Germano-Gallic Sicambri. This tribe had close links with the Eburones, a Belgic group of Germans living on the opposite side of the Rhenus, and the Cimbri in their turn as well. He was a man both weak in body and in mind, prone to shaking fits and quick to gain illnesses that would not bother other men. Not only this, but his mind was often clouded by the schemes and desires of his mother, a woman disrespected by all other Germans. Still he sat, across the fire, swaddled in his thick cloak and croaking something to his interpretor as my eyes swept past. His face was thin, gaunt, almost dead though it moved and was animated with life, hollow-set eyes nearly catching my own had it not been for the speed of my glance.
Emissaries from the Bructeri and Cherusci had been invited to the feast, but not the meeting, whilst those men from the tribes friendly to or conquered by Roma, such as the Nemetes, Vangiones, Treveri, Cugerni and Ubii were invited to the meeting but asked to leave swiftly after to deliver news of the decisions made here back to their own tribes.
Shortly after I finished my sweep, the silence was broken, my own voice asking for those that wished to speak to stand and say what they had to say or ask.
The interpretor of Sigurix, an equally ill-looking man who I assumed to be some relation, spoke first.
“We of the Sicambri are a relatively small tribe,” he said in Latin with no accent, “so much so that we are often at war with those of the Cherusci and Tencteri, who seek to steal our livestock, as if the Suebi do not take enough. My king asks if you would be able to offer protection to us, should we recognise you as chieftain here and pledge allegiance as friends of Roma and friends of the Chatti?”
I could not answer for the empire, but I decided that it did not matter right then, nodding my head anyway and standing up so that all knew me.
“We would, and shall, do as you ask. In return we would give protection and ask in return nothing but a few items of recompense and some youths of your tribe to help guard my lands and yours.”
Avidius, acting as my translator, relayed these words in the Germanic tongue and the Sicambrian prince seems satisfied. There was then a shout from my left as Hadufuns bellowed something, his Latin-speaking servant standing immediately.
“My chief Hadufuns laughs at this proposal, he says that you are a liar and a thief. You come before us dressed as one of us, but you are a Roman and speak with a forked tongue, like a serpent in the forest. What you offer us is death and slavery, if we do not pay you in precious metals and the flesh of our sons. He asks, with what would you counter him if he decided to leave right now and never return, except at the head of a warband?”
My mouth twitched into a smile, I could not help myself, my eyes locking onto those of the larger chieftain but not breaking contact as I spoke. My words rang clearly through the voice of Avidius, the Tencteri war-chief easily able to understand my tone of voice and gestures, if nothing else.
“Hadufuns, son of Hunberaht, listen to me and listen well,” I began in a near-whispering voice, rising as I proceeded, “there are five chief tribes in this region, and you have three of them under your leadership and guidance. Outside the boundaries of the forests, to the north and east, on the plains and in the marshes, there are those who would seek to destroy all of those gathered here tonight.”
I stopped for a moment and casually walked closer to him, my eyes never leaving his and Avidius following on my heels with all speed.
“You have the power of three tribes and their warbands against that of lesser rivals, but if you cross me...” I paused for a moment and then sucked in a sharp breath to emphasise my point, “if you cross me, then you shall be making war on both the Chatti and the Roman Empire. An empire that has slaughtered people just like yourself from the tip of western Gallia, to the sands of Mesopotamia, and all who stood before them were crushed beneath hobnailed feet and left for the carrion to feed on.”
By now I had come to stand behind him, simply stopping near enough to spit on him, though I most certainly did no such thing, before I finished the final phase of my speech.
“You have two choices. Either you pay taxes to us, become friends of Roma, and allow us to take some of your sons and father and husbands into the army, or you become as dead as those poor sods we left littering battlefields the world over...the benefits of the Roman Empire can far outweigh the bad of the bargain. Do not allow your own feelings to get in the way of your peoples happiness, for I do not seek to enslave you, to force upon you the trappings of civilisation, only to lead you as a figurehead into an age where food will be plentiful, riches abundant and your people no longer having to live in fear. It is your choice.”
For a moment I thought Hadufuns was going to attack me, his eyes blazing with an inner fire of a kind, his muscles tensing and then relaxing and even his chosen man feeling uneasy it seemed, as he moved uncomfortably beside his barrel-chested chief.
What he did instead, to the surprise of all, was leap to his feet and point a large finger at me, “Roman,” he said in thickly accented Latin, “I will accept your offer and my tribes shall join your cause, but if you ever break your word to us, then your head will adorn my wall. Men and items, for all you promised, you agree?”
A hand sprung forward from his body and, almost instinctively, I clasped my own hand around his forearm in a warriors grasp. After that there was little enough to say, Gislin and the Chatti emissaries looking to one another with smiles on their faces, and the other Germans bowed down to those who had just formed a dominant force.
I knew, of course, how could I not, that not all of the tribesmen of those not pacified would join the cause. I knew there would likely be discontent amongst the Mattiaci and other tribes, the Cherusci and Bructeri more than likely to form their own alliances against me, with the Batavii or the Frisii or Chamavi, perhaps even the Cimbri and Teutones?
It mattered little to me, for I had become the dominant leader of a tribal coalition, men twice my age and even more fierce now under my command, the strength of these tribes also mine to call on at will.
Now...now it was time to feast!
- B. M. Laenas
And yes...there is still a part three to come, when I can get round to it.
Last edited by McScottish; February 11, 2012 at 07:48 PM.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 11/2/12]
Nice! You tell those tribals what to do, I quite like how you portray the little nuances of diplomacy that no doubt made up a large part of the Empire's success in dealing with the 'Barbarians' in Germany and so forth.
To me, this sentence raised the bar and really set the tone for the rest of the chapter:
They loved to feast, carouse and make merry as often and as heavily as they could, especially when it came to swallowing whole amphorae of wine and horns of their own thickly brewed beer which, to us Romans, tasted much like the Germans looked and spoke, robust and heavy with a kick and that usually ended up giving one a headache the following day.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 11/2/12]
Muchos gracias Knonfoda, glad you enjoyed it. Hopefully you will enjoy the third part just as much, if not more, I'll get that up some time later today.
No such in depth analysis of your writing from me Mr McScottish, however I like the way you have with words...I can sit there, read it and imagine the course of events unfolding in vivid detail.
Gracias to you too, Justinian. That is exactly the sort of story I am going for, and if people cannot imagine it, well then, I may as well start putting in pictures!
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 11/2/12]
Excellent updates, as always, I liked the detailed portrayal of happenings and people, I could really imagine everything in the AAR, waiting for the third part!
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 11/2/12]
Many Meetings, Part III – Winter 629 A.U.C
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
It was too easy...it was far too easy...
My mind raced as my slightly bleary eyes attempted to focus on Hadufuns, the mountain of Germanic muscle watching the twirling and leaping of the spear-dancers as the youthful men performed half-naked feats of daring for the amusement of both the mortals in the feasting hall and the Gods above. When he noticed I was watching, his eyes narrowing for one second, his mouth split into a grin across his bearish face before he threw back another horn of locally-made beer down his throat.
What are you up to, I wondered, before the impact of a massive fist across my back made me nearly pitch forward into the table and my plate of steaming meat in front of me. Instead, keeping his hand on my back, Berengar sitting down on one side of me, with a slight tremor being sent along the bench we were sat on.
“Do not worry about Hadufuns, he is like an old wolf without any teeth,” came a deep voice speaking Latin, my head turning to the other side of me and expecting to see Avidius, who was not there, only to turn back and look to Berengar, “I must be drunk...you're speaking Latin,” I mumbled as I wiped a hand across my slightly sweating forehead, “you are wrong Borbrentas, not that you are drunk, but that you thought I did not speak your language.”
Flashing me a large grin, the giant of a man picked himself up again, grabbing his drinking horn, and wandered off to find both more dark brown beer and probably a woman to keep him warm, there being enough slaves and she-wolves about that native German women would not need to be violated.
I had made sure of that.
Just as I had made sure that there was an ever-constant flow of mind-numbing drink and stomach bursting foods, from wild boar caught in the forests of Gaul, to ostrea or oysters pulled from the shorelines of mystical Britannia. The entire hall was an illuminated and unflagging stream of slaves and women bearing these things, chieftains and noblemen, even from those tribes that I considered my enemies, sitting and drinking and filling their guts with my hospitality.
Enough about that though, for it was here, in that very hall, that some would say I actually became a man. For if ones manhood is measured by age, then I was a man. If it is measured by the amount of enemies you have killed and the amount of blood you had shed, then I was a man. But, if being a man was measured, weighed and calculated by your lust...well then I was not yet a man.
**********
I cursed loudly as the stinking stream barely avoided my bare feet, my breath steaming up the air outside the feasting hall as I propped myself against the coarse wood of the halls walls, my head spinning this way and that and my eyes blinking rapidly in a bid to clear both them and my mind from the affects of the German-brewed intoxicant I had been swilling down ever since the negotiations had ended.
Looking back now, this would have been the perfect time for Hadufuns, or any of the other Germanic leaders, to have ended my life. I was slurred in speech, slow in reactions and certainly not of a mind sound enough to reason with an attacker. The very reason why the Germans wait until all have sobered up before officially accepting or rejecting any offers or decisions made between them during feast nights.
Anyway...
It was as I was relieving myself, just as I was tying the belt back about my waist, a belt being the sign of a warrior and also useful for holding your trousers up, that I felt a light breath on the nape of my neck. It was then that I spun about, fists raised in what I believed would be a useful defensive stance had I not been so unsteady on my feet, to lock eyes with a separate pair only inches from my own face and of the most brilliant green I had ever, and have ever, seen.
“Gislin?” I believe I managed to blurt out, before moving so far back that I was pressed against the wall of the hall, the Chattian noble moving swiftly in my wake until he was once more but a hairs breadth away. I could feel the rough grain of the wood digging into my back, the urge to vomit mixed with the thoughts of keeping my balance, and the sudden realisation that Gislin was not as inebriated as I thought he probably should be.
“Yes, Praetor,” he replied as he moved toward me, his hand moving upwards to brush a strand of hair from my face, his other hand encircling my waist as he pressed himself against me, “I see your night in going well...but it could become even greater.”
By the Gods I was in a fix at that moment, I did not know what to do! I had tumbled with a few country girls in my time, perhaps taken a slave once or twice, but I had no experienced anything with a man and nor was I even sure what was happening.
My mind reeled as realised I had no where to go, no way to escape, and not the strength to bodily shove this maiden-like German away from me. His angular features, soft and gentle looking, were lit up by a pale ray of moonlight, his lips full and his eyes boring holes into me as my hands decided what to do with themselves. In one word, I thought he was beautiful.
“Alright,” I uttered after what seemed like a lifetime-long minute of silence, “show me how it could become even greater then.”
It was both a challenge, and because I was not precisely sure what I was getting myself in for, but Gislin took it in his stride and guided me away from the wall, the hall and the sight of anyone else.
What happened after that, well, I can only say that a man had to keep some things in his lifetime out of the public sight and mind. Though I shall tell the truth, I could not even remember.
I shall, however, proceed to the very next day when I was awoken to find myself back in my own chambers and completely naked. How I had gotten there, I did not know, why I was naked I also did not know, but I was very soon to find out.
“Good morning, I think is how you Romans address one another,” Gislin smirked, sat in a chair, one of my own chairs, imported from Italia and made of trees from mother Latium, his nudity covered by his cloak as he looked down on me and smiled a perfect smile, “congratulations, my lord, and I hope you enjoyed last night...I surely did.”
When his eyes flickered to my left, my bed sat against the left side of my chamber, I got slightly suspicious and tilted my head in the direction he had been looking.
There, laying next to me, was a vision of beauty so rare that it almost broke my heart to look upon the face of a women I did not know nor had any memory of knowing. Her locks of golden hair were swept to one side, an amble bosom lifting up and down as she slept, features of such symmetry and delicate appearance that I just wanted to touch them. Beneath my furs and hides, my leg touching hers, I could feel that she was also in a complete state of undress, my head whipping about to look Gislin, my face twisting into a look of aggrieved confusion.
“What is the meaning of this?” I spat at him, causing his smile to expand even from one side of his face to the other more, “I cannot be certain as to what the day holds, but I do know that, if it is accepted and sanctified by both parties, you and Herleva, daughter of Hadufuns, will be both cementing an alliance and entering into marriage.”
- B. M. Laenas
Short and sweet.
Last edited by McScottish; February 12, 2012 at 11:47 AM.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 12/2/12]
I am either too tired, or I was just really surprised, for a moment there I thought that Laenas...developed a "hellenistic passion" towards men. But I guess he was with Herlava after all at night...right? Anyways, great update, I'm anxious to see what this brings on Laenas' head!
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 12/2/12]
Originally Posted by Mr. Bean Laden
I am either too tired, or I was just really surprised, for a moment there I thought that Laenas...developed a "hellenistic passion" towards men. But I guess he was with Herlava after all at night...right? Anyways, great update, I'm anxious to see what this brings on Laenas' head!
Plot twiiiiist! Well, I hope you were surprised, you were supposed to be after all. But who actually knows what happened? Laenas doesn't, that's for sure, but then again Gislin was naked when he woke up.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 12/2/12]
Originally Posted by Ganbarenippon
Ooooohhhhhh.....saucy!
Indeed, it is oddly hard trying to find how far to go without making it pornographic/romance novel-like in nature. Think I did alright though, you're lucky we're not allowed to be amazingly graphic on this forum. Think on that.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 12/2/12]
Oooh how delightfully decadent of you! You Romans and your threeways... and married to Hadufun's daugther ey? Well will you look at that, business and pleasure all in one.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 12/2/12]
Well that's an interesting position Laenas has got himself into. Still holds true, never drink so much you don't know what you are doing, you may be doing something you don't want to be, but you should at least know that you are doing it!
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 18/2/12]
Ah so the plot thickens and the promise of action is once again upon us! Excellent writing as per usual, I like how you really get into the detail with the Auxiliaries and the names, their long titles, etc.
Re: [RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [Updated: 6/2/12]
Originally Posted by Mr. Bean Laden
Ah, the feeling of power, that hundreds or thousands of men are under your command. It's such a feeling that my Melas doesn't really have yet.I'm anxious to know if there will be any rebellions that need to be brought down by Laenas in "his" new lands. Keep it up!
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Anywho, down to the drawing board.
Anyways, great update, I'm anxious to see what this brings on Laenas' head! 
