[IB SAI:AAR] The Last Pagan Emperor (UPDATED 08/05/2021)

[McScottish]

I got a burst of inspiration after starting to read LOTR again and have to say they turned out well.

Yeah buddy!

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter XLIII

Verenianus cursed the weather in this land that God seemed to have forgotten and men shunned. Day after day there had been sand driven by unceasing winds that were fanned by the bellows of hell, its minions rising at the sun to tirelessly work them, such was its heat. Where in battle it's presence was a comfort of sorts, the armour of the Quartodecimani and the Septimi Seniores was an intolerable burden that they soon learned to shun and adopt lighter and cooler methods that seemed to serve the inhabitants of this dreary countryside well . All round Dimidi, in the distance, stood undulating dunes that shifted in the winds, sands transported to new locations to continue the eternal march of the dunes. An unusual cloud burst had brought an hour or so relief in the afternoon inferno with a torrent of rain. The water ran off initially and old water courses scarcely discernible amongst the hard packed and baked rocky soil came to life. The men rejoiced at seeing moisture. The assault on the city was to have taken place today but now with the dirt turning into impassable sludge that would bog the wooden wheels of the rams, it had to be called off. The residents inside won a reprieve from Mother Nature, albeit fleetingly, free for at least another night before the Romans returned inexorably to their task the following day.


Mid morning came and along with it the predictable heat of the day, far hotter than Verenianus had hoped it to be at this time of the year. His foray into these lands had regrettably drawn out and as it passed so to did the seasons as spring came and crept onwards towards the fiery clutches of summer. Unfortunately for the invaders the heat arrived early. Enough of the moisture had evaporated to begin moving the rams into place. Puddles of water still existed though they would soon evaporate in the unrelenting heat. There was no final offers of surrender afforded Philosr and his countrymen. The time for talking had passed and Verenianus desired nothing more than to put the head of the King upon a pike for all to see and enslave every last one of these wretches, that's if the slave traders would have these people. Those awaiting their doom prepared the best they could. From outside behind the small walls the Berbers could be seen moving about on their horses.


One ram came afoul in a soft section of dirt and could not be extricated so it was left their as the other three moved, with some difficulty, towards the walls. The sagitarii were brought forward to harrass anyone who dared guard the walls. Behind them awaiting the work of the rams to be completed where the remaining heavy infantry who were not tasked with working the rams. They would be the ones to pour through the breaches and wreak havoc. Verenianus stood behind the infantry with slaves holding above him a canopy to shield him from the sun, so that his constant stream of orders would prove less tiring. Other officers were not so lucky but such was their lot. Never mind the poor soldiers put to task in the heat yet they toiled mainfully and without complaint (at least not publicly).


'We are half way there' said Verenianus with a gleam in his eye, to a subordinate on his left. 'I'd say more like two thirds before the walls my Lord' Verenianus looked at his queerly. 'Huh? No...I mean that the campaign is at the half way point! Take Dimidi and destroy it and that leaves just one more desert stronghold to reduce to dust' The subordinate looked at Verenianus. 'Do you intend to destroy Dimidi completely my lord? I'd imagine it would be a tough ask to march the men onwards to his other place at this time of the year' Verenianus huffed. 'They'd do as they told regardless...yet I am benevolent enough to allow them some respite, even if its in this foresaken place. When the days grow shorter we will continue onwards. I doubt it would be enough time for them to build their strength again. I am told their allies in the West have deserted them and claimed independence. It all works in our favour'

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The first ram touched the gate and its large ram head begun battering away at the sturdy gates. On the other side Philosr could feel the reverberation through the sandy streets of the ram head. Clad in a sky blue tunic, head adorned with an intricately designed turban and the richest jewels upon his fingers that one here could afford, he looked skywards and observed on the many eagles that called these lands home. Its wings were spread wide, catching the thermal currents that allowed it to glide lazily in circles, observing the goings on those below it. It was a sign Philosr was sure of; victory for the Romans. The Eagle was their symbol, it adorned their sacred legionary standards. He could see Verenianus' off in the distance, its gold glittering in the sun. He turned around to his men and spoke, 'Today we shall die, yet let it be a death worthy of remembrance' Philosr then said nothing for nothing more could be said now.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Their attention was brought back to the present by the sounds of splintering wood and crumbling brick; the main gate exploded open and showered the missile troops who waited bravely behind it. Elsewhere on either side the walls collapsed under the sustained pounding. The Mauretanian cavalry rode along the dusty streets and peppered the legions. The Roman mounted archers fired back as the rest of the infantry marched quickly to the walls. As best could be managed in such conditions, Verenianus desired this to be over quickly.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Berbers in their limited numbers could not be everywhere at once as the Romans filled the breaches, like three fingers reaching into the town. The Berbers, as brave as they were, were no match for the Roman soldiers. Philosr turned away as missile fire peppered his men yet turned back towards the Romans who had come through the main gate. They battled on despite the fierce volley of javelins that assailed them and the constant harassment from the mounted archers.


Then there was the moment that quailed the hearts of the stoutest of Berber warriors. Philosr their King was dismounted from his horse by a fierce sword stoke that crashed into his shield. In the commotion, lost under the many stamping hooves of horses and feet of men Philosr was crushed. It was not noticed initially as he died unnoticed yet surrounded by many but several of his own men recognised the trampled figure dressed in blue, that was now stained by blood and dusted by sand. They did not immediately break but in the eyes their fear was evident. Yet they did not desire to flee for to be captured and tortured to death by implacable Romans was a terrible fate they dared not suffer. Better to die with sword or spear in hand defiant to the last. They held on grimly, kicking up a furious cloud of dust that made worse the increasing thirst on both sides. More Romans continued to pour through.


Through the dreary streets they came, firstly the Promoti and then the infantry, who found waiting for them a small unit of spearman and some straggling missile cavalry who had been nearly decimated earlier. They poured onto the pavement of the town square and begun splashing blood across the intricate designs of the clay pavers. The spearmen bloodied the noses of the cavalry, who pulled back and allowed the infantry to crush them. Verenianus himself would not allow himself to miss out on the glory and hit the spearmen from behind with his bodyguard. No Berber could escape this final slaughter. All men sent to the defend the city were slain. A horsemen came up and behind him, gathering spilt gore and dust, was the body of Philosr who was roped around the legs and tied off to the horse. The body was dragged ingloriously to the walls of the Kings residence.


Here Verenianus unsheathed his sword and cleaved the head of the King off. His men cheered heartily. The head was then taken over to the gates and then impaled upon a brazier fixed to the wall. 'Behold the King!' said Verenianus in mock adulation. 'Go men, take what you want and kill what you want. Let it not be said that you did not satiate yourself this day upon the treachery of these dogs. Bar the gates, let none leave!' In a wild cheer, violence gleaming in their eyes, thousands of Romans begun pouring through the streets. It hardly need be added but blood flowed well into the night, the grim work of the soldiers illuminated by the moon and fire. All around them the soldiers brought down the large palm trees that rose defiantly amongst the city to fan the large bonfire that sprung up in the heart of the capital where bodies were tossed to quell any future outbreaks of disease. Such was the chilling efficiency of the Roman looters.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Verenianus personally saw to the dispatch of those foolish enough to remain behind in the Kings residence, who saw to the daily administration of the city. Here he couldn't help but marvel that these desert dwellers where more sophisticated than he had thought and appeared to be managing such day to day trivialities familiar to Roman governors with ease. Yet it was now time for those that were fortunate to be spared Roman sword fire to be subject to Roman rule. For the foreseeable future Dimmidi was to serve as Verenianus's headquarters whilst the Berbers were removed from history. Knowing of the rebellious nature of these people, it was decided to lower the taxes imposed upon them to a far lower level than had been set under Philosr. Their places of worship remained in tact, to much opposition of other Roman officers but they would be heavily managed. Roman troops would guard these places against others using it as a rally point for civil unrest. All told over eight thousand inhabitants were butchered and anything of monetary value was sent back to fill the coffers of Rome, greatly depleted as they were. The soldiers helped themselves to whatever they could after Rome had taken her share as right of conquest.


Verenianus begun bringing men from the northern castellums and several cohorts from Russadir to provide the garrison that would be needed to hold Dimmidi once he set off for Ghardaia. He could learn nothing about who held the city and who had taken the title as King upon Philosr's death. It had been weeks now since spies had been sent to the city to ascertain its strength yet they had not returned. He could only assume they had been captured and killed, waylaid by bandits or got lost and died in the desert. All that was known, from those that were persuaded to speak, that it held a large garrison. The Comes did not worry unduly, for it would perish either way. It would be bloody no doubt, as men fought to preserve their dying identity but it would fall to the relentless march of Roman revenge. Further west was a place rumoured to be known as Tindouf, once under domain of the Berber warlords but it had proclaimed its own king. '


'They are still Berbers my Lord...we should show them fire and sword!' several officers exclaimed enthusiastically, driven by hatred of these desert people. Verenianus did not need to think over long about it. 'No...no, they have no power that can threaten Rome. Too long have we fought in these lands. Why continue west? Do you not want to return to your homes instead?' he asked them. He had the power of command when he spoke and those that heard him listened at the first instance.


'I have resolved, my dear and loyal men, that we will all return to Carthage once Ghardaia is annihilated. There is nothing to be had here that will be the benefit of Rome. Perhaps we may levy into our ranks those deemed acceptable to fight in our ranks' he explained as he paced the centre of the reception room in the Kings residence, 'Yet these fields around us, if you could call them that, will be sown with salt and all buildings demolished. Once these tasks have been completed and all traces of what once were of the Berbers removed, we will return home. May you see your women and your children once more and feel their warmth and love, instead of the false embrace of your coarse blankets and that of whores and other base individuals, to sleep again in your own bed and be at ease!' His words filled them with hope and longing, firing in them passions long suppressed in their ceaseless marching that would have otherwise driven them mad with despair. They marvelled at his due care and concern for even the lowliest of enlisted men. What ever was willed in the future by the Comes or the Emperor, they would obey unhesitatingly even if it meant traversing the oceans to far off places to fight strange enemies, so that they may feel amongst loved ones and friends once more. 'I am sure that our journey in this world does not end upon this conquest, that our tale has not ended. There will be more chapters to write in history's pages for us. You are all fine men and I see a greater destiny awaiting you at the end of this. Rejoice in your courage and bravery!' They embraced amongst themselves, cheered heartily and bantered among themselves, looking to the future through the eyes of many but as one entity.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter XLIV

Six men on horses cantered along a cobblestone path as rain teemed down and the grim sky illuminated by the bright flashes of lightning and thunder rolled and crashed across the heavens. There was just enough light left in the day for the travellers to see their final destination in Colonia Agrippina. They had tried to race the storm to their destination but the sky opened on them as the low ominous squall line swept over them, bringing a cold and uncomfortable blast of wind and then the rain. They drew up before the imposing stone defences, its large reinforced gates barring their path. Unseen eyes watched intently from the watchtowers and gate towers as the hooded figures dismounted and lead their horses before the gates. Without even needing to draw attention to their presence, a wooden viewing port slid open and a grim face observed another starting back at him. 'Who are you and what is your business here?' he asked in a gravely voice.


'Our business is the business of war, soldier. Open the gates in the name of the Magister Militum per Gallias Corialanus Phocas. Do not delay us any further' The man behind the wall looked to his left and another man shoved him out of the way. He investigated the travellers and noticed the Imperial standard of the Gallic Magister held in the hand of a soldier that stood to the left of the lead man. He closed the viewing port. 'Open the gates!' came the cry. The sound of creaking wood and iron reverberated around the archway as the two segments parted . Corialanus Phocas gazed down the main via through wet eyes. At the far end, barely describable in the spreading gloom was the Imperial palace. It had long suffered under Frankish occupation but now much hard labour had been expended in removing any vestiges of its previous occupiers and the buildings along the via were restored the best that could be managed. Soldiers quickly came out of their hiding place and took the visitors horses to be lodged at the stables. A horse drawn carriage was provided for the men for the long passage to the palace. Agrippinus, the garrison commander, welcomed the travellers to the city and informed them that lodgings would be ready as soon as possible. Phocas then beckoned Agrippinus to join them on the travel.


Agrippinus sat alongside the Magister, looking somewhat awkward in the presence of his superior. Such men of importance, as far as the military went, were rarely found in these parts and if they were it was usually as an after thought or at moments of pressing need. Phocas made light talk as the carriage clattered across the cobblestones. 'Is the weather always like this commander?' Agrippinus shook his head. 'Unusual at this time of year, its mostly bright and clear but incredibly cold. It's as if God is displeased with us in someway'


'Perhaps...perhaps he is. Who knows the way God works' … I certainly have no idea Phocas added to himself bitterly, consumed currently in a debilitating crisis of faith. Yet he tried his best to push aside such distractions. He looked outside the carriage and took in the dreary, near deserted streets. Traders and sellers had disappeared, hiding their stock, as soon as the heavy rain set in. Large torrents of water gushed off balconies and the canopies of tents. Wary and suspicious faces watched from windows and doorways, noting that this was the designated transport for anybody of importance. To the average citizen, it lead them to the belief that there was something afoot and it was not likely to be positive.


Phocas was somewhat relieved to be back amongst civilization, as it were. On his long travels he had observed the utter ruin that had befallen Gallia. Banditry, though not in plague proportions, was enough to cause travellers some concern. Crops in parts lay dead and neglected, land going to waste as its inhabitants were driven away, killed by invaders or had fled to the city seeking sustenance. Forts that had once lined the area now lay quiet, like a crypt. Small villages ceased to be. Some signs of rebirth were evident but it was as clear as day that much more work needed to be done to restore these lands.


'Tell me commander, how have things been in these parts? I have not had correspondence with anyone, save the Prefect who visited a few weeks back. Any odd goings on?' Phocas asked.


'No my lord, all watches and scouting parties report nothing out of the ordinary occuring' replied Agrippinus. 'Too quite though, if you ask me' Phocas looked at Agrippinus. 'Why is that commander? '


Well there is usually some form of commotion going on around the river, what with those Franks sneaking about like ghosts, acting as if the treaty does not exist. Mere nuisance stuff mind, nothing that a detachment of cavalry can't handle' explained the commander. 'Yet nothing has happened for several weeks now. Not a soul to be seen. Franks just disappeared, as it where, stopped trading and coming over in their little boats'


Phocas nodded his head in understanding and stroked his chin. 'I guess that Valentinianus will fill me in with the particulars. He is that sort of man' Agrippinus looked at him. 'You'll have to wait then dominus. The Prefect has headed north'


'What? When? What was his reason?' asked Phocas, surprised and not a little alarmed. 'Not three days ago. We received a message from the Frankish King requesting immediate military support, as per the terms of the treaty as the Saxons had them hard pressed. He left with that fellow from across the sea, what's his name...ah, Tiberius Secundus. Didn't seem mightily pleased about it but he left too with his Britones Seniores and a good deal of the Mattiaci and Leones auxillia. Both have enough men to conquer everything east of the Rhenus and then some more'


Phocas gritted his teeth. The temerity of the Prefect knew no bounds yet the legalities of the situation showed that the Prefect was right in his actions, even though he had been officially stripped of any military capacity, as there was a treaty to oblige. The perfect opportunity had presented itself on a platter for the Prefect. It was all well and good that Valentinianus had responded to requests for aid, it was another thing to take essentially the entire Gallic field forces available for his supposed assistance of the Franks. Aside from the garrisons at Colonia Agrippina and Augusta Treverorum, the entire frontier was denuded of troops. It was not entirely unreasonable to think that the Franks could see this...or had planned it to be this way. Phocas' mind ticked over rapidly. It was becoming clear that whilst the Frankish appeal for help was genuine, it could play into the hands of their King with the Roman forces occupied against the Saxons when the real threat lay elsewhere. Also coming clear in his mind was the fact that Valentinianus would use, in the outcome of it possibly happening, any treachery by the Franks as justification to invade Frankish lands and expand his power.


Phocas swore under his breath. He noticed that the carriage had stopped and so had the rain, if only for a short while. Large burning torches illuminated the iron gates into the front courtyard of the palace. All the men alighted from the carriage, their boots smacking against the wet pavement. Phocas showed no signs of his growing anger. He moved close to Agrippinus. 'Commander, I wish all available men to be present at the drill fields at first light for inspection. I wish also to better understand the numbers of soldiers we have available and our overall capability. Also, increase the men on watch and patrol...I have a suspicious feeling about these developments... but communicate nothing at all to the men. Understood?' Agrippinus nodded and saluted. 'It will be done dominus'
Off went the garrison commander and inside went Phocas and his retinue. The palace exhbited some signs of its former occupiers but it felt and looked Roman again. Much work had been done to restore the splendid gardens the residence was renowned for. The Magister was greeted by court officials who with some flourish showed them about the palace and then directed to them to their lodgings, which was more opulent that Phocas had been accustomed to at Arleate. Look after yourself first Valentinianus, whilst the people suffer...how very typical though Phocas bitterly as he took in the plush surrounds. Several slaves waited by the bedside ready to be ordered yet Phocas shooed them away, not needing unfortunate wretch to do his bidding that he could very well do himself. For now Phocas removed his wet and uncomfortable clothing and allowed himself a warm soothing bath before retiring back to his bedchambers.


He had only just gotten comfortable as he begun perusing the writings of Pliny, to ease his mind from more serious matters that seemed to clutter it and cause him sharp and at times debilitating pain in his head. He then heard hissed voices outside the chambers, recognising one as one of his bodyguards posted outside the room. He was under strict orders to deny anybody access. The other he recognised as the gravelly voice of Agrippinus. By the sounds of the exchange Agrippinus was displeased at been barred access to Phocas. Phocas threw back the bed sheets in irritation and stomped to the door. It flung upon and slammed on its hinges. 'What in the name of the Almighty is this? Agrippinus? Explain yourself! '


Agrippinus came face to face with his irate superior but was not in the least perturbed by his wrath. He saluted smartly. 'Magister, word has just reached us that the Franci have crossed the river, attacked the castellum and laid siege to Augusta Treverorum. There are also reports of an enemy forces north east of here waiting to cross the river'


'Follow me Agrippinus' said the Magister curtly as he powered away down the corrdiors. He passed several rooms and roused its inhabitants, disseminating orders in quick fashion. Men who were asleep were jolted by the booming voice of the Magister, bleary eyed they staggered out of their warm beds and tried to digest their orders. Men began running about but not chaotically, guided by their years of training and careful discipline. Phocas and Agrippinus came to the reception of the palace. 'Ready the garrison immediately, all men available. Have your fastest men go straight to Valentinianus and inform him that he must return immediately to face this new threat. Tiberius Secundus can remain in Frisia, to watch the western passes and keep the Saxons occupied' Phocas scarcely paused for breath 'Do not let him know that I am here. What you are to do is have Valentinianus come immediately to the Palace and you are to take nominal command of the army'


'Understood sir...however I think he will be wary of the summons, he is not a fool' said Agrippinus. Phocas agreed and then grinned. 'Indeed, which is why we need something that will ensure he will come unhesitatingly. Fetch his wife and bring her here. Take her by force if you must. Tell him that his wife has fallen desperately ill. He shall be given a lesson he shan't forget so soon. You are dismissed' The garrison commander left with haste, with other men trailing in his bustling wake leaving Phocas standing alone in the reception room, planning his very next move.

[SeniorBatavianHorse]

A tense and masterful update - full with tension and foreboding! You have created an atmospheric scene here which really helps to build up the drama.

[Knonfoda]

I agree with SBH, very tense and riveting. I like the way you deal with the aspects of court and military life outside of the battlefield, like the constant doubts, confusion, loyalties and intrigues. I can't wait for the battle(s) to come either!

+ rep!

[Justinian Australis]

Thanks guys. Battles shouldn't be too far off but right now things are rather strangely quiet in the game...something's afoot methinks

Chapter XLV

Julianus felt weary at yet another siege, the stubbornness of the eastern rebels serving only to deepen his mood. Constantius was now dead, why did these fools persist with their folly? What madness herded them towards their doom? Hadrianopolis felt the wrath of the talented Syragius, a man of much potential, noted by Maximianus and then promoted to prominence by Julianus. He butchered the inhabitants for their obstinacy, event though they identified as Romans. His anger was savage and his soul devoid of mercy for his men, drawn from the garrisons of Marcianople, had suffered much but now glutted their soul with revenge.


The Emperor was before the walls of Larissa and he now doubted within himself as to whether he would show clemency to those that had clearly erred. He too was angry and irritated at the rest of the inhabitants of Greece, who so far he had shown nothing but kindness and love towards. He sent appeals to the wise men of Corinth and Athens explaining his actions in removing Constantius from power. Perhaps they had chosen to ignore his points, instructing everyone else that Julianus was a mere usurper to be rebuffed and turned away. Julianus wondered at this and thought as to whether the Gods were testing him further. He wanted this to be over, he wished to be back at Constantinople where Helena waited patiently yet sadly. Here he would hope to see Decimius Valens at long last, having been some years now since he adopted him into his barren family, the last of his line.


His mood though lifted enough for him to emerge from his tent to find a man waiting, helmet tucked awkwardly under his right arm, left hand shielding his eyes from the midday glare. Julianus did not recognise the man before him initially, who looked uncomfortable in his military attire. The governor of Venetia was a long way from his duties, having been thrust into the role of commander hastily to fill a void as the advance east begun. He brought with him a great deal of heavy infantry and cavalry. Now after much hard fighting, including the capture of Thessaloniki his numbers were reduced and his men weary and battle worn.


It was only after an aide whispered quickly into his ear that a light of recognition went on in his mind. It had been so long since Julianus had appointed Dulicitius Calpernius the Dux of Venetia , following that with a military command whilst residing in Sirminum. 'Welcome Dulicitius Calpernius...it has been a great deal of time since I saw you last. Much has happened since then' Calpernius saluted the Emperor and nodded in agreement. He spoke softly and elegantly. 'It has been a long time indeed...much has befallen the Empire. Constantius is dead, is that true?' Julianus nodded slowly. 'Yes it is true. Much rumour has been spread about the land surrounding his death. They say he was tortured by me to his death and his corpse flayed and scourged then hacked to pieces. Perhaps this explains why other cities refuse to yield...though it does not make sense. In their eyes would I not be inclined to show sheer savagery if they resisted, like Constantius did?' Julianus shook his head sadly. 'I will never understand people and their irrationality’s sometimes Caplurnius. I am afraid we must conquer the remaining cities one by one until at least all of the West is united in a fashion. From their remains the East...that I am not looking forward to'


'Let us hope that they see sense and lay down their arms' said Calpernius. Julianus sighed heavily. 'That would be most desirous but after what has transpired till this very day, I keep no hope for myself of that ever happening. Many more Romans appear destined to die at the hands of their own fellow Romans. Does this not strike you as most futile and appalling?'


'Yes my lord, it cannot be denied. I guess we must all steel ourselves for this...' Calpernius stopped for a moment before changing tack. 'Perhaps you are wondering as to why I am hear my Lord..' Calpernius question appeared to have an undercurrent of grasping, trying to ingratiate himself with the Emperor when he hopefully answered in a way that would paint him in a positive light. Julianus looked long at Calpernius through squinting eyes as the sun begun to drift lower in the sky. Afternoon was taking hold. 'Come into my residence Calpernius' said Julianus, ignoring at first his question. Calpernius entered expecting opulence befitting a man that held vast power but was surprised to see that inside, all that Julianus had for himself was a desk, several bookshelves crammed with manuscripts of all sorts and an uncomfortable looking bed. His military attire was neatly arranged in one corner. The only thing of extravagance, arrayed behind his desk was two legionary Eagles. They took pride of place behind his desk. Calpernius noticed that one of them was that of Constantius. It looked utterly magnificent. It literally radiated brilliance in the gloom of Julianus' tent. 'So he has indeed been defeated' said Calpernius, gazing at the standard. 'Mmm? Oh yes, that...a little trophy I though to keep for myself. Quite the piece of craftsmanship really' replied Julianus.


Julianus suddenly asked of Calpernius. 'Do you think of me as a tyrant?' Calpernius was caught off his guard, looking stunned at the sudden question. 'Of...of course not my Lord...I apologise if...I...if I....' he stammered before Julianus cut him. 'No no its nothing you've said at all Calpernius...nothing at all. It's just you looking at that standard made me think of all the things that have been said of me back in Constantinople and Athens...they think of me as such...as a tyrant that is. Unworthy, an usurper, whatever they can slur my good name with...they say I am arrogant, full of self importance...' Julianus sat down heavily in his chair. He looked at Calpernius apologetically. 'I am sorry Dux I would offer you a seat however in a moment of passion most unbecoming of myself I destroyed the one that usually sits in front of me...now as to your presence, that I can be confident of what you are here for'


Calpernius' brows arched ever so slightly in surprise but he smiled. 'And what do you believe I am here for my Lord?'


'To boost numbers of the Imperial army...unless there is something else you'd deign to tell me that is of great importance' Julianus' tone and mood seemed to have changed abruptly to one of annoyance and and a degree of aloofness. “Why ah yes...that is, I have decided to help replenish your numbers, if you so desire'. Calpernius stammered. 'You decided did you?' Julianus asked coolly. Calpernius swallowed hard, baffled as to the Emperor's sudden mood change. 'Why yes Augustus...it has been a long and hard campaign and you have suffered losses that haven't been able to be replaced yet...however I have the men from my own campaigns that you may find of use....' Julianus rubbed his temples and waved Calpernius into silence. 'Yes, yes, yes...very well your offer is graciously accepted' Julianus said testily. 'I will require as much of your heavy cavalry...and the lanciarii to bring up the numbers. See Avidius he will organise everything' Julianus in these circumstances would have seen to every minute detail but once again, as it had without warning, the throbbing in his head had returned. It was a slow dull ache at first before it evolved into the effects of a tiny man inside his head pounding with a hammer.


'Very well my Lord, it shall be done...do you have any further instructions for myself?'


Julianus rubbed his eyes. 'Yes. Go to Athens with whatever men remain in your command and bring it under siege. There are men at Corinth doing likewise. Upon capture you may split their forces and bring the rest to garrison Athens. I wish you to remain in Athens for the foreseeable future...these men are of the Mauri tribes in Africa and will need watching until I can find someone to take your place. Then you may return home to continue your role as governor of Venetia...the rest of your forces you will send to Constantinople'


With Julianus' silence, his gaze moving to his manuscripts it indicated the meeting was at an end. Calpernius saluted his Emperor and decided not to say another word. He saw he looked tense and in some discomfort and thus retreated from the tent and was on his way to find Avidius. Calpernius felt more than a little put out and uncomfortable at the sudden change in the Emperors mood.

Julianus suddenly had this intense longing. It clutched at his heart and squeezed hard. He beckoned to an aide. 'You....find Avidius yourself and tell him that the men must be ready in three days to storm the city. Don't bother as so much to have the new recruits trained to the legionary standard, there will be plenty of time for that. I want this finished!' The aide bowed and slipped away. Julianus got up and moved to his bed. Right now, the austere furnishing felt like the most lush and welcoming thing he had ever felt. What he would do to garrison the city upon its capture, he did not know yet but he did know as the longing in him burned brighther that he wanted to go home. He wanted Helena and he wanted to set things right once more.

[Knonfoda]

A very well crafted updated. I particularly enjoyed this sentence:

I am sorry Dux I would offer you a seat however in a moment of passion most unbecoming of myself I destroyed the one that usually sits in front of me...

You also write very convincingly of Julian's change of mood regarding the massive toil that will be conquering the rest of the Empire. I can only imagine the headache he must be feeling. A nice end too, as he harks back to Helena.

+ rep

[Justinian Australis]

Cheers...glad you liked it. To be honest the whole chapter didn't feel right as towards the end I was developing a severe case of writers block and I started rushing it.

Right now I am taking a bit of a break (not too long) as things on my side are a bit busy and also I am a bit stuck on what to write. I've played a few turns to see how things unfold (some interesting stuff going on) so I need to spend a bit of time sorting the chapter ideas out. Fear not I shall return!

[Justinian Australis]

Ok so my break didn't last that long...had a flood of inspiration to finish off this chapter.

Chapter XLVI

Desperate cries were carried in the billowing wind and sand, dispersed hither and yon. Men shielding their eyes from the stinging sand called out in desperate hope. All around as the men staggered through the rippled sands, bodies of horses and men were strewn every which way and the sand was stained red. Lightly clad men, throwing away their spears and shields, ran blindly in panic and in the choking dust. Men on horses had the advantage as the mounts bore the brunt of exhaustion as those that fled were run down into the sand. They tripped over themselves to get away. Some did, many thousands did not, paying the price for their long held animosity towards Rome. They had come in vast numbers to this place, half way between Dimiddi and Ghardia, to meet the Romans who trekked through the desert to complete the annihilation of the Berbers.


The poorly armed and armoured desert dwellers cracked quickly under the ferocious assault of the Romans, who were guided by the promises of home once this campaign was complete. They bore the casualties of the missile troops without despair before catching the fatigued riders and butchering them. Now as the finishing touches of the battle were been applied, the men realised that one man was missing; Verenianus. Their beloved general, the deliverer of all that they hoped for. Somewhere in this dead and mournful wasteland Verenianus wandered, cut off from his men.


One man stopped abruptly as they trudged down the heavy sands of the plains and observed a worrying sight; the tattered and torn emblem of the Roman general. 'It has been trampled under foot' said one man as he passed the banner through his hands. It's staff had been snapped in the middle but not completely in half. Some of the men become worried at this. Further on down their concern soon mushroomed into fear; it was the body of the standard bearer laying face down as if asleep, such was the way he lay but there was no mistaking the red blotch that stained the back of his tunic. His unseeing eyes were fixed somewhere out to the East, as if he looked for home as he died. More men and horses were scattered about; mostly of Mauretanian origin but the Candidati were among them. Further on they came to a sight that filled them with dread. Unmistakable was his form, spread eagled upon his fallen horse, was Verenianus. Cries of anguish arose from all around who had crowded around the lifeless form of the Comes. His uniform was in disarray, his face plastered with dust mixed with sweat, dead eyes staring into the hazy sky. There were numerous wounds upon his body and in his breast was a jagged stump, a snapped javelin that had broken off as the Comes fell. His shield was a little way off behind him and his hand hung limply with palm open and his sword lay idle in the sand.


Grief striken men begun gathering up his weapons and men made a make shift stretcher that bore his body and they begun carrying him back up the dunes, with the initial sentiment of returning to Dimiddi. As they moved a man came casually down the dunes, each footstep gliding easily through the fine sand. The sandy tempest had eased finally and the man's voice carried out to the stretcher bearers. 'Best protect the Comes' body...there are more of the desert scum coming this way. A large body as well' Nebridius carried himself with an air of authority, the commander of the cataphracts. At the death of Verenianus he automatically assumed command as the senior soldier amongst the army. Orders issued forth rapidly. The Berbers could be seen coming the way that the first army came.


Nebridius ordered the mainline of infantry to wait further back from where they had initially been arrayed. 'Let them see the bodies of their comrades...it will strike fear into them' he said as he rode behind the troops. He judged the mood of the men as changing from a profound sadness to one of anger and the thoughts of revenge. Among them they howled for blood as the Berbers inched closer, gnashing and snarling for them to meet their doom. Hesitancy appeared to bloom amongst the Berbers. The Romans upon the crest of the dunes formed a long unbroken line of intimidation. They could see that malice radiated out from them. The Berber's had cavalry on the left and right and they begun working wider to try an encirclement. The infantry were packed tightly together, showing the concern the Berber warlord held for their deployment. Too thin and they'd have holes smashed in along the line and Romans would pour through and destroy them.


The Roman archers begun pouring missiles into the advancing Berbers before without warning, rage inside boiling over, the Roman infantry begun charging at the enemy. They had little time to react for it seemed that their passions bore them upon wings and they were upon them rapidly hacking and slashing with their swords, shoving and punching with their shields. The Berber army comprised mostly of old men with too many years behind them with dampened reflexes. There were young men with too few years behind them, bereft of the wisdom of older age and the skills that are gained in the journey. Lightly armed and poorly trained, for just about anyone that could wield a weapon was pressed into war, they quailed before the might of the insatiable Romans. The infantry could scarcely get away from the carnage, as they were slaughtered callously. Despising thirst and fatigue the Romans pressed on and begun pushing back all before them. In the depth of their hot passion they pursued the cavalry, the nimble Mauretanian horsemen but in their fear and haste they panicked and fled every which way and the Romans were able to hunt them down. Nebridius rode behind the men as they surged like a roiling angry wave of humanity, splashed in blood he was and boisterous over the din of battle, if it could be called so. Even such a hardened soul as he felt some degree of amazement at the sheer scale of the bodies that blighted an already vile landscape. Death had been delivered to thousands, a nation tottering on the edge of the precipice that looked down upon oblivion and rendered as little more than a footnote in history. The pursuit seemed to never end as tired legs found new strength to glut the soul with revenge.


It finally ended however, as dusk begun clawing its way across the sky as a shadow upon the desert. The Romans were utterly spent and could kill no more; few remained alive. Any Berber left alive and unfortunate to be found by the Romans were rounded up and then butchered. The few Roman's that perished were gathered up along with their weapons. A quietness familiar with such isolated places begun to set in, save for the odd clanking of weapons and other equipment that seemed to ring out like a giant bell in the stillness. Men prepared for the coming of the black veil of night. It would be cold, despite the heat of the day. Some time would be needed before the Roman's next move upon the game board of warfare was decided. Would the army head back to Dimiddi to have someone else in a position of authority take command as would be proper or would they unite under the banner of Nebridius and continue on to Ghardaia? Much discussion flowed throughout the night as the ordinary soldiers tended to their wounds, cleaned their weapons and slept away their world weariness.


'I shall not counsel you either way' said Nebridius 'as I shall remain apart from these discussions. It will be the will of the majority whose decision shall be carried' It was agreed, without delving into over long debate that either Priscus Ventidius or Oppius Ventidius would not be called upon to lead the army.


'I'd rather be commanded by a braying ass' spat one gruff character.


'Those two are braying asses...they are as stupid and stubborn as them. Don't know Verenianus bothered with those two' quipped another. 'We will come back to Dimiddi and see it as a flaming wreck because of them!' exclaimed a stocky pug nosed Spaniard. 'One hopes they throw themselves into any conflagration and do everyone a favour' said the first man. In minutes, after words had bounced between the gathered officers, they turned to Nebridius. 'We have no faith in the braying asses of Dimiddi....therefore it is placed in your hands' their spokesman said. Nebridius regarded his fellow soldiers with cool eyes. He too would sooner march under the banner of an emaciated donkey before been commanded by those two useless garrison commanders who had been posted to watch the passes, unsuccessfully at that, into to Mauretania.


'Very well. Your decision then says to me that we then march onto Ghardaia and remove every bit of brick and timber...plunder their possessions, sell them into slavery and ensure that no songs are ever sung of them, no words other than poisoned ones are written of them. Shall it be so?' Appearing solem and sombre though driven within by a burning passion to end this ruinous campaign and go home, they hailed their new commander and agreed to continue their labours for one last push at victory...and ruin for the Berbers.

[Knonfoda]

Writers block? Where!? This has been one of your best updates yet! I also like how you've managed to really cut down on the screenies, what is your secret? You've managed here what I keep threatening to do in my AAR but can never pull off successfully!

Great update by the way!

[Justinian Australis]

Haha...it sometimes just happens out of nowhere, during idle moments when I think 'Eureka! That's what I am going to write' and then it just pours out and the block is cleared.

One day I decided as far as pics go....'Bah, screw it. It's too much effort' I wanted to go further into the narrative style of writing, focusing on three theaters so to speak (Africa, Julianus and the stoush between Valentinianus and Corelianus Phocas). It was easy for me cutting out so many pics as I don't tend to focus a great deal on battles (which is what you do most updates, therefore you it suits your style of writing to have so much pics) and more on behind the scenes

Chapter XLVII

The afternoon drew quickly towards dusk as the pale horizon became swathed in the orange luminescence of the sun. It had seemed a slow and tedious ride but Valentinianus managed to make it inside the walls of Colonia Agrippina before darkness took hold. The countryside was not a place for anyone, no matter their standing, to be caught in when night overcame day. A few people moved about themain via, casting suspicious glances at the Prefect and his entourage. Agrippinus, the garrison commander of the city watched the Prefect ever so carefully as he rode at the tail of the body of men. He ignored the passers by who packed up their stalls, dragged away their produce and goods or stowed them onto carts for transporting elsewhere.


It was a pleasant evening and Valentinianus rode in simple attire, doing away with the heavy clothing necessary further north of the Rhenus but there was no mistaking who he was. He had rode quickly upon receiving the news about his wife and left as soon as he received an somewhat disinterested Tiberius Secundus and his army who set his men to continue the siege of capital of Frisia. He had left in such a haste that he gave no orders for Tiberius in the event that the settlement fell to Roman arms. He only realised his error much later, as Colonia Agrippina loomed as a cold silent sentinel on the land but could not spare anyone to send messages. That would have to wait. Despite his anxiety he felt a sense of satisfaction tinged with smugness. The Frankish appeal had come at the ideal time and not a moment too soon, with the Magister of Gallia making his way into these parts to reorganise the military forces. When Frisia would be kept by the Romans, the Franks in their outrage would declare war on Rome, giving Valentinianus the perfect excuse to invade them and put them out of business.


The guards before the gates of the Imperial palace appeared sombre and looked at the Prefect with dull eyes, as if bored with the comings and goings that had been happening in Colonia Agrippina of late. Little attention was paid to anyone else as Valentinianus took the stairs two at a time. Guards quickly withdrew their crossed spears barring access past the open doors. Several court attendants shepherded Valentinianus towards the reception room and was told to wait. Though irritated, he did as he was bidden and begun pacing the room, ignoring everything in it. Several minutes passed by before he had had enough and turned towards the entrance into the reception room. He bellowed for the guards before he was confronted with a person he had not expected.


'Good evening Prefect. So glad of you to come' Corialanus Phocas said smoothly, eyes dark and boring straight into the Prefect. 'Magister Phocas...what is this? Where is my wife? Why must I wait here?' the Prefect blustered as he walked over to him and stood within inches of Phocas. Phocas simply stood back and then without warning he hooked his right fist savagely into the jaw of the Prefect. With a sickening thud the Prefect staggered back and fell over a couch and sprawled onto the marbled floor. His head was cushioned by a thick fur mat as it bounced twice off the floor. The Prefect looked at the towering figure through dazed eyes, grasping his aching jaw. Near the entrance stood Agrippinus, whose men had barred access into the room from Valentinianus' own guard. A short scuffle ensued in the expansive hallway as a host of garrison soldiers swarmed upon the outnumbered members of the Scutarii. They did so swiftly and efficiently that no blood was shed, as per orders of Phocas.


Valentinianus moaned as he still lay upon the floor. Phocas walked slowly to a large chair and sat down. The Prefect slowly came to his senses and realised that he was alone and there would be no help for him. 'You dare strike the Prefect of Gallia, you impudent fool! What is this madness?' he hissed as he crawled to his knees.


The Magister sat perfectly still. 'This madness, as you put it, is your madness Praefectus. You are ever so transparent in your actions. You think you present a certain face but it is a mere facade in which people who look close enough can see through. You think you have played your hand perfectly but you unfortunately have erred greatly' he said calmly.


The Prefect's eyes burned with anger and indignation. 'You speak in riddles Magister and you walk a very dangerous path. Firstly you dare strike the Prefect of Gallia and hold him against his will...this would surely incur the wrath of Augustus! Secondly you appear to propound an idea that I am engaged in some sort of fanciful scheme judging by your words. You have always intrigued me and now I see what aroused my curiosity. A man overcome with delusions'


'My actions are necessary to protect the integrity of Empire and ensure that the will of Augustus is not violated by an inveterate schemer. I know of the game you play beyond the Rhenus Valentinianus. Do you think that I or Augustus is stupid?' said Phocas, still as calm and considered as ever. As Valentinianus accused him of contrivance, he indulged in a little of his own fabrication of the truth in regards to the knowledge of Augustus.


Valentinianus regarded Phocas through squinting eyes, still massaging the dull ache that emanated from his jaw. He paced ever so slowly to the left. Phocas watched him closely, as did Agrippinus. 'Confess all now Valentinianus and things shall be much easier for you and your outcome more favourable. Clemency is possible for someone as yourself in such an evil case' said Phocas. Valentinianus sneered. 'Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me as to these games I am supposed to be playing. I am really intrigued' Valentinianus groped at a reclining couch as he continued to inch left, still eyeing off Phocas. Next to an expansive book case hung a purple fabric upon the wall, embroided with an image of an Emperor in regal pose supposed to be Augustus himself, no wider than the average man. On the right of it upon a pedestal was the marble bust of some long forgotten man. Behind here was a secret way out of the room that few knew existed, save for Valentinianus, something that he had discovered inadvertently for himself one afternoon. He avoided looking at his escape route. He stopped stock still for a moment. Phocas however was not fooled.


He whistled and bursting from behind the tapestry was a member of the Domestics. Valentinianus looked perfectly neutral in his expression but must have given off just a glimmer of shock for Phocas spoke. 'I know of it too Prefect and so does Agrippinus. He told me of this secret exit. Hence why you were brought here...you'd attempt flight from our encounter which would only deepen your guilt. You have confirmed it for me. You are a scoundrel...you think only of your own ends!'


Valentinianus stood calmly, still saying nothing but his shoulders had sagged ever so slightly. Phocas had crept closer to him. 'Do you know now Prefect, that the Franks that you had purported to help by way of our treaty, have now crossed the river and laid seige to Augusta Trevororum?'


Valentinianus opened his mouth but no words came out. He stammered uselessly. 'Silence! ' thundered Phocas. 'Yes Prefect, the Franks have attacked...they have double crossed you...and Rome. They knew you went north with Tiberius, thus leaving this section of river undefended whilst you dabbled in your delusions of grandeur. Their King Agandastrius...as blind, bigoted and selfish as yourself, decided on a little scheming of his own and rolled his dice'


'I do not think that you expected them to invade across the river...but you were expecting some form of treachery and deceit from them that would give you a pretext to wipe them out for your own ends. Expel the Saxons from Frisia but refuse to hand it over to the Franks and there, in their indignations they'd say or do something that would give you the perfect excuse to declare war on them thus annihilating them'


Valentinianus shook slightly...partly fear, partly anger...mostly at having had the layers to his secrecy peeled back so brutally. He still tried to feign innocence and even deflect blame. 'This is not of my doing Magister...I am no such man to be so conniving...you must cast your gaze to Tiberius Secundus...that little upstart from...”


'I think that you must seriously take me as a fool Prefect to swallow such a story. Come, wont you admit your guilt and save your skin?'


Valentinianus said nothing in reply. 'I doubt very much that Tiberius Secundus would ever entertain such notions, loyal as he is. He would see that to destroy the Franks is to create a space in which would allow the Burgundians to swarm in our direction. The Franks currently are a bulwark against them, they fight among themselves and expend their energies in personal animosity. You'd expose Rome to new enemies to what cost? Your a fool Valentinianus, a damned fool'


'Now I must expend valuable resources in bringing the Franks to heel. Unlike you, I shan't be entertaining the notion of obliterating the Franci from the pages of history just so you'd build upon your wealth and power. I'd even go so far as to say you'd seek to install yourself as Augustus...to me that is not so fanciful a thought. They have their use, as I have plainly pointed out and shall be forced to kneel at Rome and do her bidding. They will be humiliated and they shall know their place in the world forever more'


'Here you shall remain, under close guard and the hawk eyed vigilance of Agrippinus whilst I rectify these unfortunate events and you will wait for the judgement of Augustus and to whether you shall feel his divine clemency or his divine wrath. Best be about praying for your life Valentinianus...pray to your God, unless he too has abandoned you at such an hour'


'Your a fine one to be speaking about abandonment! How does your little crisis in faith go Phocas, you vile heathen!' Weak is your heart that has harboured doubt about the Almighty! spat Valentinianus.'You are weak and craven and deluded. Perhaps it's best that Augustus has not favoured you as the heir to the throne. Perhaps he sees your deficient character and instead leans towards Decimius Valens, who in any case is hardly an inspired choice as an heir! How it must gall you how that dotard is preferred by the Emperor!' Valentinianus laughed sardonically and then spat at Phocas. Ever poisoned and vindictive, exposed by the blazing truth, flailing wildly to wound his accuser even as all hope of extrication faded in the shadows was the Prefect.


Phocas blushed in hot anger but held back his usually lashing tongue. 'Agrippinus, see that the Prefect is comfortable. He is to be watched at all times. Oh by the way Prefect....your wife is perfectly fine, well she was when I tended to her last night' The Magister offered nothing by the way of smirk or scowl, for he did indeed tend to the lovely Eudocia, instead he stared lazily at Valentinianus , having decided the time for dealing with the Prefect was over, before walking away and beckoning several aides to follow in his wake.

[McScottish]

Simply excellent! +rep if I can.

[Knonfoda]

Very well written, very tense and engaging. A screenshot there would have ruined it I think. Nice to see the treacherous Valentinian brought to heel.

[Justinian Australis]

Chapter XLVIII

The dry grass hissed sadly as the easterly winds blew unceasingly. One man, with an authoritative air about him walked alone, the grass crackling under his boots. Behind him a whole host of men stood or sat on horseback. They were covered variably in the detritus of battle, one that had been fought in the open plains of Ghardaia. Here the countryside was far less mournful than that of Dimmidi, where grass did grow, rains fell occasionally and trees sprouted grey green foliage that adapted to a drier though less hostile land. Soldiers did not toil in ankle deep sand and choke on dust, instead trudged upon firmer ground. The sky was wide and blue, not a wisp of cloud to be seen. Feathered sentinels glided in lazy circles waiting their turn to feast upon the flesh of dead men.


The lone man walked with ease towards sprawling wooden gates. He was unarmed or armoured; his specialised cavalry armour and clothing was piled neatly back at the Roman camp. Thus he was clad simply in a standard dusty tunic and wore faded caligae. In his left hand he clutched his pileus pannonicus, having served in Pannonia before his distant posting though hailing from the haggard mountainous regions of Illyria. In his right hand he lazily grasped an object that was coated in dry dust, showing it no respect.


At these walls watched frightened blinking eyes that beheld this nonchalant of characters. Roman arrogance, in their eyes, knew no bounds no matter where they were, even in the cruel and uncaring lands beyond their precious limes. Fearful chatter passed among them, with no body daring to shoot any arrows or hurl projectiles, chiefly because they lay scattered and broken beyond the town walls, with their dead former owners and now the defenders that were left were crudely armed with spears and pitchforks and cudgels. Some stood with naught but their fists, hopelessly unprotected.


Closer still he came to the walls which stood just over two and a half meters, walls that had to be constructed from wood carted from more forested locations and done so hastily as word of Rome's terrible advance filtered through the countryside. Then he stopped and looked each way at the walls and beheld them, smirking at their pathetic defences and then laughing as he beheld the gazes of the petrified defenders. Weak and worthless warriors they were, in their darkest of hours with their destruction nigh. For what seemed like an age Nebridius stood perfectly still. His quiet and calm countenance greatly unnerved the Berber defenders. What was this man planning? Would he holler in rage for his men to scale the walls in a frenzy or would he be more methodical and planning in their ultimate doom? Then he swung his right arm in a circle. He ran forward a little and then hurled the object his hand as hard as he could. It was a most macabre sight and one that the o pressed and conquered peoples of the world could identify with the terrible power of Rome. It cleared the pallisades and landed with a sickening thud beyond the walls and bounced and rolled to a stop at the feet of a Garagamentes warrior. This man let out a whimper of shock and fear. The silence was broken by the powerful tongue of Nebridius.


'Behold! Before you lay your King! What will you do now in these dark and evil times? Choose wisely'


Nebridius could hear the panicked chatter but could not make out the words, not that he could decipher the vile tongue that these men spoke. He hoped that panic would spread among the men. He hoped their will would be smashed and they'd then turn upon each other in their confusion, bereft of a man of will that could hold such disparate people together. Jubal was the last recognised line of Berber Kings. His body was callously discarded somewhere in the distance and now he acted as a messenger, as a clear sign as to the brutality of an angered Rome.


Nebridius paced before the walls. 'I care not for what you do...fight among yourselves over your wretched kingdom...or what's left of it. Your flame is now extinguished, your unity destroyed forever but know this ...Whilst we may return to Carthage we shall return if you dare tempt the wrath of Rome. I now show you clemency and what remains of you shall live but vengeance will be swift and no trace left of you all should you transgress. Now I leave you to your fate, whatever it is you may decide'


Behind Nebridius came a tremendous cheer, a cheer of victory and conquest. Men that had expended much in the many long and painful months since setting out from Carthage and had suffered the grevious loss of Verenianus cheered with all their power. Then they chanted words that Verenianus had hoped to hear himself one day....'Imperator!' They hailed him with gusto, with hard voices and with determination.

The defenders on the wall, though in their fear, marvelled the scene before him. 'See him, see the majesty he commands....yet there is an awfulness to him....an awful majesty'


'Woe to they who provokes him and brings closer the hour of their doom. Men will die for him such is the respect he commands. Do you see his majesty? He will sit atop a gilded throne and wield his power, both terrible and great before long'


Others bemoaned their fate and what was to come. 'Best we forget what has happened and what has come upon us...' A number of other men snarled upon hearing these craven utterances from spineless fools.


'No' Came a raspy and grating response. People looked around and saw only a hunched figure shuffling along the hard packed roads of the town, cloaked in a black, oblivious to the heat in such attire. There were looks of confusion on the men, as they noticed the chanting had died down and the Roman, young and powerful, had made his way back to the ranks of his brethren.


'To forget is to die' The words came from a haggard old woman who now stood upright with the greatest of difficulties. 'The King may be dead, the unity of old shattered....yet we must not forget ourselves, our past'


'Let us carry the fight! Let us show those dogs we won't be defeated, we won't be cowered before them!' came the cry of one young warrior. The old woman shuffled painfully to him and looked into his eyes. She stroked his face. He stood their beholden with wonder and some apprehension. 'Patience...patience my love. One day there will come a time, when our strength is regained and we stand alone...I will not see it...perhaps your children will not also but it will come. We must wait....and never forget!'


Then away she shuffled and for a time there was a burst of inspiration at her words, hardened by the years and and tempered with wisdom but the inevitable sundering happened when men opposed each other and sought out their own ends thus driving themselves further apart and taking arms to each other. The Romans, for a short while, surrounded Ghardaia and demonstrated their gravity but before long moved away to the East back to Dimmidi having completed their grim and arduous task. Among the old and grizzled the Roman advance would be remembered for many years before time turned the memories into vague stories and semi truths.

[Knonfoda]

Top form my friend. I liked the bit at the end with the old woman.

But why not just conquer them and put them out of their misery? You stand at the gates alas, with no one to oppose you!

[Justinian Australis]

There are greater things for Nebridius Attius to be attending to now, instead of crushing worthless desert rebels....the story of the men of Africa shall continue and tread new paths

I was hoping to utterly destroy their very last settlement but the Berbers had a full stack hiding in the FOW and they attacked me. I tried to not kill Jubal, the last King but the men were a little to eager and thus they disintegrated into what they are now. Just can't be bothered wasting my Quartodecimani and Septimi legions on them.

Chapter XLIX

To a civilised Roman, all that was inside the two great rivers was light and reasoning, where truth and knowledge was to be admired and pursued. Beyond these demarcations was darkness and savagery, where impetuosity and whims ruled the minds of the barbaric. People of unparalleled savagery dwelt there, ready to sunder all that Rome knew. One of those people were the Franci, who had acquired the meaning of evil and treachery. Their King Agandastrius was a by word for back stabbing and perfidy. Out there, somewhere in the dark and angry forests he dwelt, nay, hid, in fear as he was forced back by the onslaught of Corialanus Phocas. All that Agandastrius had banked upon, his roll of the dice, had backfired quickly and it unravelled like a taught rope that suddenly snapped from the strain. In an attempt to lead his people to freedom, he consigned them to everlasting slavery.


Somewhere ahead of the Magister, the Frankish King made his last stand in one of the many pockets of forest. To the Roman soldiers they appeared dark and angry, old beyond reasoning and harbouring malign spirits where these people and the previous dwellers here (the Alamanni) made their sacrifices to appease their terrible Gods. The Mattiaci and Leoni, the auxillary palatinae soldiers where not so concerned with such terrains, in essence not many miles south from where they were recruited into Roman service at Augusta Treverorum. Most of the men commanded by Phocas were of Germanic origin. He felt a little uneasy in such strange lands, as if fearful that he would join Varus and his eighteen thousand Romans as sacrifices and carrion for the birds, their bones to be bleached under the ageless sun.


Mist hugged the rolling countryside, the morning sun but a faint blur behind the veil. The Romans were arranged in the shadow of some nameless, snow clad mountain. To their right, slightly elevated at the foothills of the mountain range was a house, its walls old and collapsing. Nobody had dwelt here for some years, the land depopulated after the Romans crushed the Alamanni and razed everything they could get their hands on. It had only been five years ago when the confederacy was crushed but no one wanted to come back. Phocas observed after manoeuvring into position that the Franks had not hidden themselves in the deep down in the valley but were just off to his right, emerging tentatively from the base of a cops of birch. Vigorous pines, still in their relative youth planted by the previous owners of the farm house, lay between the Romans and the Franks and stood four meters tall at its highest.


The Romans moved closer still before they halted before the sparse pine plantings in front of them. The mounted archers were close enough to begin firing upon the heriban. Whether ordered to or by acts of impetuosity, several units of the heriban moved forward and begun moving into a shallow depression amidst the pines. It was an old water course that fed larger streams further down in the valley that fed into the furthest reaches of the Rhenus. Today it was swathed in ankle deep grass and mixed with blooming red poppies. These advancing men met the fury of Roman missiles, the auxillary palatinae archers opening fire upon them. They could not stand for such treatment and soon turned about and made their clumsy way out of the water course. Their exposed rear made them easy prey for the missiles and they sought the safety of the forest. The Franks moved further back in the woods as they watched their comrades get slaughtered. Agandastrius just stood their with his guard impassively. If he had more men, he felt that he could smash his way past the auxillia that formed Rome's infantry. Alone his bodyguard could take many of them to the afterlife.


The Frankish infantry tried again and closed before the Mattiaci. The Faramanne spearmen got close enough to fire their javelins and inflict some casualties but the two left cohorts of the palatinae hurled their throwing axes. Greatly weakened they turned and fled but were trampled under the ponderous hooves of the cataphracts. Much to the shame and reproach of his men, Agandastrius decided upon discretion and at once turned his men around and made a mad dash away from the foothills, away from the mountain that seemed to mock him and his courage. As quickly as they could they came out into the open and crossed over the dirt track that followed the top of the valley and swung slowly to the north. Some tripped and stumbled as they attempted to cross the road. Phocas decided to send in the cavalry and pursue as many as he could. He hoped to catch the King and bring him to battle before he disappeared down into the heavily forested valley below, where the undergrowth was thick and difficult to traverse and many streams meandered towards the beginning of the Rhenus. It was country in which the cavalry could not follow.


Phocas, as his cavalry rumbled onwards, marvelled at how quickly the Franks were able to put distance from them. As soon as the Romans appeared close to closing in on the Franks at the tail, they'd pull away, as if born upon wings. Into the woodlands below they disappeared and Phocas was forced to call a halt to the pursuit. The Franks had been driven away from the capital of the old Alamanni region known to Rome as Tribus Alamanni, with moderate loss, however Agandastrius was still alive. His fierce pride would not allow for any compromise. There could be no peace at all; for he had dug himself deep. Back in the lands of the subjugated luthungi, were he had initially launched his brazen attack, he retreated too. Here Phocas followed, annoyed at the King having escaped. His army halted within sight of the fortified village that controlled the region.


At great length discussion was had amongst Phocas and his officers. There could be no other choice than to bring Agandastrius to face Roman justice. 'Therefore, it is imperative we immediately lay siege to this place and starve them into submission...or at least have them rashly attack and we can then capture or kill Agandastrius. Right now, it matters little either way. Remove this villain and any other Frankish lord will fall into line, lest they wish to invite more doom upon themselves' explained Phocas.


'What of their fate? Are we to crush them once and for all?' asked one officer.


'No...we will not entertain annihilating them. They can still be useful as a buffer against the Burgundians, something that Valentinianus failed to take into account' replied Phocas. 'I shall allow the men some liberties here, they may loot and burn this place to their hearts content but we shall hand it back to the Franks as proper demonstration of our intent'


'If I may suggest, we can easily put greater pressure upon the Franks from the north Magister...if we bring Tiberius Secundus away from Frisia and to push back the Franks that are gathering around those parts' mentioned another Tribunis.


Phocas thought for awhile but seemed unconvinced at this. 'With what shall the province be garrisoned with? There is little men to spare as it is anywhere in Gallia'


'I've seen a count of the men stationed at both Colonia Agrippina and Augusta Treverorum...there'd be enough men to put together a garrison to hold it. I'd imagine the Saxons would be licking their wounds right now after the thrashing they received from Tiberius' and shan't be in any position to trouble us for a while yet' informed the Tribunis.


'Yes, I suppose' Phocas mused, thinking that he needed at some point to getting around to reviewing troop numbers and arrangements for Gallia. He appeared to have a thought. 'It could be the chance for Florentius to redeem himself...the ex Prefect of Gallia...a position that would no doubt need filling once again , when Augustus gets around to it. I have it on good authority that Augustus plans to develop Frisia into an important province beyond the Rhenus, to better watch the Saxons. I think even there are plans to have a legion stationed there'


'Yes, what better way for Florentius to recast his mould before the eyes of Augustus as a reformed man...such responsibility in this province will keep him honest for I believe that our Emperor will not be so lenient a second time. I admire Charietto for putting up with him for so long'. Very well, as we prepare here for a siege, word will be sent to Florentius and Tiberius of the new plans. You are capable men, I shall defer to you in setting up the siege...leave me be now, for I have much to write to the Emperor about' Phocas beckoned for a notary to follow him back to his hastily erected quarters, as men begun scurrying about and all the particulars associated with siege warfare were seen to.

[Knonfoda]

Very good. I enjoyed also in the previous update, the way you framed the screenshots, excellent stuff!

[Ganbarenippon]

I haven't commented in a while, but it's all be fantastic! I've just been reading the updates at work that's all! Well done sir!

[Knonfoda]

Must... have... more....

[Justinian Australis]

It is coming, like a tidal wave of destruction unleashed upon the unsuspecting foes of Julianus!