Assignment 7 - ROME

**FrostySOTF** · September 16, 2015, 11:03 PM

Sorry gentlemen, the migraines were attacking, thus giving me no motivation.

Prompt 1 - You are campaigning with Caesar as one of his centurions, it is the day before an engagement. ~ I'm giving a LOT of leeway with this one, could be in Gaul or Egypt fighting Pompey or any other, it is up to you, you could also be in charge of infiltrating the enemy's base or anything. Be free with your writing!

Prompt 2 - You are either Romulus or Remus, about to form Rome, the plans have been laid out and people are beginning to settle but there is a problem - who will rule? You arrange a meeting with your brother at a place of your choosing, making sure to prepare an ambush in advance...

Prompt 3 - You are a retired Senator just having finished your governorship of (x) province and have had charges of corruption and bleeding the province dry with your money grubbing, as you arrive at the courthouse a young man with a rising reputation in the courtroom approaches you and offers to represent you in court, promising success, what do you do?

Since the Roman Empire won by quite a bit all the prompts will be in the Empire at different time periods.
There was 1 vote for a courtroom so one of the promps will cover a Roman Court.

P.S - If I have not gotten any grades back to you and you want them please send me a reminder and I'll get to them shortly

**Iron Aquilifer** · September 29, 2015, 02:50 PM

The Barbarian and the Knight

Centurion Dio was a half feral hound, all muscle and slavering jaws. The summer of his youth was gone, the thick hair which once crowned his scalp now withered to a few strands of stiff straw. Old, too old to remember the face of his mother, Dio had become a symbol for the men under his command. A warning for the men who tried to control the city. He was what happened when you push a soldier too far, demanded too much. In many ways he was the perfect soldier. That terrified them all.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The sentry span round, sword drag in a single sluggish movement. He had not heard the man’s approach, despite the armour which stuck to his broad frame. In the darkness, his clothing was a dark vintage, almost purple. There was no way to make out who he was.

“What’s the word?” the sentry demanded, raising his sword so that it was aiming at the centurion’s chest. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Never missing a step, no hesitation, the centurion peeled back his lips to an inhuman extent. And just like that, his own sword darted out. The edge was sharp, too sharp to have any right to be on a simple centurion’s sword. Too cold as well, as if kissed by deep winter. That was why the sentry did not feel the loss of his fingers.

“Beautiful,” the shadow-wreathed figure announced again, extinguishing the nearby torch. “Isn’t it?”

Maybe the centurion pushed him, or maybe the sudden wave of pain removed all resistance, the sentry finding himself splayed across the cold grass ground. Looking up, he noticed the centurion kneeling beside him. The sword had disappeared, its scabbard unseen in the moon-light. Somehow, that small fact made the sentry silence his cries.

“You heard about Alesia, I take it? Now there was a battle to make you honoured to be alive. Pompeius never gave any of his men a war like that. In the north you did not have time to sleep for all the cattle that came looking for death. Afterwards, you could not see the mud beneath the bodies.”

The centurion sent his arm off in a slow sweep, the memory lighting up his face.

“The fires burned long after that, the snap of the flames filling in the emptiness left behind.”

There was a pause, a ripple stretching out in a lake.

“That fight ended, and this one will follow it. They always end.”

The centurion rose without another word, striding back to camp as the rest of his party made the final incisions in to the sentry.

“They always end.”

Centurion Dio was mad, a Germanic hound underfed and beaten. His coiled muscles tensed at everything, fingers grasping invisible swords as he called out every challenge. Sleep deprivation only made him more restless. Like the Greek fires of old, he fed off of what should have felled him, going from strength to strength as others stumbled and collapsed. The men beneath him damned his name for he was surely a cursed man. His superiors, the tribunes recruited by Lepidus himself to remake Caesar’s Equestris, were wary of him, seeing a problem in the faith placed upon a single man’s shoulders.

The column snaked across the Greek landscape, consuming every road as it raced east. Spurred on by gold, vengeance and a primal calling, the army did not allow itself to be distracted by such luxuries as sleep or hot meals.

“It will be beautiful.”

“What did you say?”

Lucius was the only one who had heard Dio’s comment, standing alone in a grassy meadow as they waited for the rest of the column to join them. The sun still crawled across the sky, yet already the encampment had begun to encroach on the size of some young cities.

“Won’t last long,” Dio muttered after a pause, licking his lips. “But it will be beautiful for however long it lasts.”

Lucius accepted that with an uneasy smile, half-turned away before he heard Dio continue.

“Did I ever tell you about Alesia?”

**DeanE555** · September 30, 2015, 01:14 PM

Heya Frosty! I'll send my assignment here in the next 2 or 3 days. The allergies suprised me all at once and so I had to switch to a new type of antihistamine which makes me sleepy like hell.

**DeanE555** · October 02, 2015, 11:50 PM

And it is finally done! Sorry for the delay!

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

The Choices We Make

A gentle breeze caresses the Hispanic plains near Munda. On this very plains that seem to stretch all the way to the Pillars of Hercules, on this very plains which one may not spot a distinct object of interest for miles, on these very plains camps one of the greatest armies ever known to the civilized world, almost the size of the one gathered some 7 years ago to put down the barbaric Gauls who made Alesia their fortress.
A vast 8 legions were gathered here on these plains; amongst them are the veterans of numerous battles who accompanied the son of Venus herself, Gaius Julius Caesar the great, since his campaigns in Gaul.
And it still may not be enough… The enemy, once a great soldier of Rome and now a great traitor to her, has amassed for his defense an even greater army of 13 legions! Caesar's target is now none other than his once loyal lieutenant Titus Labienus.
Behind him stand those fools who still may not yield before Caesar, still swayed by the lies and bravely, yet foolishly bear unhindered loyalty for Pompey's family now led by his less talented son.
They all shall perish without a second thought to protect their masters but so will we, we shall never fail the all mighty Caesar! May Fortuna and Mars carry our prayers and destroy our unjust foes! For invincible Rome! Roma Invicta!

Agarius Marcius laid down his quill and released a sigh of relief "That seams about right…". Marcius poured himself a cup of the expensive greek wine Caesar distributed him with. Although the food and wine provisions started to dwindle since the last month, Marcius still received only the best of what was left of the supplies, as if he was the general commanding the army.
But no, Marcius was not a general or even a high lieutenant; in fact, he only possessed the rank of a Centurion. So why is it that when most of the Caesar's commanding officers have to make due with a regular legioner's meal, a single Centurion is given the pleasure of eating like a general still?
These inquiries did not trouble Marcius though, for he knew why that is. Another thought was his concern, a concern which he tries to make amends with but for some reason he cannot, no matter how much he would try to drown it in wine or pleasure.
Marcius came to a conclusion that he shall pour his concern over a page, writing seams to ease his mind after all and… he has to assure that his efforts will not go for waste. And so, Marcius pulled out another paper scroll from his chest and started writing:

Whoever finds this, I humbly request of you to read it to the end.
My name is Agarius Marcius, Son of Orelius and Lucia. I served in the 10^th Legion Equestris for the past 14 years. My rank was that of a Centurion but I was also in charge of a personal scouting force selected by Caesar and of the writing of "inspirational announcements" as the big general himself would call them.
By the time you shall read this I presume you would have heard about me, but I will not be celebrated as a hero and savior of Rome. I will be condemned as a traitor and will probably be dead by then.
Throughout this scroll I shall tell you about my adventures with the 10^th and by the end of it you might even be rewarded by more than a mere knowledge about a certain traitor within the ranks of Caesar.
My life was blessed with a quiet and simple beginning; my father was a local bureaucrat at Arretium. Our Family was quite well off having received whatever we could have desired usually. I was an only son so I had no brothers who I had to share with as well. But the quiet life of a spoiled brat living in a small roman settlement was no what I had wished for myself; at the age of 17, armed with a letter written by my father, I traveled to Rome herself. There, after my interview I was sent towards Hispania and was officially a legionary of the 10^th.
The first months were not as exciting as I had hoped from the lives of a soldier: training, chores, more training, more chores and falling asleep for the night. Just when I thought about defection, believing the life of a mercenary would offer me much more excitement, Caesar has finally mobilized our legion for his wars in Gaul.
Even then, I had not found the true meaning of battle for only a year later. Most of our engagements were small skirmishes with local Barbarian villages. Most of them did not even raise arms against us and were subdued immediately. I enjoyed the loot we were allowed to take but still I had a thirst for blood. There was that one battle at Bibracte against the Helvetii but I was in the rear of the cohort most of the time.
My wishes finally came true at the cross of the river Sabis. This barbaric Belgae fought hard and well… and still we managed to defeat them while we were immensely outnumbered. Most say it was only because of the inspirational words Caesar had shouted into our ears right after the ambush, but no. If there is a man who was the hero of the 10^th that day it was none other than our commander at the time, Titus Labienus. Even though Caesar has declared him a traitor, I know that there is no man more loyal to the republic than him. Every Roman citizen should have seen how bravely he fought and commanded the legion that day, as if he was Mars himself who descended to lead us!
I still carry a necklace which I took from one of the dead Barbarians who littered the field that day; this necklace reminds me to always stand strong even in the direst of situations. I do not say this lightly, but until the battle at the river Sabis I was still the spoiled brat I hated so much, gods! I even think I myself that day but you would too if you were a boy not out of his teens yet who was stormed by thousands of howling, blood thirsty Barbarian bastards.

After the Sabis river our lives in the legion were once again quite mundane. After we defeated the Nervians, Caesar had not engaged any enemy force. Once again we had a routine of marching, camping and resting. That all changed once again when we boarded a fleet of transport ships and headed for Britain. Apart from the horrible landing we had there was no major skirmish on our part. The water was so cold and sling stones and javelins were flying all around. I was even hit with a stone in the lower part of my left arm and the salty water made the pain all the more worse. When the Britons fled we had no time to rest, we quickly built a camp and dry docked the ships. All the time I spent in Britain was perhaps one of the most horrible places I had ever camped; It was bloody cold, the sand constantly piled inside our sandals and the storms… no clear minded mortal would like to live in such conditions! At least we left those cursed shores right before winter. Otherwise I would not like to think what would've happened. Of course these cursed Barbarians had attacked us one last time before we left, but we displayed before them the true power of the republic, routing them after a bloody slaughter and burning every piece of land we have "conquered".

After that point, I believe there are not any interesting adventures I could share with you. I had traveled twice across the Rhine and even took for myself a Suebian head-knot from a kind dead Barbarian, and I was in this cursed land of the Britons again.
My adventures truly pick up at the siege of the city Alesia that was under the command of the Barbarian noble Vercigentorix. Caesar desperately wanted to beat him for he was the only one who managed to inflict defeats upon our legions, most notably in Gergovia. During the years of struggle with the Barbarian king there was no place we felt safe at; Vercigentorix was known for his ambush tactics and every time we were trapped in one, we were suffering heavy casualties, and this goes without saying that we all feared we'd meet the fate of the 14^th. Also, our food supplies started to dwindle for all the "scorched earth" he and his predecessor, Ambiorix, left behind.
As much as I hate Caesar the Biggus Dickus, I must admit the he is a brilliant commander, and a very skilled fighter. Alesia was his masterpiece.
The first weeks were blessed with high moral among us, all of us knew we had captured this frightening, and seemingly, undefeated enemy. We all knew it was just a matter of time before those Barbarians will starve like rats in a cage. We would often be interrupted by Vercigentorix' raiders during our work on the siege walls, luckily, the Auxiliary cavalry proved themselves highly skilled and would rescue us always just in time.
It was after the works were done that the tension started to rise and show upon us all. Me and other veterans just wanted the Gauls to fight it out already, The fresh-recruited however wished the day of fighting would never come, Many of them only knew Caesar's losses until then.
Even more diminishing were the women and children the Barbarians kicked out of the city. Even I never experienced such cruelty, those poor people had nowhere to go and most of them were starved to death by the time Vercigentorix allowed them back inside. Some nights I can see their faces just… staring at me in this sanity-consuming look and dead eyes. I will lie to you if I had told I betrayed everything only for this reason, but it was like a rock among pebbles on the scales of my decision.
One of this nights of long anticipation I had told a tale to my comrades, as fit for the one who earned the nickname "The blabbermouth" amongst the 10^th. To my luck Caesar happened to stroll around this part of the camp at that time. He was intrigued by the reason a few dozen men were all quite and sitted at one spot. He sat amongst the simple legionaries on the muddy ground and listened, all the while watched by his personal guard who stood like two trees above him. I do not remember which of my useless tales it was at the time… perhaps the one about the mercenary who was betrayed by his lover? Not that it matters much. When I was done with the tale, he had given me his applause and invited me to his tent for the night. This caused for an amusing scene for none of us even noticed him, everyone suddenly stood still and awaited an order, any order.
That night Caesar offered me something I could not have refused: "Tell me, legioner Agarius, would you like to lend your creative mind and skill with words towards the benefits of Rome? Write me what I ask of you and I will make sure you will be awarded accordingly" The thoughts of more dinari and recognition by one of Rome's greatest made my choice, sure I'd prefer a good battle any day to writing, but it was an offer only a madman would have refused. Too bad I am not mad enough though…
Caesar did not give me any type of work before the Gallish reinforcements had arrived; he needed every man at his best for the upcoming battle.
Then, after a long wait, What we all knew was about to happen had done so. The Gauls attacked simultaneously from inside and outside our fortifications. The next three days were a hell ridden with a never ending streak of fighting. The skies were almost blackened by the projectiles that flew from all sides. The smell was horrifying after the first day and the screams of those who were either dying or charging never stopped. We all fought to exhaustion worsened by the shortage of food and night attack of the enemy, luckily though, I was stationed at the inner ring and never met the attackers.
The last day of fighting was the one where I spotted Caesar battling the Barbarians himself. It seemed as though he was a dancer at the middle of the battlefield that with each movement of one of his limbs, one of his enemies fell down as if in a well acted tragedy. It also seemed though that he was not the only one being noticed. After the siege was won, He called me to his tent once again and gave me his applause yet again on my fighting.
Obviously, it was not the only reason he had called me for; Caesar had lost many trusted officers during the battles against Vercigentorix. He had asked me to take the position of a Centurion amongst the infantry. For last he had asked of me another thing, a thing which led to my decision to betray everything I worked for. He asked of me to manage his affairs, doing the same work my father does! I replied to him that I did not join the army to turn into a bureaucrat, but it seemed like Caesar would not receive "no" for an answer.
Of course this boring work was not the reason I turned into a traitor! It shall be what I would discover during this work that would lead to my decision.
It was funny though; my new duty now meant I was needed to stay alive at all costs! Although my position as a Centurion I hardly saw any fighting during this civil war. I would usually be seated on a horse near the trumpeters of the legion, commanding only a handful of rearguard troops. This enraged me but also somewhat relieved me, killing a fellow Roman and a merciless Barbarian is nothing alike! I would fill like a murderer every time I had the chance to kill someone in these battles.
It was right before we shipped to Hispania when I had found out: Caesar successfully raised many of the plebs in the Italian cities as a sort of personal militia who would hurt and even kill anyone who spoke ill of Caesar. Unfortunately my parents ended up as their casualties as well: my father had been crippled and my mother brutally raped. This all was only thanks to the associates I made at this position.
Since we crossed the Rubicon River I had almost not a moment to rest, managing Caesar's letters, organizing the supplies and writing those "inspirational announcements". The only upcoming of such tasks is the fact they consume less energy. At nights I would go out and, with a group of fellow comrades would sabotage what we could: horse pens, food, water, tents, whatever would slow down the army's advancements and grant a chance to the armies led by Pompey.
But with dumb luck, most of our attempts don't seem to slow down Caesar, as I said he is indeed a brilliant commander. This night is what we all fear is the last one; many of us who still share our loyalty to Labienus shall defect.
It seems as though this is the first did of my life that is not ridden with selfishness; leaving my home, joining the army, accepting Caesar's first offer. All of these decisions were done in the thoughts of glory, adventures and gold. Well gold and adventures I earned as well as somewhat glory but bellow those lay the lives I had destroyed for so many years, including my parents'. After I enlisted I met them only once, after Alesia, and even then I had not said to them goodbye at the end of my visit! I don't even know if this did I do is for the sake of more adventures for I know I think only about myself most of the time.

Well, it seems pointless to ponder about such thoughts now… I do not expect you to understand my motives but I do expect you to help my family, do what I could not do in my life. Search for the Patrician Agarius family at Arretium, show them this letter with that seal and ask them to look out for the lonely tree near the Rome, they will understand. For this I allow you to ask for a 1000 Denari and not a single coin more! My spirit shall hunt you, your children and their children if you shall do so. But please, I'd like to as another favor, spread my words to anyone you can. From his letters I learned that Caesar plans to destroy our Republic, it cannot happen! Anything we achieved during the Gallic wars will be for naught! There must be a resistance against him and what he seeks! May the gods be with you and may you not hail Caesar as if he is one!

Signed:
Centurion of special affairs
Agarius Marcius

[STAMP]

Just when he was done, a soldier clad in armor barged into his tent.
"Centurion Marcius! Caesar is onto us! We must make our run now!
"Oh gods… he found out about it faster than I had thought… You must go now! All of you!"
"What about you sir?"
"I'll keep them busy, there is no other choice. Caesar trusts my word. I will make sure you can make it out to the enemy camp uninterrupted, but you must go now!"
The soldier tried to insist a bit further but Marcius have paused him down in the midst of his sentence. Reaching out with his right palm towards the soldier
"Take this boy, show this one to Labienus' men when you arrive, but beforehand make sure this one reaches Italia back"
"Yes sir!"
The young soldier left and Marcius sat back on his stool, now he waits for the worst scenario. He pours into his cup some more wine and is drinking lightly what seems like his last cup.

**Alwyn** · October 03, 2015, 09:32 AM

Good stories, Iron Aquilifer and DeanE555!

I picked Prompt 1, interpreting 'Caesar' to mean 'any Emperor' rather than Julius Caesar specifically - I hope that's okay.

Before Sunset, Before Sunrise

Emperor Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius, was murdered by the usurper Pertinax. Commodus massacred the nobles who he imagined would overthrow him. He was a paranoid fool who should have realised what would happen next. To save their own lives, some of the nobles who escaped the massacre had him strangled. Thus began the Year of Five Emperors.

The Praetorian Guard, the Emperor’s bodyguards, proclaimed Pertinax emperor. Pertinax could have given them the generous financial reward which they expected for putting him on the throne. But the Imperial treasury was running low, so he didn’t do that. He was a parsimonious fool who should have seen what the Praetorian Guard would do.

After Pertinax was killed by his own guards, the Praetorians sold the Imperial throne to the highest bidder. Didius Julianus arrived to late to enter the building where the auction of the throne was happening. So he stood outside the building and shouted his bid, “25,000 sesterces for every soldier!” Having gained the throne in such inauspicious circumstances, he failed to secure the support of the people. People need a good reason to obey a leader. Julianus was a myopic fool who should have seen what that would mean. There were plenty of generals who the people could appeal to, for a popular leader.

When Septimius Severus arrived in Italy, the people proclaimed him as their Emperor. Between Severus and the throne stood the Praetorian Guard. When you hear ‘Praetorian Guard,’ you think of elite soldiers, do you not? Men who can march all day under a hot sun in heavy armour, build a camp, defend it against an attack by barbarians and then do it all again, day after day? That’s what the soldiers who followed Severus were used to doing. That’s what I was used to doing. But the Praetorian Guard had been too busy selling the Imperial throne and spending their 25,000 sesterces to remember how to be proper soldiers. That much money will buy a lot of rich food and comfortable living. We beat them easily.

Septimius Severus became Emperor. He had the support of the people. He had several legions of loyal soldiers. They were proper soldiers, not corrupt and lazy palace guards. The new emperor disbanded the Praetorian Guards who had sold the throne to Julianus, saying that he would replace them with loyal men who served the Empire, not their own ambitions. But the new emperor had a problem. He was not the only popular general. Pescennius Niger, the governor of Syria, proclaimed himself emperor, the ambitious fool. When Pescennius Niger marched on Rome with his legions, Emperor Septimius Severus gave him a chance to go into exile. Severus is no fool. He is an honourable man and his soldiers respect him for that. The legions of Severus beat Niger’s forces at Cyzicus and Nicea. After those defeats, cities which had supported Niger changed sides and declared their allegiance to Severus. When Egypt renounced their support for Niger and declared for Septimius Severus, Niger’s bid for the throne was over.

Then Clodius Albinus, governor of Britannia, was proclaimed emperor by the legions in his province and in Hispania. Albinus had been a loyal ally of Severus. The plan was that Albinus would keep order in the western empire, allowing Severus to defeat the usurper Pescennius Niger in the east. Clodius Albinus could have been remembered as a reliable man who enabled Severus to re-unite the broken empire. But Clodius Albinus was a treacherous fool. He wanted the empire for himself.

So the legions of Emperor Septimius Severus marched against our former ally, the traitor and usurper Clodius Albinus. I was a centurion then. We marched to find the usurper in Gaul. The Emperor’s army was made up of legions from Pannonia, Illyricum, Moesia and Dacia. As we marched, our army seemed huge and invincible. I had known military campaigns before but I had never seen an army of this size. But our cavalry scouts reported that the usurper’s force was equally large. Our advance guard beat the scouts of the usurper’s army in a skirmish at Tinurtium. When the enemy fell back to Lugdunum, our army followed. We camped for the night; in the morning, we expected to march to Lugdunum where imagined we would fight a battle that would defeat the usurper decisively.

That night, as I sat with my men around the campfire, we watched the flames hungrily licking the wood and saw the sun setting behind clouds which shone like gold. Some men talked about great victories in the past, and the tales got taller as the sun sank towards the trees on the horizon. Some of us talked about what we would do after the usurper was defeated and the war ended. No-one talked about the battle tomorrow. No-one wanted to be reminded that we would be fighting trained Roman soldiers, who we would normally have stood alongside. Our training, our equipment, our whole military system, was a perfect instrument for the destruction of ill-trained, poorly equipped, disorganised barbarians. I did not talk about my son.

My son had been so promising, when he was a boy. He was a brave boy, strong in body and will. He trained for long hours to earn an honoured place in a Roman legion. But he was independent too. I took him for long marches and hunting expeditions on the countryside. When a pack of wolves attacked, he was fearless and lethal with his sword. He enjoyed our adventures together, as did I. But my son longed for adventures on his own. He didn’t want to serve with me, his old father. No! He had to be out on the wild frontier. He volunteered to serve in the Victorious Sixth Legion in Britannia, on the untamed edge of the Empire. I knew, like all the men with me, that the Sixth Legion had followed their commander Clodius Albinus, governor of Britannia, into Gaul. My son was marching in the army of the usurper. The army which I and my men and all the legions serving the Emperor would do our utmost to destroy tomorrow. Whoever won the battle tomorrow, I would lose.

Suddenly my optio, my second-in-command, tugged at my arm and nodded towards his left. The centurio primus pilus, the senior centurion in our legion, was striding directly towards us.

“I need a century of reliable men to scout ahead on our left flank, before dawn. Your men are up to this, aren’t they?” he asked.

“Of course, sir” I replied. This was the expected answer and I gave it almost without thinking. The chief centurion gave us our instructions. With an enemy army of equal size, information about the disposition and movements of the usurper’s forces could be vital for victory.

We slept lightly and were shaken awake when it was time to get ready to go.

“Move out! You know what to do,” I said. The 80 men of my centuria marched before dawn, as we had been ordered. Years of fighting barbarians in unfamiliar lands taught us to be cautious. The incautious, the slow and the clumsy men who had joined this legion had been left behind as corpses on the sites of a dozen or more battles. The survivors had learned to be stealthy, to think quickly and end the life of an enemy efficiently. We were evocati, veterans who could have left the army but who had been persuaded to re-enlist by a popular general.

We marched for miles, staying off the road but not too far from it. We crossed streams, grassland and woods. We climbed a low hill which was covered in trees. There were some of the usurper’s advance guard! A group of young men in the uniforms of Roman soldiers were marching confidently along the road. They were dressed like us, but we had to treat them like any enemies.

They weren’t expecting us. They must have thought that we were miles away. The Emperor’s army was some distance behind us, after all. When we suddenly burst from the woods behind them, they were slow to react. First a couple of them, then more, lost their courage and ran for the woods. The rest died quickly. Without needing a command, my men moved into loose formation and pursued the fleeing enemies. We did not want them to warn the men behind them.

That’s when I found him, cowering like a cornered, terrified animal. His sword was on the ground not in his hand. His face was a picture of grief and shame. My brave son! He had been brave when fighting against wolves, but when he faced Roman soldiers, his courage turned to water. Perhaps I should not have been surprised. Many men rely on the strength of their friendship with the others in their centuria. They become brothers. But, in battle, a soldier can suddenly be isolated, cut off from their brothers who may be dead or fighting for their lives.

Now I had a choice to make. My son was an enemy and my duty was to slay the enemies of my Emperor. But my centuria had stayed loyal to me through many battles. I could smuggle my son into my own centuria, just another legionary among many others. None of my men would give him away, I knew that for sure - and I had heard senior officers saying that all legionaries look the same to them. I put down my sword and held out my hand to my son. But would he take my hand or pick up his sword? I was about to find out.

-- The End --

(This story is set in the hours before the Battle of Lugdunum)

**FrostySOTF** · October 12, 2015, 11:55 AM

*drags himself out of cave*

Well hello, lately I've been absolutely horrible about this, apologies all, even though there's only a few of you that have survived thus far.

I think I'll be coming up with the Final project soon, if any wish to prolong the course I can have a couple more assignments before that though.

**Alwyn** · October 17, 2015, 12:54 AM

Hi Frosty, no need to apologise, I hope you are okay. If there are only a few of us left, I suggest moving on to the Final project.

**Darkan** · October 24, 2015, 06:45 AM

I'm writing it now, halfway (-ish) through. I'll post it later tonight, I just have to take a break and clean the house for a bit.

Cheers!

EDIT: Late, very late, but at least I got it done. It took me a while to find the time and to find the theme. Enjoy!

Five, Six, Seven, One?

It was a warm summer night, the second watch[1] had just started, but nobody was sleeping. Caesar’s legions were severely depleted but no effort was spared in preparation for the upcoming battle; by now, everybody knew it couldn’t be avoided. Centurion Quintus Memmius Torquatus of Legio X Eqvestris, a veteran of the Gallic Wars, was worried. As he walked towards where his men were reinforcing the palisades, he couldn’t stop but think of what he had just been tasked to do. Dangerous, this mission was, yet he would do it, as the men of the tenth never balked or complained, they got the job done, no matter the odds.

Quintus got to his tent to rest for a few moments and think of the best course of action. As he entered, he saw his younger brother, Septimus, had still not finished cleaning the arms and armour.
- Centurion, his brother spoke in a formal tone, I am almost done here. Let me know what my next task is.
- Finish this up and then summon Buteo, Corvus and Malleolus, Quintus replied.

He knew he needed his best men to make a plan that would see the mission carried out successfully. The centurion lay on his makeshift bed and closed his eyes, knowing he had some time before Septimus would find the three men. He was tired, very tired, but couldn’t sleep. None of his men had slept well over the past couple of weeks. Without realising, his mind started recounting all the events that had led him, that had led all of them, here. Four years before they had all been at Gergovia and Alesia, they had been the heroes of the Republic. It was there where his men had named him Torquatus, after singlehandedly defeating three foes, taking their weapons and the famed Gallic torques. He had been present when the mighty Vercingetorix, the chieftain of the Gauls, had surrendered to Caesar. They had all been hailed as heroes but now, who were they now? The civil war had soon started and Roman fought Roman, brother fought brother and nobody knew this better than Quintus.

“Damn my brother and his silly principles”, he thought. “I guess there’s no point in lamenting it now though, what’s done is done”. His brother, the other one, had sided with Pompey. He had always praised the Republic and had spoken against tyrants, but Quintus had never imagined it would come to this. Sextus Memmius Celer, Sextus the quick, had sided with Pompey. It had devastated their parents; their eldest son with Caesar, their second-born with Pompey. “Sextus would be about 25, 26 now”, Quintus thought...”not too young, but too damn stubborn”. He thought of his brother every day. He had been the pride of their father and he probably still was. When Quintus went home on leave he had found his parents’ hearts broken. Their father would barely speak, too burdened by all the events, their mother wouldn’t stop crying, making him promise that the youngest, Septimus, would never leave home. Their mother was already old when she had Septimus, reason why he got the cognomen Cordus. “What could I have done, what could I have said”, the veteran centurion asked himself, knowing full well there was no answer. Septimus had been eager to fight, young fool that he was, that’s why, when Caesar had levied new legions, he was among the first to join. Their parents had pleaded with Quintus to stop him, to do something so they wouldn’t be left alone, but what could he have done? How can a centurion of the mounted tenth, the famous tenth, the most loyal of legions, go to his commanding officer to get his brother back? It had been madness to even think it, let alone do it.

Even so, he did do something to ease their parents’ suffering. He had managed to get his brother transferred into his centuria, which meant he could at least watch over him. In the battle of Dyrrhachium Septimus had been eager to fight, but Quintus had assigned him over to Corvus, who was in charge of the nightly watch. Septimus had been furious, as he had felt his brother had denied him the chance to win glory, to wash the family’s disgrace. Stupid boy! Septimus was a convinced Caesarean follower so naturally he considered his older brother, Sextus, as a traitor to Rome and a stain on their family’s honour. Countless times Quintus had tried to reason with him but without success.

The centurion got up as he heard his men approaching. "Family matters later", he thought, "time for business". He took his scribbled map and put it on the table. One by one, the three men he wanted to talk to walked in, followed by Septimus. In that fraction of a second it took Torquatus to look at the four soldiers he could see the differences: his brother, inexperienced, eager to prove himself; Buteo, “the buzzard”, his Optio, a man so devoted to the legion that was known to treat cowards and traitors worse than an enemy. Buteo was a quiet man; he didn’t need to speak to get others to do their job. In the odd case when he was in charge of the centuria, he would lead by example. The men respected him and feared his anger at the same time. Corvus was the Tesserarius, basically third in command. He had been thus named because in a battle near Alesia, while fighting on the flank, a crow had flown over and attacked an enemy, saving Corvus’ life. The crow had died, but the Tesserarius retrieved it and its feathers now adorned his helmet. Malleolus, the standard bearer of the centuria was a strange man. The son of a blacksmith, he would never go to battle without his trusty hammer. Indeed, Quintus had witnessed Malleolus surrounded by enemies, one hand holding the standard, the other wielding his hammer, all the while shouting “Centurion, I left my sword in the camp, can a recruit bring it to me?”

Quintus loved these men and they loved him back. Together they had been through nine hells and back, they had shared the best times, full of victories and loot, as well as the worst ones, mourning departed friends and brothers.
- Salve, centurion, the three men said in unison.
- Salvete, brothers, he replied. We need to talk. Septimus, you can leave us, he then addressed his brother.

As Septimus left, the centurion spread the map and told the men what they needed to do. He had been tasked with leading a reconnaissance mission against Pompey’s army. After the battle at Dyrrhachium, though defeated and retreating, Caesar’s forces had not been followed by the Republican host. This had been a blessing, as it gave them time to regroup and resupply. Now, the enemy had finally been sighted but the large difference between the two armies had unnerved Caesar’s commanders.
- There’s no doubt that battle is upon us again, Quintus said. This time though, it’s do or die.
- Nothing new, Corvus said. So, what do we do?
- Just before the third watch, a turma will depart to scout. Corvus, you’ll lead the first group, due west, on this side of the river. Malleolus, you’re with the second group, head northwest.
- I assume you’re leading the third one yourself, Buteo asked.
- Indeed. I’ll cross the river to the south and then head towards the mountains. Reports have spotted enemies all over the place and we have to determine where their main camp is, or at least the main force.
- I’ll prepare the horses and gear, Buteo said. Then I’ll make sure everything is ready for battle. When can we expect it to happen?
- I don’t know, two, three days at the most.
- Understood, centurion, they spoke while turning to leave. Salve!
- Be careful, Quintus said. Don’t engage the enemy; scout, spot and come back.

He wanted to rest, he needed to be fresh. He didn’t need to go scouting himself, but he welcomed the opportunity to leave the camp, to ride and clear his mind. There was still enough time to sleep for a couple of hours, but just as he wanted to lay down, someone came in. It was Septimus.
- Centurion, a word, if I may.
- What is it legionnaire, Quintus asked.
- I would like to volunteer for the scouting mission. It is time I did my part.
- You do your part here, where you’re needed. No!
- Centurion, if I may...
- You may not; Quintus cut his younger brother off. I am your officer and you do as I say. Now leave!
Septimus’ face grew redder and redder and tears started appearing at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t move, but instead came one step closer to his brother.
- Brother, you can’t do this. I need to do something, anything, other than clean the swords and tend to the animals.
- Septimus, the centurion said in a brotherly voice, don’t. I know what you want, but you don’t know what you’re asking. I promised our parents, our mother.
- What, what did you promise them? Did you promise that I won’t do anything and that I’ll be the laughingstock of all our friends and neighbours, all the soldiers, for not doing anything?
- I promised them you’ll live.
- How can I live, how? Will I be an old man who remembers his centurion brother, hero of the Gallic wars, decorated soldier, while I did nothing? That’s not a life.
- Brother, Quintus said...
- No, enough of that. I came to fight, that’s why I joined the legions. I will fight, whether you like it or not. Think about that, Septimus said, leaving the tent.

Quintus knew his brother was right. He would fight, there would be no avoiding that. He had tried to shield his brother but he now understood this was a mistake. He had let their mother’s fears rub on him, cloud his mind. Their father had said nothing when Quintus and Septimus had left home; he had just stood there, watching them. Before falling asleep Quintus had decided he would let his brother ride along him. Three, four hours of riding in the countryside will do him good, give him a chance to vent his anger.

***

The patrol had gone well so far, there had been no sign of enemy movement. The men had crossed the river without incident and had even found some grains in the fields beyond it. Quintus had tasked five of them to gather them and take them back to camp. Leading the other four, including Septimus, they rode towards the mountains, as planned. They had reached the edge of a small forest and had decided to rest their horses for a bit, as well as the men. Then they had entered the forest and had ridden a few miles, stopping again just shy of a small clearing. There were people there, soldiers it seemed. The men dismounted and Quintus went on ahead, accompanied by two of his legionaries. Septimus and another had stayed back with the horses. There were two bonfires and a dozen men gathered around them. Romans, they were. They also had two carts, probably grains. There were no guards posted, which allowed Quintus and his men to close the distance unnoticed.

Just as he was about to lead his men back, they heard a thundering roar and could barely move out of the way of the galloping horse. Septimus rode like mad, spear in hand, towards the enemy. Instinct took over and the rest of Quintus’ men followed, swords drawn. “Stupid boy”, centurion Torquatus thought, speeding after them.
Battle quickly followed and although fewer in numbers, the element of surprise had been a decisive factor. Three enemies had fallen without even unsheathing their swords, another had been pierced by Septimus’ spear. The Caesarean soldiers seemed to have the upper hand, battle hardened veterans that they were. A second group of enemies came from behind the carts, five of them, which restored balance to the melee. Quintus hacked furiously around him, looking for his brother. He saw him cutting the throat of an enemy but then, disaster struck. Another enemy popped up behind him, moving faster than others. Septimus tried to turn around and parry the blow, but he was too slow. He looked into Quintus’ eyes just as the enemy thrust his gladius between Septimus’ ribs. He grimaced and fell to the ground, blood gushing out of the wound.

“Brotheeeeeeeeeeer”, Quintus roared. He charged at the enemy. Mars would get his blood sacrifice and the Lares, the family gods, would receive this offering. He sped past two enemies, stabbing one of them with his pugio and slammed right into his brother’s killer. He was heavier than the Pompeian soldier and they both fell to the ground. Gladius in his right hand, pugio in his left, Quintus thrust both weapons into the torso of his prey. The enemy gurgled, blood coming out of his mouth. His face was covered in Septimus’ blood, but his eyes...
His eyes were strangely familiar. Quintus got up and looked at the dying soldier. A thought dawned on him but no, it couldn’t be. Septimus was lying in front of Quintus, the enemy soldier at his feet. He removed his helmet and did the same to the enemy. Dis Manibus, he whispered, what have we done?

By this time, Quintus’ men had been subdued. He alone was alive and now the Pompeian soldiers had surrounded him. They drew closer, slowly, but Quintus didn’t care. He knelt between the two bodies, head held low, and placed one hand on each.
- I am Quintus Memmius Torquatus, centurion of the second centuria, first cohort of Legio X Eqvestris. Here lie my brothers, Sextus Memmius Celer and Septimus Memmius Cordus. I am your prisoner, do what you will.

[1] There were four watches: 1^st (18 PM-21 PM), 2^nd (21 PM-00 AM), 3^rd (00 AM-03 AM), 4^th (03 AM-06 AM)

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**DeanE555** · October 28, 2015, 11:45 AM

Good stories everybody! (sorry, I know I'm late...)

Don't worry Frosty, us bunch might be few but what we don't have in numbers we compensate a hundred fold in our loyalty!

Awaiting the next (and probably last) assignment eagerly!