The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated May 19, 2019]

[Skotos of Sinope]

Recap

The Story So Far: The Gauls have invaded Italy. Only Tarchuna---the jewel of Etruria and birthplace of the Roman kings---stands in their way. Arnth Velcha, commander of Tarchuna's armed forces, has led an army to turn the Gallic invasion back---only to find himself both outnumbered and out of communication. His foster brother Avle Spurinna, having raised reinforcements, now races against the oncoming winter to rendezvous with his brother in time and face the Gauls as one... Characters Featured: Avle Spurinna: Main protagonist. Half-Roman Zilath (head of government) of Tarchuna. Descendent of the Roman kings on his mother's side and inheritor of the Kingsblood Quadriga. When we first meet him, he's an undisciplined drinker, gambler and chariot racer. Arnth Velcha: Brother-in-law and life-long friend of Avle. The Purthsvana or military leader of Tarchuna. Traditional, pious, dutiful, the model of an Etruscan statesman and the polar opposite of Avle. He longs for the halcyon days of the monarchy. Marce Velcha: Son of Arnth and heir to the Velchae. Poet and young idealist. Velthur the Stammerer: Uncle of Arnth. Patriarch of the Velchae. Honorable and irritable. A recent stroke has robbed him of his ability to speak. Now aide-de-camp to Avle Spurinna. Cneve Tetnies: Spy and assassin for the Spurinnae. Swore himself to Avle's service after Brennus took his home city of Sarsina. Metru Spurinna: Father of Avle and former Zilath of Tarchuna. Killed at Veii in 406 BCE. Terms Used: aprensais: "Gods willing..." Fatel: League. Hinthial: Spirit, ghost, avenging shade. Tular stone: Stone marking the boundary of a city or city-state. Zilc: Zilathship. Viesul: Roughly equivalent to modern-day Florence. The Three Mountains: Monte Morello, lying northwest of modern-day Florence.

Chapter Four – The Amber Road (Part Six)

Continued from Chapter Four, Part Five...

When Cneve returned with the scouting party, and did not repay my smile, but rather rode into camp stony-eyed and blank of expression—I didn't bother to ask if they were coming. I asked how much time we had.

“Two days, aprensais," Cneve replied as he descended from his horse. "The Gauls broke camp before we reached them. Three thousand at least, though a proper tally wasn't possible. They could have reached us today, but they are keeping off the road. They'll keep to the stream that joins with the Clanis river east of here."

I took notice of Velthur who now stood beside me, already marking in his tablet, “Keeping off the road. Such prudence! Perhaps one day we too will have the common sense of Gauls!”

Good morning to you too, uncle. I hope Velthur gets his powers of speech back one day, Ramtha. Then maybe he'll talk less. He can't possibly talk more. Two days? That will give us time to pick the field, I said to my uncle. Velthur countered that two days could also give us enough time to put some distance between them and us. We can make for winter quarters at Aritim.

I instructed Cneve to fetch Marce and the other captains and tell them that we were to have a council of war. Cneve nodded and left Velthur and I.

“This is not a wager you will win, nephew," Velthur insisted. "Patience. If we force a pursuit, we might draw them further into our territory and stretch their supply lines, and when the snows fall—as they are certain to before the month is out--they will be cut off from their main force, and we'll have them surrounded."

Cut off. As will Arnth. For the entire winter. Viesul was now in spitting distance, just a few days march to the southeast. The terrain forced us to overshoot it and approach it from the north. Arnth would likely be somewhere in the surrounding eastern hills. We've just enough time to reach him. Combining our commissions, we can smash Brennus at Viesul and leave them scattered and trudging through frost and ice back to Senonia. But this Gallic army before us precludes that. We can't go around them. If we try, we could find ourselves caught between the two Gallic forces. So we had to face them — no other choice.

Before Velthur could reply, Cneve reappeared with Marce and the others in tow.

I beckoned them to follow as we walked about the camp. Father always walked as he talked. That way, if there were eavesdroppers nearby, they would only catch part of the conversation. I pointed to a gray and mist-enveloped crag on the horizon. I asked Cneve what he knew of that triple-peaked rock formation.

“The Three Mountains? We scouted it. We'd be wise to steer clear, macstre. Steep and storm-ridden it is. Passable only on one side, which means if weather moves in from that side you will be trapped.”

But that also means that any pursuing army will have only one line of approach. “I've decided that I don't like our chances. Only Gauls can win this battle. So we're going to be Gauls. I know your objections: We're too clever to be Gauls, we smell far better, and I'm too wickedly handsome. You pessimists.” That got a mild laugh out of a few of them, and their body postures relaxed. “Etrusci are too predictable, as my brother always said. We always meet them on a wide vale or plain, take the old crown-and-horns formation with our light units on the wings...and then we always charge for the center. That's why for a century they've been beating us like a stable boy who's been caught with a magistrate's daughter.” Now I knew that I had them. Their eyes fixed. Their attention rapt. “Gauls, on the other hand, always take the high ground first. In so doing, they begin each battle facing a winded army, while the downhill gradient adds to the power of their charge. That's precisely what we will do. In two days, we will make camp at the base of the nearest peak. Then, before dawn, we will move to the top.”

I turned and thanked Cneve for all he had done. We would have no need for a scout on the day of battle. So I had a new task for him. I told him to find Arnth's army. But if and when he locates it, he was not to come back here. Tell Arnth where we are, and that we will meet him if we can. But if he wasn't to come back here, Cneve asked, where was he to go?

“Felsina," I replied. I was sending him to chase a ghost. I asked if he remembered the name of the last chariot master. The ancient one for whom it was prophesied that he could not die until the Gauls were driven back.

“Vel Murena. The Hinthial.” He replied.

I nodded. Cneve knew that Felsina was far into Boii territory. If by any chance we still had an army standing after the coming battle, we could make use of his talents. I was taken aback by the look in Cneve's eyes. Neither bold nor fearful as I'd expected, but almost downcast. I hadn't considered that he would want to be with us for the battle. I told him this was more important than anything he could do for us if he stayed here. He shook my hand and parted from our company. Perhaps we will see each other again. Perhaps not.

This seemed like an excellent time to dismiss everyone, before they began asking questions and thus revealed me for the poseur that I was. But I asked Marce to stay and continue walking with me. He had a leather flagon of vinum on him, and I was never in more need of a drink. But I also wanted to talk to him about the Pindaric Ode he had written in honor of me. It had been bouncing around in my head for the last few days. I asked him to recite it once more. When he was finished, I asked him, "And now don't ever repeat it again." I said that it reminded me of a time I would rather forget. I was a different person then, in my early adulthood. It was not a happy memory. No sooner had I returned to Tarchuna, I had left once more. I was not proud of the life I'd led in that self-imposed ten-year exile that followed.

“Uncle...” he asked. “I've wondered. Why did you leave Tarchuna for a second time? What happened at that Fanum Voltumnae after your first race with Arnth? They say there was an attempted coup of some kind. A failed revolution was hatched there, they whisper. Is it true?”

“I left Tarchuna then for the same reason I left Tarchuna now: I could not betray Arnth.” I volunteered.

“I don't understand.”

“Nor would I expect you to.” He bid me to pick up where I left off in my telling, of Arnth's brazen wish for my father to declare himself king rather than yield up his office now that the city's state of emergency had passed. They held a hearing there at the Fanum, at my father's request and Arnth testified in his own defense. Then they called me before the assembly of the twelve cities, expecting me to denounce Arnth. They must've known how I hated him. Gods did I want to betray him.

I had never had so many eyes upon me as I advanced to the rostrum. Suddenly a self-consciousness took me, and I realized how strange and archaic I must've appeared to them. I still wore my hair in the ancient aristocratic style, long and palm-rolled into coils draping down my back, as they had me do in Cisra, a habit I've continued to this day. Even then, as now, most men wore their hair shorter either in the bushy style like the fleece of a lamb or in the "lion's mane" that Velthur and Marce sport. When nervous I stiffen up and revert to the reserved and highly formal mannerisms that I'd adopted among the Tarquins to fit in. This did me no favors as both combined to make me appear arrogant or snooty.

They asked me if I had heard Arnth say what he was accused of saying. I said I did not. They asked me what I knew of Arnth's character, if he was capable of fomenting revolution to restore the monarchy. I knew what they wanted, and tried to say yes. But something stopped me. I glanced at Arnth who was comforting my crying sister at his side. All I could say was that Arnth loves my father so much, Metru was already a king in his eyes. True, Arnth has the blood of Tarchuna's kings in him, and yes he was bred for war, and his companions were thick as thieves with him and would stage a revolution if he'd but asked...but Arnth's recalcitrant honor would prevent him from conspiring in secret to act against law and custom. And my father Metru would sooner fall upon his sword than accept a crown. The assembled delegations stirred fitfully.

“And what of you?” A voice asked. It was Hermu Pulenas. The Pulenas gens had written most of our books of divination and kept Tarchuna's hereditary priesthood of Tin. As was only proper of his sacred office, Hermu struck a stance of neutrality in the war between the houses, and as no good deed goes unpunished, he earned the ire of both Spurinnae and Velchae alike. The Pulenas then found themselves on the losing end of the truce that shut them out of power sharing. (And as you know Ramtha, his son Thocero lost the recent pontifical election to Velthur, so nowadays they have even more reason to hate the Velchae-Spurinnae alliance. I suppose I'll worry about that once this war is over.) So that was who the instigator of this inquest was. It was then that I realized my mistake. “Why should we trust your intentions?", Hermu continued. "You are also of the bloodline of kings. Your Tarquin ancestors gained the submission of both the Etrusci and the Latins, did they not? How do we know that your father didn't send you to Rome to gather support for putting you on the throne of Tarchuna? For all we know, Arnth was acting on your behalf, and now you play the doe-eyed innocent."

I was beyond confused. My father was a Spurinna, which meant I was a Spurinna, I protested. Sure, I was kin to the Tarquins, but not a true Tarquin like Numa or Gnaeus.

“Don't play stupid, boy. You know that among the Tarquins that royal legitimacy passes along the female line. The direct female heir is the one to choose the next king out of those with Tarquin ancestry. Tarquinia chose her bastard half-brother Servius Tullius, and Tullia Minor chose her uncle, Tarquinius Superbus. And your mother Seianti is the direct female heir. But as your father Metru has no Tarquin ancestry, that means that if your mother wished, she could acclaim you-"

Immediately a cacophony of shouts erupted from the Tarchuna delegation. The world spun around me, and I could not for the life of me grasp what he was trying to insinuate. I looked for mother among the faces behind me, but she had seemingly vanished.

“Were you sent here by the Tarquins of Rome?” He advanced toward me.

“Enough." father stepped forward. "Avle has not been formally accused of any crime, and as a citizen, he cannot be accused or charged without witnesses. To violate his rights is a breach of the laws. Be careful."

“Careful?! Perhaps you should have been more careful before you allied with tyrants and made a slaughter of our city. Your foster son Arnth prowled the nights like a panther in search of prey. He has never known anything but killing. He will always be a threat to the peace. And as for Avle...he is guilty no matter whether he enjoined this conspiracy or not. That he lives at all, when he was the author of our calamity, is to kill the sons of Tarchuna every day all over again. I lost two sons for merely declining to take a side. Bodies never found. Was it Spurinnae partisans? Velchae? I will never know."

“I regret your loss, Hermu. We all carry our guilt with us. But we all have to find the courage to move on. We need to be strong enough to forgive one another. But if you can't, and if you lack the manhood to come at me directly and insist on attacking my children...why waste the Fatel's time? Let's resolve this matter as Urusthe and Aivas did in their forty days upon the Marta Ford: Spear to spear. Beard to beard."

“Spilling the blood of a priest means death.”

“My sons have answered you. Now let them be, or I will answer you next. And if you will not meet me in panoply at the tular stone, then select a champion to fight for you. We'll let the Aisar decide who's guilty."

Such an uproar consumed the proceeding that I could not hear a thing. I tried to shut it out, clapping my hands to my ears and screaming. I screamed louder and louder.

“I am a Spurinna! I am a Spurinna!" I roared and roared until I was heard. "I am no Tarquin! I was never accepted among them." The maelstrom of voices subsided. "Now I see I will not be accepted among my people either. Perhaps I've come back too soon. Perhaps I've reopened wounds before they've healed. So here is what I'll do: I will accept ostracism for whatever bloodshed that was done in my name. I'll accept it on behalf of my father and Arnth as well. I have reached the age of choice. And I choose to leave Etruria if the methlum decides it. I will be a nation unto myself. "

And so I left. The zilc passed to Velthur. Arnth was sanctioned but not charged for what he said. I went into voluntary exile for nearly ten years. Did I tell Marce of the art I found in self-destruction? How I became a drunk. I gambled. I raced for money. And when the money ran out, I beat and robbed men in dark alleys to pay for my next cup of vinum. I fell in with brigands and criminals. How did I know that Syracusan coins were the trademark of outlaws? Because their world was my world. Thankfully I don't remember most of it.

“Do you know why I won the triga and biga race back to back?” I asked Marce. “Because I had to. I was so deep in debt that if I didn't win, they would have killed me. Save your verse for those who deserve it. Save your praise for the soldiers of your commission. Should they survive to hear it, they will have earned it. Should you and I survive, we'll have deserved the confidence they've entrusted in us. We're both bluffing, you and I. Both pretenders. But war is the great revealer. We all stand naked in its judgment. We have two days to prepare. So let us begin.”


Coming up next: Chapter Five – The Battle on the Three Mountains...

Author's Notes

In Alexandr Koptiv's Lucretia's Story in Literature and the Rites of Regifugium and Equirria, a reading of ancient sources seems to indicate that indeed, among the Tarquins, regal legitimacy was conveyed by the daughter of a king, whose choice would then be ratified by the Senate. One reason why this could have a kernel of truth to it is that, while there is no evidence of widespread matrilineal succession among Etruscans, they were nearly unique among Mediterranean peoples in extending many rights and liberties to women. The Tarquins could have been practicing a variation on an ancient custom of their native Tarchuna. It's further suggested that one of the many taboos that Tarquin the Proud committed which led to his downfall was in attempting to replace this semi-matrilineal system with a ritual horse race, either on horseback or a chariot race: “At least in the Tarquin clan, as Holleman has noted, it was like a legal custom for a woman to make a man king (Tanaquil, Tullia) (50). But Tarquinius Superbus offended against this rule and married his daughter Tarquinia to Octavius Mamilius in Tusculum.” “Horse racing was a central act of the Equirrian festival on February 27. It seems to be a horse race for the right to become a ritual personification of Mars. Ovid figuratively conveyed the idea in verse: “Mars flogs along horses running in the chariot” (29). … At this rate, we can imagine Lucretia, Collatinus, Sextus Tarquinius and Brutus to be participants in the rite held at the end of the year. The central act of the rite was a horse race competition somehow linked to young women of the royal family. … The express desire of Sextus Tarquinius to obtain her, although she was promised to another man does not seem accidental. It can be seen as an implicit sign that Lucretia was a common goal of the participants of the horse race."

[Kilo11]

"I will be a nation unto myself." That is a beautiful and tragic sentiment. Avle's character just became a whole lot more rounded, and more personable in an intimate fashion. I like these little details a lot. They show not just who someone is, but why he or she is that way as well, and it makes the story and its players come alive. That really is a brief moment, but it is one of those moments that freezes itself, settling into your mind and hanging on long after the curtains have dropped. Well done with that one!

I also loved the final paragraph of this one. You really seem to have gotten into a groove with a clear line of thought at the end, and the flow and imagery is spot on, as well as the import of it all. I must say Skotos, I really am enjoying this to a great degree! I feel like you are managing to put all the politics and humanity into yours that I feel is lacking in mine (I am content with mine, but mainly due to the imagery and vividness of it, and I'd like to have more "point" to it). You keep this up, and I am gonna start shopping you to publishers

And, as always, some comments and suggestions. Just little things, and one or two questions for you to maybe think over and decide for yourself.

Edits/Comments/Suggestions

When Avle starts adressing the captains: "That got a mild laugh out of a few of them, and their body postures relaxed." Same paragraph: "That's why for a century they've been beating us like a stable boy who's been caught with athe magistrate's daughter." Next paragraph: "But if and when he locatesd it, he was not to come back here. TellRather, he would tell Arnth where we arewere, and that we willwould meet him if we cancould. But if he wasn't to come back here, Cneve asked, where was he to go?" [The tensing in these sentences seemed to be just generally a bit odd to me. It wasn't clear whether the intent was for it to be past, present, or hypothetical. Maybe just have another look, and see what makes most sense to you.] Where Cneve is downcast: "He shook my hand and parted from our company. Perhaps we will see each other again. Perhaps not." [A question: Would they shake hands? I would have thought some sort of embrace or maybe gripping the wrist or something. Shaking hands sounds too much like a business meeting to me, and sort of dropped me out of the mode here for the briefest moment.] Next paragraph: "his seemed like an excellent time to dismiss everyone, before they began asking questions and thus revealed me for the poseur that I was." [Seemed an odd word choice to me.] Talking about hair styles: "This did me no favors as both combined to make me appear arrogant or snooty." [Seemed like too modern and colloquial of a word to use here. Maybe there is something more period appropriate you could use ] Short paragraph about Avle being a Sprurinna: "Sure,It was true that I was kin to the Tarquins, but not a true Tarquin like Numa or Gnaeus." Next paragraph: "Don't play stupid, boy. You know that among the Tarquins that royal legitimacy passes along the female line." Next paragraph: "I looked for my mother among the faces behind me, but she had seemingly vanished."

[Alwyn]

I enjoyed the speech which began "Only Gauls can win this battle", both for your phrasing and for the good sense in the plan. - and the story of why Avle was so motviated to win the races is a powerful one.

[Turkafinwë]

A superbly crafted chapter Skotos! The tragic backstory of Avle continues to grow in size and I'm loving it! Well done!

[Jake Armitage]

Have still to read the 2 latest chapters...

[Skotos of Sinope]

"I will be a nation unto myself." That is a beautiful and tragic sentiment. Avle's character just became a whole lot more rounded, and more personable in an intimate fashion. I like these little details a lot. They show not just who someone is, but why he or she is that way as well, and it makes the story and its players come alive. That really is a brief moment, but it is one of those moments that freezes itself, settling into your mind and hanging on long after the curtains have dropped. Well done with that one!

I also loved the final paragraph of this one. You really seem to have gotten into a groove with a clear line of thought at the end, and the flow and imagery is spot on, as well as the import of it all. I must say Skotos, I really am enjoying this to a great degree! I feel like you are managing to put all the politics and humanity into yours that I feel is lacking in mine (I am content with mine, but mainly due to the imagery and vividness of it, and I'd like to have more "point" to it). You keep this up, and I am gonna start shopping you to publishers

I appreciate that, man. And I'm especially glad you liked the political background there. It was a little tricky to pull off but I had to get it out of the way. I needed to introduce the history with the Pulenas because they're going to play a major part in the next few chapters, but I always worry when it comes to introducing new major characters, if I'm starting to confuse readers, etc.. There are going to be enemies within just as dangerous as the external threats Avle faces. Thocero Pulenas is going to be the most dangerous of them all. I've already mentioned the apocalyptic fervor sweeping much of Etruria, and Thocero Pulenas will be taking advantage of this.

And, as always, some comments and suggestions. Just little things, and one or two questions for you to maybe think over and decide for yourself.

Edits/Comments/Suggestions

When Avle starts adressing the captains: "That got a mild laugh out of a few of them, and their body postures relaxed." Same paragraph: "That's why for a century they've been beating us like a stable boy who's been caught with athe magistrate's daughter." Next paragraph: "But if and when he locatesd it, he was not to come back here. TellRather, he would tell Arnth where we arewere, and that we willwould meet him if we cancould. But if he wasn't to come back here, Cneve asked, where was he to go?" [The tensing in these sentences seemed to be just generally a bit odd to me. It wasn't clear whether the intent was for it to be past, present, or hypothetical. Maybe just have another look, and see what makes most sense to you.] Where Cneve is downcast: "He shook my hand and parted from our company. Perhaps we will see each other again. Perhaps not." [A question: Would they shake hands? I would have thought some sort of embrace or maybe gripping the wrist or something. Shaking hands sounds too much like a business meeting to me, and sort of dropped me out of the mode here for the briefest moment.] Next paragraph: "his seemed like an excellent time to dismiss everyone, before they began asking questions and thus revealed me for the poseur that I was." [Seemed an odd word choice to me.] Talking about hair styles: "This did me no favors as both combined to make me appear arrogant or snooty." [Seemed like too modern and colloquial of a word to use here. Maybe there is something more period appropriate you could use ] Short paragraph about Avle being a Sprurinna: "Sure,It was true that I was kin to the Tarquins, but not a true Tarquin like Numa or Gnaeus." Next paragraph: "Don't play stupid, boy. You know that among the Tarquins that royal legitimacy passes along the female line." Next paragraph: "I looked for my mother among the faces behind me, but she had seemingly vanished."

Cool. I'll get to these soon enough.

I enjoyed the speech which began "Only Gauls can win this battle", both for your phrasing and for the good sense in the plan. - and the story of why Avle was so motviated to win the races is a powerful one.

I'm glad you thought so, because I really had to cut a lot of things down for length in this update, and I was worried that the last part would be too abrupt or seem to come out of nowhere.

A superbly crafted chapter Skotos! The tragic backstory of Avle continues to grow in size and I'm loving it! Well done!

Thanks Turk! BTW, I'm like ¾ of the way through To Earn a Kingdom. I'm hoping to be able to comment in the thread by this weekend!

Have still to read the 2 latest chapters...

Completely unacceptable. True, I'm behind in everyone else's AAR, but still! (BTW, I can't believe you even have time to read with all the submodding you got going on!)

[Derc]

I stopped at the beginning of 'The Amber Road' last time and finally catched up. Whoa, whoa, Skotos, this is getting really interesting.

Your AAR truly brings me back to RotR. Some ancient ambient music mixes really well with it.

Too much to say, so let's make a list. Who doesn't like lists?

1. Going to be having dental surgery in a couple of days
2. The last time we consulted the calendar, about the lightning strike in Cisra, it said a tyrant would be overthrown. So this must mean the downfall of Brennus.
3. He's always been an awkward boy and a terrible athlete, the kind that could trip over his own feet while still sitting down.
4. I looked for Arnth. He was perhaps in fourth or fifth place, and I noticed he was giving hand signals to the others. Then it dawned on me. They were conspiring against me. Anger, impetuousness, righteous indignation...whatever name you give to the mania that rose up in me, I was a man possessed.
5. I looked at him, then looked at the linchpin at the hub of his wheel, now lodged firmly in my box. It fixed his wheel to his axel, but it was held in place only by pig lard. I reached down, smiled at him. He shook his head, and his eyes gave a pleading expression. I yanked the linch pin out, his wheel spiraled off, and he careened out of control. The next thing I knew, three chariots were colliding. The crowd gasped and cheered.
6. Yesterday we finally reached The Amber Road, the fastest route to the frozen edge of the world. It reaches up to the northern lands where the blonde and red-haired giants of Hyperborea are said to dwell, a region too cold even for Gauls.
7. Many of the men had begun coming down with a strange ailment that our physicians could not identify, overcome by cramps and vomiting of blood. Cneve said the symptoms were similar to poisoning, but that was a bit of a reach. It's just as likely they picked some queer mountain berries or mushrooms. One of our physicians suggested that cicenda could be used to treat it. It can be found in a small purple wildflower that grows in these parts. Unfortunately, it is no longer in bloom this late in the season.
8. One of the coins fell on the ground, and I examined it: a bronze tetras minted in Syracuse, with a nymph on one side and an octopus on the other. It's said that since so many Syracusan trading ships are the target of piracy, their coins are the calling card of raiders and bandits.
9. I thought again of the hammer, and of the dream. I often dreamed of hammers as a boy, ever since my vision in Tarquin the Proud's tomb during my divination of the specularri. Always the same dream: a barbarian woman with ginger hair, hammering at a chariot wheel. For us, the hammer and nail represent the power of fate
10. But I'm afraid I will have to stop there. I've just heard the tuba blow, which means that the scouting party has returned. I fear there's only one reason why they would be back so soon: They've found the enemy army, and it is close by...
11. *SNIP* Old Avle
12. If we try, we could find ourselves caught between the two Gallic forces. So we had to face them — no other choice.
13. Only Gauls can win this battle. So we're going to be Gauls.
14. Gauls, on the other hand, always take the high ground first
15. New update coming by the end of the weekend, which will be the last installment of chapter four and will (finally) set the stage for the epic first battle between Avle's army and the Gauls...
16. And so I left. The zilc passed to Velthur. Arnth was sanctioned but not charged for what he said. I went into voluntary exile for nearly ten years. Did I tell Marce of the art I found in self-destruction? How I became a drunk. I gambled. I raced for money. And when the money ran out, I beat and robbed men in dark alleys to pay for my next cup of vinum. I fell in with brigands and criminals.
17. How did I know that Syracusan coins were the trademark of outlaws?
18. But war is the great revealer. We all stand naked in its judgment.
19. Coming up next: Chapter Five – The Battle on the Three Mountains...

1. Hope you feel better in the meantime.
2. Oh, you know where the true Tyrannos sits. In Syrakousai. Poor Dionysius.
3. Hey, this guy could basically be me!
4. This is a moment I truly felt. Many of us might have experienced something similar. If it proofs anything then it is that no beast is more savage than men when posessed with power answerable to his rage.
   You described Avle's feelings very well and I can only give my bravo in the form of a nice fat +rep.
5. And so have I. This is the very essence of ancient sports. Raw, brutal, unforgiving. A real battle, as it should be.
6. Cool start. I can remember the first time I read about the Amber Road. It was in Europa Barbarorum over a decade ago. I always found the Amber Road to be even more interesting than the Silk Road. It was much shorter but the North was as mystical to the mediterannean Europeans as was far away China.
   Having included some northern European artifacts and having mentioned that a exchange of wares also meant a exchange of cultures is something I found really cool.
7. Are you describing Gastritis here, some other sickness or something fictional? Liked how you described the Gentiana (Fun fact, they were the symbol of the Minamoto).
8. So it is confirmed. It was all a plot of the evil Syracusans!
9. First proto-communists in classic Europe confirmed. A(vle,) true hero of the worker's class!
10. Very evil cliffhanger. Good that I did not had to wait for the next part.
11. Crazy how much indepth you go for your screenshots.
    However, one thing I found funny: *Skotos gives Avle a grey beard and some wrinkly skin* - aaaaaand he's hold.
12. Very good decription of their situation.
13. Haha! That was excellent.
14. "It is over Avle! We have the high ground!"
    
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    
15. Dude. Spoilers.
16. Very tragic part. Gave Avle's character much more depth. Unexpected turn of events that led to this. Especially considering what just happened before.
17. Told ya!!
18. Indeed, indeed. Very wise words. They say that the first victim of war is truth. But sometimes it is exactly the opposite.
19. Could this mean that Avle goes far east to help a little island nation conquer the whole world or that he battles at the Dolomites? Sorry, sorry. I'm silent already. I expect something more humble. But whatever it is, I'm sure it will be just be as awesome and one hell of a battle.

Critique time. Hm. It may be a personal problem again:
Your story switches a lot between different timelines. Sometimes there are three or even four times in parallel, from Peticus to Avles very childhood and before. This confuses me sometimes, having to keep my attention here, there and there. Sometimes I don't know when a switch between the times happens despite being made clear enough by you - on most occassions.

Also: There are some parts where few things happen in the ... I call it "main time" (Avle's rescue of Arnth). The majority of this chapter being about events that were long ago. This, however, is ok. The past forms the present and explains how a character became who he is. I favour it when such things make up only 10% of the story at max. But it is, just as with the different times, only a personal hitch.

Nothing much you should do about it, I think. Your story thrives in it and manages to keep being refreshing because of it. You said you wanted critique, but it was troubling enough to find something to criticize.
Your recaps at the beginning of each chapter help people like me very much. Keep them.

To bring this post to an end:
You know much about the ancient world and do a whole lot of research, one can truly see that. You would be able to get much more into depth with historical details but it would confuse the reader. You seem know that and found a good balance between detail and storytelling. A gift only skilled authors have.

PS: I really like Cneve.
Also, I wonder if there will be a twist when he finally meets Arnth. Something seems to be really fishy there ...

[Skotos of Sinope]

[*]Crazy how much indepth you go for your screenshots.

I can never tell when you're being sarcastic, but on the off chance you mean it, thanks! Right now I'm getting all the models ready for the big battle. That includes the charioteers (I'm going to be photoshopping in chariot drivers, since the game doesn't allow this.) as well as the sattelles, who paint their bodies red before battle. Also finishing up Avle's armor to replace what he's worn so far. (See below)

However, one thing I found funny: *Skotos gives Avle a grey beard and some wrinkly skin* - aaaaaand he's hold.

Not true! Old Avle's model's tunic under his armor, though the exact same color, is slightly longer! So they're totally different! But in all seriousness, the idea is to make Avle uniquely identifiable in all the shots, that way you can always find him in a crowd, etc.

But that brings me to another point I've been needing to bring up. I've mentioned that I've grown increasingly irritated by Avle's anachronistic armor thus far. The Etruscans didn't wear the pteruges 'skirt' with muscle cuirass during this period, and the shoulder pteruges weren't worn at all. Plus the overall aesthetic is a bit too Hellenistic/Early Roman period. So I've been working on pulling a George Lucas and replacing all the previous shots of Avle with something more accurate. The final product will look something like this:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Once again, credit for some elements used in the above VMD goes to Benjin and his AAA Generals mod for importing assets from Attila and Arena, and modifying others in Rome II vanilla.

All that's left is to lighten the linothorax, change the Gorgon on his chest to Usil, and add a scabbard and over-the-shoulder strap.

However, I do want some feedback here. If you guys like this set of armor better than the one I was previously going to be changing him over to, then he'll be keeping it. Let me know.

[*]"It is over Avle! We have the high ground!"

So tempted to make that Brennus's portrait in the Dramatis Personnae.

[*]Could this mean that Avle goes far east to help a little island nation conquer the whole world or that he battles at the Dolomites? Sorry, sorry. I'm silent already. I expect something more humble. But whatever it is, I'm sure it will be just be as awesome and one hell of a battle.[/LIST]

Ech, I really should have googled that name. This is the trouble with trying to name places when only the modern name survives. But no, the three mountains refers to Monte Morello.

Critique time. Hm. It may be a personal problem again:
Your story switches a lot between different timelines. Sometimes there are three or even four times in parallel, from Peticus to Avles very childhood and before. This confuses me sometimes, having to keep my attention here, there and there. Sometimes I don't know when a switch between the times happens despite being made clear enough by you - on most occassions.

Also: There are some parts where few things happen in the ... I call it "main time" (Avle's rescue of Arnth). The majority of this chapter being about events that were long ago. This, however, is ok. The past forms the present and explains how a character became who he is. I favour it when such things make up only 10% of the story at max. But it is, just as with the different times, only a personal hitch. Nothing much you should do about it, I think.

I hear ya. This is something I worried about. That's the trouble with jumping in en media res. Essentially I started the AAR not realizing how much back-story I needed. Plus I realized that since Avle wasn't going to the action for a while, that the battles with Brennus needed to be relayed to him in letters, which meant we had flashbacks within flashbacks. David Mitchell made that structure work in Cloud Atlas, but I'm no David Mitchell.

Luckily, there's only one more flashback sequence I have planned in the near future, and that will take us from Avle's young adulthood in exile all the way up to that fateful night where Avle's father left to liberate Veii and made Avle and Arnth swear a pact in the event he didn't return. The 'backstory' aspect wasn't intended to continue for long. Book One is basically cut into two halves, with a break in-between. The first half only charts a few months with a lot of flashbacks and back story to give current events context, culminating in the first battle against the Gauls and its aftermath. The second half will take place over the course of something like seven years and will have almost no flashbacks or back story. I think I probably won't do another Peticus flashback either. So that should simplify things. The AAR as a whole won't have more than 10% of it as flashbacks, I assure you. Anyway, if anyone ever finds anything overly complicated or confusing, I ask that you let me know. Following the half-dozen major AARs that are ongoing right now and keeping everything straight in all of them can be a bit of a nightmare, and I want to make it as easy for the reader as possible.

In any event, we're now finished on the Amber Road. The next post will open chapter five...

[Kilo11]

I give you so much commentary anyway, so I'll keep this one brief, with only two points.

1. With regards to the new armor set, I love it! It does look much more distinct to me, and though I admittedly have very little knowledge of Etruscans, it seems to fit more for them (mainly as it is less "Roman" or "Greek"). So kudos to you on that one!

2. To the flashbacks, there definitely are a fair bit throughout these early chapters, but I haven't felt them to be problematic at all. You always offset them clearly, and also give obvious lead-ins to show we're now in a flashback, and I think it fits for the letter-writing style anyway. So my suggestion would be to not worry about it too much. It works, and it's providing you with space to cover a lot of background in a nice and natural fashion.

And to stay true to my promise, I will leave it at that

[Cookiegod]

Too much to say, so let's make a list. Who doesn't like lists?

You spelled Liszt wrong, but other than that I agree.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I can never tell when you're being sarcastic, but on the off chance you mean it, thanks!

He's German and probably doesn't know what that is. You can take everything he says at face value. Especially since your screens and models truly look amazing.
Looking at the images here...

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

...I have to admit the grass really is greener on your side of the Apennines.
Now that I've seen those pics though I can't stop picturing him as some surfer dude. You might have done some long term damage to me there.
Please do a water themed version of the chariot with seahorses.

But in all seriousness:
I'm quite impressed how much of an all-round pro you are. I don't have much new to say about it, and you probably know it already.
You write well and it shows.
You did your research (just like Kilo) for a quite obscure topic where much of the info isn't so readily available (making it all the more impressive) and it shows.
Your visuals are what I envy you the most for though.
You have the eye for aesthetics we engineers so desperately lack. It shows in your screens (still not 100% behind the black bars, but they might help because of scrolling and forum background and what not), in your 3D-models, and in the map you made (the inconsistency regarding latin & Etruscan being the only minor drawback).

If I had to criticise one thing, it'd probably be the fact that you might have a chance to win the competition even against me.

My unbiased and very helpful yelp-review is therefore 1 out of 5 stars. Would not recommend.

[Skotos of Sinope]

2. To the flashbacks, there definitely are a fair bit throughout these early chapters, but I haven't felt them to be problematic at all. You always offset them clearly, and also give obvious lead-ins to show we're now in a flashback, and I think it fits for the letter-writing style anyway. So my suggestion would be to not worry about it too much. It works, and it's providing you with space to cover a lot of background in a nice and natural fashion.

Well all the same, let me know if anything is unclear or overly complicated.

He's German and probably doesn't know what that is. You can take everything he says at face value.

...I have to admit the grass really is greener on your side of the Apennines.
Now that I've seen those pics though I can't stop picturing him as some surfer dude.
You might have done some long term damage to me there.
Please do a water themed version of the chariot with seahorses.

I'll meet you half way on the water theme. A shot from chapter five:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Surf's up.

You did your research (just like Kilo) for a quite obscure topic where much of the info isn't so readily available (making it all the more impressive) and it shows.

I can't speak for Kilo, but despite the dearth of information from the period, I think the and I have a much easier job than something sprawling like Of Wolves and Prey (Which I am now starting to fall behind on. Funny. I spent months bugging you to get back to work on it and now I'm having trouble keeping up.). At the same time, I think “research addiction” can rear its ugly head at any scale. You always feel no matter how much you've read, it's still not enough. (I think you've mentioned feeling the same way.) I mean, I'm looking at a book right next to me on Etruscan clothing, and it's gnawing at me that I've yet to read it all the way through. And there's the book on Etruscan war chariots I bought that's written in Italian. I've consulted it for diagrams and reconstructions, and what data I can glean on the archeological sites, but that's it. (It's been bugging me so much that I signed up for Flinn's Italian class just so I can read it.) I'm just too conscious of the gaps in my knowledge to feel like I know what the hell I'm talking about.

You have the eye for aesthetics we engineers so desperately lack.

Well right now I wish I had an engineer's technical mind. These custom unit mods have been kicking my butt. I spent nearly two weeks trying to get the cloak texture to show up correctly and even then I needed to call in a favor.

It shows in your screens (still not 100% behind the black bars, but they might help because of scrolling and forum background and what not), in your 3D-models, and in the map you made (the inconsistency regarding latin & Etruscan being the only minor drawback).

I wonder if the black bars might be a generational thing. For those of us who came of age before flat screens, movies shown in their original aspect ratio had those. It made it feel more epic, more cinematic. I take your point on the Latin and Etruscan inconsistency. I was never able to commit fully to one or the other. But then again, nearly everything Etruscan that comes down to us is filtered through a Roman intermediary. All history is a palimpsest. The Turks still use a name for their largest city that's based on a misunderstanding of the Greek phrase meaning “to the city”. That's how I think of it. I view the map as something constructed by a Roman trying to preserve as much of the Etruscan, while not knowing a great deal of it. That said, there's a lot that needs to be fixed on it. Foremost being a couple of U's that need to be turned into V's.

If I had to criticise one thing, it'd probably be the fact that you might have a chance to win the competition even against me.

That would suit me. My goal is always to come in at second place. But I suspect even that's going to be hard. And I don't just mean Kilo. I think it's that time of year again where the competition is heating up. All bets are off.

My unbiased and very helpful yelp-review is therefore 1 out of 5 stars. Would not recommend.

Anyway, if I can finish up these mods and screen caps by this weekend, I should be able to have part one of chapter five posted this coming week.

[Kilo11]

I think “research addiction” can rear its ugly head at any scale. You always feel no matter how much you've read, it's still not enough. (I think you've mentioned feeling the same way.) I mean, I'm looking at a book right next to me on Etruscan clothing, and it's gnawing at me that I've yet to read it all the way through. And there's the book on Etruscan war chariots I bought that's written in Italian. I've consulted it for diagrams and reconstructions, and what data I can glean on the archeological sites, but that's it. (It's been bugging me so much that I signed up for Flinn's Italian class just so I can read it.) I'm just too conscious of the gaps in my knowledge to feel like I know what the hell I'm talking about.

Yeah, this is a pretty serious problem for me some times as well. Luckily, the research (or lack thereof) never stops me from writing once I'm in the mood, but it definitely keeps my writing moods at bay for a while. I have a bit of an easier time with the history stuff (no source materials, so no one can contradict me! Mwahahaha!), but I am a serious stickler for geography, flora/fauna being write, and linguistic things. I now have a book on Punic grammar and a Punic dictionary (for another writing piece I've been working on) as well as my book on Safaitic and the various Old Arabic inscriptions scattered across the Nefud and Hauran. I wish I could just find a cool person from Jordan who is super into antique history of the region! It would save me so much time, and probably result in a lot cleaner presentation of things...

I wonder if the black bars might be a generational thing. For those of us who came of age before flat screens, movies shown in their original aspect ratio had those. It made it feel more epic, more cinematic.

I also like the black bars, for roughly the same reasons that you give here. I think they add a nice feel, and offset the images in a way that makes them seem like additions to the text, rather than the centerpiece, which is (in my opinion) as it should be for your work, as the writing is doing the real heavy lifting.

[Derc]

I can never tell when you're being sarcastic, but on the off chance you mean it, thanks!

No, I'm dead serious this time.
I had to check it up in RotR and was stunned to find Avle & co.

So that "ugly bum with the wild mane", as I most often referred to him during the campaign, was actually Avle! I am so sorry! It, however, shows what a job you've done. How silly they look in vanilla! And how they look here! Awesome!

Did some research around early Roman Italy and learned a lot about it in the last few months, thanks to the campaign, you, and Cookie with his spam about Dionysios.

But no, the three mountains refers to Monte Morello

Very, very interesting to know exactly where Avle is around. Thanks.

He's German and probably doesn't know what that is. You can take everything he says at face value.

Stop spreading lies! That Irish whisky isn't good for you.

I also like the black bars, for roughly the same reasons that you give here. I think they add a nice feel, and offset the images in a way that makes them seem like additions to the text, rather than the centerpiece, which is (in my opinion) as it should be for your work, as the writing is doing the real heavy lifting.

They give it all a cinematic feeling. I've rarely seen black bars that are affected by shaders. They are usually around in racing games or reshades. Perhaps Skotos is using Rome II with ReShade, SweetFX or something similar per any chance? I will give this a try in my next R2 campaign. Could also be Photoshop, of course.

[Cookiegod]

Of Wolves and Prey (Which I am now starting to fall behind on. Funny. I spent months bugging you to get back to work on it and now I'm having trouble keeping up.).

Wait... How's that even possible?

No, I'm dead serious

See? He probably doesn't even know what sarcasm is!

[Skotos of Sinope]

Recap

The Story So Far: The year is 399 BCE. Signs and portents are everywhere. Some say this is the end of the world. As if on cue, the Gauls have invaded Italy. One by one the cities of Etruria have fallen to the advance. Only Tarchuna—the birthplace of Etruscan civilization and of the Roman kings—stands in their way. Two brothers have stepped forward to lead the forces of Etruscan resistance: Avle and Arnth. The second born for war, and the firstborn to rule. Arnth has disappeared behind enemy lines, caught between the Gallic armies. Avle raced to his rescue, but disease and mass desertions have reduced his army to a fraction of what it was. Now face to face with the Gallic horde, Avle has no choice but to fight. On the night before his first battle, Avle summons his war council to somehow find a way to defeat this larger Gallic force and turn back the invasion before it's too late... Characters Featured: Avle Spurinna: Main protagonist. Half-Roman Zilath (head of government) of Tarchuna. Descendent of the Roman kings on his mother's side and inheritor of the Kingsblood Quadriga. When we first meet him, he's an undisciplined drinker, gambler and chariot racer. Arnth Velcha: Brother-in-law and life-long friend of Avle. The Purthsvana or military leader of Tarchuna. Traditional, pious, dutiful, the model of an Etruscan statesman and the polar opposite of Avle. He longs for the halcyon days of the monarchy. Velthur the Stammerer: Uncle of Arnth. Patriarch of the Velchae and current holder of Tarchuna's highest priesthood. Honorable and irritable. A recent stroke has robbed him of his ability to speak. Now aide-de-camp to Avle Spurinna. Terms Used: chitoniskos: a shorter version of a chiton. Common male attire. pullarius: Keeper of the sacred chickens. (The Latin term is used. No Etruscan word is known.) Sal Mama: Pontifex Maximus.

Chapter Five – Battle on the Three Mountains (Part One)

Avle Spurinna
Autumn, 399 BCE

Ramtha, I'm told that a letter of yours tried to reach me at Cisra, and was then forwarded onto Veluzna. Rest assured, one of my couriers has been dispatched to fetch it and will bring it to me. This brightened my day. I was almost getting concerned, having written so much without hearing back. I never like to dominate a conversation too much. I leave that sacred charge to Velthur. If your letter is not filled with the most passionate longing, and at least a few filthy passages, my honor may never recover. Before I forget, Marce wants to know how his mother is getting on and also he's out-growing the chitoniskos she made him. So when you do write back, tell my sister Velia to stop ignoring us.

It's the night before my first battle, and I don't know how to feel. Velthur insisted that we walk the battlefield twice before our final war council, as was his usual ritual: Once during the day, and once in the dark. It will look different according to the light, he said. Tomorrow over six thousand men will gather in that spot and try to hack one another to bits — such a strange notion. Yet we strolled about and spoke as if we were surveying our own crop fields before planting season. What strange seeds we will sew tomorrow. What putrescent corn we will reap.

It reminded me of something. Did you know that the night before any of my races, I would always sleep soundly? It would never seem real that the next day, I would be in a contest of life and death. I knew that I might not survive the day, but I only knew it only in the abstract, just as the Pythagoreans know that the sum of successive terms of any natural number series is a triangular number, or that the diagonal of a square is incommensurable with its side. It would never seem real until I approached the starting chord the next day, and smelled the musk of the horses and the crowd, and heard the trumpets and cheers. When we got back to camp, all about me were the sharpening and oiling of swords, the stringing of bows and fletching of arrows, the fixing of spearpoints onto shafts, the iron smell of the armorer's shop as he fitted lamellar plates to a padded cuirass. Hot iron, always smelling of blood. It's an orderly camp. An Etrusci camp is always orderly. We gave the concept of the military camp to the Romans. It suits them. My Roman half-kin are not an orderly people. They never will be. Yet there is already a ruthless efficiency to them when it comes to war. Even more so than us.

The same expression was on each face I passed: bravado concealing fear. Not fear of death, but fear of the unknown. I wonder if any of us ever really think we will die. If we did, we wouldn't do any of the things we do. After all, from the moment we're born, we know only life. We can't conceive of anything else. Gods, I'm starting to sound like Arnth.

I thought that I, above all others, should be afraid of what's to come tomorrow, and yet I am not. I never am. Not before races, and not before battle. This is not courage, nor pious trust in the gods, nor philosophic tranquility, but boldness. I've always been bold. The nearness to death only ever made me bolder, focused it, instead of making me afraid. Moth, meet flame. In my exile, I thrilled to my creditors' threats of torture and death if I failed to win the next race's purse. I laughed when they broke my fingers or fell upon me in the night and beat me unconscious with knotted sailing rope. I felt alive, not knowing where my next meal would come from. Defiance was my confederate for far too long. There's something in me, Ramtha, that I cannot explain. I am not like other men. I do not have a will of my own, but am carried along by something. I feel as an arrow nocked to the bow-string. It cannot be held in place forever. It can only be aimed and fired.

We made our sacrifices and took the auspices. The omens are mixed. Of the sixteen divisions of the sky, augurs saw the birds fly into the eleventh, which bodes well. But when the Haruspices examined the liver of our sacrificed sheep, it was completely black. As for the sacred chickens of Laran...well, when the pullarius released from their cages, they turned on each other, and there was such a cockfight I felt guilty for not taking bets. Blood and feathers flew everywhere. Then one of them was set upon by the others, and they pecked to a pulp before gorging themselves. The pullarii were horrified, but I had Velthur declare this as a very favorable omen, as it's only ill-tidings if the chickens either refused to eat or flew away. And these chickens stayed put and feasted.

As custom holds, my satelles are in seclusion tonight: fasting, abstaining from the camp trollops, mixing the paint which they will cover themselves with tomorrow, and of course, preparing themselves for death. It's bad luck if I visit them. And so feeling lonely, I threw the knucklebones with some penestes spearmen tonight.

We then convened our final war council. The bulk of our men will take position half-way up the tallest mountain. There is only one shallow face that allows assent up the promontory, and a little-known winding path on the opposite side that follows a stream. The latter will be well-guarded. While we were out there surveying the battlefield, we noticed a boulder field of sharp stones at the bottom, swept down the mountain by rainfall and erosion, and had collected in a ditch. I could see why Cneve had found the position so defensible. This will deter the Gallic cavalry and chariotry, who will be denied their sure-footing, and thus taking from them their cavalry advantage. The only horses we have left are Marce's satelles, which he would command alongside the mercenary infantry force that--for some reason--had grown to love their young rhapsode.

I asked Velthur what he would do if he were commanding the other side. Once again, the old ox was reluctant to give his counsel now, when his earlier counsel fell on deaf ears. Eventually, he took out his wax tablet and reed and wrote that if he were fighting us, he would first split his forces. He said that I was trying to lure the numerically superior Gauls into a bottle neck where their numbers count for nothing. But the Gauls are neither blind nor stupid. They can see this too. And if your numbers count for nothing, why would you send all your numbers? You employ the minimum effective force and seek different points of attack. The advantage of splitting one's commission is that even if you don't attack on multiple fronts, you force the enemy's smaller army to defend on multiple fronts, stretching his forces which are far more precious than your own. You win either way. Because the consequences of being outflanked are even worse than having diminished numbers, you have to take the bait.

Velthur explained that he would instead send his most elite troops to face our main host here, but search for other ways to flank around us. The assembled captains seemed to agree. The only question was who will they send and where will they send them. There are two possibilities. They could ascend the smaller forested mountain to the left, though it is heavily wooded and will take a long time to navigate. Since the sharp stones will keep them from using their cavalry or chariotry in a direct frontal attack, it will likely be their cavalry that will take this alternate route. A more remote possibility is a river crossing at the base of the smaller mountain. Once they get on the other side of the river, they could follow the river up to its source, and attack us in the rear. It's unlikely they will know this route, but they have to be ready if they do.

At the river, there are only two possible points to cross. A low ford that is crossable in the warmer months but in the autumn rains has swelled and present a perilous undertaking. A little further up the river the scouting party found what appeared to be a partially-collapsed bridge, now been covered by debris. It now resembles a beaver's dam than anything else. Nevertheless, Velthur suggested that we send a detachment and riders to speed word if anyone is spotted. Meanwhile, he would personally command the anti-cavalry force in the forest to safeguard our eastern flank.

So it was decided. We shall take up our positions just before dawn. The Gauls prefer to attack either at night or daybreak. So we will too. The morning mist will conceal our movement up the mountain. We must step carefully as the ground will be slick with dew, but we will have the advantage of a slow ascent. The Gauls will have the same hazard and will do it while under fire.

A captain from Cisra who led a spear company, I could not recall his name, broached the obvious: The Gauls had no need to engage us once we've taken the high ground. They could just as easily encircle us and leave us to die when the winter storms came. I said that we'd jump off that bridge when we come to it. But they haven't yet stayed for too long in one place, and I hazard that this won't change. Their army is a ravenous one. Brennus must continue to unleash it again and again or risk it turning on itself. I remembered what happened to my great-great grandfather's army during his siege of Ardea. The restlessness of his idle army proved the downfall of his reign. Brennus would face the same dilemma. Besides, we will taunt them with our slings and arrows. And because the dawn wind will be blowing down the mountain by then, our missiles will go further, while the Gauls' will come up short. The rising sun will be in their faces, and—Velthur learned this in his mercenary days—if the sun is at a shallow angle behind you, your own lengthened shadows are ahead of you making you appear closer than you are, and the enemy will waste much of his fire literally attacking shadows. Their frustration will mount. They will take the bait. Gauls hate war bows especially. Like Homer, they view bows as a lowly coward's weapon, whereas we think it a noble armament of war, of side-arm of kings in fact.

Marce raised the question of where Brennus's Etrusci allies could be. I admit, I had forgotten this point. They weren't spotted with the Gallic army. Velthur too was concerned. It was an atypically inept strategy for Brennus. Velthur wrote that it's not wise to hold back your allies. What you'd want to do is put them in the front and send them in the first wave.

That seemed to be the last question. Velthur asked to excuse himself. He had one final duty to perform before tomorrow: the white plaque awaited. As Sal Mama, it was his obligation to write the year's events to be displayed on the Methlum House's white plaque. Should he fall in battle, Velthur wanted to have the plaque's text ready. At the end of the year, the plaque will be taken down and the events recorded in the annals. So it is that a people have a memory. As I'm zilath, it will be the first year to be named after me. So obviously I approved. We called the meeting to a close, and I returned to my tent. I opened the chest that held the disassembled Kingsblood Quadriga. I gazed upon it, transfixed and somehow made smaller in its presence, as a child who beholds the night sky for the first time. Like the starry firmament, there was something of the infinite in it. Part of me wanted to ride it into battle tomorrow. It was then I realized that there was indeed one thing of which I was afraid.

I'm putting my ink and reed down now, Ramtha. My wrist, once again, is my bane. And my page is now standing over my shoulder and nagging for me to change into my dressing gown. It seems he wants to be off-duty just as much as he wants his general to get some sleep. So I will say goodnight to you.

The next time I take this letter up again—and I will—I'll have quite the war story to tell.

[Kilo11]

As always, I'm loving this Skotos! The story is great, the characters are all real and believable, and the writing is polished and clean. Not enough praises here (and seriously, I really do think you should consider talking to a book agent and thinking about getting something published; not necessarily this, cause you said you weren't sure about it, but your writing deserves a place in a bookstore, and I'd be happy to pay $10-$20 for this book!). I read this when you first posted it last week, but only just now got around to coming back for a closer inspection with commentary. And I must say, on a second reading, it holds up really well!

For comments this time around, it is mainly little things here and there, but there was one large point that is worth stating bluntly here so that you can think about it more. In this update you switch the tense you are using a number of times. Sometimes Avle is talking about the past, sometimes about the future, and sometimes using hypothetical counterfactual language. I am not sure there are any proper mistakes with the switches, but they did make the flow jumpy in a lot of spots, and sometimes made me stop and scratch my head a bit. As a general suggestion, I would have Avle tell everything in either past tense or hypothetical future tense. The reason is because he is either saying what already happened (when he was walking with Velthur, when they were at the war council, etc.) or about what he plans to do, but plans are never set in stone. Using hypothetical tense will tighten up the overall writing more as well because in a number of places you intentionally use that because that is the correct tense (when you talk about what the Gauls would do were the Etrusci to do something). But other than that general point, this one was very nice, and really gets me excited for the scenes to come where we see this battle! I am expecting some golden screenshots!

Edits, Suggestions, Questions

Recap The Story So Far: In the end of the first paragraph of the recap you have "firstborn" where it should be "first born" Chapter Five – Battle on the Three Mountains (Part One) Avle Spurinna Autumn, 399 BCE Ramtha, I'm told that a letter of yours tried to reach me at Cisra, and was then forwarded onto Veluzna. Rest assured, one of my couriers has been dispatched to fetch it and will bring it to me. This brightened my day. I was almost getting concerned, having written so much without hearing back. I never like to dominate a conversation too much. [This seems odd to me as is, as I can't imagine this ever being said. The underlying idea is fine, but I would expect it to be prefaced by "You know I never..." or "You do not know this yet, but I never...". The latter would be in case they still don't know one another that well (which I thought I remembered being the case). But as the sentence is it seems too blunt and disconnected from the other ideas before it.] I leave that sacred charge to Velthur. If your letter is not filled with the most passionate longing, and at least a few filthy passages, my honor may never recover.[This preceding sentence seems off to me for some reason. A little too modern and uncouth (though the latter could well be intentional, given Avle's traits.] Before I forget, Marce wants to know how his mother is getting on, and also, he's out-growing the chitoniskos she made him. So when you do write back, tell my sister Velia to stop ignoring us. It's the night before my first battle, and I don't know how to feel. Velthur insisted that we walk the battlefield twice before our final war council, as was his usual ritual: Once during the day, and once in the dark. It will look different according to the light, he said. Tomorrow over six thousand men will gather in that spot and try to hack one another to bits — such a strange notion. Yet we strolled about and spoke as if we were merely surveying our own crop fields before planting season. What strange seeds we will sew tomorrow. What putrescent corn we will reap. It reminded me of something. Did you know that the night before any of my races, I would always sleep soundly? It would never seem real that the next day, I would be in a contest of life and death. I knew that I might not survive the day, but I only knew it only in the abstract, just as the Pythagoreans know that the sum of successive terms of any natural number series is a triangular number, or that the diagonal of a square is incommensurable with its side [These examples seem a bit over-academic to me. Although I can't think of a better one myself for how he might convey this idea. Maybe just think about it again and consider whether there is a more "lively" or immediate example that you could use here.]. It would never seem real until I approached the starting chord the next day, and smelled the musk of the horses and the crowd, and heard the trumpets and cheers. When we got back to camp, all about me were the sharpening and oiling of swords, the stringing of bows and fletching of arrows, the fixing of spearpoints onto shafts, the iron smell of the armorer's shop as he fitted lamellar plates to a padded cuirass [This should be plural but I have no idea how to write that.]. Hot iron, always smelling of blood. It's an orderly camp. An Etrusci camp is always orderly. We gave the concept of the military camp to the Romans. It suits them. My Roman half-kin are not an orderly people. They never will be. Yet there is already a ruthless efficiency to them when it comes to war. Even more so than us. The same expression was on each face I passed: bravado concealing fear. Not fear of death, but fear of the unknown. I wonder if any of us ever really think we will die. If we did, we wouldn't do any of the things we do. After all, from the moment we're born, we know only life. We can't conceive of anything else. Gods, I'm starting to sound like Arnth. I thought that I, above all others, should be afraid of what's to come tomorrow, and yet I am not. I never am. Not before races, and not before battle. This is not courage, nor pious trust in the gods, nor philosophic tranquility, but boldness. I've always been bold. The nearness to death only ever made me bolder, focused it, instead of making me afraid. Moth, meet flame. In my exile, I thrilled to my creditors' threats of torture and death if I failed to win the next race's purse. I laughed when they broke my fingers or fell upon me in the night and beat me unconscious with knotted sailing rope. I felt alive, not knowing where my next meal would come from. Defiance was my confederate for far too long. There's something in me, Ramtha, that I cannot explain. I am not like other men. I do not have a will of my own, but am carried along by something. I feel as an arrow nocked to the bow-string. It cannot be held in place forever. It can only be aimed and fired. We made our sacrifices and took the auspices. The omens are mixed. Of the sixteen divisions of the sky, augurs saw the birds fly into the eleventh, which bodes well. But when the Haruspices examined the liver of our sacrificed sheep, it was completely black. As for the sacred chickens of Laran...well, when the pullarius released them from their cages, they turned on each other, and there was such a cockfight I felt guilty for not taking bets. Blood and feathers flew everywhere. Then one of them was set upon by the others, and they pecked it to a pulp before gorging themselves. The pullarii were horrified, but I had Velthur declare this as a very favorable omen, as it's only ill-tidings if the chickens either refused to eat or flew away. And these chickens stayed put and feasted. As custom holds, my satelles are in seclusion tonight: fasting, abstaining from the camp trollops, mixing the paint which they will cover themselves with tomorrow, and of course, preparing themselves for death. It's bad luck if I visit them. And so feeling lonely, I threw the knucklebones with some penestes spearmen tonight. We then convened our final war council. The bulk of our men will take position half-way up the tallest mountain. There is only one shallow face that allows assent up the promontory, and a little-known winding path on the opposite side that follows a stream. The latter will be well-guarded. While we were out there surveying the battlefield, we noticed a boulder field of sharp stones at the bottom, swept down the mountain by rainfall and erosion, and had collected in a ditch [This sentence is odd and has some mistakes. There are a few ways it can be fixed so I'll leave it up to you.]. I could see why Cneve had found the position so defensible. This will deter the Gallic cavalry and chariotry, who will be denied their sure-footing, and thus taking [robbing, stripping, depriving? --> some of the possible word choices will entail a change of preposition in the next couple words!]from them their cavalry advantage[In the previous sentence you were speaking in past tense about Cneve's findings, but here you switched to future. To my ear I thought it might sound better to use hypothetical language instead (e.g. This would deter the Gallic cavalry...). I'm not 100% sure about that though.]. The only horses we have left are Marce's satelles, which he would [Yep, to the previous comment, this is indeed a problem, as you've switched again here. Just decide which works better and streamline throughout here.]command alongside the mercenary infantry force that--for some reason--had grown to love their young rhapsode. I asked Velthur what he would do if he were commanding the other side. Once again, the old ox was reluctant to give his counsel now, when his earlier counsel fell on deaf ears. Eventually, he took out his wax tablet and reed and wrote that if he were fighting us, he would first split his forces. He said that I was trying to lure the numerically superior Gauls into a bottle neck where their numbers would count for nothing. But the Gauls are neither blind nor stupid. They canwould see this too. And if your numbers count for nothing, why would you send all your numbers? You employ the minimum effective force and seek different points of attack. The advantage of splitting one's commission is that even if you don't attack on multiple fronts, you force the enemy's smaller army to defend on multiple fronts, stretching his forces which are far more precious than your own. You win either way. Because the consequences of being outflanked are even worse than having diminished numbers, you have to take the bait. [You switched to second person here, which I presume is so that you can dump a bit of exposition and do so fairly because it is Avle relating something to Ramtha that she might otherwise not know. However, it doesn't flow or fit well with the immediately preceding lines. I'd suggest making a line-break here and starting this bit with, "You see Ramtha, if your numbers count for nothing....". You can then have this in without any problem but make clear the change to second person is because this is something for Ramtha in particular. If you do make such a change I'd also suggest a short addition to the final line above (The Gauls would see this too), closing that paragraph a bit more. Maybe something like "The Gauls would see this too, and they would know it for what it was." Just a suggestion though.] Velthur explained that he would instead send his most elite troops to face our main host here, but search for other ways to flank around us. The assembled captains seemed to agree. The only question was who will they send and where will they send them. There are two possibilities. They could ascend the smaller forested mountain to the left, though it is heavily wooded and will take a long time to navigate. Since the sharp stones will keep them from using their cavalry or chariotry in a direct frontal attack, it will likely be their cavalry that will take this alternate route. A more remote possibility is a river crossing at the base of the smaller mountain. Once they get on the other side of the river, they could follow the river up to its source, and attack us in the rear. It's unlikely they will know this route, but theywe have to be ready if they do. [The tense switches a couple times in this paragraph. See which is right/best and make it consistent.] At the river, there are only two possible points to cross. A low ford that is crossable in the warmer months but in the autumn rains has swelled and present a perilous undertakingwhich presents a perilous undertaking now that the autumn rains have begun. A little further up the river the scouting party found what appeared to be a partially-collapsed bridge, now been covered by debris. It now resembles a beaver's dam more than anything else. Nevertheless, Velthur suggested that we send a detachment and riders to speed word if anyone is spotted. Meanwhile, he would personally command the anti-cavalry force in the forest to safeguard our eastern flank. So it was decided. We shall take up our positions just before dawn. The Gauls prefer to attack either at night or daybreak. So we will too. The morning mist will conceal our movement up the mountain. We must step carefully as the ground will be slick with dew, but we will have the advantage of a slow ascent. The Gauls will have the same hazard and will do it while under fire. [Again, check tense.] A captain from Cisra who led a spear company, I could not recall his name, broached the obvious: The Gauls had no need to engage us once we've taken the high ground. They could just as easily encircle us and leave us to die when the winter storms came. I said that we'd jump off that bridge when we come to it. But they haven't yet stayed for too long in one place, and I hazard that this won't change. Their army is a ravenous one. Brennus must continue to unleash it again and again or risk it turning on itself. I remembered what happened to my great-great grandfather's army during his siege of Ardea. The restlessness of his idle army proved the downfall of his reign. Brennus would face the same dilemma. Besides, we will taunt them with our slings and arrows. And because the dawn wind will be blowing down the mountain by then, our missiles will go further, while the Gauls' will come up short. The rising sun will be in their faces, and—Velthur learned this in his mercenary days—if the sun is at a shallow angle behind you, your own lengthened shadows are ahead of you making you appear closer than you are, and the enemy will waste much of his fire literally attacking shadows[The "literally" is unnecessary, and it explicitly blocks off a nice alternate more poetic reading here.]. Their frustration will mount. They will take the bait. Gauls hate war bows especially. Like Homer, they view bows as a lowly coward's weapon, whereas we think it a noble armament of war, of side-arm of kings in fact. Marce raised the question of where Brennus's Etrusci allies could be. I admit, I had forgotten this point. They weren't spotted with the Gallic army. Velthur too was concerned. It was an atypically [Not sure about this word. The atypicality of it seems like it would be cause for concern, and it might be more effective to use an emotive term that makes that explicit, or to add a further phrase about them being concerned.]inept strategy for Brennus. Velthur wrote that it's not wise to hold back your allies. What you'd want to do is put them in the front and send them in the first wave. That seemed to be the last question. Velthur asked to excuse himself. He had one final duty to perform before tomorrow: the white plaque awaited. As Sal Mama, it was his obligation to write the year's events to be displayed on the Methlum House's white plaque. Should he fall in battle, Velthur wanted to have the plaque's text ready. At the end of the year, the plaque will be taken down and the events recorded in the annals. So it is that a people have a memory. As I'm zilath, it will be the first year to be named after me. So obviously I approved. We called the meeting to a close, and I returned to my tent. I opened the chest that held the disassembled Kingsblood Quadriga. I gazed upon it, transfixed and somehow made smaller in its presence, as a child who beholds the night sky for the first time. Like the starry firmament, there was something of the infinite in it. Part of me wanted to ride it into battle tomorrow. It was then I realized that there was indeed one thing of which I was afraid. I'm putting my ink and reed down now, Ramtha. My wrist, once again, is my bane. And my page is now standing over my shoulder and nagging for me to change into my dressing gown. It seems he wants to be off-duty just as much as he wants his general to get some sleep. So I will say goodnight to you. The next time I take this letter up again—and I will—I'll have quite the war story to tell.

[Alwyn]

It sounds like Velthur's advice is valuable. I like the way that you use characters to voice thoughts that readers might about the battle plan (such as "if the army stay on the hill, what happens if the enemy just surround them and wait?"). I enjoyed your phrasing when you discuss the effects of the "dawn wind" and the "rising sun", as well as the different perceptions of bows between Gauls and Etrusci. I'm excited to read about the events to come!

[Turkafinwë]

Mighty stuff Skotos, as always. I can't wait to see how this battle will pan out!