By Terikel Grayhair





“Ach! I hate this!” bellowed Tiberius Claudius Labeo as he stood near the doorway of the terp and pissed into the ocean swirling below. An errant wave had washed harder against the terp’s seawall than its brethren and sprayed the Batavian prince and his exposed organ with frigid November North Sea water.

“Come back to bed,” called the woman who shared her home with the exiled prince. “I will make you snug and warm again, lover.”

Labeo looked back inside the hovel in which he was imprisoned. It was dry inside, but he still could not get over the fact that water came twice daily and flooded the land around it- which was why this terp was built with extra sea walls upon an artificial rise. The interior was dark, but lit by shadows peeking through the shuttered windows. An eating table filled one corner of the home, a fur-covered bed the other. That was about it. Except for the woman in the bed. Frikkje was her name, a thirty-year old widow of noble birth among the Frisians, and not too shabby upon the eyes, either. But she was but a winter’s dalliance while his countrymen fought and died under the deranged leadership of his twisted cousin, the great Gaius Julius Civilis.

Labeo was a cavalryman, long and lean, and used to spending hours per day with a sturdy warsteed between his legs. Here he was the warsteed spending hours between her legs. Pleasant, yes, but not befitting a leader of men. He once led the Ala Batavaeri , a cavalry unit attached to the XV Primigenia, until that legion took the field against his people. He left Roman service that day rather than fight his own kin, and his reward was this- exile to an ocean-soaked realm where no horse or cow existed.

“I need to get away from here, Frikkje,” he said in a low voice. “This place drives me mad.”

“You would leave me, lover? Am I too old, or too ugly for the likes of you?”

The voice was husky, but he could hear the beginnings of a sob starting in it. Frikkje was trying hard to make it difficult for him to leave. He knew that, yet for all the time he spent with her and in her, she still did not understand him. He was a warrior, and there was a war on. It was as simple as that. He turned away from the freezing November ocean spray and faced the woman who housed him.

“You are a wonderful hostess,” he replied “Beautiful, caring, pleasant, and a great lover. Yet I am a warrior-“

“-And there is a war on,” she completed bitterly. “Yes, Claudius, I know. My husband died in it, you know. He was killed in the same battle that brought you here.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” he muttered, and meant it. But the death of her estranged husband had meant nothing to her- they had not shared a bed in years, while he had taken every farmgirl coming of age in the area. His death in battle freed her from an unhappy marriage, which she used well to her own advantage in housing the exile. Now it seems that he too was choosing battle over her pleasures.

“It is time for you to go, Claudius,” Frikkje said, coming to a decision. She rose and wrapped her lithe body with a sheet from under the furs. “You will waste away and die here if you stay. I would die soon after, having forced a man I love to stay and wither.”

Claudius closed the distance to the woman and held her face gently in his hands. “Frikkje, when this war is over, I will come back and take you away from this place, to where you can walk on the earth all hours of the day and pick flowers in the moonlight if you so desire.”

“Then go, Claudius, when the sun rises,” she said, kissing him fiercely. “Take my dead husband’s boat, and the tides will take you inland to the Great Lake. From there, follow the sun- it will lead you south to where you can find a horse, or the river.”

Claudius thanked her again, and gathered his possessions. He did not have much, being an exiled prince, but all he had he would need. A sword, salt-bitten by the constant raging of the sea, his armor with its rusty sheen, a few bits of cloth, a flask of oil, a cloak, and his spurs. He packed some food with her blessing, and a few skins of water for the journey. They made love one last time before he rose and dressed, kissing her goodbye.

“Until we meet again, my love,” she whispered in his native Batavian. He repeated the phrase to her in her native tongue, then left before his courage to do what he must faded.

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

The November seas were like ice on his exposed skin, and he was no sailor. But Frikkje was right about the tide, and the wind coming off the northern ocean blew his craft southwards. After what seemed like eons, after the sun went down, he found himself lurching powerfully forward. His boat’s bottom had hit something and stopped. He glanced about in the star-lit night. He could barely make out anything, but enough light seeped into his eyes to make out the shape of trees.

He had found land.

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

Being a prince has its advantages, Labeo thought as he rode south. He spent a day wandering about the wilderness, following the sun as Frikkje advised. This far north, the winter sun never rose overhead by mid-day. It stayed always to the south, making it easy for him to follow. True, he was meandering east and west during the course of the day, but it led him mostly south. Until he found a road, and followed it to a village where his identity was known and his person made welcome.

In that village, he regaled the locals with stories of battle while he cleaned the salt-pitted rust from his armor and his weapons. They regaled him with tales of his supposed exploits among the Frisians, where he was recruiting Frisian volunteers for King Seval.

Labeo laughed at that- Civilis had thought up a wonderful cover story to explain his cousin’s exile. Recruiting volunteers. Ha! Now he was using that lie to acquire the gear he needed- a horse, a saddle, and a lance if one of the villagers had one. They did, and the next morning he was on a horse headed for Tungrian lands. Heading east would lead him to Batavodurum and his cousin, while west would lead him to Brinno and the Cananefate- allies to Civilis. But south to the Tungrians would lead him away from both. So it was to the south he would continue.

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

The Tungrians had sided with Civilis, it seemed. Men were marching to the north and east, joining the great war host besieging the Romans at Vetera. Luckily, no Tungrian knew him by sight, so he was able to pass by unmolested and even learn a little about the course of the rebellion.

Civilis was doing very well. Aside from the Tungrians, the Bructeri, the Tencteri, and the Chauci had joined him. The Gauls were rumored to have sent envoys to him, eager to form an alliance against Rome. The Ubians had been crushed yet remain loyal to Rome, and both the Treveri and Nervii were wavering- one day they fought for Rome, the next they aided the Romans against the others. Great battles were being fought, and three legions were holed up at Gelduba, trying to relieve the two penned inside Vetera.

Labeo felt his best bet would be to head for Novaesium, a tough and fortified Roman castra. There he could join the Romans again, making up for his earlier misjudgment. Or he could be thrown in chains and executed as a traitor- he had shed Roman blood in that battle, after all. Yet siding with Civilis would be far worse- he could not stand the man who was leading his people to a sure destruction. True, he was winning now, but Labeo knew well the might of Rome- he had seen it in Britannia, and knew of the struggles in far-off Judea. The Romans had pacified the Dacian border, the Moesian border, owned all of mythical Egypt, were at peace with the mysterious Parthians, subjugated the wild Armenians, and had conquered countless others. There was simply no way a tribe numbering less than forty thousand could hope to take on the Empire of Rome and survive!

Yet the Frisians had done just that, and won. They have been nominally independent for forty years now, free to do as they please. Maybe Civilis does have a chance after all... Hogwash and bee-spit. The Romans do not care about the Frisians, who have ever been a pain in their togate backsides. But they would care about the Batavians, who gave them their best horsemen. And they care about the Germans, who would come flooding over the Rhein in large numbers with no defensible border between them and Gaul, which borders Rome. No, the Romans would not let the Batavians be, no matter how successful his cousin was. So Rome would finish the Batavians, and his people would be no more.

Well, thought Claudius Labeo, I can change that outcome. Especially now with Civilis running rampant over them, destroying legion after legion. Pit a Batavian to fight a Batavian. He thought the Romans might go for that, and his loyal service would be seen as a mitigating influence. Maybe, just maybe, he could spare his tribe Roman retribution.


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

Novaesium was a shock when it rose into view. Once a strong village of the Ubians, and made into a proper town by the same Great Claudius who gave his name to Labeo’s branch of the royal Batavian family (and pissing off the Julian branch to no end!), it's fortress was home to the XVI Gallica. But not anymore. Now it was now proudly displaying the horsetail standards of the Batavians. Civilis had taken Novaesium!

Scheisse, he thought. Civilis had done far better than he had imagined possible. The Island had been free of Romans since the V Alaudae and the XV Primigenia got bottled up back in September, but for Novaesium to fall...

He spurred his horse south. Maybe Moguntiacum still held. For if that had fallen as well, then there was no longer a Roman presence in Germania Inferior- or in Germania Superior for that matter. Civilis would have won, and with his victory, the Romans would be pushed out of all lands north of Gaul.

He wrestled with his thoughts along the way to Moguntiacum. What to do? Flee to Rome, if Civilis won? Flee to Raetia? Scythia? Parthia? It would have to be somewhere with horses; he was adamant about that. His exile in cold, wet, horseless Frisia confirmed that.

His thoughts were ripped brutally from his mind as he saw a warhost approaching. Life on the lam had made his instincts sharp, and he bolted from the road to hide in the woods. A good thing, too, for after the vanguard of wild men from behind the Rhein, rode his hated cousin and his house lackeys. Civilis had dyed his hair red and wore it uncut in the manner of the savages, revealing to Labeo that his royal cousin was indeed losing his royal mind. Then the rearguard passed, another band of spear-and-axe-wielding savages wrapped in furs. After a while, Labeo remounted his steed and rode south, away from his cousin and toward the Romans.

What he saw convinced him. Civilis must be stopped- at any price. If anyone could stop his cousin, he could. After all, despite his cousin being elected king, Labeo knew he was the better man.

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


Colonia had not fallen, or if it had, it was free of Batavians now. Roman standards were still waving gently in the winter breeze, and Roman sentries walked their rounds above on the ramparts. Evidently Civilis, who had been reported to be besieging Moguntiacum, was fleeing a resurgent Rome. Regardless, Colonia of the Ubii was again a Roman city, and by the banners upon the walls, it was also currently serving as the residence of the governor. Sighing once, and praying to Woden to bless the decision he was making with wisdom, Labeo rode out into sight of the fortress and hailed the sentries.


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

“A Batavian is here to see you, generalis,” a tribune announced. “He says he was once a tribune of Rome and would like to be so again.”

Caius Dillius Vocula looked up from his desk at the news. His desk, now that poor Marcus Hordeonius Flaccus, who lay unburied somewhere near Novaesium- murdered by drunken fools who thought themselves soldiers. They had paid for that, those eighteen ringleaders of the mutiny. Their bodies were still displayed in the courtyard- crucified as slaves for the injustice they did Rome.

Vocula rose. He was a tall man, and almost as broad across the shoulders as he was tall. Powerful, yet very little fat. He was a warrior as much as a general, and every swinging-pecker in the castra knew it- he had sparred with most of them and come out ahead every time. The other legates in the room, Decius Paullus of the IV Macedonica and Aulus Herrennius Gallus of the I Germanica, remained seated. But the Vascon tribune Pietrus, commander of the Sixth Mixed Auxilia- two cohorts of cavalry and one of infantry- rose with his generalis, prompting the others to do the same.

“Send him in,” Vocula ordered. This had better be something worthy of interrupting the command council. He had called this session after reports of Civilis heading north, and being in dire need of winning back some of the territory. These were the men who would help him- Gallus, Paullus, and Pietrus. Missing from the Roman ranks were the legates Quintus Munius Lupercus and Gaius Numisius Rufus- both still trapped in Vetera. And of course the legate of the XVI Gallica, killed in action and not yet replaced.

The Batavian entered the office when the door was opened by the adjutant. Labeo remained at attention while the legates and solitary tribune plopped themselves back down in the couches and stared at him. He stared straight ahead, knowing that he was on display and the opinions of these men meant as much to his fate as did the opinion of the commander, Vocula.

“At ease,” Vocula ordered. “Report.”

Labeo relaxed invisibly. Being ordered as if a Roman legionary was a good start- that meant they were treating him like a soldier instead of a prisoner or rebel.

“I am Tiberius Claudius Labeo, a Batavian prince once tribune in the service of Rome. I have served fifteen years in Rome’s service, before she marched against my people. I left her service then, not wishing to slay my own. But now I see my people attacking Rome, guided by a demented cousin of mine. He brings eventual ruin to our people, thus he must be stopped. I respectfully ask for permission to return to the ranks of Rome, preferably at my former rank, and in return I shall do my utmost to help Rome, and in doing so help my people.”

Vocula thought over the man’s words, and analyzed the short speech. Labeo was a veteran commander, cousin to Civilis, and sees it now as his duty to stop his kin. “You have fought against Rome once, and recently. How can we trust you not to do it again, next time you see your cousin across a spear from you?”

Labeo thought quickly, then decided to lay everything on the table. His life and his people depended on him too much to let a petty lie destroy their and his chance at survival. So he answered honestly, “The first time, general, Romans were attacking my people. This time, the army led by my cousin is attacking Rome. That army no longer consists of Batavians, though there may well be some of my tribesmen in that morass of savages. That army is mostly unwashed Germans from across the Rhein, sir. I have absolutely no problems with slaughtering those men- I have been doing it for fifteen years now. I may have a problem if you burn Batavodurum or try to destroy my tribe, but as long as the war is to limited to removing Civilis from power, I am your loyal servant.”

“Kill him and be done with it,” Aulus Gallus interjected from the couch. “By his own admission, he bore arms against Rome.”

“I agree,” Paullus added. “Though in his boots, I’d have done the same.”

“I say let heem leeve,” Pietrus objected, in his slow, awful Latin. “We have need of someone like heem, someone who know how thees Ceeveelees theenks, and someone who can breeng ze Batavi backa to Roma.”

Vocula thought over what was said and the reasons behind it. Always a good leader but never a great thinker, it took him a few minutes to discern the best option for Rome. Pietrus had summed it up quite nicely- We do need someone who knows how Civilis thinks, where he is weak, and able to do something to weaken him further. And someone loyal to Rome who can become the tribe’s leader, ensuring its peaceful transition back under the cloak of Roman power. Yes, if Labeo can be trusted, he is a good choice. But can he be trusted? Vocula smiled- Pietrus will ensure the loyalty.


“I accept your offer, Labeo,” he announced, rising. His eyes leveled directly into those of Labeo. “I am reinstating you at your previous rank, though I cannot spare any men for you to lead. Those few replacements and shattered centuries you saw outside are desperately needed to fill our ranks and bring our legions up to fighting strength. You will have to raise your own force, and preferably not from among those tribes currently supplying us with auxilia.”

“I can raise my own squadrons, sir,” Labeo affirmed. “Not all whose men serve in the army of my cousin are satisfied with him. From those who feel his way is death to our people, I can gather a force and begin making my cousin's life hell, with Rome’s approval.”

"What is your plan, then, tribunus?" Vocula asked. "Will you be leading deep strikes into your and your cousin's homeland, disrupting his support from behind?" His eyes narrowed as he continued, "Or will you simply assassinate your cousin and take up where he was?"

Labeo shook visibly at the words- he had indeed considered sneaking into his cousin's camp and using his dagger to end the threat, but had discounted it for several reasons- chief among them being his own honor, the lack of any means of escaping after the deed, and the utter futility of it. Had he slain Civilis out of hand, the Germans he commanded would run rampant with no control whatsoever and all would be lost as the Batavi and all of Gaul went under to a horde of savages. Assassination would lead to exactly what he wished to avoid.

Vocula knew he had hit a nerve, and eagerly awaited the Batavian reply.

"Actually, lord, I was thinking more of opening a second front," Labeo replied evenly. "He has been victorious lately because as I see it, from your list of battles, you have been fighting simply up and down the river. You both have your forces concentrated here, and he has shorter lines of supply because he can get reinforcements and replacements from across the river, while yours must come all the way from Alesia, or Massilia, or from Italia itself, all currently wracked by the civil war.

"I propose to enlist men from the west who are disgruntled with Civilis, and there are many. With them, I intend to strike his allies in the west. This will force him to dispatch forces there, weakening him for you here. And since I will raise my own forces, you will not be weakened. You will benefit greatly, he does not."

Vocula thought over the argument, running its ramifications through his trained mind. All what Labeo mentioned was true- and brilliant, if he had the manpower. That made up his mind. “I will help in any way I can, though supplies and manpower are indeed short. We have some money laying about here somewhere. I will give you what we can spare to begin outfitting your forces. And I will give you Pietrus and his men, as a core around which to build your army. They are not many, but his unit of less than a thousand men drove off your cousin and fifteen thousand of those savages outside of Gelduba.”

“I am honored to serve with such men,” Labeo replied gracefully. He took his unspoken dismissal and exited the chamber, heading for his temporary quarters.

Once he was announced as leaving the building, Vocula hushed the others and turned to Pietrus.

“I am sending you, Pietrus, because if he so much as thinks something treasonous, I want you to slit his throat with that long Vascon knife of yours.”

“Si, generalis,” Pietrus replied with a broad smile. “I theenk ze same theeng.”

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

Labeo led off the small warband, as he was the most familiar with the area. Pietrus was at his side, with the infantry cohort following. The two squadrons of Vascon cavalry brought up the rear, where they could react to any Batavian attacks that pinned the infantry.

Pietrus had no qualms about following the lead of the Batavian prince. He had spent his youth among the rocky crags of his homeland and his military career near Massilia- and up and down the Rhein this past month. He was a total stranger to flatland woods, whereas Labeo was a woodsman born and bred.

"I think we should pay a visit to Brennar of the Tungrians," Labeo said a few days later as they traveled through dusky, wintry woods. "He has benefited greatly under Roman rule- I doubt service to my cousin appeals to him. If anyone can rouse local warriors to our cause, it will be him."

"Eef he deeslikes your cuzzin so much," Pietrus pointed out, "He might already be dead. Tungrians were een ze warhost of your cuzzin, from what Gallus say. Eef I was you cuzzin, I would not let heem leeve to make problems for me later. I would keel heem and put een anuzzer, more friendly, lord."

"Brennar is a powerful lord," Labeo countered. "Killing him would alienate and anger the others."

"Si," Pietrus said with a shrug. "Unless ze udders gain from hees fall."

That brought Labeo up short. Seval was very good at politics- he would have to be to survive and thrive in a Rome led by the likes of Nero. It would be very good politics to chop the head from your opponent, and distribute his assets among others. The others gain from your actions, and will believe your promises. Seval has promised much, and his victories so far against the Romans deliver on those promises. He would definitely have their trust.

"Another Tungrian lord, named Ottar, lives not far from here," Labeo said a few minutes later. "He is older, and nowhere near as prominent as Brennar. In fact, most forget about him as he lives so far on the edge of Tungrian territory. He earned his lands to service under Caligula, and ever has he been a friend of the Claudian Batavians."

Pietrus smiled. "Si, lord. I theenk thees Ottar ees a good man to veezeet."

The Sixth Auxilia veered west at the following crossroad, and three days later made camp just inside the borders of Tungrian lands. Pietrus would remain in the camp, overseeing its security, while Labeo and a Vascon decurion who spoke some German rode on to see Ottar the Ancient.

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

"Welcome, Tiberius!" cackled the ancient, withered crone who answered Labeo's pounding on the door to the musty mansion. "Ottar! Tiberius has come visiting."

"Hail and wassail, Auntie Inga," Labeo laughed. And to the horror of the Vascon decurion, he added, "You have not changed a bit."

Ottar approached, a giant skeleton of a man wrapped in splotchy skin and sporting dessicated muscles that testified to his once being a powerful man. "Tiberius, lad! It is damned good to see you again! I assume your mission to the Frisians met with success? Come in, come in. Tell us all!"

Labeo introduced Ottar and his wife to Dego, his Vascon companion, as he followed the old couple into the dining hall. Two mature serving women hustled in with a decanter of wine and another of water, while a third brought out a plate of moldy cheese and the remain's of the day's bread. Labeo waited until the servants had retired, making the obligatory small talk, before getting to the reason for his visit.

"Lord Ottar, I was not recruiting among the Frisians," he said straight out. "I was exiled there, upon command of Civilis who fears the influence of we Claudians."

"He probably fears you being the better man," Ottar interrupted.

"And stealing that pretty young Bructeri seeress away from him," Inga laughed, "like you did that beautiful Serena."

"Or both," Labeo concluded with a smile. "You both know how his Julian branch despises our Claudian branch. He sees me as a rival, and since he could not murder me without losing support at home, he exiles me to Friesland and tells everyone I was off recruiting among the Frisians. Hell, the only things I recruited were a cold and stiff knees from the constant damp."

"You may stay here as long as you like," Ottar replied. "You were like a grandson to us. This is your home as much as it is ours."

“I appreciate the offer, Ottar, but I cannot accept. You remember Caligula, and the legions. You know the strength of Rome. You also know these defeats Seval has inflicted on them are as the wind, as far as the Romans are concerned. They will blow over, and when they do, Rome and her legions will return and destroy us. For the good of the Batavians, the Tungrians, the Menapii, and the other tribes of this area, Seval must be stopped and stopped now. I aim to do it.”

Ottar nodded. “He is strong, your cousin is, but you are right. Rome is stronger, and patient. When they return, they shall do so with fire and steel.”

“That is why I need your help now,” Labeo pleaded. “I must stop him, for if the Romans do it, they will slay everyone they can and sell the rest as slaves. If I stop him, there is a chance the Romans will spare our people. Will you help?”

“I will do what I can, though Age has lessened me. I no longer carry the power I once did,” Ottar replied evenly. “And with Brennar dead and his sons fighting for Seval, not many are left who will fight against him.”

Labeo shivered. Pietrus was right- Seval was crafty enough to castrate his opposition.

“There are some few who fled to avoid being levied for Seval, though,” Ottar continued, shedding some hope. “They and many Baesatii from the north of here, fled to the Menapii in the West. At least, those that were from families that did well under Roman rule, or from those families who suffered the most from resistance to the Romans. But many others flock to Seval, for his deeds and his words of freedom from the awful levies. He levies them himself, but soothes them by saying they fight not for him, but for themselves.”

“He was always a good speaker,” Labeo admitted. “But his brother getting tortured by Nero, and his own narrow escape from death at the hands of Galba, have changed him. He is bitter now, Ottar, and ambitious. He wants to become king of us all.”

“He has come a long way towards realizing that goal,” Ottar agreed. “How do you intend to stop him, you and Dego here?”

Labeo laughed. “I travel with an auxilia unit, of which Dego here is a member. We are camped on the edge of your lands. I want to use them as a core for an army of rebels against Seval, drawing his massive forces away from the Romans to the east and relieving the pressure there.”

“Then you will be going to the Menapii,” Ottar noted. “Seek out their chieftain- Adelbert. He can aid you in gathering men to fight Seval. He and your cousin share no love of Rome, but they did once share the love of power. He would do everything in his power to keep his above Seval’s.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Labeo said with a nod. “I will seek out Adelbert.”

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

Ottar knew Adelbert well, despite his seeing over four score summers come and go while Adelbert had not seen half of that. The Menapii lord was indeed jealous of the power Seval was gathering, which was growing with each passing night. And more, he began to fear that power as more and more reports of Roman losses and Batavian victories reached the western shores. Thus he called the exiles together and in his own hall, allowed their leaders to hear the plea of Tiberius Claudius Labeo.

Labeo, for his part, was amazed at the number of noblemen assembled. Not only Menapii, but also Baetasii and Tungrian lords had gathered. Conspicuously absent were men from across the river- the Frisians and the Cananefate, but Labeo knew them to be fighting for Seval, so their absence was expected. And told him that Adelbert had kept this meeting closed to all except those known to be opposed to Seval.

Adelbert began the council by telling of the latest- Julius Classicus, the tribal chief of the Treveri, has pledged his tribe to Seval, after a few moons of flipping back and forth. The Ubii, having been wasted and battered by transrhenae Germani loyal to Seval, have been driven from their lands or destroyed- either way, they were no longer a power. The Rhein is a Batavian river now that Novaesium and Gelduba have fallen, and the Gauls under Julius Sabinus have been making overtures, alluding to a Gallo-German alliance to drive the Romans south of the Alps. Then, after giving these awful news, he turned the council over to Labeo.

Thanks for nothing, Labeo cursed as he rose to make his plea. How was he to persuade them to risk life and limb fighting Seval, who has now all but driven the mighty Romans from the entire province?

But Labeo was underestimating the men before him. They had no love of Civilis, and the stories of his successes did not deter them- they infuriated them. That upstart Batavian, who had served Rome for twenty-five years, now deems his own rule as better than that of the Eagles? Fueled by the news from Adelbert, they raised their swords in anger and presented them to Labeo.

“Eet seems like you have now your army,” Pietrus said as the cheering died down. “Now we train zem, and wheep these Ceeveelees back to his kennel like a dog, no?””

“Almost,” Labeo retorted. “We train them, yes, but battle-test them against the Cananefate and the Frisians. We slay the allies of Seval and destroy their ability to sustain his forces. The rest of the tribes will then see Seval as he is- a lunatic leading hordes of unwashed savages from across the Rhein- and his carefully-built web of alliances and clients comes crashing down, allowing Vocula to crush that beetle once and for all.”

Pietrus smiled broadly. “I theenk I like you, Labeo. I am so glad I not keell you.”

“Me too," Labeo replied uneasily. "Now lets get this army of ours ready for battle.”

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

The tiny army of Claudius Labeo had grown into a decent-sized force by the time the Midwinter Fires had been out for a week. The Vascons drilled the men in Roman formations, then gave up as each man had his own weapon- be it spear, sword, axe, or club- and formations were only useful for men wielding the same type of weapon. So instead they trained them to advance and retreat as units, and to obey their leader's commands immediately and vigorously.

Food was scarce, forcing Labeo to take his army on the campaign trail before its time. He selected his first target, and marched his hungry men through the heavy snows into the lands of the Marsaci, whom Adelbert had told were now allied with Seval. Here his plan would begin- making the Marsaci pay for their betrayal of Rome, gathering supplies with which to feed his growing force, and practicing the ways of Rome.

The first Marsaci village he encountered had been foolish enough to welcome them with a feast. The hungry rebels to the rebellion, fighting now for Rome, were severely disgruntled at the sight of roasted deer put out for rebels to Rome. Labeo let the charade continue until the men had had their fill, then turned to the hetman of the village.

“You do realize that Seval and those who support him are considered by Rome to be traitors?” he asked mildly.

“Bah,” replied the hetman, who once owed his position and power to Roman governors. He wiped his greasy hands upon his tunic and lifted his horn of ale. “Rome is finished in these parts. Seval is ruler here now, and we who would live support him.”

“And we who serve Rome detest traitors,” Labeo replied, drawing his sword.

That was a signal. It was seen by those who had been waiting for it since Labeo stood. Each man from Labeo’s motley army has placed himself beside a Marsaci nobleman, and had drawn his dagger to eat with during the feast. When the signal was given, each plunged his drawn dagger into the unarmored breast of the Marsaci beside him.

Then it was time for swords, of which Labeo’s men had on them while the Marsaci commoners had left theirs in their homes. The Marsaci men were slaughtered where they stood, their women beaten down for later pleasures, and their homes ransacked for food and valuables. After all was deemed secure, Labeo let his men have their way with the widows while he and Pietrus discussed their next step in the hetman’s house.

“Lord, we found this,” interrupted one of the Tungrian lords who had sided with him. “The men decided it should be yours, in recognition of your sly victory that fed and housed us this night.”

He then stepped aside to let two burly Baesatii hurl in a young girl of but sixteen winters. She was red of hair and lithe of body, and her face was not too bad upon the eyes despite the coating of filth and ash from her hiding place.

“The hetman’s daughter,” the Baesatii announced.

Labeo looked the young woman over and smiled. “Clean her up a bit, Clovis, before you hand over a gift of such value,” he ordered, turning back to Pietrus. “And for you, my Vascon watchdog, we march west to get back into the fight. Word of this will spread, and I intend to sack more villages both here and in Tungria to bring my cousin west and away from Vocula. Now, please excuse me as I tend to my gift. It is going to be a long night.”

No sheet, thought Pietrus. And a cold one, too, at least for me.

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


Labeo struck seven more villages in the lands of the Marsaci before he felt strong enough to begin taking on the Tungrians. Though none of his victories were as bloodless as his first, in each defeated village he found pro-Roman men who were willing to join his crew, and more who were sick of hearing of this Great Seval who promised freedom yet levied men and foodstuffs worse than the Romans. Labeo now had seven thousand men, a fair-sized army, which was reinforced and trained by the Sixth Auxilia when he made his first mistake. He went north across the river, into the lands of the Cananefate, to break the staunchest ally of Seval.

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

“Father, we have visitors,” Jorgen the Brave reported to Niall, prince of the Cananefate. “A bit over a legion’s worth, with banners and insignia like the Sandal-wearers but armed like us.”

Niall looked across the river, then back at his own lands. He was not far from where he had destroyed the II Legio Vorena at Vidar’s Altar this past summer. Now he would have to fight again- this time against his own breed of man, who fought for Rome. Will they never learn?

“How many horses do they have, son?” Niall asked. “And how many true soldiers?”

Jorgen glanced up at sky as he tried to recall what he had seen. He mumbled, then began to draw on the ground. “Six groups of horseborne, of which two looked Roman, the rest footmen. One of the footborne cohorts had chain shirts and like cloaks, the rest were leather-garbed and wrapped in furs of varying sizes and types.”

“Wilfred!” Niall called. A horseman popped up at the call and ran to where his chief was waiting. “Lead those fellows over there on a merry chase, ending up at Vidar’s Altar. The rest of us will go there. Make sure our people along the way know to move out of harm’s way- and leave nothing for these marauders! Jorgen, tell Njor and Helmut to send their men out throughout forests and round up any warriors who might be out and about. I want a full warhost at Vidar’s Altar in three days. And dispatch a messenger to my brother. Tell him more fools from the south are coming. So much for the word of Rutilius the Honest. Now move, people!”

“Jawohl!” barked Wilfred and Jorgen in unison. Both departed to perform their duties.

Niall looked out over the river once more. Again, men intent on pillage and plunder come from the south against us. When will this flood of men cease, so that he can get on with his true task of battling the flood of water which inundate the Cananefate?

*************** ************** ****************
“They are almost here, father,” Jorgen reported to Niall. “And there are more of them than first reported.”

“Scheisse,” Niall whispered. His warhost was not yet complete, though the essential components were all nearby. “How many more, son, and what kind?”

“Three half-thousands, give or take. They carry with them the ox-head standards of the southern Marsaci. Will that matter?”

Niall shrugged and sighed in relief. Fifteen hundred more will not matter, especially if the courier heading for Brinno reaches him on time. The Cananefate princeps had a standing warhost with him since the Troubles began. Those men would be more than welcome in this struggle, if they make it on time. Otherwise they can deal with the foe themselves- for this warhost will be dead.

Niall stood, his long legs aching from the squatting. At least his son would survive, no matter the outcome.

“Jorgen, ride for Brinno. Tell him of the raiders from the south and that we will make our stand here. And tell him to hurry if he wishes to see his brother alive again.”

Jorgen nodded ominously and mounted his horse. Within a heartbeat, he was galloping away east.

Niall turned to his lieutenants. “Klaus, I want you and a couple hundred of your colleagues over by those woods to our right.” Memories of his first battle here and the Roman opening moves caused a shiver. “In the open! Your task is to pepper them with your little sticks and anger them. Angry men make mistakes. The rest of your warbands will remain in the woods here by the altar. When the foe does come at you, and they will, run away. Then circle about and come up from behind the altar and support our line.”

Klaus the Hunter nodded. He was being asked a lot, but he was man enough to know the Niall would not hang him out to dry unnecessarily. If he was to be sacrificed, it was for the good of the tribe. Thus it must be.

But Niall was not a total fool, nor was he going to sacrifice anybody. He turned to Torstein, his spear captain. “You will have four bands here by the altar as our main line. You will command them. The other two warbands you have I want hidden in the woods near Klaus. When the fools attack him with their horsemen, rush out and kill them. Then join our line.”

Klaus breathed a sigh of relief. He was not being sacrificed; he was bait. And tempting bait- no matter what the enemy did, that enemy was going to get clobbered. He raised a sack from his gear. “I will use my special seeds.”

Torstein also breathed a sigh of relief. Klaus was his kinsman. “I shall give Arjan the command. He has some extra shafts with him that can help you.”

Glam of the Silver Axe spoke up. “My blades are better and faster than Arjan’s spears. Shall not we take his place in the forest?”

“No,” Niall countered. “If they send anyone against Klaus, it will be horsemen. Spears kill horsemen faster than axes or swords. If you wish, you may put some of your bladesmen there, but I want most of them on the hill here with us- the enemy must know of your men, and if they do not see them, they will wonder. And that will get Klaus killed.”

Glam nodded solemnly. “You are right, of course. I shall put Bjorn and a few, but not many.”

“The same goes for you, Micha,” Niall said turning to his cavalry lieutenant. “They know you are with us, thus you must be seen. But some few can be down the hill to our left, where Glam and Oddmund once hid from the Romans.”

Micha smiled cruelly. He was the son of Heldan, who died not far from that very spot. Micha had seen his father fall- he was in Oddmund’s troop when it happened, and he had forced himself to keep quiet lest the Romans discovered Oddmund and did the same to the entire clan. Now it was to be him hiding there, ready to pounce upon the marauders from the south.

“The rest of us, up the hill. Now. We have not much time before the battle begins.”

The Cananefate rose from their squats and moved over to their men to start the men moving. It was going to be a short morning for many, but a long day for the survivors.

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

“Any sign of them yet?” Labeo asked a returning Vascon scout. The man’s horse was lathered, but he himself was barely sweating.

“I see a good many warriors on the hill, with much ash and burn marks in the valley,” the man reported. “And a few archers to their right.”

“That is a stupid place to have archers,” Labeo commented. The remark about the burns he ignored as irrelevant. “On our shielded side? What are they thinking?”

“Zey theenk we weell go after ze archers, and we must,” Pietrus deduced. “And zen ze men on ze heell weell come down and keell us.”

Labeo nodded in agreement. “I think you are right. We cannot ignore the archers, yet we cannot ignore the men above either. Any sign of their cavalry?”

The scout shook his head. “Only two squadrons, to ze Cananefate left. Zey are waiting for us.”

“That's their full warhost, then?" Labeo said with a laugh. “Well, let us not disappoint those warriors waiting to die. We know their disposition, let us use it against them. Move out!”

The army of Labeo began moving toward.

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

Labeo’s army received its briefing within sight of the hill where Niall awaited his approach. Klaus and his archers were clearly visible, as was Niall’s forces upon the low summit, something which made the orders brief much easier.

As the orders were passed from commanders to soldiers, the groups of men began sorting themselves out. Pietrus and his First Vascon Cavalry Cohort were on the right, Friedrik and his cavalry on the left, versus the archers. The Belgic infantry was situated in the middle. And behind the infantry, but towards the right, would be the rest of the Sixth Mixed Auxilia, infantry behind infantry and cavalry behind cavalry.

Labeo cursed the fact that he had no archers of his own. Friedrik was going to take some losses, but he and his men were more easily replaced than the Vascon cavalry of Pietrus. Thus to him fell the task of eliminating the archers so stupidly placed apart from the main force. The main force will continue straight ahead, ordered to ignore the archers lest the cavalry upon the hill charged into their exposed flank, followed by a heavy hammering by the Cananefate infantry.

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

Klaus began loosing arrows into the closest cavalry. His first arrow was a fire arrow, a clothyard shaft with pitch-soaked straw tied to it near the tip. It struck the shield of a Morini officer, splattering the angered man with the burning remains. That arrow was a signal to his men that the gallery was open and the targets available for servicing.

And service them they did, emptying scores of Belgae saddles with every volley. Some of Klaus’s men used fire arrows as well, and when these struck horseflesh, the resulting chaos was more than worth the extra effort of using such arrows. Horses plunged and reared as the fire set their tails and manes afire, and panicked as they saw other horses burning. Into this panic fell the regular broadhead shafts of the other archers, now finding human meat as shields lowered to better control the horses.



Friedrik really had no other choice. The lethally accurate volleys from the disdained archers were cutting his cavalry down by large chunks. If he did not move now, he would have nothing left to move. Besides, anything was better than suffering this sharp and deadly rain.

Friedrik’s men followed their leader’s charge. The sudden shift forward found most of the last volley hitting empty ground, sparing what was left of the cavalry a painful lesson. They suffered another volley, almost point-blank and flat of trajectory, before the archers did as archers always do against horses and turned tail like the rabbits they were.

The elation of seeing the archers run was short-lived. Though the Marsaci horsemen easily avoided the scattered stakes, in doing so they were channeled into the open areas between the stakes where Klaus had sown his special seeds. Horses began hobbling, dumping their riders or rearing in abrupt pain. Sharp caltrops, scattered by the archers, were piercing their hooves to inflict brutal pain upon sensitive nerves. Those caltrops, few but strategically placed, were just enough to break the charge.

That’s when Arjan’s spearmen burst forth from the forest’s edge and annihilated them.

Two other squadrons had seen the spearmen and pulled up sharply. One baited forward, while the second commander decided to flank the spearblock by cutting through the woods where the men had so recently been so well-hidden. Using the signals Pietrus had drilled into them, they coordinated their attacks and pounced.

It was a disaster. The baiters charged, thinking the danger to the flank would distract the spearmen who had seen the move. They met death on spearpoints as the Cananefate spearmen held the wall, their deadly shafts aimed toward the large, unarmored chests of the horses to kill them, while the dispossessed riders fell onto the lifted spears of the second and third ranks.

The flankers, too, met death, but their death was delivered by blade. Horses were far less maneuverable in heavy woods than a man afoot- a fact that every warrior knew since birth. That was why cavalry avoided occupied woods. But the flanking cavalry thought the woods uninhabited, and that error cost them their lives as Cananefate axes and swords leapt from bushes and from behind trees to kill them in droves. After the brief carnage, the Bjorn blew his horn twice. It was time to leave, his task here done.

Bjorn and his bladesmen burst from the woods at the run, heading for the hill and Niall. Halfway between safety and themselves, they saw the spearmen of Arjan stopping and dropping into crouches, their spears leveled down the slope towards them. Behind the spearmen, Klaus and his fleet-footed archers were also turning.

Arrows sliced through the air above the bladesmen, chastising them to hurry. Bjorn’s men needed no second warning. They ran for their lives, more Marsaci cavalry directly behind them.

The arrow storm caused a disruption to the Marsaci formation, buying Bjorn enough time to get his men through the spearwall of Arjan before Death on Horseback could take them. But Death on Horseback today was Death for Horseback, as Arjan’s spears stopped the Marsaci charged dead in its tracks. Bjorn whooped with glee and gave the order for his men to finish off the wounded cavalry. Then the run to the top of the hill resumed before the marauders’ infantry could join the fray and trap the tiny command.

Niall sighed with relief as Arjan and Bjorn’s men joined the ranks. There were not as many now as there had been when the sun rose, but there were far more now than he had hoped. And the foe had lost over half his horsemen- a welcome boon.

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

“Hel’s Half-white Face!” Labeo barked at the loss of his horsemen. A few of the Cananefate lay dead, but far too few in relation to his wonderfully-trained Marsaci and Morini cavalry whose few survivors were now huddled behind the main force, crying and full of rage. Maybe that rage will come in handy, once they get over the loss of their comrades. But their deaths had served his purpose- the flank was clear of hostile forces. He could commence his attack in the center with no worries.

“We lost some good men on our left,” Labeo shouted, “but in dying they cleared the way for you men forward. We outnumber them by a wide margin- numbers are on our side and our flanks are clear. I now give the command- move forward! Avenge the deaths of your comrades! Crush these rebels!”

The army surged forward in a ragged line, eager to get to grips with those cowards who would resort to dishonorable ambush to murder their magnificent and noble horsemen. They reached the bottom of the hill when the second surprise of the day struck.

The marching men were wary of the caltrops which had so crippled their comrades, thus they were marching with their heads down and their feet dragging. This was probably suicidal against a foe uphill who was armed with bows, but it was absolutely fatal not to be wary of pitfalls and caltrops upon a field of battle the foe had two days to prepare- as proven by the dead horsemen to their left. Looking down and dragging their feet as they were, not a few were surprised and shocked to realize the crunching sounds beneath their feet were not charred twigs from the nearby trees breaking beneath their weight, but the burned and brittle remains of human bones.

They were not walking through a lightning burn; they were marching through the remains of a massive burial. Many, many men had died here, and from the size of the bones and their condition, they had been Roman and died not less than a year ago. Desperation swept through the ranks as they realized just where they were, and who they faced.

“Now!!” boomed a voice from the hilltop.

The startled men of Labeo looked up with real fear in their eyes, despite the training and discipline he had tried to instill in them. They saw the Cananefate spearwall coming down the slope at them, and hunters coming into view behind them. Those hunters loosed clothyard shafts, seeking Marsaci and Tungrian blood.

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

“Stand your ground!” Labeo bellowed. “You are two to their one, by the gods!”

His shouts had some effect, but not much. His men were wavering, despite their numerical superiority. These were not just barbarians like themselves they were facing; these were the barbarians who had destroyed four legions’ worth of Romans whose bones they now ground underfoot.

Pietrus saw the shock roll through Labeo’s barbarians like a wave pummeling the shore, though he knew not the cause of the sudden shift in mood. All he saw was the infantry stopping, heard Labeo urging them on, and saw the pitifully few savages come down off their solid position atop the low hill. Fools, he thought, but brave fools. It would have been better for them to stay where they were- fewer would die.

“Vasconi!” he ordered. “We let zem come a beet furder, zen we keell them. Follow me!”

The Vascon charge was everything Micha wanted it to be- tightly packed, profession, directed at the flank of Torstein’s spearmen, and totally oblivious to him and his horsemen hidden in the woods. He lifted his sword to his men, then pointed it at the Vascon horse.

The rumble of Micha’s charge was lost in the tumult of the Vasconi's own charge. Torstein refused his left, trailing a band to protect it from the coming horse, but did not stop his downward movement. Had he done such a stupid thing, it would have alerted the Vascons to the horsemen charging into his rear. No, he could not let that happen. He had to appear weak, and hope Micha struck before too many of his spearmen went down to Vascon lances.

It worked. Pietrus and his men struck the spearmen and came deep into the serried ranks. Seconds later, Micha’s charge struck home, collapsing the Vascon formation in upon itself where neither man nor horse could find the room to even draw breath. Glam and his axemen moved in, and Pietrus knew he was going to die.

But he didn’t. Dego had once again saved his butt. The commander of the II cohort of Vascon Horse had seen the eruption of Germanic horsemen from the woods behind Pietrus and saw immediately where that would lead- a Vascon sandwich. So he ignored his orders to stay put in the reserve and committed his cohort into the exposed flank of the Germani.

Dego’s charge struck Micha’s formation dead on, with lances lowered. Micha knew little of what was happening as his lance broke upon one Vascon shield and a second Vascon lance pierced his shield but missed the man behind. He cast aside the useless thing and drew his sword.

A footman appeared, one of Glam’s bladesmen. Micha knew he was through the Vascon cavalry and whipped about to charge back in. But he could have saved himself the trouble. The Vascon cavalry, what was left of it, was fleeing the field, taking the general with it. The infantry, left facing the feared Cananefate warhost alone, broke into two parts- one fleeing toward the Waal and safety, the other heaving weapons on high and charging the rebels.

Behind him he heard the echoes of rams’ horns. It took no genius to figure out what that meant- Brinno and his warhost were finally arriving, better late than never.

Micha grinned wolfishly. It was a grand day to visit Valhalla. “Follow me, you savages!” he shouted to his riders. “Follow me to Death or Glory!”

The outcome was never in doubt.

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

That hurt, Labeo thought as his men crossed the river for the second time within a week. This time it went faster, but only because he had far less men to move than when he was crossing north. Who would have thought the Cananefate warhost was in Cananefate lands? Last he had seen of them they were with Seval west of Batavodurum, with their king Brinno orchestrating the brilliant Batavian victories. He had wrongly assumed all the victories were orchestrated by Brinno, and that was the reason for the Batavian success. He learned painfully that not all was as it seemed. Most painful of all was that his royal cousin was actually turning into a decent general- if he had beaten the Romans without the Cananefate genius planning them for him.

Well, that would change. Seval would taste defeat at Vocula’s hands. Labeo had the utmost respect for the Roman general, though he despised the current crop of legionaries the general had to work with. Gutter scum, he felt. Spoiled brats who loved the way of the conqueror, but did not want to do the hard work to earn it. Vocula would need all the help he could get.

So, back to the Tungrians. Some of his followers might have a problem with raiding their own, but that was to be expected. He had vowed only to raid those villages who supported Seval- those paying fealty to Rome would be spared. That should allay the worries of his Tungrian followers.

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

Labeo had a good time of it throughout January and February. Sixteen villages fell to his men, and another thirteen were spared. His army was now up to the strength it was when it had crossed the Waal, and he was looking forward to meeting the unwashed savages led by his cousin. It was time to head east. Seval was waiting.

*************** ************** ****************
“We have to do something about our cousin,” Gaius Julius Maximus, commander of the Batavian infantry, announced to his king, his cousin Gaius Julius Civilis. “The Tungrians are deserting in droves- claiming they must return home to defend their homes against Labeo. And they are right.”

Civilis played with his irritating long red hair. “They are wrong. Labeo is but a nuisance. He will be put in his place shortly. First evict the Romans, then I will crush Labeo. I will give those Tungrians who remain loyal lands where the Ubii used to live. That should make them happy.”

Maximus shook his head. “New lands would always be welcome, cousin, but one cannot replace loved ones so easily. Labeo is killing and raping his way through the Tungri. He must be stopped.”

The March wind had a moist feel to it, Seval thought as he threw back an errant lock of hair. “First we crush the Romans hiding in their stone pile here at Vetera, then I will crush Labeo. This hair is bugging the living hell out of me, Max, but I vowed not to cut it before I danced in the ruins of Vetera. I want to face Labeo with my own hair, not this party wig. Feast first,” he bellowed, “then Labeo!”

“It’s your kingdom,” Maximus said with a sigh. And our asses if we need Tungrians who deserted.

“We need neither Tungrians, Marsaci, Cananefate, nor Baesatii, Maximus. The Treveri are firmly on our side now, the Ubii destroyed as a power, and Gaul ready to rise as our ally. The tribes to the West mean little right now- later they shall join us out of instinct for survival when we and the Gauls rule all. Now prepare my damned feast, where I ordered it to be,” Seval ordered sharply. “Tonight we celebrate the equinox!”

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

“He comes, lord,” shouted the scout to Claudius Labeo as April dawned across the River Maas. Half of Tungria was in flames behind him, the other half duly paying tribute to Rome in the form of food and supplies to him and his men. “Seval himself, leading the Batavian Horse and three thousand of those savages from across the river.”

“Any sign of Cananefate or Frisians among them?” Labeo asked pointedly. The last time he faced Cananefate, it had not turned out very well.

“Some Frisians, and many Tungrians. A passel of Marsaci as well. But mainly his army is of untamed beasts from the Wilds across the river.”

Labeo smiled cruelly. Seval would attack, he could not not attack, while Labeo had wonderful terrain and double the infantry. He was still a bit shy on horsemen after that fiasco north of the Waal, but still, he outnumbered his royal cousin by a wide margin. It was going to be a grand melee, one which ended the Batavian revolt here and now, without Roman help. Vocula’s men were under siege again in Moguntiacum again, and those poor starving bastards in Vetera would be of no use whatsoever. No, Roman victory over this revolt would be won by Batavian arms, not Roman.

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

"Now remember what I told you," Civilis ordered his younger cousin, Claudius Victor. "And do it exactly like I said. Do this, young man, and the victory will be as much yours as mine."

Claudius Victor nodded. His throat was still hurting him from the slice it took outside Vetera in the early winter, but it healed enough for him to speak when he needed to. For all other times, this included, he followed the way of Vidar the Silent.

"Good lad," Seval said. His sister's son was turning into quite the little warlord. He owed his great victory at Novaesium to the lad's comment, and he had paid his loyalty in blood at Vetera. Yes, though he had the Claudian name, he was very much a Julian.

Claudius Victor turned aside and waved his men to follow him. He then faded back to the rear of the army and disappeared over the hill. Seval stood now alone, red hair masking his face, before his army. When Victor was out of sight, he turned to the rabble across the river.

Civilis began the battle with a show of force at the river's edge. Strong Chauci and Tencteri warriors waded into the river to show their contempt at the cold. On the flanks, the Batavi infantry and Tungrian axemen shouted their loyalty to the king who had defeated the Romans.

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

The fool, thought Claudius Labeo. He stands there with the river up to his ankles, with his long and eerie dyed hair proclaiming to all that he had failed to deliver his promise. His Tungrian traitors and unwashed savages show their stupidity by dancing in the shallows, tempting targets to archers had he any, which he still did not have. And to top it off, he sends away the best horsemen in Europa, as if he did not need them. Fool!

Labeo cursed. It had dawned on him what Seval was up to, and that infuriated him. He was being taunted! Shown that the paltry few men on the other side were stronger and braver, while twice their number awaits atop a hill like lily-livered cowards. And Civilis himself was showing he feared neither man nor cold, something the army of Labeo was sure to see, and begin wondering about their own commander. Civilis was sowing doubt and dishonor among his foe, and doing it effectively. Scheisse!

There was only one thing to do to counter this. Labeo signalled his trumpter, and the notes of the 'Move Forward' command floated across the icy morning. In response, the deeper pounding of axes and swords against shields began, and the army of Labeo surged off its hilltop towards the waiting enemy below.

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

"Just a little longer, boys!" Civilis called while he danced to avoid showing the shivering induced by the freezing water. "They are coming off their perch, which means Victor should be moving. Just a little longer, and victory is ours!"

The men in the river danced with him, icy water sloshing about their knees as they danced the weapons dance, letting their prowess be seen and keeping their shivering muscles limber for the real fight. They were to dance to their knees- Labeo's boys would be wet to above the waist if they crossed.

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

Labeo halted his army at the river's edge.

"What a fool you are, cousin!" he shouted. "Dancing in ice-ridden rivers with that ridiculous hair flying about as if a clown on display."

"Come meet me in the middle, cousin," Civilis replied cheerily. "The water is nice, and the day soon to be hot."

Labeo snorted. Hot? Though it was April and the winter snows melting, the frost on the morning grass and the ice he had to break on his canteen said the heat of the day would be only enough for him to loosen his furs, not discard them completely. His cousin was madder than he thought.

"Afraid? Or is your constitution as weak as those man-poor hamlets you have been lording it over? Tell me, cousin, why do you fear this wonderful water so?"

And so it went on, as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Civilis acting the madman in the freezing water, though his men returned to their ranks, while Labeo derided him for his madness.

Finally it seemed to Civilis that his ploy was not working. He stepped back out of the river. An aide rushed forward with dry boots, and the great King of the Batavians sat his royal arse upon the rocky shore and changed, in full view of both armies. Then he stood.

"Cousin! And men who follow him!" he cried. "'We have not declared war to allow the Batavians and Trevirans to lord it over their fellow-tribes. We have no such pretensions. Let us be allies. I am coming over to your side, whether you want me as leader or follower! "

With that, he waded into the river until he was waist-deep in the icy rushing water.

"As proof of my words, look behind you! The Batavian Horse, seven cohorts strong, stands upon the hill where this morning you stood. I could have had them rush down and crush you, but I sincerely do not wish such a fate on brave warriors of our people."

The army of Labeo turned as one, and did indeed see Claudius Victor and his squadrons deployed as if to ride down upon them and trample them into the icy water. Then they turned back to Civilis.

"And I am a man of my word, even as I stand here alone before you! I vowed not to cut this silly hair until I had danced in the ruins of Vetera, which I did less than a week ago," he cried, removing the helmet and its glued-on wig. The head beneath was blonde and short-cropped. "Vetera is ours. Vorenus and Vocula and Flaccus are dead. The very last Romans on German soil are besieged in Moguntiacum with no hope of rescue. The Gauls under Gaius Julius Sabinus have revolted and joined our empire. We are free of Rome, as promised! I am no longer needed, my task fulfilled, my brothers! So I am coming to join you, as leader or follower or comrade!"

Pietrus rushed forward to grab the reins of Labeo's horse. He began dragging him to the forest as the rank and file of Labeo's army dropped their weapons and rushed past him into the freezing water to join Civilis. The Vascon had read the reaction of the army to Civilis' speech correctly. It was death for Claudius Labeo to remain, and death to Labeo meant death to him and his Vascon auxilia. It was time to get hat and get gone.

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

“So what we do now, great Labeo?” Pietrus asked. The grand army that had plundered the Marsaci and driven the Tungri to desperation was no more. All that was left were two very battered cohorts of Vascon Horse and a handful of auxilia infantry. Seval had the rest- and in a bloodless victory at that. His ears burned crimson at the memory.

Labeo cursed his luck. His mission was a failure. He had opened a second front as he had promised Vocula, but now that second front had decisively collapsed and Vocula was dead. Mighty Rome was beaten. “What else can I do, but continue to fight,” he replied earnestly.

“Weeth that, lord?” Pietrus pointed out. “Eet ees just us here now.”

“As long as I am alive, I will fight. I am a warrior, and there is a war on. I must fight.”

Pietrus smiled broadly. “Zat ees good, signor. Ze weell to fight is werry good to have. Now, I teach you how we Vasconi fought against ze Romans, how we fight against everybody who comes. For many years we ween, unteel at last we see eet ees better to be Roman. Now we no longer fight ze leetle war.”

“Leetle war? Labeo wondered. “Little war?”

“Si, signor, ze leetle war. We fight, we run away, zen we fight again. Always where we have ze chance. Eet ees werry hard for ze udder guy to fight against.”

Labeo smiled. Insurgency. He had the will, and Pietrus the knowledge. Seval might have won the big war, but he will not win this little war. Labeo would fight until he could fight no more. There was more than one way to drain his cousin, and now thanks to the Vascon tribune, he could keep on fulfilling his pledge to Rome.



To be continued....


Other chapters in this series:

1- They Come
2- Vengeance at Traiectum
3- Betrayal on the Border
4- Batavia Rises
5- Homeward Bound
6- The Long Road to Castra Vetera
7- Sunrise at Bedriacum
8- And yet, I was once our emperor
9- Midwinter Misery and Madness
10-Prophecies Fulfilled
11- The Little War
12- The Broken Bridge

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 11-01-2008 @ 08:37 AM).]