By Terikel Grayhair




The Via Mala was a stone snake leaving the mighty Alps behind, slithering through rugged hills before reaching its head at Argentoratum. Along its cut-stone back writhed another snake, this one clad in armor and bearing the Pegasus standards of the Legio II Adiutrix. Behind that snake, others followed. The VIII Augusta, the XI Claudia, the XXI Rapax, and the XIII Gemina completed the army of Quintus Petillius Cerealis.

Legate Marcus Rutilius was pleased with the honor his men had earned in leading this mighty force, though he was less pleased with the reasoning behind it. As the generalis saw it, the II Adiutrix- being promoted from marines and therefore the least valuable legion he had- would serve well to hold the attention of any attacking foe so that he could maneuver his better, veteran legions to crush the impudent foe. Despite the insidious reason, Rutilius was grateful for the honor of having his legion lead the march into potentially hostile territory.

Argentoratum was just ahead when a messenger from the general came and ordered the halt. Rutilius dutifully obeyed, deploying his legion on good ground into a square with the accumulated baggage trains in the middle. The sun was setting, and it was always easier to build a camp when the trains were already inside the perimeter.

Quintus Cerealis himself came to the head of his column and nodded his shaggy head with approval at the deployment of the II Adiutrix.

"Your men did that well, Rutilius," he commented. "Almost as good as the VIII Augusta."

"Thank you, sir," the legate replied proudly. It was not often his men received praise from higher- not often at all. He made a mental note to pass the praise on to his men. "I still have no cavalry, sir, but I deployed a century from each cohort to patrol the area immediately around the legion."

"That will be necessary," Cerealis agreed. "Get used to this terrain, Rutilius. Your men will be staying here while the rest of us move on to Moguntiacum tomorrow. Your mission will be to rebuild and man the abandoned castella and restore the integrity of the border, from sixty miles south of here to thirty miles north. Put in a requisition for cavalry- you will need it."

The orders made Rutilius livid with frustration and rage. He had personally trained his men from wet-legged marines to dry-land soldiers, and they out-marched and out-performed every legion in the army. They had proven their worth, and deserved to participate in the upcoming battles as much as anyone.

But the generalis did have a point, deflating his anger somewhat. With the border castella destroyed or abandoned, the Upper Rhenus was open to invading hordes that could just as easily enter Italia through the Via Mala as he had so recently exited it. The castella were necessary, but by the gods, they did not have to be garrisoned with his II Adiutrix!

"Sir, I strongly disagree with that disposition," he spat out after a few seconds, having regained command of his turbulent emotions. "I do agree that the castella need to be garrisoned and rebuilt, but disagree that the II Adiutrix is the legion to do it. We are former marines, as you so commonly sneer, and know little about stone formations, though we can put up a proper wooden and earth camp every night."

"I have noticed," Cerealis grinned. "Silly of you to do that, with four other legions about."

"Protocol, sir," Rutilius rebutted. "Secondly, the VIII Augusta served in this area before Vitellius took it south to win the throne. They know all the clever places to infiltrate, while my men do not."

"You can learn," the commander retorted angrily.

"And how many will die because we missed a few? How many could sneak through a gap in our limes because we have no cavalry with which to patrol? My men are just learning the uses of terrain," Rutilius replied evenly. "How effective would these men be for the first, most vital years, of garrison in this area?”

Having adequately refuted his commander’s arguments for stationing the II Adriutrix here, he continued on with his reasoning of why they ought to remain in the main army. “”Third, I was sent to you as the personal legate of the consul Gaius Licinius Mucianus. I am required to remain with you, sir, where I can advise you against actions that could lose Rome this army- like you lost your IX Legion at Camulodunum nine years ago, or most of your cavalry turma against the walls of Rome this December past. That duty of mine has prejudiced you against me, and my men. The only true reason you chose my legion for garrison here was to be rid of me and my irritating presence. So I disagree with your disposition on this matter. It would be far better- tactically and strategically- to give this mission to the VIII Augusta, who lived here and have wives here. Sir."

Cerealis ran the arguments through his head backwards and forwards, and came to the same conclusion every time- as much as he hated to admit it, Rutilius was correct on all counts. He had been extremely prejudiced against the II Adiutrix because of their humble origins and their legate's status. He made a silent vow to himself that he would try to avoid that in the future.

"So be it, Marcus," he acknowledged, using the legate's given name for the first time. It was an admission of respect, which the younger man had earned several times over. "The VIII Augusta shall take over the rebuilding. Your men will continue along with us to Mogunticaum- but following the XXI Rapax. The area will be getting more dangerous, and although your men have improved greatly, it would be foolish of me to leave such a junior, untested legion in the lead."

Rutilius nodded, ambivalent at the decision. He felt a loss of honor at the legion's removal as the leading legion, yet the generalis made a good- and for once, unbiased- decision based on the nature of his forces. The II Adiutrix, not matter how hard they had trained and drilled during the march, was still an unblooded legion. Until it had drawn blood and shed some of its own, it would always be of an unknown quality.

"Aye, sir," he acknowledged, thumping a fist to his heart in salute.

The general called a council of his legates to pass the new orders, while Rutilius signalled to his Praefectus Castrorum to begin the nightly camp-building drill. It was going to be a long night as the army reorganized itself into combat formation and readied itself for the next phase.

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

“They come.”

Julius Classicus shuddered at the words. Once the Treveri chieftain, he was now a full-fledged general of the Gallo-Batavian alliance- commanding his own Treveri warhost, some Lingone cavalry, and a rather large band of Frisians, Chauci, and Tencteri warriors together with Suevii and other Germanics from across the river. He had sixteen thousand men under his command, many trained under the Eagles as auxilia, yet the uttered words still shook him uneasily. The Eagles were coming. Again.

“How many, Inditrix, and where?” he asked in a voice stronger than his emotion.

“We saw five Eagles,” the Treveri captain replied. “South of the Crossroads Fort but coming this way. Mornix said that fifth Eagle warhost peeled off. Most likely it will remain there, rebuilding the fortifications we demolished following their abandonment.”

Classicus sighed. Four legions. That was not too bad. He could handle that. Maybe. “And where is Seval, our great ally, with that wonderful army of his?”

Inditrix shrugged. “He had gone west in the spring to confront his cousin. Word has it he took his cousin’s army from him in a bloodless battle, won over the Tungrians, then plundered their civitas in a crude gesture. Since then he has been trying to chase down his cousin, who escaped. It is proving very difficult.”

“He is still at that!?” roared Classicus. “He chases a powerless fugitive for honor’s sake, while four legions of Romans descend upon him from the High Hills? Has he gone as mad as that party-hair he wears?”

Inditrix laughed. “He cut that silly crap off when he danced in the ruins of Vetera, as he had promised and the seeress Veleda had foreseen. But yes, he is still trying to pin down his royal kinsman.”

“Send a runner to him now, my friend,” Classicus ordered. “Tell him to cease that fruitless and useless hunting of his fugitive cousin and get his army over here where the main event will be taking place shortly. Oh, by the way,” he added with a sweet smile, “phrase it nicer than I did, please. We can’t go around angering our allied king. In the meantime I will let our Germanic apes continue the siege here at Moguntiacum while the rest of our Gallic forces to blunt the Roman forces a bit.”

Inditrix saluted and turned to go. He stopped suddenly and turned back to his commander. "Be careful blunting those Romans, lord. Make sure they do not blunt you instead."

Classicus nodded solemnly. "I misspoke. You be careful blunting the Romans, my brother. I intend to remain here with the Germani. You will skirmish, Inditrix, and skirmish only. You yourself said you saw no horsemen screening the two leading legions as they came out of the mountains. Leading legions are always the strongest. If they had none, neither does the rest of the army. They are footmen, the entire lot. So how do you expect those sandaled fools to catch fleet Gallic cavalry?"

Inditrix laughed at the thought of an armored Roman infantryman chasing a Gallic horseman and relaxed. Classicus was a good general, and correct. The fleet cavalry will give the Romani a bloody nose with very few Gallic lives lost in the process.


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

A cadet raced his steed back along his legion, the XXI Rapax, towards the army command group following the II Adiutrix. He paused at the legion's headquarters long enough to spread the word, then sped on to report to Cerealis.

Salvius came up to Rutilius as the cadet galloped off.

"What was all that about?" he asked bluntly, as was his way.

Rutilius shrugged. "There is a band of Gallic horsemen approaching his legion. Evidently they were many, so he is seeking orders for his commander. At least he was nice enough to give us a heads-up about what will be coming down."

"Gallic horse, especially in numbers, is nothing to sneeze at," the old Prefect agreed. "After the Batavians, they have the best cavalry in the Empire."

"Issue the hasta, Publius," Rutilius ordered. "Gallic horse haven't faced hasta since Telamon. They are used to the pilum. Let us blood our legion in the best possible way- bloodlessly."

Salvius saw where Marcus was going and smiled. "Yes sir!"

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

Inditrix was indeed true to his word. He skirted the deploying cohorts of the XXI Rapax, closing to lure the legionaries into casting their pila, then bolting from the area while the pila were in flight, rendering them useless. Then they would return in a charge, shatter a cohort's formation, slay a few exposed legionaries, then race off before supporting cohorts could render assistance.

Then he repeated the tactic again, and again, bleeding the Rapax from a hundred tiny cuts until it finally did the only thing that was sensible- forming up into a large square with its archers in the center. Seeing the legionaries hold their position, he knew this legion was going nowhere. Now it was time to harass the next legion and stop it, too.

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

"Lucius Pallius," Rutilius asked his primus pilus. "What is the range of those naval bows of yours?"

Pallius, an old sea-eagle turned dry-foot legionary, looked over the approaching Gauls and smiled. "About another hundred paces, sir, is when I would give the order to let fly."

"As will I," Marcus Rutilius agreed. He let the Gauls get set, then had the trumpeter blast out the command for "Legion! Raise bows!" After a small delay in which the Gauls started moving, the loud, shrill single blast upon the horn unleashed a devastating hailstorm of thick naval arrows into the packed masses of Gallic cavalry readying their attack.



The cavalry, well within arrow range but far from the pila they expected, were caught totally unawares. The naval arrows fell among them like angry wasps, emptying saddles of men who thought themselves safe. A second and third volley landed before Inditrix awoke from his shocked reverie and ordered his men to charge.

"Here they come, as pissed as they made the Rapax," Rutilius commented. "Trumpeter- sound the lower bows. And now Brace Spears."

As the notes floated across the legion, bows were discarded and the hasta picked up. Centurions took over from there, ordering their men to brace the buttspikes in the ground and lean the hasta forward, just as the thundering Gauls realized what it was they faced. These were no pilum-armed swordsmen- these were bow-armed spearmen. The leading horsemen braked en masse, rearing their horses up and away from the deadly points, disrupting the entire charge as the charging horses behind piled up upon the rearing horses in the front.

The trumpet blew a simple, short command. Charge! And with that, the II Adiutrix left its defensive stance and charged into the stirring, confused mass of Gallic cavalry, stabbing with their hasta into horse chests, and drawing their gladii as spears stuck in the dying horses.

Inditrix died under the spears of the first wave of Romans crashing into his plunging horses. His cousin Mornix in the second, and then many, many more followed the Gallic chieftain into the mud. The rearward Gauls, finally realizing the danger, raced away to give the men of the fore ranks space into which to escape. The knot loosened, and the Gauls began streaming away from the deadly crush. Several hundred horsemen fled away from the place where thousands had charged.

Behind them, grinning centurions reformed their men and gathered up their bows, in case the Gauls were stupid enough to return for a second pounding.

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

The surviving Treveri chieftains called the retreat when word came of the result of Inditrix's disastrous attack on the second legion. They trotted back to Moguntiacum with their tails between their legs like whipped curs.

Damn, Classicus cursed when he heard from the returning horsemen, damn damn damn! Fifteen hundred of his men slain, or wounded. Half of his mounted force, including his best cavalry commander. Who would have thought Romans capable of such opportunism- sending legionaries without horse on a march to lure in unwary horsemen, then smack them with spear-wielding bowmen? Roman foresters! It was utterly dishonorable!

And costly, he winced. There was no avoiding it now. Inditrix had not only failed to blunt the legions, he had gotten himself seriously blunted instead. The only way he could prevent a link-up of this army with the two besieged legions inside Moguntiacum was to meet them in open battle with his entire army, and hope the fools in the stone castra do not realize they were alone.

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

Julius Classicus felt a rush of relief when he saw the road disappear into the cleft of two wooded hills up ahead. There, he thought, there is where I stop the Romans. If I fail here, they move down river to where the terrain flattens and the forests thin out to where their cursed cohorts can deploy. We would be crushed there, but not here. Here we can win.

“Evrian, deploy your swordsmen in the center of the road,” he ordered, “up ahead where the treelines are narrowest. Sigmund, your warband goes to the east flank, and Gorn your to the west.”

“Among all these trees, our horses are useless, Julius,” Camdor the new cavalry chieftain pointed out. “So where do we deploy?”

Classicus pointed to the west, in the meadow on this side of the tree line. “Go there, with two thirds of your warhost. Pick a good chieftain to lead the others, and have them go to the west.”

Classicus looked back, and cursed his lack of foresters. The Romans had foresters, why couldn’t he? Yet he had slingers and javelineers- some of the finest. These he deployed in a skirmish line to the front of his forces.

“Porthicus, your warband will be placed in the center, behind Evrian. If the Romans threaten to break through anywhere, I want you to let them. Do you hear? Let them break through. And when they do, and spread out as is only natural when they breach the front, then and only then do you smash them.”

Porthicus smiled cruelly. “Aye, lord. If they break through, let them come and disperse, easier meat for our blades when we hammer them,” he repeated, to the nodding of his general.

Classicus looked to his last two warbands- Germani from across the Rhein, with a mix of weaponry and mix-matched armor among them. They were here to fight, yet would loath the orders he was about to give them. No matter. If they obeyed, they would be able to let flow far more blood than they shall shed.

“Jorg, Adelbart,” he said, addressing the two chieftains, “Your men will occupy the woods to either flank. Do not, repeat NOT, be seen. Our plan is simple- we fight, we fall back. The Romans will pursue, and then we hold them over here. That will bring the battle past your hidden warriors. Once the Romans are fully engaged, I shall blow the rams horn twice, then twice again. That is your signal to pounce. Drive them in on each other, and we shall win the day.”

He looked back at Camdor. “That is when you come into play, cousin. You thunder down upon any who flee, and slaughter them all. If the Romani deploy as usual, their chieftain will be outside the pocket. He is yours. Slay him, and the army falls apart.”

Camdor smiled. This was more like it. He wished Inditrix had lived to see this battle- Treveri warriors defeating an entire army of Romani. But he was dead, and now Camdor led the Treveri Horse.

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

“The XXI Cavalry Auxilia reports Gauls up ahead, ready for battle, sir,” a horseman reported to his commander.

Cerealis had the scout draw in the dirt a map of the area and show where and how many. Satisfied he knew everything, he dismissed the horseman and sent for his legates.

“It will be a battle,” he said joyfully. “We shall deploy our legions six cohorts abreast, four in the second line. I want the XIII Gemina on the left, the XXI Rapax in the center, and the II Adiutrix on the right. Messala, your XI Claudia will be behind the Rapax, as my reserve.”

“Why do the sea-mutts get the position of honor?” Messala wailed. “By rights that position belongs to the XI Claudia as senior legion!”

“Those sea-mutts kicked the crap out of the Treveri Horse the other day,” Cerealis replied, jutting forward his chin as if daring the legate to object to that simple fact. “The XXI took some casualties, so I am putting them in the center. And you, you young ape, are my reserve in case the sea-mutts get into trouble. Think of your reputation then- savoir of a legion.”

Messala was now satisfied, but Rutilius was fuming. But the difference between the two was apparent- Rutilius had the discipline to keep his mouth shut and temper hidden whereas Messala did not. Rutilius also knew that words were fine, but deeds counted. He will show them tomorrow what a sea-whelp legion could do.

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

The two armies met in the morning, with the sun halfway to its zenith and no clouds to cover its glory. Sol Invictus could watch the coming battle unhindered.

The Treveri opened the battle with their skirmishers leaping forward and releasing their missiles. Slings carry a good ways, but javelins did not. Mixing the two together meant that the Romans were peppered with stones they could do little about. The threat of a sudden rush by the javelineers or the men behind them made forming the testudo a bad option. And the horsemen behind the lines of infantry made it suicidal. So they had to brazen out the barrage until they were within range of their own pila, and then payback was in order.

The II Adiutrix halted when the first stones fell. Rutilius said not a word, but marveled at the unity of his legionaries. No commands were issued at all- they just stopped, unslung their bows, strung them, then lifted and let loose.

The silence of the action drew no notice from the Gauls, who merely wondered why a third of the Romans suddenly stopped. Some thought it was in awe of their marksmanship, others cowardice. It wasn’t until angry wasps shot forth from the halted legion that they understood. And by then it was too late for many. Naval arrows had good penetration- those thinking to block the inbound arrows with wicker shields discovered this fact in a crude surprise.

The surviving skirmishers in front of the II Adiutrix had enough. They fell back to behind the thicker shields of wood and flesh of the main battle line. Rutilius had his lead cohorts fire two volleys into the skirmishers before the XXI Rapax before hastening to reform his line. The bows were left strung, cast down for the following cohorts to scoop up, as the lead cohorts rushed forward.

The skirmishers before the XIII Gemina got off a few more volleys before the Romans raised their pila. This was their clue, and they bolted from the field. Cursing, the legionaries of the XIII Gemina lowered their pila and resumed the march. Thirty paces later they raised again, and this time let fly, along with the pila from the XXI and the II Adiutrix.

The flight of pila landed hard among the Treveri and German infantry. The rushing legionaries followed closely behind, and a titanic crash of steel on steel resounded thoughout the valley. The battle was joined.

It seemed a walk-over. The Treveri and their Germanic allies fought well, but lost three men for every Roman they brought down. That damned brass-rimmed scutum was just too hard and too big for the long Gallic swords to break, and the darting gladii of the men behind that portable wall were bloody sharp and quick to stab into a gut here or a leg there. Neither Gorn nor Evrian thought their men could take much more of this.

Neither did Classicus. He blew his rams horn once, then once again. The Treveri fell back, screened by a barrage of javelins and axes.

“Yes!” cried Cerealis when he saw the Treveri retreat. “We’ve got them on the run. Legions, Advance!”

The legions surged forward to the call of the trumpet. The Treveri stood fast at a second sounding of the rams horn. The battle resumed.

“Sabinus!” Rutilius called. “Our front line is holding it own wonderfully. Take the four cohorts of the second line and march them in column around our flank. Clear the woods of hostiles, then fall upon those facing us from the rear.”

Titus Flavius Sabinus was overjoyed. His first command! He rushed off before his legate could change his mind and send the more experienced Arrius instead.

He grabbed the cohortal insignia of the right flank cohort and faced it toward the east. Calling out his orders, he led the cohort along the rear of the front line and into the woods beyond. Once past the last cohort, he looked to see if the other cohorts were following. Two of them were, the last was involved with providing archer fire to relieve a battered cohort of the XXI Rapax of some of its assailants. No matter, three were enough.

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

“We are undone,” a German whispered to Adelbart. “Three cohorts come. They know.”

Adelbart looked through the woods and saw the Romans approaching. Though they did not look alarmed, he saw that they were in battle order and wary. He agreed- they knew he was here.

He has sat still long enough. His muscles ached to shear Roman heads from their necks, and arms from their torsos. He rose, and his men with him.

“Walhalla!” they roared, and fell upon the men of the X, IX, and VIII cohorts.

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

“Oh cacat” is not an authorized command to give one’s troops, but the words coming from the tribune’s mouth were clear enough. The men of the II Adiutrix reacted as they had been trained these past months, their minds in shock at their first real confrontation but their bodies reacting instinctively to the battle drill. They closed ranks, locked shields, and bore the brunt of the francisca attack on their scuta. Then they threw their pila as taught, though the enemy was close enough to spit upon.

Regulations say at that distance one should draw swords, but that regulation had yet to be taught. And well enough, for the pila left their hands with desperate speed, and lost little of their power over the short flight. The front rank of Germans went down hard, tripping up the second rank. By the time those men recovered and joined the third rank in storming the Roman lines, the former marines had their gladii in hand and were ready.

It was a brutal battle, but one in which discipline and formation was the key to survival. Sabinus fought on the line for a while, too busy remembering his training in the parry and riposte to realize he had killed his first three men ever. It was block, chop, and stab, over and over, keeping an eye on the weapon of the warrior before him and using peripheral vision to keep track of the duels to either side. The rush of battle focused him with an intensity he never before had realized. It took a centurion bellowing in his ear to bring him out of his battle madness, reminding him he was not a legionary but an officer.



He reluctantly allowed the centurion to take his place. His duty was not fight and die like a soldier, but lead and direct as an officer should. That’s when he saw the VII cohort coming up to join the other three. He led them onto the flank of the Germans, feeling again that intense euphoria by joyfully ramming his gladius home time and again while smashing down the dying warriors with his scutum to get to the next. About him the men of the VII cohort did the same.

The threat evaporated. The German line disintegrated, and fled.

“That was easy,” he grinned to a centurion, who grinned back. “Now, on to the rear of those fellows plaguing our comrades!”

While Sabinus was clearing the east, the XIII Gemina was finding out the hard way that there were Germans to the west as well. A rams horn had sounded twice, then twice again. Germans spilled forth onto their flank, and into their rear. The legion buckled under the heavy assault, and threatened to collapse.

“Legio XI Claudia! Advance!” ordered Vipsanius Messala. His XI Claudia followed its eagle into battle to the west, catching the Germans between the rear cohorts of the XIII Gemina and itself. It was a slaughter. Jorg and his men died in place with steel in hand, as had Adelbart and his men. Now it was just the Treveri remaining.

Classicus saw the Eagle of the XI move, and the Romans pouring forth from the woods to the east. His ambush had failed, and he was about to be encircled like he had tried to do. There was only one thing to do.

“Camdor! Attack to the east, and screen our retreat. All others, disengage and retreat!”

Up and down the line the command went, and where it went, men turned to flee. Unencumbered by heavy armor, they soon outraced the pursuing Romans. They had lost many men in the failed ambush, three or four of ten, but by the valor of Camdor and the sacrifice of Sigmund, six or seven of ten managed to get way.

Classicus knew the war was over. It was a matter of time now. The Romans were not even blunted, and his army heavily damaged. He sent a runner to Joris besieging Moguntiacum, and another to Julius Sabinus near Lugdunum. It was time to consolidate if anything was to be salvaged.

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

Decius Paullus was on the walls of Moguntiacum at dawn, again for the umpteenth time, watching the apes besieging him. His keen eyes were squinted for better vision and his ears were open and clean, yet for once he could discern no activity in the woodline sheltering his besiegers.

"Thos bastards have to be there," he muttered. "They've been there for two months now."

"Do you think they are finally finished preparing for their storm?" his primus pilus asked. Like his legate, he had spent his entire career on the border and knew better than to assume the stillness of the woods meant their besiegers had fled. "If so, expect them to attack with the coming of the sun tomorrow, as is their custom."

"I see movement, Gnaeus," the legate interrupted. "Ready the men. I think they are coming now."

Gnaeus Fulminus spun about and drew in a deep breath to bellow out the command. A gasp from his legate brought the unspoken command to a halt.

"Eagle!" exlaimed Paullus. "I see a silver eagle! They are here!" he cried in joy, "the legions are here!"

Fulminus let out his breath in a sigh of relief. "That's why the bastards besieging us disappeared- our army relieved us."

"Or it is a trick," Paullus suddenly spat seriously. "The gods know they have Eagles and armor enough to fake a legion after slaughtering Lupercus and his men. Let's be safe. Sound the alert, but ensure every man knows not to let fly a single missile without my express command. Just in case."

The primus pilus saluted. "Good idea, sir. I'll spread the word."

The legions were no Germans, nor were they Gauls clad in Roman armor. The lead legion came closer and its insignia was soon recognized by the men, who embraced each other in sheer relief. The XXI Rapax, taken by Vitellius to Rome, had returned to the Rheinland.

The gates opened to a howl of joy, and Decius Paullus sallied out with a small contingent of officers and centurions. He strode proudly forth to the Eagle, seeking the legate. Finding him, he reached out his hand.

"Decius Paullus," he announced. "Commander of the XXII Primigenia and IV Macedonica, commander of Moguntiacum and acting governor of Germania Superior."

The legate took his hand. "Lucius Amensius, commander of the XXI Rapax. Happy to see you are still around."

"Amensius?" asked Paullus. "We had a tribunus militum of that name in the V Alaudae last year."

Amensius laughed. "You are not the only one promoted to legate, Paullus. That was me then, before our legate Fabius Fabullus got himself and half our legion killed at Bedriacum. The XXI Rapax lost a lot of officers in that battle, so some others and I transferred in to help bring her up to strength. I was made legate."

Paullus looked down at the mention of the man’s parent legion. "You know what happened to the rest of your legion here, do you not?"

Amensius frowned. "Aye, we heard. Arrius told us."

Paullus lit up at the mention of his former colleague. "Publius Arrius? Where is he now? He was a de facto legate here, before I sent him to hurry you up."

Amensius shrugged. It was a big army, and he was more concerned with his own legion than another. He suddenly looked up. This one tribune he did remember. "I think he is tribunus laticlavius in the outfit behind me- the sea-mutts. Good ones, though- they kicked the living crap out of a horde of Gallic horse a few days ago."

The conversation ended abruptly as the generalis approached. Cerealis looked over the two men, received their salutes, and frowned.

"You are Paullus?" he asked bluntly. Decius affirmed he was. "A tribunus?" Again affirmation. "And commander of two legions now?"

"And brevet governor of the province, sir," he added. "In lieu of anyone higher. All of our legates and generals are dead. Sir."

"Report, in your own words, and spare nothing," Quintus Cerealis ordered. "I have heard nothing but hearsay and second-hand reports since leaving Italia."

Paullus laid it out for him, succinctly and sparing no detail. Flaccus, the governor, had been murdered by the men of the I Germanica and the XVI Gallica. Then those selfsame slovenly fools abandoned a castra laden with supplies and weapons to the enemy. Herrennius Gallus was killed retaking the post. Later, the same men who killed the governor stood by while a deserter executed Caius Dillius Vocula. Both legions did more than surrender to the revolting Gauls- they went over to serve them. The V Alaudae and the XV Primigenia finally surrendered a depleted Vetera in exchange for safe passage, but were murdered in the woods anyway. Germania Inferior was now the Batavian Kingdom, and Germania Superior was reduced to the post of Moguntiacum and its immediate environs.

This was the third time Quintus Petilius Cerealis had heard the tale, and each time it was almost identical. Any last doubts, or hopes, that the stories were false or simply exaggerated dissipated. His respect for the men who lived through this catastrophe, and those who fought hell and high water to prevent it, rose even higher.

"I am going to rename your IV Macedonica, Paullus," he said. "From this moment, the IV Macedonica will be known as the Legio IV Flavia Felix, the lucky. Do you have a problem with that, legate?"

Paullus shot proudly to a sharper stance of attention when he heard his new rank. "No sir! No problem at all!"

"I won't rename the XXII Primigenia, out of respect for Caius Vocula, whose legion it was and tales of whose honor has reached the ears of Rome. Instead, those of the legion who had fought its way to Vetera and back shall receive a thousand sesterces reward each for their honorable campaigning."

"That will be the entire legion," Paullus acknowledged. "All forty-four centuries remaining of them. Any chance of the IV Flavia Felix getting a reward as well, sir?"

Cerealis turned feral at the comment. "Paullus, you lost two entire legions slaughtered like helpless sheep in the woods, another two legions deserted en masse to the enemy, and got two legions cooped up here in Moguntiacum. One Roman fleet has been captured intact by the enemy, and another beaten so bad that it is not fit for sailing north of Bonna. That's not counting the four legions of auxilia that that turd Vorenus lost to the Germans that started off this entire mess. The only thing keeping me from having you cashiered was that you and Vocula were not in command for most of it- you two inherited someone else’s mess. So don't press your luck."

"Yes sir, " Decius Paullus gulped. When the general laid it out so plainly, it was indeed a disaster beyond proportions, and his IV Macedonica- sorry, Flavia Felix- had done nothing more than garrison the provincial castra and build that battered second fleet. Meanwhile the XXII had fought at Novaesium, Gelduba, Vetera, Novaesium again, and then again here at Moguntiacum. They had earned a reward; his legion had not. "I apologize, sir."

Cerealis accepted the apology wordlessly. "I will move the XXI Rapax and XI Claudia into the castra. The II Adiutrix will most likely build its own camp over on that hill, while the XIII Gemina will camp outside your gates. In the meantime, son, take me to your praetorium and show me the ground between here and Batavodurum."

Paullus saluted and led the relieving army into the last Roman outpost in Germania.


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

Gaius Julius Sabinus was overjoyed at his army. He was the Emperor of Gaul, elected so by his bloodright as descended from the Great Gaius Julius Caesar for whom he was named. His army counted thousands upon thousands of Gallic warriors who had risen up against the oppression Rome had laid upon them. Proof of his prowess as an emperor lay in the forefront of his army, where two formerly Roman legions now deployed against the Sequani. Those tribesmen at the foot of the Gallic Alps whose fertile valley and strategic position within the oxbow of the river should by rights be his, had refused to join the rest of Gaul in rising up against the Romans. For that, they shall pay and pay dearly.

Well, by nightfall, his Roman deserters will secure him those valleys and the loyalty of the survivors, as well as the prettiest of Sequani women with whom to celebrate the victory. After Vesontio falls tonight, it shall be on to Massilia, the crown jewel of Roman occupation.

The I Germanica and the XVI Gallica deployed online in the Roman manner. Flanking them were warbands of spearmen- Roman-trained auxilia who had deserted their Italian masters and now served a Gallic master. To their flanks were the magnificent horsemen of the Aedui and the Arvernii- two tribes who had been bitter enemies in the time of his great-grandfather but now served him as brothers. To the rear of the Gallic lines was nothing- Sabinus was a Gaul and proud of it. No Gaul had ever held a reserve in the Roman manner- warfare was an engulfing charge that swept all before it. With this, and with a solid Roman center, he would claim that which was his.

The sun climbed the sky slowly while the men waited. Before them, the pitifully few Sequani warriors were drawn up in an old-fashioned phalanx contesting the only suitable ford for leagues around. Those Sequani were dressed in their tribal colors, a bright red for the day of battle. Suitable, thought Sabinus. The coloring will match the blood spilling on it soon. At last the sun climbed over the mountains to illuminate Sabinus and his bodyguards. That was the time. He raised his sword so that it shown in the sunlight, and waved it so the men watching him could catch the reflections of sunlight.

The emperor’s army surged forward in a rush of warcries, beating their swords against their shields. Before them, the Sequani stood solidly, watching as the Romans closed ranks to fit into the ford and the flanking cavalry began swimming the river. The lighter troops, the Gallic auxilia, heaved their boats into the slight current and boarded. The Gallic wave was coming.

Halfway across the small river, things went awry in the worst possible manner. The tiny Sequani phalanx hadn’t moved, but from both woods flanking the ford stepped forth hunters carrying bows. And torches. They began emptying their quivers into the paddling men, sending boat after boat careening away as the men dropped their paddles to grab up shields. The boats collided, spilling men into the icy river, ceasing their struggles as the weight of their fine chainmail armor dragged them beneath the current.

Then the archers began firing flaming arrows into the swimming horsemen. These arrows, with their pitch-soaked straw tied to the head, killed fewer, but had a deadly effect nonetheless. Where an arrow missed, it sizzled harmlessly into the water and was gone. But where an arrow hit, it spattered its burning mass over the shield or man, dropping to the horse. Horses react very violently when set afire, and within seconds of the first volley landing, maddened horses were dumping their armored riders into the river and scurrying as best they could for the comfort of dry land that did not burn.

The Sequani, for their part, cared not whether the horse came to their side or went the other- as long as the rider of the horse did not come with it.

When the archers emerged, the Sequani phalanx lifted its spears and moved forward to the river’s edge. Here they lowered their spears and stood ready to repulse any turtle that crawled out of the river. The legates saw this, and realized they would soon be taking arrows from both flanks as well as spears in their face. The grand Gallic wave envisioned by Sabinus had failed. There was only one thing to do.

“Retreat!”

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

It was a bitter pill, thought Sabinus as he watched what was left of his army fall back from the outnumbered Sequani. But one with an advantage. He had lost many, but still had a viable army. And the messengers from Classicus told him that army would be needed now that he too had tasted defeat.

He would move north. The Sequani were a sideshow anyway. There were no threats from the prize of Massilia, only glory to be had. Glory can be reaped anytime, but not with a Roman army loose to his north. A Roman army could destroy his fledgling empire to its brittle core. No, Massilia and the Sequani could wait. Cerealis could not.

With any luck, he would be able to swing in behind that mighty army. Then, using the tactic of his ally Civilis who drove a similar Roman army from Vetera, he could seize the base at Moguntiacum, stranding the Romans far from home with no supplies. His army, reinforced by that of Classicus, would be well and truly able to slaughter those starving roaches. Then, he gloated to himself, then both the Sequani and Massilia would be his.

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

“Form up your men, legates!” Quintus Cerealis bellowed. “There is a war on, men, and its time we got into it!”

Cheering erupted from the men who heard him, making it hard for the legates and tribunes to pass their own orders. The cheering died down, and the men began forming up for the long march north.

“Aulus Pedius,” Cerealis continued once able, “your XIII Gemina will lead the way. I want the XXI Rapax and the II Adiutrix following you in that order. Gnaeus Vipsanius, your XI Claudia will bring up the rear. We are going to Lugdunum.”

“Lugdunum?” Vipsanius Messala said in shock. “The Batavi are north, sir. Lugdunum is to the south- a far march south at that.”

“Sabinus is near Lugdunum with a second army of Gauls,” Rutilius informed him. “Including two of our traitorous legions. Would you leave that kind of combat power in your rear when striking off to the northernmost borders of the Empire?”

Messala snarled, then backed off as he saw the ramifications. The sea-whelp legate was correct- two renegade legions supported by a Gallic army running around in the rear had to be taken care of, or this army would face the same fate as that of Germania Inferior. One had to have a stable base when operating on the frontier- his service on the Moesian border taught him that- and those renegades threatened that. So it was off to Lugdunum to return it to Roman hands and destroy the Gallic emperor.

Word had come of the Gallic revolt, and its primary victim. Titus Cassius, praetor of Lugdunum, had fallen afoul of the Gallic plotters and had his head handed to him- literally. Neither Rutilius nor Arrius were surprised. Cassius had the opportunity to strip Civilis of most of his best cavalry- the eight cohorts that had so punished the I Germanica at Bonna- simply by paying the Batavian auxilia the donative promised them by Vitellius. He balked, and insulted the Batavians to boot, and off went eight of Rome’s finest cavalry to serve the enemy. He probably did the same thing to the Gauls, inciting Sabinus to act. No Cassius ever could part with gold once it came into his possession. This time that unwillingness to pay cost him his head, Rome its provinces, and the world a war.

“He doesn’t like you very much,” Publius Arrius said to Rutilius, indicating Messala. The two were awaiting their turn in the line of march as the legions set off. “Is it something personal, or is he just an ass?”

Rutilius laughed. “A little of both. He became a legate after Bedriacum, where he led a beautiful flanking maneuver that cut Fabullus’s men to shreds. You should have seen it, Publius, from where I was. It really was magnificent. Of course, he could not have done that without my help.”

Arrius narrowed his eyes. “You were a Vitellian, like me, were you not?” he asked bitterly.

“I am a Roman,” Rutilius replied in a voice of steel. “I serve Rome, not any one man.”

Arrius thought that over, and nodded. “You’re right, Marcus. Nobody is a Vitellian or a Flavian anymore.”

Rutilius nodded back and continued, “Fabullus had ordered me to take several cohorts and drive off the Flavian scouts I had seen. The scouts were the vanguard of Primus’s army, led by Arrius Varus. A cousin of yours?”

“That whoreson?” Arrius replied indignantly. “I should hope not!”

“Anyway,” Rutilius chuckled, “he was having a great time slaughtering the fleeing Vitellian outposts when I arrived and kicked his teeth in. Did you ever notice that dent in his helmet? I put that there. Drove him from the field squealing like a stuck pig. Then that idiot Fabullus with his strung-out legions refused to halt and reform, and fired me in the process. He then ran into Primus whose legions were in battle array, fought well until he died, and then Vipsanius there led the Moesians around and hammered the leaderless Vitellians.

“So, had I not infuriated Fabullus by reminding him that his legions were strung out and Primus had an army nearby, he never would have ignored me to continue the chase and gotten in a position where Vipsanius could crush him.”

He looked over to his executive officer. “He knows I was there and on what side, so he doesn’t like me. That prejudices him a bit. Plus I won the favor of Mucianus, whom he had been wooing. Which prejudices him even more.” He chuckled loudly. “The rest of it is because he is an ass.”

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

Frank of the Lion Terp Village was a happy man. His Frisian warband and their Chauci reinforcements were charged by the great Seval to occupy the civitas of the Ubii and prevent the Romans from using its harbor and other facilities. He had been here for seven months now, garrisoning a ghost town and enjoying himself immensely with the few widows that remained after the brutal crushing of Ubian power.

It was no more than they should have expected, thought Frank. The Ubii were Germans, who fled their homeland and were settled in Roman Germania. They were so grateful to the sandal-wearers that they even renamed their tribe to the Aggripensi- in honor of Agrippa- and their civitas to Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippensi- the Colony of Claudius with the Altar to Agrippa. They sided with the Romans against their brethren in this revolt, and for that they were punished harshly- destroyed as a powerful tribe and reduced to scattered clans.

Though here in Colonia the savage onslaught of the Batavians and other Germans against the Ubians was tempered- Colonia had sheltered the son of Civilis from Nero, and in gratitude, he ordered no pillaging or punishing of the city itself. Its hinterlands and other villages were ruthlessly expunged, but Colonia itself was sacrosanct. The depopulation of the countryside as the Ubii fled the onslaught led to their cousins of the city fleeing as well, leaving Frank and his five hundred Frisians little to worry about. And since Seval was driving the Romans out of the provinces and Gaul rising in revolt as well, Frank had little worries about them either. So he and his merry men ate their fill, drank more than their fill, and chased whatever womenfolk they could find to pass the time.

The dearth of people changed once the Ubii admitted defeat. Seval gracefully allowed their survivors to return. Smart move, thought Frank as he made his rounds through the town. An empty Colonia was of no use to him. A Colonia filled with tax-paying people, living happily under the Batavian King, was a worthy prize. And the Ubii did return, dribbling back in small groups, returning to the houses and farms they fled. Not many, though, as most were dead, but enough so that soon there were several thousand Ubii and other Germani breathing life into the city again.

A maiden ran by, shearing Frank away from his daydreams. At first he thought he imagined the girl, then imagined her naked, but when she emerged again from around the corner, he saw that she was indeed real and indeed nude. She giggled and ran off.

What in Hel’s realm is that? He wondered. Intrigued at the mystery of the maiden and aroused by her blatant nudity, he followed. The girls came upon another girl- also nude- and the two ran off into a house, laughing.

Frank was more than aroused. Naked maidens in the streets of his town? They are asking for it, he decided harshly, and was determined to give them what they were asking for. Duty and honor evaporated with his rising manhood. How dare they!

He approached the house, silent except for the giggles of the girls, and threw the door open.

The girls jumped at his entrance, and bolted up the stairs to the upper floors. Exactly where I want you, Frank thought cruelly as he made himself ready. His weapons belt came off, followed by the shirt beneath. He threw his boots into a corner, then began mounting the stairs. He was not sure what spooked him, but he stopped and retrieved his dagger, just in case the girls needed more of a lesson than a man in bed. He was now suitably armed to take on the two maidens, and pursued them up the stairs.

And died.

As soon as he entered the room where they giggled, he stopped. He was enthralled and fascinated at the view of not two but four beautiful nymphs writhing nude on a bed large enough for six. As his mind fought to reconcile this erotic behavior with prudish Germanic morals, it ceased working. A cudgel, wielded by a man hidden in the room behind him, crashed into his skull, broke it, and mashed the brains within. Frank dropped like a pole-axed steer.

The clubman and a colleague then rushed forward and carried Frank into the room where they had hidden, and bashed his head again for good measure. They threw his leaking corpse onto the pile of Frisian corpses already growing cold while the girls ran downstairs to pick up his clothes and weapons for the other pile.

“Now, girls, out again for another one,” the clubman whispered. “Remember, only show yourselves to single warriors, and ensure they come alone. A few more and we will have enough arms and armor to fight honorably.”

All across the city, similar acts were taking place. Some saw maidens walk by, turn, and wink at the Frisian warriors, who returned the winks and gawked. The distraction of the maidens allowed Ubian boys and young men to approach the warriors unawares, and slit their throats from behind. Others had problems with their wagons, and asked the Frisians or Chauci for help, When the rough warriors ordered by their king to be kind came and lifted the wagon, farmers stabbed them with pitchforks and clobbered them with clubs. In the taverna, poisoned mushrooms were served in the stew for the Frisians- when the garrison ate heartily of the hunter's stew, they gagged and convulsed- easy meat for the Ubii men who drank only water and ate only the vegetables.

Karel the Fearless noticed something going on, though he witnessed no direct incidents. Yet his skin crawled with awareness that something was going on. Something bad. Something to be prepared for. To satisfy his intuition, he called the warriors in the Lord’s Hall together and had them don their armor and ready their weapons. It would not matter. Karel had ninety warriors in the hall, and the Ubians had three hundred with Frisian arms and another four hundred with makeshift weapons. And plenty of entrances and windows to enter with. Karel died bravely with his men, but he did die.

Colonia was free, and the Ubii celebrated their first victory of the war by casting the garrison in the refuse pit. The banners and standards of Seval and the Batavians were torn down and draped over the men before being set alight, burning the rubbish and the Frisians together.

Then their own standards were hoisted, and those of Rome.

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

Julius Classicus and his ragtag survivors abandoned the idea of blocking Cerealis’s march north once Colonia erupted in counter-revolt behind him. Instead he chose to swing south around through the deep forests and effect a link up with his master, Sabinus. That would put two great armies- the Gallic and the Batavian- on either side of the Roman nut, where they could crush it between them.

“Hail, Gaius Julius!” he called, once in his master’s camp. “It is good to see you, my brother!”

“Likewise, my cousin,” Sabinus replied, downgrading the kinship claimed by the Treveri to something more suiting his lesser lineage. Still, he resented the claim. “I had expected you to bring less men, based on the reports you sent concerning your ill-fated attempt to stop the Romans south of Moguntiacum. I am glad to see the messenger exaggerated those losses.”

“We have been joined by the Catalauni and the Remi warhosts,” Classicus announced. “They have more than made up for my tribesmen who have fallen to Roman swords.”

“We will need your vaunted Treveri cavalry, and that of the Remi,” Sabinus acknowledged. “I have heard that Catalauni spearmen are reputed to be every bit as good as Germani for holding a spearwall. Is this true?”

Classicus shrugged. “I have heard the same as you, my lord, but have yet to see these men in battle. The Ambiani foresters, however, have proven their worth already- their skills fed our army on the march here.”

Archers! Classicus brought him archers! Now his army was truly complete! “Good, my friend, you have done well. Apart, we were like our ancestors before mine. Together we are stronger than ever. The Romani have not a chance!”

“That is good, my liege,” Classicus said. He looked about the encampment and saw how slovenly the warriors here were as opposed to his own disciplined army. He turned bitter at the blatant luxury being shown the emperor and added, “Because Cerealis and his army are coming against you. They have already taken Trevorum, almost bloodlessly, and are heading here.”

“What?” Sabinus cried. “Is he not continuing north to fight Civilis?”

Classicus was not much of a general, but he was a far sight better than the man he swore to serve. One would think a descendant of Gaius Julius Caesar would have some inkling of waging war, but the sloth revealed that the large majority of those genes must have gone into what ran down his mother’s leg after the deed. “No, Gaius Julius. He is abandoning the Batavi for the moment to meet us in battle. We can cut him off from Rome. Civilis cannot, not with two good legions in Moguntiacum and another in Argentoratum. Thus he will dispose of us first before continuing north.”

“Then we shall meet him on the field of battle and destroy him,” Sabinus announced proudly.

Classicus had his doubts. “We shall certainly try, lord.”

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

The Gauls marched north towards the Romans, who were coming south against them. The Remi scouts saw their opponents first, and within hours the Gallic army was drawn up for battle.

Six miles away across the plain, the Romans did the same. The II Adiutrix built its camp as normal, despite the mockery of the other legions, and all settled in for the night. The sky that evening was blood-red, a foreboding omen, letting all know there would be much blood shed the following morning. Many prayed fervently it would not be their own. In the camp of the II Adiutrix, no man prayed. They were too busy preparing for their first true action.

“If the Remi are with them, they will have archers,” Salvius was saying. “Archers are not so freaking deadly themselves, but they can cause you problems. Arrows hurt, but rarely kill. Not with that metal harness you men have and those wonderful neck-shields some genius added to our helmets eons ago. The scutum you carry can also take quite a few of them.”

“We know all this already,” Lucius Pallius said, interrupting the lesson. “We use the bow ourselves, remember?”

“Can you use the testudo?” Salvius retorted. The wondering looks and blank faces of the centurions answered his question for him. He looked over to the legate and frowned.

Rutilius shrugged. “Hadn’t gotten to it yet,” he replied lamely to the unspoken chastisement.

Salvius sighed. “Let us hope the enemy doesn’t target us tomorrow. And as soon as we can, we will learn how condense our centuries together and shield them inside the testudo.”

“Oh, that testudo!” Pallius exclaimed with a laugh. “I thought you meant some kind of artillery piece or weapon or something. Sure, we can form the turtle. We use it to wait out hostile barrages in preparation for boarding. No sweat.”

Salvius let out a sigh of relief. Not too many of these lads will find their way to the Elysian Fields tomorrow after all.

Rutilius stood. “Carry on, Publius,” he said to Salvius. “Publius Arrius and I are going to see the commander for the orders for tomorrow. Titus Flavius is in command until we return. And Uncle, make sure he knows to get inside the testudo, too.”


Rutilius and Arrius returned after midnight. The battle plans had changed several times during the command session, and not every time for the better. But the objections and snide remarks died when Quintus Cerealis put his foot down and made his decision. Tomorrow’s battle will be so, and any unit disobeying his orders would be decimated. The other legates were in shock, but Rutilius was beaming with pride. At last, a commander with balls enough to take on a legion. Vocula might be dead, but another just as worthy was emerging.

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

Aulus Pedius Macro drew up his XIII Gemina to the right of the road, in quincunx formation. Each man in the rear two ranks were carrying four pila instead of the normal two, while the two foremost ranks carried hasta given by the sea-mutts. Pedius sighed as he saw how much ground existed between his flank and the woods, open ground cavalry could use to sweep behind his ranks. He dispatched a runner to move his flank cohort behind its neighbor, giving his legion at least some sense of depth.

To his left, the II Adiutrix had done the same. No man carried a pila, as these were given to the XIII Gemina. But the II Adiutrix needed no pila today. They had their naval bows, and the rearward centuries had their hasta if the Gallic horse came to call. This was going to be a holding contest, nothing more. And that meant spears and shieldwalls.

To the rear, the cohorts of the IV Flavia Felix were arrayed in a single line, ready to dispatch units to either flank or support the center. Quintus Petilius Cerealis positioned himself in their midst, where he could best see the battlefield and order his most junior legate to support the line with his cohorts.

Now began the waiting game.

Gauls were incredibly petulant and impatient warriors. Their way of battle, practiced for millennia, was to form a long line and sweep forward. Everything they had went into the initial rush, which was why the Romans with their deeper formations trounced them time and again. But to be fair, Gallic steel was rather poor, and its wielders often out of shape. If a battle was not over within ten minutes, their swords were too poor- bent or blunted- and the men too tired to continue. With Gauls, it was all or nothing. Which was why Petilius Cerealis waited.

Sabinus saw the pitifully few Romans standing before his reinforced army. He called Classicus over, and pointed to the Roman formation. “I see three legions. I thought they had four.”

“We hurt them some before going down,” Classicus replied. “Maybe that fourth legion is in Moguntiacum, recovering- or disbanded to fill the losses of those three.”

“Makes sense,” Sabinus said. “Why else would he come after us, then stand there, unless he sees our power and is afraid?” He pointed to the north flank. “Classicus, take your army that way. I want you to focus on smashing that in like the Batavi do, turning it in on itself. I will have my forces do the same on the south. Maybe we can recreate one of Civilis’s victories here.”

Classicus held his mouth shut and thought. The Batavian Crescent worked well at Bonna, where there was only one legion. It almost worked at Gelduba, but the arrival of the fourth legion disrupted those plans. If Cerealis had that fourth legion lurking about somewhere instead of recovering at Moguntiacum, the only thing Sabinus would recreate was the defeat at Gelduba. He said as much.

“Vapors and fairy tales,” Sabinus said haughtily. “Look at them there, pitifully few. Would you, if you were a Roman commander on hostile territory, stand alone with so few?”

Classicus looked over the Romans and had to agree. If he did have more forces, he would have them deployed there, where they were needed. Still, the lack of intelligence concerning that fourth legion nagged him.

Classicus returned to his troops and signaled Sabinus with his sword that he was ready. Sabinus acknowledged the flashing sword with his own, and had his trumpeters blare out the attack. At the signal, the Gauls started forward and the Romans spun about and departed.

“What is this about?” wondered Classicus as he watched the Romans retreat in good order.

In the middle of the plain below the low rise, Sabinus had no doubt what caused the Roman retreat. They saw his numbers, which were more than twice theirs, and fled rather than die. He signaled the charge, to get to the cowards before they could find safety.

“Belay that!” Classicus shouted. “We cannot see over that ridge. Only fools rush in where they know nothing!”

His army slowed to a canter, and Sabinus, seeing that, did the same. The Gallic warhost maintained its integrity and reached the ridgeline as a whole, defeating what they thought was the Roman plan to disjoint the opposition and cut it up piecemeal. Instead, the slight rise gave them a wonderful view of the Roman line taking up positions before a line of artillery, with a proper Roman camp behind.



Classicus smiled as he took in the view. The mystery of the missing legion was solved- they were hiding in that camp, in case their brethren failed. The artillery worried him somewhat, but moving men were hard to land a rock upon. He let his attack continue.

Sabinus, to his right, did the same. The legionaries of his army saw the onagers and ballistas, and shuddered. They knew how those machines worked, and that they would be ranged to cover the hilltop. As one, they quickened the pace to exit the kill zone as quickly as possible.

Sabinus noticed the legionaries moving faster and ordered the rest of his army to follow suit, just as stones began hurtling toward them. Any who thought to remain in the impact zone soon thought otherwise, or thought nothing at all after being smashed to pulp. The Gallic warhost charged.

And stopped dead in its tracks a minute later.

From the woods upon either flank of the ridgeline emerged Roman legions, ready for battle. The XI Claudia came from the north, the XXI Rapax from the south. Both legions closed on the Gallic armies, sealing them inside a Roman box with falling stones for a lid.

Sabinus saw the legions closing and realized there was no chance. Only he, being mounted and far to the rear of his warhost, had a chance. He seized it with both hands and sped off, back towards Lugdunum and safety. Following him was most of the Treveri cavalry led by Classicus- far enough outside the box to find a flank and escape. The rest of the army watched sullenly as their generals fled and the Romans closed in.

His men, pounded and surrounded, and now deserted by their emperor, felt their courage desert them as well. First the legionaries, then the Remi cavalry, and lastly the Treveri threw down their weapons and shields in surrender. The Catalauni spearmen held out until a lucky trio of stones plastered their ranks. Then the survivors hurled their spears to the ground and knelt in submission as well.

“It looks like we won’t be needing the testudo after all,” Publius Arrius commented as he watched the Gauls submit.

“No, we won’t,” Rutilius replied. “Do you see what I see, Publius?”

Arrius looked out over the kneeling army. He saw lots of prisoners and slaves, and Romans who would be crucified, but nothing else. He said so.

“Tsk, tsk, Publius,” Marcus Rutilius chastised. “I see cavalry and auxilia for this army, if Quintus Petilius is smart enough to take it.”

“I think he is,” Arrius said, pointing to where the general was approaching the II Adiutrix. “Why do you think he is coming here?”

“Because of us and who we are,” Rutilius replied. And he was right. Cerealis issued the II Adiutrix a painful set of orders, then moved off to address the Gallic warhost, now suitably unarmed and moved away from their weapons should any change their minds. Rutilius ordered Arrius and his other tribune, Titus Flavius Sabinus, to carry out the order.

Cerealis stood before the Gauls. “You men have risen against Rome. By rights, your persons are forfeit and you are mine to sell as slaves in the markets of Massilia, your women and children to the slavers of Italia, and your villages ours to plunder and pillage. This is the penalty for defying Rome!”

The Gauls knew this, having suffered this very punishment when the Divine Julius had come among them. But Quintus Cerealis had a surprise for them.

“You men had been oppressed by bad governors, and led by an incompetent fool to defy Rome,” he continued. “I promise to ensure Rome no longer sends greedy gold-diggers and sycophants to be your governors, erasing the cause of your revolt. I am willing to overlook this error in judgment of you following that fool Sabinus, and give you a single chance at redemption, if you so choose. Those of you who were soldiers in the auxilia must swear terrible oaths to both your gods and ours that you will return to the standards of Rome and serve out your terms with honor. Those of you who had not served Rome as soldiers, will now have the opportunity to do so. Those who refuse will find their way south to Massilia and over to Cappadocia, where you shall till the land and forget all about warfare. You have one hour to decide your fates.”

“Does that clemency extend to us, generalis?” called a centurion from the I Germanica.

Cerealis barked a terrifying laugh. “You cowards have committed the worst atrocity in Roman military history. You murdered two governors, including a general you all admired, and then deserted en masse to serve the enemy in wartime. Be lucky I do not have the lot of you flogged and beheaded this very afternoon!”

He galloped his steed away before he did order that punishment, and returned to the II Adiutrix.

“Are you ready, Marcus?” he asked the legate. Rutilius affirmed that he was. “Then carry on. I want the names of the men who murdered Vocula and Flaccus before the Gauls answer.”

“Aye, sir!” Rutilius acknowledged, and gestured to his centurions to begin their task as the general whirled about to return to his command group.

“Why us?” Arrius asked, once the general was away and the centurions off to interrogate the I Germanica and XVI Gallica. “And why our legion?”

Rutilius watched his centurions go with eyes narrowed. “It is obvious, Publius. We were in Germania for most of it, and our legion is former marines from the Ravenna fleet. They have no friends or grudges with those men, so they will be impartial. And we know the stories and tales of the legion, and can judge their veracity.”

The sun climbed into the sky, and a Treveri chieftain strode forth toward the Roman commander. “Lord, our hour is up. We have considered your clemency, very carefully, and wish to accept it. As we once served our emperor Sabinus faithfully, so would we serve the Roman emperor- faithfully, and with honor.”

“Not like he had much choice,” Arrius whispered with a sneer. Rutilius elbowed him for his levity.

“He had none at all,” the legate retorted. “But now Cerealis has his cavalry and auxilia, and sworn oaths to be loyal. Honor counts much among these men- they’ll keep their word. Now we have a very distasteful task to perform. Ready the men.”

Cerealis accepted the Treveri’s word of honor and made each man swear the oath of loyalty. Then he motioned to Lucius Amensius to begin processing the ex-prisoners into auxilia, while he himself went to where the II Adiutrix was holding the traitorous legions under guard. Rutilius handed him the scroll given him by the returned centurions, and the general moved to before the troops.

“The following men step forward,” he bellowed, reading out the eighteen names on the scroll. At each name, a man stepped forward, his head hanging low. When the names were read out, legionaries from the II Adiutrix came forward and collected the men, bringing them to the front of the legions.

“You men, some of you centurions, have offended Rome in the worst way. It was your mutinous actions and instigation that led to the deaths of two Roman governors, and the desertion of two legions. For this, I strip you of the honor of Roman citizenship. For serving the enemy against Rome while a state of war exists, you are found guilty and shall be punished according to the law.”

Nine wagons were brought forward, and the men stripped and bound face first to eighteen wheels. Eighteen men of the XI Claudia came forward wielding whips, and proceeded to lash the condemned. They kept it up until the skin was peeled from the traitors’ backs. Then and only then were the bleeding and crying prisoners cut loose from the wagon, forced to kneel facing their comrades, and beheaded.

Cerealis then nodded to the centurions of the II Adiutrix, who formed the prisoners up into ranks of ten. Then they passed along the ranks, issuing lots. When they returned, Rutilius held a bucket up while Cerealis groped inside. He pulled out a lot, and handed it to Lucius Pallis, the primus pilus.

“Number Four!”

At this announcement, the men holding the lot marked with IV marched forward and knelt. Each man removed his helmet. The others lined up behind him. Clubs were issued to the first man in each line, who then stepped forward while the drums beat out a slow tune. It was incredibly difficult, but at the blare of the trumpet, each man swung his club at the head of the kneeling man, felt the impact, and handed the club to the next man in line. The process was repeated until each man had clubbed the unlucky man who held lot number four.

The decimation was finished, but Cerealis was not yet done dispensing punishment.

“You men of the I Germanica,” he bellowed. “Your actions have cost you your citizenship, and your honor. You do not deserve to serve in the legions of Rome! You have sullied yourselves beyond redemption, in my eyes. Therefore I strip you of your Eagle, and disband you as a legion without honor.”

He gazed over the broken ranks, seeing their tears and hearing their sobs. He saw little of this during the decimation, which meant the sentence he pronounced was the cause. Good, he thought, perhaps they do have some honor.

“However, I am merciful, and you did shed no Roman blood during this battle. For that one redeeming note, I shall order you to march to Pannonia, to the VII Gemini and other legions in need of men, and allow you to serve out your terms of service in those legions, where maybe you will find the honor you lost in Germania. You will be branded, however, and any infraction- no matter how small- will result in your immediate crucifixion.”

He turned away from the legion and faced the second legion.

“You men of the XVI Gallica are also a disgrace to the legions. Gallica,” he snorted, “Conquerors of Gaul. Conquerors my ass! You have disgraced your legion and your history, and deserve neither! Therefore I disband you, and strip you of your eagle.”

The Aquilifer of the II Adiutrix moved forward and took the eagle from the stunned aquilifer of the XVI Gallica. He drew his pugio, and cut away the banner under the Eagle, then pared off the wreaths and awards of the unit as Cerealis continued.

“However, you men simply went along with your sister legion, and instigated nothing on your own. Due to that, I will show you clemency as well, though none of you deserve it. I hereby declare you to be the Legio XVI Flavia Firma- firm in faith to Flavius Vespasianus and his followers, for if you should break your oaths to him, you shall all find yourselves adorning crosses along the Via Mala. Is that understood?”

“Aye, sir!” rang the loud response from men who thought themselves dead in dishonor. The marine aquilifer gave the shorn eagle back to his colleague.

“You shall give a full cohort to each of the legions XI Claudia, XIII Gemina, and XXI Rapax. Further, you shall escort the disbanded legionaries of your sister unit to Pannonia. You are to ensure they are handed over in their entirety and none desert. What another general does with you is not my concern- my clemency ends here. Take your arms and your prisoners, and get out of my sight. I want you out of Gaul and Germania before the Kalends of Julius, fifteen days away. Any of you who remain in my provinces after that will suffer a slave’s fate. Now move!”

The men jumped, and moved. Cerealis turned away and headed for his command tent. The sight of the traitors he was forced to forgive sickened him. Oh, if only Rome was not bled so thoroughly dry by this terrible year! Those bastard were lucky- too lucky by far.

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

"Seval!" cried a tired Batavian on a lathered horse. "Finally, my king, I have found you! A message for you from your cousin Prodigis in Britannia."

Seval- or Gaius Julius Civilis, as he was known to the Romans- looked up from the map he was studying. He was trying to track another cousin, that damned renegade Tiberius Claudius Labeo, who had suddenly become a very good guerilla warrior. He had him trapped somewhere in the lands of the Marsaci, but exactly where was painfully difficult to pin down.

"This had better be important," he said as he stood. Damn, he had lost his train of thought. Now he would have to start anew and rethink the entire problem of Labeo.

"It was important enough for your cousin to dispatch me from Eburacum, lord," the courier replied. "But as he sealed this message for your eyes only, I have no idea what he wrote."

Seval nodded and handed the exhausted man a horn of good Menapii beer. "Relax son, I am not so stupid as to kill the bearer for the news he carries."

Seval checked the seal- it was indeed from his cousin Gaius Julius Prodius, a commander of Batavian auxilia serving near the border with the Picti of the north. And it was still closed. He broke the seal, and read the contents. And laughed.

"That bastard Brinno will be getting into the war again, whether he likes it or not," he chuckled. "The Romans are making sure of that."

"What gives, lord?" asked a housecarl.

"The XIV Gemina from Britannia," the king answered. "It is moving to the docks at Londinium in preparation for transport. It seems they have received orders to invade the Cananefate lands and drive east to Batavodurum. They won't get far, not with Brinno guarding his lands like a father his daughter's virginity. Nice of the Romans to lose another legion to them- that will make five."

"We haven't heard from Sabinus in a while, lord," the housecarl reminded him. "And Frank in Colonia has been strangely silent."

"Your point?" the king asked with a cocked head.

"Lord, the Romans come from the west, and from the south. You are trusting mere Gauls to stop them, while you hunt Labeo here. Is it wise to trust Gauls to stop Romans? The whole of them could not stop Caesar and his four legions, and the Cerealis brings five from Italia, three from Hispana, and now one from Britannia."

"Cerealis is no Caesar," Seval replied. "And that will make all the difference. But you are right. We have wasted far too much time here chasing that ghost. Pass the word. We march back to Vetera on the morrow."

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

Elsewhere, another rider was departing the Roman encampment at full gallop for a trip across Gaul. He was racing a clock- for he had to stop an invasion that was already embarking. How this came about was simple- Marcus Rutilius learned where Quntus Cerealis had ordered the XIV Gemina to land. And won the subsequent argument.

"You can't be so bloody stupid," the legate had railed at the general. "Or you were merely obtuse because of me?"

"It is not stupid to invade from the west while we tie up the Batavians here in the east," Cerealis roared back. "The XIV Gemina is a crack outfit, veterans all. They will destroy everything they come across."

"They said the same of the I Vorena," Rutilius reminded him. "And that legion went down harder than the II Vorena. They said the same of the V Alaudae and the XV Primigenia, and you remember their fates. And the same was said of-"

"Enough!" the general barked. He calmed himself before continuing. "I get your point, Marcus. But landing them on the island from the west is the best chance they have to drive to Batavodurum."

"Landing them on the Cananefate half of the island is the stupid part, sir," Rutilius said, his own calm returning. "The Cananefate destroyed four legions of auxilia who attacked them- veteran auxilia trained and equipped to fight as Roman legions. They then drove the V Alaudae and XV Primigenia away from Batavodurum, though they did not chase them back to Vetera as did the Batavians. Six legions these men have driven off, and now you send a single one to ravage their lands. You condemned that legion, sir, and destroyed any chance of having the Cananefate become again our Friends and Allies."

Cerealis ran the reports through his mind. The Cananefate were once Friends and Allies, and had been attacked by Vorenus seeking plunder, slaves, and wealth. They had destroyed Vorenus, but Vorenus was only to have a few auxilia. Where did the four legions come from? Had the greedy fool really managed to recruit so many Gauls and Britons? Yet Rutilius was in one of those unauthorized legions so they must have existed, and trained it while the legate and other tribunes drank unwatered wine and talked of their heritage. Those men are now dead, and Rutilius was now before him, a legate. And a damned good one.

"You are right," he said, making his decision. "I will dispatch a rider at once to change the orders. They shall land south of the Waal, and proceed east through the Marsaci, Menapii, and Tungrians, crossing north only after passing Cananafate land."

Rutilius had saluted, and the courier was dispatched post haste.


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

The army settled at Gelduba for the night, as usual. The XI Claudia moved to the ruins of the castra and pitched their tents there, denying the other legions access to the ready-made latrines. The XXI Rapax, not to be outdone, pitched its tents near the river, where they had access to fresh water and could bathe if they so desired. The XIII Gemina pitched their tents by the woods, where firewood for their cooking fires was plentiful. And Quintus Petilius had his command tents pitched in the middle of the triangle formed by these three legions, along with the auxilia.

The II Adiutrix did not care for fire, water, or latrines. Rutilius chose a bald hill nearby the other legions, but one with ready access to a stream of clear, cold water. Here he had the II Adiutrix build its nightly camp, to the derision of the other legions who guffawed at the senseless extra work. There were four legions here, by the gods!

“Don’t let those morons get to you,” Publius Salvius said when he saw his legate’s ears turn red with rage. “They’ll learn soon enough why a good legion builds a camp every night.”

“I know,” Marcus Rutilius said. “But sometimes I wish they would learn sooner rather than later, if but to close those cesspools they call their mouths.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Marcus,” Salvius admonished. He turned his attention to the centurions and optios directing the construction. “No, you fools, not the gate there! Are you as daft as those other idiots outside? The gates face north, east, south and west- not toward the nearest stream or ravine. Always!”

Rutilius laughed as he let his prefect get on with the construction. It was almost dark, and he wanted his camp complete by the time the moon rose.

Not too far away, others also waited for the moon to rise. Tonight would be a half moon, plenty of darkness to hide in, plenty of light to kill by. And tonight they would kill many. The foolish Romans had forgotten whom they faced, and for that, they shall pay in blood.

The moon rose. And the killing began.

The sentries of the XIII Gemina were the first to die. They heard rustling in the woods, but could not see into the shadows. Franciscas and arrows reached out to them, alerting them of the danger, but too late. They crashed to the ground in a clatter of metal armor and shields.

That brought the watch tesserarius running. A soldier or two falling asleep on duty was rare- ten taking a nap was trouble. This was trouble, especially since those ten sprouted arrows and axes.

“Alarm!” he yelled. “Ger-”

The rest of his shout was cut off by an arrow to his throat. But it was enough. The XIII Gemina was roused, and soldiers stumbled out of their tents with sword and shield in hand to see what the ruckus was. They found out swiftly as the Batavian infantry swarmed over them.

By the river, the XXI Rapax was experiencing the same troubles as grease-coated warriors emerged from the river with mayhem on their minds. And upon the hill, the legionaries of the XI Claudia found themselves rudely awakened by a horde of cavalry charging upon them. The leading Batavians showered the tents with oil, while the following warriors pulled burning torches from behind their shields and cast them onto the tents. A sea of flame erupted in the ruins, and the men of the XI Claudia found themselves in a cauldron of death.

Some stayed and fought, dying valiantly in the weak moonlight to men painted black and slaying in the night. Most fled, and those that did flee fled to the one place they knew was safe- to the camp of the II Adiutrix.

“To the walls!” shouted Lucius Pallius. “Germans! Thousands of them. Get your lazy asses up here, men. Now!”

Marcus Rutilius came instantly awake at the mayhem. Like his men, he slept dressed with his armor ready to hand. He slung his cuirass on, buckled it shut, and bolted for his tent door with gladius in hand. Outside, the legionaries of the II Adiutrix followed suit.

He got a good grasp of the situation immediately. The Germans were outside the walls, but attacking. What he needed now was light and missiles.

“To the walls, with your bows! I want cohorts II through VI on the north wall, facing the other legions!” he commanded. “Titus Flavius! You are in charge of the north wall. Light the signal fires and have the men ready to provide cover! Lucius Pallius, put the I cohort on the west wall.” He looked about and saw Arrius, armed and armored like himself. “Publius Arrius! Gather up cohorts VII to X in the center, prepared to move to any gate!”

Orders issued, Rutilius ran to the corner tower to get a better view. The three men in the tower were trading arrows with some German hunters, their naval bows and higher elevation giving them the advantage. Rutilius squeezed in, ducked an arrow, and looked about.

Titus Flavius had the signal fires lit. By that light, and the flames erupting from the other camps, he quickly saw the scope of the Batavian attack and whistled smoothly. Someone had been very clever indeed. Three of the four legions were assaulted, but the sheer size of the encampments- where each decury claimed twice the space normally used in castra- meant that most of the men were not killed in the immediate rush. There were, however, an awful lot of them- maybe as many Germani as Romans.

He also saw the fleeing men of the other legions coming. Most were armed, but almost none were armored. They were going to die.

“Arrius!” he shouted. “Send your cohorts to the west gate, repeat, west gate! Lucius Pallius! Open the north gate- allow those legionaries in. Flavius! Give those men help- scratch those assaulting Germans from their backs!”

With that, Rutilius exited the tower. He ran to west gate, stopping Arrius from leaving.

“I changed my mind!” he bellowed. “Stay here, Publius, and organize those refugees,” he ordered, pointing to the men streaming in, “and any officer you can find. When you have three to five cohorts together, send them out this gate.”

“Where are you going?” Arrius answered.

“To the general, of course. If he dies, so do we all. Now move!”

Arrius nodded and began shouting to the confused men of the other legions. With the help of Salvius, he got them organized into centuries, and then cohorts, and then sent them back into the battle.

The Remi and Treveri cavalry, being near the center of the formation, managed to escape relatively intact. Briganticus, the Treveri leader, and his Remi counterpart Gordix led their horsemen around the relative safety of the Adiutrix camp and circled about, coming up behind Rutilius and his four armored cohorts. Briganticus recognized the Pegasus legate and sighed- had this happened in the previous battle, these men would be dead now. But an oath was an oath.

“Legate!” he cried. “Where do you want us?”

Rutilius whirled about and saw the Remi and Treveri alae in battle formation. Not stopping to wonder where they came from, he pointed to the ruins of the castra where the XI Claudia was under assault by a mobile foe. “Chase those horsemen off, tribunes! Do not let them penetrate to the general!”

This one had his head on straight, Briganticus admitted. “Aye, sir!”

Rutilius led his cohorts on a charge into the center of the German line pushing on his camp, bashing a hole in the ranks by using shields as rams and gladii as darting tongues of steel death. The Germani fell back or fell dead, opening a gap through which the Roman cavalry could pass. He divided his cohorts two by two and peeled back the Germani assault from his camp.

By this time, Arrius had four more cohorts for him. Not armored, but armed and angry. It would be enough. He deployed in line and swept toward the center of the encampment.

“Now!” cried Titus Flavius in a voice too high to have come from a man. This was his first defense, and he decided then and there he did not like being on the receiving end of an attack. At his high-pitched command, the III cohort of the II Adiutrix let fly a volley of heavy naval arrows into the shadowy bushes to the flank of Rutilius’s cohorts- and heard the satisfying grunts and howls as his arrows found human marks. The flank of the attacking cohorts was clear.

Rutilius made it to the general’s tents, finding it surrounded by dead and dying guards and rampaging Frisii. He bellowed a warcry, and led his VIII cohort directly into the Frisii. They being armored and the Frisii not, it was a short but very bloody battle. The cohort continued chasing away the fleeing Frisii while Rutilius searched the dead and dying. He found Cerealis amid a pile of bodies, bleeding from his side and his head hanging limp. The blood from his side oozed still, telling him the general yet lived.

“Centurion!” he cried, pointing to the nearest one. “Your century peels off now. Carry the general back to camp, and bring up any cohorts Publius Arrius has ready!”

The centurion wasted no time acknowledging. Like a true professional, he simply obeyed. His century formed a square around the general while three men lifted him. In the blink of an eye, Quintus Petilius Cerealis was borne from the field of battle.

“Now, you men," he ordered the IX cohort. "Follow me! For Rome!” he bellowed, his bloody sword black in the moonlight. With that, the remaining seven cohorts followed the legate into the blackened cauldron of fire and blood that had been their camp an hour before.




The sun rose into a blood-red sky. The Romans held the battlefield, it being their home, in legionary squares around where their tents had been. The Germans had retreated after the charge of Rutilius and his cohorts cleared them from the tents of the XIII Gemina. The horsemen assaulting the XI Claudia had suffered greatly from the Remi and Treveri charging into them while they stood motionless among the tents, laughing and burning Romans. In the time between when the Germans retreated and the sun rose, the legionaries donned their armor, grabbed their pila, and stood ready to repel any assault in the morning.

“Publius Salvius!” Rutilius called, entering his camp’s gates. The four cohorts of the II Adiutrix he had with him remained outside. “How fares the general?”

“He’ll live, sir,” Salvius reported, with respect. “And the other legates are here as well. They are having a conference right now.”

“Fools,” Rutilius spat. “I need you to get with the primi pili of the other legions. Get a head count. I want to know how many we lost, and how many we have left.”

Salvius reported the numbers of casualties given him by Lucius Pallius a few minutes before.

Rutilius scowled. “I mean us as in the army, Publius. I know our losses were light. I am not sure about those fools who slept with nothing more than a leather tent wall between them and Germans intent on slaying them.”

Salvius nodded. “Of course, sir. Right away.”

“Titus Flavius, front and center!”

Titus Flavius Sabinus came at the double.

“You did well last night, tribune,” Rutilius commended. “I want you to take a cohort over to the Treveri. Sweep the perimeter with them for any hostiles, and kill any you find. After that, have them and the Remi see how far we chased those bastards last night.”

“Yes sir!” he replied, voice beaming with pride. He spun about smartly and ran off to carry out the order. Rutilius turned to see Publius Arrius standing there with a smile on his face.

“What are you so happy about, tribune?” the legate asked with a scowl matching the bitterness in his voice.

Arrius handed his legate a gourd of watered wine. “You, sir,” he laughed. “Running an army and saving its ass almost single-handedly, while the general and his legates drink this piss in your tent casting blame upon each other for this disaster.”

“Get used to it,” Rutilius said sourly. ”I had the same thing happen to me in the II Vorena, but that was but a single legion. But then again, I was only a tribune then.”

A legionary approached. He was not of the II Adiutrix, according to the fancy design upon his scutum, but that did not matter. Nor did the expression of horror mixed with awe upon his face as he stared at the man standing beside Publius Arrius.

“Legate Rutilius?” he asked, unsure of the identity of the bloody man before him.

Rutilius nodded.

“The general requested your presence in your tent.”

Marcus drained the gourd and handed it back to Arrius. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, doubtful the general will notice the dark stain amid all the blood covering him, and walked toward his tent. Rushing footsteps stopped him, spinning him about and causing his hand to reflexively draw his gladius. His reactions stopped as he recognized the man, Gaius Caelius, optio of the III century, II cohort.

“Message from the Prefect, sir,” he panted, having run from where the prefect had assembled the reports from the primi pili. At least the centurions knew their business, even if the legates had their heads up their asses. He chuckled, thinking they would never again hear crap from those lazy fools about building a camp every night. His wish had come true, he realized, but at what price?

“Spill it, son, I have to report to the general.”

The man handed over a waxen tablet. Rutilius opened it, glanced over the numbers, and smiled. “Are these accurate, son?”

“As accurate as possible, sir. Many of the dead were optios and tesserarii, who kept the books. But the centurions and optios who survived gave these numbers. I trust them, but I am no legate, sir.”

Rutilius smiled and laughed. “Neither was I, six months ago.” With that, he entered his tent.

Quintus Cerealis was propped up on his bed, his side heavily bandaged and the Greek doctor of the XI Claudia oo-ing and ah-ing as he examined the general yet again. Around him stood the other three legates and the eight auxilia tribunes, all with their heads hanging down except for the Treveri and Remi tribunes- Briganticus and Gordix. Their heads were held high in pride.

“Yes sir,” Briganticus reported. “We heard the commotion and sprang into the saddle. Not knowing which way to go as the sounds of battle came from all around, we rode to the one place we saw safety and sanctuary to think of our best option- this camp. We circled about, and ran into this legate. As loyal Roman auxilia, we followed the legate’s orders and attacked the men assaulting the XI Claudia.”

“He led the infantry against the Germans between your tents and his camp, and broke through them,” Gordix continued. “That allowed us to get inside the German line, drive off the men assaulting your tent, and continue on to crash into those laughing fools worrying the XI Claudia.”

“I saw his men carry you off, general,” Briganticus picked up again, “having first mopped up the remaining Frisians. Thereafter, while you were being ferried back to this camp, he led the remaining men off the other way, from the front, with bloody sword in hand and inspiration to our men shining from him in the night.”

“Marcus Rutilius, come forward,” Cerealis commanded. Rutilius did so.

“If you were the general, you would have won the Corona Gramina for your actions last night.”

“I doubt that, sir,” Rutilius retorted, ignoring the praise. “If I had been the general, every legion would have had proper camps and the Germans repulsed with but light losses.”

The other legates gasped in horror, but Cerealis chuckled, then laughed. He began coughing, bringing the doctor back with concern all over him.

“You are correct, Marcus Rutilius.” He turned to the other legates. “Do you morons hear that? From now on, every night a proper camp. No exceptions.” He turned back to Marcus.

“Now, where was I…. Oh yes, the Grass Crown. Only generals who personally save their armies qualify. But you did personally rescue me, and from the reports of the auxilia tribunes who witnessed it, not only held that ground all night but chased the enemy from the field of battle. You won the Corona Civica, Marcus Rutilius, and my gratitude. I am now very glad Gaius Licinius Mucianus sent you to me.”

Rutilius stood shocked for a moment, then handed the tablet to the general. Vipsanius Messala stepped forward and took it, glancing inside.

“Are these numbers correct?” he wondered.

“I asked the same thing,” Rutilius replied. “But your centurions feel they are correct, and I tend to believe centurions.”

Messala handed the tablet to Cerealis who gasped. “XI Claudia, a thousand dead or wounded. XIII Gemina, seven hundred eighty. XXI Rapax, eight hundred twenty. Auxilia, three hundred spearmen, two hundred irregulars, and three hundred horsemen. We got off bloody lightly!”

“We are still counting the German dead, sir, but it appears we gave better than we got. Two for one, at best guess. The final count is due in this afternoon.”

Cerealis looked at Rutilius. “And your losses, legate? They are not here.”

Rutilius took the tablet and pulled his pugio for a stylus. A few quick swipes and he handed the tablet back to the general. “That is why we build camps every night, sir. Most of these happened outside the walls, when we counterattacked.”

Cerealis looked down at the markings. Under the heading Killed in Action, Rutilius had carved an X and a V. Under Wounded but expected to live, a single C stood proudly.

“I understand, Marcus, and agree totally. So be it.”


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

Manius Norbanus was a proud and able legate. He watched with pleasure as the navy beached on the sands near Bononia, and his men sprang into the surf and stormed ashore. He was less pleased to discover the opposition was a single cavalryman wearing a Roman cuirass.

The courier rode forward, holding his shield high and his weaponless right hand higher. The men of the XIV Gemina raised their pila, but held, awaiting mischief from the rider. But the rider stopped fifty paces away and bellowed in Latin for the commander.

"Allow him to pass, Furtius," Norbanus called, once he had disembarked. "He is a messenger."

The messenger was passed, and rode to the flagship.

"Orders from General Cerealis, sir," he said, handing over a scroll. Norbanus took the scroll and inspected the seal. It was indeed from the emperor's brother-in-law. He broke the seal and looked over the document. It was in the hand of Cerealis all right, and very few men could decipher that cavalryman's squiggles. He called for his stool while the navy finished disembarking his legion. Seated, he could begin making out the letters and transforming them into words. But it was difficult, and Norbanus was not the best reader.

"Damn the man for not learning to write like Caesar!" he cursed. Caesar had put dots on the first litter of every word, making it much easier for the reader to see where one word ended and the next began. Norbanus had learned of it in his time as an advocate, and used it ever since. Now he was stuck deciphering orders that made no sense.

As the legion heaved the navy back into the sea, he finally gave up. He called the rider over. "Son, can you read this garbage and translate it into Latin for me?"

The rider looked over the meaningless squiggles and shook his head. "I have no idea what he wrote, sir. But I do know what he meant. Hades, the whole army knows, after that spat he had with the Pegasus legate. He wants you to avoid the Cananefate lands coming through here instead. I was waiting in Cananefate lands for you to direct you here, but when your ships sailed past heading south after that storm, I followed. Almost drowned swimming the Waal, sir."

That explained the scroll- Cerealis was never the best of writers, but soaking his vellum in salty river water managed to turn his barely-legible script into meaningless smudges.

"Why?" the legate asked. "Why should we avoid the Cananefate, who have risen in arms against us, and instead pillage our way through the loyal Marsaci, Menapii, and Tungrians."

"You are out of touch, sir," the rider informed him. "The tribes here are wavering, with most of the wavering favoring the Batavians. Every other village openly supports Civilis, more so now that Labeo is on the run."

"Who the hell is Labeo?"

The courier informed him of Claudius Labeo and his guerilla war, then informed him of the decision of his commander to leave the Cananefate alone as they had crushed six legions in the last twelve months. Given that information, Norbanus was very pleased this rider had such a dedication to his duty. He did not want his veterans to face a warhost capable of crushing six legions when all he had was one. Especially now that the Cananefate were to be treated as potential Friends and Allies.

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

The navy, however, being out to sea by the time Norbanus finally asked the messenger for help, had no idea about the Cananefate. Their mission was to harass the coastline, and sink or capture and vessels foolish enough to challenge Roman command of the North Sea. That included landing marines here and there for quick raids.

These raids were vicious, storming ashore under the cover of morning fog to pounce upon unsuspecting villages. A fishing boat was seen on the beach was a beacon to the navy, who knew a village must be nearby. The location was noted, and the ships would circle about during the night so that the marines could land unopposed. For the most part, the tactic worked. Until Brinno, Princeps of the Cananefate, brought his army to the coast.

"Move it, men," shouted Lucius Didius, the marine centurion to his lagging marines. This was his third landing in as many days. "Those soon-to-be widows can't be left waiting."

His men laughed and formed up. A decury was dispatched to scout for paths leading from the boats- this time there were three on the beach, marking a large village- while the centurion went over his attack plan with the centurions of the other marine detachments. His decury returned, beckoning him to a path up and over the dunes lining the coast.

Five centuries crested the rise to look over the rolling dunes, with another two coming. Behind them, their warships escorted the transports in- no sense leaving good slaves behind. The marines saw nothing out of place and moved down the far slope towards the next dune while their two following centuries maintained an overwatch from the beach dune.

Beyond the second line of dunes was a third, and then a forest. Smoke could be seen rising from the forest, a sure sign of human habitation. Smiling, Lucius Didius motioned for his men to move towards the smoke, and for the second line to hurry its slow butts up to cover. Then he stepped towards the woods and died.

Arrows reached out from the woods and ripped into the surprised ranks of Roman marines. The hunting arrows ricocheted from the shields where they hit the flat naval shield, but sank deep into human flesh where their tips met leather armor or human skin. A wave of francisca followed the arrows, dropping more, and then the Cananefate infantry swept forward to finish off the survivors.

Brinno whooped with glee as his cavalry burst forth from behind woven reed screens. Leading the charging, his sword sliced a hand holding a sword from its owner's arm. The man dropped his shield to clutch his stump, then fell over with a hunter's arrows transfixing his neck. Brinno whooped again and whirled his blade to fell a second Roman.

Around him, his cavalry were likewise slaughtering the sea-devils, caught between the hammering cavalry and the anvil of infantry. Then they too started dropping, as the two trailing centuries of marines finally made it to the summit. Their naval bows laid a thick storm of heavy arrows into the Cananefate ranks.

The hunters lifted their bows and let fly into the marines on the summit, catching the overwatchers vulnerable and ripping them to shreds. Shieldless because of the bow in their hands, the marines absorbed the barrage with their bodies, before the front ranks replaced their bows and lifted up shields to cover the rear ranks.

Brinno found out just how deadly naval arrows could be when he saw an arrow coming for him. He raised his shield to ward off the missile, which duly impacted on the shield. The iron spike tip of the arrow, driven by the powerful naval bow and weighted for power, drove through the shield as if it were paper and a finger-length into his upper chest. His sword slipped out of his grasp at the impact. He pulled the painful missile out with a grunt, slung the arrow to the ground, and drew an axe from his saddle to continue the slaughter.

His wound went unnoticed as the hunters poured it on to the archer centuries, and the cavalry broke from those Romans in the valley to storm the summit. Behind them, the Cananefate bladesmen issued forth, decimating the survivors of the initial charge.

The marines broke, and ran, those that could. But it did not matter. The marines were three dunes inland, with cavalry on their tails. Not a one made it back to the boats, or even back to the first dune.


Three hours later, the ships saw men in Roman armor moving towards the boats. The ships came in to pick up their marines, but their crews died under Cananefate swords and axes as the 'marines' stormed the ships. Three of the galleys repulsed the assault, but five others and a transport were captured.

Brinno had a great victory, but he had paid dearly for it. His wound still oozed blood, and his face was ashen. A second wound on his thigh, earned in storming the trireme, streamed blood, which grew weaker with every heartbeat.

"Oskar," he wheezed. "Put the oarsmen in the boats and send them back to their fleet. They shall not suffer for performing their duty well. And tell Niall he had better be more of a king than I was. I wish..."

Brinno slumped into unconsciousness. No man would ever know his last wish, for he never awoke. A few minutes later, he died.

The Cananefate had won a battle fleet, and with it protected their people from further seaborne incursions, but the price was very high. The Cananefate had lost their brilliant warrior king, and now turned to his less bellicose brother for leadership and protection.

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

“Seval, we have problems,” announced Julius Maximus, his cousin. “Tutor is back from scouting the enemy. They have been reinforced. Two more Eagles have come. He doesn’t know the names of the legions or where they are from, but he saw the numerals for I and VI. A third is cutting a brazen path across Tungria as we speak. Their number is XIV.”

“XIV Gemina, from Britannia,” Seval muttered. “Brinno is dead, then, and his warhost with him. I would have thought the Cananefate would have put up more of a fight against a single legion, since they had thrashed so many in this war already.”

“The Tungrians say the Eagle came from Marsaci lands, lord. They did not land on the island.”

That perked him up. “How far away are they now, given their marching speed?”

Maximus thought for a second, then replied, “A week, Seval. They should be here inside a week. Sooner if Quintus Cerealis learns they are close and hastens them.”

“Move the army to Vetera,” Seval commanded. “And make sure it is stocked! We shall meet the enemy there, where we have celebrated our greatest victory, and they suffered their greatest defeat. The effect shall enbolden us, while it unmans the Romans. There we can defeat Quintus and his six Eagles.”

“And if we fail?” Maximus asked pointedly.

Seval chucked. “Then we had better hope that Claudius Victor and his men finish digging through that dike in time! Should he fail in that, my cousin, and we fail at Vetera, we will evacuate our people from Batavodurum and burn the place down. I want nothing left for the Romans. Nothing!”

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

Publius Arrius watched the new legions arrive and form up for encampment. Nobody had to tell these men to pitch a proper camp! Both legions started digging in upon arrival, while their legates went to see the general in his tent.

“Lets go greet the newcomers,” Rutilius said, coming up behind his second-in-command. “I hear one of them is an Adiutrix legion- former marines. I wonder if their legate let them keep their bows, too.”

“The other is the VI Victrix, from Hispana,” Arrius noted. “They are supposedly almost as good as we are.”

Rutilius chuckled. “That bad, eh? Come, Publius, before they call us.”

Quintus Cerealis was looked peaked, but better than he did a few days before. Still, he lay in his bed while the officers gathered. Before him stood the legates of the army, including the two new ones, Sextus Caelius Tuscus of the VI Victrix and Titus Naevius of the I Adiutrix. Cerealis had Messala introduce the new legates to their colleagues and then had them tell of the situation to the south.

“Sabinus is dead, sir,” Naevius reported. “He burned himself up in a farmstead not long after you crushed his army. His wife is still grieving over the site, refusing to move from the charred ashes.”

“We crushed what little Gallic resistance remained, and hurried here before you ended the war,” Sextus Tuscus continued with a laugh. “None of us wanted to miss out on the spoils.”

“There won’t be many spoils,” Cerealis said with a cough, which brought his medicus running with worry. “The Batavi are among the poorest of our foederati.”

“Their women are blonde and beautiful,” Tuscus replied, “and their children strong. Slavers will pay much for them, sir.”

“Proceeds from the sales of slaves go by tradition to the general,” Cerealis corrected. “But we are glad you are here on time anyway.” He motioned for the orderlies to bring in his diagrams for the upcoming battle, then to Messala to begin the presentation. “Any word of the XIV Gemina?”

An orderly reported that scouts put them eighty miles away, for which Cerealis thanked him. Eighty miles, four days given the conditions and hostiles. He grinned cruelly. This battle will be over by then.

Gnaeus Vipsanius Messala pointed to the castra occupying the center of the map. “This is Vetera, where the V Alaudae and XV Primigenia held out for over a half-year, alone and cut off.” He giggled. “Civilis picked a hell of a place to offer battle- where our men had endured so much for so long. Their shades will give our men strength.

“Here is the Rhein, which is swollen with late summer rains and unfordable. We still have no navy, and thus must beware of the fact that the Batavians and their allies could use their ships to flank us. Before the fort is a wonderful, flat ground suitable for deployment. It is here the battle will be fought.

“Our legions will deploy in a line behind them, from left to right the I Adiutrix, the VI Victrix, the XIII Gemina, XXI Rapax, and the XI Claudia. Behind the XI Claudia the II Adiutrix will deploy, to ward off any threat from the river. To the left of the I Adiutrix we shall have the Treveri cavalry, and behind them the auxilia spearmen. Behind the spearmen will be the Remi cavalry. The Ambiani forester auxilias will line up in three ranks starting behind the VI Victrix and extend eastward as far as they reach.”

“After deploying, we will advance in line abreast and pin the foe between our men and the castra, pushing them into the loop of the Rhein here, where we will crush them. Any questions?”

Marcus Rutilius came forward.

“I knew you would have something,” Messala said bitterly. “What is it you don’t like?”

“Actually, it seems a good plan,” Rutilius said, surprising Messala. “No reserve, mind you, but otherwise fine. Actually, my question was not to you but to Titus Naevius here. Do your legionaries still use the naval bow?”

Titus Naevius barked an evil laugh. “Legionaries using auxilia weaponry?” he snorted. ”They wanted to keep them for some silly reason, but I insisted they throw those awful things out and take the pilum as true legionaries.”

Rutilius instantly dislike the haughty fool. He turned back to Gnaeus Messala. “And the reserve?”

“Your legion will function as the reserve, Rutilius. If no waterborne threat emerges, then we shall order you wherever you are needed.”

“Fair enough,” Rutilius replied.

“Another thing, legates,” Cerealis said, propping up on his bed. “Tomorrow I shall observe and ultimately command, but Gnaeus Vipsanius Messala will issue the orders as my personal legate. Obey him as you would me.”

The legates acknowledged the order, and departed. The morrow would see the end of the uprising, and they had a lot of preparation to do.

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

The legions marched in the morning, and as was protocol, stopped five miles from Vetera for the night- too far for a surprise attack like the one which wounded Cerealis, yet not too far to have a full day of battle on the morrow. The sun rose the next morning, and the Roman Army exited its encampments and deployed for battle.

Before them was Castra Vetera, Batavian standards flying from its walls. Outside of the walls was the Army of Civilis in battle array. There were Suevii and Chauci warbands by the river, Frisian, Tencteri and Bructeri warbands in the center, and on the right were the contingents of the Cugerni and the Batavians themselves.

Before the mighty warhost was a swamp of puddles and mud, something that was not on the maps drawn by Roman cartographers. Civilis and his men had partially damned the Rhein and cut into her banks, preparing the battlefield for their purposes. The mighty Rhein managed to wash away the silly earthworks and resume her natural course, but the damage to the land where the water had spilled was done. The ground, hard-packed clay in the best of times, had turned to a watery morass of sucking mud and deep pools.

But this was not immediately apparent to the Romans. Messala saw the army of Civilis drawn up in battle array, and had his own legions ready to slaughter them. Like Cerealis, Messala was never a patient man, he had his trumpeter sound the signal for “Legions Advance.”

The legions moved forward with a mighty cry. Step by step they came, forward toward the Germans. And the Germans did not stand there awaiting the assault- they charged forward themselves. Hunters loosed arrows, and javelineers let their missiles fly shortly thereafter. In reply, the legions let fly a volley of pila, and then charged to bring their deadly gladii into play. And that where it all went wrong.

The ground squished at first, then running became harder as the armored men sank to their knees in the spongy morass. The charged slowed and then halted as the men struggled to move forward in sucking mud, and that is when the Germans hit them the hardest. Nimble and light in their leathern shirts and wicker shields, the Germani could dance about where the Romans sank, sinking a spear into a trapped man here, or a sword into an exposed neck there. The Roman formation was broken by the ground, and the battle degenerated into small mobs of men fighting each other- the exact type of combat for which the German was well suited.

“Send the Treveri around on that solid ground there,” Messala ordered when he saw the slugging match his grand battle had fallen into. “Come upon those Germani archers from there, before they kill too many of us!”

The Treveri moved out sharply, galloping across the solid ground to wheel about into the archers. They never made it. Horses fell into sinkholes, and the ground swallowed some up to the knees of their riders. Helplessly stuck, they were grand targets for a volley or three from the hunters before being dispatched by Batavian spearmen leaping from shallows to shallows. Those Treveri not trapped soon streamed from the field in defeat.

The sun rose higher, but its warming rays bounced from a thick layer of clouds and never made it to the struggling men below. The battle stalemated- Romans unable to move forward, Civilis unwilling to move back. So they fought, man against man instead of army against army, until the rains came again to add even more water to an already drenched and thoroughly soaked field.

Finally Cerealis admitted defeat. He gave the order to disengage, overriding Messala’s fevered requests to let him finish the battle.

“Do you want me to catch my death from cold?” Quintus Petilius bellowed. “Our men are dying uselessly in that mud. Enough is enough. Sound the retreat.”

The trumpeters blared the signal for the retreat, and the exhausted the Romans withdrew from the field of battle.


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

“That was not fun to watch,” Rutilius commented at the command tent that night. The other legates had yet to arrive, still being busy with tallying the casualties. “I know you are a decent general, sir, but why in the name of Hades and Proserpina did you let that slaughter go on for so long? We lost men needlessly there, and you sent my runners back without hearing the reports and advice I bade them carry.”

“It looked like we were breaking through, Marcus,” Cerealis replied. “Sure we were moving slowly, but we were moving forward. The Germans had solid ground. If we could have but reached it too... It would have been all over for them.”

“From where I was, it looked like we were getting lured into swampy ground where those nimble little apes could kill our men easily in ones and twos,” Rutilius retorted. “You should have recalled the legions immediately upon seeing them stumble into waterholes. And sent in the auxilia instead.”

“The auxilia?”

“Aye, sir, the auxilia- the men who wear leather armor, carry light weapons, and can swim. That auxilia. The ones who could have matched the Germans and killed many more than our lads managed.”

Cerealis cursed. Of course! “Tomorrow will be different. I promise you, Marcus. I will command personally.”

He saw that the general did indeed understand, and nodded. The morning would see a different battle altogether.

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

While Cerealis briefed his legates on how the morrow would see a different result, another general was haranguing his own chieftains.

“Tomorrow they will come again, and we shall drive them away again,” cried a Chauci chieftain. “Those roaches drown easier than we thought, lord.”

“The Romani are not stupid, Horvath,” spoke another, this one a Suevii. “They will not come again so soon. They will wait until the ground is dry, then move.”

“They will come tomorrow,” said Julius Classicus. His Treveri warband- what was left of it- had rejoined Civilis after trying to delay the XIV Gemina. He had failed. “The XIV is but a few miles away. That gives him a legion more, on solid ground at that. He will pin us with his legions then grind us with the XIV.”

“I don’t think so,” Civilis said, rising from his throne. “He will wait until the XIV Gemina joins his warhost, then crush us- or try! He is impetuous, our friend Quintus, and will not wait a second longer. But he is also clever, and will wait for that legion to join his army before pouncing. He knows as well as we do that this battle decides the fate of our nation.”

He walked to the edge of the command circle and pointed to the soggy ground beyond. “We disgraced him yesterday because of that mud. Yet we failed to capitalize upon it. Our warriors fought in water and mud to their knees, while the Romans flailed about up to their hips. We could have killed many, many more than we did- and wrecked his army in the process!- yet we let his army flounder unassailed. And he extracted it. Almost without loss.”

“We hurt him, lord,” a Bructeri lord noted. “And got off without injury to ourselves. More of this tomorrow and we whittle him down to nothing.”

“Quintus will learn, and we must use that against him,” Civilis noted. “So, here’s what we do.”

And with that, he laid his plans out to his chieftains, who grinned. Sly old fox! The Romans were in for a surprise.

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

Quintus Cerealis formed his men up for battle. The legions he put on line, like Messala had done the day before, but in a different order. The XIV Gemina, which arrived during the night, was placed on the left, where the ground was seemingly more solid than elsewhere. These men he hailed as the Conquerors of Britannia, and reminded them of their long and honorable service of that rainy island. If any could withstand the wetness of this battlefield, it was those men. The VI Victrix he placed next to XIV Gemina, reminding them that their service tore mad Nero from his throne. Now they were to tear another despot from his throne. Then his trusted XIII Gemina and XI Claudia stood ready for battle. He placed his command post upon the slight rise behind them. To their right, along the riverbank, was the XXI Rapax- the Predators of Germania.

He kept his two Adiutrix legions in reserve, one behind each flank. Both, being former marines, were to guard from riverborne assaults, or provide assistance and reinforcement to the legions in the line of battle.

But unlike yesterday’s fiasco, he deployed his auxilia before his legions.

“You men of the auxilia, you fight as does the foe. You wear the same armor, use the same weapons, and the same tactics. To you today shall fall the honor of leading our assault. You are to drive the Germani back from the edge of the swamp. Do that, brave fellows, and the legions can cross it and relieve you.”

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

“Men of Germania, our gods are watching us this day,” Civilis shouted. “This day, German arms and German valor shall prevail over the legions once again. Fear not their numbers, for we have seen yesterday how that mattered- not at all. Think of the gods, your wives, and your children. Think of your tribes, and give battle in their honor. Today shall be one told in our halls for thousands of years- a glorious battle remembered for giving us our freedom, and an infamous day for Romans to curse as the day their empire disintegrated!”

The men cheered. Civilis ordered them to their positions- like the day before, the Cugerni and Batavians were on the left, while the Germani from across the Rhein had the posts closest to the river. In between were warbands of his allies- the Tencteri, the Chauci, the Frisii, the Tungrii, the Marsaci, the Menapii, the Treveri, and the Lingones. With so many tribes contributing to this warhost, and flushed with victory from the day before, there was no way they could lose. No way at all.

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

The Romans heard the Germanic cheering and quickened their pace in anger. Today, fools, they cursed. Today shall be different.

The auxilia approached the swampy ground and halted, just as the legionaries did yesterday. But unlike the legionaries, these men were armed with javelins, bows, and slings- German weapons. And with these German weapons they began exchanging missiles with the Germans themselves, tit for tat.

“Draw them in!” cursed Seval, seeing his plans fall apart as he watched as many of his men fall to Roman missiles as Romans fell to his. Such an exchange favored the Romans. “Taunt them, draw them in!””

But the auxilia stood fast, trading missiles across the spongy morass. And refused to move.

“This is going nowhere,” Seval muttered. “If those apes won’t come to you, go to them. Attack!”

Along the line a great cheer went up as the order was passed. Finally, hand-held steel shall feast on Roman blood! The Germani swept forward, nimbly avoiding the deeper holes, and crossed the swamp with steel in hand and mayhem on their minds.

The auxilia met the charge with a counter-charge of their own. The battle grew hot, and fierce as men of the same blood hacked and carved each other in muddy soup. Both armies were fully engaged in water to their thighs, all attention on the center where the fighting was fiercest and the casualties highest.

“Legions, Advance!” Cerealis ordered. The trumpeter blew the notes, and the legions followed their orders, entering that morass of men and mud. Here they sank only up to their ankles before halting, and as the auxilia withdrew through them, locked shields to take up the battle in earnest.



“Ja!” screamed Civilis. Cerealis had committed his legions. Finally! “Light the fire! Unleash the Bructeri!”

His command caused a pillar of smoke to climb into the sky. Across the Rhein, eager eyes awaiting that signal saw it. Silently the Bructeri warbands on the east bank slipped into the river and began swimming across to the bank behind the Roman line.

Nobody saw them. All eyes were on the contest in the center, where long German spears were reaching out from where gladii could not reach, piercing throats and foreheads without taking like wounds. Legionaries were falling, and too few Germans were falling with them, yet each line held firm as the Romans replied to the long spermen with pila and plumbata. Something had to be done to break the deadlock, and that something was the Bructeri assault on the rear of the XXI Rapax.

“Mars and Jupiter!” Rutilius cursed as he saw the Bructeri warriors emerge from the river. He could not risk arrows into them, as any not finding Bructeri flesh was sure to fall among the Rapax. There was but one thing to do. “Legion, Advance! Charge!”

The II Adiutrix crashed into the engaged Bructeri like a hammer upon an anvil. The Bructeri had not seen the Pegasus legion, being intent on the unshielded backs of the Predators. That lack of vision cost them plenty as the II Adiutrix ground them between themselves and those centuries of Predators who spun about at the unexpected attack.

Cerealis saw the charge of the former marines and winced. Rutilius had been right- always have a reserve. Now his reserve was committed, and his Predators savaged. He needed to know more about how the Germans slipped through his lines, lest more came now that the II Adiutrix was engaged. He galloped toward the flank, and promptly drew the attention of several Bructeri who had emerged late from the river and were now behind the former marines.

Several threw javelins at the man in the golden armor and crested helm, others rushed forward with swords and axes. None made it. The IX cohort of the II Adiutrix let loose a single volley of arrows into the Germans, and the general’s bodyguards finished off the rest.

But it was a little late. Cerealis crumpled in the saddle, blood streaming from his side. No weapon protruded from him, yet he hung limply across his horse’s neck. His guards closed in, terrified at this evil omen.

“Old wound,” he gasped. “Tore it open wrenching my shield around. Ach, but it hurts!”

“General! What shall we do?”

“Give Rutilius command of the army,” Cerealis wheezed. “And get me to the medicus.”

“Rutilius, sir?” a guardsman asked. “Not Messala, like yesterday?”

“Rutilius!” Cerealis screamed, his strength draining. “You saw how Messala did yesterday.”


Rutilius had cleared the rear of the Rapax from German predators and was returning to his station when a guardsman galloped to him. He was as shocked at hearing the orders and the guardsman was in carrying them, but he did not let that stop him for long. He acknowledged, then called over Arrius.

“Cerealis collapsed, tore open his wounds,” he said rapidly. “I was given command of the army and the battle. You have the II Adiutrix, tribunus. I want you to move up behind the Rapax and send volley after volley of those arrows of ours into the Germans- high angle so you don’t hit the Predators! After that, charge! Send a runner to let the Rapax commander know what you are doing first, and that he is to fall back as reserve. Have fun, Publius!”

Rutilis rode off, leaving his legion in the hands of a tribune who had been a decurion a half year ago. But he was confident, for in that half year the decurion had commanded not one but two legions, and done so well. The II Adiutrix was in good hands.

The XI Claudia and XIII Gemina were holding but barely, and the XIV Gemina was actually advancing against the tide of German pressure. The other legions were stalemated in the marsh. And of course the auxilia were standing around resting after their efforts.

“Orderly!” Rutilius ordered. He loved this, seeing the battlefield from the height of a small hill, and finally being able to move legions about to crush a foe. “Tell those auxilia their nap is over. If they wish to rejoin the party, have them move around the XIV Gemina. It looks like the Gemini from Britannia have found a solid patch.”

“Second orderly!” he called. “Go to the I Adiutrix. Have them deploy in columns of cohorts between the XIV Gemina and the VI Victrix. Tell Naevius that if the Gemini move further to the north, they will open a gap in the Germani lines. He is to jump into that gap and drive for the fortress.”

“Sir,” came a third legionary orderly. “There is a Batavian wishing to earn our good graces. He says he can lead our men to strike the enemy rear.”

“We are about to break into the enemy rear ourselves,” Rutilius reported, pointing to the advancing XIVth.

The orderly was nonplussed. “Yeah, I heard that a lot yesterday, too, sir.”

That broke the euphoria of command deluding Marcus Rutilius. “Send me this Batavian.”

A man rode up, proud in Roman armor, but with a spine as straight as a hasta. “Dieter Straightback, lord. Once a tribune in Roman service, now a chieftain among my people.”

“And why should you lead our forces to crush your own?” Rutilius asked. “And why should I listen? You can see from here, Dieter, the XIV pushing your people back and the I Adiutrix ready to assault the gap.”

“They will be slaughtered,” Dieter scoffed. “There are cohorts of Cugerni and Batavians hiding in the reeds over there ready for such a move. Your only chance is to strike us from behind, and that right quickly. Cavalry is the only way. Give me cavalry, I shall give you victory.”

“You give me advice and plans, but no reason to trust you,” Rutilius replied. “Give me a reason. Quickly man, if it is as dire as you say!”

Dieter saw the willingness to listen. “Seval is fighting a private war, and destroying our people doing it. Already our army is more devils from across the river than our own men, and not a family in our tribe has not lost a man in this war. You have a chance to end it here. I give it to you, in return to a decent peace when the swords are finally sheathed.”

“I am not the general, though I am in command,” Rutilius replied honestly. “I cannot speak for him, but I can give you my word of honor that I will do my best. I have already pleaded leniency for your people and the Cananefate, and do not think my words have fallen on deaf ears.”

“It is enough. As victor of this battle you will have much influence, I think. Give me those Remi horsemen loitering over there. I can get them where we need to be the best.”

“So ordered,” Rutilius commanded. “Und für eine gute und schnelle Fried.”

“To a good and long-lasting Peace,” Dieter corrected. He saluted, then called the Remi to him. Briganticus looked to Rutilius, who motioned to follow the Batavian. The horsemen galloped off, and out of sight.

“I hope I did the right thing,” he muttered.

“You did fine, sir,” a centurion replied. He was the general’s chief aide, and a hoary veteran of thirty years service. He had seen it all, and had been standing there listening to the exchange while judging the young legate. Rutilius had passed.

“Those Remi weren’t doing anything useful anyway,” the centurion continued. ”And the Treveri horsemen you still have over there might have had second thoughts fighting against their own. Now they are your reserve. You had a no-lose proposition sir, and grabbed it with both hands. Well done, sir.”

“It still feels odd,” Rutilius said. “A deserter offering victory, in the middle of a battle against his own people.”

“Happens all the time,” the centurion said with a shrug. ”Especially with barbarians. Though most generals refuse- they don’t have the brains to determine truth from trap, so they play it safe. You took a risk, but an acceptable one.”

“Thanks, I think,” the acting generalis muttered. He looked back over the battlefield. The battle was turning out well, he thought. The II Adiutrix had taken over from the Rapax, and was pushing the flank away from the river. The XXI was closing in behind them, weighting the flank and beginning to wrap around it. On the left, the XIV Gemina had drifted north, as he had foreseen, and the Germans drifted with him. The I Adiutrix, seeing the gap, began its move.

Rutilius stood stone-still at this critical moment, hoping desperately the Batavian was in time, and that Titus Naevius was a better battlefield commander than he was a human being. Rutilius awaited the Batavian ambush from the reeds, and resisted the urge to ride down himself and do something, anything, other than stand still and watching, evaluating, the battle.

A roar of warcries burst the bubble. Hundreds of men sprang up from the low reeds and swarmed over the lead cohorts of the I Adiutrix. Had the cohorts been on line, the legion would have been split in two and Batavians pouring through the gap. As it was, the II cohort went under to Batavian blades, but the lunging Germans ran straight into the locked shields of the III cohort. Titus Naevius fixed them in place and swung his I and V cohorts around, while hastening the VII cohort to aid the III. The Batavian ambush was crushed, and the front broken open. At last.

“See?” smiled the centurion. “You did good, kid. Legion in column of cohorts was the trick. Gives the break-through legion weight and depth- and destroys ambushes.”

Minutes later, while the I Adiutrix mopped up the brief surprise, the II Adiutrix broke through on the right. Then the thunderbolt of Remi cavalry across solid ground into the Germanic rear sealed the battle. The Germani, hemmed in away from their precious open space, broke like pottery dropped upon a stone floor and fled for the river.

Slaughter followed, as the men of Cerealis paid the Germani back for their humiliation the day before. Thousands perished, and the fortress taken by storming its open gates.

Civilis escaped, with the majority of his Batavians and many Treveri coming with him. They had boarded the boats beached behind the fortress, and crossed the Rhein. Had the Romans a fleet, they could have ended the war right there that day. But they had no fleet, while the Batavians did, and thus they escaped death at Vetera. But they did not escape unscathed, for the naval bows of the II Adiutrix have a long range, and many arrows remained in their quivers. One of them found its way into the arm of Gaius Julius Civilis himself.

The rest of his army, Tungrians, Chauci, Frisian, and others, died in their thousands as the Romans avenged themselves. The transrhenae tribesmen tried to swim to safety; many made it. But the rest ran for it and died under pounding hooves and bloody swords. Only the coming of heavy rains that night forced the Remi and Treveri cavalry from hunting down every last remaining warrior from Vetera.

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

Civilis had hopes of destroying the army of Cerealis at Vetera, but plans for his own defeat. Now he was forced to put those plans into action. With a heavy heart, he ordered Batavodurum torched, and the dike cut by his cousin to be collapsed. If his army could not keep the Romans off his island, the waters of the mighty Rhein would.

Claudius Victor received the word to cut the dike. For a month his men had been digging into the earthen dike, thinning it and then reinforcing it with planks and poles. Now he had the word to breach it. He tied ropes to the base of the poles, then anchored them onto the horses. A smack on the rear of the horse, and the poles flew out from the planks. The press of the Rhein against the weakened dike did the rest as water first oozed, then roared, then swept away the embankment hindering it from the easy path south.

The men raced for high ground, awed by the power of the river. Where before a large stream had flowed, now flowed a mighty river. To the north, where once a major river had been, was now an open expanse of mud with a large stream. They had done it. The efforts of Man had changed the mighty Rhein to flow south. His people, who had the only fleet upon the river, were safe.

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

Quintus Cerealis lay in his bed sulking. Batavodurum was burning to ash in his clutches, yet the Batavians themselves were safe across the roaring river, tantalizingly in sight yet out of reach. Bloody Civilis, he never missed a trick! The mole of Drusus, built to divert water into the Yssel and secure the northern border, was gone. The mighty Rhein, formerly the largest and widest of the three branches, was now but a trickle as its massive watery load now ran down the Waal. His men were prevented from ending this war by a mass of water. Damn!

There was little he could do here, except listen to his medicus Theodorus complain constantly how the fresh forest air was poisoning his wound and keeping the healing pus from forming. He could not move, lest he again tear open his wounds, nor could he scout the land for a suitable ford. He was stuck in bed, in a waterlogged tent, and besieged by complaints.

He could issue orders, though, to keep the men busy. That at least would keep them from falling into disreputable trouble that he as their commander could not afford. He needed a fleet or a bridge to cross the river, and needed to seal the Rhein further up to prevent Germans from doing to him what the Batavians did to Vocula. He had far too many soldiers here, and the supplies pillaged by the VI Victrix and the I Adiutrix from Gaul were rapidly being exhausted.

That problem was easily solved. He ordered Sextus Tuscus and his VI Victrix to the castra at Novaesium, and Lucius Amensius and his XXI Rapax to Bonna, for the moment. That should guard the supply route and ensure the mouths here had food to put in them. The XIII Gemina was ordered to begin boat-building for the assault crossing, while the XI Claudia would patrol up and down the river to ensure Civilis did not cross. The II Adiutrix would begin a bridge here, and refurbish the castra above the ruins as well. And he informed Rome of the battle by Vetera and its outcome.

Orders issued, Quintus Cerealis had himself carried to Colonia, where he could rest in a solid, stone house and maybe, just maybe, hear happy news from his medicus for a change.

Cerealis got more than a stone house. When he saw the newly-constructed river galley with its twin decks and commander's lodging, he insisted on staying there instead. Theodorus the Leech objected, naturally, but Cerealis was adamant. The doctor relented, and Cerealis now had a domicile where he could rest, and if necessary, carry him to the front to fight.

Around his new home were other galleys- half a warfleet, to be exact. Twelve galleys, with double banks of oars and shining bronze rams on the front. They lacked marines, being rivercraft and not sea-going vessels, but they were new and powerful.

"Courtesy of the IV Flavia Felix and XXII Primigenia, sir," the ship's captain announced proudly. "Decius Paullus had these built during the winter after our fleet was so horribly defeated in the fall, but with the three sieges and all, the boys did not have time to finish them until now."

Cerealis reconsidered his harsh appraisal of the tribune-turned-legate. The man had inherited a hell of a mess, and held on as best he could. Indeed, he had exceeded his duties by seeing the necessity of regaining the control of the river and doing something about it.

"I shall have to thank that man," he said, "and apologize. I was rather rude to him."

"There will be a dinner tonight, lord," a Germanic nobleman dressed in a toga announced, greeting the wounded general. "A feast in your honor."

"For what am I being honored?" Petilius Cerealis asked pointedly. "All I did was get wounded being stupid. It was my legions that trounced the Batavi at Gelduba, and the II Adiutrix almost alone at that. Hades, I was out senseless during our great victory at Vetera. You Ubii drove out the Batavians here yourselves. I deserve no such honor."

"You are being honored, lord," the Ubian nobleman replied, "For had you not brought your legions, we Ubii would never have had the courage to stand up and free ourselves. Your presence brought with it Hope, and Hope brings Courage, and for that, we desire your personal presence at our feast."

"You make it sound that following orders is something worthwhile, lord..?"

"Alfrith, lord," the Ubian replied. "Tiberius Claudius Alfrith, whose father Tiberius Claudius Drusus Populus was granted Roman citizenship by the noble Drusus Germanicus."

"Ah, that explains your toga," Cerealis said. "I shall be honored to come to your feast, Lord Alfrith."

The feast was everything the Ubii wished, a celebration of their return to Colonia and their freedom. No longer were their lands patrolled by Batavian cavalry, their villages robbed by Chauci warriors, their civitas garrisoned by Frisian savages. Nay, they were free again, and that freedom was to be celebrated by a feast worthy of the Ubii and their guest, the man who made it possible.

Some of the nobles were freer than others, having had their spouses brutally slain by the Frisians who took what they wished and damned be the cost. One of these was on the portico of Alfrith's manse, looking over the party with soulful eyes.

"I see I am not alone in seeking a quiet place," Quintus said as he stepped onto the portico. The woman turned sharply at his voice, then relaxed when she saw who had interrupted her reverie.

"I used to have feasts like this with my husband, celebrating the Midsummer," the woman said in a clear, low voice. "All our freemen would come, and joy filled the air, heralding the sun. Now all are dead except for myself. I alone survived, I alone must rebuild what we had and make our people strong again."

"I know nothing of farming, my lady, but I do know loss. My legion was butchered in Britannia, our Eagle lost. But we fought back, as did you, and Suetonius Paullus returned our Eagle to us when it was found in the carnage of his victory over Boadicea. We grew strong again, as will you."

"I am Claudia Sacrata," she said, offering her hand. "I would like very much to believe you."

"Quintus Petilius Cerealis," the general replied. "A pleasure." He looked out over the party, to where the musicians created melodies that danced upon the air, and sighed. "You people do know how to throw a good party. It is a shame I do not understand half of what is being said down there."

"Not all of our people speak Latin yet," Claudia informed him. "But most of the nobles do. We are proud," she added, taking his hand, "very proud to be Roman."

Cerealis looked down at his hand, then up into the liquid eyes of the woman holding it. She had a symmetrical face, with wide eyes the color of a cloudless midday sky. Her blonde hair was no longer than her shoulders, having been cut in mourning as per her custom. Its length told him she was widowed for almost nine months.

Her beauty struck him speechless.

He finally coughed, breaking the spell binding him. He noticed she did not let go of his hand, but his other hand flew to his wound.

"I must be getting back to my ship," he wheezed. "And send for my leech. I think my wound is acting up."

"Your Greek quack will never let you heal, fooling around with all that pus and other nonsense," she said sternly. "What you need is clean bandages and time. Nothing else."

"You seem to know medicine better than he does, my lady."

"I have tended my share of wounds," Claudia admitted. "Including my own. Come, let me see this wound of yours. I will have you healed sooner than your pet Greek can think possible."

That night, as Claudia Sacrate ran her tender hands over his naked body, probing the wound and declaring it healing well, Cerealis found the strength to probe her own openings and heal other, deeper wounds left by the Frisian garrison.

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

Rutilius watched as the river currents collapsed the bridge his men had built. The entire center section simply fell apart into the current, breaking free and leaving a mere jetty into the water.

"That's just great," he spat sarcastically as the water washed away bridge. "Three cohorts spent two weeks building the world's most useless dock."

"But its a nice dock," Titus Flavius Sabinus reminded him lightly. "At least four warships could tie up to it."

"If we had four warships," Rutilius reminded him. "Right now it only serves to allow Batavians and their allies to land on our shore with dry feet." He sighed. "Have the men tear it down, Titus. We shall build it again when the flooding from the storms subside. In the meanwhile, have our cavalry auxilia scout the shoreline for a better location. Make sure they take an engineer with them. I am going to go see how the castra is coming along."

"Yes sir," Sabinus replied.

At the castra, things were working out better. The legion's engineers were directing the five cohorts laboring away in just how to link stone blocks together with iron pegs. This castra will be solid, and with its own water supply. It had storehouses enough to feed a legion for six months once stocked, its own well, and separate latrines- all the amenities of a true winter castra.

"Welcome to our new home," Publius Arrius greeted his legate. "Nonius there says we will be able to move in shortly. He even put in towers and places for artillery, which he will build once the walls are complete. This place is going to be impregnable!"

Rutilius looked over the construction, and of the terrain around it. Whoever had first sited it here had done a good job. The ground fell away from the walls thirty paces out, preventing siege towers and rams from nearing. The ground itself was an outcropping of rocky clay- preventing tunneling as the clay collapsed any attempt to burrow through it. The river guarded its north, and the forests had been cleared back to provide archers with wonderful fields of vision.

"Don't get too attached to this place, Publius," Rutilius warned. "If you make it too nice, they'll give it to someone else."

A runner approached, interrupting the appraisal. "Sir, legate Vipsanius Messala requests your presence in the command tent."

"Duty calls," Rutilius said. "You have command until I return. Lead on, legionary."

The legionary saluted and led him to where Messala waited. Rutilius filled him in on the bridge and fortifications, which caused Messala to sigh with relief.

"You and I both know it is best if Quintus Petilius is here to command the attack," he said. "You saw how my leadership went. Pedius Macro, you know, and his XIII Gemina were to be building assault boats. The storm last night washed away the boats they had built as it did your bridge. With no boats and now no bridge, the assault must wait. In the meantime, we are to leave Aulus Macro in command and report our progress- or lack of it- to Quintus Petilius in Colonia."

"You need two legates for that?" Rutilius asked pointedly.

"I need to report personally, as acting commander. Tablets and scrolls are nice, but take a long time if there are questions. Face to face is better."

"Agreed. And me?"

"He wants your advice, Marcus. Everyone in this army knows he values it, even if he doesn't always listen. You know Germania and the Batavians better than anyone else in these legions with the possible exception of Lucius Amensius, and although he is closer being in Bonna, he has been out of touch with these parts for over a year. You were here when it happened. You know things we need. Thus you come too."

"Flawlessly logical," Rutilius agreed. "Who are our escorts?"

"Umm...."

Rutilius looked away. "The Batavians are on the other side of the river, yes? And they have boats. We do not. Thus we must ride. We two are very valuable to this army, thus we must not be killed stupidly riding alone through Germania. Take a turma of Remi cavalry. We can travel fast, and they can keep up. Its not that damned difficult, Gnaeus."

Messala wondered about that. "Why Remi, and not the Treveri?"

"The Remi are from southwest of here, a far ways. The Treveri, the other good cavalry we have, are from lands just south of Colonia. The Remi chose for Julius Sabinus, a Gallic emperor after Titus Cassius squeezed them dry. Then they joined our side. The Treveri bounced back and forth between supporting the Batavians and us. Now, in whose hands would you place our lives? The solid Remi, or the wavering Treveri?"

Messala smiled. "That's why you need to come, too, Marcus. Oh, and by the way, my runner is already delivering orders to Gordix to cut us two turmae. Better safe than sorry. And I am not a total fool."

Marcus grinned. "I saw your move at Bedriacum, Gnaeus. I know you are not a fool." He winked, and added, "most of the time."

"Come on, you," Messala said with a laugh, clapping Rutilius on the shoulder. "Its a long two days to Colonia."

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



Gnaeus Messala and Marcus Rutilius were not the only ones heading to Colonia for a date with Cerealis. Off to their east, a small flotilla of boats used the northerly wind to sail upriver. From their size and shape, they seemed to be your standard set of river fishermen out looking to feed their families- if one ignored the fact that each boat rode very low in the water and had thrice the crew.

In the lead boat sailed Claudius Victor, a Batavian with a Roman name. He was the son of the sister to King Seval, and although he was fathered by a Claudian, he was very much a Julian. He was also quiet for a chieftain, but that is not so strange to men who survive having their throat cut. His wound was gotten at Gelduba, where he fought against Vocula, back in December. It was an honorable wound received by dishonorable means- a fleeing tribesman had simply cut him down when he tried to rally the broken men. But for this mission, he needed no voice.

In the night, Colonia was a dark shadow against a darker background. Only the lights of the port district showed, where watchmen patrolled the docks against thieves who would burgle goods from the Roman ships. The ships themselves were darkened, except one- where the general's flag rode proudly upon the mast. This was had lanterns both fore and aft, and the gangplank was also well-lit, in case someone had an urgent need of speaking to the general.

Claudius Victor pointed to the illuminated ship and smiled. His target was in sight. Upon that ship, the Treveri spy had said, was where Quintus Petilius Cerealis lay snoring most nights. There lay the man who slept soundly in Colonia, but who would awake in Batavia. He signaled his men to lower their blackened sails and ready for the assault.

They had sailed upriver past the docks, so that the river would carry them back to them without the tell-tale lapping of oars into water. One oar, already in the water, would provide steerage while the river itself provided the drive. Silently, with only gentle waves kissing the hulls, the Batavi boats eased up to the Roman galley.

It was over quickly. Five boatloads of Batavian warriors swarmed aboard, overwhelming the few guards aboard. Two of the crews went below to secure their prisoner- whom they were not to harm!- while the others cut the ropes binding the galley to the dock. They need not worry about rowers on board, for this was a Roman ship docked in a Roman port- the freemen rowers were all ashore consoling the Ubian widows and making their families strong.

On the grassy square where the guards of Cerealis lay snoring, another five boatloads struck. Sixty men against five hundred had little chance, but they were not to standfast and die- they were to divert any help from reaching the general. To this end Julius Verax, cousin to Victor, decided the best diversion was an attack.

His men snuck into the camp passed sentries sleeping soundly here in safe Colonia, slicing their throats as they went to send the men into eternal sleep. Once inside the confines of the camp proper, they surrounded tents, cut the ropes to drop them onto the men inside, and then butchered the hampered men before they could escape the collapsed tent. Then it was onto the next tent.

The shrieks of dying men awoke the others, who responded to the attack with drawn steel and garments cast hastily around naked limbs. They were no match for the Batavian warriors, who slew them almost as fast as they emerged, but they had numbers. Verax knew his mission was a success, and retreated his men to the boats.

The sounds of struggle from the camp had yet to reach the harbor, where Fortuna was definitely smiling upon the Batavian prince she spared at Gelduba.

"The ship is ours," a Batavian whispered to Claudius, "but Cerealis is not aboard."

"Where is he?" Victor hissed. "Did he escape?"

"No, lord. His bedding was smooth and cold. I don't think he was even here."

"Curses," Claudius Victor hissed. His main objective just fell away. At least he could salvage something. "Push us away. If we can't take Cerealis himself, at least we can steal his house and his belongings."

The Batavians grinned and carried out the order. Two of them doused the lights while the others used poles to push the ship into the current. Claudius Victor steered the ship downstream, away from Colonia and towards where she would make an excellent prize.

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

"He stole my freaking flagship!" Cerealis bellowed in raw fury a day later, when his legates arrived. "Oh, he is going to pay for that audacity."

"My lord, think of your wounds," his personal leech admonished. "Struggling so will tear your wounds open again, and then there will be little I do to prevent the emperor's sister from becoming a widow."

"Get out," Quintus Petilius ordered. "I will cease struggling against your too-tight bandages, but you yourself get out. Now."

The leech shrugged to the attending legates and departed. Marcus Rutilius and Gnaeus Vipsanius Messala shrugged back. Once he was gone, Cerealis sat up, holding his chest.

"I was struggling harder last night with Claudia than this, and the damned wound kept itself closed," he muttered, before raising his voice to his legates. " I want the Batavians punished. Hard. Burn every stead they have, enslave every peasant you find, slay every noble you come across. I want the Batavians erased."

"Aye, sir," Messala said with a nod. Finally, warfare of the old style. He could count the denarii already- Batavians were blonde and strong, qualities slavemasters sought and paid prime prices for.

"I do not think your brother in law would like the cost of that very much," Rutilius said mildly. His bull-sessions with the general were legendary in the army, especially since he usually came out ahead. The other legates could not understand why the sea-whelp legate was allowed such leeway, but the men of all legions loved both legate and general- the legate for his intelligence and actions at Gelduba, the general for eloquence and soldierly attitude. This session would be no different, but embarrassing the general in front of another legate was pointless. Better to argue rationally, and calmly.

"He would like it less that the fact that his brother in law was not on the ship because he was between the legs of some Ubian noblewoman," Cerealis countered. "They stole the flagship; there is no way he won't learn of that. But if I eradicate the Batavians shortly, the grandeur of that deed will overshadow my indiscretion."

"For the moment," Rutilius agreed. "But not in the long run. The Batavians gave us our best cavalry. They filled eight other auxilia. And they guard our northern border. If you erase them, sir, those cavalry and auxilia will be gone forever. We will need to station several legions on that damned island keep out the Frisians and Germans, to replace the Batavians who do it for free. The cost of those legions will remind your brother in law every time he authorizes their pay."

Quintus Cerealis thought about that, and sighed. Rutilius was right, again. He was dead once Vespasian hears his sister cry at his infidelity.

"Now, we have this Labeo fellow," Rutilius continued. "Let us use him. We make him king of the Batavians, and since he owes us his crown, he will ensure the Batavi return to the fold. Status quo antebellum, my lord, but that requires Batavians for him to be king of."

"And about your wife," Messala chimed in, "you were not on the ship because you were out inspecting the troops. We circulate that rumor, instead of the other, and your wife will never know."

Cerealis chuckled heartily. "Oh that is sweet, Gnaeus. I like that. But I still want the Batavians burned. Don't enslave them, but burn everything you can. Spare nothing."

"And this war will drag on and on and on," Rutilius added monotonously.

"Wars end when one side or the other loses the will or ability to continue, Marcus," Cerealis corrected. "Destroying the Batavian farmsteads and villages destroy their ability to fight. We can never break their will to fight- the barbarians!- but we can destroy their ability. This war will end."

"Sounds like what Civilis was saying when he was pillaging the West looking for his cousin," Marcus reminded him. "And you saw that didn't help any. With no hope of cessation except for total surrender, Civilis and his cronies will fight to the death and then we are in the same situation I just described. Give them hope, and their will to fight will diminish, lord."

"How so?"

"Burn the farmsteads, of course, like you said," Rutilius said. "But leave the holdings of Civilis alone. When it settles on him that you are sparing his holdings, it will be a double-edged blade. On the one hand, the people who support him are suffering and see that he is not. That will cause discontent. And two, he sees you are sparing his holdings as a token that an honorable peace is still an option. He's a bright man, sir. He'll understand the subtle message."

Cerealis had to admit that Civilis was indeed a bright man. Any barbarian who could rise so high under Nero had to be. And he hadn't lost any of his courage or intelligence since they had served together in Britannia.

"So ordered, legates," he commanded. "Burn the villages and farmsteads, but leave the holdings of Civilis alone. Maybe we can win this war before winter."

"Another thing, generalis," Rutilius added. "While we are depriving the Batavi of their means to wage war and their leaders of the will, might also do something else to break as well the will of the Batavi themselves to fight?"

"The barbarians thrive on war, Marcus," Cerealis retorted. "They live to die in battle. They will not break."

"That is not totally true, sir," Rutilius responded. "Look at the Cananefate- they fight only within their lands, and only when attacked. The Batavians themselves made Civilis king only after the Roman attack on them, and many of the other tribes are losing their faith in Civilis since our arrival. We can capitalize on that."

"What are you suggesting, legate? That we send emissaries among our enemies and seek peace, and they will accept?"

Rutilius shrugged, but Messala caught the gist of the Rutilius's idea.

"Marcus has a point, sir," Gnaeus Messala agreed. "The Germani that serve Civilis, like most Germani, thrive on victory. Those warriors flocked first to his banners, and gave him great victories. Many are dead now, and the rest must be tiring with the defeats we have inflicted upon them. I am sure their women are growing tired of watching their men march away, to return only in messages saying they were slain, or as cups of ashes. The promise of peace may indeed be welcome, barbarians or not."

Cerealis pondered. The Batavi had been in Rome's graces for a long time, long enough to become at least partially Romanized. Maybe he could stir a little poop in their stew with fine words.

"So be it," he decided. "We shall send emissaries to the Batavi, celebrating our strength and our victory, and promising peace and clemency. Other emissaries- locals only, none of our men!- shall go to the lands of the Bructeri, Chauci, and other tribes across the water, promising the same and threatening destruction should their men continue to flow to Civilis. We have the strength and the resolve to do so, and after Drusus, they know we can and will. Tell them of the defeat of the Treveri, the reemergence of the Ubii as our allies, and that we will take the country of the Batavi from them. Have them ask themselves if they truly wish to go down with the sinking ship of Civilis and pay that price."

"The Bructeri have a witch among them, a prophetess," Rutilius added. "She is rumored to stand high in the favor of Civilis. Maybe a scroll or two to her, to get her to see things our way, for once?"

Cerealis laughed. "If she can truly see the future, then we need no emissary to her. But well and good. Send a letter to the fake prophetess as well, telling her of our respect for her powers, and that the fortunes of war are favoring us. Have her use her powers to see the future, and to think upon that. Her fate will be one of two- she becomes a hunted witch, or a respected Roman."

"By your command," the legates acknowledged in unison. Both men grinned as they exited the general's chamber to carry out the orders.

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

By the autumn equinox, the campaign of Cerealis was having an effect.


"The Rapax legion destroyed Elden completely, lord," a disheveled cavalryman reported. "Including all the farmsteads between here and there, except for the stead at Rijkerswoerd. They saw it, but marched by."

"And the Pegasus legion wiped the eastern portion clear of our holdings as well- burning farms, hauling away our people, and eating our livestock. Only the farmstead at Doornenburg was spared- at their legate's orders, no less."

"Rijkerswoerd and Doornenburg were spared?" Civilis wondered aloud. "But the others were burned to the ground. Strange that."

"How so, lord?"

"I own those farmsteads, Stefan- they have been in my family for generations," Civilis replied. "You would think Quintus Cerealis was smart enough to know that, and ensure they were leveled before any other."

"And among our refugees from these places, lord, there are rumors."

"Go on."

Steffan coughed, then looked about sheepishly. "The men cry that the whole world is against us. They question your motives, lord. If we vowed to fight for Vespasian, why do we continue fight now that he rules the world? If we fought not for Vespasian, then we fight against the world- and we are but a tiny fraction of the world. We cannot defeat Rome, for Rome is the world.

"Others point to Raetia and Noricum and Gaul, and relish in the fact that they pay tribute and much wealth to Rome. We pay no tribute, never had- all that is asked of us is manhood and bravery. And the noblemen, sire, the rumors they bicker about..."

Civilis shot up at that. The noblemen were restless? "Spit it out, son."

Steffan looked even more ashamed. "The noblemen, lord, say we are driven to war by your fury and your fury alone. What began as righting a wrong wrought upon you has become a struggle for survival- one that we are losing. They say the gods favored us when the Romans attacked, but that they deserted us when the legions were slain in the woods."

"I did not order that," Civilis uttered with sincerity. "I had promised those men food and safe passage. Someone had violated my honor and theirs with that despicable act."

"We know not yet who gave the order, lord," Steffan admitted, "but all know it was not you. Regardless, we have lost the favor of the gods by that massacre, and the nobles know it. And are not happy."

He sat back in his throne and laced his hands behind his head. "Send for the witch, Stefan. I need her counsel."

Stefan bowed to his king and turned. He did not have to go far, for the Bructeri seeress Veleda was already enroute to see the king. He filled her in, and she saw immediately what was going on.

"They tell me something, don't they?" Seval asked the prophetess upon her entrance to his hall. "They tell me that this is not personal, and that an honorable peace can be had. Don't they?"

Veleda nodded. "They are demonstrating their power, Seval. They are showing you that they can destroy your people, bit by bit, and thus destroy your power. But you they spare, as shown by their leniency towards your holdings. It is time to seek peace, lord."

"You promised me Germanic victory, witch!" Civilis roared, unwilling to face the truth. "Germani ruling Rome, you saw. You have been correct in everything so far, so why not this time?"

"And so we shall, Seval," the witch replied evenly. "Eventually. My visions are never wrong, but the events I foresee are sometimes farther along the Stream of Time than our lifetimes. I see clearly Germans ruling in Rome- after sacking that city three times, no less. It shall happen, but long after we are dust."

"Get out, witch," he cursed lowly. "I need guidance for this lifetime, not one centuries from now. Get out now, before I have you burned as you deserve for causing this horrible excuse of a war."

Veleda smiled sweetly, her thin arms crossing before her belly. "You would curse me for giving you a place in history as leader of the most impressive revolt in the History of Rome? How droll. You have destroyed Roman power in Germania, as foreseen. You have destroyed utterly two legions, and caused the disbanding of two more. You defeated the Romans time and again, when all others found them invincible. It took ten legions to defeat you, a third of Imperial strength! You will be remembered as a hero to your people, and yet you sulk like a whipped cur.

"I shall take my leave of you now. But beware, Seval, for your fate is of your own making. Your son and your people shall survive, for a time at least, after you are gone. But you yourself shall disappear into the mists of legend, your fate unknown to all except myself and one other. I see it so clearly. You, a king, will die a fugitive, finding Death at the hands of a former fugitive who shall become a king."

She laughed as she exited the hall, her Bructeri bodyguard in her wake.

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

Things were looking up for Cerealis and his army. Another legion had joined them- the X Gemina from Hispana. The restoration of the castra at Batavodurum was now complete, yet the ruins of the civitas itself were left as untouched ashes and charred skeletons of houses where once many Batavians lived.

Quintus Cerealis was both pleased and insulted at this new legion joining his command. Though he now had the most powerful army in recent Roman history, he could not help but think the reason for it was the lack of faith Mucianus and Vespasianus had in him. One would think his almost bloodless victory over Sabinus, and the retaking of every Batavian-owned castra in Germania- including their civitas!- would wash away the stain of Camuludunum, but no. They still thought him a fool, even with the personal legate of Mucianus accompanying him, watching him, and advising him.

But he had done well, and was proud of his accomplishments. And of his deployment of the legions. He had the VIII Augusta guarding Argentoratum, the IV Flavia Felix and XXII Primigenia in Moguntiacum, and the VI Victrix at Novaesium. The I Adiutrix and XXI Rapax were now ravaging the Batavians, along with the XI Claudia and XIII Gemina. The II Adiutrix and X Gemina had just completed their sweeps and had returned for rest and refitting. Ten legions he had now, a third of Roman military strength, and yet subjugating the Batavians was proving annoyingly hard to do.

The problem was that he had too many legionaries operating in too small an area. Each man required food, and with burning the farmsteads of the Batavians, that food was scarce here. The slash-and-burn campaigns of Vocula against the Cugerni destroyed the area south of Vetera, and Civilis' campaigns against the Ubians trashed that area. Thus food must be imported. A lot of food.

He knew what Rutilius would do, having been on the receiving end of lectures every time he wanted to put the legions on line and sweep across the island. He would send some legions back down the river, so that the mighty army is not deprived of its base and food by a lightning seizure of a near-empty castra along the supply route. It made sense to do so, and now he had the manpower. And the need.

"Orderly!" he bellowed. "Bring me some wax tablets and a scribe. I have orders to issue."

The scribe arrived, carrying the tablets.

"Good, now prepare to copy," the generalis said, sitting up and examining his map. "To Titus Naevius, commander of the I Adiutrix. Take your legion and report to Moguntiacum, which will be your new base. Your mission is to guard the castra and the border, replacing the XXII Primigenia and IV Flavia Felix.

"The IV Flavia Felix will remain in the post with you under your command until relieved by the XIV Gemina. The junior senator Caius Valerius Iscarius will be arriving shortly to take command of the IV Flavia Felix as legatus legionis, but will remain under your command."

"To Lucius Amensius, commander of the XXI Rapax. Establish a fortified camp near Castra Vetera . You and your men, being veterans from these parts, will be the honor guard of the XXII Primigenia while it performs its solemn duties. Upon completion of those duties, aid the legionaries of the XXII in their construction. Afterwards you are directed to occupy the castra at Bonna, your new winter quarters, and thereafter secure that section of the border.

"Next tablet, scribe."

While the scribe closed the orders to Amensius and brought forth a fresh tablet, Cerealis sighed. He hated having to give these orders, but they were only fitting.

"To Decius Paullus, commander of the XXII Primigenia. You and your men have performed above and beyond expectations these past thirteen months. You have fought with honor, and have been rewarded for such. It is a sad duty I task you with now, but I can see no other legion more fitting for this service than yours. I wish your legion to build a new castra at Vetera-in stone as well, and within sight of the old- and take up garrison duties along the border. Decius Paullus, as the sole surviving officer of the province of Germania Superior, you are specifically instructed to find the bodies of the men of the V Alaudae and XV Primigenia. They are to be buried with full military honors within the confines of the castra they fought so gallantly to defend. Have your priests and augurs exorcise the post of evil spirits, and placate the shades of the dead by votives and sacrifice. Tell the dead their duties are being taken by the best legion in the army, and that the border is again secure. And above all, restock the storehouses, so that the dead no longer starve.

“Once you complete this solemn task, the XXII Primigenia shall guard the border at Vetera, and watch over the old castra so that souls of the V Alaudae and XV Primigenia are never again alone."

"That was beautifully done, sir," the legionary scribe choked out between sobs.

"Did you know someone in those legions, son?" Cerealis asked gently. He could tell from the man's emotions that he felt the loss of the legions personally.

"Yes sir," the scribe nodded. "I served in the XV Primigenia for eight years. They were my friends, my brothers. I transferred to the XI Claudia as an optio two years ago, but my cousin stayed. And died."

"I am sorry for your loss, son," said the general with heartfelt sincerity. "A lot of good men were butchered there. But the XXII Primigenia fought its way from Moguntiacum to Vetera and relieved the siege, before it started again. If any legion can fill the caligulae of those two legions who fought on for six months with no supplies, it is the XXII Primigenia."

"Yes sir," the scribe agreed. "That's a good outfit." He readied his stylus and opened the next fresh tablet. Cerealis saw the man was ready to go on, and continued.

"To Gaius Pomponius, commander of the X Gemina," he concluded, "you shall have the privilege of securing this border from your newly refurbished castrum above the burned bones of Batavodurum. I dub your castra Noviomagus, so that future Batavians may gain New Wisdom concerning the futility of revolts against Rome. Your duties include border patrol and repelling invasions, as well as keeping a firm eye on the Germani. They shall be allowed to rebuild their civitas with Roman approval, but not where it once stood. Have them build a new Batavodurum, and ensure the site they choose is not easily defensible. Use your discretion, but ensure they know they are allowed to build as long as we can destroy it should they rise again."

There, thought Quintus. That ought to secure the border and guarantee peace for the region.

"Sign them with my name, son," he concluded, dismissing the scribe with one hand as he lay back. "And have my adjutant seal them."

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

Quintus Cerealis received two tablets from Moguntiacum the next day.

That was fast, he thought. My couriers should not even be near Moguntiacum by this time, yet the legate thanks me for giving him this chance. He accepted the tablets and broke the seal of the first.

A few minutes later he jumped out of bed, his almost-healed wounds stretching at the strain, as the general whooped with glee.

"Lord! What are you doing!" screeched the leech upon seeing his patient hop and jump like a poisoned rabbit.

"Bless that nephew of mine!" he cried. "Titus has taken Jerusalem!"

"And these far-off events mean ... what, lord?" asked the medicus, who knew only that fabled Jerusalem was in a land far away and had been the talk of many discussions.

"It means this war will end before the leaves fall from the trees, Theodorus," the general replied. He glanced at his wounds, which remained closed and dry. "Civilis will know the significance. He knows we have ten legions here now, and with Jerusalem fallen, we can bring ten more to bear. It means peace, you Greek quack!"

"Orderly!" the general cried. Within seconds the orderly entered. The first bellows had startled him, and he was already on his way to investigate when the summons came.

"Orderly," the general stated more professionally, his calm returning. "Dispatch a courier to the Batavians. Let him approach them with a headless spear in hand, and spread these joyful news. Have him inform the Batavians that the war in Judea is over. Jerusalem fell.

"Shout to them that those legions will be coming here to finish off the last remaining revolt in the Empire. They come, high on victory, rich from glutting the slave market with Jews, angry at the sand sores between their toes, and furious at having to come here to this wet, miserable island wealthy in nothing but mosquitoes."

He smiled cruelly, and added, "Have the rider bring back their reaction to those words."

He then opened the second of the two tablets. This one was sealed by his brother in law. He opened it, read it, and dropped it.

The orderly rushed in a second time. “Generalis!” he cried. “What is the matter?”

Cerealis looked up from his daze.

“I am consul,” he muttered. “For my grand victory at Vetera...”

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

"My king," gasped a lathered man, sweat pouring from his brow like the Rhein. "Dreadful news, shouted by the Romans!"

Seval rubbed his brow, then offered the man a horn of ale. "Calm down, Gerhard. Unless the Romans are attacking this haven right now, it can wait until you have caught your breath."

Gerhard drained the horn, and could eventually draw a decent breath.

"Jero Slim has fallen," Gerhard repeated, "wherever and whoever that is. But the Eagle general shouted it triumphantly, and says there will come many, many angry legions. We are to be exterminated."

"Jerusalem has fallen," Seval repeated, correcting his messenger. He bolted upright on his chair. "Jerusalem fell! That is indeed terrible news."

"My king, you worry about the fate of this Jero Slim, yet care not for our own fate? We are to be exterminated, erased as if we never were. The Fate of the Cimbri is to be ours!"

"I care not for Jerusalem, warrior, other than the fact that its revolt tied up a good many Eagles," Seval shouted, breaking through the man's panic. "Those Eagles are now free to join those here."

"What shall we do, lord?"

"We seek peace, you fool," Civilis spat bitterly. "And as soon as possible."

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

The river Nabalia had a bridge. It used to cross the deep, strong current completely, before Batavian axes cut away the ropes and struts holding the middle section standing. The section fell away, leaving a ten-foot gap in the bridge no Roman or Batavian could cross. It was to the north end of the bridge that Gaius Julius Civilis and his cousin Julius Maximus traveled with their guards, and onto the end of this section they did await their rivals.

Upon the southern bank of the Nabalia waited three cohorts of Roman infantry, one each from the XXII Primigenia, II Adiutrix, and the XXI Rapax. Two turmae of Remi cavalry patrolled about, and in the distance the XI Claudia waited. Two men approached the broken bridge. One was Quintus Cerealis, wearing his not his red cape and crested helm, but a formal toga, complete with purple border. The other Marcus Rutilius, armored as a legate, but upon his head was a crown- the corona civica he had earned at Gelduba, and around his neck the golden torc he was awarded for his actions at Vetera in the same dispatch that made Cerealis consul.

The other legates had challenged the right of Rutilius to be there when Civilis surrendered, reminding the general that he had been a Vitellian, that he was quarrelsome, and that he had embarrassed them all time and again. Cerealis asked them all a single question, which none could answer positively- how many of you speak German?

“That is why Rutilius above all of you shall accompany me,” he said sternly. “And may I remind you that had it not been for him and the II Adiutrix, none of you would even be alive to argue the point?”

That settled that, and Cerealis and Rutilius approached Civilis from across the Nabalia.

“You wear the toga of a consul, Quintus,” Civilis called once the Romans reached the end of their half of the bridge. “Do you speak for the consul and emperor now?”

“I am the consul, Gaius Julius,” Cerealis replied. “I speak for Rome."

”If you spoke as consul to Vitellius, Quintus, ” Civilis began, “then I would deserve no pardon, nor my words merit. All between us would be built upon hatred and hostility, initiated by Nero, furthered by Galba, sustained by Vitellius and afterwards embittered by me. But my respect for Titus Flavius Vespasianus is great, and of long standing, as you well know from our time together in Britannia. Before he took the throne and you the consul’s curule chair, we three were called friends. This was known to many- among them Marcus Antonius Primus, whose letters urged me to take up arms against Vitellius, and sow discord in his stronghold of Germania. The officers of Hordeonius Flaccus suggested by word of mouth the same thing. Rebel against Vitellius, they say, swear to Vespasian. I did! I fought the same battle in Germany, as did Mucianus in Syria, Aponius in Moesia, Flavianus in Pannonia.

“And for my sacrifices, and the sacrifices of our people, what reward did we gain? Nothing! Calls for more levies, draining away our menfolk, depleting our tribe to nothing. We get legions marching on our civitas, and more legions- hidden, unofficial legions- forming. We saw how the Romans treated their Friends and Allies when weakened- your governors sought to enslave them, sell their women and children, slay their warriors, steal their land! Destroy them utterly! I could not allow this to happen to my people.”

Cerealis heard the words, and Rutilius whispered more into his ear. The consul shook his head, then looked across the broken bridge to his former friend, the king of the Batavians.

“Gaius, you exceeded the requests of Primus, who had no standing in Rome, and even less now. You outfoxed Flaccus, and taunted Vorenus into attacking the Cananefate, thinking them weak and rich. You speak well, yet your words contain a twisted truth. I know the whole truth, yet am willing to forgive.”

"Marcus Rutilius," Civilis sneered. "Do you know that I wanted to have you murdered that night you brought me the news of Traiectum falling to Niall of the Cananefate? I knew then that your existence would plague me, but my tribune refused to slay you until you had already escaped."

"You should have realized then your plans were known to Rome, and held yourself to your own lands," Cerealis retorted. "Had you done so, we would not be here now."

“We saw the chance to be free, Quintus,” Civilis pleaded, spreading his arms wide. “To keep our men in our own lands, father our own children, and watch them grow. Would you not have done the same?”

“Maybe,” Cerealis agreed. “But you went far beyond seeking your own freedom. You declared war on Rome, maybe rightly so. You had no cause to besiege Vetera- on Cugerni land, not Batavian!- nor to slaughter its soldiers once you granted them free passage.”

“That was not me,” Civilis pleaded. “Before all the gods, your and mine, I had granted them food and safe passage to Massilia. I wished them gone, not dead.”

“I think he is telling the truth, sir," Rutilius added. "Paullus reportedly found a scroll while burying the dead confirming this. And no barbarian, liar or not, would invoke the wrath of all gods if he was definitely not telling the absolute truth.”

“Agreed,” the consul replied, before calling out to Civilis again. “But nevertheless, you had besieged Roman troops on Roman land. At Vetera, at Gelduba, at Novaesium, at Bonna, and at Moguntiacum. All of which are far from Batavia.”

“And I lost,” Civilis replied. “Please, Quintus, old friend. Every family in the tribe has suffered loss. Mine included- my brother was tortured and executed by your emperors, which started this whole mess. It is time to end this. I could have ended it a few days ago, when you were encamped by the river. Many Germani were preparing to assault you, once they completed their dam. The water would wash away your little camps, and they would sweep in among the confusion and slaughter you all. They could have succeeded, but to what point? So another ten legions could come and eradicate us all? No, I stopped them. I wish peace for my people.”

“Vespasianus is willing to grant that peace, Gaius,” Cerealis affirmed. “Assuming you agree to our terms.”

“Name them, and peace is ours.”

“You must fill again the levies agreed upon in the time of Claudius. These men will serve under Roman officers, but far from Batavia. We cannot risk another outbreak like this one.”

“Agreed.”

“You must also maintain security along the island, as far as Traiectum. Your people guard this portion of the border, under supervision of the legate housed in Noviomagus.”

“Agreed.”

“And you must abdicate your throne, and go into voluntary exile.”

“That I cannot do, Quintus,” Civilis pleaded. “It would be the death of me, and of my people. We need a strong leader now more than ever. If not I, who?”

“I was thinking of Tiberius Claudius Labeo,” Cerealis replied. “He slipped once, but more than made up for it since. He will have a Roman governor watching over him, to aid the Batavi and ensure their loyalty, but Labeo shall rule.”

The prophecy of Veleda came crashing down on him. His cousin, once a fugitive, would be king. His own death would be as a former king turned fugitive, at the hands of a former fugitive who will become a king.

“No, Quintus, I cannot allow Labeo to be king. But I will abdicate in favor of my nephew, Claudius Victor. He has proven himself able, and strong. He may rule.”

“Labeo, Civilis, or the war continues. He earned the right with his loyalty to Rome.” On this, Cerealis- ignorant of the prophecy driving Civilis to desperation- was adamant.

Civilis bowed his head. “You murder me with this, Quintus, my friend, but my people shall live. So be it. Labeo rules. Do we have a peace?”

Cerealis nodded. “We have peace, old comrade. And I wish you the luck this peace denies you.”

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

The consul spent the next month ensuring the Batavians filled the promises made at the Broken Bridge. After that, he called the II Adiutrix and XI Claudia to him for his campaign in the west. The Batavians had surrendered, but there were still rebels to the Empire that must be put in their place.

He marched west, south of the Waal, collecting tribute and oaths from the Tungrians, the Marsaci, the Menapii, and all other tribes. Roman rule was reaffirmed, Roman law instituted, and Roman loyalty ensured.

After the Marsaci had submitted and been returned to the fold, the consul turned his army north towards the last remaining rebel tribe. He stopped at the Waal, and called his legates to him.

"Marcus," he said, addressing Rutilius, "you made a promise to the Cananefate to bring them a peace without destruction. There they are. You were the legate of the former consul Gaius Licinius Mucianus, and now I make you my legate as well. Your orders: Go make peace. Show the same clemency I showed Civilis. Gnaeus and I will remain here by the sea until you return."

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

“Will they ever learn?” muttered Niall. He had just heard from Oscar Helmut’s Son of yet another Roman legion coming to meet its death on Cananefate spears. The task of driving the foreigners from the land belonged no longer to Brinno; the childless king’s death left the responsibility for the Cananefate to him.

“What is it, Father?” asked his son Jorgen, a respected warrior despite his fourteen summers. Jorgen was the opposite of his father. Where Niall was taciturn and dour, Jorgen was eager and full of joy.

Niall looked away from the messenger and toward his son. What a fine boy he was, and a hero of the people already! The men of the hyrd call him Jorgen the Brave despite his age- and they do not call him that with sarcasm. He has shown valor above and beyond his tender years on four battlefields already, earning true respect. And now he shall fight on a fifth.

“Romans, son,” Niall informed him. “A full legion, heading toward Vidar’s Altar.”

“Romans?” Jorgen muttered, astounded. “Romans. I take it then that Rutilius failed to persuade his countrymen of our innocence in this matter.”

“Rutilius is among them,” Niall retorted with a derisive snort. “At least according to Oscar. So much for Roman honor.”

Jorgen placed a hand on the shoulder of his father. “They are going to Vidar’s Altar, Father. They shall go no further. That holy site is a bane to every foreigner who ever approached it.”

Niall smiled. It was a worn expression from a tired man. “I wish I had your optimism, son. This legion coming is reputed to be one of their best. Tales of them from the Treveri and the Batavians have come our way- they are indeed warriors to be respected. Much more so than the would-be soldiers we twice annihilated here.”

“So shall we disappear into the swamps, and hide like rats?” Jorgen asked with a shudder. If it was anything he hated, it was hiding. Men should fight, not hide!

“No, Jorgen,” Niall said, standing his to his full height. “They wish to come to our Altar, then there we shall offer them up to the gods. We shall fight for our land, as we have ever done.”

Jorgen said nothing, but his smile told volumes. It was going to be a wonderful battle, and he was going to earn a lot of glory.

Or so he thought.

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

Niall did not have to say a word. The veteran Cananefate warhost simply took up its usual hilltop positions facing the meadow across which the Roman must come. The spearmen led by Torstein and Arjan formed a phalanx across the top, four ranks deep. Behind them Klaus and his hunters took up position, and ensured the torches from which he would light flame-arrows were positioned to allow several men to light from each. To the flanks were Glam of the Silver Axe’s axemen and Halvard’s swordsmen, and hidden away out of view were four squadrons of armored cavalry- a last gift from his dead brother. Oddmund, their leader, had fought on this very spot, and his lieutenant Micha twice. Ulf Hagar's Son the Berzerker and his gang of mushroom-eating madmen likewise hid from view, towards the open Cananefate right were opponents loved to assault.

There was no need to reconnoiter. Every warrior in the host knew every inch of this ground after fighting here twice, and twice cleaning up the fields of dead and weapons. One cannot get a more intimate knowledge of a field than after one had helped carry dead comrades to one pyre and fallen foes to another. The Romans coming here for the first time would lack that knowledge, and that shall be their downfall.

Niall looked over his disposition. He had more warriors now than ever before, and veterans at that. Disciplined, hardened, and willing. Men who were fighting for their loved ones, their land, and their comrades. He knew he would be victorious, but then what? Rome had an infinite number of legionaries- he had very few reserves. He could not afford to waste any, but had to maximize the number of enemy dead.

To this end, he dispatched a large force of swordsmen and spearmen to each of the woods flanking the approach to the Altar. Behind them he deployed the horseborne. The plan was simple- let the Romans march up to his spearwall, then box them in with the ambushers and swing the cavalry into the rear. Klaus lights them afire, and Poof! A whole legion gone, to very few Cananefate dead.

The Romans came the next day, deployed in cohorts. Four cohorts abreast, and behind them a second line of four. Niall smiled- this was perfect! His infantry will curl around the flanks, crushing them inward. It was a Roman stew in the making. And then the legion stopped.



A single rider rode forward, stopping just before the burn marring the beauty of the meadow leading to the altar. There he stopped.

“A scout, Father?” Jorgen asked, pointing to the lone rider.

“He is just standing there,” Niall replied, puzzled. “A scout would roam back and forth, looking for sign. He is not doing that.”

“He is dismounting,” Jorgen noticed. “I guess he saw something after all.”

“None of our men have been there,” Niall replied. “He is seeing old signs. No matter. Klaus,” he said, turning to his chief hunter, “kill him.”

Klaus nocked an arrow, and began raising his bow. The rider slapped his horse, sending it away, remaining on the ground by the burn. Klaus wondered briefly, then sighted on the lone man and let his arrow fly.

The Roman, expecting something of the sort, raised his shield and caught the arrow easily. He then lowered his shield and resumed waiting.

“What in Hel’s Half-White Face is he doing?” Jorgen wondered. His comment earned him a smack on the back of his head from his father.

“Do not curse so,” Niall admonished. “Though by Mjolnir I too have no idea what he is doing.”

The legion behind him also had no idea. They began to creep forward, until the tribunes laticlavius noticed the hidden surge and stopped it in its tracks.

“But sir,” pleaded a centurion. “They have already shot at him. If many enough shoot at him, one may hit.”

“That’s why he has the scutum instead of a cavalry shield, Sollius. He can hide behind it from a swarm of arrows if need be.”

Klaus had the same idea. Twenty of his men sighted on the Roman, and raised their bows. The Roman made it easier by removing his helm.

“Hold your arrows!” Jorgen cried. “Its Rutilius! Father, it’s the man who got me out of Vetera.”

“Hold your arrows, Klaus,” Niall repeated. Rutilius. Then it dawned on him why Rutilius stood there. “I think he wishes to talk.”

“With a legion behind him?” Klaus snorted. “He seeks you to come to him where his legionaries can slaughter you and leave us kingless. Nay lord, it is a trap. Do not step into it.”

“From another Roman I would agree,” Niall affirmed. “But Rutilius I know. He freed Jorgen from a Roman prison at no small cost to himself, and has always been just in his dealings with us. His honor has earned him the right to be heard. I will be safe enough.”

“And if he tries to kill you, lord?””

“Then he and all his men will die under your arrows, Klaus, and Jorgen will become your new king and avenge me. But I am going to show him the honor he has shown us. I shall speak with him.”

The Cananefate spearmen parted ranks to allow their king to ride through, inching forward to protect their beloved leader much as the legion had crept forward to protect theirs. On both sides, second-in-commands were bellowing orders to the men to hold their positions, Publius Arrius in the valley, Jorgen the Brave on the hilltop.

It was indeed Marcus Rutilius who awaited him, Niall saw at once. The tribune had acquired better armor than last he was here, and from the phalerae decorating his cuirass, torc around his neck, and crown on his head, much glory as well.

Rutilius, for his part, noticed that the tall blonde man riding toward him had aged a decade in the last year, but was indeed Niall of the Village near the Water. The golden armband decorated his right humerus sat uncomfortably upon his arm, a troubling omen.

Niall spoke first. “You yet live only as a favor to my son, Roman.”

Rutilius nodded. “And you are not crushed under five veteran legions because of my promise, Cananefate.”

Niall smiled inside himself, but dared not let it show. “What do you want, Rutilius? The last time you were here you were almost sent to Valhalla. Do you wish this time to arrive there?”

“The last time, Niall, my commander sent me here to make war. This time my commander sends me to make peace.”

“You wish peace, deep in our lands with a legion at your back? Ha!”

“I wished to travel alone, but my legion would not let me. Sometimes a commander cannot punish a mutiny.”

This time Niall could not help holding back his grin. He laughed. “You are right, Rutilius. Mutinies of men who want nothing more than to protect their chieftain you simply cannot punish. You wish peace, you say. On what terms? Filling auxilia like the Batavians, or paying mountains of taxes like the Treveri? We are poor, Rutilius. You know this from the time you served the Butcher here a summer ago. And after a year of battle, we are not many. So I ask you, Roman, what terms do you wish for peace?”

“Status quo antebellum,” Rutilius replied evenly. “Things go back to the way they were before Vorenus sought to enslave your tribe. We occupy and garrison castella along the border- the ones you destroyed after Vorenus- and are granted free passage throughout the island. In return, our war against you ends, and your people are welcome to travel in our lands. And to sweeten the deal, you will be recognized as Friends and Allies of Rome- officially.”

“You promise much for a mere tribune, Marcus Rutilius,” Niall said. He looked the Roman straight in the eye. “You have always been honorable with us,” he admitted, “yet your masters have treated us with far less honor. There can be no peace while men like they rule, and men like us serve.”

“You rule the Cananefate now, Niall,” Rutilius replied. “Or that golden band about your right arm lies. And I speak as legate for the consul Quintus Petilius Cerealis and the Imperator Titus Flavius Vespasianus Caesar. The Batavians have been granted the same- status quo antebellum- and they took up arms against us and conquered our province. Rome needs them, there on the border and in our auxilia.

“But Rome does not need the Cananefate. You have no strategic position along the border, nor do you fill our army with brave men as do the Batavians. You are merely neighbors. Yet Rome grants you the same clemency, and more. Neither I nor my emperor nor the consuls wish to punish the Cananefate for defending themselves. We wish peace, that our sons may grow strong, and work together to keep the sea out of our lands. I am here to make that peace.”

Niall smiled at that. His age-old struggle, keeping out the sea. If he accepted the peace, he would be able to use his men in that battle, instead of losing them to Roman pila. Rutilius was correct. The terms were fair, more than fair.

“I accept your offer of peace, Marcus Rutilius,” Niall said, extending his hand.

Rutilius accepted the proffered hand with his own. The men shook on the peace, both fervently wishing it would be a lasting one. Nothing more need be said. The two returned to their men, and within minutes Roman trumpets pierced the air. The cohorts marched eastward, away from their ally’s lands. And from behind where Oddmund and Micha waited, two more cohorts eased out of the woods and joined them.

Jorgen pointed the retreating cohorts out to his father. “See, father? Rutilius knows our ways well. Our honor is his honor. And now both Roman and Cananefate can live without the threat of war upon each other.”

Niall turned to face west, towards the sea. “And our true enemy shall be driven from our land, that we both may prosper.”



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Aftermath:

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The Batavians took a long time to recover. Civilis had told the truth- there was hardly a family that had not lost a son, brother, or father in the war. The levies to raise the auxilia Civilis promised drained even more vital men from the tribe- and embittered them as they were no longer serving under Batavian noblemen, but under officers from Rome and other tribes. Nor were any auxilia ever to be allowed to remain in the lands from which its soldiers came, to prevent another such rebellion.

But the auxilia were filled, and the border again secure.

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Quintus Petilius Cerealis was rewarded for his quick restoration of the northern border by being granted the governorship of Britannia, where his career had started. Camulodunum had been expunged, and now he was ready to move on. By all accounts he did well, and was made consul for the second time four years after the Batavian Revolt so thoroughly collapsed under his legions.

He did not go alone. He took the II Adiutrix with him, with Publius Arrius as its legate. Both would have magnificent histories on the Rainy Islands, and earn much glory.

His nephew, Titus Flavius Sabinus, would later rule Germania Superior, with the I Adiutrix and the XIV Gemina at Moguntiacum. The IV Flavia Felix moved off to garrison a new castra in Dacia. Sabinus was happy to command the two legions, and kept the border secure for his entire tenure. He became consul himself, twelve years after the Battle of Vetera, at the ripe age of thirty.

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Marcus Rutilius remained behind as the governor of Germania. He no longer commanded the II Adiutrix, but in its place he had been given a general's cape and command of all forces in the redefined province. He had the X Gemina at Noviomagus, the XXII Primigenia at Vetera II, the VI Victrix at Novaesium, and the XXI Rapax at Bonna, and many auxilia and vexillationes in castella in between. He had a full consular army under his direct command- an official one, on the books. He would remain on the border, as either governor, quaestor to a governor, or generalis, for the next seven years as the political tides in Rome washed men to the border for a token governorship before moving them off to richer provinces or a better career in Rome. Yet always was it Rutilius the noble governors relied upon to ensure all ran smoothly and to teach them the workings of a proper province. He would become a praetor, but never a consul. That was left for his descendants.

A cousin of his, though, would later rise to great fame under the auspices of Domitian. Five years after the Fall of Vetera, Quintus Julius Cordinus Rutilius Gallicus would lead an effective campaign against the Bructeri, and Veleda in particular. He failed to catch the witch, though did destroy the Bructeri who had so savagely and treacherously murdered the men of the V Alaudae and XV Primigenia. In the end of his campaign, he would learn that a Bructeri chieftain named Ulfrich was the one who ordered the massacre, not Veleda. He allowed the witch her freedom, while Ulfrich adorned a solitary cross amid the ashes of the dead legionaries in the ruins of old Vetera's parade ground. It is said it took him days to die.


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Veleda suffered both fates decreed by Cerealis for her. She became a hunted witch, thereafter a respected Roman.

Two years after her people were destroyed, seven years after the Fall of Vetera, she either gained asylum in Roman lands, or was captured. Publius Statius names her captor as Rutilius which historians thereafter assumed that to be Rutilius Gallicus. Gallicus was the governor of Gaul and a close crony of Domitian at the time, so the assumption was understandable. Wrong, but understandable. It was far more likely the Rutilius who accepted her surrender was one closer to the Rhein, and was known for his honor, not his drinking.

Veleda fulfilled the second of the two fates granted her by Cerealis soon afterwards. She married a Roman governor and become a respected citizen herself, a mother who raised two sons and a daughter. Her Rutilii descendants were producing consuls well into the late Empire.

Three of her prophecies remained unfulfilled in the closing of this tale, though they too came to pass in time. Augusta Trevorum, the civitas of the Treveri she saw ruling an area greater than all of Gaul and lasting thousands of years, was chosen by Constantinus Magnus as his capital. From there he ruled the provinces of Britain, Gaul, Germania, and Raetia. It still exists today as the German city Trier.

And four hundred years after the events in this tale, Odoacer deposed Romulus Augustus to found the Kingdom of the Ostrogoths. Rome was not his capital, but one of his cities. Thus Germans ruled Rome, as she foresaw.

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Civilis disappeared as Veleda predicted, fulfilling her last prophecy.

He first had sought refuge among the Frisians, who had so ardently supported him. But this turned out to be a mistake. The Frisians in their wet, swampy land had no love for the king who had gotten so many of them killed. Civilis himself had no love for the land or its savage fishermen. He was, like his cousin Labeo, a cavalryman at heart. He saw at once why his cousin had so readily fled this water-ridden land.

He made his way to the Cananefate, thinking the independent tribe who shared the island with the Batavians would be a haven from the killers he knew Labeo would send. He remembered well the vision of Veleda- He a king, would die a fugitive, finding death at the hands of a former fugitive who would become a king. He, a king, was now a fugitive, and the former fugitive Labeo was a king. Only death at the hands of Labeo awaited to complete the prophecy.

Niall greeted him coldly, but politely. He offered the former king an empty lodging near the sea, informing him its vacancy was due to the Romans slaughtering the farmers and carrying off the women and children as slaves in the beginning of the war. Civilis accepted the abode piously, and spent many days hunting in the forest, examining its morasses, and sitting atop the dunes staring out over the sea toward Britannia, where his friend Cerealis now ruled.

He often sat with young Jorgen the Brave, Son of Niall, teaching him the art of war and the Batavian Crescent, among other things. He told of the grand battles by Batavodurum, and Gelduba, and Novaesium, and to the sieges of Moguntiacum. He told of the Sieges of Vetera, the effect it had on his enemies, and the effect the enemies had on his own men when they emerged. And he told how the Bructeri had violated his word and slaughtered the legions anyway.

And of course, he also told of how it all started- little rumors whispered in the right ears. Greed was a powerful motivator, but so was revenge. This he taught to the young Cananefate warrior who had lost his beloved king and uncle, his sister, and his friends because one foreign king wanted vengeance on another foreign king. A young warrior -now a prince- who had broken out of the prison of Vetera, and fled as a fugitive across Roman and Batavian lands to his own.

Civilis disappeared from his abode, never to be seen again.

One day, the bones of Civilis may be found in the swamp near his stead, with his sword and shield in his hands as befitting a king, but with his throat cut and a most surprised expression upon his withered face.



FINIS

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 concludes the Batavia in Flames series.

I hope you enjoyed it.

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 01-11-2010 @ 04:29 AM).]