Here begins the tale:


“Vala, tell us what you see.”

The command from the larger of the twin kings, Udo and Ulfrich, was irritating in its tone and intent. They clearly would believe little of what she would say, she knew from experience, though it invariably turned out to be true. Such was the difficulty of working with men of steel instead of spirit. And their tone of command was exceedingly difficult to bear- ordering her to perform as if she was a juggler or dancer. Pathetic. These two were nobodies a few summers ago, adventurers or interlopers at best, until the death of King Hilfred by a thick marine arrow at Vetera thrust them into the kingship.

They did look the part, both were strongly built, with rough features. Hair the color of wet sand sprouted from beneath their helmets- which they refused to remove- as well as a thick beard the likes of which made men envious. Their eyes were the color of the sky reflected in high mountain lakes- as were her own- yet these men had the blood of Hilfred’s father and the faith of the elders. Udo had never paid the witch much mind, but Ulfrich had tried to woo her over the last six years, without result. His gifts grew more exotic and expensive, then as rejection followed scorn, more bloody and proof of prowess. Now these men were kings, and showed little respect of the traditions or knowledge of what kings should do- or whom they should command, and whom they shall respect.

Veleda cursed under her breath. This tower, built of stone hauled from faraway quarries, was her home. Here she was queen, the Vala, the Blessed One of the Wahrsicht. She was not the only Vala with the True Sight, but she was the best. Never had her words failed to become true- unless they were ignored. And these two belligerent puppies, fairly new to kingship, ignored her words at their peril- no matter how often they consulted her. Then she smiled as the Visions came.

“I see Rome on the march with the coming of leaves upon the trees,” she said, describing the Visions as they danced before her eyes alone, unseen to normal men. Sometimes, like now, they also spoke. These she knew to be the strongest visions- nothing could change them. Others, with sight alone, were but possibilities of the future. But those that spoke... They were what was to come, no matter the actions of men or god. “The men are happy, laughing even. They feel confident because Rutilius is with them.”

“Rutilius will march against us?” Ulfrich interrupted in shock. “But he is the one who built the peace that benefits us all!”

“Quiet, brother,” Udo commanded. “The witch is still in her trance. Let her continue.”

Veleda nodded slowly. “The legates, however, are furious. They think Rutilius mad for destroying the peace, for making their task of protecting the border more difficult through open aggression.”

“Do your Visions tell you why they come now?” asked Udo

“Unfinished business,” the vala related. “Seval is deposed and will not outlive the winter. The Batavians are restored to Rome; the Cananefate as well. The Ubii never waved, despite all that Seval tried, and the Treveri are firmly under Roman caligae. Yet we remain, and that irks them.”

“How will we fare?” asked Ulfrich.

“I see the Bructeri fractured, but surviving. We shall join with others, and fight first against Rome, then with her, and finally erase the last vestiges of Roman rule from this land. But that is not soon. First we must survive this summer coming nine moons hence, and then survive your inept plan to use this vision to further your own ends.”

“Why should we fight for Rome?” Ulfrich uttered. “They intend to destroy us!”

Veleda shrugged her thin shoulders. She had combed her thick, black-stained hair back from her angular face and pinned it in place with ivory combs chased with gold. The effect gave her face length, as well as displaying her wealth to the kings. But these jesters knew not what ivory was, and thus could not even fathom its worth. Fools.

“I do not pretend to interpret the Visions,” she replied at last. “I merely see what will become. We shall fight against Rome, then at her side, then rule all from dark forest to shining sea. As for Rutilius, he comes not to destroy the Bructeri, but for three separate and distinct things. They come for me, for the precious Eagles of the V Alaudae and the XV Primigenia, and for Ulfrich.”

“How will they fare?” Udo repeated. “Will they succeed?”

Veleda nodded. “Rutilius will recover the Eagles. Both of them. Ulfrich will be taken alive to die a long, slow, and painful death among ghosts- a most fitting death in Roman eyes.”

“And you?”

Veleda snorted. “I am now, and always shall be, mistress of my own destiny.”

Udo’s face hardened at the slur. “How can I save my brother?” he asked softly, trying desperately to bury his rage at this mere woman’s insolence.

“You cannot,” Veleda replied evenly. “He is doomed. As are you.”

Enough was enough. Udo drew his sword. “You will tell me, witch, or I will be the master of your very short destiny!”

Veleda laughed, and as Udo drew back his sword to smite her, a flagon hit the floor. The round chamber filled with smoke, and when it cleared and his eyes ceased their burning, he saw the vala was gone.

Curse that witch! I will save my brother, and the Bructeri, despite her words. For I have something only Civilis of the Batavi had- the words of the Vala to tell me what shall happen. But unlike that puffed baboon, I know how to use her foresight to its fullest advantage!

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Veleda hit the pillows at the bottom of her chute rather harder than she was used to. The bruise would fade in time, she knew, if she but lived through the next few days. Then she gave a cruel laugh. Of course she would live. She was Veleda, the foremost Vala of all the Germani. She picked up the rucksack she had packed the day before and slung it over her back. She was out of the tower and bolting through the ravine towards the river before the smoke in the chamber above had begun to clear.

That night, miles away, she set up camp by an old cave. She knew this cave well- it was her shelter when the Visions first came and terrified the then-nine-year old. Twenty years later, it served her again. Its comforting walls soothed her injured pride and calmed her ruffled feathers. In this place of harmony, she could relax, and interpret the Visions that had come so strong this past day.

Rutilius. It was all about Rutilius. She pieced together what she knew of the Roman. He had been a tribune in an auxiliary legion under Vorenus Carnifex three years before. He had saved the remnants of his legion when the Cananefate had so violently destroyed the rest, then passed alone through the hostile lands of the Cananefate and Batavians to reach Vetera. That fool Lupercus threw him in jail as a deserter instead of heeding the warning. She laughed, knowing that that decision led to the doom of two legions. Fool. Then Rutilius escaped, and in doing so freed a Cananefate princeling. He then passed through Cugerni territory- alone and unarmed- and through the vigiliant Ubii to reach the governor in Mogontiacum.

From there he disappeared, but reappeared in the spring as a legate commanding a legion of former marines. All scoffed at him, but the II Adiutrix became the premier legion of the mighty army Cerealis led to crush the Batavians. Julius Civilis fled after gaining peace with Cerealis and Rome, and Rutilius himself brought peace to the Cananefate, closing the circle and ending the war.

That ended three years ago. Since then he served as acting governor for two years before the arrival of Quintus Volusius Saturninus. The governor set his predecessor to ruling the western district directly - from Vetera to the sea- and further as a roving inspector for the rest of the province, keeping the young warlord on the road. From all accounts of traders and hunters, Rutilius was truly interested in justice and fairness to all- not just to Roman interests.

She laughed as she recalled the stories told. The Chauci had come to take advantage of the weakened border and devastated Batavi. Rutilius confronted them with four cohorts of the XXII Primigenia and three warbands of Batavian warriors. The Chauci, seeing these pitiful numbers, came on. Then, forty paces before they would charge, the rest of the XXII legion came out of the woods to their left while a warhost of Cananefate spearmen emerged from their right. The Chauci froze in mid stride, and Rutilius stepped forward from the center of his line and simply pointed his finger back toward Chauci land. The Chauci understood, and departed the trap. Rutilius had done the same with the X Gemina against a Frisian horde just this autumn. Neither warband had come south since.

So this attack in the summer makes no sense. Rutilius would come with his legions, at his own orders, to recover the Eagles and capture that worthless wretch Ulfrich. She gave less than a rat’s arse about those silver Eagles, or about Ulfrich. He would get what was coming after he treacherously murdered two legions of surrendered troops- breaking the word of his commander and thinking he was doing it to honor her. He wanted to give her the legates Lupercus and Numisius as a dowry. Fool. Now he will die at Roman hands, his death serving his people far better than his useless life. As it should be.

But why now? Why does Rutilius come now? He has built what could be a lasting peace upon this border, yet he throws a promising future away for trinkets from the past. It made no sense. And from all she knew of this Roman, and had with her own eyes seen, he did very little that made no sense.

She decided to give this matter more thought.

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[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 08-26-2011 @ 03:39 AM).]

...What?...

...What?...

How can you say that?

It's marvelous, Terikel. That's not to say I know what's going on yet, but I have more respect for the victor of both Sepia Jousts than to just say "...What?..."

I look forward to the next instalment!

Ah yes I remember the famous slaughter of the two legions besieged at Vetera. For those who don't know Terikel wrote a great series of stories last year about the Batavian revolt. This is three years after the revolt ended with peace. I remember that fortune teller quite well.

Good to see that you've started writing stories again. Great start to the story.

For those new to my scribblings, I present the foregoing tales to this story:

The Batavian Revolt:

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

To those who have commented so far, thank you for your comments.

Even yours, Lord Cannibas, incomprehensible as it is.

Lord Cannibas

[strike]Being Dutch, that'd be something you're acquainted with [/strike]

Actually, on 2nd thoughts, mods do have thr ban all button...

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Heia Norge! (Norway. My nationality)

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Nederland. (Holland, my residence)

FYI, VC.

You decided not to attempt the Stars and Stripes as well, I see....

Good stuff as always, Terikel, there is little to criticise in your work.

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Traiectum, Germania, AUC 826

“I am glad we cleared this matter up,” the trader said, addressing the district commander in his praetorium at the rebuilt fort of Traiectum. “Though I must add that my partners will not be so happy since our profit margin will be less.”

“At least you will have a profit margin for them to complain about,” the Cananefate hunter replied with a smile. “And you no longer have to employ hunters to bring you the furs you desire.”

“Or lose lives trampling across Cananefate farms and destroying their meager crops,” added the commander. “It was not so long ago, Decimus Licinius, that this land was inundated by an ocean flood. The land was barren then, and only now coming to life. Think of how you would feel should your lands in Italia be flooded with salt water, and just as you were able to plant again, some Germans came marching across your fragile fields.”

“Yes, yes, Marcus Rutilius,” Decimus Licinius replied, throwing his hands in the air to emphasize his surrender on the matter. “I fully understand. And I do see the eminent wisdom in having the Cananefate themselves do the hunting and procuring of furs. Actually, sir, if they cannot find fur-bearing animals on their own land, I doubt any of my hired Greek trappers could do any better. A good deal, as you said, and one that benefits us both.”

“Excuse me, lord,” a legionary interrupted. “This just in from the dispatch rider. It is from the governor.”

“Ah, I wonder what Quintus Volusius wants now,” Rutilius said with a smile. “Jupiter knows that he has not had much to do since becoming governor.” He broke the seal and unraveled the scroll. His eyes rolled over the prose of the governor, deciphering it, then he let out a sigh. “It seems he has something he urgently needs to discuss. Lucius, have my ready-bags put onto my horse. I will be riding out before noon.” He turned to the two plaintiffs. “Decimus, Hagar, I must go. If I am lucky, I will be back in a fortnight. I hope there will be no further incidents requiring my attention?”

Both Germanic and Roman heads shook from side to side.

“Good then,” Rutilius said with a smile. He held his hand out to the Roman, shook it, then clasped arms with the Cananefate. “Give my regards to your king and his son for me, Hagar.”

“Aye, Marcus,” the hunter replied. And with that, Rutilius was once again off to see the governor, an old man direct from Rome whom he had advised at least one a month for the last nine months.

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“We are doomed,” Ulfrich of the Bructeri moaned. “You heard her, my brother. The witch is never wrong.”

“There is a first time for everything,” Udo said bitterly. “We know the Romans will come in the spring. That gives us all winter to prepare for them a proper welcome.”

“Seval had warning, and look where that got him,” Ulfrich retorted. Julius Civilis- Seval in the Germanic tongue- had followed Veleda’s advice and had won big, before the Romans crushed him with eight legions.

“Seval fought on the other side of Father Rhenus,” Udo reminded his twin. “This time the Romans come here, to our side. Here, like before under Hermann of the Cherusci, they shall taste defeat and meet Death.”

Udo placed his hands firmly on his brother’s shoulders and drew him to his face so that their foreheads touched. “The witch said they would get their Eagles. So we give them to them. Send a loyal man to the Romans to be a traitor. Better yet, send several- one to each Roman rock pile. Have them earn their trust through the winter, then when the Romans march, they are to guide them.”

“To where?”

Udo grinned wolfishly. “They are to take them to the corners of our tribe’s land where it meets that of the Chauci and the Marsi. There the Romans shall face not one, but three tribes. There they shall die, and with them the border will be opened again for free Germanic expansion westward.”

“And if the Marsi and Chauci do not help us?”

Udo grinned. “They will. They will have to- we shall send to them and other tribes envoys. These envoys shall tell of the Roman plans to invade Germania and extinguish every holy fire, fell every sacred oak, and kill every Germani they come across. They will not believe, of course,” he concluded with a wider grin, “until the Romans do march. Then they shall come, and in our multitudes we shall erase Roman influence as the witch foretold.”

Ulfrich nodded. “That does seem a wonderful plan, my brother. But if Rutilius hears of it, will he not change his plans?”

“Then he shall not hear of it,” Udo decided swiftly. “There is a man in Gaul. Wenzel. He is of our blood. If one approaches him with an amount of gold, he will do anything asked. Approach this man. There is a chest of Roman coins- payment for a legion, that our uncle hid away before he was taken by the Valkyries. Offer him this chest in exchange for the head of Rutilius. He will accept.”

Ulfrich’s grin matched that of his brother. ”Aye, with Rutilius dead, his plans die with him. And the witch will have been wrong for once- the men will not be happy that Rutilius is with them for he will be dead. Thus he cannot capture me for his tortures. Brilliant!”
Udo smiled in reply. Despite the witch’s words, he felt he could pull this off. He could save his brother. All he had to do was change the witch’s vision.

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Quintus Volusius Saturninus was toiling away under a mountain of paperwork when the slave’s knock rescued him from the drudgery of civil service. The old man put down the waxen tablet with glee, and laid his stylus aside. The rheumy fingers did not take well to this damp climate, especially with winter approaching. Still, one had to govern, and he was the best man available. After all, he had been consul fourteen years or so before. Who better to govern one of Rome’s most strategic provinces than a bona fide proconsul?

Jupiter alone knows there are not many proconsuls left after Nero. Volusius attributed his survival to being a frail seventy years of age- far too old and feeble to present a threat to anybody. Aulus Caecina- that snake- was a Vitellian consul, so there was no way Vespasian would send him here. Lucius Verginius Rufus and Gaius Fonteius Capito- the other two living senatorial proconsuls- had both been governor of Germania. Capito had laid the foundation for the Batavian revolt with his outrages, and Verginius was almost as popular with the legions as was Vitellius- the legions had hailed him as Imperator vice Galba, but he had then calmly refused the crown. Where the legions did it twice, they could do it a third time. No, if the emperor wanted a safe proconsul to rule Germania, then he had to choose Quintus Volusius Saturninus. And thus he did.

The knock repeated.

“Yes, Hieronymous,” he finally answered.

The slave opened the door a crack, then entered fully. “Lord,” he reported, “Marcus Rutilius has arrived.”

“Thank you, Hieronymous,” the governor replied. He shoved the scrolls and tablets roughly aside. “He may enter whenever he is ready.”

“That may not be for a while, dominus,” the slave replied. “He came in the northern gate, and-.”

“-And the I Adiutrix is having their celebration,” the governor completed for him. He sighed, and pulled a tablet back from the pile. “Let him enjoy the celebration for the day. He has earned it.”

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Mogontiacum was indeed in a festive mood, though Rutilius had no idea why. The guards allowed him and his escort in without challenge, which was only proper as all knew the deputy governor by sight if not by reputation. But none explained the celebration until Titus Flavius Sabinus saw the horsemen approaching through the crowd and hurried over.

“Hail Marcus!” he cried.

“Hail yourself, Titus Flavius,” Rutilius replied. Though the man before him was but twenty or so, he was a seasoned veteran and currently legate of the I Adiutrix. He had won a tribunate from Rutilius during the Batavian Revolt, and since been promoted to legate while Rutilius was acting governor. Now the two were equals, both legates, though Rutilius was the deputy governor and Titus Flavius still the Emperor’s nephew. Still, battles fought side by side tend to forge strong bonds among those who fought, and these two were no exception.

“Your men seem happy,” Rutilius observed bluntly and with laconic humor. “Though the men of the XIV Gemina on the gates did not seem quite so elated. Care to explain?”

“I have the happiest legionaries this side of the Hellespont,” Sabinus confirmed. “This celebration- unplanned- is proof of it.”

“And are you going to tell me what sparked this, or must I guess?”

Sabinus blushed. “Sorry, you couldn’t possibly know. The I Adiutrix, like our II Adiutrix, is composed of former marines. My predecessor Naevius, took away their naval bows as auxilia weaponry. When I took over last month, I heard their complaints about it- four years after the fact, and they still remember and cry over it. I remembered how our II Adiutrix did against the Gauls and again versus the Germani at Vetera and decided they had a good point. So I ordered six thousand naval bows and a half million arrows from the Imperial armories where they were stored, and paid for the transport out of my own estate. Well, Marcus, that equipment got here yesterday and today I started issuing it to the men. And you see the result here.”

Rutilius did indeed see the joy floating through the castrum. Some legionaries had horns, while others drums and xylophonic plates. Music filled the air, and joy not only threatened to overwhelm the normal stoicism of the troops- it had washed it away in a sea of happiness as the men received back their precious bows.

“We are having an impromptu archery contest in the square in about two hours,” Sabinus continued. “Just to see if the men remember how to shoot. The winner will receive a purse of a fifty denarii, while the top ten will get to keep their bows as their own personal property.”

“Is the contest limited only to your legion, or can anyone participate?” Rutilius asked suddenly. He was proud of his protege- the contest, its rewards, and the gesture with the bows were all marks of a good commander. Sabinus was doing quite well as a legate.

“I excluded the Dalmatian and Gallic archers, for obvious reasons,” Sabinus admitted, “but opened the contest to any other soldier. You interested, Marcus?”

Rutilius smiled. “I haven’t shot a bow in three years.” He stretched his back and chest muscles, then nodded. “But I’ll take your money. Do you have a bow I can practice with before the contest?”

Sabinus motioned to a legionary, who brought forth a bow and quiver. “This one was mine, but I’ll let you use it. I seem to have a few left over.”

“About seven hundred twenty, I believe,” Rutilius added with a smile. “A legion only has five thousand two hundred eighty legionaries.”

“I have more left over,” Sabinus corrected. “My legion is not yet up to full strength.”

Rutilius dismounted and handed his horse to an escort. “Where can I practice, Titus?”

Sabinus smiled, then turned to his legionary. “Sextus, fetch me another bow and quiver, then bring it to the practice range. Come, Marcus, let us see which of us is the better archer.”

Rutilius smiled at the challenge. “You are on, Titus.” He turned to his escort commander. “Darius, take the men to the guest barracks to settle in, then report to the governor’s praetorium that I will be along by nightfall.”

Sabinus escorted his friend to the range. Marcus saw the targets punctured by many arrows, with more protruding from the straw. He limbered up, then placed his bow upon one foot and bent it to string it. The string slipped first, to the guffaws of the others practicing, then it settled.

“Hey sir, you do know to put the pointy end of the arrow towards the target when nocking, eh?” laughed one legionary.

Marcus ignored him, and nocked an arrow. More laughter followed as he drew back the fletching, then tilted the bow to ease the arrow back onto its original position atop the fist holding the bow. He held firm and taut for a moment, aiming. When he released, the arrow shot true- and into the red circle painted upon the target.

“Like that, son?” he asked off-handedly of the chiding soldier.

The laughter diminished, then died as the soldiers heard from others who had just scored the Bull. Rutilius the former governor, ex-legate of the II Adiutrix- former marines like themselves- hero of Vetera, and winner of the Corona Civica at Gelduba. Hushed respect filled the range.

“Now get to practicing, you apes, or that purse will be mine alone,” he ordered loudly, to the rising cheers of the men. The whoosh of arrows in flight filled the range, and the euphoria of holding their beloved bows again returned.

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AUC 826

I was about to ask for a date, but you onliged me before I could. I take it AUC is for Ab Vrbe Condita? So 73 CE.

I was also about to ask you for another update, but I figured that patience was the best course of action. It paid off less than 24 hours later.

Great stuff. I'm beginning to work out where it's coming from, and I'm slowly catching up on your older stories.

Julius Civilis- Seval in the Germanic tongue

Julius Civilis was pronounced You-lee-uss Ki-wee-liss in the First century AD.

[This message has been edited by Edorix (edited 12-18-2009 @ 05:19 PM).]

Quoted from Edorix:

Julius Civilis was pronounced You-lee-uss Ki-wee-liss in the First century AD

Do you know how long it took me to come up with a way to Germanify SIV-ill-is (to SevFAL), and now you go and wreck it all with Ki-WEE-lis?

Damn!

What German and manly sounding name can I dig out of that? 'Kiwi' just won't do.

Nah, I'll stick with Seval (pronounced Sev-FAL with a Germanic shift of V->F and the accent on the last syllable).

Besides, who said German names have to mimic the Latin? Maybe the Romans Latinized his Germanic name, like they did with Alpinius Montanus and Arminius (Herman the German).



By the way, the plan is to release updates every Monday and Thursday until Part I is finished, then a week or two break before Part II launches. As always, I reserve the right to change the plan without notice whenever I damned well feel like it.

Again, thanks for reading. And even more, commenting.

We writers are like flowers to the sun- we flourish in the sunlight of criticism and adoration, yet wither in the darkness of oblivion and lack of attention.

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 10-06-2009 @ 02:31 PM).]

Great chapter and good to see you are up and running. Indeed we writers crave attention. It's nice to be noticed for your efforts.

I was wondering recently when your next story would be. Good start.

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Quintus Volusius Saturninus was once one of the handsomest men in Rome, back when Tiberius was an old man, Caligula his heir, and Claudius was thought to be a dolt. Now he was a shadow of his former self. But his rheumy eyes always lit up when he saw his predecessor. Marcus Rutilius was tall and broad of shoulder as any good warrior should be, and had a thatch of red-gold hair that had most women- and some men!- fawning over him. He cut quite a figure in that muscled silver cuirass he received from Cerealis- and hardly ever took off. Quintus watched him now cross to the praetorium with bow in hand and smiled.

There was a gentle knock, then Rutilius entered.

“So, Marcus,” the governor began. “Are you fifty denarii richer now?”

Marcus smiled, and held forth his bow. “No, dominus, but I did win a bow. I placed fifth. A tesserarius from the IX cohort took the purse. He never missed a bull, and scored eight bull’s eyes. Some of those men could really shoot!”

“I haven’t seen soldiers so happy in all my life,” the governor admitted softly. “And from what I have gathered from the sutlers, this joy even exceeds that generated by the approach of Cerealis’s army that broke the Siege three years ago.”

“I was in that army, sir,” Rutilius reminded him. “It is true. Now, to business, sir, if I may be blunt. Your tablet said there was an urgent matter you wished to discuss.”

“Not so urgent that it could not wait until after the tournament Sabinus hosted, though, eh?” chided the old man with a sly grin. “But yes, urgent enough to call you from the west to discuss this personally.”

Saturninus gestured for his deputy to be seated, then leaned closer. “Do you like it here, Marcus?” he asked. When his subordinate sat back in surprise, he continued. “I mean, do you want to stay here, on the border?”

Rutilius was now very confused. But he retained enough of his composure to answer truthfully. “Yes sir, I do. I feel at home here.”

The old man smiled. “Well, my young friend, I do not. The damp here inflames my rheumatism, and makes my joints ache. I long to return to sunny Rome and lay on my couch eating peeled grapes and having slave girls dance about to refill my cups with unwatered wine. To that end I asked for leave to return to Rome.”

He leaned closer. “I had assumed that the emperor would choose you as a replacement for me. Mucianus speaks very highly of you, as does Quintus Petillius Cerealis. The first is the emperor’s right-hand man, the other his brother-in-law. Very good men to have on your side, young Rutilius.”

He sighed. “But alas, Vespasian has never forgotten that this province had twice declared its governor Imperator, though Verginius Rufus was wise enough to refuse the honor. Vitellius was not, and Vespasian climbed to the throne over his bones- and that of many men from this province.”

“Worse, with your Corona Civica from Gelduba, your command of the Battle at Vetera, the peace you brought, combined with your youth, looks, and obvious popularity with these legions here, Vespasian sees you as a possible threat.”

Rutilius straightened up at that. “Me? A threat? Does he then order my death?”

The old man waved his hands frantically before him. “No no no, nothing so daft as that. He is no Nero, you know. But he refuses to put this province- and its seven legions- under your sole command. That was one of the reasons I was sent- I am no threat, and can monitor you. You have earned my admiration, Marcus, and I trust we have become friends. I know you to be a Roman of the Romans, and no threat to Titus Vespasianus or his family. I too spoke highly of you when I requested my return to Rome. Unfortunately, the words of Mucianus, Cerealis, and myself fell of deaf ears.

“Vespasian will be dividing this province back into two, Germania Inferior and Germania Superior. A new governor with propraetorial imperium will be arriving here in January to assume the duties as governor of Germania Superior. Another will arrive with him, and continue north to assume duties as the governor of Germania Inferior. Both will be bringing quaestors with them, thus will have no need of a deputy as you have served me.

“Now, the crux is this. Secundus Papirius Acala, the legate of the X Gemina in Noviomagus, also wishes to return to Rome. He was an awful legate anyway, so I granted his request. That leaves the X Gemina with no legate, though I hear his tribunus laticlavius is rather good. If you wish to come to Rome with me, Marcus, you may. Otherwise I will offer you the position of legate of the Xth. The choice is yours, my friend.”

“There really is no choice,” Rutilius said after a minute of deep thought. “I am now a Senator, due to the Crown, and intend on staying one through the lands I bought up here after the recent turmoil. My wealth is here, not in Rome, so I must stay, as you well know.” Then he smiled broadly. ”And the X Gemina is a good legion, even though its commander was horrible. A close friend from my youth in the Subura, Marcus Salvius, is a senior optio in that unit.”

“Ah, I always wondered why you made Publius Salvius your praefectus camporum,” Saturninus commented suddenly, and displaying to his young deputy an uncomforting depth of knowledge about him. “A cripple, an old cripple at that, pensioned off by the State after years of good service once he was no longer fit for battle. You took that old wreck of a man and made him into one of the best praefecti in the legions. Now I know why.”

“That half-man was like a father to me, sir,” Rutilius replied evenly, trying to keep his temper in check. Salvius Senior was indeed a close friend- he even called him ‘Uncle’.

“Oh, I meant no disrespect,” the governor was quick to add. “Do you know that I was in the legions once? Not as a legionary, or an officer, but ‘attached to the general’s staff’ one might say. Army of Claudius, almost thirty years ago. Britannia. Ended up coming home on the same ship that brought old Julius Civilis back after he lost an eye over there. And another of the men being freighted home was a centurion who had gotten himself mangled under a chariot- a brave fool named Publius Salvius. That chariot shot through a gap in the lines and might have killed the general- and myself- had he not stopped it.”

He looked deep into the grey-blue eyes of his deputy. “I got him that post as caretaker of the Shrine. I had repaid my debt to him with that job, then wrote him off like everyone else had. Until you came along and made more a man out of him than anyone thought possible. I salute you, Marcus, and would be glad to count you among my friends.”

He paused, then continued. ”You mentioned being a Senator. You do realize that means a political career, yes? Have someone look after your lands here- someone you can trust- and come with me to Rome. Not as a client, but as a friend. I have connections, and maybe you could return here as a magistrate instead of a privatus.”

“I thank you for the offer,” Rutilius said with sincerity. He did like the old man tremendously. “But politics never interested me. I will serve my time with the legions, then retire to whichever of my farms I feel most comfortable in. If my position in the Senate falls away, what do I care?”

The irreverence shown Rome’s most exclusive community shocked the old man at first, then he saw what Rutilius meant. His life was here, not in Rome. What good was membership in the Senate to one who would never attend? Right now as a legate and a soldier that meant status and connections, but later, as a privatus... Nothing. It was not irreverence, it was simple common sense.

“Then I shall issue the orders tomorrow making you legate of the X Gemina,” Saturninus concluded. “Now, if this new governor is very smart, he’ll place himself in Noviomagus where he is centered on his province, and can learn from you how things up here work. If he is smart but not very smart, he’ll make Vetera his capital. If he is stupid, he’ll set up shop in Novaesium.”

“And if he’s very stupid, Bonna,” Rutilius said, completing the list of castra in the coming province. “He’ll be closest to this post, but furthest from his province.”

“Aye lad,” Saturninus agreed. “But that will not matter then- you’ll be effectively running the rest of the province anyway. Now, tell me about this tournament.”

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The Visions came again in the night. Veleda was not prepared for them as she usually was- they usually came when she accessed that part of her mind where dreams and memories were stored. Now, while chopping wood by her cave, they came and overwhelmed her.

She knew from previous visions that the soldiers would be glad to have Rutilius with them, and the legates upset at the orders to cross the river into Bructeri territory. These she knew to be true. She also knew that Udo would try to change that vision. What she did not know- but now saw- was more concerning that vision. Far more, and many more Visions. Some with sound, some silent.

With a startling speed the Visions vanished. Veleda stood from where she had fallen, and brutally cast aside the wood she had previously been cutting. She had work to do, and that work was not in her cave.

She needed to get out of Bructeri lands, and fast.

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Marcus Rutilius remained in Mogontiacum discussing administration with Saturninus for almost a week before heading back to Noviomagus. He had a lot of traveling ahead of him. He had promised Hagar and Decimus that he would return to settle any other disputes, but now that he would no longer be deputy governor, those involved would have to know to whom to turn. And that included stopping by the court of the Batavian King Tiberius Labeo and that of the Cananefate King Niall to tell them of the coming changes. He hoped they would get along as well with the new governor as they had with himself and Volusius Saturninus, but that really depended on what sort of man the new governor was.

He stopped briefly at Bonna to let Lucius Amensius and his XXI Rapax hear of the coming changes, then continued on to Novaesium where he spent the night with Gnaeus Vipsanius Messala and the VI Victrix. The two talked of old times together- both had served at the Battle of Vetera as commanders- and what the future held.

“Bah, I am no fortune-teller,” Messala remarked happily. “As long as the fool they send keeps the peace, I am happy. Otherwise I’ll petition Quintus Petillius for duty in Britannia.”

“I might do the same,” Rutilius agreed, “it would be nice to serve with the II Adiutrix again. That was a premier legion.”

“Thanks to you,” Messala added. “Before you took over, they were worthless sea-mutts.”

“They saved your ass at Gelduba,” Rutilius reminded him in a harsh but joking tone, “and again at Vetera. Show some respect.”

Messala poured more wine. “I meant no disrespect, Marcus. I was there when they were promoted from marines, remember? I was just pointing out that there is a clear difference between then and now. And you made that difference. Now, really, would you petition for Britannia if the new governor is an ass? I thought you bound to this place.”

Rutilius shrugged. “I own land here, and most of the farmsteads are running themselves adequately. I need to keep on them, however, as I have no slaves to oversee their operations- nor do I want one. Tricky Greeks are no good for free German farmhands. No, my lands require my personal attention, or I would have to donate them away. I’d rather not do that just yet.”

Messala understood. He too had used his money to buy up farms whose occupants had been killed or driven off or enslaved. Like Rutilius, he came upon these after the revolt, not during it as had some of the other officers, but then again he had the bulk of his lands and wealth in Italia. But unlike Rutilius, he had a sharp Greek slave who oversaw the holdings and ensured his standings. He didn’t work so well around Germans, though, which was why his holdings were staffed with Macedonian, Thracian, and Greek slaves. He wondered how Rutilius could generate the income necessary to stay a senator when he did not use slaves on his lands, but that was his problem. Messala’s problem was that the amphora was empty and so was his wine cellar.

It did not matter. It was late, and Rutilius would be off to Vetera in the morning to inform the XXII Primigenia and Decius Paullus. So the rest of the night was spent chatting about Rome and Roman ways, and why the hell Marcus Rutilius had not hooked up with that gorgeous redheaded merchant’s daughter Licinia yet.

Rutilius was wondering that very thing when he was riding toward Vetera the following morning. Licinia was tall, beautiful, and had the same red-blonde hair and blue-grey eyes as had he. She was rich, and her father was a good friend. She was not prissy, or haughty as most Roman noblewomen tended to be, nor did she complain about the weather as most visiting Roman women (and men!) were prone to do. In fact, had he known of her interest, he might just have arranged to marry her. If he did that, then he could petition to have his adopted son Publius come stay with him, safe in Germania and away from dangerous Rome. It was a win-win for him.

He was almost thirty now, of age to start looking for a bride and a family. It was a Roman’s duty to have children, that the State had a steady supply of men for the legions. That was old-fashioned thinking, he chided himself, Republican ideals, but ones he still held to be true. And Licinia did have nice legs...

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by an arrow shattering upon his cuirass. The hunter’s shaft was no naval arrow, and failed to penetrate the silvered steel. Still, the impact jolted him. A second arrow erupted from the back of his horse’s neck, causing the creature to shy upwards, catch two more arrows in its gut, then crumple to the ground lifeless. Rutilius hurled himself from the saddle before he could be crushed or trapped under the horse, slung his shield off his back and onto his arm, and drew his gladius before the beast hit the ground.

Around him his Median cavalry escort was falling from their saddles, or returning the archery with arrows of their own. A few brought their horses over to surround their commander, shielding him from more missiles but depriving him of a view over the impromptu battlefield.

Their protection did not last long. Hairy men in dyed wolfskins charged from the brush, following their arrows in. They held spears, axes, and swords in their hand and had mayhem on their mind. The remaining Medes fought bravely, but went down one by one, taking many German ambushers with them. Marcus, fighting on his own feet, brought down a few more, but not enough. A few surviving Medes were driven off and the rest slain. Rutilius, who had taken the backside of an axe to the back of his knee, was down but not dead.

The Germani were now sweeping the ambush site of living and wealth. A German stood over him, sending his axe into the braincase of Darius, ensuring the Mede was dead before turning to the man in the silver armor. He smiled, and raised his axe. Marcus lunged upwards and felt the bite of his gladius into the man’s ribcage, and then through to that throbbing organ within. The German coughed, then fell, knocking Rutilius down and this time trapping his sword under the dead weight. The Roman quickly drew his dagger as another German straddled his prone body. The barbarian smiled, showing teeth as yellow as the torc around his neck, as he brought his sword back to slice this Roman’s neck.

Then he fell forward, and arrowhead and six inches of shaft protruding from his chest. The arrowhead impacted on the cuirass, and combined with the weight of the man it transfixed, penetrated the armor beneath. Rutilius groaned.

“Nicht tot sein. Nicht tot sein. Nicht tot sein,” muttered a rapid female voice through the haze of pain. A hand pulled the German corpse roughly from his body, breaking the arrowhead off in the wound and causing another rush of pain. Then soft hands cradled his head and a tangle of dark hair framing two incredibly large liquid blue eyes covered his vision. The hands held him strangely firm, while those eyes locked onto his. He heard the voice once more, this time in Latin, uttering a single command- “Remember!”

Then the hands were gone and Rutilius’s head crashed back to the ground below. As he faded out, he heard the German woman arguing with a man. Then everything faded to black.

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“He lives, as we agreed,” the chieftain replied to the unspoken question.

“Just barely,” Veleda agreed. “Next time you will listen and not dawdle. Had you drunk a tankard more in that blasted hovel of a tavern, we would have seen only those assassins’ asses as they hurried away.”

“I have done as you have asked,” the chieftain repeated. “Now pay me, witch.”

“Promised is promised.” Veleda sighed, then assumed her trance with her hands folded before her as if praying. “Udo told you of the chest of the legions, an inheritance from his uncle. Yet he lied, and told you only half. Follow his directions, but only to a point. When the path he told you splits by a lightning-struck pine, take the fork less traveled and you shall be rich. Take the path he choose for you, and you shall find Glory and Fame, but die gloriously minutes thereafter. The choice is yours. Glory or riches. One or the other, but not both.”

The chieftain nodded. “Fare thee well, Witch of the Bructeri.”

“Good bye, Wenzel of the Bructeri.”

Wenzel walked a few paces, then turned. “You know already what I shall do, do you not?”

Veleda nodded solemnly.

“Yet you say nothing.”

“It does not matter what I say, Wenzel. You will do what you will do, regardless of my words or knowledge.”

The chieftain nodded in reply. “You are correct.”

And then he and his men were gone, leaving naught but bodies stripped of wealth and weapons, a slender witch, and a wounded Roman laying upon the ground in their wake.

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I would say it's a pity that Rutilius's journey to Britannia has been delayed, but I'm much too intrigued by the turn of events including the ambush.

I can't wait for the next part!

Four days to go...

Looks like the witch is going to use Rutillus for her own means. Great chapter Terikel!

A great story, nice and detailed. Very well written Terikel.

Julius Civilis was pronounced You-lee-uss Ki-wee-liss in the First century AD

Do you know how long it took me to come up with a way to Germanify SIV-ill-is (to SevFAL), and now you go and wreck it all with Ki-WEE-lis?

As Caesar (Kai-sar) said, "waynee, weedee, weekee".

The later grammarians wrote that the V was beginning to be pronounced "with friction", i.e. more like an English V than a W. It could theoretically have begun earlier in the German provinces, especially given the stereotypical inability of Germans to pronounce W as anything other than V. I have no evidence for this, but it makes a nice rationale, I think .

Alternatively, there's also the closeness between B and V in pronunciation; in writing, the Suebi were also referred to as the Suevi. Just a thought.

Good story-telling as always Terikel. I wish I could fast forward time to monday.

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A cough seized his chest and gripped it in a vise. Rutilius coughed up a thick chunk of sputum and spit. With that action, he came awake. He sat upright and his hand reached to his waist for his gladius. It got tangled in linen instead.

“About time you woke up, you lazy bum,” chided a familiar voice.

Rutilius winced at the pain in his chest caused by his violent reaction to hearing a voice so nearby, then calmed as he realized the voice spoke in Latin. He looked around as his eyes finally focused, to see Decius Paullus sitting across from him with a grin smacked across his face.

“Three of those worthless Persians Saturninus gave you as an escort came in two days ago, claiming you had been slain on the road to Gelduba by a large force of German monsters,” Paullus explained. “Naturally, since our cavalry patrols the river roads often and carefully and heard nothing of the sort, we sent a turma of Treveri to check it out. Sure enough, they found you- alive- amid a pile of dead Germans and Medes.”

“Ambush,” Rutilius croaked. He reached for the goblet of water Paullus held out to him, and drank deep. “Archers, followed by infantry hidden too close to avoid. Absolutely no warning. We never had a chance.”

“We burned over sixty barbarian bodies,” Paullus recalled. “Not a horde, mind you, but enough to do in those forty men you had with you. When will you learn, Marcus, that not all are pleased with Roman presence here? You should never travel with less than three turmae. I have told you this before.”

Rutilius struggled to sit upright. Gods above, but it hurt! A bandage was strapped tightly across his chest- almost too tight. “I was traveling light- I was told it was urgent. But you are right; I should have had a bigger escort. Blasted leeches! They always bandage too tightly!”

“Our leeches did not put that on, Marcus,” Decius Paullus replied. “Someone had found you before we did, and bandaged your wound before moving on. Probably to get help, judging by the fact they did not slay you while helpless. Nor did they take you silvered cuirass. We found it laying beside you.”

Rutilius glanced about, his eyes finding the gift of from the ex-consul safe in a corner.

“Our leeches have examined you, though, apart from the bandaged wound, and find it miraculous that no blood had spilled from your lungs yet. You evidently have a deep puncture to the chest, based on the blood in the bandage, yet no pink frothing at the mouth or irregular heart beat.”

“Then they won’t have any objections to me loosening it,” Marcus replied, and reached for his pugio. Paullus was quicker, and handed his friend the weapon, hilt first. Rutilius nodded a thanks then slit the bandages. Ah, it was so nice to be able to breathe freely again. He could not resist his next action. It was too natural, too reflexive. He lifted the blood-soaked portion away from his body and peeked beneath.

“You might want to get your leeches in here,” He said, pulling the clotted fabric free. There was a reddened hole in his left pectoral, just above the nipple, and protruding from that angry hole was the broken-off shaft of an arrow. Decius took one look and bellowed for the medici.

Two men rushed in a few minutes later, both with medical equipment in their hands. One glance was all they needed before those hands were searching for tongs and clamps. One placed the clamp against the wound, while the other put his tong on the shaft.

“Gently now,” said the one to the other. “Don’t lose the head in there.”

But there was no chance of that. The shaft was very short, he saw at once. The tongs gripped a bit of the head itself, buried in the deep muscle. One tug and it came free in a mass of pus and blood. He flushed the wound with water, then applied the bandage again. He had to do this to a prostate patient for the legate had keeled over when the arrowhead tore free.

Decius Paullus was on his feet, and now he was grabbing a medicus and shouting.

“Easy sir,” the man said defensively. “Look! This arrowhead is too short to reach his vitals through that mass of muscle. Nor is the bleeding- though profuse- enough to drain him. He just passed out from the pain, weakened by the infection as he was. If he survives the fever, he will heal. If not, nothing we did to him here will hasten that demise.”

“You had better be right,” Paullus warned sternly.

“I’ve seen this a hundred times, legate,” the medicus replied. “If not more. He is now battling the infection. If it goes septic, so will he. If he wins the battle, he will be fine. Scarred, but fine. If it helps, lord, removing the arrowhead will make his battle easier for him to win.”

Paullus sat back. He knew the medicus was correct. He too had seen it a hundred times, if not more. All he could do was wait.

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Marcus Rutilius won the battle within, and was up and about a few days afterward. He was still weak- so much so that he could not even string his bow for some practice- but he was able to walk. The medicus examined the wound and pronounced it healing well. Under the scab, he had a puckered pink circle on his left breast now. But other than that, he would be fine. Marcus thanked him and set about finding Decius Paullus.

The conversation was short and too the point. Rutilius was still too weak to fuddle about, and Paullus knew his friend was itching to get back to Traiectum, pack up, and from there to his new legion. Legates should have legions, and Rutilius had been deputy governor for far too long without a proper command. Rutilius told Paullus of the upcoming changes, heard his moans and groans, then explained his own views on the matter. Afterwards, Paullus agreed to serve the next governor as loyally as he had his friend, as both men knew he would, then he offered him a turma of Treveri cavalry to escort him back to Traiectum.

“And further, I will put in the request for a turma of cavalry for you as well. You may no longer be the deputy governor, but the X Gemina has no auxilia. If the new governor is a warbird, you might need it.”

“Thanks,” Rutilius replied. “I owe you one, Decius.”

“You rescued me from Mogontiacum, remember?” Paullus laughed. “I’d say we are even on that score. But who cares?”

Rutilius smiled. True, among friends, who really kept track of such things?

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Rutilius rode out in the morning, a full turma of Treveri cavalry around him. Some rode far from the main body as scouts, while others rode close to ensure the legate would not fall from the horse.

Rutilius used his strength to keep his body atop the swaying nag and his mind to tear his thoughts from the lingering pain of the wound. He thought of the dinner the night before, and how Paullus was insisting he needed a woman. The name of Licinia did not come up, but Paullus had more than enough cousins in Rome who were of marriageable age and would dearly love to wed a war hero. War heroes were sexy husbands, regardless of their looks. That Rutilius was a fine-looking man was only a bonus. Paullus knew of literally dozens of girls in Rome who would marry him eagerly and become devoted wives and mothers to his children.

He also knew of a half-dozen German girls right there in Vetera who could give him a tumble if he wanted, no strings attached. Rutilius smiled wanly, but refused the offer. He could barely sit a horse, much less mount a woman. Besides, his thoughts were drifting back to Licinia and her red hair and long legs, then bouncing abruptly over to the ambush and the death of his men. There was more than death and chaos there, but what? The rest was a blur.

He bypassed Noviomagus. He did send word to Secundus Papirius Acala that his request for relief had been granted. The new legate would arrive within a fortnight to assume his duties. Once that occurred, Acala was free to join proconsul Saturninus in Mogontiacum. Acala was joyful, sent the messenger back and began packing at once.

Rutilius thought him a fool at first for being so eager to leave the border, then recanted as he remembered the words of Saturninus. The Border was not for everybody, and Rome should be proud that there were men like Rutilius who thrived on the Edge of Civilization, keeping Rome safe from barbarians.

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“Pack my stuff, Lucius,” Rutilius called as he entered his praetorium at Traiectum. He was feeling much better. Yesterday he had torn his bandages off, to the horror of the Treveri guarding him. Today the wound was much better. Fresh air on the scab apparently helped. “And bring me tribunus Horatius.”

Moments later Aulus Horatius entered the praetorium’s atrium. He saluted, then assumed the position of attention while Marcus was gathering his personal possessions and tossing them into buckets and sacks.

“Ah, Aulus,” he said, noticing the man answering his summons. “I will be moving to Noviomagus to take over the X Gemina. We will be getting a new governor in January or so, and he will be bringing a quaestor, I have heard. You are to assume command of this fort and those to the west until he decides otherwise.”

Horatius gawked at the sudden promotion, but Rutilius ignored it.

“Oh do not be so surprised, Aulus,” he said. “Keep the peace, be fair, and all will go well. You can do it. Do you really think I would give you this district if I thought you could not?”

“N-n-no sir,” Aulus stammered.

“Then relax. A district governor should be relaxed. A relaxed governor exudes authority and power. And if you have any problems, there is a legion in Noviomagus that can be here within days to fix anything needing fixing. And with it will be a legate who knows this country and its denizens.”

Aulus smiled, and nodded. He understood the subtlety. He was not being hung out to dry, or thrown to the Wolves. He was being given a chance to excel, with a safety net in the form of the X Gemina nearby should things go awry. Mars how he liked working for this man! Many others felt the same way. It was a pity old Vespy in Rome could not understand that.

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[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 10-12-2009 @ 11:21 AM).]

It's lucky that you make updates on Mondays and Thursdays; the two days I have ict. It means I get to make the first comment each time.

I'm looking forward to some action; I would also like to compliment you on your previous works, They come, Vengeance at Traiectum, Betrayal on the Border, and Batavia Rises. They are just as well written as this.

You should never travel with less than a turma.

I thought he had an escort of forty horsemen? And isn't a turma thirty? Correct me if I'm wrong...

...old Vespy in Rome...

A nice touch.

You seem to delight in gore, judging by the operation scene; I must admit that I do too. But I can never write that sort of thing. I always feel slightly queasy when I go back and re-read it...

[This message has been edited by Edorix (edited 10-12-2009 @ 09:36 AM).]

It means I get to make the first comment each time.

Heh, only because I don't always comment. But rest assured, a student's schedule is suitably empty to be first to most things on the web.

Good chapter again, Terikel. I'd love to be able to make regular updates like you, but I prefer to release mine in large chunks when I'm completely satisfied with them.

I am not totally familiar with Roman cavalry terms in the First Century. I call a decury a squad of ten, turma a company of 100-150, a cohort a squadron about 200-300, and an ala a wing of 600-900. I know the term turma existed, but am not sure of its size. In this reference, Decius Paullus means a subunit of a cohort, about 100 cavalrymen. As this is fiction and not fact, I have that leeway.

If someone knows the true terms for units of that size, please inform me and I'll edit them in.

I can make regular updates because I wrote the thing completely already and am working on Part II. I go back to Part I for data or editing, and do a final edit once the thing is in preview before posting. Like you, I don't post by a time schedule as much as when I am satisfied with it (which is why I qualified the update days as Mondays and Thursdays, reserving the right to change that any time I want).

@Edorix- thanks. "And Yet I was Once your Emperor" and "the Broken Bridge" are my personal favorites. You will get to them soon enough. Beware though, they are long. Very long. The parts 1-12 follow one another, by the way.

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 10-12-2009 @ 10:19 AM).]

I've got the Republic cavarly troop numbers for a legion, which is from the book Goldsworthy's The Fall Of Carthage (The Punic Wars). It says:

"Every legion had around three hundred horsemen. They were divided into ten turmae: one turmae had thirty horsemen, led by three decurions. Recruited from the highest and wealthiest citizens in the state and the highest eighteen hundred* (I don't know if that's the exact number) from the Comitia Centuriata. They were granted equo publico that meant that if their horse was killed in battle the state would pay for a new horse.

I haven't got the Imperial cavarly numbers sadly.

*I don't know if that's the exact number.

[This message has been edited by Legion Of Hell (edited 10-12-2009 @ 10:30 AM).]

Thanks, Legion. And you too Edorix. I guess there was nothing between 30 and 300. I edited the above to 'never travel without three turmae.' Better three small than no mid-sized units...

If it helps, I can provide a little detail.

The Punic Wars pretty much saw the end of citizen cavalrymen; in later wars the Italian Allies (socii) provided the cavalry, or horsemen were recruited from native tribesmen, as Caesar did with the Remi and Ubii in his Gallic campaigns.

When Augustus put the legions on a standard footing, auxilia units were also properly organised. Cavalry units were termed alae, and were named after the place they were raised, e.g. Ala Noricum.

V. Vuksic and Z. Grbasic, Cavalry. The History of a Fighting Elite (London: Cassell, 1993), pp. 13, 50:

The role of the horsemen was to patrol and secure the borders, and they were organized in special units called alae (wings) and commanded by a praefectus. The basic units were still the turmae; larger units were the quinquenaria... consisting of 16 turmae, and miliaria... with 24 turmae. Riders serving in the mixed infantry/cavalry units (cohortes equitatae) were not as well equipped or mounted.* They numbered 400 infantry and 128 cavalry.

...

The men of the alae were real combat cavalry, while those of the mixed units (cohortes equitatae) could be termed a sort of mounted infantry, whose duties were patrolling, escort, reconnaissance and other general purpose work, rather like the task of the dragoon in later times.

Wikipedia has a helpful table here.