Noviomagus, Germania Inferior, January AUC 827

Marcus Rutilius did not like the orders he received, but there was little he could do but obey. The new governor, Quintus Julius Cordinus Caius Rutilius Gallicus, had the approval of the Emperor to retrieve the Eagles of the V Alaudae and XV Primigenia – lost when those legions had been starved out of Vetera then cruelly butchered- and he was intent on that. Rutilius Gallicus had his approval- and personal reasons. Marcus Rutilius knew this well- the governor had been a tribune in the V Alaudae back when Rutilius first arrived in that legion as a replacement. The governor lost a lot of good friends in that slaughter, and Quintus Munius Lupercus- the legatus- had been a close friend with familial ties to the Julii Cordini. It was only natural that the governor made war to punish his murderers. The Eagles were just a means to garner Imperial approval- and it worked.

He could not ignore the orders, but he could and would ensure that those orders killed as few of his precious legionaries as possible. It was to this end he now prepared, with a staff meeting of all tribunes and senior centurions. The men were ready in his study when he entered, the tribunes rising from their stools and the centurions already standing when he entered. He was pleased to note that Aulus Lucanus Strabo, the cross-eyed pampered and bigoted brat of a senator, was at ease next to Cadorus, the British tribune. That bode well.

“The orders are in,” he began. He lifted a linen sheet from the wooden board anchored to his table. Under was another linen sheet, with lines and boxes. Every man there recognized the wavy trace of the Rhenus and the locations of the castra in the province without having to read the words marked upon it for those who did not.



“The other three legions of this province will gather at Castra Vetera,” he announced, “the quarters of the fourth legion, the XXII Primigenia. From there, we will sweep through the southern portion of Bructeri lands along the Lupia River to its headwaters, where Drusus defeated the Sicambri ninety or so years ago, before turning north to follow the Ems along the Bructeri-Chauci border. Along this river, our scouts say, is the royal town where the Bructeri king holds his hall. There are lie the Eagles of the Alaudae and the Primigenia, our objectives.”

He turned from the map to face his men. “We are also ordered to slay or enslave any Bructeri we come across as a reprisal for the murder of those legions. Does anybody here not know the history behind this action?”

Cadorus raised his hand, followed by Lucanus Strabo. After them, at least six of the centurions also raised their hands.

Rutilius cursed softly. They should have heard this by now. The memories were painful and strong, but he regurgitated them anyway, against his own will. These men had a right to know what kind of men they faced.

“The Germani had besieged Vetera, as I am sure you do know. There were the remnants of two legions there. I say remnants because they had gotten spanked hard by the Germani earlier- when they moved to assault Batavodurum. That’s Noviomagus before it was renamed and moved, by the way. They survived a long siege, eating fish caught at night and making soup from moss growing on the walls, until they could hold out no more. Eight months they held out, awaiting relief which tried and tried to come, only to be forced back time and again.

“The men were going mad with hunger, and Munius Lupercus- senior legate- finally caved. He surrendered the fort to the Batavians, on the condition that his men be give free passage to the nearest Roman holding. At that time, the nearest Roman haven was Massilia- everything in between was either in Germanic hands or threatened by Gallic revolt. The Batavians accepted, provided the legionaries left their arms and armor in the fort. It was so, and they gave the starving men some food, rations for the journey, and a scroll of free passage as agreed. This we recovered, so we know at least Civilis gave the order of free passage. Then Lupercus and his men marched south.

“They never made it to Gelduba, much less Massilia. They were ambushed and slaughtered to a man in the forest. Every one of them. Dead. It was discovered later that Civilis did not order the deed, but it was rather the handiwork of the Bructeri. Lupercus was to be taken to their queen- a seeress by the name of Veleda. Neither his nor the bones of Numisius Rufus, the XV Primigenia legate, were ever found.”

He looked at the horror in the men’s eyes and saw they understood the implication. “These Bructeri did not hesitate to kill the helpless, nor to violate a sacred vow. They are not to be trusted, and deserve no mercy.”

“These are also the buggers who tried at least three times to kill the legate last year,” Palla announced. “I heard from the primuspilus of the XXII, sir. Those men who wiped out your Median guard and put that arrow in your chest- they had Bructeri arrows on and in them. Same twisted fletchings your Erwin made. The other two times was right here in town, people. These Bructeri bastards are very bad people.”

Murmurs rippled through the assembled soldiers, but the murmuring was angry. There was no sympathy or pity for these wretches- they deserved none and shall receive none. Not from the X Gemina, at least.

“So it is a simple search-and-destroy mission,” Cadorus summed up. “We search for the Eagles, and destroy anything and anyone we come across. We have three solid, veteran legions- we shall prevail.”

“The Bructeri are even less popular across the river as they are on this side,” Rutilius continued. “They border on both the Chauci, the Marsi, the Tencteri, and the Frisii. Merchants reported seeing Bructeri envoys in each of those lands, and each time the envoy was sent home upset. The Tencteri used to have good ties to the Bructeri, but dropped those after the revolt was crushed. Evidently they had enough of Bructeri friendship as well.

“So we shall have guides over there,” he added. ”Two Marsi and a Tencteri hunter. They have once lived there, so they know the land. The Bructeri think they are Kings of the Forest. These chaps think otherwise. They have little to like about the Bructeri. So we will not be going in blind like Varus.”

“Your orders, legate?” asked Cadorus.

“We train like our lives depend on it,” Rutilius answered. “I want five day hikes for every cohort- three at a time. Weapons drills in the morning, marching twenty miles, build a camp, then repeat. I want the auxilia in on the training as well- cavalry and spearmen working with and against each other, while each of the Arvernii should be able to hit a melon at a hundred-fifty paces or better.”

He turned to Palla. “Top, you accompany each march, like we did before I got hurt. I want at least two tribunes on each march as well. Later, we take the whole legion out on maneuvers, but I have to arrange something before we try that. And of course, I will be on many marches as well- if I make you do it, I have to show that I am willing to do it as well.”

Rutilius dismissed the men to spread the word among the cohorts that it was going to be a hard winter. Then he called Salvius to bring his warmest cloak.

“Where are we going?” asked his aide as he entered with two cloaks.

“I am going to see the king,” the legate answered. “I assume you are going to wait outside.”

“Smartass,” Salvius smirked. “I will meet with Frieda at the inn, then come back to escort you up here two hours after. Good enough?”

“I’ll have my Batavian escort once I hit the market,” Rutilius reminded him. “Escort me there, then you can go spend four hours with Frieda, if you like. But please send my regards to Froydis, if you see her there. Tell her my wound is much better.”

“She hasn’t been around much lately,” Salvius observed. “You two have a fight or something?”

“I’ve just been busy,” Rutilius replied. “You know how a legate’s life is.”

“Aye,” was the reply. And after that, a trip through a wintry castrum down a wind-blown track to a cold long hall across from a frozen market. Ten men fell in around him as Salvius made his farewell. Rutilius was chattering in his teeth by the time he reached the hall, but never complained about it- he loved the cold. It was far better than desert heat. If it was cold, you put more clothing on. If it is colder, then more clothing. If it was too warm, once you are standing naked- there is nothing more you can do.

The guard escorted the legate and his Batavian bodyguards inside, then led the legate onward to where Tiberius Labeo sat to dinner. It was a simple affair, warm stew and a few friends- nothing formal.

“Marcus, my friend,” the king said, recognizing his visitor. “Come and join us. You know Jurg Blackeye and Ulric, Son of Reinhard, correct? Both were in my squadron during the Little War.”

Rutilius nodded to the men and accepted the bowl of warm stew a servant brought him. He sat, chatted, then afterward asked Labeo for a moment.

“I need some men,” he asked when they were alone. “Enough to make up three cohorts.”

Labeo sat back, shocked. “We do not have that many! We already fill eight cohorts for Rome- any more and we cease to exist, or leave our women and children unprotected. That was what Civilis used as a means to bring us against Rome in the first place.”

“Sorry, let me rephrase my request,” Rutilius said, identifying the cause of Labeo’s alarm. “I want to raise three cohorts for a few months, then disband them. I will be training my legion, Tiberius, and need a moving enemy to maneuver against. There will be no blood spilled- it is maneuver training, not weapons training, and each man you get me will be paid two denarii per month and be provided with food for the duration. I will be paying, not Rome, and I require no sacred oath. As I said, it is for practice.”

Labeo relaxed visibly. “I see. And very wise!” He nodded and lifted a horn in respect. “But alas, I cannot help you. We simply have too few men.”

“Women would do,” Rutilius pleaded. “All they have to do is approach the legion, follow their banners as it moves around, then return to their homes at night.”

“If we bring our widows to your legion in the field, they would attack and rape it,” Labeo laughed. “As I said, we have too few men. And women have urges too.”

He sat forward. “But I have an idea. Niall. The Cananefate have not suffered as much as have we, and they have had no auxilia to fill. He has a warhost with whom you can train. But he will ask a price.”

“Two denarii for a thousand men for two months, plus the cost of food, is about all I can pay.”

“Forget that silly metal,” Labeo said, waving his hands as if shunning the thought. “Think Cananefate. Training and weapons. Your men have both- he has only what was scrounged from battlefields. You agree to help train his warhost and your armorers help with outfitting them, and he will provide the warhost with whom to train against.”

“It is worth a try,” Rutilius muttered after a moment’s thought. Rome wouldn’t approve of his training and outfitting the warhost of a foreign nation, but thankfully Rome was far away. And the Cananefate have already proven they can and will provide a friendly buffer against the incursions of the more bellicose Frisii north of them. “Thank you, Tiberius,” he said as he rose. “That is a most ingenious solution. I shall send word tomorrow to see if he will agree to speak to me.”

“Let me handle the meeting,” Labeo asked. “You handle your legions and the Romans, I the barbarians. It has worked well so far.”

Rutilius agreed. He held out his hand to the king, and the two men shook on it.

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[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 11-27-2009 @ 03:53 PM).]

Yay!

I knew you wouldn't be able to refrain from your story for long. I am looking forward to the next chapter already.

[This message has been edited by Edorix (edited 11-27-2009 @ 01:33 PM).]

Same here. Let loose the banners of war!

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Rutilius marched his four cohorts to Traiectum and had them set up a camp while he travelled onwards to the fort itself. There he met briefly with the prefect, Aulus Horatius, explained the situation and plans, before heading to a clearing just north of the fort where the Cananefate king should be expecting him.

Niall was there, tall and lanky as always. With him was two hundred horsemen, all of whom were a bit nervous at the eighty-one horsemen approaching. Then Rutilius and Dieter halted the escort and continued closer alone. They were recognized, and the other Batavi waved over as weapons lowered and handshakes were exchanged.

“It has been too long since we have spoken directly,” Niall said in greeting. His handshake was warm and firm, though his Latin was flawed.

“My duties have changed, as always. I am no longer governor, nor deputy governor,” Rutilius replied, using his the Cananefate dialect to Niall’s surprise and delight.

“We have heard. A new governor, another Rutilius. We expect good things from him.”

“I wouldn’t,” the legate retorted bitterly. “His first words to us were we are going to war against the Germani. This bodes poorly for the peace.”

Niall shrugged. “As long as the Germani he wars against are over there,” he said, gesturing to the east, “and not over here, we have no worries. Foreign wars are good for business- soldiers need boots, belts, and helmet liners, and we have many cows.”

“They also need woolen cloaks, blankets, and breeches,” Rutilius added. “Do you also have many sheep?”

Niall shook his shaggy head. The long locks fluttered in the winter wind.

“Foreign wars pull troops away,” the legate continued. “If we cross the Rhein, there is no legion here to help you fend off the Frisii. They might be tempted.”

“We have fought them before,” Niall agreed. “They would indeed be tempted.”

“Thus our meeting. I need an army to train my legions against- maneuver only, no killing. I was willing to settle for any moving bodies to simulate a warband, even women, but Tiberius Labeo had a better idea. We could maneuver against each other, Niall, and practice war without death. My units would learn to react to a fluid battlefield, and yours would learn fight together as a whole. We both benefit.”

The Cananefate thought it over. “We have always admired Roman discipline, even when we fought. Always have the Romans killed more than they lost, until they met us at Vidar’s Altar.”

“A foolish general can do that to the best of men,” Rutilius replied bitterly. “By the same measure, a good general can do that to a much larger foe if he has good men, as you proved in the battle. Your tactics and handling of the battle was superb, your men tough and willing. Our side was led by a fool, and our men unwilling to die for him.”

“Still you nearly destroyed us there,” Niall pointed out.

“Horseshit and cowflops,” Rutilius snorted. “You fought well and led brilliantly, we less and it showed. Cornelius led off with four cohorts on our right- under my command. He let us take on the brunt of your forces to weaken you while the rest waited around doing nothing. He only moved when we were attacked by your best horsemen emerging from the woods behind us to shatter our rear- and then he committed Livius and his five cohorts to the left while he charged grounded spears in the center! He sacrificed myself and four cohorts as bait, then left the hook bobbing unattended while he gallivanted off against fresh warriors.”

Rutilius shook his head. “Had I been in command, the battle would have gone much differently. I would not have moved a man out of place until the onagers were empty of stones. Then I would have moved forward with all men, in two lines, with the archers tucked between. Then we would stop and let the archers expend every arrow. Then we would have done a standard pilum volley and gladius charge. Your ambushing cavalry- a splendid move, by the way- would have fallen to my second line. We were compact, yet with space to move and fight. You would have stood no chance. We would have lost many, but won the battle.”

Niall thought it over. Cornelius had always been an arrogant fool. He and his brother died on Cananefate spears. Yet what Rutilius said was true. Had the battle played out as Rutilius would have done, a different outcome would have resulted- and one far less pleasant to the Cananefate.

“You praise my skill, as is proper,” Niall said in his deep voice, “and thus give me little reason to agree to mock battle. We both know the measure of the other.”

“There is nothing about maneuver and leadership I can teach you,” Rutilius agreed. “And some things you could teach me. But we are not here to discuss teaching each other the art of fighting a battle. We are here to discuss teaching our warbands how to fight and move as a team. Teaching them, not ourselves. In this I think both peoples can gain.”

Niall nodded. “It is so. We Cananefate fight like heroes- but heroes fight alone. The Roman always kills more because he fights as a team. I would like my people to learn this art.”

“I will pay for this honor,” the legate added. “Name your price, and if I have it, it is yours.”

Niall shook his head. “It is winter, and the warriors drinking ale in my hall or theirs, farting and flirting with the maids. They do nothing now, so there is no loss for the Cananefate in this endeavor - only gain. And food- our harvests are still poor, though improving.”

“We shall fight through the day as foes, and feast together in the evening as friends,” Rutilius agreed. “Our armies together. And I shall instruct Claudius Victor to ensure that the grain from half of my farms comes to the halls of the Cananefate in the autumn. You shall have enough to last the winter.”

“The food we can use,” Niall agreed. “Labeo mentioned weapons and armor. We have enough armor to give each man and woman a shirt of mail and still have much left over. Our harvest in arms and armor has had a surplus in the Great War. But things we could use are more axes, shovels, scythe blades. The Romans make very good scythe blades- it will help with the harvest. And franciscas- our smiths have not the time to make them any more with all the farm tools. If you give us these things, and the produce of two farms, we can manage the rest with ease.”

“I shall have our smiths make a hundred axes, a hundred shovels, and a hundred scythes,” Rutilius agreed, “And then they shall start on franciscas until we must deploy.”

Niall spit upon his hand and held it out. Rutilius did the same, and the men shook.

“I shall come here again, in one month’s time,” he said. “I shall have my legion with me.”

“I shall be here, a warhost around me, waiting. No javelins, and only sticks for swords and blunt-headed arrows, aye?”

“Aye.”

Rutilius had his opposing force, and a good one.


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“Our plan looks like it is working, my brother,” Udo called to his twin Ulfrich. “We have just had a visitor from the Marsi. He is concerned.”

Ulfrich dropped the log he was holding into the hole his men had dug. It slid in with a thump, and the men started filling the excess hole. A warrior stepped forward to hold the log upright so the king could speak to his co-king.

“Concerned that we are building three villages along our common border?” Ulfrich asked. He was heaving after his exertion, but that was fine- he felt stronger than ever, after all this work. His men the same. “Or concerned about the running back and forth between them to create believable tracks?”

Udo smiled. Ever since the Witch has prophesied his brother meeting an awful fate at the hands of Rutilius, he had watched his brother slide down a pit of despair and ale. Now, with Rutilius dead, he springs back to life. He admired his brother’s return to strength and vigor.

“Neither,” Udo said. “They have been watching the Romans across the river. They are doing as are we- training for battle. The Marsi know what this means for them, and are afraid.”

“Then they shall join us when the Romans come?”

“Aye, brother,” Udo cried. “They shall! And the Chauci as well. Always have we allowed Chauci warbands cross our lands to drink Roman blood. That hospitality will be rewarded. They too shall stand by our side.”

Ulfrich looked up in praise of the wise Woden. “Thank you, One Eye!” he roared. Then to his brother, “Feed me some Romans, brother. This warhost and I are ready to take them all.”

Udo laughed. “I have no doubt, brother of mine. Arnulf and Erhard report the same among their men. We shall have a mighty warhost when the leaves return to the trees. The strongest ever seen in the Dark Forests.”

“We shall be ready,” Udo continued. “Gotthold and Frantz have been hunting like mad, and the women drying what they bring in. We have culled the herds as well and smoked the meat. Greens have been picked, and grain stored. When the Chauci and Marsi arrive for battle, they shall not go in hungry as had cost our tribes before.”

“That is Roman planning!” bellowed Ulfrich with indignation permeating his voice.

“We can learn from them,” Udo reminded him. “Not all they do is bad. And they shall learn from us as well- stay out of our Forests!”

A rider approached. Udo hailed him, and took his message. He replied, then sent the rider away to his brother’s amusement.

He turned to his sweating twin. “Nils and Adelbart have been scouring our lands for the best battlefield. They think they have found it- And soon every nobleman among us shall know the lands between the river and that point like a man does between his woman’s thighs. This is our forest, and we shall by the gods use it as did Herman against Varus.”

“That, my brother,” Ulfrich said as he lifted another log to help finish the house, “is a good use of our time!”

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Lucius Amensius had the same idea as Rutilius- get his XXI Rapax into the field and have it train as a single unit. But unlike Rutilius who hired Germans to be his opposing forces- and thus gain valuable lessons from fighting them- he had two Roman legions right at hand. Titus Flavius Sabinus and his I Adiutrix provided good opposition, but the XIV Gemina proved better. As all three legions were veterans who had been together for at least four years, the level was high.

Like now, for instance. The XXI Rapax was emerging from the forest onto a clearing. It was in column formation as the underbrush forbade deploying on line. Across the clearing waited six cohorts of the I Adiutrix. Amensius upon his horse looked around nervously for the other four cohorts, did not see them, and snorted. They were there, somewhere. He had his legion form up into three lines, and be prepared to defend from any direction.

Which was about what Sabinus wanted. As the first cohorts formed their lines, he charged. The six cohorts ran across the small clearing and launched their training pila close enough for the missiles to hurt before drawing their wooden swords and closing.

Amensius watched helplessly for a few critical seconds while his first three cohorts were being pummeled into submission, then ordered the three follow-cohorts to swing into the flank of the attacking I Adiutrix. There, he thought, that ought to teach that pup how one hands an overeager warlord his head.

The six cohorts finished beating down the lead XXI cohorts and formed to greet the oncoming cohorts. The two met in a crash of wood upon wood, the fresh cohorts beating back the winded I Adiutrix, until they themselves were taken from behind by the four remaining I Adiutrix cohorts who had disposed of the rearguard while all attention was drawn to the front.

“Cacat!” shrieked Amensius as a wooden Adiutrix gladius knocked him from his horse. “I’ve been had!”

Sabinus rode up to him with a smile on his face. Across the battlefield, soldiers of one legion were helping the others to their feet. “I think that should do it. Thank you, Lucius, for deploying so textbook. And you cannot blame it on our archery this time.”

“How did you do that?” Amensius wondered. “The sucker with the six cohorts ahead I understand. But how did you get four cohorts to my rear with nobody noticing?”

Sabinus smirked. “A trick I learned from the Germans and Gauls near Augusta Trevorum.” He pointed a wooden sword to the thick underbrush lining the clearing and permeating through the woods. “I had my men lay down there, where I knew your men would not go. Soldiers in a hurry stick to the paths of least resistance- in this case the path itself. You walked right past us, and lost three cohorts when they rose up.”

Amensius looked over the battlefield and saw immediately both how and why the trick worked. Then he cursed. It was bloody clever to use his men’s natural tendencies against him in such a devious manner.

“Did you learn this trick the hard way, Titus?”

Sabinus nodded. “We never saw them until they attacked. Luckily, they thought we had seen them, so they simply rose up before us and charged. I killed my first man then, and at least fourteen others afterwards. We crushed them.”

Amensius nodded in agreement. “A thing like that tends to stick in the mind,” he agreed. “I have learned this lesson now as well, fortunately at no more cost than wounded pride and a few bruises. Your men hit hard!”

“Yours refuse to drop when ‘stabbed’ by a gladius,” Sabinus replied pertly. “A good crack on the head and there is no doubt.”

Amensius laughed, as did Sabinus. They were ready. Especially if the XXI Rapax fought against foes who used Roman tactics and weapons.

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The VI Victrix was also preparing for the coming campaign. Gnaeus Vipsanius Messala, the legate, knew his men were all veterans who had fought Germani before. They could march and maneuver as well as any legion, and could build a camp in their sleep. That was one lesson from Gelduba that sank in- a legion on the march will build a proper camp every night, whether it was needed or not. He had lost too many men to foolishly sleep under the stars with nothing but a thin leather wall between danger and his men.

Thus the VI Victrix prepared for the campaign by weapons drills. Every morning for four hours the men would spar with each other. Then was a light lunch and two hours of pilum practice. The next four hours were spent building strength and endurance by the construction of small boats, planing trees, and sharpening pylons.

By the time the orders came to march, the VI Victrix was a tough, strong, and lean legion- with a lot of boats, planks, and pylons.

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Good stuff!

Looking very slick!

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The March thaw turned the fields around Traiectum to mud, signaling the end of training and the beginning of the real thing. Unlike the XXI Rapax who had fought mock battles and earned bruises and broken bones for stubbornness, the men of the X Gemina had hardly a blue spot among them. Their ‘battles’ against Niall and his Cananefate warhost were mostly marches through the woods and clearings, with reactions to the presence of hostile warriors being the correct turning and deployment to bring the cohorts on line, or to a flank, or to the rear.

Nary a weapon was raised, by either side, and only one fight broke out- when a two-cohort detachment under the command of Lucanus refused to accept the verdict of the primuspilus that they had been ‘slain’ by their German opponents. Lucanus had faced the spearmen correctly, but had ignored the rest of the terrain and assumed these were his only foes and therefore deployed his second cohort to flank the spearmen. Palla pointed out the archers off to the side—in plain sight- that his disposition ignored and declared the one cohort dead and the other halved. Lucanus disagreed, and with the support of his men, violently disagreed. They charged the spearmen, who fought back with their staves against the wooden gladii. Luckily the Cananafate had blunt arrows with them and showered the angry men with shafts that stunned and hurt, but did not kill, ending the argument.

Gnaeus Milus arrived with the thaw, bringing a small convoy of wagons with him. Some of the wagons carried supplies for the legion for the march back, while others were laden with works of steel and grain. He broke off from the convoy upon seeing his legate and galloped over.

“Hail, legate!” he cried to Rutilius. “I hope the men learned all they need. Orders from Novaesium, sir. We are to be outside Castrum Vetera on the Kalends of April, two weeks hence.”

Rutilius turned to Palla at his side. “Pass the word, Top. We break down camp and move back to Noviomagus at first light. Collect the wooden swords and other toys, and have the men arm themselves with true weapons.”

Palla thumped a fist to his heart and sped off. Niall, the third man in the small group, looked over the praefectus camporum though said nothing. It was enough that he noticed the man. Rutilius would handle the introductions if he felt it proper.

He did. “Gnaeus Milus, my third in command,” he said, gesturing to the prefect. “Niall of the Cananefate, their king and my friend.”

Gnaeus held out a hand, which the German shook while giving a nod of approval. It was still a bit of a shock to see Romans greet him with such openness, so few years after he had helped destroy thousands of them.

“Your men have taught us much,” Niall admitted. “We hope we have served you well as well.”

“You have,” Rutilius admitted. “Not only my men, but I myself have learned much from this past month. I trust our cooperation will keep many of those on this field alive through the summer.”

“I trust that your prefect here has the axes and scythes as payment, that my people do not starve through the summer,” Niall retorted, but with a broad grin. He had no fears that Rutilius would renege on his promise. He was Rutilius, renowned along the Rhein for being a man of honor.

“One hundred axes, one hundred shovels, and one hundred scythes,” Milus counted off. “One hundred eighty sacks of grain, twenty of dried greens, about six hundred franciscas, and another four hundred francisca heads.” He turned to the legate. “Our carpenters got called down to Novaesium. The VI Victrix needed a hand on a wooden project for a couple of weeks, while our armorers found an ingenious method of turning metal plates into francisca heads quite easily. So I had your man Claudius Victor acquire the handles but there were still more heads than handles, while we bought up every relic and axe in the district. You’re out about another two thousand denarii, sir, but Gaius-your accountant- said you could handle it. I hope you do not mind.”

“You did well, Gnaeus. Six hundred franciscas, and another four hundred heads! Jupiter! Your men did indeed find a way to make them fast!”

“We thank you, Gnaeus Milus, and you, Marcus Rutilius,” the king said. “You give my people the means to live. We hope our time together here has done the same for you.”

“Give my regards to your son, Niall,” Rutilius said in parting. “I had hoped to see him here, learning from the masters.”

Niall laughed. “He has been learning, though not here. I would not have him learn to fight Romans- he has had enough of that. He is on the coast now, learning how to fight our kind from another master. He will be grateful that you remembered him.”

“He saved my life twice. He is hard to forget.”

“And you saved his, putting me and our people in your debt,” the king acknowledged. He turned to leave, then rode to his men. “Cananefate! We return to our lands. Lendal- escort those wagons to the Village near the Water, then when emptied, return them to Noviomagus.”

“Aye, Niall,” cried the men, and Lendal as well. A simple wave, and the warhost began moving west, toward the sea.

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The X Gemina returned cold but proud to its castrum and began making ready for the coming campaign- cleaning equipment, sharpening weapons, inspections of gear, and so on- all under the critical eye of Lucius Palla. Gnaeus Milus did the same for the immunes and evocati of the legion, while the tribunes and auxilia looked after themselves. Rutilius bellowed for Salvius to draw him a hot bath the instant he hit his quarters and began stripping in anticipation of that longed-for event.

“Uh-hum,” came a small female cough from near his table.

Marcus spun about, the tangled tunic falling off his arms as he grabbed for his gladius. A small laugh stopped him. He faced Froydis red with embarrassment, his chest exposed and naught but his leggings covering the rest of him.

“How did you get in here?” he asked harshly, “and why were you hiding?”

Froydis cocked her head to one side, then shook it gently. “Salvius let me in when I saw the legion returning. As for hiding,” she laughed, “I was not! I am small, true, but I was standing here in plain sight admiring this artwork when you bustled in and stripped yourself.” She looked straight in his eyes with no hint of humor, a trait he knew she displayed when she was being absolutely serious, and said honestly, “I thought you saw me when you came in.”

She looked over his body and moved closer. He did not back away, nor make a move to cover himself. She reached out a finger to touch the scar upon his chest, then lower to trace the slice made in the market.

“These have healed well,” she said thickly. She did not know what was going on in her throat, but it almost refused to work. The she did that trick with her eyes again as she locked them to his. “You know what I like most about you, Marcus Rutilius? Most men look at me only as a possible bedmate. You look at me like a friend, which I trust we are, a friend who just happens to be a woman. And I like that. You respect my talents and my ideas. But I am a woman, too. Do you not ever look upon me as a woman as well?”

Rutilius looked upon her now, the top of her head coming to just above his chin. He blonde hair was parted in the center and formed into two small braids behind her ears that almost caressed her shoulders. Her face was small and fine, with two beautiful eyes he could drown in. Her nose was a pert snub- definitely not Roman!- and her chin pointy yet strong. She had a narrow neck, strong but small shoulders hidden beneath her brown Cugerni cloak, and strong but thin arms ending in delicate hands. Her body was draped in a green dress, held together with an ivory brooch chased with gold. She was indeed very pretty, if small.

“I do, at times,” he admitted. His throat was also constricted, something he had never experienced. Words were hard to form with the blood pounding in his temples. “But I do not want that to affect our friendship. Too many friends of opposite genders fall out after a romp. Sex is wonderful, but it also changes things. I do not want to jeopardize what we have, little though it is.”

She stepped forward and raised herself onto he toes. She kissed him once on the cheek, and again on the mouth before darting away. “We have more than you might think, Marcus,” she said. “More than I might want. Yes, let us take this slow.”

She threw him a sheet to cover himself while she returned to the desk. The sheet she threw- the one hanging over the wooden board affixed to the desk- revealed the map underneath. She turned her attention to it while he wrapped himself, then asked, “What is this?”

“I cannot say,” he replied.

“You will not say, is more correct,” she admonished. She looked closer, then startled. “It is a drawing of the land across the river! Bructeri land!”

“I cannot say,” he repeated.

“You do not have to,” Froydis said. “I notice things, remember? I notice this bend in the Rhenus here, and this mark is about where Vetera should be. I buried my husband around there. But this?” She pointed to the Lupia and the Ems, and the X along the Ems. “What is this?”

“I cannot say,” he repeated.

“Do not be foolish, Marcus,” she scolded. “I am not your foe. If I was, you would be dead. But my husband was a farmer, and occasionally a hunter and a trader. I have traveled Bructeri lands, but know of nothing here.”

“You have been there? You, a Cugerni?”

“You really do need to work on your memory,” she chided. “Too much reading, not enough listening. No wonder Erwin got so close to you.” Then she turned serious. “Here, along this river,” she said, pointing to the Lupia, “about here, is a stone tower unlike anything else you will find in the Forest. That is where Veleda lived, the one who told me of my fate and gave me the strength to go on. But this cross here, there is nothing there. So why the X? That is obviously where you are going, but why? It makes no sense.”

“I cannot say,” he repeated a final time. He came up behind her and put his arms around her. She stiffened at the unexpected contact, then relaxed as she sensed no harmful intent. “Leave it be, Froydis.”

She spun about and placed her arms around his neck. “You are leading your legion into hostile territory,” she said. “Your fingers left marks upon the painting. You will travel up that river, and then across a stretch of wild land to another. I worry, Marcus. Your path leads you between the Marsi and the Bructeri, then between the Bructeri and the Chauci. None of those tribes are any friends of Rome, or you.”

She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him deeply. His muscles stiffened now, then relaxed as he drank in her kiss and kissed her back. And hers were shuddering. The Vision! What I have been seeking! It is here, with him. The realization shot through her with the power and speed of lightning. The kiss became deeper, more intense, as the two surrendered to each other. After several long minutes, he lifted her up to carry her to his bed. It was time to consummate this revelation.

“Not yet,” she said huskily. “Not tonight.” She kissed him again, eagerly, then broke from his embrace. “Be careful over there. Trust your own judgment, Marcus. Listen to your heart, but do not act alone. Be strong, and I will see you when you return. And then, if this strange thing we have is still strong, then we shall find out if we are ready for this.”

She floated to the doorway, then paused. He had not moved. “Trust yourself,” she repeated, “but do not act alone. Come back to me whole, my love.”

And then she was gone.

Rutilius stood rock still for a long time, playing it over in his mind. Just what the hell had just happened here? What poison had stolen his voice? What potion had seized his muscles? Why did she so suddenly flee? Was this all just a tease to annoy him? Or was it real? Or was she a spy seeking information that Erwin could never glean? And then the big question- why was she allowed in unescorted?

“Salvius!” he bellowed. “You have some ‘splainin’ to do, Marple!”

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It's good Terikel. Great job.

Yep. I liked how you worked that mini kissing scene.

Great as always Terikel!

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The X Gemina moved down the solid road to its sister legion at Vetera, an armored snake meandering along a wooden track. Behind the lead cohorts came the auxilia- Remi cavalry and Arvernii archers, then the immunes and the baggage followed by the spearmen. Bringing up the rear were the remaining cohorts.

Rutilius halted his horse by an outcropping and watched his legion move. It was a grand sight, though slow. He knew the legionaries could move much faster than that, but the baggage slowed the whole thing down. He would have to have a talk with Milus that evening.

Vetera II was built not far from the original castrum, which had been destroyed in the revolt. The Romans had not rebuilt the place where two legions had been starved into submission, but rather interred their ashes among the broken buildings and constructed a new castrum nearby. In that castrum was based the XXII Primigenia, the only legion of the Germanias to make it through the revolt whole. It marched from Mogontiacum to Vetera, and from Vetera to Mogonticum, fighting the entire way. It had actually relieved the fortress once, but the relief was short-lived. Now that proud legion stood guard over the ashes of its sister legions, the only legion qualified by blood and sweat to do so.

Outside the castrum was nothing but clear fields. The XXI Rapax and VI Victrix had yet to arrive, giving the X Gemina first pick of locations to set up camp. Rutilius chose a hillock near the river, where his engineers could quickly dig him a water supply if needed. He pointed the site out to Palla, and the legion began building its home. Rutilius observed the construction with approval, then gathered his guard up and had them help. Their commander, Dieter, and two others would accompany him to the castrum proper to report to the commander. And enjoy a bit of watered wine if Paullus was not too busy.

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Gnaeus Vipsanius Messala and the VI Victrix arrived two days later and set up a second camp outside the castrum. He had with him the governor and his bodyguard- two turmae of Gallic Cavalry, Remi and Aeduan, and three centuries of ex-gladiators. Rutilius laughed. He might as well have brought a circus, too. As for himself, he’d rather have his Batavians than the Gauls. The fasces and the lictors- dressed in their red tunics- proceeded onward to the castrum, signaling that governor was also doing that. Messala turned his legion over to his tribunus and followed. Rutilius called over Cadorus and did the same.

“Come with me,” Rutilius said to Dieter. “Have Arnulf hold the rest here.”

“Why me?” the stiff-spined warrior asked.

Cordinus would ask the same when the Batavian was brought into the praetorium.

“Dieter Straightback served in our army for nine years, a tribune for three of them,” Rutilius said to the governor. “He has fought those men over there all of his life, and can give valuable insight to how the enemy will react.”

“They are Germans,” Cordinus retorted. “No offense, former tribune, but their reaction to our coming attack is quite easy to deduce. We shall cross, they will try to resist. We overcome them, they flee. Then we pursue and destroy them. And then on to our objective.”

“That is basically correct,” Dieter answered. “We do the same here. We let them cross, get them lulled into feeling secure, then smash them. Then we follow, and what you said occurs.”

“I am glad you agree,” Cordinus muttered. It was almost sincere.

“However,” the Batavian continued, “This time we are attacking first. It will be harder. And the kings over there... They are not stupid. They will have learned.”

“My plans for the assault crossing are already made and cannot be altered,” the governor-general replied. “Even if I wanted to. Now once we are over there, well, that could be discussed. I am sure your charge has informed you of our mission?”

Dieter shook his head. “Lord Rutilius has said nothing as to our destination or objective. We Batavi deduced we were going on the attack by the amount of training and preparation we saw, and assumed the target would be the Bructeri- always a thorn in the flanks of good men. If my conclusions are incorrect, please forgive me.”

Cordinus Rutilius Gallicus looked to Marcus Rutilius. “Either you have a very loyal man here, Marcus, or a very smart one. Are our plans indeed safe?”

“He is both, dominus,” Rutilius agreed. He thought over Froydis for a second, then nodded again. “Your plans are indeed safe. Nobody but the legion and my guards has been told that we are going to battle, and only my officers know the target.”

“Can you trust these German guards not to talk to their relatives?” he asked. Venom dripped from his tongue as he spoke of the people who murdered his former legionaries, his friends of the V Alaudae. He had a hatred against all things German, and it showed.

Rutilius shot him a wicked glare. “Can you trust your six lictors, one hundred twenty barbarian horsemen, and one hundred eighty gladiators not to brag their guts out trying to impress a woman enough to get under her dress?” he shot back.

Cordinus stiffened as if slapped. “You are out of line, legate. That was uncalled for.”

Rutilius stood his ground. “No sir, it is not out of line. It was a simple observation. You cast aspersions over my guards because of their German origin, while ignoring the same question about your own barbarian cavalry and gladiators, many of whom are likely ex-criminals. My guardsmen, lord, are veterans who have fought for Rome while yours fought for pay and their own liberty. We are standing here in this castrum today because this man, this Batavian ex-tribune of Rome, led our cavalry into the German rear not two hundred paces from here and shattered their line. If the character of my guards is to be questioned, those shady characters around you ought to suffer the same scrutiny. Sir.”

The ferocity of the defense shocked all present, including himself. So much so that Paullus handed him a goblet of watered wine while Messala interjected himself between the Rutilii, the elder of which took a step backwards.

A figurative backstep followed the literal one. “All right, he can stay.”

Cordinus moved to the table, where he had a model of the area created. The legates and their men gathered around, and much was discussed and debated. As the general explained his plan for the assault, the others quickly saw how clever it was- and why once in motion like it was, there was no stopping it.

The continued attack once across, however, was altered- and at Dieter’s suggestion. Varus had lost three legions marching in a column through the woods not too far from there. Cordinus risked the same. Once the general heard that comment, he was all ears. The changes were made, and the legates dismissed to return to their units to await word from the fleet. Once that word arrived, there was no going back. They were going to cross the Rhein and do battle with the People of the Forest in their own home. It was going to get very bloody over there.

The logistics were simple. Since the army was crossing one river and marching along a second, supplies would come by boat for the most part. There was an old fort, built under Drusus, that will serve as a base once the army struck away from the river. A secondary route for supplies- and wounded being returned- would be by wagons along the river tracks to the bridge.

Neither Rutilius nor Dieter liked the plan much, but it was instinct and not reason that led to the dislike. From the standpoint of a praefectus camporum or a quaestor, which Cordinus had been, water transport was more feasible and reasonable that land-bound wagons for supplying an army. But men who fought in the ranks liked to have their supplies coming over solid land where there is no chance of the vital supplies suffering a watery demise.

The plan was understood, all questions answered, and the details explained. Rutilius had the evening to explain the plan to his tribunes and senior centurions before it was to bed and the next day, battle. Milus grunted at the mention of the bridge, mentioning that was probably the reason for the overstock of supplies at Noviomagus- with the bridge in place, there would be no more riverborne traffic to the castrum. The river road was closed until the campaign was over.

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Good installment although I don't know why they are moaning about supplies being ferried in by boat.

Normally land convoys are just asking to be harassed.

A soldier's instinct, I guess.

Land doesn't get a hole in it and swallow up a large amount of the food you are depending on. If a wagon tips over, you put it right, pick up the stuff, dust it off, and put it back in and you are on your way. If a boat tips over.... its gone.

Good work, Grand Master Skald!

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The morning saw the legions break down their camps before the sun cleared the trees and assemble in columns of cohorts before the castrum. From that point on, it was a waiting game for them as the engineers of Cordinus moved to the river banks and began their preparations.

They did not have to wait long. Signal fires upriver drew the attention of all upriver, where the Roman fleet could be seen approaching. The engineers redoubled their efforts. By the time the first ship approached the waiting engineers, the bank had been cut way to form a ramp leading into the water.

Each ship in the fleet was towing four barges laden with pylons, planking, and rope. The ships were approaching in line, with a large interval between the last barge and the next ship. The legates, briefed to the operation, marveled at the timing. The lead ship would swing close to the bank then veer off, leaving the towed barges to swing in along the shore. Two men on each barge heaved a rope to the waiting engineers, who grabbed their end and scurried off to tie it to one of the fourteen trees on the bank they left standing. The other engineers caught other ropes and pulled the barge into the ramp. There it was anchored by the ropes and the pylons swung overboard to help support the rigging against the current. Two men with sledgehammers raced forward to begin pounding the pylon into the riverbed.

Thereafter the engineers did the same with the following barge, and ran to bind it while others maneuvered the boat to lie next to the first. Both were tied to each other, and planking tied across both boats at the middle and fastened with ropes. Then the third was brought alongside the second, and the process repeated.

Once the first four barges were secure, the rest of the planking was pegged to the first, crosswise. This created a wooden road reaching in to the river. The next ship came in and repeated the process, and then the next, and the next, stretching the pontoon bridge halfway across the four hundred-pace wide river.

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Udo and Ulfrich were expecting the Roman assault. They had the Bructeri horseborne stationed on the flanks of the anticipated bridgehead, ready to charge in among the milling soldiers and slaughter them wholesale, if any made it through the arrow storm Ulfrich had prepared.

Four hundred archers, among them some of the best of the Bructeri, stood hidden in the thick brush along the river. Each had sixty arrows, double the usual amount taken for war. They were spread to either side of the spearmen, who knelt impatiently as the Romans approached. Their task was to hold the Romans so the archers could dump them into the river with the arrows.

The Roman bridge was nearing the midpoint, two hundred paces away. Already some archers were limbering their bow-arms for the coming action.

A lot of Romani would feed Father Rhein this day.

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“I wonder how well those engineers will fare when they get in range of Bructeri arrows,” Cadorus wondered.

Rutilius smiled. “I posed the same question when this plan was proposed. Cordinus might be a stuck-up ass, but he planned a good assault crossing- better than I could, to be honest. Just watch.”

Before they could observe, a courier from the general arrived and ordered them to take position by the bridge. Both men could see the VI Victrix already breaking column to move upriver. Behind their screening move, the sixteen onagers assembled during the night broke through the brush to start their move toward the bank.

“Palla!” Rutilius shouted to his primuspilus. “Start the columns toward the bridge. Don’t forget to leave some room for the scorpion!” He turned to Cadorus, pointing out the onagers and scorpion moving into position. ”Those are going to pound the other side, whether there are Germans there or not. There probably are, which will cause the bastards to either come out for the scorpion, or fade back out of range. Either way the immediate area is secure enough for our assault run across the bridge.”

Cadorus nodded at the wisdom. Cordinus was not such a dummy after all. Then again, he had served under few Roman generals who were fools. He spurred his horse to catch up with his legate.

The Scorpion trundled over the bridge to the end, then stopped. It had two iron plates attached to the front as protection for the crew, which huddled behind the shields awaiting the rain of rock. When the thump of sixteen onagers launching their loads into the sky reached them, they began launching their bolts into clumps of brush likely to conceal Germanic archers. They were rewarded with cries of pain.

The Bructeri ambushers cried out at this unfair tactic, and stepped to the edge of the river to launch their own quills at the iron monster shooting them. Some few found their marks, but ricocheted from the iron plates, Far more missed completely, falling short into the river. And through it all the onagers kept launching, raining death from above upon the hapless, helpless Bructeri.

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“We serve no purpose here any more, brother,” Ulfrich conceded as he watched his men die upon the bolts and under the rocks from the Roman artillery.

“Agreed,” Udo replied. He blew upon his ram’s horn and shouted, “Bructeri, we are leaving!”

The horsemen faded away, back into the depths of the forest. The spearmen crept after them to avoid Roman rocks, then joined them. Some archers, however, stayed to continue the uneven duel with their Roman counterparts.

“Fall back, you fools!” Ulfrich roared. “You die uselessly there on the bank!”

“We’ve dropped five of them so far,” a proud archer retorted. ”There are only three more to go and we have them stopped cold!”

“They kill ten of you for every one of them you kill, fool,” Udo shouted. “Get out of there!”

“Leave them,” Ulfrich conceded to his brother. “They are not our best anyway, and the fools can cover our retreat. I had hoped to kill more of them here, but such is not to be.”

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The one-sided battle lasted another forty minutes before the onagers ceased their pounding. The Bructeri cheered the silence of the war engines, and redoubled their efforts to pick off some of those horrible little men behind the iron plates. By the time they realized the futility of it, it was too late for them.

Four cohorts of the XXI Rapax had landed unobserved on their side of the river further up when all attention was drawn to the engines and the bridge. The legion had crept forward, and signaled by mirror the halt in bombardment. Now that the stones were no longer falling and the only missile fire aimed at their bank was the accurate and lethal scorpions, they charged the scattered archers and rolled them up like a rug. The rest of the XXI Rapax was landed by river barge into the bridgehead, and the crossing was secure.

Now the rest of the bridge could be finished. Ships landed another detachment of engineers on the east bank, then the barges started to form on that bank. The eastern pontoon bridge reached out to the existing western bridge. Each ship which delivered a load of barges continued on to the Roman bank, picked up a detachment of the VI Victrix, and began ferrying it across river to join the XXI Rapax in expanding the bridgehead. Soon the bridge was complete, and the X Gemina and remainder of the VI Victrix crossed it to join the rest of the army.

The crossing was a success.

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“Those awful machines,” Ulfrich cursed as they slunk away from the crossing. “Without them, no Roman would have touched our soil alive.”

Udo snorted. “You give too much confidence to our bowmen and not enough to our foe. They would have paid in blood, but they would not have stopped. True, we lost a wonderful opportunity to kill many of them, but then again, we learned something important.”

“That archers are no match for scorpions? We knew that already, brother.”

Udo sighed. “We learned that our opponent is cautious, and a thorough planner. His crossing was flawless- and gave us no chance. We must remember this when we face him in open battle.”

Ulfrich looked back at the Roman bridgehead dwindling in the distance. Through the trees he could see glints of armor moving about. “I think we must be careful as well, brother of mine. The Romans has many, many legionaries- they are hard to kill, and this Roman knows our ways well.”

“The Roman chieftain is a planner, a thorough planner,” Udo repeated. Could no thoughts of strategy penetrate his brother’s hard head? In battle he was brilliant, but between battles… that was thinking better left to Udo. “He will have a plan, and he will stick to it. It will be one which uses our ways against us, as he knows our ways well. It will leave us little chance. And this, brother of mine, this we will use against him.”

“Huh?”

“We force him to change his plan,” Udo said slowly. “A Planner. We do something he does not expect, he will react poorly. And the unexpected… in that, Ulfrich, we excel.”

Ulfrich smiled. “We let him continue on, and refuse battle instead of standing where we had planned. He will not expect this, and throw off his plans.”

Finally, it dawns upon him. “Yes, brother, and when his plans go awry, he will be forced to think upon his feet. Planners cannot do that. Then we will have him.”

“And crush him!” Ulfrich smashed his right fist into his left palm and ground it in. “And the ‘villages’ we built prepared to fight from?”

“We burn them as they approach, as we had planned,” Udo affirmed. “But we do not let our warbands fight from them. They would die without taking enough Romans with them.”

“The chieftain and his planning, aye,” Ulfrich agreed.

Udo smiled. He did understand. Now, to draw Roman blood. “We still need to strip away his horsemen. Gather whatever archers are left by the stream just beyond the first of your villages. Have the spearmen and cavalry ready in place. He will not dare to begin either siege or storm without his precious horsemen scouring the land beyond. Let us scour him, and blind him.”

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The reports came in. Cordinus was rather pleased with his crossing. He lost six of the scorpion crew, four pontoons had missed their position and had to be cut free, and the engineers had lost a total of eighteen men, but the Bructeri had lost far more men- and had not stopped his crossing at its most dangerous. In all, an overwhelming success. This bode well for his expedition.

He ordered the legions to prepare a camp. This day was almost over, and he had no desire to lose his advantage through carelessness. Today the crossing, tomorrow the invasion proper.

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Far away, Veleda closed her eyes as the Visions came again. She could tell be the vividness and sounds that this was a strong one, and in real-time. She watched the boy running through the forest, heading toward the setting sun, then trip over a root hidden among the leaves. The sound of the bones snapping in his leg caused her to shudder, and actually feel the pain the boy felt. That did not feel good, but she opened her eyes and smiled anyway.

Her prophecy was coming true. For want of a leg, the runner was lost. For want of a runner, the message was lost. For want of a message, the battle was lost, and with that battle, the chance that slug Udo had of stopping the Romans dissipated. He might still hurt them, but he was doomed. As was his brother.

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Awesome, keep it up.

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Messala was ordered to begin the march once his units were collected and formed for battle after breaking down the camp. He was to follow the river, with the X Gemina trailing to his left. Amensius and his XXI Rapax would bring up the rear, with the command group and baggage trains in the middle.

The baggage trains were traveling light. No wagons, and only mules carrying food chests. There was no artillery, and only the most basic of equipment was taken. He hoped in this manner to move quickly through the forest along the river. Any heavy equipment and extra foodstuffs, would be on the ships in the Lupia paralleling his advance.

Before the VI Victrix he had his eyes- his personal Aeduan cavalry. These horsemen were armored in mail like good Roman cavalry, and carried the long spatha and lanceas. They were good men. He had served a stint in Gaul before the revolt of Vindex and had come to adore their ability to smash down enemy formations and to chase fleeing rebels across open fields. It would be different here in the forest, but then again, the Aedui should feel much better about it. Here their foe was German, their hated foe, and not those of their own blood. He expected much of these magnificent horsemen.

Off to the left of the command group marched the X Gemina. He saw their cohorts moving in a ragged line through the trees and was not impressed. He had heard tales of their legate, and thought him overrated. As he watched the cohorts move, he felt that opinion justified. The X Gemina looked more like a gaggle of geese scampering about a pen then trained legionaries moving to battle.

Rutilius, centered on his legion, felt the same. He had his Remi cavalry dispersed into decuries patrolling ahead and to his left, with his Iceni auxilia in support of the forward decuries and the Nordicans close in on his left with four centuries of Arvernii archers nearby. The other two centuries of archers he had before his cohorts, to provide a deterrent against anyone chasing his returning scouts. The legion had five cohorts on line under his most experienced tribune- Manius Severus, to the left of the VI Victrix and slightly behind, with two other cohorts trailing along his left under the command of tribune Sextus Minucius. His remaining three cohorts formed a second line behind the first and were commanded by Aulus Lucanus.

“Runner!” he called, summoning a courier. “Tell Lucanus to dress up his line. Just because his men have to dodge trees does not mean they are having a walk in a park. His men can hold formation in the fields, thus they can do the same here. And remind him that he does not have to hold close order while in reserve- open order is better in the woods anyway, and will make it easier for his men to march..”

“Aye, legate,” the runner replied, and repeated the message verbatim. Rutilius nodded, and the man was off. Shortly thereafter the three cohorts loosened their order and dressed their ranks as if they were true soldiers.

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A rider hurried in. Alone, he was no threat, so the legionaries of the VI Victrix let him approach. They relaxed as they recognized the auxiliary, and the leading centurion detailed off two men to escort him to the legate.

“Horsemen, legate,” the scout reported. “Off to our left and closing. Scattered bands of ten or so, with footmen. Do you wish us to take them out?””

Vipsanius Messala looked off to where the scout pointed, and shook his head. “Check them out. The Xth is over that way covering our flank. Marcus is a good commander- he will have scouts out as well. If they are his Remi, tell them they are drifting right.”

“And if they are Germans?” asked the scout.

“Then kill them,” the legate ordered curtly.

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Cynglas was point rider for the Aeduan horsemen moving cautiously through the deep forest three days later. The canopy of green above blocked most of the direct daylight, which for Cynglas meant that thankfully the underbrush was decidedly thin. No Germani could hide there, but his quick eyes never ceased their rapid darting neither here nor there for that. Germani could hide anywhere, behind a large tree, or in a shallow pit under the leaves. Living Aedui never doubted the ability of their foe to shorten a life.

He was nervous. Already there had been a rally- but that had been a false alarm. The scouts of the other legion had drifted toward the river, coming into their sector. The footmen with them caused concern, until it was discovered that they were auxiliaries. Stupid that, Cynglas thought, mixing horse and foot as scouts- the infantry are too slow to keep up with horses. Still, the scare managed to heighten his senses for the real thing. He focused on his task- finding the enemy before they found him.

Concentrating on finding the hidden tells of where a foe might be hiding close to his person, he did not see the structures ahead until he was well within bowshot of them. Luckily there came no arrows, otherwise Cynglas would no longer be counted a living Aedui. He desperately wanted to remain in that count, so he wheeled his mount about and rode back until he was out of range. Only then did he raise the horn to his lips and blow a signal.

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“Let him be,” whispered an archer to his comrades from the brush lining the clearing to the north of the village. Their arrows could most likely just reach the Aedui, but killing a single scout was not a good idea. “There will come more, to investigate. Then we kill- the lot of them.”

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“Village ahead, commander,” Cynglas reported to his prefect. “Unfortified. Twenty houses or so, two barns, a well maybe in the center. Looks deserted- no sign of life. Not even tracks about the outskirts.”

The prefect acknowledged the report with a nod and turned to his cornifer. “Sound the rally. We will investigate this further. Cynglas, ride to the general and inform him of what you saw, and where.”

Cynglas rode off, cursing his bad luck. The others would undoubtedly find the village deserted as he reported, and fleeing people always leave behind something of value. His comrades would pick up that loot, while he carried naught but a message. He cursed his bad luck again.

He passed the others coming in to the rally signal and waved, then sped off to the west as the others rode further to the east, to the village, and to the waiting Bructeri.

He would not be cursing that evening. Fate would make him the only Aedui to see the sunset that day.

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Looks like the Bructeri are about to unleash their ambush.

Great work!

Da gweithia, Terikel!

Good work!

That last line was a nice touch. I look forward to a graphic description of Roman blood soaking into the streets! *evil*

[This message has been edited by Edorix (edited 12-18-2009 @ 12:44 PM).]

Aedui=Gaul.

Are you sure you want to see that?

Ah, it's okay.

[This message has been edited by Edorix (edited 12-21-2009 @ 06:55 AM).]

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Another rider was heading for Quintus Julius Cordinus Caius Rutilius Gallicus from the north, also bearing news. As Fate would have it, he arrived a few minutes after the Aeduan told of the village ahead.

“The X Gemina reports contact, lord,” the Remi reported. “A warhost. Legate Rutilius estimates their number at five thousand warriors, mostly infantry. He is redeploying to stop them, and requests the XXI Rapax be ordered to turn north immediately to come in behind them.”

Rutilius Gallicus snorted. Nary a Bructeri had been seen since crossing the river the day before, and they were only three hundred dead. He remembered the tales of Cerealis’s victory over them at Vetera a few years before. Hundreds if not thousands of them were dead. Even in these fecund forests, such losses to a single tribe would not be replaced so swiftly. It would take generations. So the report was obviously wrong.

“I am sure they number no more than five hundred,, auxiliary,” he corrected. “Your legate must be mistaken. Probably nerves. Look, the village ahead is small, and the number of foes small- the Bructeri are not so stupid as to risk five thousand in open battle to save a dozen houses. Jupiter’s Brass Balls, man, after their losses in the revolt, I would not be surprised if that was all they had in their entire tribe! Request refused. Tell Rutilius to handle the five hundred by himself, and be quick about it! I want him in position to guard the flank of the VI Victrix when they assault.”

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“He refused, legate,” the messenger reported. “And he says you can deal with these five hundred yourself. And he expects us to guard the flanks of the VIth when they assault the hovels. His words, lord.”

Rutilius swore. What was going through that man’s head? Did he think I could not count? Or mistook a M for a C? He took a deep breath. Curses and harsh language would not stop these Germans. Severus and his five cohorts would.

“Swing Severus and his five cohorts north to form a line across their path,” he ordered, speaking to a courier. “Then run to Municius and tell him to move north then halt. He is to fall upon the Germans from the flanks and rear when he hears the sounds of battle.”

The courier repeated the orders and took off. Rutilius turned to Cadorus.

“And you, my British friend, get to command Lucanus and the three reserve cohorts. Bring them up behind Severus, but a tad to his right. When battle comes, move forward, circling to the right, and fall upon their left flank.”

“And you, Marcus?”

“I will direct the reforming of the auxilia on the flanks of Severus, with the Arvernii tucked inside, then gather up the Remi.”

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The Bructeri came on, at walking pace, and totally oblivious to the kneeling Romans before them. The forest was more open here, and that meant more light to feed more brush, brush behind which Roman cohorts waited with pila in hand. The Bructeri felt safe, knowing that the Romans would halt by the village they had built during the winter, form up for an assault, and get their faces kicked in by Ulfrich.

Erhard and his men knew the plan well. It was a good plan. And the Romans were still over two miles away, down by the river. Plenty of time, plenty of space. All Erhard and his men had to do was wait until the battle started, then close in and follow the legions- and trash their baggage trains and camps while they were otherwise occupied. An easy task.

Unless, of course, the plan changed and they had not received word of the change.

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“Let them come another forty paces,” whispered Manius Severus to his men. “Then we wipe that smugness from their faces.”

Around him the men of the X Gemina silently readied themselves.

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“Halt,” cried Erhard the Bear. He was a large man, thick and strong like his namesake. “Settle in, Bructeri, and await the assault.”

The spoken order carried in the otherwise silent forest. Around him the warriors began kneeling, others sitting up against a tree, and some even lay down. It was a warm spring morning, a lovely day to kill invading Romans, but that was not their task today. Today they were the trackers, following the legions and sweeping up the stragglers. And when the big battle comes, they will fall upon the rear of the Roman Army and capture their general as an offering to Woden. So is it ordained, so shall it happen.

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Severus almost wept when he saw the Bructeri stop and drop into the bushes. Another twenty paces and he was going to give them the surprise of their very short lives. And the words... His German was not very good, but a legionary near him understood- and passed it on.

“They know we are here, sir,” the legionary said. “That big one called the halt and ordered his men to settle in and await the assault.”

“Then that is what we do,” Severus answered. He stood up, and signaled his men to do so as well. “Maybe they do not know how many. They will find out, son. Cornifer- on my signal, sound the attack. Ready, NOW!”

The battle horn blared the notes the legionaries had been waiting for. Released from their silence, they rose up in unison, charged forward twenty paces then halted, raised their pila, and launched them upon the command of their centurions.

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The sudden appearance of two thousand Romans before them was devastating in the extreme. Erhard’s eyes were drawn by the sudden appearance of an armored man standing up sixty paces away, but his brain could make no sense of it- there were no Romans within miles! The single man was quickly forgotten as five cohorts joined him in standing up. The Romans simply erupted from the brush and charged forward. Their surprise was complete.

He had the wits about him to drop to the ground, and that saved his life as pila swarmed in among his vanguard. Some few caught the deadly missiles upon their shields, but far more had dropped their shields when the halt came. These men took the Roman javelins in their arms, heads, and breasts. Many fell. And then the Romans had swords in their hands and were closing.

Erhard saw his men dropping around him. The Bructeri were in a gaggle, with most of the gaggle behind him. He knew what he must do. He fled, abandoning the men who were dying about him, or counter-charging the Romans. They were dead, but their deaths would buy him the time to avenge them. They knew it, and he knew it.

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Severus and his cohorts absorbed the charge easily. Those few Germani who broke through the first ranks found themselves immediately impaled on the gladii of the second. Now the cohorts were advancing again, stabbing with the deadly gladii, pummeling with the large scutum, and stepping forward. Mercilessly, unstoppable.

Then the initial charge was exhausted, its men dead. The following group was formed in ranks four deep, with other groups hustling to their flanks to extend the line. And yet others began moving to flank the Romans.

Manius Severus was in a world of shit. The only way he saw out of this mess was to kill the Germans faster than they could arrive and form up. To which end he lifted his sword, aimed it at the forming Bructeri, and ordered the attack.

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Aulus Lucanus Strabo heard the shrieks and cries of men dying to the north, where he knew Manlius Severus was. He liked Severus- a tough little man, decent enough to the new guys. He listened to the sounds of battle for a moment, trying to judge. It sounded like a hell of a brawl, with more German shouts than Latin.

Severus was in trouble.

“Cohorts, halt!” he screamed. “Left face! Form ranks! March!” Soon, my boys, we will blood our swords in German blood!

The cohorts obeyed the commands, and the column began moving north to battle. Each man in the raw cohorts was as energized as their young noble tribune. It was time to become veterans.

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The Prior Pilus of the III Cohort had a damnable itch. It began in his ear, and got worse. He tried to ignore it, but that did not work. Finally, he examined his situation and found that there was nothing about except for his men marching through the woods. He pulled off his helmet and stabbed a finger into his ear to scratch, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy, and only made it worse. A hair. It has to be a hair growing. He parsed his fingernails together and dug, then pulled.

He was rewarded with a sharp pain, then a flood of relief. The hair was out- almost the size of his thumbnail. No wonder that itched so bad.. He threw his helmet back on and rejoined his cohort.

He never heard the order to halt, nor could he see past the bulk of his cohort and the trees that the II Cohort was no longer on his left.

Worse, Aulus Strabo never looked back to see that only two cohorts were following him, not three.

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The Bructeri were swarming the five cohorts of Severus now, curling around his flanks and forcing them back. He culled a century from each of his three middle cohorts and used this ad hoc rump cohort to push back those on his right, deeming that the weaker flank.

The Bructeri sensed that weakness as well. More and more of them piled on, overwhelming the makeshift cohort and driving it back.

Into this maelstrom of flashing swords came Aulus Lucanus Strabo and his two cohorts. The young tribune saw the centuries pressed hard and breaking. He gawked for a long second in which twenty good Romans died, then broke his trance with a shouted order- “Attack!”

The pila of the two cohorts caught the Germans unawares. Men dropped, then others turned to face this new challenge. Strabo saw them come, and charged with his men. All fear and insecurity dissipated with the onset of battle rush. The enemy was there. It was time for battle.

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Minucius heard the sounds of battle as well. Unlike the new tribune, he was a seasoned veteran. He plotted the sounds of the battle in his head, and looked to the terrain to see how best to come there. He saw the way, then hurried his cohorts along this path.

I hope Severus can hold out. Help is on the way.

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Rutilius had gathered his archers together and reformed the Iceni. The Remi had long since formed up with him. Together this small group began moving to the forest battlefield.

“I could not find Strabo,” Cadorus reported. He pointed to the right where the III cohort was hastening back toward to the command group, “but I did find these. Where would you like it?”

Rutilius looked to the right and saw the cohort, its standards barely visible. He cursed lowly.

“Cadorus, gather up that cohort,” he ordered. “Take it and those Iceni spearmen and hurry to the battlefield.”

“And once there, legate?”

“You are a veteran, Cadorus,” Rutilius reminded him. “Do what you see fit with it.”

With that, Rutilius rallied his archers and cavalry and headed north while Cadorus formed up his small command and followed.

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It was just like in the training versus those blasted Cananefate, Strabo thought as he stabbed down yet another Bructeri warrior. They had their men to our front, as is proper, and we slammed them, as is proper. Now die, German scum, that I may receive a hero’s award for saving these five cohorts.

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And just like in that maneuver exercise, Strabo paid no attention to his own flanks. As his men began curling around the Germans curling around the cohorts of Severus, a large group of Bructeri hunters came upon them unseen and unloaded their hunting arrows into the unshielded flanks of the II Cohort.

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Arrows whistled through the air and sank deep in flesh where they found it, impaled themselves upon shields or ricocheted from armor where they did not. The surprise of the attack, however, more than made up for its lack of lethality. A second volley, then a third took out more of the cohort.

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I might actually win this, Erhard thought to himself as he surveyed the battlefield. He had forty five hundred men after the death of his vanguard; the opponent but two thousand, three if one counts the newcomers. There were many dead on each side, but those Romans in the center are weakened. Their left was even worse off. They will break soon, and then it will be all over. A good horseborne charge could seal it.

“Horsemen!” he cried. “Let us end this now, with victory and honor!”

“Victory and honor!” the horsemen repeated, and kicked their horses to the gallop.

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Erhard’s charge landed squarely on the Roman left. Men were trampled under raging hooves, the mass of the horses breaking the tight formation open. The horses plunged up and down, the swords of their riders flashing red and redder as they hewed down the armored men of Rome.

This is the life! Erhard thought as he pressed in among the breaking Romans. More and more of them were being pressed away from their fellows, making the job of killing them that much easier.

Thus when the sharp pain in his chest came, he was shocked. Then he thought nothing else as he tumbled from his saddle.

Behind the battling horsemen and Bructeri infantry, Minucius and his three cohorts of legionaries and the Nordican spearmen bore down on them.

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The arrow storm killing his men abruptly ceased.

Strabo looked up to see the Bructeri hunters fleeing, in numbers far less than had been shooting at him. Another whoosh followed, and a second volley of Arvernii arrows cut further into the hunters. Then the arrows shifted to fall upon the massed Bructeri from the front.

Thunder erupted, a long, rolling rumble. The ground shook. And Marcus Rutilius, his Batavian bodyguard, and the Remi cavalry charged into the Bructeri warriors engaging II cohort. The effect was colossal- the Bructeri were trampled under, or thrown into the air from the collision, or hacked down where they stood.

The Bructeri turned to face this new threat when they found themselves under attack from Cadorus. The Iceni tribune and his tribesmen, backed by the III cohort, sealed the door on the Bructeri.

Surrounded by armored legionaries and either cut down or pushed back, the Bructeri lost heart. Erhard was nowhere to be seen- either dead or fled. No matter. They had survived their chieftain, a terrible shame. They became like dead men, fighting only for the honor of dying in battle.

The X Gemina obliged them.

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Superb, as usual.

So the Bructeri lost. Great chapter once again. But once again Rutillus has to save the day. Can't he just look stupid for once hehe?

Did he think I could not count? Or mistook a M for a C?

You don't know how much I laughed at that.

Quoted from Legion:

But once again Rutilius has to save the day.

He does that a lot. It is in his nature.

He gets a comeuppance in Part III, and a worse one in Part IV. Still working on that one.