The conflict between Dieter and the Generalis was very well written (as if I should expect any less). Tense, gripping and humourous but not at the cost of the tension in the atmosphere.

The last paragraph or two in particular where Dieter departs creates an ominous feeling.

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

The Remi cavalry shadowing the approaching Germani to the east were good- they ran in squads keeping tabs on the Germans and sent regular reports back to their tribune, who kept the general informed. Orders were passed to the ala the same way.

One turma cursed at its new orders. The thirty man unit was pulled off of its assigned sector and assigned a new one- far to the south, away from the Germans.

“Probably scouting a new home for the generalis,” muttered one cavalryman. “Methinks he wants to build a nice house down by the river when this is over.”

“More likely he wants us to find a path to the navy, to bring the supplies up quicker,” replied another.

“Yeah, the camp prefect of the XXIst does not have his head straight,” commented a third. “Milus of the X Gemina was much better. Never missed a trick, that Milus.”

By morning, they were singing a different tune. Twenty men rode north at the gallop, twelve of them would make it to the empty camp, but only five would find the general- and that too late to make a difference.

And three of them, having remembered the words of a Germanic seeress, would head southeast toward the late morning sun and so slip through the gap between the eastern warhost of led by Ricgard and the southern approach of forty thousand disciplined Chatti warriors.

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

Cordinus had his men deployed in a large wedge, fifteen cohorts facing the northerly Germans, fifteen facing the eastern Chauci, and the VI Victrix in reserve. He felt confident. There were auxilia on either flank, hidden in the brush, to ambush and harry any flankers the Germans might send. The area before the ends of his lines were marshy bogs which negated the advantage of cavalry, and he had good open fields before his men- prepared with caltrops, hidden pits, and concealed spikes. Let the Germans come! He would whip them more soundly than Suetonius had the Britons!

That confidence was not shared by his legates. Each of them could read a map- and each had seen what the departed Batavian had said- move to the attack, pin the one force in place and throw everything at the other, then gang-bang the other with all four legions. This was mentioned, but Cordinus was firm- they shall bring the enemy together and bag the whole lot.

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

“They stand in the field to the east of the grove,” a Bructeri scout reported to Ricgard and Udo. With the miraculous withdrawal of the Eagles preparing to assault his civitas, Udo and his warband were released to join the Chauci and Marsi. “They have built three or four earthwork burchten further west, surrounding the grove, on the spot where Ulfrich and the warhost were this spring. About two miles from where they now stand ready for battle.”

“Are the forts guarded?” Udo asked. If the Bructeri could swing north through the forest and fall upon unguarded forts, the Romans would have no burrow into which to crawl. He would have them.

“I have seen men moving around in them,” the scout replied. “Men in warshirts, with swords and spears.”

“Scheisse,” he muttered lowly. “It was worth a thought. Where are the Cherusci now?”

“They are stopped before the Romans. Their chief is skilled- he has not let the Romans see the true size of his warhost. He is awaiting your word as war king before he makes a move.”

“And the Chatti?” Ricgard asked.

“Horobard and his men have crossed the river between us and the Marsi. He is heading north as we speak. He should be here before the suns dips below the tree-tops this day.”

“Shall we wait for the Chatti?” Ricgard asked of Udo.

The hoarse king shook his head. “No,” he decided. “Giving them time gives the Romans time to find our allies. Then they will run in the night. We are no Harii to fight in the night- they will escape.”

He paused, thinking. “We attack- when the sun is just past its zenith. Inform the Cherusci to attack when they hear our warhorns. We both fall upon the Romans and thus grab their attention. We hold it firmly, with attacks then retreats, then more rushes. They will put their eyes on us- and never see the Chatti coming up behind them. Then, my friend, we will have them all. And with their fall opens the Rhein and beyond to Germanic arms!”

Ricgard nodded. Udo’s plan smacked of brilliance- and he saw that it could indeed work. Of course it would- the Marsic vala had foreseen this very event. The Romans surrounded and defeated. And the aftermath... A dream indeed coming to fruition.

“I shall take the order to the Cherusci,” Calor said. “My Marsi are closest to them.”

“Done,” Udo agreed with a nod. “My horn, my signal. No mercy.”

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

Dieter was heading home. To him, that meant heading in the most direct route, which in turn meant crossing rivers only once, which in turn meant he was heading to where the Lupia emptied into Father Rhein. There he would swim the river as Batavians were wont to do, dry off on the Roman side, then head down the River Road to where Milika should be about ready to deliver their firstborn. The stupidity of the generalis still weighed upon him, as did the sudden end of his command of the Galatians. Good lads, those Galatians, though misguided by their previous prefect.

Traveling with such weighty matters left him a bit distracted. Though his senses told him he was heading in the correct direction, they failed to alert him to danger, until a harsh voice shouted in atrocious Latin, “Halt, Roman! Throw down your spear. You are now our prisoner.”

“The hell I am!” he roared back in German. His sense and wits came alive. He lowered his spear toward where the voice came from the bushes and roared a battle cry. “Wotan!”

To the bushes, he added, “If you wish my spear and sword, bandit, come and take it.”

Five men came from the brush. Two carried cudgels, while three had spears. All had seaxes on their hips and a francisca in their belt. Their clothing was nondescript- war clothing, and wore no other metal than that scabbarded in their belts. The patterns in the clothes, hair, and the weaponry allowed him to recognize them. Usipi tribesmen. He raised his spear. They were twenty paces away- enough space for him to lower the spear if need be.

“You are far from your lands, Usipi warriors,” he said curtly. “And dressed for war. Bandits, I assume, come to raid we Bructeri now that Romans plunder our land?”

The words confused them. He wore a Roman warshirt, rode in a Roman saddle, yet spoke and looked Germanic.

“We are no bandits, Bructeri warrior,” the leader of the five said. He gestured to the spearmen to raise their spears slightly. “We are the eyes of our warhost, who see a rider in Roman armor, sitting in a Roman saddle, and riding with the straight spine of a Roman cavalryman, coming into our sight.”

“The Roman warshirt shed steel better than did my buckskin shirt or furs,” Dieter replied. “And this saddle works better than the one I had before. Spoils of war.” He shifted his spear to this left hand, and drew forth his war sword. “This, however, was made for me by my father. Look at it, Usipi. Do you know of any Roman who can use such a length of steel? And as to my posture... An old wound, made by a Roman pilum, locks my back straight in a continuous, painful spasm.”

“Show me this wound,” the leader replied. The rest of the tale did make sense- Roman warshirts were prized trophies. It was said the Cananefate harvested more steel than grain a few years back, more than enough to equip the entire tribe should they wish. The Bructeri had similar success. If this man had fought well enough to earn both a shirt and a saddle, he may indeed be a worthy warrior.

Dieter saw the belief in the man’s eyes and rode closer. He jabbed his spear into the earth, then dismounted, loosened his belt, and hiked the warshirt up and turned about. The ugly wound he had been bearing for fifteen years was prominent, as were the locked muscles through which the pilum had torn.

“There is another wound here, by my neck, where the priest pulled the shaft from my body.”

The leader of the Usipi bowed. “We believe you, Bructeri warrior. May I ask why you are here, alone, and heading away from the coming battle?”

Dieter pulled himself into his saddle. “I slept with the wrong man’s wife,” he said with a grin. “And was duly tasked to scout out the old Roman outpost rebuilt on the river last year, to see if the cockroaches have again taken it in use.”

“Outpost?” asked the Usipi.

“They built a little fort on our land last year. We drove them from it, but they might want to use it again. I am to see if they have. And why are you here, exactly?”

“A huge warhost of Chatti and Suevi warriors came through our lands heading north,” the Usipi replied. “Our king, Octa, had never seen so many warriors. There were more warriors than there were people in our entire tribe,. That many. We were impressed, so we joined. As have the Tencteri.”

“The Tencteri do have fine horsemen,” Dieter allowed.

“As good as the legendary Batavi, it is said,” the Usipi replied. “It is said that when the Batavi split out from the Chatti, they took the best horsemen with them, leaving the Chatti with naught but fine foot-bound warriors.”

“I have heard this, too,” Dieter admitted neutrally, without displaying either grin or pride. “Good luck, Usipi. I hope to return before the battle ends.”

“Good luck, Bructeri,” the Usipi replied.

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

The sun was climbing when the Germans took the field. For an hour, the Cherusci and other tribesmen traded insults with the Romans, taunting them to leave their solid lines and fight man to man like true men. And for an hour, the centurions kept their men in formation and ready for the inevitable assault.

It felt more like three hours, to both the men taunting, and those being taunted. And to the kings, who decided the Chatti must be close enough. If they were not, then the Romans might escape. Thus Udo nodded to Ulfrich, who had the honor to start this final battle on Bructeri soil. He pursed his lips, placed the horn tight against them, and blew out a thunderous blast.

Other horns echoed the signal. The German lines let loose a mighty roar, then surged forward in a flood of men seeking to shed the blood of their enemies.

The surge was uneven. The Cherusci were closer to the X Gemina than the Chauci were to the Raptors, and had not had the recent experiences of being at swords’ points with Romans in generations. This made their attack quicker, less hesitant, and above all more enthusiastic to come to grips. They rushed forward in a wave, with their king Otho in the fore. The Romans did not move except to raise their pila into position. Then, thirty paces from the Roman lines, the Cherusci charge faltered.

Men stopped in their tracks, hopping on one foot and holding the other which had been pierced by a caltrop. The hopping men were knocked over by those behind, and the whole battle-wave was thrown into disarray.

“Throw!” shouted the centurions.

A desperate volley of pila smashed into the German line. Some men were alert and caught the little spears on their shield, where they bent and hung useless. Others were caught unaware and felled like pole-axed oxen.

“Ready shields and second volley!” shouted a hundred centurions. “Wait for it... Throw!”

The second volley was less devastating, as the Germani knew it was coming. They raised their axes to throw, then did so as a hundred men shouted “Shields!”

Many axes either stuck in the wooden planks or glanced off. A few found flesh, and here and there a formerly-curious Roman fell to the ground with a francisca between his eyes.

Then the Cherusci surged forward, a tide of angry men, hurt men, and men roaring to wash their steel in the blood of their foes. Many died when they came face to face with the might of Rome, their swords, axes, or spears falling uselessly from lifeless hands as the efficient Roman gladius stabbed into their exposed bellies and drained their life away. Yet the press was hard and the impact knocked many a Roman back- those who had not locked shields were knocked helpless to the ground where others finished him off. If he was lucky, a comrade from the second rank would step forward and cover him while he regained his feet, or simply pull him out of danger.

The cohorts buckled under the initial charge, but discipline and efficiency was far superior to anger and aggression. The Cherusci killed many, but they lost many, many more. The Roman horns sounded as the adrenaline of battle began to wear off. Those Romani on the front line fell back, and the second rank stepped forward. Fresher than the Germans facing them, they killed and killed far more than they lost.

Otho was hardly in condition to do anything about it. A legionary had stepped inside the swing of his mighty sword early on in the battle and gutted him like yesterday’s fish. He lay dead upon the field, his sole contribution to the battle was tangling the foot of a legionary so that he too could taste death.

The Cherusci had enough, for the moment. Tired and worn from battle, they ceased their press and withdrew from the Romans, even as a third wave of fresh Romans replaced those tiring men of the second rank. Beyond them was a fourth rank, and beyond them was the refreshed first rank. It was enough for now. The Cherusci fell back to reform and catch their breath.

Over in the other sectors, much of the same thing was happening. The Chauci and Marsi had pushed into the Raptors hard, but it was too little, too late, and with the same result. They too fell back to regroup.

Cordinus was beaming. The Germanic assault, that vaunted tactic of which he had heard tales and feared, lay broken before the solid stonework of disciplined troops. He was vindicated- the evidence lay dying before him. Let the Germani come, he had said, and we shall crush them as we just did. He ordered his legions to hold their positions, confident that victory was at hand.

“Why is that fool letting them rest?” Messala wondered. “Why does he not order the advance, that we may hammer them while they are weak?”

Cadorus was wondering the same thing. He also had less discipline than did his Roman comrades, and more archers. He signaled his Arvernii with a wave of his sword, and used the point to describe an arc leading toward the resting Cherusci. The centurion commanding the archers nodded and bellowed an order. Arrows pierced the sky in clouds, falling among the unarmored warriors whose ancestors had destroyed three legions not far from here.

The Cherusci wailed at the sudden barrage. A second and third volleys landed in their tight-packed warriors before they began moving. They could not retreat due to the press behind them, so they moved forward to close the gap.

Cadorus welcomed them with two fresh volleys of pila and a wall of swords and shields. Ten minutes the Cherusci fought angrily, wasting precious strength and energy while the Romans dealt them death by the dozens. They broke, again, and this time retreated out of range of the deadly shafts.

Paullus noted the premature attack of the Cherusci and deduced its reason. The XXII Primigenia had some archers itself- Syrians, the best- which he now used. He wished for some artillery, but wishes were useless when he knew his artillery was back in Vetera. Still, he managed to bring down a couple of handfuls of Chauci before they wisely moved out of range. Cagey, that one, he thought. Their king must still be alive, and smart enough to rest his men before coming again.

Cordinus noticed the withdrawal of the Chauci and cheered. He called his couriers to him quickly, and issued orders for a hasty attack. The XXII Primigenia was to pursue those retreating Germans, while the XXI Rapax joined them. The VI Victrix would replace the XXIInd on the flank of the X Gemina.

Messala received the order and cursed. Then he galloped toward where the generalis was celebrating his victory.

“Rescind this order!” Messala shouted, who moments ago had been wondering why the generalis let the Germans rest. This was different- the first was to drive the Germans further away then return to position; this order was the pursuit away from that strong position. “Are you deliberately trying to get us all killed? Stop and listen to reason, lord!”

Cordinus waved the anger away with a laugh and pointed to the retreating Germani. “We have absorbed their vaunted charge, and now they flee like rabbits. We should pursue and eliminate them once and for all!”

“One does not pursue an enemy capable of destroying you,” Messala reminded him by quoting the famous text. “The Germans are far from finished. They are merely resting- at your command!- before they come again. Cadorus teased them into an attack when they were not fresh and slaughtered many before they fell back out of range. Paullus and Amensius are doing the same- but those Germani are cagey- they are merely pulling back out of range. They’ll come again- and soon! And we will be out of position by this order or yours. Rescind it! Now!”

Far from finished? Cordinus cringed. “What do you mean, far from finished?”

“Germani assault in waves,” he informed the general. “The first wave rarely gets far- too many pila and caltrops cut down many. And the Germani tire easily. So they rush for ten to twenty minutes, pull back, recover, and try again. Each wave comes harder- we have less pila. Some actually make it through- causing us a lot of heartache.”

As Messala explained, the Germans lent credence to his words. Rest time was over. A mighty roar filled the sky and the German wolves came running at the Roman stags. The stags still had horns, and pila, and the wolves suffered for it, but some stags were still caught by the pack and pulled down. It was a very bloody quarter hour on both sides. Then, as a wave upon a rocky shore, the wolves broke and retreated again.

“They run!” Cordinus shouted with joy. “See Messala? They run! They are broken. The order stands- pursue!”

“They want that,” Messala said. “To pull our men out of this nice position and onto the ground broken by their bodies, where our formations are less tight and more open to their attacks. There was a time to attack, lord, but that time had passed when you let the Germani unite.”

The couriers reached the legates, who could be seen turning their helmeted heads to look with wonder upon the generalis. They saw Messala beside him, and thus made the only reasonable assumption to the stupid order- Messala saw something and had advised the general to attack. Both Paullus and Amensius were disciplined legates. Both echoed the same command to their cornicens, “Signal the legion. Attack!”

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

Udo rejoiced when he heard the Romans horns blaring and the men begin marching toward his resting warriors.

“I love a fool!” he wheezed. “He leaves his protected position to bring his lambs to our slaughterhouse. Wonderful! Pass the word- we will hold them here. Skirmishers to the front.”

The Germans greeted the command with a shout of pure joy.

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

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 02-19-2011 @ 08:08 AM).]

I thought the beginning was good; then I read the rest. Unspeakably brilliantly put together. You are a bloody genius Terikel.

Very good chapter!

pin the one force in place and throw everything at the other, then gang-bang the other with all four legions.

That made me laugh really hard.

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

Cordinus saw the German reaction to the blaring horns. They heard the signal for attack, and roared with approval. They spread themselves out, swinging their weapons to ensure enough room, and waited patiently for the Romans to come. Among them darted several forward- skirmishers and archers, who peppered the Romans as they advanced. Their joy of battle was evident- even Cordinus could see it. And wonder about it. And finally, thickly, realize his legate was correct.

“Cancel the order!” he screamed.

At this critical moment, eight riders broke from the woodlines heading towards Cordinus. Two came from the north, one from the south, and then another five from the south. He tensed up and his gladiators assumed the ‘repel horse’ formation, until it became clear that all eight riders were Roman auxilia.

The northern riders reached him first.

“The Germans are attempting to flank the legion, lord,” they reported. “We ambushed them per orders, but are forced to fall back. The tribune requests aid, lord. Four cohorts if possible.”

The rider from the south echoed the report of the northern riders. Then came the five, the remnants of a turma sent to provide eyes to the south. Five out of thirty- his ire against the Batavian rose- until they reported.

“A Germanic warhost approaches from the south, generalis,” the decurion reported. “At least twenty thousand, most likely more. They have cavalry with them, which we learned the hard way. They are less than an hour away and coming fast.”

Twenty thousand?!? Most likely more!

“This battle is lost, general,” Messala informed him. “To stay is to die needlessly. Order the retreat, now, and maybe we can be saved.” He emphasized the word maybe.

Cordinus ran it through his head. Twenty thousand, most likely more. Where are these Germani coming from? The report- confirmed by his quaestor- said the Germani here had less than ten thousand. Now he had thirty across the field, and another twenty-or more- coming from the south, which the navy was to prevent. How?

“Order the retreat now, Cordinus, or there will be none left to obey the order!” Messala shouted.

Cordinus, his mind reeling, simply nodded.

“Play the tune, cornicen,” Messala ordered. “Return to camp. Play it loud, and keep playing it until you hear the legions repeating it.”

The lonely notes floated across the battlefield. Again and again. The legates, coordinating their attacks, did not hear it at first, but paused to listen when a bodyguard noted the music. Then the orders were given, and repeated, and the legions fell back to their original locations, then, as the calls continued, began retreating from the battlefield toward the forts.

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

“They flee!” Udo shouted in dismay. “The Chatti are not yet here, and they flee! Cowards! Stand and fight! Die like men!”

“Shall we pursue?” a nobleman asked.

“Pursue? Hel’s Half White Face, we shall attack!” Udo cursed. His prize of four legions was trying to slip away. “Attack! Attack as if all the tribes hang in the balance!”

The rams’ horns blared, and the German tide surged forward again. It was going to be a footrace for the next two miles, between the semi-tired Germanics and the endurance of disciplined Romans.

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

Dieter rode off, relieved at the gullibility of the Usipi, proud of what was said, but seething at what was not said. As many warriors as we have people. Thirty to forty thousand Germani were descending on Cordinus from the unexpected south. That many Germani were a threat, but not a serious one to four legions and associated auxilia in open battle. Usually. But now it meant the doom of those legions- already occupied with the Chauci and Cherusci.

Idiot! Had Cordinus listened to him, the Chauci would have been crushed and the Cherusci driven off, giving him the time and space he needed to wheel the about to face this new threat. Maybe the destruction of the other tribes would even send the Chatti and Suevi home. But no more. Cordinus is pinned upon a Cherusci and Chauci anvil, and forty thousand Chatti were about to hammer him. He was a dead man, and the border wide open. Idiot!

Seething and angry, he was in no good mood when he spotted three riders ahead. Nor was he particularly pleased to see them turn to face him, their lances lowering. He lowered his own spear and charged forward. The three kicked their mounts to the gallop.

Seconds before impact, the lances rose sharply upon command and the horses reared back.

“Wotan pluck your eyes out, Arturus,” Dieter swore. “I could have killed you!”

“I did not expect to see you either, Dieter,” the Remi replied. “Are your Galatians about?”

“I was relieved of duty, so am going back to Marcus,” Dieter replied. “I bear news he needs. There is a warhost of forty thousand coming from the south. Cordinus has effectively trapped himself and his legions.”

“Closer to fifty thousand,” Arturus agreed. “We hid when we saw them coming, and counted them as they passed. If Cordinus manages to get to the forts, he can hold out longer than the Germani. They had little or no food with them, and these woods will not support that many mouths for very long.”

“They will have food,” Dieter said simply. “The Bructeri have stockpiles- we burned several, but there are many more. And the Chauci and Cherusci came- all were prepared after last summer. They will have supplies.”

“You are right,” Arturus said solemnly. “Marcus needs to know this soonest. So you are going to the fleet? Will you join us?”

“I am going to swim the Rhein,” the Batavi replied. “You can try your hand with the fleet- if the Chatti have not captured them all. But for me, its Father Rhein and safety.”

The Remi looked at each other then at the former prefect. “Good point. We’ll chance the river with you.”

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

The legions burst into their camps steps ahead of the pursuing Germans. The first cohorts peeled off left and right to take up positions over the entrances, while the following cohorts took up positions to their sides. By the time the last cohorts entered, the Germani warhost was facing an entrenched, armored warhost ready and able to repel them.

The first ranks found this out the hard way. A thick rain of pila leapt from the wall to mow them down like a scythe through wheat. The following ranks swept onward, the Germanic circle pressing inward, condensing, while the legionaries fought in cold strength to keep them out. A battlement here or there was lost, but was quickly and bloodily recovered.

The Germanic pressure faded with a cacophony of ram’s horns blaring into the evening air. The warriors withdrew, but kept their ring around the trapped legions, and the Sacred Grove inside the tight circle of Roman forts.

“You call the retreat because night falls?” Ricgard asked of Udo. “It is not like the Bructeri to fear the night.”

“It is not fear,” Udo reminded him. “It is prudence. We kept up on the Romans and killed their stragglers, but we both knew that if our first rush does not carry their little forts, no amount of trying thereafter will. Well, our rush failed. Time to settle in for the siege.”

“A siege?” roared Ricgard. “It took the Batavians eight months to starve out Vetera. We do not have that long- our army will not last past four weeks!”

“Vetera was a fortress stocked for two legions, and garrisoned by the remains of two legions,” Udo pointed out. “Here we have four legions and many auxilia in our net. They have no stockpiles; they have but what they brought with them. In a fortnight or two they will be starving. And then they will be ours, to use their blood to purify and consecrate a new Sacred Grove to our Wotan. We Bructeri have food for two weeks, and the Chatti will be bringing more. Hell, my friend, everyone will be sending us food. We are successful, Ricgard! Everyone will want to share in that, even if their contribution was but bread.”

“Four legions!” the Chauci king recounted, astonished. “We are besieging four legions, leaving all to the west as open as a harlot’s legs.”

The Bructeri king smiled at the phrase, while his twin grinned wolfishly. Ulfrich had other thoughts on his mind- namely of one specific harlot in Colonia, whom he shall rape repeatedly before her husband’s eyes, before plucking an eye from that hated Roman and roasting him in a wicker cage within the walls of his own home. An eye for an eye, Rutilius.

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

Four legions = 20,000 men plus a few thousand auxilia trapped. I remember what happened at Vetera and its bloody aftermath. I hope Cordinus gets captured and is roasted alive. But where is Rutillus and what is he doing?

[This message has been edited by Legion Of Hell (edited 12-23-2010 @ 10:57 AM).]

DIE ROMANS!!!

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

The German assaults ceased as the tribesmen melted away into the night, licking their wounds and their chops. Roman stag, bagged and awaiting the slaughter. It was a delicious thought to many who had lost friends and relatives to the Romans in recent years. Now the Romans would pay.

Messala and Cadorus led cohorts out between the camps to clear away any who would do them harm in the night. They also had cohorts link the forts together with breastworks, while Amensius and the Raptors improved the defenses with wood gathered from the forest the camps surrounded. Paullus oversaw defense and ensured the protection of the now-vital grain and food supplies. His camp prefect walked the fort to site the latrines away from the springs, and ensured wells were dug. It was a busy night for the Romans, but one the men did not mind working through. Each and every one of them knew their lives depended on the tasks they were doing.

The following day Horobard ignored Udo’s advice to leave the Romans penned and attacked. He did not get far before he realized the wisdom of leaving fortified Romans alone. It only cost him five thousand men in an hour of futile assaults to realize the desperate Romans would not break. Further, the Romans had begun cutting trees from the Sacred Grove to gain wood with which to build their fortifications. The men felt a twinge of sacrilege attacking the new fortifications built of sacred wood- as if they were attacking the gods themselves. Thus the order to encamp around the trapped legions was met with relief.

The Romans themselves patrolled the perimeter within the fortified circle aggressively and effectively. Amid their movements, the legates were shuttled from camp to camp. In the camp of the XXII Primigenia, Cordinus held a command council outside his tent.

“I lost about one thousand five hundred men, most on the retreat here when those horsemen trampled under an entire cohort,” Amensius reported. Cordinus remembered with pain the impact of those horsemen- the Marsic cavalry had hit the bracing cohort in a near-perfect wedge- trampling under some, breaking the rest apart where the supporting infantry could come in among the displaced legionaries and slaughter them. Not a man in that cohort survived, but their deaths bought the rest of the legion time to retreat further away.

The Raptor losses were the hardest- expected, as the XXI Rapax had the furthest to go. The others reported lower losses, with the exception of the auxilia on the southern flank- they were wiped out to a man. Only a single ala of cavalry- the Remi- and less than a century of infantry made it. The other two alae and three infantry cohorts were dead. The auxilia in the north fared better- but then again, Cadorus had taken them under his wing and employed them as part of the legion. That kept many alive.

“We have rations for three weeks,” Paullus reported. “The camp prefects report the wells are yielding enough water for the legion, though the latrines might be a problem and poison the water in a few weeks. So when we run out of food, we run out of drinkable water, too.”

“We are also completely surrounded,” Cadorus concluded. “I count at least fifty thousand Germanic out there. This country is fertile, but not very developed. With any luck they will run out of food before we do. Maybe we can break out in two weeks.”

“I could use the rest,” Amensius added. “A lot of my wounded will be recovered by then, I hope.”

“We should not even be here,” Messala groaned. His VI Victrix was in reserve- hardly any losses worth mentioning. “We should have pinned the Cherusci and smashed the Chauci, then crushed the pinned Cherusci with everything to be ready for these newcomers. But instead, we stood still in the open and let them pen us like cattle.”

Cordinus flushed and his ears burned bright red at the accusation. In his mind, he was still witnessing the fourth and fifth Germanic rushes- the ones which overran whole centuries. Never had he witnessed such aggressive power in a barbarian.

“I was told by a good source there were less than ten thousand warriors in all of this land,” he reminded them. “That source was your friend Rutilius. I believed him.”

“Rutilius is not such a fool,” Messala retorted. “He may have told you the Bructeri have less than ten thousand. That I would believe- I have seen hardly any Bructeri warriors in all this time. But Marcus knows well that there are other tribes here, tribes who might send aid to a beleaguered tribe. I am also quite sure he mentioned this. He even said something to that effect at your orders brief in the spring- get in, hit hard, and get out. Move like lightning. Well, Cordinus, we moved like molasses and all of Germania Magna came down upon us like a frikking anvil.”

The other legates nodded.

Cadorus put it into words. “We should have attacked, not let them attack us. But we are here now. Trapped.”

“Doomed,” added Amensius, morosely.

“There is still hope,” Cordinus said. “Before we left, I too had misgivings. Marcus brought them up, actually. So I wrote a letter to Rome, asking for a contingency order to be issued. When Marcus informs Rome of our situation, which he should learn about within a few days or I do not know him well at all, Rome will invoke that order. Two legions from Britannia will join the Gallic legion and march to Vetera. At the same time, two legions from Germania Superior will move to join them. Five legions, legates, will be at Vetera within two weeks, and here a week after that. We have supplies and water for three weeks. Salvation will come before they run out.”

“Are you sure that is possible?” asked Cadorus, the only legate who had not been in the Army of Cerealis which had gathered near Mogontiacum five years ago for that very same mission.

Messala and Amensius nodded, while Paullus replied, “Yes, Quintus Petillius, it is possible. Your namesake did that very thing five years ago, bringing eight legions and most of us to rescue the two legions under my command.”

“Then we continue to fortify and keep the men busy,” Cadorus said to their nods, “and conduct raids into their camps at night to keep them off-guard.”

“That is the plan,” Messala agreed. “Unless our esteemed generalis has something against standard tactical procedure for this situation?”

Cordinus shook his head. “Carry on,” he ordered, then retired to his tent to let his legates work out the details. The legates moved off to the legionary command post and poured themselves some of Paullus’s excellent wine.

Cadorus waited an appropriate amount of time for the wine to sink in, then spoke the words that was on all their minds. “How many of you believe that happy horseshit he was just shoveling?”

“I have my doubts, but it could be true,” Paullus allowed. “He did send off quite a bit of correspondence those past few days before we left. A contingency order could have been among it. Whether they get to Rome and back in time, or even if Rome approves it... That is another question entirely.”

“He seemed too confident,” Messala said. “This, being trapped deep in Germania with the entire army, doesn’t bother him at all. Or at least, very little. So yes, Cador, I think he did indeed send that request. But like Decius here, I doubt it did any good.”

“I am pretty damned sure it will do no good,” Amensius added. “I keep in contact with Titus Flavius Sabinus- a former tribunus of the II Adiutrix, Marcus’s old outfit. He commands the I Adiutrix now, took over from that arrogant ass Naevius. The boys of Germania Superior have been in a hard training cycle since Cordinus took over here. Last year they sat on their duffs while we had priority of supply. This past winter, though, we were lower in the priority list while they were getting what they needed, when they asked for it. That means Cornelius Clemens is gearing up for action. He won’t have a legion or two- half his strength!- to spare us. He will have a hard choice- forgo his own triumph to rescue us, or drive his planned attack and take the heat from the Imperator. Knowing him, he’ll attempt to do both and succeed in none.”

“Then we are doomed, with no hope of relief,” Cador said morosely.

“Cheer up,” Messala said suddenly. “We have food and water for three weeks, and a forest right here to fetch wood for the cooking fires and to heat our baths. The Germans out there will sit still for at least a week before they try to assault again. Maybe they will run out of food and go home before we run out and die.”

“I don’t like it,” Cador said bluntly. “Decius, you were besieged. Tell us how the Germans siege.”

“Gnaeus Messala just told you,” Decius Paullus replied. “They sit and fret, working up all sorts of crazy ideas, then when they get frustrated, they simply attack. We repulse them, then they sit and fret again. Rather boring, really. The hard part is keeping the men motivated and busy so they don’t think about the situation.”

“When in doubt, fortify,” Cadorus said, repeating the words of his former legate after last summer’s campaign.

The others nodded. It was old army wisdom, still applicable.

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

Cordinus, too, was restless with the situation. He had done everything by the book, with textbook precision. He had scouted the area, identified his targets, and moved aggressively on them with overwhelming force. His legions moved through the woods like Caesar’s men across open plains. He had the Germani off-guard and out of position, yet they still had him surrounded and trapped within his own camps.

He stalked through his tent with torch in hand. His fate, the fate of them all, was now firmly in the hand of his quaestor, a man Rome thinks an opportunist and a lower-class fungus risen to high level through smarmery and sheer luck. Rome has even tried to kill him by ordering him to scout the Bructeri- alone and unaccompanied. He laughed- Rutilius was probably laughing now. Ten thousand Bructeri? Maybe. But he sure missed the fifty thousand other tribesmen who came to their aid.

It did not matter. If Rome sends the five legions, they will send a generalis too. Probably Aulus Caecina- a slug and a snake, but the man did win Vitellius all of his victories. Plus he knew the Germani, their ways, and no doubt soon their numbers. And he would have Marcus Rutilius- the warhawk who knew this province and its enemies thoroughly.

Cordinus decided to keep a journal, just in case. He rummaged through his scroll bucket, but all were filled with writing- either military texts he studied in the evening hours, or histories of past campaigns, or that excellent book by Caesar commenting on his campaigns.

He brushed the bucket aside and searched deeper. Ah, he thought as he stuck his hand inside his rain poncho. The fingers closed around two scrolls.

He brought them out. They were both sealed- one with the prancing lion of Rutilius, he noticed with a start, and the other- he saw with horror- was his own seal.

He opened his own scroll first. It was there in his hands- the contingency order he had sent to Rome. How? Why? It should have been dispatched weeks ago!

Then he opened the scroll of Rutilius. It was addressed to Cerealis in Britannia.

Hail Quintus Petillius,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard much of your exploits from Cadorus, who hears much from his kin, who keep in touch far better than we Roman warriors. We tend only to put pen to papyrus when danger looms, as it does now.

Your brother-in-law has given the Word again. Four. Yes, four. You have served here, before you went off to become consul and then consular governor in Britannia. You know what four means, even for a little while. I would prevent that. Anything you can spare, anything at all, would be welcome.

On the other hand, my wife has a son from a previous relationship, as you may know. Little Quintus is doing just fine. He and my son from a previous relationship, Publius, get along smashingly. Now we have a son together- Decius Rutilius was born five days before the Nones of April...

He put the scroll down. Marcus really did know the emperor’s brother-in-law, and close too, judging by the familiar tone in the letter. He had heard rumors of the sort, but after the affair with Eprius, he had discounted them as rumors. Would the emperor’s brother-in-law let a wolfshead like Eprius ruin the life of his friend? Of course not. And the bit about the sons- Marcus was raising the bastard of Cerealis as if he were his own! Yet Cerealis made no attempt to interfere or persuade the Imperial Fact-Finder to desist.

Damn it! he thought madly. He cradled his head in his hands and felt the emotions rock his body. Marcus Rutilius had requested aid from the proconsul Cerealis, just as he had said. Moreover, he neither reproached nor condemned the actions of Cordinus as a fool for doing so. He merely stated facts as a loyal Roman, and requested reinforcements.

That aid is not forthcoming now, dear Marcus. Your letter is here in my hand, with the provincial army about me. You stand there alone, on the Roman side of the Rhenus, with a dozen auxilia cohorts and bugger-all else with which to defend hundreds of miles of border. You were right, my loyal warhawk- I should have left you a legion, or let you command this army while I remain with a legion.

The army was now lost- trapped, penned like sheep, with fifty thousand Germanic wolves prowling the fences and more on the way. The province was lost as well- when the army goes to Death or slavery, the Germans would be incredibly stupid to pass on the opportunity to break the Rhenus barrier. If there was one thing this episode had taught him, it was that Germans may be barbarians but they are not stupid. There would be nothing Rome could do to stop them either.

There was Marcus Rutilius and a dozen auxilia cohorts guarding a border hundreds of miles long. Not even a warhawk like him could hold back a determined Germanic flood with but a dozen or so auxilia.

Cordinus rose slowly, knowing this situation was his fault, his and his alone. There was a price to pay for leading his legions into this horrible situation from which only death or slavery could release them. That price needed to be paid to redeem the honor his pride and pigheadedness had cost him. He could not do anything else.

He drew his sword, then placed it upon his chest point first, and walked directly and forcefully into the tent wall.

One great flash of pain, then nothing.

Oblivion.....

....

...

..

.

Pain.

His eyes opened.

The aches in his body and head told him he was still alive. The sword was lying by his side, covered weakly in blood along the edge and point. There was a large lump on his head that was bleeding more profusely than the deep scratch across his chest.

He knew instinctively what had happened- he had botched it. He must have placed his sword wrong, or chosen a poor spot upon which to fall, or both. The hilt had glanced up from an obstruction on the other side of the tentwall and hit his head, causing him to fall backwards, away from the lethal point instead of on it. The remaining kinetic energy forced the sword to skid along his ribs instead of punching through to end his misery.

Cordinus cried now, an utter failure. He had doomed his army, his province, and was not even man enough to be able to kill himself properly. Tears flowing down his cheeks, he bandaged his light wounds as best he could.

All was truly lost!

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Here ends Part VI.

Part VII will commence in a month or so. I need time to work out some details, present the awards, work on some articles, and finish this tale without pressure.

A good ending to a great chapter. That ending shows just how stupid Cordinus is.

I was just wondering if all six volumes really did happen like the epic Germanic revolt or is this partially accurate?

A month or so?!! But, I want more now! Now! Now! NOW!

Well you can always read my vast volumes on the Peloponnesian War to satisfy your urge.

This story will resume on Monday with the posting of the opening scene of Part VII.

Due to the delay between Part VI and Monday's release, you might want to refresh your memory by catching up on the last few bits here.

Part VII will not have a review of this piece. It will simply carry on.