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Lucius Alden
A Hundred Days
Part III
-A talk of logistics-
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Do you know who I am officer?
-
Legatus Lucius Alden
to Prefect Vibius Draco
Commander of the 4rth training Cohort outside Anorum
Circa 192 NC
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Eerie, dead silence.
The river flowing not that far away, hidden behind a heavy mist and thick whitebark trees. There was some green mixed in there as well, the hint of grey and black. The color of fresh mud. Much more of it on the field. Mud made of snow and dirt. Mud made of soil and blood. The color almost the same. You couldn’t tell it apart.
Lucius grimaced, deep lines at the sides of his mouth and his skin hurting. The men helping the injured best they could and the dead left where they’d fallen. Rows upon rows of soldiers, a compressed circle of corpses, where the final stand had been fought. Scavenging had already started during the waning moments of the struggle and had blossomed to blatant looting once it had stopped.
Prefect Veturius, blood painting his right arm to the elbow and vambraces covered in gore, gave him a solemn salute. His fist touching his chest. Lucius returned it and jumped from the saddle giving the reins to Zac Ross who followed after him.
“Decurion Sharp,” he rustled and the young rider flinched not expecting it. “You get your men helping with the wounded. Bring them to the Castle for treatment.”
“Milord… aye, right away,” Eli Sharp retorted, still shocked at the abrupt promotion.
“See Centurion Trupo for your insignia. Fix that uniform Decurion,” Lucius told him sternly.
“Lord Alden, Sir!” Eli snapped out of it and saluted energetically.
Lucius watched him gather the rest of the riders numbering not even thirty, as Galio Veturius approached them. He’d a cloth in his hands and used it to clean some of the gore off of his face and armour.
“Another promotion, Milord?” Galio rustled.
“He saved my life, or a limb at the very least,” Lucius replied. “And I don’t want Kaeso leading the cavalry.”
“Why is that?”
“He’ll have to fix another mess and I don’t know another man more suitable for the job,” Lucius replied and signed for the Prefect to follow him.
“What about Trupo?” Galio asked him. “I have to promote someone from the ranks.”
“And you’ll keep doing it, Prefect,” Lucius replied stopping to watch the soldiers pillaging the field. “I want the dead gathered in piles. All the dead. Burned. We won’t leave them for the animals.”
“You’ll lose the day,” Galio pointed out. “And I’ve had ours already put aside for a pyre.”
“We have the Castle. They gave up,” Lucius explained. “Vanzon didn’t leave much of a garrison. The danger seemed too far away,” he sighed seeing a soldier cutting a dead man’s finger to get his gold ring, tossing the finger away after he got it out with his teeth. “In a sense, we are ahead of schedule.”
“I’ll notify Trupo,” Galio yielded. “You want the report?”
“You have the numbers so soon?”
“Wasn’t difficult to gauge,” the aged officer admitted. “This isn’t a cohort.”
It ain’t a century as well, Lucius thought, bringing up the Legion’s organization chart in his mind. Once again back in class with his tutors.
“The number, Prefect,” he said hoarsely.
“Eight casualties,” Galio deadpanned. “Four of them are dead, three maimed. One lost half-an-eye, but he’ll walk it through.”
“I expected worse,” Lucius admitted relieved.
“They didn’t expect a wall of shields in the middle of nowhere, nor they were ready for Legion tactics,” Galio retorted. “Still, I’m not exactly pleased.”
“You never are, Prefect,” Lucius commented.
“That would be quite true Milord,” the aged officer admitted.
“Keep the names Galio,” Lucius told him soberly. “I will reimburse their families. See they get their name on the Legion’s cenotaph and epitaph stones.”
“You’ll need a proper Legion for that Milord,” Galio pointed sounding moved. “And a place to station it.”
“Let me worry about that, Prefect,” Lucius replied and turned to watch the men of his Century gathering around them in a packed crowd, but keeping a respectful distance. Lucius eyed Centurion Varus Trupo and ‘Panthera Tigris’ holder, First Signifer Brim Solomon, the Black Skulls veteran, before turning to address everyone present.
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An hour later Faye appeared worn out, but for her eyes that gleamed seeing him. Lucius examined her from afar for injuries, but found nothing and stopped in front of her group to examine the Hunter’s Lodges in turn. The village had been ransacked and there were corpses everywhere. In the narrow main street, laying broken before the wooden huts and even half-in half-out of windows. Children and women in the mix, not a single survivor.
“What happened here Faye?” He asked the redhead and some of her people frowned tensing up.
“She did all she could,” Alana said defensively, standing next to Faye. “Gerard’s people wouldn’t listen to reason.”
Lucius eyed the second larger group of Northmen still looking around for loot. More and more were crossing his bridge every day despite the Jarl’s warnings, looking to take part in the raid as they still called it.
“That ain’t good enough Faye,” he told her and she hang her head. Lucius grimaced, returned Alana’s glare and warned a wild-eyed Morgan Half-Trunk and an equally rough-looking Torcal MacCee to think it through. The former had a kid and a pregnant woman back in Maza Burg.
“Bah,” the hale Northman grunted. “These people deserved what they got.”
“Aye,” Torcal said and spat down.
“These people weren’t in Ludr Mister Morgan, gentlemen,” Lucius admonished them. “I shan’t make war on women and children!” The last part he said loud enough to be heard by Gerard’s group as well. Most of them had started gathering around Number’s Warband curious. “You’ll burn the dead,” he decided and eyed the newcomers austerely. “This won’t happen again. This is Lucius army, Lucius Legion, under my bloody banner! You want to be a part of it, you won’t behave like animals, or low-life criminal scum. Even if that’s what you are.”
“Men need to supplement their income,” Gerard said, a well-built warrior with short red hair and huge sideburns that reached his chin.
“You follow the army, you’ll behave as soldiers,” Lucius warned him. “You’ll get food, supplies and repair your kits. You’ll get fame and gold at the end of it. Even land if you’re worth it,” he stared at them solemnly. “You disobey my orders though and I’ll have you executed, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Gerard smacked his lips measuring him with his eyes. Many warbands had listened to the Jarl’s summon, but not everyone had fought at the Battle of the Bridges. Some had arrived late, but everyone in the North had heard of Lucius by now.
“There won’t be a second chance,” Lucius told him. “This is your final warning gents and your appeal for mercy rejected in advance.”
“We get same privileges as Faye’s Scouts?” Gerard asked him.
“Faye’s Scouts are very loyal, Mister Gerard,” Lucius replied and some of the former Number’s Warband members chuckled hearing the unwarranted praise. “I can’t trust you in the same vein.”
“What we need doing to change that Milord Alden?” Gerard asked him with a cunning smirk.
“Mister Kaeso!” Lucius bellowed expecting it. His bark snapping everyone to attention, but for the shiftily watching from the sides’ ex-legionnaire. “What is your professional opinion?”
“There’s potential milord,” Kaeso replied with a smirk. “Lots of dead wood as well we better toss away somewhere, but it’s a cold season so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Can you fix the mess, Decanus?” Lucius snapped.
“Aye, but I’ll need big Gerard to be a good boy,” Kaeso replied calmly. “It’s for his own good sire. Bad boys tend to get knifed in their sleep. Most bleed out afore they wake up,” the latter he offered with a wide creepy grin that made everyone very uncomfortable, no one more than Gerard himself.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
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Oscar Steele arrived in the late afternoon of that same day, the cold bitter as the night creeped nearer. Lucius instructed him to leave a heavy garrison inside the intact Castle, but have patrols and guards posted at the stone bridge to warn him of Crulls coming for a visit. No civilians were to be harmed and no reprisals for perceived wrongs delivered without a formal hearing.
That night, while the men slept and Faye had retired too drunk to stand upright, Lucius met with Prefect Veturius and Centurion Trupo to discuss the coming march. In two days’ time they would follow after Sam O’ Dargan’s greater force that would depart early the next morning, leaving the large camp across Lud River and the Castle to Oscar Steele’s men.
“How many men want to enlist in total?” Lucius asked, staring at a crude calfskin map of the territories they had found in the Castle’s commander personal quarters. Centurion Varus Trupo, a man of five and thirty years sporting a rich blond mustache over his lip and smart clear blue eyes, opened his scrolls and placed an old army-issued field iron inkpot on the large table. It still had the Legion markings on the side. Galio shared a look with an amused Lucius.
“Varus is a learned man from a good family,” the Prefect explained. Lucius was aware of the latter. “Worked under Lord Lennox for a couple of years, whilst the old general commanded the Legion milord. Served as paymaster for the Black Skulls more recently.”
Galio had crossed paths with him in the past while they were both serving in the Legion.
“Your family has land and titles in Flauegran,” Lucius noted.
“Got myself disinherited Lord Alden. I won’t see a penny,” Varus replied evenly, raising his head from his notes.
“Why is that?”
“Joined the Legion to elevate myself in my youth, make a bigger name for myself,” Varus explained. “Alas, I was naive and easily swayed by mature women.”
“You’ve slept with another man’s wife?” Lucius asked crooking his mouth. “Still I didn’t know it was enough of an offense to throw you out of the Legion.”
“It was Lord Lennox’s spouse. An austere-looking but passionate woman,” the Centurion explained. “The man thought it was the least he could do. His first thought was hanging me by the entrails afore the gates of Anorum, the second to have my head cut off. My father upon learning it, pleaded for a lesser sentence and promised to cut me off instead from the family business.”
“Was she worth it?” Lucius asked him through clenched teeth.
“Not losing everything Lord Alden,” Varus admitted. “In hindsight it was a horrible mistake.”
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson Centurion,” Lucius warned him.
“He has,” Galio vouched for him.
“You shall never have to worry about me, Gods above as my witness Lord Alden,” Varus vowed earnestly and saluted.
“Right,” Lucius said and pressed two fingers above his brow feeling tired. “You have the numbers, Centurion.”
“I do,” Varus replied, his demeanor unchanged. “Over two hundred warriors have asked to join your ‘Legion’ sire.”
“That’s… a lot of men,” Lucius said glancing at Galio. “How do we train them? Where to we train them?”
“The first thing a legionnaire must learn,” the Prefect started crossing his arms on his armoured chest. “Is walk forty kilometers per day in full gear Milord. There’s plenty of road afore we reach Rockfort.”
“Have them follow us?” Lucius puffed out and stared at the maps. “We’ll need more supplies.”
“Use the bridge. It’s there,” Galio said. “Funnel supplies up the road, after the army.”
“How many in your Century?” Lucius asked him.
“A hundred and fifty can march tomorrow morning, though a couple might be limping,” Galio deadpanned. “But they’ll make it.”
“How many to form a second one?”
Galio stared at him.
“I can spare thirty. The manual has it as low as eighty per Milord.”
“No. Forget about the old Legion. This must fit our needs. You’ll keep your one hundred and twenty men Prefect, Centurion Trupo will lead them under you. We’ll give thirty trained soldiers to… how about Tutor? He has the name and the demeanor,” everyone cracked a smile at that.
“He knows the drills, as enthusiastic as they come,” Galio propped him up with a pleased smile.
“Thought you’d agree,” Lucius replied. “Sending him after me was not very subtle.”
“I thought the man would make a good impression,” Prefect Veturius admitted still smiling.
“He did,” Lucius told him shaking his head at the subtle manipulation. “Inform the Decanus of his promotion. He’s to take over the second Century, thirty soldiers and…”
“I’ll check them tomorrow,” Centurion Trupo added taking his que from him. “Keep the best of the bunch, send the rest back across the river.”
“No,” Lucius corrected the last part. “You will send them to Kaeso.”
> How many troops did Lucius have with him? It’s a question not easily answered and still debated today. I can offer an educated guess. The Third’s early records are still kept under lock and key either in Anorum, or at the winter camp in Elysium Fort near the first leg of Mabindon, just a couple of days travel from Cartaport. The same distance -come to think of it- from idyllic Moon’s Haven, from whence these words are birthed.
>
> The first Century had over a hundred legionnaires at all times those days –the biggest of the fighting lot- the number settling at one hundred and twenty at some point, before increasing to two hundred. The second, used as a training unit, had anywhere between two hundred and three hundred until they reached Bear’s Foot, where the third Century was formed and soon after the fourth.
>
> The latter, led then Prefect Galio Veturius to proclaim the outfit –rather colorfully and in his famed candid fashion- ‘a darn Cohort’ in what was a brief but lovely ceremony. The second was to remain as a bloated and full of new recruits unit for the duration of the campaign.
>
> Their total number, before the battle of the Iron Quarry outside Krakenfort, was four hundred legionnaires for the three fighting Centuries of the First Cohort, another four hundred for the second Cohort, plus the around two hundred recruits of the second.
>
> The scouts, or auxiliary forces were comprised of about a hundred hardened Northern warriors, led by the then Decanus Kaeso. A soldier of questionable character, but also an extreme loyalist that rose quickly in the ranks. Alongside him was then Scout Leader Faye ‘Scarlet’ Numbers. Her warband was later absorbed into Lucius cavalry force, a mixed ever expanding unit of rangers and armoured horsemen, later turned into medium cavalry.
>
> Of course Scarlet Faye is mostly known today as the ‘Red Cub’s Mother’ or simply Red, a highly controversial figure in half of Jelin and quite unjustly given all that had happened.
>
>
Lucius raised his hand to protect his eyes, the wind blasting on them howling through the frozen trees. The scout turned his horse around, hoofs breaking the crystalized ice covering the ground and the snow blowing on men and animals alike as hard as gravel.
“O’ Dargan?” He queried, his lips cracked and face burned where the skin was left uncovered.
“Can’t see them,” the scout replied, his voice lost amidst the sudden icy gushes. “Plenty of signs of men passing through here.”
Lucius caught a gleam coming from the trees, a wayward ray touching something metallic when the sun popped for a second behind the dark clouds. The days spend in a semi darkness. Two weeks into their march the nature had turned foreboding and inhospitable. It’s the season, locals explained to him. The further up you go, the less the variance.
Between night and day was their meaning.
“What plaguin’ signs?” Centurion Tutor yelled hearing the scout’s words, as he’d approached to give Lucius his weekly report. The sturdy officer’s red armour turned a frosty white where he kept his heavy coat open.
“Ashes and shit,” the man replied over the loud murmurs of protest from the men freezing in line behind them.
“What manner of shit?”
The Northman, only his eyes showing under the pelt-covered helm shrugged his shoulders.
“Just shit.”
“Alright gents,” Galio boomed after the men had their laugh. “You start digging now. I want a wall raised high enough so I can stand behind it and not freeze my balls to death! See to get my height right!”
“Cut down those trees,” Lucius told him. “I want to have eyes on the slope. Use the wood for the wall.”
Galio stared at the snow covered rocks. “You think someone is watching milord?”
“I don’t know,” Lucius admitted, low enough to not allow the men to hear him. “Either that, or O’ Dargan has started ditching weapons by the path.”
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“You’re still cold Alden?” Faye purred into his ear, the heavy leather field tent coupled with the small bronze fire-pit packed with hot embers, providing enough warmth for them to shed their heavier clothes.
“Are you?” Lucius countered.
“I’m burning up,” she admitted with a deep sigh. “You think something is wrong?”
The latter a tease.
“I have an hour tops,” Lucius explained, a relaxed smile on his tired face. “Then I need to check on the supply train that’s late per usual.”
“Uhm,” Faye murmured working on his neck. “I love when we talk about logistics.”
“So we either rest a bit,” Lucius continued taking the tease in stride. “Or we don’t and then I might drop from my horse and all this grand adventure would be for naught. Right now I’m willing to take the risk. History might not see me kindly though.”
Faye pulled away and stared in his face with a frown. “History will love you,” she told him as serious as he’d ever heard her. “People will sing your name and talk about you as long as these old mountains stand. I don’t know why, but I feel it in my bones.”
“Lady Faye, you had me at burning up, no need for—” Faye stopped him with a kiss and a fierce hug. Lucius kept her for a while, until she stopped shaking.
“What’s wrong?”
Faye sniffled and wiped her red eyes with a sleeve.
“I can’t have you,” Faye said and cleared her throat looking away, an attempt to recover her wits. She hated crying in front of others, especially Lucius. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Faye,” Lucius said and turned her face so he could see her. “I’m right here. You have nothing to fear if you know me at all.”
“Oh, I know you Alden,” Faye replied and sighed again. “And I fear aplenty. I fear those that want to harm you, but I fear Regia the most. Eventually she’ll take you away.”
Lucius pushed her red hair off her face, frowned at a welt that wasn’t there a day before near her chin and then breathed slowly.
“You think I’ll just up and leave you behind?” He asked her. “I’m not that kind of man.”
“No,” Faye replied and closed her shirt hearing heavy boots approaching the commander’s tent. “But all the others will beseech you to do it. They’ll implore you to make the sacrifice, for Regia.”
The latter send a shiver down Lucius spine, as it reminded him of the last words his father had said to him, back in the city of Alden. Almost seventeen months to the day.
Lucius puffed out with a grimace and a soldier pushed the tent’s opening square-cover aside and looked inside.
“Milord,” the soldier said looking troubled.
“What is it?” Lucius asked, feeling Faye’s fingers digging in his bicep.
“We found a group of locals in the woods,” the soldier reported. “And a woman.”
“What locals?” Lucius asked getting up. “Here? Who lives here?”
The soldier shrugged his shoulders. “Wild Willard’s Clan probably from the other side of the woods, but they have a mixed-breed wit them so I don’t know.”
“Does he have a name?” Lucius asked narrowing his eyes and the legionnaire nodded looking a little uneasy.
“Oh, they are both plenty known milord,” he replied scrunching his jaw this way and that. “That’s Devious Dirk and Zofia of Ludr out there.”
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