----------------------------------------
> Centurion (Primus Pilus) Paulus Agricola
>
> First Century, First Cohort, Third Legion
>
> Born Illirium 165 NC – Fell near Kas 190 NC
>
> -
>
> One of a hundred and forty seven (147) names on the list
>
> Engraved under one of the gold Phaleras (Medals)
>
> Decorating the north hall of the Wall of the Fallen, in Elysium Fort
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Legatus Lucius Alden
The color of mud
Part III
-Lead the way Legionnaire-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Battle at the Gorge
First day
Rows upon rows of warriors followed after the retreating Sir Hein Crull up the slanted road, effectively leaving the field and the legionnaires responded with thunderous taunts and insults thrown at their opponents.
“They aren’t coming back for the day milord,” Galio noted evenly.
Lucius nodded his eyes watching the slowly moving away enemy forces. The Crulls had attacked twice with about two thousand men in two waves, but had made no gains. The narrow front between the forest and the mountain inclines, what they called the gorge, favored the excellent static defense of the Legion. The First and Second Cohorts had been deployed there, with the Third held behind them and near the Castrum in reserve.
“Should we follow them Tribune?”
“I’m sure that’s what they want Legatus,” Galio replied. “They know their mountain and they’ll fight near their walls, or behind them.”
“Stand the men down,” Lucius ordered and turned Stormbolt around, Marc Gripa following on his own horse.
----------------------------------------
Prefect Trupo was waiting for him before his field headquarters. The Castrum was a kilometer behind the gorge and Lucius wanted to be closer to the men. It had been decided they’ll keep their lines during the night.
“Legatus,” The mustached officer saluted.
“How’s the supply train Prefect?” Lucius asked getting right to business, sitting down and accepting a cup of spiced warm wine Gripa’s assistant had prepared for him.
“Slowly leaving up the pass sire,” Trupo replied readily. “By morrow we’ll have sent everything.”
“You pulled Sula from the line?”
“He’s been briefed sire. He’ll follow along. I don’t believe he’ll be happy about the pace.”
“I want him vigilant not fast Prefect.”
“Of course. He’ll stick with the train Legatus, alike a horse fly on a mare’s arse,” Trupo loved that joke.
Lucius sighed, then removed his gloves and rubbed his face hard.
“The Tribune?” He asked finally.
“Inspecting the Third. He’ll come here right after,” Trupo replied. He’d a couple of scrolls in his hands.
“You think they are in the woods?” Lucius asked him.
“It’s possible.”
“Anyone spotted fires in the night?” Lucius asked tasting the wine with a grimace.
“Nothing. Though it must be noted that the locals claim Bas rangers can sleep in the snow,” Trupo shrugged his shoulders at the latter.
“Yeah, I don’t buy that either,” Lucius replied. “If proper Northmen freeze to death, then he’s not immune,” He remembered Lord Bart’s younger son from the Battle of the Bridges. He remembered the painted white half-breed and his men killing Roderick. He made an effort to find his body after they’d crossed the Montfoot, but it was futile more than a year after the event and the heavy scavenging of the dead that had followed.
His mood worsened remembering the man he’d grew up with.
“He doesn’t care about his men,” Trupo noted respectfully sensing his distress.
“I’m not sending the Third into the woods,” Lucius said. “The moment the train is on its way properly, we’ll follow after it. We’ll make good time without having to wait for them to catch up.”
“Lord Bart seems to want to entice us to attack him up the slopes.”
“I’m not doing that either,” Lucius replied. “You have a message for me Prefect?”
“I do sire.”
“You’ve read it then?” Lucius stood back with a pained expression.
“I have sire.”
Bad news. More, always more.
Trupo placed Canutia’s small scroll on the table. A tiny thing, the size of his thumb. Lucius took it and unfurled it, stopping shy from reading the tiny scribblings.
“What does it say Trupo?” He asked the Prefect instead.
Trupo cleared his throat and stared at the silent watching them Gripa.
“Out with it Prefect,” Lucius urged him.
“The Queen Regent stepped down,” Trupo said solemnly. “Left the throne to your brother,” Lucius pushed back on his chair, the wooden construct creaking but holding his weight. “He’s been declared King publicly sire.”
Lucius kept his eyes on the small missive in his hand. The language on it sterile. Trupo pressed his mouth tight standing rigid before his small field table, Marc Gripa not even breathing to his right.
“Does Galio know?” He finally said, feeling his hands turning cold. Gripa refilled his cup for him in gloomy silence.
“I haven’t talked with anyone,” Trupo replied. “He doesn’t.”
What in all hells is this? What did you do Miranda?
Why?
“Was she pressured?” He asked, but the officer couldn’t answer him. “Ask Canutia for details.”
“She might not have—”
“Nattas would, she’s his creature,” Lucius cut him off. “Send the bird Prefect. Find the Tribune.”
“Right away, Legatus,” Trupo saluted and walked out.
Lucius puffed out and watched Gripa placing a bit of dry wood in the brazier, the light of the fire growing and lighting up his tent. The sun had come down, bringing a cold dark night over the field.
“It doesn’t seem right, milord,” Gripa commented after a long moment. Lucius was too shocked at the news and whilst he didn’t want to jump to conclusions, it was difficult not to.
“Unless I’m dead, it’s also unlawful,” Lucius said making an effort to keep his tempers checked. “Whomever thought of this, must presume I’m not coming back. They must also assume I’ll not react, or be in a forgiving mood after I learn about it. Nothing is further from the truth.”
“Why go ahead with it then?”
“I’ve been away for too long,” Lucius replied evenly and got up, feeling a little dazed when he did. “It is not an excuse Gripa, nor a justification for this treachery.”
Tribune Veturius walked in then, the aged officer’s face dark. Lucius noticed his boots were covered in mud.
“You’ve went into the woods.”
“Penetrated half a kilometer with a Century,” Galio replied. “Found nothing.”
“They’ll know how to hide.”
“Or they are not there.”
“Lord Bart had ages to prepare a response,” Lucius argued. “Opted to stay near his city. He must have asked for support. Where is the High King’s response? What is it, we don’t know Tribune?”
“I can only respond to what I can find in the field milord,” Galio said with a grimace.
“You want a cup of wine? You may preach that an officer is never off duty Galio, but I order you to take a break,” Lucius told him and returned to his chair. “Gripa has something prepared, I’m not sure how to describe it.”
“It’s good for the cold milord,” Gripa insisted getting another cup for the Tribune.
“There, what he said,” Lucius yielded and pressed two fingers at the bridge of his nose.
Galio spent a moment to read the short missive and then got his cup from the table and drained it in a go. Blinked once after he did and glared at a stone-faced Gripa.
“What am I doing here Galio?” Lucius asked him informally. “All this effort, bringing the North closer to Regia. All the losses to good people. My father’s will and orders. For what?”
“You still have the army milord,” Galio replied.
“Not even a Legion,” Lucius grimaced pensively.
“I don’t see another at the near milord. Most soldiers don’t know where Regia is, but they know Lucius Alden. It’s sharing a common goal with you what motivates these simple people and humble, small things you wouldn’t know about. In the end of the day the men are with you.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it bloody takes. The old man had me swore an oath, but I would’ve done it anyway.”
“I may never sit the throne.”
“You will,” Galio argued with conviction, “and three thousand men and women outside this tent, will get to brag they helped you get on it milord.”
“I must know what’s going on down there,” Lucius finally said feeling emotional and opened a map on the table. He stared at the road cutting straight through the Nor Maze Heights and ended up north of the Canlita Sea. Lakelords country. Open fields, good for cavalry and archers. Was the High King waiting for him there? Had the lords sold him off in exchange for peace?
“Whatever their reasoning milord,” Galio said reading his face. “It won’t stand under scrutiny. Those behind it must be brought to justice.”
“They put Jeremy on the throne,” Lucius murmured. “She did. Lord Doris probably backed her. She could’ve stayed on the throne, but she didn’t. Her beef was with me it seems. But even so this doesn’t seem to make any sense. Why not keep it? Why disrespect her husband’s wishes?”
“Perhaps she couldn’t,” Galio said looking at his cup. “Or her interests lay elsewhere. It matters little.”
Lucius frowned. “Speak clearly Tribune.”
“Not my place to talk on these matters milord.”
“It is now, because I asked you,” Lucius grunted, his anger rising and spilling out. “Since you know something, it must mean you talk about it, just not in my presence!”
Galio appeared visibly hurt at his words.
Lucius grimaced and clenched his fists tight to calm himself down.
Galio is on my darn side, what am I doing?
“That was uncalled for Tribune,” He said after a moment of awkward silence between them. “I shouldn’t have said it.”
Galio smacked his lips and wiped the sweat of the top of his closely shorn head with a gloved hand.
“The late King in his wisdom was an old man,” Galio said finally. “His cousin… Queen Miranda a very young woman. A child the first time I saw her milord,” He added.
“I understand that Galio,” Lucius replied. He never thought of her as his mother. Lucius was older than her for starters. “Nobles do that, marriages are arranged, even with closer kin.”
“I’m not talking about what commoners perceive as proper or not milord,” Galio replied. “I was born in Asturia, lived in Alden for years and found that people thought the same for the most part. But for the island priestesses, I reckon. Down on the coast though, eh, them winds coming from Wetull make people do crazy things.”
Lucius blinked unsure where the Tribune was going with this.
“The winds?” He repeated.
“The winds and age difference milord. The Queen can’t be over six and twenty. Some say she’s younger than that,” Galio corrected him.
Lucius eyes turned cold.
“I may be aggrieved at the news Tribune, consider you a friend even,” He rustled. “But I can’t accept such vitriol thrown at my family. Or any noble person. You are out of line.”
“Apologies milord. It’s a rumor. It reached us afore the missive,” Galio responded setting his jaw. “The officers kept it from you sire, out of respect. Worse words were used sire.”
“That is enough!” Lucius barked and slammed his fist on the table. But he was affected by the officer’s words. They resonated truth to his ears. A conspiracy? Does this mean they had my father killed? He grinded his teeth and got up, a ringing in his ears. Walked to the corner of his tent and then came back fuming. “You won’t keep news from me Tribune,” He said stopping to look at the aged officer’s face.
“With respects milord,” Galio argued, not giving in an inch. “In order for the Legion to run properly, the Legatus must be shielded from external and internal threats. If you’re distracted milord, we’re all doomed. You are the army.”
Damn it Galio.
“My family isn’t a threat Tribune!” Lucius grunted.
He didn’t want to venture down that path in fear blind anger might consume him.
“At this point milord,” Galio insisted not backing away. “They are. Had I been in your shoes, I’d question the King’s death.”
Lucius already had done that.
The pithole dark and bottomless.
He puffed out and turned away, eyed a solemn-faced Gripa for a moment and then returned to the chair. He collapsed on it, his mouth dry.
“Faye is leaving with the smiths and the civilians soon,” He said wearily after a moment. “I shall speak with her Tribune, then retire for a couple of hours.”
> Lord Bart Crull realizing there was no help coming and with news about a big force gathering beyond the rivers, he set up a defense of the main route to Eaglesnest in depth. He built a series of half-towers, even cut off the hide merchant caravans that had started coming up the moment the weather improved.
>
> This caused friction with Lord Van Calcar, who dispatched Lord Dilan, Baron of Brownfort and his Shield to protest the practice. Van Calcar didn’t much care of hides, but the caravan had to cross his lands, either by cart, or ship and he taxed everything that moved. Lord Dilan protested until he turned blue in the face sources claim, but Lord Bart apologized and sent him right back down the road citing he was fighting for his life and didn’t give a copper for Lord Van Calcar’s loss of tax income. The latter would have petitioned the High King about it, but Antoon was in a vegetated state those days and Van Calcar himself was persona non grata in the Council after the whole debacle with a certain Van Durren lass.
>
> So the ‘Wolf-fish’ did nothing for a while, but slowly seething in anger.
>
> When Lucius finally appeared, he annoyingly didn’t attack up the slopes, but rather built a Castrum –the Legion’s fortified (walled) camp- between Wolvesbane and the Gorge guarding the leg of the road leading to Mountain’s Pass and then Kas. The Legatus just wouldn’t move it seemed.
>
> Lord Bart ordered an attack down the slopes, but that was repelled and the men returned after losing thirty warriors in ten minutes and seventy in half an hour. Realizing this wasn’t sustainable Lord Bart agreed to have his third son Bas and his Rangers –a rogue group cultivated by the enigmatic warrior that was rumored to have committed untold atrocities for years- flank the dug in Legion from the west side and the forest there. Bas and his men had remained behind enemy lines, living off the land near the banks of Midriver, just as he’d done during the Battle of the Bridges.
>
> Lord Bart attacked the second day thinking the message had gone through, but the Legion had set up patrols to its extended flanks and O’ Dargan’s Northmen had started appearing over the Midriver Bridge, so Bas had to lay low to avoid detection. The second attack was another disaster for Lord Bart. The legionnaires were waiting for them to come down the slopes fully prepared and alerted.
>
> This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
>
> It is recorded that ten warriors fell for every one reaching the long shieldwall and the ditch afore it –at least two Cohorts had manned the front there. Those were the Second and First Cohort the latter missing the First Century under Agricola. The Third and newer Cohort was kept in reserve, mostly to guard the west flanks of the Legion and the Castrum.
>
> Such was the carnage that Sir Hein canceled the attack an hour later afore consulting his father. The Crulls had probably lost one third of their army there. A livid Lord Bart considered retreating to Eaglesnest, but his daughter Lady Sanne rushed inside during the war meeting and implored him not to do it.
>
> The strong-willed woman insisted Bas had taken his message and that he would make his move on the night of the third day. While she was quietly ridiculed by the knights present, her words carried weight with her father, who long believed his daughter had the ‘Goddess Eye’. Whether Lady Sanne is a Seer, or not, no one can answer with any certainty. Having seen her up close recently I must argue, she isn’t much of a Hag also. She’s just up in years like everyone else from that time.
>
> Bas did attack on the night of the fourth though, so that part she got right.
>
> Lucius who by the third day had run out of patience, his attention drawn to the supply train slowly traveling east following the Mountain pass and the shocking news that had come from Regia, needed but a small spark to move on.
>
> In his restless mind Lord Bart had already lost the battle.
Battle at the Gorge
Second day
Lucius climbed on top of Stormbolt to better see the field, the ruckus quieting down and the Crulls pulling back shattered. Had they had a proper auxiliary Cohort packed with archers and slingers he could have wiped them out here.
Eh, he thought. I don’t see them trying that again.
He turned around, after waving his hand to the legionnaires who immediately recognized his distinct helm and armour. The front lines came alive. The loud cheers coming back to him brimming with a sense of pride, common purpose, love and jubilation. Just like Galio had described it.
The uproar scared away the stillness of the bloodied field anew. Lucius gave them a show galloping down the lines, Stormbolt jumping over slain bodies and the ditch that was filled with them, one on top of the other. Over five hundred dead in an hour, he calculated, a frozen smile on his handsome face. We’ve become the merchants of death.
You sir, are the biggest shareholder.
The thought disturbing.
----------------------------------------
“Well that was something milord,” Gripa told him with a genuine smile, when he tossed him the reins and jumped down.
“The men love a good win, mister Gripa,” Lucius replied, his mood had taken a hit on his return behind their lines and walked to his headquarters. Trupo had the table set outside under the cold sun and was talking with a couple of Centurions. The Nord Centurion Artus Mangas, easily standing out.
“Legatus!” Centurion Capito said louder than everyone else and saluted.
“Gents,” Lucius replied with a curt nod, still affected by the carnage he’d just witnessed. “Anyone has the numbers?”
“Macrinus’ Second, lost the most Legatus,” Trupo replied, with a glance at the report. Probably written moments before. “Seven casualties. Two dead. I presume the total to be around thirty casualties.”
“Those that jumped over the ditch were killed too fast to inflict any,” Mangas noted. “It wasn’t really a contest.”
“It is a horrible position to attack,” Lucius agreed. “We see them coming a good twenty minutes afore they reach our lines. This could have worked if they were fighting rebels, or Nords,” He eyed the Centurion, but he shrugged his shoulders agreeing. “But against a disciplined force behind shields it’s just plain suicide. Lord Bart wants to provoke us to follow him to where he has prepared the ground, but we won’t. How soon before he realizes we can just wipe out his whole force without breaking camp?”
“He needs more Cavalry, but we left him little room to maneuver or charge on. What horses he has, he keeps out of the gorge for fear of losing them. You can’t replace a horse as easy as a man,” Capito added, the callous opinion perfectly sound.
“The question is, will he try again?” Lucius asked them.
“He has to think of O’ Dargan,” Trupo said, still adding numbers as Legionnaires were running back and forth bringing updates from the front located three hundred meters to their south. “We might leave Legatus, but the Jarl will remain his unfriendly neighbor.”
“Hmm,” Lucius glanced at the stream of supplies coming from the Castrum. “How much time we have without the train Prefect?”
“The Quartermaster left enough supplies for a week,” Trupo replied looking at him.
“We’ll know way sooner than that,” Lucius reassured him, but it was directed to the other soldiers present.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Salted venison in garlic soup, milord,” Gripa said, when Lucius eyed the plate in front of him. Trupo had brought his table inside earlier. “No fresh bread.”
“I’ll just let it soak for a bit,” Lucius told him. “Any wine left?”
“The last bottle,” Gripa replied. “Ramsey Colt wouldn’t leave without them milord.” The Quartermaster loathed parting with supplies. “It was a struggle to get him to unlock the boxes.”
Right.
“Just leave it as is Gripa,” Lucius said.
“The cold can sneak up—”
“I’ll manage,” Lucius cut him off, just as Trupo entered with an armful of parchments. “Better to have something with a bit of taste left that doesn’t numb my gums going down, all so I can feel my hands.”
“We can withstand the cold mister Gripa, is the Legatus meaning,” Trupo added with a smile, his mustache dancing.
Gripa sighed. “Brave words gents, voiced in the summer,” He said, a warning in his voice.
“There,” Lucius said stabbing a piece of venison with his fork. “We are sufficiently warned Prefect, right?”
“Undoubtedly milord,” Trupo replied.
“Fresh bunch?” He asked whilst chewing the well cooked meat. Lucius could do with less salt, a blasphemous notion at the dinners Miranda used to serve them. The thought of his step-mother souring his mood and messing up with his appetite.
“Just arrived.”
“Canutia answered so soon?” Lucius asked and wiped his mouth with a towel.
“Not the same bird, different topic,” Trupo said reading the missive again. Lucius extended his arm to accept it from him.
He read it with his brows raised, then found a bronze cup of wine Gripa had prepared and emptied it.
“Someone tried to take out Antoon,” Lucius said and Trupo nodded. “Is she certain?”
“Why would she start lying now? It rang true milord.”
Well…
“Why is the heir in Midlanor?” Lucius asked reading from the text. “What was the High Queen doing there so late in her pregnancy?”
“It’s strange.”
“Yes it is Prefect.”
“He can’t be more than a month old,” Trupo replied and grimaced.
“What?” Lucius asked him, sensing there was more there.
“A couple of prisoners said… some lords don’t accept the boy,” Trupo said with a grimace.
“What is this?” Lucius snapped and got up. “Are we to dispute every succession now? It’s his son!”
“The details are a little murky there Legatus,” Trupo explained.
“Bah! Where are the prisoners?”
“Kaeso worked on them, some didn’t make it.”
Lucius sighed. “How many did survive?”
“That would be none milord,” Trupo replied after a small pause. “The last one bled out afore I checked on them.”
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Battle at the Gorge
Third day
The next morning brought no new attack from the Crulls, though scouts could spot them at their positions beyond the gorge. An hour away. The day dragged and Lucius spent it discussing with Galio whether they should dismantle the Castrum, keep what was useful and follow the last of the wagons up the Mountain Pass.
“He’s not going to attack again,” Lucius said. “Maybe he’s waiting for help, but if Antoon is incapacitated, then whomever is in charge must deal with a couple of more important things I imagine. Like the war on Eplas and the matter of succession.”
“Why would they dispute Antoon’s son milord?”
“I discussed it with Trupo,” Lucius replied. “It was an assassination attempt, perhaps some of the lords want to make a bid for the throne.”
“The timing is suspect.”
It was. That was two kings brought down within a year. Not even that.
There was also the matter of the Prince’s murder and little Silvie. The thought of his young sister brought a wave of emotion on him and he reeled with his fists clenched. The silence dragging between the two men.
“Any word from O’ Dargan?” Lucius asked after he calmed down some.
“A group arrived from Wolvesbane,” Galio replied. “Said the place was deserted, not much left behind. The winter ruined its innards as the Crulls didn’t do much work on it. There was a bear living in its yard. It had a big family.”
“Would Lord Bart discuss a peace offering?”
“After Sir Reggy, I don’t believe it milord.”
Lucius didn’t have the stomach to face those murderers as well. The sound of galloping from outside interrupting his thoughts. He heard Trupo talking and the murmuring of the men near them, afore the Prefect started barking for everyone to disperse to their posts.
He got up and walked to the exit of his tent, with Galio following behind him.
Trupo was talking with a worn out rider, one of Decurion’s Long’s lads. Lucius felt a burning spreading in his stomach, when he recognized the mud-covered young man. He was one of the riders Lucius had given to Agricola days before.
Something had happened.
----------------------------------------
“Sovya?” Lucius repeated rubbing his face with both hands. “Lord Lennox? Are you sure?”
He felt the ocean rushing on him and all he had to stop it was a small shield.
“Would they attack?” Trupo asked the rider, but the man was glugging down water to get a piece of lard he’d swallowed down and couldn’t speak.
“Agricola wouldn’t have sent a messenger otherwise. He had a day’s respite, perhaps half that,” Galio said gravely.
Agricola is probably fighting as we speak, was his meaning.
Or worse.
“Is this Lord Bart’s doing?” Trupo asked.
“Sovya hates the Crulls,” Lucius replied. They hate the Jarl and yours truly as well, he thought. “Lord Lennox is old school though, very cautious alike Lord Bart, he won’t rush an attack. Not without a plan, or the numbers.”
“How did you make it here so fast?” Galio asked the tired rider.
“Changed my horse at the supply train sire. I made no other stops,” Rurik the young rider replied, looking half dead, half-asleep. “The train must have stretched over the whole pass by now.”
Damn it, Lucius thought. His mind on Faye.
“Sula could reach him in time,” Galio said reading his face.
“Sula will not leave the train behind,” Lucius argued. “Can we send another Century? Half the army is loitering here doing nothing,” He added what they all knew.
“It’s two days of hard marching, unless they make no stops to rest, or sleep and cut it in half,” Trupo argued. “But that would neuter them in a fight.”
“Send the Cavalry,” Galio offered, seeing no other option available. “With every horse with have.”
“Alert the Decurion,” Trupo ordered his aide.
“This might need a firmer negotiation,” Lucius said. “I know the Duke of Cediorum. I’ve been on campaign with him,” He stared in Galio’s face, before adding. “At Yepehir.”
The old officer stood back, but said nothing.
Lucius cleared his throat and continued.
“If I leave now, I can make it there faster than any other. I know the terrain and I can mobilize Sula’s Century, after I evaluate the situation,” He breathed out once.
“What about Lord Bart?” Galio asked him.
“I don’t think he will attack,” Lucius replied. “It’s the third day. He came twice and failed. But it’s your decision and I’ll accept it.”
“Legatus?” Galio asked surprised.
“You have the command Tribune,” Lucius replied. “Take care of my Legion.”
> Tribune Galio Veturius pulled the Third and Fourth Century out of the flanks to set up a reserve force, intending to counter attack the Crulls if they decided to attack them. The third day went by without a sign of trouble though, the night quiet and the Tribune woke up early in the morning of the fourth day with the intention to pack up and leave the gorge to go after the Legatus.
>
> Lucius had left the previous day and hurried up the mountain pass bringing with him a force of about thirty riders and seventy horses. They traveled fast over the hardened terrain –this was the fourth full day without rain and good sun- making good time and quickly catching up with Ramsey’s Colt slow moving supply wagons. They continued up the mountain pass and reached the junction six hours later where they met the second large group of wagons and civilians. The path was half-blocked there, slow-moving oxen, horses and mules fighting for space, next to civilians and merchants. Faye’s lighter carriage was leading that group, two of Centurion Sula’s maniples marching alongside his pregnant wife.
>
> When he asked on the whereabouts of the rest of the Century, he was informed by a nervous Decanus that Sula had learned Agricola had gotten cornered at the mouth and was fighting for his life for at least two days. The Centurion had force-marched half his Century up the path to offer assistance. Lucius changed horses and went after him without delay. He caught up with the marching column a couple of hours later, had a brief conversation with the Centurion and continued on with Decurion Long in tow towards the Mouth.
>
> In the Gorge Tribune Veturius plans were interrupted, when the Crulls started forming up for another assault. The Tribune rushed to the front line after a brief meeting with Prefect Trupo. The Prefect was to lead the counter attack once the Crulls were spent and chase them back to the slopes inflicting as much damage as it was possible. Without the kind-hearted Legatus around, the old officer ordered the Prefect to kill or maim as many as he could without mercy.
>
> Half-way into the battle’s fourth day, Bas Crull’s rangers came out of the woods. They had circled around the Legion’s west flank all night, with some elements getting lost and reaching the Montfoot where they got slaughtered by the Northmen loitering there, and managed to attack the Castrum from the North wall overcoming the thin picket line there and a patrol.
>
> Once inside the set up fires to the structure, a stupid move in reality and killed and plundered what they found, mostly supplies and wounded legionnaires, along with two Dottores and four nurses. The fires alerted Prefect Trupo who wasn’t engaged with the main fight and his two Centuries moved to intercept the Rangers that were pouring out of the Castrum.
>
> Bas daring assault would have worked perfectly had panic set in, but it didn’t. Prefect Trupo’s men stalled and then pushed back his rangers despite having a disadvantage in range weapons and numbers initially. The alerted and returning Centuries of the Third Cohort that were guarding the outer half-ring, or west flank of the Legion, caught his men in a deathly vise inside a burning Castrum.
>
> It was a massacre.
>
> Bas managed to escape losing eighty percent of his force, or around three hundred men, a devastating blow for Lord Bart as his unit was one of the best in this kind of warfare at the time. His assault though forced Tribune Veturius hand and ruined his plans.
>
> Lord Bart managed to salvage his attacking force –it produced little results again- and live to fight another day. Bas would eventually find his way back after his miraculous escape from the surrounded burning Castrum and reappear yet again in the next deciding battle two months later.
>
> But it was the loss of his supplies and wounded that made the Tribune to retreat the next morning. Realizing they had become a stationary target slowly fragmenting to smaller units, Galio marched the Legion after its supply train and its Legatus arriving at Kas two days later. He brought along Lady Faye and much needed reinforcements to a fraught Lucius, who had in the meantime found himself at war with most of Jelin.
Battle at the Mouth
Third day, late noon
The first thing Lucius saw coming out of the gulley was the small Castrum at the flat crook of the mountain’s side. The path leant downhill following the road towards Kas cutting between the thick trees. Whitebark giants on one side, dark barked pines on the other.
One wall of the Castrum was burning, the light drowned in black smoke that darkened the late afternoon sun. A Northman was running with a lit torch towards the two meters tall wall. People were fighting each other in front of the Castrum, with more sounds of heavy fighting coming from further down the path and to the North.
Lucius couldn’t make out the Century in the chaos in front of them. Northmen were fighting Northmen, Knights and legionnaires in the mix. Scores of people laying in the mud slain. Because there was a lot of the latter near the mouth.
One of these dead people jumped up as the Northman run past him and tripped him up. The legionnaire approached the warrior trying to get up and smacked him on the head with his shield. Once and the man’s head hit the ground, his hands and feet wrecked with spasms. Twice even more brutally and Lucius heard a crack after the thud.
Goodness gracious.
“Legatus?” Long asked him. “What do we do?”
“Help our own,” Lucius replied, himself unsure who was what.
“Sire?” Long queried.
“Follow me,” Lucius ordered and snapped his heels to send his horse forward. He’d left Stormbolt with the train, but the one he’d picked had gone lame and trotted instead of charging ahead.
He headed for a Knight, who’d just killed a legionnaire chopping him twice upside the head with his longsword. The Knight turned around hearing horses approaching and kicked his legs to turn around while crying a loud warning to his friends.
It helped Lucius spot who was who.
About ten of them were at the gates of the Castrum for starters. Everyone but the sneaky legionnaire that had just stopped pulverizing his opponent’s head outside the Castrum and two Northmen near the east side of the burning walls were enemies.
That’s another score of Northmen, two Knights amongst them.
Thirty something in all.
“Charge at them!” Lucius bellowed and pulled his arm back, his horse shot, the knight frantically searching for a lance and his shield to defend a charge, pausing bewildered seeing him approaching at his leisure. Lucius chucked his warspear, the throw good but losing height fast and smacked the Knight’s mount at its broad chest.
The horse went down taking the Knight with it and Lucius who had approached at a pleasant trot downed his sword once catching the dazed man right at the right shoulder. The blade bounced up with a loud clang, the man crying in pain and dropping to a knee. Lucius turned the horse to try again, but the animal had nothing left and refused to budge. Lucius himself was sluggish, everything around him chaotic and the battlefield completely foreign.
The Knight grabbed his right leg with his good hand and toppled him from his horse. Lucius managed to turn at the last moment, but he landed badly and rolled to the side badly shook. His arms, legs and armour covered in black soot. It looked like gluey bad-smelling mud, but there was no water in it.
Only blood.
The knight got a mace out of his dying horse’s saddle cursing and stepped over him.
“Fancy armor,” The Knight grunted, his voice strained and probably in pain. “Ye owe me a plaguin’ horse,” He added in his heavy Lesia accent and raised his mace to bash his head in.
A bizarre mighty sound was heard, repeated in steady intervals, alike a giant broken wheel turning and ever approaching. The knight froze alarmed and looked up to see what was causing the sound and then his steel cuirass imploded, plate caving in and wrapping inwards like it was made out of paper, flesh getting pulverized and bones cracking, the viscous gore coming of the cracked plate at his back and through his closed face cover’s slits.
Lucius had seen a catapult shot do that to a man.
What in Tyeus shield, a stunned Lucius wondered and tried to get up. His boots slipping in the bloody spillage not helping. Lucius realized he was covered in gore when he finally managed to stand on his rubbery legs. A worn out legionnaire stepped near the reeling Lucius and examined him closely with gawking eyes.
“Legatus?” The soldier asked unsure.
“Yes,” Lucius replied and stopped the man from saluting him. “What’s going on here soldier?”
“Ah,” The man said confused and a little scared, staring at the riders galloping about running down friends and foes in the confusion and the heavy smoke. It was late afternoon and Lucius had been on the saddle for twenty four hours straight and had almost gotten killed unceremoniously. His patience was running thin.
“Soldier! Pull yourself together for allgods sake!” Lucius blasted him. “And answer my query!”
“Name’s Kato sire,” The legionnaire replied blinking slowly and then smiled weirdly showing only the upper row of his yellow teeth alike a rat. “We are trying to keep them out of the Castrum since yesterday,” He paused, then added. “Sire.”
What?
“Where is your unit?” Lucius asked him taking a step back.
“Papus is inside with the big guy,” Kato explained stooping to take the battered knight’s mace and steal a pendant he found in the gore.
“The big guy?” Lucius asked unsure, wiping his face with a glove and making it worse.
“Aye, he did him in haha,” Kato replied crooking his mouth and kept pushing aside fleshy parts, broken ribs and foul smelling entrails as if looking for something. “Help me find his axe sire, so we can go help him out. Then we need to help the others.”
Right.
Lucius cleared his throat and stooped to pick up his sword. “The others?” He probed.
“They have them surrounded at the edge of the mouth, three hundred meters that way,” He pointed with a dirty hand holding the mace, the other pocketing the pendant casually. “Since about the time we split up,” He added and Lucius face fell in shock.
This wasn’t the battle, but the spillage of it.
He’d sent Long after the wrong target.
“DECURION!” He barked furious with himself. This was on him. He’d made a mess of things. Lucius looked around for his horse and found it limping about half-dead.
Useless.
Argh!
“We can walk Legatus. Fight on foot,” Kato said a little apprehensively, keeping his stare low. The man was covered in gore and mud from head to toes. Worn out to the bone and then some, fighting for three straight days and two nights. He had nasty cuts bleeding down his legs and both arms. A broken pinky finger dangling and a huge welt over his left eye. “We can make it, easy,” Kato added and Lucius nodded deeply embarrassed.
It had a profound effect on him. Suddenly his world and close household grew.
“Lead the way legionnaire,” The Legatus had said and followed after him.
----------------------------------------