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Prefect Nonus Sula
Triumph slays infamy
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> IV Legion*
>
> (Abbreviated | IV LEGIO, Brazen Fourth, IV-LG)
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> Solem Rubrum Mons | Bronze and gold sign representing a red sun emerging behind a black peak (Comparable emblem to the City of Demames, but for the coloring)
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> Organizational chart (late summer 190 NC)
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> Prefect | Nonus Sula (Promoted to Tribune, acting Legatus after the summer of 190 NC)
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> (Acting) Optio | Declan Valens (Promoted to Prefect)
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> Pete Dumont (Aide de Legatus)
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> Solem Rubrum Mons Signifier | Duc Gratian
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> First Cohort
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> (ICH-IVLG)
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> First Century
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> (ICN-ICH-IVLG)
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> 200 Legionnaires
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> Centurion (Primus Pilus) Paulus Didicus
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> Decanus Derio Papius (First Maniple)
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> Decanus Baro (2nd Maniple)
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> Decanus Trebius (3rd Maniple)
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> Decanus Avienus (4rth Maniple)
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>
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> -
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> Second Century
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> (IICN-ICH-IVLG)
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> 100 Legionnaires
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> Centurion Lar Montaus
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> Decanus Badi Littera
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>
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> -
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> Third Century
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> (IIICN-ICH-IVLG)
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> 100 Legionnaires
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> Centurion Sisena Draco
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> Decanus Varo Bellator
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> -
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> Fourth Century
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> (IVCN-ICH-IVLG)
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> 100 Legionnaires
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> Centurion Publius Surinas
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> Decanus Vala
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> -
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> (Attached III Legio unit)
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> Legion Slingers
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> 200 Slingers
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> Centurion Mamercus Sorex
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> Decanus Joe Fallon
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> -
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> (Attached III Legio unit)
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> Scouts (part of Kaeso’s Rangers)
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> 100? Ranger-type units (A mix of mounted archers and light warriors)
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> Decanus ‘One-Ear’ Pike (Promoted to Centurion)
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> 50 Rangers (A mix of Nords, Lorians and Half-breeds)
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> Plus Gerard’s Raiders (probably around fifty Northmen) under ‘Nice’ Gerard
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> *Around eight hundred fighting men (500 Legionnaires) and around a thousand civilians, merchants, blacksmiths, carpenters and medics following in the supply train.
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[https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX6_zxOqN7Uew4qzdltxpjJwu_eU_wlY-QLyAm372JbpYYOjoyiY6QxohBAHJvMyz5jw6z3Cd90_icAl5xOUmGcFZCXy0cOKV9ObLd6bq8diOJAwKMq4muXUgrEf42T53qqS2Amyfiy_L8gYTIUYOhgq9B9fVr5qqwrupQ1JeLI32dtZEwYlyVzQfv/s730/Sula's%20Paean.jpg]
The scout popped out of the trees, face flushed a deep red, white teeth gleaming in the rays coming through the thick canopy. He run towards them, feet thudding in the soft ground, branches snapping and rotten dark cones hurled right and left.
“Quite the haste that fellow,” Optio Valens commented, in his Cartagen extravagant accent and Nonus turned to watch Centurion Didicus step forward to bark an order heard down the rows of packed legionnaires occupying the road.
“JAVELINS!”
The scout saw the line of gleaming armoured legionnaires coming alive and ogled his eyes so much it wrapped his face into something hideous. He then dived for the sloped ground before the forest’s road cobblestone.
“This ‘ll go belly up,” Valens said and then the first riders burst out of the tree line with a severe clamor, hooves thundering and horses neighing, mixing up with men yelling at the top of their lungs.
Most of it dying down when they saw the rows of legionnaires occupying the road. A brief respite before the first javelins ripped through the leading group. Steel tips going through men and animals. Ribs breaking, mail tearing and flesh exploding in bloody torrents that painted tree trunks and ground alike.
The clamor turning into grotesque series of painful scared screams and neighs of agony.
Tyeus Will Be Done.
“AT THEM!” Nonus bellowed, cheek guards tight on his face and cutting the skin, the helm cumbersome on his head pressing down his thick neck. He kicked with his legs and the horse rushed forward, cut left and up the sloping ground towards the trees, the rest of his entourage coming with him.
No time to plan anything.
Not time to think of the next moment.
No reason to.
A second and half a breath later he was on the first rider, a tall man wearing plate and a conned helm. Nonus slashed with his sword, but the armoured rider turned his horse, got its head in the blade’s way. The sword peeled away the hapless animal’s face, part of the snout to the bone and its left eye, the wound spraying hot blood over his own mount’s mane.
His horse reared almost tossing him, the other recoiled and died from heart attack another second later, Nonus’ opponent going under his own mount’s hooves that came down full force as the man tried to stand up, or roll away in panic.
Failing at both.
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Nonus broke out the branches of two bunched together pine trees and into an opening in the northern part of the forest. He grunted when the strong sun thwacked him in the face, eyes blurring and earth dancing beyond his horse’s large black head, but the Prefect caught sight of the two long rows of foot soldiers advancing twenty meters ahead of him and snapped out of his daze on the double quick.
Nonus pulled hard at the reins, the animal neighed raising its head towards the heavens once and the officer walking outside of the Lesia regulars line raised his right fist, gnarling mouth barking an order and a dozen archers jumped out of the slowly moving line.
That was a lot of ammunition aimed at him.
Bloated harlots of Novesium.
The Prefect turned his torso around and yelled at the horse to get moving. An arrow flew over his head, another broke on his shining laminated armour, splinters raining over him and a third plunged into his mount’s right eye. The horse made a leap and two short strides, then went down amidst pine needles and rotting trunks. Nonus jumped from the saddle at the last moment, stumbled forward when his feet touched the ground, boots slipping in the mud and arrows zipping over his head.
Sod it.
“BACK!” he yelled at the young scout riding next to Pete Dumont his longtime aide and started running hard towards them. Optio Valens following less than a horse’s body behind them, realized what was happening and pulled hard at reins with one arm, the other waving wild to stop the rest of their riders going after the retreating enemy scouts.
“TURN BACK GODS DAMNIT!” Nonus Sula roared realizing he was going to die for nothing and in Legion red, six years after his austere father had told him life and death outside the army were meaningless. His legs pumping at the wet earth and arrows flying angry right and left. He grabbed at a grimacing Dumont’s arm tightly, allowed his friend’s hurriedly doing an about turn horse to drag him away for ten meters at least, afore he managed to climb behind him on the leather saddle and ride to safety.
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“Ah, damnation.” Optio Valens commented five minutes later, a permanent scowl on his face. “Nasties are in the Pines!”
“Centurion Papius!” Nonus barked the moment his hobnailed sandals touched the wet earth. “Find Montaus and sent his Second Century in the woods!”
“Prefect!” Centurion Papius replied and whipped his helmed around to find a Decanus. “Baro send a runner to Montaus on the double!”
“You need to stop the supply train,” Dumont reminded him, following after a rapidly moving towards the open, but narrow expanse of the road Sula. The Prefect’s worried eyes examining the opposing tree lines. The northern side on his left arm, the south on his right hiding the river’s banks. “Else they’ll get us all bogged down in the narrows.”
“Valens send a rider back,” Sula ordered the still following them on his mount officer. “Order Surinas to halt the wagons, but follow after the other Centuries. For fuck’s sake man move! I want the army here now!”
“That’s Pike’s Rangers,” Dumont said and pointed at the riders coming towards them galloping outside the long rows of still forming up legionnaires.
“We need to get out of this darn road and spread out to protect our flanks,” Nonus realized. “They pin us here and we’re all dead.”
“I don’t think they know we are here Nonus,” Dumont grunted staring at the gloomy faced Montaus getting his orders by the side of the forest road, his Century coming up behind him over thirty rows deep, as no more than three soldiers could walk side by side, or a single wagon.
“Now they do,” Nonus spat and clenched his unshaven jaw.
> The retreating Northern force from Rifjordal, now pursued for a couple of days and already halfway to Rif River realized most of Sovya’s force had split after the junction and turned around to give battle. Armando Ley’s Boars refused to get baited seeing they were outnumbered, with more and more Northmen trickling back to assault them and retreated in turn towards Duke Redmond’s following Carls. The Duke had a task and a half in his hands, as Baron Palma coming after the spread out Duchy’s force with his regulars, had split his force and sent over a thousand of them east through the woods, to secure the road to Kas.
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> Prefect Sula intercepted his scouts in a brief skirmish that almost had the young general killed, if one is to believe the reports and warned the Baron of the potential trouble to his eastern flank of advance. He ordered the soldiers to prepare for battle, whilst trying to gauge Sula’s numbers. In a hectic day, with skirmishes and clashes amidst the pine trees, the Baron sent word to the Duke to halt operations and asked the other half of his force to abandon chasing the Northmen and come to his aid.
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> Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
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> The Baron feared he was facing a full Legion and sent riders to the strong detachment holding the bridge over Stad River and guarding his long supply lines to warn them. It wasn’t until late noon that he got further information on the forces he was up against. This wasn’t Lucius Third Legion for starters. Secondly this wasn’t a full Legion, but a Cohort at best. Baron Palma decided to strike and rescinded his previous orders –not even five hours old by then- opting for a multi-pronged assault on Sula’s vulnerable position.
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> The Regulars advanced through the Northern side of the woods en force, as more and more units were returning from the other front. The main force marched straight down the narrow road and with the soldiers coming from the Stad River bridge cutting through the Southern side of the woods, Baron Palma intended to surround Sula from all sides and eliminate him.
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> The first problem he faced was that his forces were too spread out, with the forces coming from the bridge almost six hours of full march away. The prongs of his assault never really coordinated with his blocking central force, but given his superiority in numbers (sources claim at least 2 to 1 at this part of the battle, with the Northmen holding an advantage over Ley and the Duke respectively in the battle that was fought two days away) the Baron would have still managed it given enough time for his soldiers to get into position and had Nonus Sula stayed put to defend himself.
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> Which he didn’t.
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Centurion Draco’s Third Century had blocked the road, with legionnaires frantically chopping down trees at both sides to form their flanks and create a ‘killing’ zone. Centurion Surinas Fourth was set up thirty meters behind them held in reserve, the supply train -still an hour away- had been informed to halt and Dottore Barrius and his staff to be send to the front posthaste.
With the massive pine forest covering both flanks and the visibility of the battlefield reduced, Nonus had to rely on messengers to have a grasp on what was happening as even the sound of battle was muffled due to the heavy natural forestation of the region. A better road was needed here and a fort per Lucius plan, but that was the future. In the present Sula had to make do with what he had in front of him.
Nonus Sula had left Demames wanting to find himself another way to make his name, instead of following into his father’s footsteps and joining the Legion. The Lord of Demames Paulus Sula and his second cousin, though everyone was calling him ‘Lord Uncle’ behind his back, had offered him work as manager of one of the silver mines at God’s Peak, but Nonus had traveled North instead. A Sula earns his station the proper way. He gotten himself into a scrap or two in the years that followed, met some very interesting women and some really tough men.
Sula was in the process of creating a Lorian mercenary company to assist the Jarl against the Issirs when he learned that Lucius had arrived at Maza Burg. In the end he’d found himself in the army and the irony of his circumstances wasn’t lost to Nonus, but he’d earned every bit of it.
“Sorex wants his slingers in the woods,” Dumont informed him, stooping his way to be heard over the ruckus of the men heaving the trees into position.
“He’ll stay in the reserve for now,” Sula replied and nodded at the Legion’s Signifier, the massive Duc Gratian one of the men that had followed his lead and entered service after he’d announced his decision to serve under Lucius. More than thirty Lorians, mostly men from Demames, now part of the First Century, First Maniple. Towering Centurion Didicus, who Sula knew since he was a lanky kid with skinny legs back home along with the permanently ogled-eyed Decanus Papius, unfurled a hide map of the area over a small field table. He used a coal piece to mark positions of the enemy forces on it.
“The Juter, old Skuff, his son Blondal and their warbands, got licked outside of Halfostad, but it’s been days, more than a week since,” Didicus yelled as the noise coming from hundreds of people working, running, heaving trunks into position and soldiers dressing up their ranks didn’t leave room for a quiet conversation.
Not that it was on the cards with battle looming over their heads.
“They pulled the Duke’s Carls with them you think?” Sula asked eyeing the approaching Optio Valens. He’d met him in an inn six summers back, getting punched repeatedly in the face for refusing to pay for a bad meal ‘only suited for dogs’ on principle. The third son of the Baron of Cartaport had a haughty aristocratic air about him, although he wasn’t set to inherit anything anytime soon, or ever, but was a decent man at heart.
“Probably, not a sign of them per reports,” Didicus replied. “Lesia regulars aplenty though. Well-drilled motherfuckers. Very cautious.”
“I wouldn’t attack through the woods in their position,” Sula said thoughtfully. “It’s a nasty surprise waiting to happen. You don’t know what lurks hidden behind each trunk.”
“Gents,” Valens announced solemnly. “It saddens me to inform you, we don’t have the numbers,” Everyone stared numbly at the sweaty, well-put officer for a long moment, his information anything but a state secret, afore Sula grimaced and put a finger on the map.
“How far to the bridge Didicus?” He rustled and the tall Centurion frowned.
“Two days? At least a day’s full march, unless we go through the woods,” he replied looking at Sula with cautious eyes. Perhaps it’s a warning, Sula thought with a grimace. Didicus’ way of telling him not to do anything too foolish, or dangerous.
“Haha,” Valens guffawed and wiped his face with a soft cloth. “What are we a herd of deer? Or that other thing…”
“Squirrels sire?” Decanus Papius asked with a grin, a former worker at the mines, he preached everything under the sun and stars was better than anything under the mountain’s bowels and Nonus believed him.
“Ehm, was thinking of bears Decanus,” Valens corrected him, eyeing the sturdy, heavy-set hairy Papus.
“Prefect?” Dumont asked sounding worried.
“Time is on their side,” Sula explained and traced a line with his finger on the map towards Stad River, making a sharp angle there and continuing following the river’s northern bank to the bridge. “Unless we take the time from them.”
“We can hold the road,” Didicus argued. “Baron Palma’s forces are too spread out.”
“Tomorrow they’ll be less so and in two days’ time,” Sula replied steadily. “We will still be as many we are today, but the Baron might even have the Duke with him, if the Juters run away to Rifjordal.”
“You think they won’t fight at all?” Valens asked with a frown and Pete Dumont, who knew Nonus’ risk-loving nature since they were a couple of feet tall, raised a thick brown brow tauntingly. “Well then, that’ll be extremely rude,” The Optio added shaking his head.
Sula didn’t think that, neither did he want to wait and find out, nor give in to the men’s natural defense-favoring posture.
So the Prefect lied and went on to strike first.
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Battle of Stad River
Early morning, 2nd day
Southern Pines Front
“ARROWS!” Decanus Papius bellowed, voice crackling through the trees and immediately the whistling came and the repeated rattling of bolts striking trunks, shields and armour.
“Fuck’s sake,” Dumont cursed and pushed a briskly walking Sula to the side and behind cover, the bolts flying all over them.
“Pike gods darn it!” Sula barked irate trying to locate the flanking Rangers that were trying to dislodge the snipping crossbowmen.
“Prefect?” Decanus Avienus queried standing still with the bolts zipping blind left and right. “Shall I push them sire?”
Sula paused to think it through, but saw Gerard peeking behind a massive trunk and grunted. “Ready your men to advance after me Avienus. Mister Gerard!”
“Is that ye Sula?” The Northman queried, not risking a look to be sure.
“Who else could it be? Yer mother? Get your Raiders after them cunts so I can advance!”
“They’ll pick us out one by one Prefect,” Gerard argued. “Sud got a bolt in the eye just now, darn thing went out the back of his skull, curvin’ alike a motherfucker and ravaged poor Mika standin’ right behind him ayup. Right through the cock milord!”
Mika haunting screams could be heard in the background, adding credibility to his story.
Not that it mattered for the Prefect.
“Gerard get your men to hug them tight, or I’ll start killing one of you cretins for every soldier I goddarn lose!” Sula blasted him.
“Why that’s savagery milord,” Gerard commented with a grimace.
“Starting with you!” Sula roared and unsheathed his sword.
“HUG ‘EM FUCKERS LADS!” Gerard yelled with a mighty voice, suddenly very motivated. “Don’t let them reload! Tabard,” he ordered a Northman hiding behind another trunk. “Grab ‘em fellows in yer group and bait ‘em lad!”
“Didn’t ye just said they’ll pick us out one by one?” Tabard countered stealing a look from behind his tree, incredulity written all over his bearded face.
“Is why I told ye to go in as a plaguin’ group,” Gerard elucidated. “Ye get ‘em to fire on you and the rest of us will charge ‘em afore they reload!”
“That’s a terrible plan chief,” Tabard argued not convinced.
“GERARD I’M RUNNING OUT OF PATIENCE!” Sula roared twice was loud.
“Fuck’s sake,” Gerard grunted and stood up from behind his trunk. “Got to do everythin’ meself. Up and at ‘em boys!” He ordered the men hiding behind him and started running towards the opposing tree line, a trickle of Northmen after him.
He made half a dozen strides got a bolt through his right knee, stumbled a couple of feet and then got skewered right through the left shoulder, the force twirling him around, with a another angry bolt tearing away the bigger part of his right ear. Gerard went down, while the Northmen charged towards the trees where the crossbowmen were reloading frantically. Someone tried to pick him up, but Gerard kicked him away with his good leg, missed and landed with his back in the mud.
“ATTACK YE FOOLS!” He yelled, shuddering all over in great pain and the rest of his men moved out of their hiding places to charge at Lesia’s snippers.
“Papius!” Sula barked turning around and started running toward the First Maniple that had gotten up, his hobnailed sandals sinking in the soft ground. “Get the men marching! Everyone after the First but you Avienus!” He ordered reaching the legionnaires lines. “You keep the Fourth back to assist Gerard and anchor our rear!”
“Sire!” Avienus saluted and run towards his own men. Dumont who’d reached him in the meantime asked sounding concerned.
“Will Valens hold the road?”
“Valens is a proud man,” Sula replied with a grimace and readjusted his Legion helm on his head, afore starting to march after the last row of soldiers with Dumont following him. “He’d rather cut his own arm and eat it, than shamed into retreating.”
> The large detachment of advancing Lesia regulars saw the legionnaires coming out of the woods into the opening and turned his head around to order his men to prepare for an assault. The regulars, clad in white tunics and mail shirts reinforced with chestplates, carried swords and hardened wood, iron reinforced Kite Shields. They dressed their lines creating a square, but by the time they had finished preparing, Sula had all three of his Maniples out in the opening.
“Charge at them, round right flank. All units,” Sula ordered Centurion Didicus and the lanky officer relayed the order, Decanus Papius voice cutting through the noise of armed men moving about restless.
“Century advance forward! Round right flank!” Papius barked. “On the double quick! On my count! First moving!”
“Second moving!” Decanus Baro bellowed.
“Third moving to flank right!’ Decanus Trebius thundered, as all Maniples rolled forward.
“Nonus,” Dumont said standing next to his left shoulder. “You should stay back.”
Sula glanced at his old friend with a fierce grin and pointed at the advancing lines of legionnaires.
Nah.
“Tell me you’re fuckin’ jesting Pete!” He yelled to be heard over the ruckus and run after his men afore the young officer could answer him.
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The heavy halberd dropped, caught the legionnaire at the shoulder plates and shattered his clavicle bone, the blade slipping down leaving a deep dent. It bounced off the ground, the Lesia soldier pulling it back and then used the steel point to skewer the thrashing man through his face.
Tyeus pyres! Sula cursed seeing the bloody tip exploding out of the soldier’s helm, covered in red and grey gore, pieces of bone and flaps of hairy skin. The legionnaire went down, Sula stepped forward and hacked at the retreating long weapon. The Lesia soldier jumped back, used the shaft to block Sula’s second attack, but lost three fingers on his left hand and growled in pain.
Sula went to finish him off, but felt the earth shaking under his feet and glanced over his left shoulder. The Knight was charging right for their lines, lance lowered and the warhorse’s hooves digging at the ground. He turned around to hack at the onrushing animal, but Dumont beat him to it hurling a kite shield on the charging horse. It recoiled on instinct, the heavy shield smacking its thick neck and the knight veered off course and crashed into the regulars’ southern side of their defensive square formation.
“Shields up, first line advance!” Didicus roared, blood trickling down the side of his right eye and the flanking row of legionnaires of the Third Maniple started hacking at the shaken Regulars. Those that had been pushed to the ground from the warhorse had their faces and heads slashed at viciously, the Legionnaires penetrating their lines two bodies deep afore they managed to close up ranks again.
“Are you harmed?” Dumont asked him breathing heavy and for a moment Sula couldn’t understand him, but then he nodded wiping some of the gore from his face and helm. A large soft bloody piece of flesh falling down, a bit of white fat on it. Sula had no idea how it’d gotten stuck on his helm.
“We must break out of the trees Dumont,” he told him and walked fast over the moaning injured men, finishing off those not wearing Legion colors. A gruesome, stomach sickening ordeal. “Where is the Dottore?”
“He couldn’t spare anyone,” Dumont replied stabbing a regular missing an arm through the neck with his sword. He used his boot to get the bloody blade out. “Avienus will receive them first anyway.”
“Argh, we need to move towards the Bridge!” Sula growled watching the struggle unfolding not ten meters from him. “Didicus pull Papius out of the line!” He barked at the officer and the Centurion turned his plumed helm around and threw him a glare, face covered in blood and sweat.
“He’s in the thick of it!” The Centurion snapped and shook his head right and left to calm himself down, realizing who he was lashing out to.
Eh, Sula thought, let us not dwell on it.
“Who isn’t?” He grunted at the flushed officer.
“Baro,” Didicus replied.
“Pluck Baro’s Maniple out Centurion!” Sula rustled his voice hoarse. “You are wasting my advantage!”
“Aye Prefect!” Didicus replied clenching his teeth. “Second Maniple! Disengage!”
Sula stared at the morning sun moving away, half-hidden behind the canopy and grinded his teeth. They are going to report we have them wrong-footed on their left flank, he thought anxiously. Ask for reinforcements. We got two three hours of march and another scrap. That’s it Sula. By nightfall the Baron will know exactly what is happening and smack you right in the teeth.
“What’s the hurry?” Dumont asked him, pressing a cut on his arm with his fingers to empty the foul blood.
“Those were heavy crossbowmen,” Sula replied hoarsely, his voice almost gone. “Static troops pulled from guard duty. I think these are Stad Bridge’s rear duty soldiers.”
“You think?” Dumont murmured standing back.
Nonus nodded. Triumph from utter defeat and death were a couple of hours apart.
“We can get to his supply train,” he grunted his reasoning. “Cut their legs from under them.”
“Fuck,” was Dumont’s comment realizing what he was suggesting.
> Sula commanding the First Maniple, supported from Gerard’s Raiders, smashed the unprepared troops coming from the bridge and reached it at nightfall of the second day. He set up defenses, unleashing the Northmen over the bridge and into the Baron’s supply wagons. Carnage ensued. Gerard’s Raiders butchered indiscriminately civilians, engineers and merchants. They then started looting and raping women well into the night, when Centurion Didicus arrived with a detachment of Legionnaires and put a stop to it. The Raiders savagery had a cascading effect on the events that followed. It must be noted here Gerard himself wasn’t present, having been seriously injured earlier in the fight.
>
> Survivors from the slaughter run for their lives towards Halfostad and brought news of a catastrophic defeat to the stunned populace. The Northmen were coming to kill them all was the word and torch the city. The people panicked, riots occurred and a wave of criminality drowned those trying to take their families and escape the doomed city. With the army and calmer heads absent, the worst came to be. A fire spread from the market to the longhouses of the Nord section, then to the city’s richer neighborhood’s and raged uncontrollably for a week.
>
> When it finally ended due to a surprising late summer downpour, more than half of Halfostad had been ruined and the smoke clouds could be seen as far as the capital of the Duchy Kadrek.
>
> Baron Palma realizing he had been cut off, stopped the assault on the defending Legionnaires commanded by then Optio Valens and gathered his relatively intact army to attack the blocking force Sula had started digging in at the bridge.
>
> His problem was, the Duke’s forces retreating from the Northern Front after defending against Skuff Juter’s attack, were returning with the Northerners on their tails. While the Duke’s Carls had hurt the Northmen for a second time in a week, Skuff Juter felt emboldened seeing them retreating, mistaking his defeat for a win. So he sent his son Blondal Juter with every able-bodied warrior he had left by this point to harass the Duke of Sovya.
>
> Baron Palma saw the battlefield shrinking dangerously with each passing hour and he spent the night trying to reorganize his units and figure out a way out of his predicament.
>
> Sula received reinforcements from Decanus Avienus Fourth Maniple and Pike’s Rangers. Additionally and right before morning of the third day of the engagement, Centurion Sorex’s Slingers appeared to bolster his numbers even more.
>
> The latter being a crucial unit given that now they had the advantage of an open terrain and unobstructed field of fire. Furthermore their arrival negated Baron Palma’s biggest weapon, his cavalry detachment.
>
> In order to give insight into the events of those first days, a look at the casualties is telling. Sula had almost a hundred injured men in the fighting amidst the Pines and over twenty killed. Palma had about a hundred injured and sixty killed –mainly from the bridge detachment-, but the civilian losses for the two days were a staggering a thousand and seven hundred. Over six hundred of them had been killed at the sacking of the supply wagons in the span of a couple of hours.
>
> Nonus Sula while he did learn about the carnage early in the night, he opted to put it aside and concentrate on the defense of the bridge. If he managed to pull it through, the notoriously harsh commander knew he could win the campaign in Sovya in three days.
>
> Triumph slays infamy, he told his aide and the Legion’s scribe Dumont.
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>
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> The words being the Fourth Legion’s most famous dictum.