> ‘I’ve given the brat a life and my name to not be a bastard till he breathes his last. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Caught him bedding a wench I favored and kicked him out. A boy that knows how to use his cock deserves no further assistance.’
>
> -
>
> Sir Seleucid Merenda’s curt written reply to Prefect Draco, then commander of the recruiting IV Cohort in Anorum, who had asked the Lord Commander of the Royal Guards in Cartagen to vouch for his sixteen year old son Marcus Antonius –Born Mabindon* afore taking his father’s name- to join the Legion. The young teenager’s request was denied.
>
> Circa 186 NC
>
> From the I Legio archives.
>
> -
>
> *Bastards of at least one named (prominent, or high born parent) were usually given a close-by important landmark as surname –unless legitimized- a muscular for males (names of rivers, mountains, forests) and a more feminine for females (name of flowers, fruits, lakes, springs etc.)
>
> -
>
> Initium, Medius et Terminus
>
> Ancient Lorian dictum
>
> -
>
> -
>
> -
>
> 'There are three stages in one’s life. The beginning, the middle and the end.
>
> The first and the last… one can’t avoid. But one can change the middle and shape the ending.'
>
> -
>
> Di Cresta, lecturing on faltering Ethos and expounding on ancient sayings. His least attended classes.
>
----------------------------------------
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Marcus Antonius Merenda
Twenty Hours
Part II
-Corona Vallaris-
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[https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9z1Osu3A3rtb16CsZNxWyO9AqHbL-O6m4ne35-A_gUjATbxNyi3gmLWbg7ij9cittvaj98jb23zdFaOcajMgZ3qvmxWdcZNRMJyh0qG37ocqQmELePlUQJpm7jMG9O-c0GQBAotB7gxkxBi0p2jcG4B6FD7veu6hJaVpK1Ey00TLAE5WyPPG99cxd4k/s1120/Oras%20Navel%20battle.jpg]
Part IIa
-Medius-
-
Battle for Oras Navel
Fifth hour
III Legio’s south flank (bordering Goat Plains)
Inside the first Century’s ‘faster’ -than the compact traditional- ‘hollow Testudo’ formation
A rectangular formed to defend against free-roaming Cavalry attacks
There was so much noise and pandemonium about him that Merenda couldn’t hear his own thoughts. The sound bouncing off of his helmet like thrown stones, the recoil rattling his cranium and blurring his vision. Most of the ruckus caused by hooves thudding on the hard terrain, but not all of it. The soil rough, dusty and covered with gravel under foot, so many men and animals working it, the raised cloud clogged your throat and sneaked inside every opening.
He couldn’t see shit through the cracks of the Scutums the men at the front held locked together. Antonius had good vision but not with his eyes hazy and filled with dust particles.
Fucking travesty! He thought furious and glared at Decanus Domus ‘Tenor’ of the 1st Maniple. The man a hazy figure, all dirty armour and gleaming Legion-type helm.
“MOVE!” Decanus Titus Afer boomed from the other corner of the oblong formation. “ONE! TWO!”
“Fuck’s sake,” legionnaire Lurco griped standing a foot away from Merenda.
The Centurion opened his mouth, the metallic cheek-guards by now glued on his skin resisting him, but closed it having nothing to add. He worked his tongue around his teeth to gather moisture, but created a bitter sludge in his mouth and spat it down frustrated.
“ONE! TWO! KEEP SHIELDS UP!”
By the time a slow walking Merenda raised his head again, Decanus Domus had turned around with his mouth gaping to show the gold fillings. The hoarse yell he released a warning for the whole formation.
“LANCERS! CHARGING!”
Merenda clenched his mouth tight, the left side of his face hurting and sweat rivulets running down his brows. He felt the ground dancing under his tired hurting feet. The sound of a huge avalanche approaching, hooves digging in and coming ever closer, men cursing, or screaming, officers repeating instructions, until the cacophony of the onrushing Cavalry covered everything else completely.
Insanity.
A brief collective gasp defeating it briefly and then a soldier was hurled backwards violently, a massive explosion-like sound following. The whole earlier ruckus changing completely, metal twisting, wood splintering, bones shattering, flesh tearing and armour clattering. Nothing though could beat the gut-wrenching groans of wounded men and animals.
Merenda stumbled back along unnamed legionnaires, found his footing, heavy blade in hand clanging on helms, greaves and laminar armour, a shield’s corner almost breaking his nose. Then a hoof clipped his left shoulder guard and twisted him around, the terrified horse landing on top of a hapless legionnaire that was standing right next to him.
Lurco, his brain informed him.
Shite! No.
Lurco disappeared under the landing horse with a horrid yelp.
“By Tyeus!” Merenda cursed, the horse tumbling one way the knight the other, shoving soldiers aside and the whole formation shaking as the cohesion broke down. He stepped over a man, boot slipping in gore and hacked at the knight trying to get up, the man’s leg trapped in the stirrups. Merenda’s longer than standard issue blade carved the plate, the tip digging in to open flesh and then legionnaire Murena stepped in. He grabbed the knight’s arm, shoved it aside and stabbed half a foot of blade through the plate’s side bindings.
“Murena!” Merenda barked, hand trying to fix the helm on his head that had moved with all the twisting about like that Foxville wench during Bacchanalia. “Find Domus and tell him to dress the front row! I can see open field from here and I couldn’t just a minute ago!”
“Domus is somewhere back there!” Murena replied hoarsely yanking his shorter blade out of the dead knight’s sides, blood pouring out of the wound freely. “Man afore him at the corner had his shield broken, turned to mush and the Decanus took the rest of it!”
The flying man.
No dammit!
Frothy conium! Merenda thought stunned and turned to stare at the slowly closing by the rattled legionnaires opening, the horses pulling away at the background amidst thick clouds of dust, leaving some of their friends behind and another group of them appearing with lowered lances fixing to hit that corner again.
“Grab a plaguing Scutum!” Merenda barked at Murena and stooped to take one himself. “We need to plug that gap!”
Part IIb
-Initium-
-
Three hours earlier
Rear of III Legio’s engaged center
The lines of the rotating Centuries of the First and Fourth Cohorts.
2nd Century’s resting area
“Hey Centurion,” Legionnaire Indus teased, whilst bandaging the ring finger of his right arm with a strip of cloth. “You think they’ll crack afore lunch?”
Merenda paused cleaning his long blade and raised his head to stare at the Lorian-Issir half-breed amused. Vegetius and Lucan who always sat together chuckled spotting the scene. Lurco was talking with Murena in another group with Domus, Afer and Polus standing to their right, the Century’s Decani talking about water rations.
Which was going to be a problem, even if clouds covered the sky. While chilly in the morning, when you march and fight, you grow a thirst quite fast.
“Now, good Legionnaire,” Marcus Antonius said and got up to sheathe his blade. A longer sword custom ordered in the weapon smiths of Anorum and then made especially for him, since he always preferred it. He’d enough fighting with the shorter Legion sword the previous years. Merenda had been trained in the long blade by his father, who was a famed swordsman. The old man giving him little else, along a passable education and a surname, which in the ranks was more than enough to impress the men.
And the women of Regia. The Northern lasses had no idea where Cartagen was.
That and a thirst for life, he supposed. “Why do you think them cracking before lunch will help us?” Merenda asked evenly and glanced at the combat lines. He could see the backs of the men in the last rows a hundred meters away extending to his left and right. The Fourth Cohort’s Centuries doing an excellent job.
“The sooner to eat?” Indus croaked unsure if the Centurion was in a mood or not. Merenda had a wide spectrum of emotions, especially when in his cups.
“Have you boys checked on the day’s rations?” Merenda queried and reached inside his square hard-leather satchel, found a metallic flask of wine there and the hard biscuits next to it. Got one out and tossed it on the legionnaire, the hardtack hitting Indus’ laminated cuirass and dropping afore his feet.
The ringing heard by the men nearest to them, although most of the Century had started hovering around its Centurion after the latter returned from the meeting with the Tribune, right after the ‘Old Oak’ had rotated them out.
“There’s meat also Centurion,” Indus protested, a perennially hungry man that stood thin as a rail, stooping to take the biscuit and slot it under his helmet.
Merenda made a face and pretended he was reaching again inside his satchel, this time for a piece of meat, the nearest of the legionnaires laughing out loud familiar with his humor.
“Trust me good legionnaire,” Merenda assured him and raised his arms to calm down the tired men watching their exchange. “This spot, right now, is the best we’ll get all day, unless we get lucky,” he finished with a smile over the sound of near and distant fighting, the air heavy with the smell of death making their chuckles sound hollow and nervous.
Which was expected, Merenda thought and caught a messenger approaching on the double quick. He pressed his mouth in a thin line, trying to hide his own nervousness and keep his cool for the good of the men.
Also because you want to appear good when you can.
If it’s not possible, then just stay alive.
Or die fast.
“Centurion Merenda!” the communication’s soldier yelled thudding his fist on his chest. “Urgent orders from the Tribune sir!”
“In writing?” Merenda jested and the man blinked unsure. “Go on,” he counselled the young soldier. “This must be important. I talked with the Tribune not ten minutes ago and I can see the backs of the Fourth Century of the Fourth Cohort… still fondling their balls waiting their turn to start butchering our fellow cousins turned enemies.”
The men of the Second Century of the First Cohort roared in laughter some of the tension released.
Hit me lad, but be gentle, Merenda thought looking at the bewildered messenger and he did.
“The Tribune says the south flank has cracked,” the young man said. “The Praetor has been informed.”
Right between the eyes you rascal you.
“Domus!” Merenda barked tipping his head back, the power of his voice cutting the men’s laughter short. “GET THEM READY TO MARCH!”
He paused and glanced at the stunned messenger. “You want something else?” Merenda queried civilly. “I assume the orders are to go help Ennius.”
“The Centurion is dead sir,” the man croaked and nodded. “You are correct though.”
“Domus!”
“HEARD YE THE FIRST TIME!” The Decanus protested.
“ON THE DOUBLE QUICK!” Merenda thundered out his counter and tapped the messenger’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “You want to come along lad?”
“I have to go back sir,” the soldier retorted anxiously and Merenda nodded. His tone and reply crisp.
“I would too, if I could.”
----------------------------------------
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Twenty minutes of fast marching later the Century rolled near the extended south flank, the terrain here not permitting a continuous line. The rougher stone covered ground, getting even worse half a kilometer ahead of them where the opening of the Goat Plains started. Grass and thorny bushes peppering the dark soil, wild spruces painting some of its edges a fierce green.
“Battle line ahead!” Afer warned them marching at the front of the 2nd Maniple.
“That’s a small Cohort,” Merenda commended and fixed the helmet on his head, retying the leather cords under his chin tight.
Too tight.
“FORM LINE!” Polus barked. “Javelins!”
“Belay that!” Merenda ordered, seeing the backs of the Century not twenty meters away through the thick dust clouds. “AFER GET TO THEIR LEFT! POLUS GET TO THE OTHER!”
“A runner,” Domus informed him as Merenda had veered towards Polus to direct him to the right of the embattled line.
“The First Cohort?” The approaching legionnaire asked breathing heavy and looking at them with tired eyes.
“Only the Second Century,” Domus retorted. “Who’s fighting here?”
“Centurion Josi Vala’s 2nd Century of the II Cohort,” the legionnaire replied. “It’s a blocking force we’re facing.”
“Where’s the rest of the Cohort?” Merenda asked returning with a fast trot.
The soldier shook his head. “The cavalry cut through us, right at the seams between the 2nd and 3rd Centuries. We lost them in the chaos sir.”
“How much cavalry?” Merenda grunted.
“A fucking lot sir.”
“Centurion?” Domus asked, the men of the First Maniple on his back waiting for his orders.
“STAY ON THE ALERT!” Merenda barked hoarsely to be heard over the ruckus of battle. “2nd and 3rd Maniples flank them and loose javelins, then charge with blades at their sides!”
“FLANKING RIGHT! ONE! TWO! TURNING RIGHT!” Afer started yelling to his men, Polus doing the same for his and Merenda turned to the waiting legionnaire. “Tell Josi to pull the last row of troops and rotate them out, we’re going in.”
> Marcus Antonius Merenda's 2nd Century’s arrival in the south flank found the Second Cohort split in two. A portion of it built around Centurion Josi Vala’s 2nd Century was pushed back and towards the army’s center, but managed to regroup. They attacked Captain Braccio’s advancing force and stalled it in a bitter struggle for every meter of ground.
>
> The other, larger portion of the hard-pressed Second Cohort almost lost cohesion after the devastating surprising charge of Sir Phoca’s medium lancer cavalry. Wearing half-plate that covered their chest and half their arms, they carried a small triangular metal shield and a very long steel-tipped lance, each man having four more secured on either side of his elongated saddle pointing upwards like ship’s masts, along a typical sabre. Not as heavily armored as a proper Knight –though there were several knights’ present in their ranks following the chargers- or even a man-at-arms, this specially trained Lesia unit was faster than heavier cavalry, maneuverable and packed a very serious punch close to that of the Cataphracts of Eplas, but sacrificing heavily in defense and had no bows.
>
> An older times unit, as the rest of Jelin had begun training heavier Cavalry units from non-nobles, Lesia’s distance and terrain -at least in large parts of its core territory- favored them. It also had a much larger pool of men to draw from and the Throne paid to maintain and equip them, mainly Dokamna who was the city that trained them in big numbers for cavalry units.
>
> Be that as it may, Centurion Ennius’ 1st Century and part of the 3rd were on the receiving end of a brutal one-two flank attack. The first hit the legionnaires in a slanted manner coming from behind them or southeast. Men were ripped away from the edges like skin peeling off an orange and the inner rear rows lost cohesion trying to pivot towards the new threat. Ennius who had seen the last part of the charge run to the left of his formation to form a square but was caught from the second cavalry charge and killed outright, although no one close to him survived to report what happened.
>
> Decanus Avitus of the 3rd Maniple of the 1st Century that had received both the attacks was killed as well and the Maniple lost forty out of fifty men either killed or maimed. The rest of the Centuries retreated under Braccio’s push. For thirty minutes they fought a delaying action while Centurion Spurius Dio of the 4th Century and Centurion Ardi Damian of the Nord-heavy 3rd Century tried to galvanize the rattled men and stop the fighting retreat.
>
> That they didn’t break during the chaos is commendable, as Sir Phoca’s Cavalry focused on them and attacked at least three more times, before he paused and returned to the rear to change horses and furnish fresh lances, probably Lesia’s Cavalry most flawless performance of the day. It is wholly credited to Sir Phoca, who had to rest, or switch mounts and is not responsible of what happened in the meantime.
>
> In the meantime Merenda’s hardened 2nd Century of the lauded First Cohort arrived near the pressed Centurion Vala. The latter had to deal with a smaller portion of Braccio’s force as despite the livid commander’s orders his still relatively inexperienced in large battles troops lost sight of the objective and went after the bigger fragment of the Second Cohort and its retreating towards the Goat Plains legionnaires. They did that instead of striking at Vala’s much smaller force and then piercing Lucius center almost from the rear. The part that listened to Braccio’s orders still managed to push the heroic Vala’s men back slowly, but Merenda’s arrival changed the dynamics of the battle.
>
> The brass Centurion created two prongs with his Maniples to engulf the enemy’s flanks, rotated out Vala’s tired troops and countered pushed the tiring Lesia Regulars from three directions. The prongs closed slowly around the soldiers, who had the numbers still but not the spirit or the legs.
>
> The regulars fought admirably despite losing three men for every legionnaire they injured or killed and for twenty minutes –maybe a little more than that- the outcome was uncertain. Then an officer went down, the lines quivered, morale dipped and the regulars cracked.
>
> Braccio who was reporting to Baron Feld’s aides and was getting orders to leave the remnants of the Second Cohort to Sir Phoca and attack with everything he had against Lucius still advancing center, realized something was afoot when Lesia soldiers started running back from the front. It must be noted here that due to terrain the front wasn’t coherent but for the center and it turned difficult to even find in the flanks, with Lucius North flank’s struggle turning into a cavalry duel in small ravines and gullies that while it helped a force come near its enemy, it was unsuitable for any decent cavalry warfare and outright murderous for horses.
>
> Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
>
> Braccio realized that his 2nd officer Virone Nappo had lost the engagement and rode to his own south flank to speak to a man named Alvaro Fino –a former mercenary who was serving as his 3rd in command. Fino was trying to regroup the larger force of regulars pushing Centurion Dio’s men. Upon arriving there, covered in thick disturbed dust clouds and in a dry, bushy terrain Braccio was informed by Fino that they couldn’t disengage as on top of legionnaires so far to the south of the battlefield they were fighting light troops, Slingers, Nord axe fighters and a giant.
>
> A bewildered Braccio being as he was hard pressed for time and without knowing what was coming from the freed up center of Lucius army, he ordered Fino to find the men ‘any men allgods darn it, give me a force to stall whatever they send our way!’ and rode back to his rear to try and galvanize the broken retreating regulars. A hapless task and with time slowly passing and uncertainty flooding him, Braccio urged a reluctant Sir Phoca’s regrouping Cavalry to attack again.
>
>
Part IIc
-Medius again-
-
Forty minutes later
2nd Centuries of both First and Second Cohort regrouping area
Border of the Goat Plains
Deep in the south side of the battlefield
Merenda used a cloth to dry up his sweaty face and had a sip of water that tasted like mud that had spent time near dry turds for too long.
“Vala wants to pursue,” Domus reported and Merenda smacked his lips, trying to get his mouth working again.
“The Praetor wants him to shadow the center’s left flank,” he finally said hoarsely.
“When did the Praetor…?” Domus argued and Merenda grimaced.
“Go Domus. Tell him what I just said. Tell Afer he has five minutes to catch a breather and then we are marching again after the rest of the Cohort.”
“We have secured the—”
Merenda stopped him with a tired gesture.
“My good friend, we haven’t secured shit,” he explained too pressed for time to put it more eloquently. “Those hunting the Cohort will come right for us if they finish them off, plus there’s an elusive Cavalry roaming the field and so much dust everywhere, they could be coming for us right now.”
Domus scowled, but nodded.
“Marcus,” he started as Domus knew him since they were kids. Two bastards of prominent men growing up together.
“Antonius,” Merenda corrected him. “The full name is all I got Domus and I ain’t about to lose it too.”
“I’ll speak to Vala.”
“Convince him and hurry up,” Merenda said with a tired smile and had another small sip of water. “We’re leaving whether you’re here or not.”
“I’ll see not to miss the fun,” Domus had replied the fool that he was.
Fifth hour of the battle
A snarling Merenda planted the Scutum on the ground and peeked from its right side briefly as Murena locked his own large shield next to his. Merenda felt a heavy forearm on his back and grunted to the unseen legionnaire.
“Keep that hand above waist,” he said without turning back and the man replied with an affronted scoff.
“Ain’t touching your sweaty arse Centurion!”
Merenda chuckled nervously along with the closest of the men, Murena hissing through his teeth, as the sound of hooves approaching returned.
“Lurco isn’t moving much.”
“The fact he’s moving at all,” Merenda retorted and heard Afer booming for the men to prepare to receive a charge. “Is nothing short of a miracle.”
Give me another one, he prayed to no god in particular.
Which was for the better.
Keep them confused and unsure, to avoid them coming back with the bill.
The ground started shaking again under his boots, Polus joining in the good fun.
“LANCERS! INCOMING!”
“Eah!” Merenda gasped, his teeth rattling and ears ringing, his jaw cracking when he opened his mouth to yell at the top of his lungs. “READY JAVELINS!”
Hoping the man behind him would keep his arm on his back, as the order was always given to the third row. Merenda closed his mouth and attempted to take a deep breath, but was shoved violently two meters back, the joints on his left elbow and shoulder almost tearing away. His hobnailed boots plowing at the hard, dead weeds covered soil and a foot of lance punching through the upper top of his shield. The steel tip missing the Centurion’s helmed head that had just clanged on the inner part of the Scutum for a short arsehair.
A dazed Merenda groaned maniacally and twisted the shield left, the lance still stabbed through it. A horse’s head appeared, covered in mail Saffron with openings at the eyes and the frothing toothy mouth. The horse reared panicked, a leg raising to kick him in the face and a legionnaire stabbed the rider’s thigh with a sword, seesawing the blade in and out a couple of times for maximum effect per the manual. Merenda jerked his head away on instinct, the hoof missing him. Blood sprayed out of the rider’s wound in front of him and the horse turned away neighing. An absolute chaos erupting all around them as the riders tried to disengage and the legionnaires didn’t let them.
No, gods darnit!
“BACK ONE STEP!” Merenda barked opening the horse’s neck with his blade to unblock his path. The horse neighed and went down shuddering, Murena taking a quick step forward to kick the toppled injured rider on the head. The conned helm caved in where the metal-reinforced front of the boot connected with it, but Merenda could barely hear anything.
Not even himself. The shock of the impact had rattled him, everything inside had moved out of position and was very slowly returning to function, with his hearing suffering the most.
In the meantime the legionnaires retreated one step away from the riders who turned around to gallop away, in a ringing surrealistic scene that unfolded in less than five seconds.
One and the legionnaire behind him grabbed Merenda’s shoulder and forced him down, Murena screaming in his ear something incomprehensible, until he turned his stare on the now opened ground to his front, other than the dead horse and mauled rider half hiding him. He saw another wave of riders galloping their way in an ever rising cloud of thick dust.
Two and he nodded eagerly with his head stooped on a knee, his ears ringing and his left arm numb and hurting.
More hurting than numb.
Three and the distant riders were less than ten meters away, only their horses armored heads and the steel tips of their long lances showing outside the thick hazy soup. Merenda reached for the dropped shield, his fingers unresponsive and the Centurion’s ears popped as his hearing returned.
VWOOP!
Went the eighty javelins the 2nd hurled towards the incoming Cavalry and Indus who was standing behind him all this time grabbed the Scutum and raised it to cover the struggling with his grip Centurion. Every shield raised next to them.
The second impact much more weakened than the first. Merenda didn’t feel the rattle, but a legionnaire got impaled in the left eye under the lip of the helm three bodies to his right, when the lance punched through the top of his shield and died instantly.
Merenda lowered the Scutum, saw the disheveled broken state of Lesia’s Cavalry, as several riders and horses dropping afore their friends’ hooves had blunted the final approach and snapped out of his trance. The dead riders suffering from multiple javelin wounds, some of them horrific and others plunging head first to their deaths when their horses collapsed under them.
“AT THEM!” Merenda bellowed raising his sword high and the legionnaires roared in response and jumped out of their lines to reach the desperately trying to disengage Cavalry.
Ten minutes later
“MEDIC!” Murena yelled at the white-robed figures running from one legionnaire to the next to check on their wounds or declare them beyond salvation.
Or dead.
Bloody travesty.
Their diagnosis not always accurate.
Merenda turned his head the other way and observed the Lesia regulars that had pivoted and were now regrouping. They had to retreat to do it, losing a hundred meters of valuable flat terrain at the edge of the Goat Plains and the tall Northman Ardi Damian the Centurion of the 3rd Century of the Second Cohort waltzed across the opening left to greet the men of the 2nd Century of the First Cohort.
“Merenda ye son of a goat! When did you turn so beautiful?” Damian howled, red beard protruding under his helm like a fox’s tail. “Seriously, what are ye doing here?”
“Heard you ugly mugs got lost,” Merenda replied standing up straighter on tired legs to not look like a midget in front of the taller Northerner. “So I came to save you!”
“Haha!” Damian chuckled and slapped his hands on Merenda’s shoulders rattling him. “No seriously… where’s Josi?”
Merenda pointed back the other way with a bloody thumb. “Left him to guard the Praetor’s flank. Any more Cavalry around?”
“Lots more,” Damian replied and spat down. “Brought any water?”
“Not much. Dio still breathing?”
Damian nodded. “He’ll bring the Centuries here. You heard about Ennius?”
“I heard. How many do you have there?”
“Three centuries, well the 1st is badly mauled but still over a hundred men.”
“Will they fight?” Merenda asked and watched the medics trying to revive Domus but giving up. His face darkened.
“You have the Praetor’s orders?”
The Tribune’s.
“Sure,” Merenda replied and turned to stare at the Lesia squares dressing up, then at the open but bad terrain of the Goat’s Plains further south.
“What do we do?” Centurion Damian asked.
“Same plan as before,” Merenda said and tried to loosen the leather bindings under his chin, as they had cut into his skin. “We win afore the sun comes down.”
“When did they issue—?” Damian narrowed his sky-blue eyes, but Merenda stopped him dead with a slap on his chest armour.
“What’s the dictum my good Centurion?” He asked with a broad smile and Damian stood back bemused. “When in doubt…” Merenda helped and Vegetius with Lucan who had approached to listen in the officers’ talk murmured with one unhappy voice, familiar as they were with their Centurion’s shenanigans.
“Always attack!”
“Ha-ha,” Merenda guffawed and Damian smacked his lips afore nodding once. He then trotted back to his own approaching Century.
Merenda turned to the two legionnaires leering behind him and glared at them.
“Fucking travesty Centurion?” Lucan the shorter of the two stocky build legionnaires asked sensing his inner worry.
“I need a Decanus,” he croaked.
“Murena is a good choice,” Lucan suggested.
For you two rascals perhaps.
“Tell Indus he just got promoted!” Merenda barked abruptly. Lucan grimaced and glared at him, Vegetius commenting more diplomatically.
“Indus is an egotistic hungry bastard, a right cunt sir. Nobody likes him.”
Merenda pursed his mouth, his lower lip cracked and bleeding.
“Good,” he said simply and turned around to check on Domus’ condition.
It was auspicious that he did.
> Merenda’s marching in testudo Century got attacked by scouting Cavalry to prevent him from joining with the cut off Centuries, but he survived it with several casualties. The reformed Second Cohort, First Cohort’s 2nd Century taking the place of Vala’s 2nd in a bizarre coincidence, now regrouped to defend against Alvaro Fino’s and Braccio's regulars. Braccio had broken away from the other Centuries fearing an attack on his left (North facing) side, retreated and then reformed in two solid squares to attack again.
>
> Sir Phoca’s Lancers, who had just had a whole squad acting as scouts wiped out, as their tired horses couldn’t disengage fast enough, regrouped as well and prepared another assault on Merenda’s men. The two Lesia officers had agreed in a brief meeting while the men rested, to loop around the legionnaires again after they had committed and locked with the attacking regulars and strike their southernmost flanks.
>
> The plan got interrupted when the four Centuries –the 1st was only at half strength and Merenda had placed them as reserve behind the other three- started marching energetically to close the distance with the Lesia regulars. The time was almost noon, but the sun disappeared behind a flock of clouds for a moment and when it came out again Braccio realized Merenda was actually attacking instead of staying back to secure the army’s flank.
>
> ‘Well then Sebastian,’ the experienced former mercenary commented to his worrying aide. ‘The man has a solid pair hanging, I give him that.’
>
> The engagement turned brutal, but again the regulars didn’t perform as well when locked with the legionnaires. Sir Phoca who saw the danger –the 2nd Century placed at the southernmost edge of the line was angling inwards as it overlapped the Lesia right flank intending to hit them from the side- ordered his three hundred strong Cavalry force to charge.
>
> The Lancers crossed into the Goat Plains again, riding on difficult terrain which forced them to a canter instead of a gallop, and looped around the extended Merenda’s left flank in order to reach his rear. What had been an almost perfect maneuver five hours earlier turned into an ordeal and a half this time.
>
> The horses found the terrain more difficult the further inside they went (Merenda’s Century marched beyond the border of the rock infested Goat Plains) and got ambushed repeatedly by Sorex’s Slingers who pelted them with lead bullets from all sides. Helmets exploded, eyes were gouged out both from humans and horses, knees shattered and bones splintered. The harrowing approach through the thorny bushes covered plains ending when the first riders found better ground and charged through a thick dust cloud towards the lines of the red-clothed legionnaires.
>
> Merenda, who had kept his eyes on the sinister extending plains at his flank, ordered the men of his Century –still not engaged with the regulars- to rotate with the 1st Century and turn about to defend a charge. Shields were planted on the ground, javelins slotted next to them protruding outwards and the onrushing Lancers veered to the sides, a part of them looping west to hit the legionnaires at the seams and the bigger group cutting hard east to make an ever bigger circle.
>
> Which brought them on the path of the returning on foot Logan ‘Gray’ Barret’s fighters and that hulking huge Nord called Layton. Standing well over seven feet tall and closer to eight, the rumored to be a giant’s spawn warrior instilled heavy fear into the charging horses.
>
> The tale of Sir Phoca’s second major action of the day a bloody one.
>
>
Part IId
-Medius end-
-
Battle for Oras Navel
Seventh hour
Mid noon
Goat Plains
Southernmost part of the battlefield
Merenda’s command, 2nd Century (ICH-2CN)
“INDUS!” Merenda roared hoarsely, pieces of bitter dry grass in his teeth, half his armour covered in dirt from the tumble. He got up seriously pissed off, saw a Lancer galloping his way through the thick dust cloud, visibility coming and going depending on the gushes of the Plains wayward wind and stooped to pick up his sword.
When he stood up again the rider was a meter away, the horse a dark blurry thing and the ground danced under his boots something fierce.
“Ueah!” Merenda growled ineligibly absent the time to form a proper word of panic and jerked away from the oncoming long lance. The steel tip ripping his shoulder guard clean off, part of the plate twisting and tearing. He was twirled around and to the side, his wildly swinging blade thudding on a mail-covered thigh and carving a deep red gush on the horse’s belly.
The flesh burst unable to hold the animal's entrails inside, the horse dying stepping on them and Merenda stumbled in bewilderment for a couple of meters trying to find his footing. The Lesia rider doing the same behind him using his head and shoulder much less gracefully.
The Centurion gasped ruggedly in desperate need of oxygen, but got a mouth of dirty air instead that did him little good. He coughed a piece of lung out, eyes blurring and spotted a group of legionnaires engaged in close combat with the immobilized lancers, sabers out and hacking at helmets, whilst trying to defend against stabbing attacks on their legs and waists.
Blood covering the dry ground and turning it into a dark sludge. Dead and wounded sprinkled about, half inside thorny bushes, a foot here, an arm there. Arms and shields discarded and many butchered horses neighing miserably in their death throes.
Merenda hacked a foot off above the angle, the bloody piece still inside its boot dropping between the horse’s hind legs and his owner squeaking like a pig above the Centurion’s head. Merenda grunted and cursed in the same breath again nothing worth of note and parried a saber slash away, slashed upwards on the return, his arm tiring and his legs shaking.
The Lancer died fouling himself, the stench horrible and Merenda jumped over him and landed heavy on hurting knees. He fixed his helm that had dropped over his stinging bloodshot eyes and sort of saw three knights riding confidently towards their group to break their friends out.
In the chaos of the struggle, there was heavy fighting to the west, more of the same to the east and south, it was a miracle the knights had found their way there. Who knows what’s happening in the center? Merenda wondered.
He jerked his blade to clear some of the gore off and stepped away from the dead rider, his eyes on the heavily armoured knights. The one with the fancier armor, the twin hammers of Dokamna engraved on his gleaming plate chest piece, reached back to his saddle and found a heavy lance. He lowered it and then kicked with his spurs to get his large warhorse going.
The knight charged directly for him, the other two following their leader’s example.
“Fucking travesty,” Merenda commented and grimaced in disgust seeing the lethal trio coming at him. The tired Centurion set his eyes on the leader, his grip on the blade slippery and his arm shaking a bit, intending to get a good swing at him afore he got skewered like a chicken over the burning coals.
His mind numb and unwilling to run away. Merenda had decided that this was going to be the end of him. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly thrilled, nor satisfied with what he had accomplished in his short life. Merenda also found himself missing the many pleasures lying ahead of him, which was a rather shallow thing to ponder on given his situation, but Marcus Antonius had never lied to himself nor did anything with moderation.
The Dokamna Knight centered his lance aiming for his chest and approached like a wild bear charging out of the woods.
One moment he was but two meters away from the standing still scowling Centurion and the other the Knight along with his horse were thrusted brutally to the left and onto the charging third Knight.
The first of their group, or the knight charging at Antonius from the right side of their small formation, being the reason their leader had been shoved so violently off course. The knight had somehow found himself flying briefly sideways afore connecting with his leader and his warhorse. The impact so brutal, the force that had propelled the hapless knight so monstrous that a befuddled Merenda actually heard bones breaking and plate twisting over the pandemonium of the heavy brawl all about them.
“Tyeus blunted spear!” He cursed seeing the third knight trying to avoid men and horse but failing and trampling all over them, a heavy iron-encased hoof pulverizing the leader’s helmet and cranium. The knight’s head literally flattened on the ground unable to take the full weight of the landing warhorse.
The shocked knight tried to stay on the saddle, his boot slipping from the stirrups and finally managed it. With an angry curse he went for his longsword and Merenda, who had no idea what had just happened, moved to attack him.
Managing only a couple of quick strides afore a man passed by him walking casually and without hurrying at all. The reason he managed to move faster than the giving it his all on tired legs Merenda being the man was a giant. Each slow step he took covered almost three of the Centurion’s. The muscled behemoth, wild and long red hair reaching his back and a head the size of a small cauldron raised a huge double-headed battleaxe he carried over his shoulder -ever slowly- afore downing it on the desperately jerking away and yelping freaked out Lesia knight.
Splitting him in two unequal parts in one fell swoop.
Ugh.
“Damn,” Layton resounded in his booming voice and turned to look apologetically at the frozen Centurion. “Ye wanted his armor little guy? It’s worthless now. Better check on the kid without a head. His is in much better condition.”
The last words Layton he accompanied with a broad toothy smile.
> Sir Phoca, a rather heroic Lesia knight if one reads the tales going on about him today, was apparently killed dueling the giant Nord Layton in an epic struggle. Other less complimentary reports from men present in the field during the battle describe his untimely demise in different colors. The biggest difference in the fanciful tales mostly around how long this supposed duel lasted.
>
> Sir Phoca’s defeat in that fateful botched charge, while not damning on the Knight’s honor since he had performed his duty admirably that day, spelled doom nonetheless for the men under Captain Braccio. The Lesia regulars, already exhausted from the prolonged fight started retreating under the relentless advance of the much more resilient and battle hardened legionnaires. Their lines compressed even more with each passing moment until they were unable to maneuver at all and started dying in great numbers.
>
> Braccio seeing the catastrophe facing him squarely in the face ordered a controlled retreat. Instead of that the regulars broke in panic and run away dropping their weapons. Some units kept their cohesion by they were quickly overwhelmed and succumbed to Merenda’s men’s unforgiving blades.
>
> Half an hour after Sir Phoca’s death, Feld’s south flank disintegrated. Trupo who was watching through a spyglass from above the plateau sent word to Tribune Veturius at the center of their extended lines. Veturius informed Lucius about the unfolding events, but the Praetor had veered off to the north of the battlefield and was engaged in the Cavalry action happening in the ravines. So the missive reached him an hour later, or perhaps two, as there is a dispute in the official record -justified since a message delivered at a certain moment from an aide, isn’t necessarily read by the Praetor the next, especially if he’s in the field and difficult to reach.
>
> Whatever the case may be, Veturius ordered Merenda to halt and wait for the center who had grinded away at Feld’s forces there to catch up with him. The Tribune was right in his call as the Third Legion’s initial straight battleline had now turned rather slanted, the center and the south flank had moved forward and the north had remained relatively as it was in the morning.
>
> Merenda didn’t get the missive, or pretended that he didn’t, again the record is vague and makes it difficult to condemn or exonerate an officer in such a difficult to navigate battle and field. Anyways the Centurion marched after the running Lesia regulars aiming for Feld’s camp. The Baron seeing the south flank turning, ordered the slowly arriving from the New Legion Road Sir Jan Napoli from Sava to stop the Second Cohort.
>
> Napoli marched his men towards the south part of the battlefield, but almost missed Merenda that had moved further northwest aiming for Feld’s camp. Napoli turned his force around and attacked the marching legionnaires from the flank, but he botched the approach and the lush much greener terrain near the forest and the southwest slopes didn’t provide him with any dust cover.
>
> Merenda realizing there were Lesia troops at the near paused, then marched back veering towards them and the two forces met near Feld’s camp eleven hours into the fight. While Merenda had the more tired force, also casualty ridden, he had two things Napoli sorely lacked at that point in the fight. Experience that came from already bloodied troops and the small but potent heavy Cavalry led by Nasica. The latter had moved nearer the Second Cohort seeing that Merenda had marched ahead to cover their rear.
>
> Napoli’s initial mistake of not spotting the marching legionnaires was devastating. By turning his force inside towards the camp to face Merenda he missed Nasica’s fifty men-at-arms approaching.
>
> Nasica had no qualms about orders, being as he was temporarily attached to the Legion at that point and without hesitation he ordered his fresh riders to attack Napoli’s exposed east flank. The charge wasn’t as effective as Sir Phoca’s earlier that day, but Nasica’s men were pretty good at close range and could even fight off the saddle. Napoli found himself attacked from two sides and decided this was a lost cause.
>
> Two or three hours after he had arrived in the field, the knight from Sava ordered his men to start retreating towards the New Legion Road. Nasica pulled his own men back to avoid costly losses and Merenda who had initially wanted to go after the energetically backing away Lesia soldiers, realized after a mini mutiny that the Cohort had had enough and decided to begrudgingly allow them to rest.
>
> He did it in style marching inside Feld’s camp and taking it over.
>
> It is said Tribune Veturius almost had an apoplexy when he heard the news, but the events in the center kept him focused there and he left the matter of the brass Centurion aside for later. While the respected Tribune was adamant on matters of discipline and Lucius himself very strict according to all biographers, Merenda never faced scrutiny for his actions that day.
>
> Or ever for that matter.
>
> On the contrary, Lucius elevated the Centurion not only in rank later, but as he famously noted ‘in his very heart.’
>
> ‘Some men you respect, others you tolerate. But sometimes you meet someone that despite all his flaws and many sins serves you better than anyone else instinctively.’
>
> While the Praetor was perhaps exaggerating in his euphoric bliss –the words were spoken after a feast- nevertheless Marcus Antonius Merenda was awarded the Corona Vallaris after the battle in prestigious gold. The resembling a Castrum crown was a rare and esteemed military honor, over the golden Phalera and was awarded to the first man that entered the enemy’s camp in a battle.
>
> The biggest honor of his life though according to a drunken Merenda himself was that ‘the Praetor had considered me a friend. This alone my good colleagues, cultured brethren and lovely ladies, would have been a rewarding enough terminus for a casted aside bastard’s life, if it ended right here, right now.’
And it didn’t.
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