>
>
> The Centurion of the 2nd Fluvius Marsyas waved for him to get back behind the half wall. The bearded officer’s dirty tunic tattered in places and the rest of it covered in grime. Mucius nodded before retreating there almost in the blind but despite the heavy smoke and darkness, he immediately spotted the young Issir watching his actions.
>
> “What do you want boy?” The legionnaire asked hoarsely, stopping to wipe his blade with a piece of torn tunic. Not his tunic.
>
> “I was with Cita,” the Issir replied and showed Mucius a small blunted dagger he held. “In the woods.”
>
> “Where is he now?”
>
> “I lost them.”
>
> “Not much of a scout then, are ye now?” Mucius probed scratching at his jaw. The growth there getting thicker with every passing day. Not much of an inclination to shave yer face wit people shooting at you.
>
> “A hunter mostly,” the teenager replied and smiled. White teeth on a black Issir face, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, with curly and wild white hair that reached his ears. “But on this side of the Moeras’ lake and not the other.”
>
> “Can you find yer way back there? The lake?” Mucius asked turning the corner with the teenager walking after him. The part of the large village’s main street still under their control covered in debris, bricks, rocks, collapsed parts of walls and half-burned wooden beams.
>
> A lot of rotting bodies.
>
> And large fucking rats with swollen bellies.
>
> It was the hospital area.
>
> Mucius kicked a nasty one and the suddenly flying rodent squealed briefly whilst rolling on its axis before smashing on the half-standing wall across the street with a squelching sound, head crashed and fully dead.
>
> “Fucking hells! That’s a bleeder!” Naevius cursed as some of the sprayed gore had reached him and glared at the legionnaire. “That you Mucius? Thinking of eating that?”
>
> “Aye.”
>
> “You fucker. How are you still breathing?”
>
> “Don’t know about the latter sergeant,” Mucius retorted with a scowl. “Not with all the darn smoke.”
>
> “Smoke is nice. That thing will make ye sick.”
>
> Nah.
>
> “Aha. How’s the Centurion?”
>
> “Better.” Naevius replied. “Looking to add some men in the shieldwall.”
>
> “From the injured?”
>
> “Everyone has something,” Tesserarius Naevius retorted and eyed him approaching. Mucius didn’t have anything but what the Legion had issued. A silver coin he kept in a pouch and a skinning knife in his boot. Good boots, not like the Legatus’ fancy ones but still… aye. Bought them in Alden he had and the leather soles had lasted pretty well but for a couple of holes. So they needed a bit of mending.
>
> “Mmm.” He grunted and stared at the figures slowly moving about in the street where the few officers were issuing shields and swords to those missing theirs. “Any news of the 3rd and 4th?”
>
> “Not since yesterday. The south west part still burns. All them thatch roofs went up in flames,” Naevius replied and grimaced. “There’s the Centurion.”
>
> Mucius watched the limping Indus approach. The Centurion of the 1st was an undernourished, pensive-looking man the men had come to respect. It took them a while to trust the officer and Mucius still hadn’t fully.
>
> Then again Mucius didn’t trust anyone. He glanced at the shivering young Issir that had followed after him. “Get the rat.” He told the teenager. “Use this to clean the skin but don’t dig deep. Leave the fat on.”
>
> He had tossed him the skinning knife. “I’ll want that back lad.”
>
> “Are you from the 2nd?” Indus asked coming to stand next to them. “How’s Marsyas?”
>
> “Down to a score of men sir,” Mucius replied and watched the Centurion reach in his satchel to get a large piece of pork sausage out.
>
> “They’ll come here first,” Indus said not looking at them. He could have been talking to Naevius or Mucius, or just as easy to himself.
>
> It was doubtful he gave a shit about the young Issir ranger that was busy skinning the fat rat.
>
> “Use the machines to bury Marsyas. They are not even fifty meters away. All they need is to flatten a couple of buildings to gain a direct line of sight.”
>
> “Maybe attempt a break out afore that?” Mucius offered.
>
> “We need to hold until noon,” Indus replied. “Else Pourem will have time to turn against Merenda.”
>
> Fuck Merenda. Let him deal with all this. He’ll never call me his friend.
>
> The Centurion was looking at Mucius all serious. “All the Legatus needs is for us to do our part. Give him the time. Ennius did at Oras Navel and Flax at Holt’s Stables. He’ll get the job done legionnaire.”
>
> “What happened to them sir?” Mucius asked not familiar with the officers named, but guessing their fate.
>
> Indus gaunt face contorted, lips pursed on a lightly bearded chin. “Marcus-Antonius didn’t have to join the Legion. He’d the coin and the name to live comfortably in the Capital. None of those following him had that same privilege. His ambition got our families out of the slums. Secured us land and a pension to fall back on. Wasn’t easy having to fight Lorians or even Nords to do it,” Indus continued. “But frankly, I don’t care about the Khan’s lackeys. They don’t belong here right lad?”
>
> “Yes sir,” the young Issir replied holding the butchered bloody rat in his hands. A couple of centuries in the past another Lorian Centurion might have said the same thing about his own migrating ancestors, Mucius thought looking at the teenager with pity in his eyes. Poor dumb cretin.
>
> “Here,” Indus said hoarsely and offered the sausage to him. “Don’t light a fire.” He added and limped away in the dark.
>
> “Well then,” Naevius commented sounding worried. “That was strange.”
>
> But Mucius never got to learn what the sergeant meant by that until days later.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Six hours later
>
>
>
> The bolt had missed him. It had ripped through Marsyas, goring the officer and a legionnaire standing behind him, ricocheted off of a wall and clanged on Mucius’ shoulder-guard afore disappearing in thick smoke.
>
> In that same smoke cloud Mucius had retreated into about half an hour ago. He could hear the Khan’s infantry that had come charging from all sides in the chaos that followed the main street getting overrun. They had blasted through the buildings creating a flanking corridor and it must have been over pretty quickly after that. Turned on the 2nd Century next that was tasked with guarding the rear of sorts.
>
> The trumpets sounded but they weren’t their trumpets.
>
> Mucius climbed over a tall pile of debris, rolled in the mud down a collapsed building’s guts and then headed away from the waning ruckus. The battle was over and the cleanup operations were underway. Every man for himself.
>
> Every surviving man for himself that is.
>
> A lousy phrase.
>
> You get close with people in the service, make friends even. Then you lose them.
>
> Start anew or you don’t.
>
> Whatever friends Mucius have had, war had claimed inside two years. He’d reached Moeras as the last of their class of 171. Technically his term would be over in the next twelve months. A year could be spent on the road in the Legion. Marching. Building a road or warehouses.
>
> But it wasn’t a sure thing.
>
> A Horselord’s back appeared through the white smoke. The man yelling for his friends to move in that strange Khanate accent. Some words completely foreign. But for the banner part which Mucius understood. Two of Khanate’s soldiers, an archer and a scimitar wielding mercenary dashed after someone in the distance.
>
> Mucius had reached the edge of Moeras and muddy fields could be seen through the haze. Yells, cries and boots drumming in the mire. The Khan’s officer turned around, a red sash over his mail and Mucius’ skinning knife stuck in his thigh. Blood dripping down his knee.
>
> There you are, Mucius thought seeing the trusted blade.
>
> The Khan’s lackey made a face seeing the snarling legionnaire appear out of the vapors, but Mucius buried the gladius in his chest to the hilt afore the Horselord could get a warning out. The slant-eyed man coughed blood in Mucius’ eyes and dropped to his knees.
>
> It took Mucius a minute to get the sword out and retrieve his knife. With a grunt, he glanced towards the corn fields unsure and then towards the starts of the woods where the other two of Khanate’s soldiers had run to.
>
> For a tense moment he couldn’t see them, but then Mucius spotted the 2nd Cohort’s banner, sticking out of the tall sugarcanes and went after it with a curse. Killed the archer with the skinning knife and used the gladius on the mercenary.
>
> Wiping the blood from his blade Mucius approached the wounded Issir carrying the Legion’s banner and knelt beside him. The sounds of fighting dying down in Moeras not even four hundred meters away.
>
> “Did you steal that?” He asked the teenager examining the wound. The arrow had pierced a lung probably, but some people had survived it in the past.
>
> “The Centurion… wanted the colors saved,” the young Issir replied coughing up more out of his mouth, teeth bloody. Almost black.
>
> Other people hadn’t.
>
> Over a pork sausage, Mucius thought and grabbed the Issir’s elbow to help him stand.
>
> “Can you make it deeper in the woods?” He asked looking about him for any sneaking enemies.
>
> “I… can’t,” the teenager replied and gave him the staff. The square red banner flapping in the soft breeze and giving away their position every time the fog receded. “But… I know the way.” He pointed weakly at the thick grove.
>
> “Hmm.” Mucius grunted and loosened the straps on his dented helm, a part of his armour hanging at the shoulder half-torn away. “What’s your name lad?”
>
> “Dillon,” the Issir croaked and tried to push the arrow out but Mucius slapped his hand away.
>
> “Should have just run away.”
>
> “The Legion didn’t… how could I? These are our lands. We are in this together.”
>
> Ah. No they aren’t.
>
> The land belongs to no man or woman.
>
> But he could get what the lad was saying.
>
> It hit him right in the feels the young bastard.
>
> Eh.
>
> A grimacing Mucius reached to grab the staff. The legionnaire ripped the banner out of its edge and folded it. Placed it inside his haversack and checked on the staff’s steel point.
>
> “Use it as a spear,” he told Dillon raspingly. “And to walk with.”
>
> “Walk…”
>
> “Ayup,” Mucius retorted and looked back at the burning Moeras. “Your people won’t learn shite about all this, if we don’t make it.”
-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Marcus-Antonius Merenda
Die twice in a week | Aftermath
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Early evening of 25th of Secundus
3rd Cohort’s rear
First Legion Center
Half a kilometer outside of the Hemp Fields
Marcus-Antonius stopped his horse and turned to examine the road heading for Moeras that the 4th Cohort was advancing on. Centurion Reganus’ messenger waited for an answer and Plautus who was standing next to the young soldier scrunched his face unsure.
“Vegetius give me that tally again,” Merenda ordered puffing out.
“Glycia is blocking the road and the majority of the retreating infantry has turned towards him sir,” Vegetius replied. “The King’s Road. So what Reganus sees here, is what Dhin-Awal has left.”
About three hundred men.
But it could take them well into the night to finish them off.
“Where’s Pourem?” Merenda grunted knowing no unit could remaining in the field for two straight days without some serious mishap occurring or a sudden change in fortunes and Reganus’ messenger shrugged his shoulders.
“Heading for Meertje port, Legatus,” Pilatus said from atop his own horse. “Is my guess. Andronicus can leave Moeras to Captain Nak. He’s advancing from the corn fields with the 3rd Auxilia.”
“Ah. I want Moeras secured first. The Lorian mercenaries stand between Andronicus and the village. So we anchor our center and then move to finish off the retreating enemies. Reganus will keep harassing Dhin-Awal’s rearguard. Glycia with Domus can deal with the King’s Road stragglers or Kontar’s marshes foot-draggers. But I want a plan ready on how to tackle an assault on Meertje if the need arises.”
Reganus messenger had company by the time Marcus-Antonius finished his small speech.
“Delius, 3rd Maniple, 3rd Century,” the messenger reported stiffly. With Merenda’s entourage very near the slow-moving frontline it was easy for the runners to reach him. In the center at least. “The Centurion informs the Legatus Lord Dhin-Awal wants to parley with Lord Merenda.”
Finally.
Good grief.
Praised be the Allgods!
“We’ve got no real nobles in my family,” a relieved Merenda retorted assuming a haughty tone, his jest making the sober mood change for a moment. “Unless he means lord commanders, then we have two pretty prestigious ones between myself and my father. Ah, and a couple of royal knights. Can’t hold court without a bit of Merenda. Right Pilatus?”
“That’s right sir,” Pilatus replied readily to the wordplay amidst a spreading euphoria at the news.
It wasn’t going to last, but the Legatus knew how to work a crowd.
-
Half an hour later
Centurion Reganus’ (3rd Cohort) front
The Khanate’s military envoy looked at the Legion officers and Merenda with brightly painted turquoise eyes. A Cofol tradition, the Horselord nobility had adopted for the most part. Not everyone was partaking with the same gusto as the envoy though. Dhin-Awal, the Khanate general standing next to a Cataphract, had no such fancy decoration on his face in contrast.
“Lord Dhin-Awal wishes his close entourage to be allowed to leave the field.” The Envoy continued. “For that he challenges Lord Merenda to a duel of skill to decide the outcome of this battle.”
“You are?” Merenda asked and the envoy blinked.
“I’m Lord Satemi.”
“You’re an engineer?” Merenda asked a little surprised at the fancy clothing and relatively clean look.
“I’m a Chief Engineer.” Satemi retorted stiffly.
“Yeah, we don’t do duels mate,” Merenda said and patted his horse between the ears. “It’s against regulations and I believe we have won the battle. Your men are running.”
“You wish to drag this further?”
“Well, we are at it for months already,” Merenda retorted. “What’s another night?”
“Will you not consider Dhin-Awal’s proposal?”
“I thought I was clear,” Marcus-Antonius said with a frown. “No duel. Surrender and this will be over.”
Satemi glanced at the sullen Dhin-Awal. “What will it take to alter your decision? Enslaving nobles is perceived in bad taste even in the Peninsula unless there’s a personal blood feud involved or a significant monetary dispute between families. I don’t believe there is and yours is an unknown family my Lord.” He finally said a little concerned when the Khanate general returned his stare soberly.
Merenda pursed his mouth unsure on how to take this. He cast a side-peek at Plautus but the scholar was busy scribbling notes on a large papyrus and then at Centurion Reganus. The Legion’s officer raised his upper lip to show his teeth in either a failed grin or a half-hearted snarl.
“We don’t… we won’t enslave your people,” Merenda started after a small pause. “But the Lord General must do the right thing.”
And surrender was his meaning.
“You are the second man today, offering me the same advice Lord Merenda,” Dhin-Awal said in passable Common and moved his horse forward to approach.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Right.” Marcus-Antonius replied unsure and stood back on the saddle to better reach his sword in case the Horselord wanted to charge him, flag of truce be damned.
“I’ll have your word the men and women under my banner shall be allowed to depart?” Dhin-Awal asked calmly.
“What about the rest of the men?” Merenda probed furrowing his brows.
“I won’t begrudge you the small profit,” Dhin-Awal replied magnanimously. “Your word?”
“The Legion dailies are written after the day’s actions are over,” Merenda said vaguely and Dhin-Awal nodded. He signed for the Cataphract to approach and the rider moved near them, armoured horse snorting as it did. The smiling Cataphract, he had his mask on, raised his right arm. Reganus cursed seeing the small crossbow, Merenda pulled his lips back tensed and Dhin-Awal gestured for them to calm down.
“Treat them well,” Dhin-Awal told Merenda and gave a nod to the approaching Cataphract. The Khanate knight raised his other arm to secure the crossbow, now pointed at the Horselord general and then fired from less than two meters. The bolt penetrated Dhin-Awal’s skull from the right side of his temple and broke out of the right spraying blood on the mounted Satemi’s boots.
Tyeus spear!
Dhin-Awal slipped from the saddle and dropped awkwardly next to his horse amidst the gasps and loud murmuring of the Legion officers present.
“A Horselord can’t surrender,” the Cataphract announced in a muffled voice that silenced the small crowd for a while. The moment breaking from the unruffled Satemi.
“Will that suffice Lord Merenda?” The Chief Engineer probed in a somewhat conceited manner.
-
Two hours later
Andronicus 4th Cohort front (on the road to Moeras)
Evening of the 25th to 26th of Secundus
“That’s Leopold Fulker,” Centurion Andronicus briefed the arriving Legatus. Merenda jumped from his horse with a grimace of discomfort and removed his plumed helm. He gave it to Vegetius and marched at the Centurion’s side towards the Lorian delegation. The mercenary captains discussing with the other Centurions of the 4th Appius Tacitus, Paulus Crito and Julius Seneca. The latter a distant kin to the Baron of Vinterfort. “The man next to him, is named Donald Turner.”
Captain Fulker saluted the Legatus and Merenda returned it. “Good to see Lorians,” Fulker commented.
“It wasn’t for us,” Merenda retorted and the mercenary captain nodded.
“Touché my Lord.”
“Rida?”
“Altarin sir,” Captain Turner replied. A fit man around Merenda’s age. “Under Duke Victor Reeves.”
“Fighting for the Khanate,” Merenda noted.
“The Duchy is part of it,” Turner argued and shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ll surrender?”
“The men would like to see Regia or Lesia. Preferably not as slaves.”
“We don’t do slaves mister Turner!” Merenda blasted him still rattled with what had happened with Dhin-Awal earlier.
“Raoz didn’t as well,” Fulker intervened. “My men will surrender to the Legion sir. We don’t wish to fight.”
“It may be out of your hands Captain,” Merenda retorted angrily but then puffed out to regain control of his emotions. “Andronicus make sure they behave and keep them away from the Issirs for now.”
“Yes sir,” Andronicus replied.
Merenda watched the captains return to the mercenaries lines, about three or four hundred of them were blocking the road to Moeras, forced there after Dhin-Awal’s center had collapsed.
“What do you need them for…?” Plautus asked near his ear and Merenda stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“We’ll talk of this later,” he hissed and glared at Vegetius who had stayed behind. The legionnaire rushed near them carrying Merenda’s helm.
At the struggle’s end, the Legatus thought nervously. Dare to gaze to the morrow.
-
> Pourem beat Damascus’ advancing 1st and 2nd Auxilia to Meertje but Glycia managed to secure the King’s Road to Dhin-Awal’s rear cutting off the Khanate general’s retreat. With Domus taking one camp after the other with the 2nd and 3rd Centuries, leaving the 4th to hunt down Kontar’s men inside the marshes, Dhin-Awal’s center was splintered and destroyed.
>
> The Lorians under then Captain Fulker of Altarin tried to reach Moeras but Captain Nak’s 3rd Auxilia took control of the destroyed village late that afternoon and stalled them. Centurion Andronicus pivoting north 4th Cohort caught up with the mercenaries and they opted to surrender after some brief negotiations. While Dhin-Awal committed suicide or was killed by one of his bodyguards, the engineer Satemi agreed to Merenda’s terms and surrendered the remnants of Reserve Army’s center to the Legatus.
>
> Merenda marched the 4th Cohort towards Meertje immediately, reaching the port at dawn. Damascus and Memon had been ordered not to engage with Pourem’s entrenched troops so they spent the night regaining control of the road and Moeras Lake with the help of Cita’s returning rangers.
>
> The next morning Glycia won another skirmish against the remnants of Dhin-Awal’s center that attempted to break out but had to take defensive positions himself near Kontar’s massive Horse-Archers camp as reports reached him of Khanate army movement out of the Capital. The army turned out to be a supply caravan that turned around without challenging the legion’s positions and Glycia assumed command of the First Cohort again from Prefect Domus who returned near the Legatus.
>
> Merenda considered an assault to dislodge Pourem from the port but it was quickly decided that it would be too costly. Pourem had Umi with him (Satemi’s second in command) and had received a lot of reinforcements from fleeing troops, Mereb who made it out of the woods, on top of Bedas Slavers that were already there. He also had trouble feeding all those men and despite messaging the Khan of the catastrophe, Pourem’s position remained precarious.
>
> No one could believe the First Legion had won the siege. Such was the incredulity of the unlikely outcome that the Khan blamed Dhin-Awal of cowardice and high treason. Pourem kept his mouth shut but was forced given the deleterious atmosphere to swear to fight to the last and keep control of the port. Rumen-Kot who had a better grasp of what had occurred from Satemi and Umi, urged the Khan to consider an evacuation over Smallake using boats. The news reached Cartagen, where a huge scandal had exploded at about the same time along a horrendous typhus epidemic in Novesium, just as a Khanate’s representative asked for an audience with King Lucius.
>
> Lucius assured the Khanate diplomat that Regia’s army wasn’t operating inside Kaltha under official orders and the news of Merenda’s stunning victory were kept a secret for about forty-eight hours. Unable to reach Merenda, Lucius ordered Legatus Sula (the military governor of Aegium) to dispatch two Cohorts (the 2nd and 4th under Papus and Gratian with the overall command given to Prefect Rufius ‘Iron’ Valens) up the coastal road towards Sabretooth to secure that Merenda’s retreat route remained open. Troubling events unfolding elsewhere made that strategic redeployment necessary.
>
>
>
> The Khan was forced to send Cavalry leader Sepa and about 800 hundred Lancers to block the road leading to the Capital, but agreed not to challenge Merenda beyond the King’s Forest until Prince Radin had the time to attempt his own maneuver at Boar’s Horn. The Khanate’s logistics had been strained to a breaking point and that probably saved the defenders at Jaw Castle from another assault. The miserable but heroic Holsman and Verner were still holding on there, completely cut off more than a year later.
>
> The diligent Merenda quickly moved to set up a loose siege around Meertje and tried to deal with the losses he’d suffered during the month’s long struggle. The First Legion had come out of the battle minus a whole Cohort (Indus’ 2nd) which was a personal blow to the Legatus since the Centurion was part of his inner circle but had also lost Prefect Celsus, the father of horse-drawn artillery, and one of Regia’s finest military engineers of his generation. The Issirs had also suffered atrocious damages, mostly in material but also in personnel despite an attempt to evacuate people in time from Moeras that had been levelled completely from Umi’s machines.
>
> On the 27th of Secundus (or the 29th according to some sources), Legatus Merenda stood in front of a restless crowd of weary Legion legionnaires, Issir defenders and civilians, very near the battle’s site, to declare the siege of Eagle’s Nest over in an early semantic prelude that showcased his unparalleled oratory skills. ‘It’s a victory but it tastes bitter,’ the Legatus had said in a now made famous speech according to his biographer Plautus.
>
>
-
28th of Secundus
Eagle’s Nest watch tower
Marcus-Antonius pushed the inkpot away and stared at the papyrus for a long moment. The shade cast by the tower had moved following the sun and more light doused the small table. Under the papyrus containing his official report, drawings and maps were opened. Casualty reports and lists with promotions or names put forth for commendation. They would be bound together all these pages, each numbered and dated, to be part of the 1st Legion’s dailies. A thorough, though brief, account of the campaign the scribes would insert in the army’s books. Caius-Mellitus Plautus who was reading some of Celsus’ ideas from the late engineer’s notebook, raised his eyes on the discomforted Legatus.
The sound of men and animals moving about, as the Legion slowly started regulating supply distribution to the new positions and units in the field.
“The Baron wants you to address the locals,” Plautus said placing the notebook on the table’s edge. He was sitting across from Marcus-Antonius.
“I can’t give them the war’s end,” Merenda protested tiredly and rubbed his face, feeling some of the growth returning to his cheeks. “Nor bring men and properties back.”
“They don’t expect you to do it,” Plautus argued evenly and stared at the civilian caravan returning to Eagle’s Nest not three days after the siege’s end. Of course they had another siege brewing.
“Pourem is digging in like crazy.” Merenda noted.
“It won’t hold. It’s a ruse,” the scribe said. “Almost two thousand men are sardined in there. They’ll evacuate them or hunger will do them in.”
“Mmm.” Marcus-Antonius murmured thoughtfully and tried to wipe some of the ink from his fingers with a piece of cloth.
“What do you want to do?” Plautus asked genuinely curious.
“If the army was here,” Antonius started with a sigh. “We could take Issir’s Eagle.”
“But it isn’t,” Plautus noted.
“Aye. Lucius would want us to hold, solve Duke Charles question first. Regia’s borders are secure for now.”
“You can’t control Canlita without Riverdor,” Plautus recited some of ‘Tacitus’ old wisdom. “Else the tiger shall die at Tigerfall trying to take Badum.”
“There will never be another opportunity like this,” Merenda agreed. “With Scaldingport busy and indifferent. The King knows it. I know it. But how can you justify such an action whilst wearing a hero’s tunic? Then you’re not a unifier but just another conqueror.”
“Lucius will stay put,” Plautus continued his thought and Merenda nodded despondently.
“This was as much as he could justify,” the Legatus expounded feeling a burning in his stomach. “He tried with Sula but everything is controlled by Badum and Badum won’t budge as long as Riverdor controls Serpent Tongue.”
“The Khan might come down the King’s Road again,” Plautus noted evenly.
“If Radin succeeds, he’ll have to. But now he has three fronts to deal with and no army ever pulled that off. We almost didn’t. We didn’t.”
“You couldn’t pull Indus out, Damascus would have been overrun, the whole frontline destabilized. It was a sound call.”
“Thus with fancy words we look to justify mounts of corpses and ease our guilt and shame for those we failed,” Merenda said gloomily and tossed the dirty cloth on the table. “What do I give the men if order comes for us to retreat?”
“Antonius,” Plautus said soothingly.
“I just had seven hundred dead legionnaires burned in them fields,” Merenda snapped but quickly reined himself in with a grimace of frustration. “I struggle at this moment.”
“Here’s something to lift your spirits. Baron Eman wants to name the district after the late Celsus,” Plautus said. “This tower rebuilt and made sturdier. Taller. I suggested a statue built at the top next to the crow’s nest. Overlooking the flats.”
Merenda stared at the scholar intently.
“You’ve won yourself a people’s gratitude Antonius,” Plautus continued and the Legatus stood back on the field chair deeply moved. “A rare thing for a presumed conqueror to achieve. We are the good Lorians. Here, under Reinut’s fort.”
“What about the army?” Merenda asked hoarsely. “How will they see it?”
“The 2nd’s men were part of the old guard but Indus was one of yours,” Plautus replied. “You told me you’ll forge the First Legion and make it whole again through adversity. You’ve got your strife and your adversity Antonius. I believe you have already thought of a solution but you’re seeking for my blessings.”
“I value your opinion, you’re a learned man,” Merenda retorted mockingly. He was considering forcing Fulker’s prisoners into military service. They were trained in warfare already and owed them something back.
About twenty five years’ worth of it. But he didn’t want a former mercenary leading the 2nd.
“Don’t be bitter. It makes for poor reading.” Plautus teased him.
“You’ll write about me?”
“I’m seriously considering it,” Plautus replied with a hand wave. “Eh. I’m doing it already.”
“This will be a rough first chapter and an ungratified ending for sure,” Merenda noted sourly but smiled at the end of it and shook his head.
“The first chapter is that weird merchant at Sabretooth,” Plautus admitted. “An aloof Zilan merchant allegedly. Dealer of exotic relics and trinkets giving us a glimpse of the future.”
“It was just a nice pair of boots for pity’s sake. Not really the titillating stuff of legends,” Merenda retorted and turned to see Vegetius approach followed by Cucan almost missing Plautus reply in archaic Lorian.
“Par Ocreis,” the scholar had said deep in his thought, as if something utterly profound had just dawned on him. “Yes, that’s it.”
“Legatus,” Vegetius started pausing to examine the table carefully.
“Food was served earlier,” Merenda informed him. “You missed it.”
Vegetius grimaced looking troubled. “Centurion Pilatus wants the Legatus’ ear.”
“Can I keep it and visit him instead?” Merenda jested finding his footing again.
“I suppose it’ll suffice sir,” Vegetius replied smartly and Cucan nodded sadly probably still thinking of their missing meal.
“Lead the fucking way legionnaire,” Merenda grunted and got up.
----------------------------------------
“What’s the name?” Merenda asked Pilatus and the dirty legionnaire stepped forward under the Issir Decanus Kost’s scrutiny.
“Legionnaire Mucius sir, 1st Maniple, 2nd Century, 2nd Cohort,” the soldier said hoarsely. He’d gore mixed with mud on his boots, more of the same on his armour and clothes. A clearly dead and rotting Issir was tied on a mule behind him, the animal’s reins held by the Decanus of Rangers.
“That’s Dillon,” Kost said rigidly. “One of me own lads.”
Right.
“Mucius… eh, you were with Indus inside Moeras?” Merenda asked the surly legionnaire.
“Until the end sir.”
Merenda sucked a deep breath in and pursed his mouth afore asking hoarsely.
“You made it out?”
“I did.” Mucius reached inside his haversack and got a folded piece of red cloth out. “Escorting this,” he paused unsure for a moment while Vegetius took the cloth from him and unfolded it.
“Ah,” Vegetius said and squinted his eyes.
“And him.” Mucius added after a thoughtful pause.
“You brought the banner out,” an emotional Merenda said and reached to grab his forearm. “Good job Mucius.”
“Dillon did sir,” Mucius replied with a grimace of discomfort. “He thought it important and it was the Centurion’s last order.”
Merenda stared at the legionnaire and then at the dead Issir teenager.
“He didn’t make it,” Mucius rustled. “But I didn’t want to leave him in the woods. He was one of us I guess, same as all them lads left in the village.”
Kost nodded, his hardened face relaxing touched by the sentiment and went to lower the young Issir from the mule.
“Get Dillon’s name marked for a medal Pilatus,” Merenda ordered the Centurion of LID and stared at the weary legionnaire. “Your sacrifice wasn’t in vain Mucius. The Khan’s army shall advance no further.” He paused examining the over forty years old soldier. “You’re not a young recruit.”
“Year twenty fourth sir.”
“I have a need of you still soldier. You’re not out of the woods yet Mucius.”
“I reckon I’m not sir.”
“Indus was my friend. He was an ever-hungry man but I loved him just the same. I lost a friend aye, but I reckon I just gained another. Is that so Mucius?” Merenda asked.
Mucius stood back a little surprised but then nodded. “What about the 2nd Cohort sir?”
“All it needed was its hallowed banner back Centurion Mucius,” Merenda assured him meaningfully, catapulting him to an officer on the spot. “And you brought it to us. By the Allgods, for that we are in your debt.”
-
29th of Secundus
The Pyre Mounts – Hemp Fields
“For the 1st Cohort,” the Panthera Tigris Signifer Sextus Crassus bellowed, hand clenching the tall staff with the gold Blacktiger at its top. The square red banners of the Cohorts behind him, flapping in the soft breeze of Kaltha’s looming Spring. “Tesserarius Gordius Regulus!”
It’s still chilly, Marcus-Antonius thought returning Lady Oline Eman’s warm gaze. A crowd of about a thousand, mostly soldiers on medical leave or off duty with some civilians, though more of the latter were rolling down the slopes and the four large –about three meters high- bone and ash piles.
The next thought a well-meaning wish.
But it’ll only get better henceforth.
“For the 4th Cohort!” Crassus finished up and then paused for dramatic effect. There was a sense of the theatrics in all officers. The talented ones. So Merenda could appreciate that nodding at the sergeant of the 4th bringing up its banner to stand next to the others. He glanced at the scowling Prefect Domus and the ever abstemious Prefect Memon before settling his eyes on the crowd again. “And for the 2nd Cohort,” Crassus announced just as loud. “Centurion Mucius!” Merenda saluted the repaired, re-stitched and recolored, banner under the thunderous applause and delight of the participants. “Semper Deinceps!” Crassus roared and raised the gold tiger’s head higher. Still brandishing it, he stepped aside for the Legatus to climb on the four by four wooden stand.
“Let us salute the hallowed banners,” Marcus-Antonius urged Lorians and Issirs alike. Lorians from Regia, Lesia and Raoz beyond the Shallow Sea. Issirs of all classes, mostly locals but with more and more refugees or freed former slaves swelling up their ranks. Over a thousand Domus had discovered in Kontar’s camp alone. “Under their shade we march. Next to friends and comrades. Under the Panthera Tigris’ golden light we march. From South to the North and from the distant East to these lakes Westernmost than any legion afore us. Ever onwards. We marched in good company and we stand humbled here today, in the presence of an even better one!” He paused to fix the tight leather straps under his chin, in an attempt to regain some of his courage and the crowd of soldiers sensing his discomfort reacted with a growing murmur.
“Stand with Antony!” The ‘Tenor’, officer of LID Furius Tasius bellowed from the ranks cutting through the noise and raised his right fist high in Lorian salute.
“We promised to keep Eagle’s Nest free and we delivered.” An emotional Merenda continued hoarsely. “We pledged to keep these lands out of the Khan’s hands and we did our outmost. It’s a victory but it tastes bitter,” he grimaced but found solace in Lady Oline’s warmth-filled teary gaze along with the strength to go on in a stronger voice. “To the funeral pyres we thus sadly deposit close friends and brave foes, dear comrades and loving family alike. And ask for their names to be heard and be remembered with our heads raised high, without fear of death or punishment. I stand with you under the same banners and share the same fate. Let the gods above judge us gently for surviving while others didn’t and reward those not with us in the flesh with the highest of honors as I said. Aye, a place in the heroes’ pantheon –well deserved- for they were the better of humanity. Honor them today and every day, not as the better Lorians or Issirs, but as noble humans of equal standing, each one as cultured in their souls as the other and the true free-spirited people of Jelin!”
“WITH ANTONY!” The majority of the soldiers erupted thunderously raising their fists and the Issirs joined in with the same enthusiasm. The still bearing the marks of heavy-fighting Hemp Fields quivering under stomping boots and flooding with loud cries of elation.
It went on for almost a full minute under the silent Merenda’s eyes. Then the Legatus’ fist touched his armoured chest returning the salute respectfully and with a sharp bow of the head at the flapping banners, he climbed down the three steps to join his entourage.
“Excellent,” Baron Eman said wiping the tears from his eyes and shook his forearm eagerly. “We have tables setup for an officer’s dinner at the castle.”
“See to feed the troops as well Baron,” a sweating from the stress and still tensed from the speech Merenda replied. Stepping forward he bowed his head again, lips touching Oline’s offered elegant knuckles, next to a modest silver ring. “Milady,” Marcus-Antonius admitted raspingly. “Thy tempting figure and calming presence allayed my fears earlier and urged me forward.”
“I have a chair readied inside the hall dear Legatus, to also offer much-deserved rest after all this exertion,” a blushing Oline replied smartly whilst offering a modest smile, her moist dark lips turning upwards at the edges of her well-shaped Issir mouth.
Why, that’s really… very lovely, Marcus-Antonius thought impressed, fully recovered now.
“This way,” Baron Eman intervened austerely but with noticeably less eagerness than what he used to a couple of months back. Marcus-Antonius followed after him, turning to Prefect Domus when he found the chance.
“Check the chair just in case.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Domus protested through his teeth, keeping his voice low.
“Better yet, have Optio Nak built me an armchair now that he has time in his hands,” a serious Merenda continued, pausing briefly here and there to point at soldiers or return their salutations with big smiles. “And a better bed. I’ll settle for a plaguing divan. I haven’t slept well in months Domus and it started slowing me down. Aye.”
-
> The soon to be ‘comforted’ Merenda was forced to slow down that Spring of 195 NC. With the grieving the loss of a son and politically busy Lucius waiting for the war to throw a wrench to either the Issirs or the Khanate’s ambitions and also other events moving in unexpected ways, the Legatus’ stunning victory at Kaltha’s Lakes almost got lost in the annals of history. Most contemporary ‘famous’ historians delved with those events instead at great length and this isn’t another account of the Great War per se. It’s not easy to attract attention going up against this realm’s most famous of knights’ exploits, legendary duels and a fabled Pirate Queen’s much more interesting and scandalous life story.
>
> This was a victory won in a slow hard manner through attrition and good planning. It came with sound strategy, touches of heroism and level-headed decisions. Nothing too fancy about it.
>
> ‘Charging war elephants, Uher’s Light dropping from the heavens and famous throne-claimants pitted against each other,’ as Marcus-Antonius put it himself that summer while inspecting the new fortifications and the repairs at Eagle’s Nest. Amongst them a nice life-size stone statue of an inspecting the flats Celsus built atop his now twice as big watch tower, one can still see and visit today. ‘A high Duke’s betrayal and the tales of a Wyvern King making deals while Imperial Zilan banners are sailing the South Seas.’ The contemplating Legatus had continued that day. ‘Why, dear Domus, we’d be lucky if we get a footnote.’
>
> The facts on the ground were that the First Legion’s success weakened Prince Radin’s own critical counter-offensive and drew even more attention from the Khan’s main army that still stood victorious in the field beyond the Red Bridge, but now with noticeable deep cracks appearing in its once polished armour.
>
> The myth of the ‘undefeated’ Horselords had been dealt a brutal blow.
>
> In a campaign that had seen less than five hundred dead in months, almost four thousand Khanate soldiers were killed in a single day. Two thirds were literally pulverized trying to break through Celsus machines or attempting to escape through the marshes. General Pourem was praised for saving a third of the command and stopping the rogue Legion’s ‘advance’ from Khanate’s historians. Nobody wanted to praise Marcus-Antonius directly and even the supporting his actions in secret King had to play down the tenacious Legatus’ achievements to keep the balance within the ranks of an enlarged and now restless army.
>
> What Marcus-Antonius had that others didn’t was the love of the common people that found the young general to be the most relatable of Lucius’ Quadrumvirs perhaps because he never took himself too serious in all his bluster. His faults and well-documented vices endeared him to the simple people that couldn’t aspire to reach higher standards but they could dream through him.
>
> But obviously his record, for in a harsh and brutal profession measured by accomplishing impossible feats or perish unceremoniously, the Legatus would keep on delivering in the years and struggles to come again and again. As many victories as bastards. Back in Jelin and here years later, on the burning desert fields of Raoz.
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> Caius-Metilus Plautus
>
> Par Ocreis
>
> Chapter III
>
> 194-195 NC
>
> Kaltha’s Great Lakes campaign
>
> (Also known as Merenda’s Gambit)
>
> Part VIII
>
> -A decent ending-
>
>