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For the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion
🕑 Added 2024-03-13 04:32:16 +0000 UTCFor the Glory of Rome: Chronicles of an Isekai'd Legion
/// This is the second story I mentioned I was working on. It should be more fun and lighthearted than EV. I'm posting the first couple chapters and the rest will be available on the Cult member tier when ready.
Its a collaboration with Neviara and it will be up on her Patreon as well, but eventually on my RR account.
Like with Escaping Valhalla I will be releasing this on RR and the rest of my patreon when I have enough backlog. But for anyone interested in keeping up feel free!
Blurb
A wise man once said all roads lead to Rome. He didn’t know how right he was.
Ripped away from the field of victory, Tiberius and his six thousand Roman legionnaires find themselves in a strange land full of witchcraft. With no way home, their path forward is obvious: conquer everything.
Much to the chagrin of Marcus, the poor, unsuspecting bard who summoned them.
A new empire will arise as they seize cities, battle armies, and expand their territory across this new and foreign land. All the while, Marcus struggles to mitigate the force of nature he's unleashed upon his woefully unprepared world.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When Roman, do as you will.
Chapter 1:
Quintus stepped through the field of dead men, his eyes fixed straight ahead. His bearing was impassive, face stoic: the Primus Pilus would not be moved, even by such a scene as this. Across the silent battlefield, a golden eagle stood tall, guiding him forward to the command post.
As Quintus approached, his gaze trailed down to the man who bore the shining standard of their Legion. Aquilifer Lucius gave him a slight nod, his hand firm on the long staff that the eagle perched upon. Together, they stood in silence. The two were friends of a sort, closer than even the brotherhood found between Legionnaires. But today, the solemn air and exhaustion kept them silent as they stood, waiting for the Legatus to finish talking to his second in command.
After the officer hurried away, the Legatus looked down at his map once more. The polished steel of his breastplate glinted in the rays of the dying sun. At his elbow sat a similarly cared-for helmet, open-faced and topped with a large red plume. After a brief moment, the man beckoned Quintus over.
Quintus stepped forward and clasped his fist to his chest in salute, the clink of his own breastplate echoing in the silence.
"Legatus Tiberius," Quintus addressed the man with utmost respect in his voice.
Tiberius's gaze rose from the map he'd been studying to meet Quintus's own. He had expected to see some measure of weariness there, some small trace of the toll affecting everyone. But even after three hard days of battle, the man's face remained as unreadable as ever. The Legatus's stoicism put even his own to shame.
Tiberius spoke, his deep voice carrying easily. "Report, Primus."
Quintus dropped into parade rest and spoke. "The outriders have returned. The stragglers have been pinned against the Metaurus River and have no hopes of crossing,"
"Good. Crush them, then assemble the men. We have further to march before nightfall." Tiberius looked back down at his map, already dismissing the matter from his mind.
As Quintus marched away, the Legatus ran his fingers over the rough surface of the map. He triple-checked all the numbers and reports the scouts had provided, confirming that everything seemed to line up. The fighting had been fierce, but even when outnumbered 3 to 1, his Legion had emerged victorious with minimal losses.
He would have liked to reward his men with a day of rest so they could recover and mend their equipment, but it was not meant to be. They would have to march to make it to the next rendezvous in time.
It wasn't long before Quintus returned, informing the Legatus that his orders had been fulfilled. After sending a few more officers to the winds with their own tasks, Tiberius tucked his helmet in the crook of one arm and followed the Primus Pilus to inspect their forces.
The Legion had gathered nearby, in a cleared patch of battlefield. Rows of travel-ready men stood before him, stretching as far as the eye could see. Each stood at attention, loaded up with equipment and ready to move at a moment's notice.
Tiberius gave a curt nod at the sight. This level of professionalism was standard, an expectation rather than an achievement. Of course, they would all receive much when they returned from the campaign – commendations and coin and more material awards. But for now, the approval of their commander and his second would have to do.
Tiberius strode to the front of the formation and, as one, the Legion saluted their commander.
"Men. Brothers," he began. "This day will forever be remembered as a day of triumph. A victory befitting Rome."
He began with a few words about the battle, their victory, and the march to come. His men listened with rapt attention. While the Legatus was technically a politician – a senator, at that – he didn't act like one at all. Tiberius was as much a Legionnaire as the rest of them, and the men loved him for it. They knew of no other commander who inspired their men to work as hard as Legatus Tiberius.
"From this field of victory, we should go home to our cups and women and celebrate," the commander bellowed, his voice carrying effortlessly to the six thousand men before him. A few chuckles rippled through the ranks, but were quickly stifled by the centurions. The Legatus let it play out with no hint of disapproval.
"But we will not. We will not rest, because we are not done," he continued. "Northward we march. The Gauls have forgotten their last lesson, believing themselves superior to Rome's prowess. And so we shall go. We shall put down their ill-advised incursion and take back what is ours. Then, we shall teach them what it truly means to be a Roman. "
The Legatus continued, his voice growing in volume and intensity. "There is more glory to be won, more riches to be had, and more barbarians to be crushed beneath our feet. We are not done, for Rome is not done. She is not yet satisfied. And so we shall not stop."
"For the glory of Rome!" The men shouted in unison, saluting as Tiberius finished his speech.
Tiberius nodded in approval, turning to Quintus and the other officers. It was time to march. But before the order was given…
…Quintus vanished.
In a moment, the sounds of shouts and swords leaving their scabbards filled the air. The Legionnaires' expressions went tense as they scanned the area for threats. Tiberius's mind raced with questions. This was no natural occurrence. Had their gods taken his Primus Pilus? Was this witchcraft of some sort?
An instant later, the first row of each cohort vanished, then the second. By the third row, the men were in an uproar, pulling out shields and weapons for defensive formations. But there was nothing to defend against. Row by row, second by second, the Legion disappeared into thin air.
***
Marcus dashed through the darkened streets of the backwater town. Behind him, rapid footfalls and clanking metal told him exactly how close the guards were to catching him. They weren't exactly stealthy, though given their shouts of alarm, they weren't trying to be either.
He swore under his breath. By the time the sun finally rose, the whole town would already be on alert, if they weren't already. And seeing how he wasn't a local, a dedicated search would likely flush him out for good. Meaning he was on borrowed time.
Unfortunately, the best course of action seemed to be moving on to another town. Again. Such was the life of a bard.
It really was a pity. He had hoped to stay for a fair bit more time here, especially after meeting Myra. Her gentle smile, supple skin, and honeyed lips would've been enough to keep him in place for at least a week or two. Hopefully, her heart wouldn't ache for him for too long in his absence.
After a few more maneuvers, Marcus managed to outpace the guards, leaving their shouts in the distance. For now. While he had an opening, it was time to make his escape.
He quickly made his way towards the east gate after he was certain he'd lost the last of them. The stars slowly faded as the pre-dawn light grew, lightening the sky from pitch black to midnight blue. Luckily, the men at the gate seemed half asleep. It was a good sign. It meant he hadn't been warned about any criminals on the loose.
Marcus looked down, checking his appearance. The dull brown of his travel cloak hung about his frame, obscuring the finery and silk shirt beneath. His plumed hat hung askew from all the running, and his hair likely hadn't fared much better. He'd managed to keep hold of his travel bag in the commotion, at least. But other than that…
Normally, he would have been dismayed at his disheveled appearance. But right now? He could work with it.
Marcus rolled his shoulders, then twisted his expression into an appropriate mask of concern. He pulled off his hat and tugged the cloak a little more tightly closed to ensure that a stray breeze wouldn't betray him. He also shifted his pack to make it less visible from the front. Flicking on [Glamor] and [Charm], he smoothly sank into the role of a concerned father as he ran to the gate. The guards straightened as he rushed forward, already wringing his hands in distress.
"Open the gate! Please!" He spoke quickly and urgently. "My son, I have to find him, he's out there–"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" One of the guardsmen put out a halting hand. "Slow down. What's the issue, sir?"
"My son. He's missing!" Marcus clutched at his chest in distress. " The last I saw him he was going to the forest. I fear I may already be too late. I shouldn't have allowed myself to sleep until he returned. I must—" Marcus continued, rambling on.
The other man, more of a lanky teen, really frowned.
"Uh, it's pretty early. We can't open the gate until dawn. Technically–"
"Please. Time is of the essence," Marcus begged, squeezing fake tears out. "I might already be too late."
The first guard patted his shoulder. "All right, sir, we'll let you through, though, if your son spent all night in the forest..." He grimaced as he trailed off, letting the sentence hang.
After a thoroughly profuse slew of thanks, Marcus darted under the gate and towards the forest. Fortunately, his cover story gave him a good enough reason to move quickly, and he dashed along the short road leading into the wooded treeline. As soon as he was out of sight, he leaned against a tree, catching his breath.
Now that he had a moment to think, he cursed his bad luck. How had they found him? Had news spread this far already? No, it couldn't be. He had picked this area precisely because it was remote and disconnected from the rest of the kingdom. They hadn't even heard about the war in the west all the way out here. It was a perfect place to lay low while certain people's tempers cooled. It was the back end of nowhere.
So how had he been discovered so quickly?
It wasn't from his incredible performances – he hadn't even put on a single show here. Something that had taken considerable self control, given the absolutely abysmal state of the tavern performances he'd seen. Honestly, the real mystery was how no one had run that out-of-tune flute player out of town yet. He wouldn't have lasted a second back home.
Marcus let out a long sigh, pushing away from the rough bark. Oh well, at least he had his belongings. He huffed, hefting the small pack on his shoulder and adjusting his travel cloak. This just meant he'd have to continue his search elsewhere. Though at this rate, he seriously had to consider fleeing the country altogether…
Marcus looked further into the dark forest. He had come here with an escort, a guarded merchant train he had tagged along with. They had been watchful and told people not to stray into the forest alone, which was only reasonable. But as long as he stuck to the road, he should be fine, right?
Marcus didn't feel nearly as secure as he would have liked. Naturally, he always listened to local stories when they were told. Who knew when he would get inspiration for his next masterpiece? But the boilerplate tales of scary monsters in the forest hadn't really interested him much. Still, some of the villagers' words were coming back to him now, with far more gratuitous detail than was strictly necessary.
Marcus swallowed loudly and pushed off the tree he was leaning against. Walking quickly, he followed the path away from the village. It wasn't that large of a forest, not on this side. They were on the frontier of the kingdom, true, but the village itself was set only a little distance into the dense woods. It was a logging town that didn't need to be too far in—less than a mile away was the plain, and from there, civilization wasn't too much further. Only a couple of days' journey, tops.
Marcus hefted his pack, checking its weight. He should have enough food for the trip. But if not, he'd been hungry more than once. Perhaps he'd find another traveler and entertain them enough for a shared meal. That usually worked wonders.
A rustling in the forest made his head snap to the side. He peered into the darkness, trying to see what had made the noise. Surely, it had just been a deer or a raccoon or something like that.
He continued along, a little more cautiously now. His eyes continued to scan the trees, hoping to find a level-one forest creature somewhere. But unfortunately, his hopes were dashed as he spotted a dark, indistinct form hidden in the foliage. As he focused on it, a glowing string of golden letters resolved in his vision.
[Shadow Panther - Lvl 7]
Marcus bit his tongue. He wanted to curse, but the creature looked like it hadn't noticed him yet. Maybe he could sneak by without drawing its eye. But if the wind blew wrong... well, he didn't want to think about the other options.
Just as he continued to tiptoe forward, he felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck. Before he could even think, instinct sent him rolling forward into a somersault. He felt the wind whistle just above his head as something tore through the space he'd just occupied.
Springing to his feet, Marcus looked back to see a second Shadow Panther – a level six one this time. Its paw was still outstretched as it finished its swipe. Its glowing purple eyes fixed on him as it gave a low growl. Even worse, the other Shadow Panther had descended from its perch to join its fellow. Evidently, they were working together.
Thinking quickly, Marcus activated [Glamor]. Unlike changing his appearance as he had for the guards, this time he used a different aspect of the skill. He sent a projection of himself running into the darkened forest while doing his best to mask his own presence. Stretching it like this was taxing, but the skill was a high enough level where it might work. Especially if the beasts didn't look too closely.
He continued running down the forest path, towards freedom and hopefully safety. Only a couple dozen steps later, he heard a tinkling as the broken [Glamor] vanished behind him. Still, whether the cats would figure out his deception was unclear. He couldn't afford to look back and check.
As he rounded the next bend, he dropped his [Glamor] to conserve mana. The cats weren't breathing down his neck, so maybe his ploy had worked. Despite most of his skills being designed to work on humans, not beasts. He was a bard, after all, not some rogue assassin or tank with [Taunt] or [Conceal Presence] or anything useful in combat. Still, even as he let his invisibility drop, Marcus kept pumping his arms and legs, ignoring the burn in his calves and the ache in his lungs. He could run a mile. He wasn't in that bad of shape. And if he got out of the forest, surely the Shadow Panthers wouldn't attack him. He'd always heard that they didn't like sunlight.
A light at the end of the tunnel of trees spurred him forward. He pushed on, waiting with dread for teeth and claws to sink into him at any moment. But in a few moments, the light washed over him. Marcus stumbled to a stop, not in relief but in horror.
Before him lay the river he'd expected, its rushing waters clearly visible in the large clearing of tree stumps from local logging operations. Across its banks lay flat, open plains, a dirt road curving invitingly through its grasses. Why the forest had failed to grow on the far side of its banks, Marcus wasn't sure. But that's how it was. There were still several hundred yards of stumps before the river on his side, providing a clear view of the bridge that spanned it.
At least, it should have.
It wasn't like the bridge was easy to miss. It was wide enough for two carriages to pass abreast and nearly eighty paces long. Given the vastness of the river, it had to be big. But the rough-cut lumber structure was nowhere to be seen.
Marcus's heart sank as he ran forward and frantically scanned the riverbank. There, at the end of the dirt path, he saw bits of splintered wood and shattered pylons along both banks. He was in the right place, alright. But the bridge itself was no more.
He swore under his breath. It had rained a lot over the past week, but surely not this much. Sparing a glance to the swiftly-flowing waters before him, he realized that swimming wasn't an option, either. Not unless he wanted to get dashed against those rocks or pulled under the turbulent rapids.
Turning back to the forest, he froze as he found several sets of purple eyes staring at him from its edge. They hadn't come into the light yet, but they were watching him. And that meant there was no way he could hide back there.
He heard the approaching shouts from further up the forest path. To top everything else off, a guard rounded a final bend in the road and spotted him.
"Halt!" One cried out. "Don't move!"
More footsteps echoed from behind the shouting guard as his comrades caught up. A torch flickered in the man's hand. Evidently, he'd planned a little better than Marcus had for getting through the forest.
The bard's glance darted between the guard, the shadow panthers, and the river. He was surrounded on all sides by dead ends and terrible options. There was no getting out of this, no way to hide. He was screwed.
In case it wasn't abundantly obvious, Marcus didn't want to be caught. At a minimum, being captured meant an almost certain confiscation of his belongings, which already was a terrible deal. There was no way he'd give up his stuff that easily. Not his coat, not his hat, and certainly not his instruments. At worst, though… Well, Marcus didn't feel any particular inclination to test that option out, either.
A little reluctantly, he pulled out his emergency option – a leather bound tome, its pages yellowed but surprisingly intact. Its cover bore the image of an eagle with wings spread out wide to either side, its form superimposed on a golden wreath. The letters "SPQR" were embossed in gold underneath the bird's feet.
He'd found the tome with Myra during a very poorly conceived date the previous night. Evidently, the beauty had a thing for ancient ruins or something, and the town had ruins aplenty. At least he'd gotten something out of the night.
Flipping through the book, Marcus searched for the page of the spell within. From a quick glance, the rest of the book seemed to just be flavor text and background rather than actually related to the spell. He obviously would have preferred to investigate the thing a bit more before using it, but there simply hadn't been time. All he knew was that it was clearly labeled as a summoning spell, though he had absolutely no idea what a "Roman Legion" was. A legion indicated a group of something clearly. But "Roman?" Perhaps it would produce a golem army or something.
Whatever the book did, he didn't particularly care at the moment. He just had to hope it would help. Besides, if he got captured here, then he would certainly be saying goodbye to his theoretical legion of golem servants. And so he began reading the Rites for the Summoning of a Roman Legion.
Marcus had cast more than a few spells over the course of his long career as a bard. He wasn't a proper wizard, of course, but any bard worth his salt picked up the general [Spellcraft] skill. Even minor spells could add a certain spice to one's performances, especially in the readings of epic tales. But real magic like this wasn't a trivial matter.
Spells were complex things.The timing, pronunciation, intonation, and a whole host of other things being just slightly off could cause the whole spell to fail. Attempting to cast it like this was like trying to perform a piece of complicated music that he'd only seen for the first time moments ago. Doing it while under duress? It would fray the nerves of even the most seasoned performer.
Luckily for Marcus, he was quite the bard.
The words of the spell flowed off his tongue with confidence and fluidity. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow in consternation as the guards drew ever closer About halfway through the spell, he heard a shout of warning.
"He's a spellcaster!"
"He's the scoundrel we're looking for, I know it! Be careful!"
Yet Marcus didn't rush. After a few tense moments, the incredibly long spell was completed, and with a vocal flourish, Marcus said the final words.
For a moment, nothing happened. In the sudden silence, all he heard was the clanking of armor and the rustling of leaves.
Marcus blinked. Had the spell failed? No, spell failures were far more dramatic. They usually didn't fizzle like–
A flash of crimson and gold light blinded him. His senses were filled with the clash of metal, the roar of a great audience, visions of battles won and eagles with golden wings. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it all stopped.
Blinking away the disorientation, Marcus's vision slowly returned. He'd fallen to the ground in his surprise, but he was no longer alone. Now, a second figure had joined him in the clearing.
A male figure, standing just a bit taller than himself, stood resolutely before him. The man was clad in a polished metal breastplate, its overlapping sheets catching the rays of the rising sun, and a shirt-like garment of leather and red cloth. A great assortment of blades, spears, and other equipment protruded from his back and belt. Slung across his shoulders was a rectangular red shield bearing four golden wings across its front. And to top it all off, he wore a strange helmet bearing a vertical plume of red and white feathers.
Marcus stood staring in awe at the man. He was clearly a warrior of some kind, given his equipment and musculature. But the coloring and the ornamentation… Surely this was no normal soldier? Who would have the audacity to wear such a thing? It put even his own colorful performance cloak to shame.
But before he could so much as greet the man, a flash of motion caught his eye. An inky black cat leapt from the shadows and into the light. Against everything he'd expected, the panther didn't look to be any worse for wear as the rising sun's rays hit its fur. Really? Had the sunlight thing been an old wives' tale? Why hadn't they taken him down earlier, then?
The questions flashed through his mind as he called out a strangled warning to the summoned man. Without hesitation, the warrior sprang into action. He spun around to face the cat, drawing his blade at the same time. The blade tip gracefully sliced through the panther's throat in a spray of blood. The warrior continued the motion even as he ducked beneath its lunge, brought up his shield, and slammed aside the other massive cat coming for him. It fell to the ground and the warrior stabbed down into its skull.
Before the shadow panthers had even finished twitching, the warrior was moving again, spinning to face the guards still charging from the forest. Raising his curved rectangular shield, the warrior deflected an arrow and sent it whizzing off to the side. The warrior's expression turned stony. The guards drew their weapons and charged even closer as the two with bows shot more arrows from behind.
Marcus gulped. Despite the warrior's incredible melee prowess, he wasn't sure if he could take on a half a dozen trained guards with archer support. Not by himself. Even worse, Marcus himself was completely undefended. If the archers had aimed at him, he'd be dead in an instant.
As another round of arrows loosed. Marcus ducked behind a stump, hoping that it would be protection enough. He heard the shots slam into the shield again as hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe the man would make it? Peeking his head out to check the situation, he blinked.
An entire line of soldiers wearing almost identical armor spanned the clearing. There had to be at least a hundred of them. They'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere, just behind the first.The original red-plumed warrior glanced behind him and issued a single command. "Shields!"
With military precision, the men slung shields from their backs to their arms and snapped together in a solid wall, blocking a couple other arrows the panicked guards loosed their way. Beyond them, Marcus could just make out the figures of the charging guards skidding to a halt and scrambling back the way they'd come. The warrior yelled again.
"Advance!"
The wall of shields advanced. An instant later, another row of warriors appeared where they had been standing and kept marching after their fellows.
Then another.
Then another.
Then a dozen more.
Marcus watched from his place on the ground as a literal army appeared before him, line by line. The endless torrent of men marched forward, all bearing shields and short swords with packs on their backs. They relentlessly pursued the retreating guards through the forest, heading toward the unaware town beyond it.
It was at that point that Marcus realized he might have made a mistake.
Chapter 2:
Quintus blinked as the light around him changed. Suddenly, it was a different dawn. An earlier one. Not only that, but the sunlight was being filtered through a dense forest canopy around him.
With a start, he realized that he stood in a clearing of tall grass, its blades fluttering slightly in the breeze. It was not the open plains and former battlefield by the Metaurus River. Rather, this was scenery he'd expect to see in Gaul. Where was he? Perhaps he'd died and gone to Elysium? Perhaps some enemy had caught them unawares, putting an arrow through his skull? It seemed improbable, but what else could it be?
Looking down at himself, Quintus quickly took stock of the situation. He realized that he still bore all of his equipment, then surveyed his surroundings. On the ground nearby sat a man with a book, his jaw hanging open in surprise. It took a single glance to tell the man was not a real threat, at least not on the battlefield. He was alone and dressed like the fops that plagued Rome. Quintus put him out of his mind and focused on more relevant matters. Specifically, the animal leaping toward him and the men charging out of the forest.
Quintus wheeled around and saw a black cat that looked like a bigger version of a lion without the mane pouncing at him. A quick arc of his sword slashed through the cat's neck, carrying it to the ground as he rolled out of the way of its claws. He bashed another aside and stabbed it in the head before looking to the next threat.
A group of half-armed figures emerged from the treeline, sporting bows and poorly-maintained swords. Despite their lacking equipment, it was at least consistent. Quintus would have guessed they were guards or soldiers of some sort. But if that were the case, they were obviously not up to the task. A city needed men to protect it. Not these half-baked, soft-armed weaklings.
The man with the book let out a shout of warning. One of the archers amongst the barbarians loosed an arrow, but the Primus Pilus had his scutum ready. The curved rectangle of hardened metal and wood raised to meet the shot, deflecting it. He felt a moment of surprise at its accuracy, but the force was severely lacking.
Coming back to his feet, he deflected another arrow, sending it skittering to the side. He didn't have time to marvel at the now dying cats at his feet. Right now, he was under attack.
Suddenly, Quintus heard a familiar sound at his back. With a quick glance, he confirmed it. The first rank of the Legion had appeared behind him. How or why were questions for later. Right now, they were under fire from a hostile force in an unknown location with no officer present. So the first centurion did what he was trained to do: go on offense.
"Shields!"
He shouted the order to the men who had just arrived. Their training kicked in and a thundering clash sounded as the shields interlocked into a wall at his back. It stiffened his spine with confidence.
"Advance!"
The shield wall began taking steps forward, toward their aggressors. The line seamlessly parted for Quintus to lock in his shield as he joined. Together, they deflected a couple arrows the increasingly panicked archers loosed their way.
As soon as they realized the futility of their efforts, the barbarians started running. The next rank of Legionnaires appeared behind Quintus's line and immediately locked their shields, but a quick order had them spinning around and watching their flanks for other threats. Around five seconds later, the third rank of legionnaires appeared.
Quintus kept everyone moving forward so that the rest of the Legion would have space to arrive. Even then, they'd be hard-pressed to fit everyone in this clearing. So until an officer showed up and told him otherwise, his priority was clear: to secure the surrounding area.
Several more orders were issued, and the second cohort split off to watch the perimeter and prevent any more monsters from sneaking up on them. The rest of the four cohorts marched after the barbarian town guards. Securing the area might be simple, but the biggest obstacle would be an opposing force. They needed to follow them back to their base and determine the threat. If it was in the immediate area, they'd secure it.
Of course, it was always possible that they were being led into an ambush, but that seemed unlikely to Quintus. The patrol seemed genuinely startled and unprepared for the Legion's appearance, for one. Also, if the ambushing force were similarly trained and equipped, he had no doubt that they'd fall easily even to a fraction of the Legion's men. But without knowledge of the area and its people, it would be impossible to tell for sure.
Large-scale tactical decisions like that were the kind of thing that was best left for officers. And with no officer present, raw aggression was their best course of action. Especially if there were more threats about.
Quintus didn't change their orders, and the ranks continued marching forward up the road. The barbarians sprinted back, slowly, pulling away from the Legion in their haste. It probably meant their base was close, Quintus thought. Otherwise, they would never be able to maintain that pace. Though panicked men weren't known for their rational thinking. Either way, if his men kept marching quickly, they wouldn't get too far.
Following even this pitiful excuse for a road would be good enough. Quintus ordered the men to move slightly faster. The encroaching forest forced them to adjust their formation, moving in a narrow column down the path. Still, the wall held steady, and they could maintain this pace for hours, even if they would be slightly more vulnerable to arrows. But he wanted to secure the area as soon as possible.
His judgment call soon paid off. Around a bend, they emerged from the forest to find the walls of a small town nearby. At first, he was impressed. Barbarians didn't often gather in such large numbers. But that only lasted a moment.
The wall was shoddy by imperial standards. Woefully so. When they civilized this area, they would need to replace it. Even the temporary palisade they made at camp each night would do better to stop an assault than that wall.
"Slings, stand ready!"
Quintus felt the wall shift around him as those proficient with slings stepped to the back. They pulled out their weapons and stones, getting projectiles ready. The barbarian guards were just reaching the wall, and despite their shouts, the town had not formed any sort of real defensive response. Not yet, at least.
A moment later, the ranks around him reformed. Men stepped up to slot into the shield wall. With another command, the Legion formed into a turtle formation and marched into archer range. The gates opened for the fleeing men. The sound of loud bells shattered the air as the town finally recognized that it was under threat. Though an opening in the shields, Quintus saw a handful of archers pop up on the wall, talking ineffectual shots at their formation.
The slowness with which the gates closed behind the men showed sloppy discipline by the guards. This was further demonstrated by the fact that the Legion was almost at the wall before any sort of concentrated arrow fire came at them.
As their formation butted up against the base of the wall, Quintus and the men in the first rank went down on one knee and braced their shields against its wooden pillars and their shoulders. The position gave them cover from attackers and also provided a foothold for the second rank as they climbed up. The little boost was all they needed to get their hands over the top of the now panicking wall. It wasn't even cut properly to prevent easy scaling.
The second rank flung themselves up and over the wall, and the third rank quickly followed. He heard shouts of alarm and battle as the Legionnaires engaged their enemies. Less than a minute later, the gates were once again open, this time with a perimeter formed by the second and third ranks. They stood above groups of several surrendered guards, all of them sitting down with hands raised and their weapons in a pile.
Quintus stepped through the gate at the head of the Legion and looked around. Given the state of the wall and the guards, he shouldn't have expected much. But the place he found himself surveying could barely be considered slums. The roads were simple packed dirt and mud, the buildings little more than wooden hovels with no real ornamentation or architecture of note. He wouldn't have been surprised if they didn't even have proper sewage systems. How uncivilized were these people?
The main street wasn't quite a straight shot to the center of town, but it was close enough that he could see a larger central building erected there. Even from this distance, it was easy to spot the white flag being raised atop it.
The meaning was quite clear, but Quintus wasn't about to let his guard down. Not when there were still so many unknowns.
With a few orders, the first rank established a cordon several blocks wide. Quintus took a moment to confer with several of the centurions of the first cohort. Gallus, Remus, Antonius, and Castus gathered around him.
"Sweep the town. We need a full count of the civilians. Gather all military-aged men outside the wall and keep them under watch." His gaze swept across the other centurions. "Don't let anyone do anything stupid. Keep lethal force to a minimum. If they're willing to surrender this quickly, then hopefully, they'll be smart and be willing to listen. Besides, our Legatus might have use for them," Quintus instructed.
The centurions nodded without a hint of surprise at their orders. So far, the bloodshed had been extremely limited, which was fortunate. It would make matters much easier if the people didn't throw their lives away needlessly. Each of the Centurions had been through many campaigns and seen the trouble that came with needlessly violent conquest. No one wanted to have to deal with that. Besides, it was obvious they were in a completely unknown area. Who knew how far they were from familiar lands, much less friendly ones? No, right now, they needed a base of operations.
As they worked to secure the city, more and more Legionnaires continued to pour in. Their ranks swelled, making Quintus expect that it was only a matter of time before the entire Legion arrived. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the Legatus reached the gate with the rest of his officers.
"Legatus Tiberius," Quintus said with a salute.
Tiberius examined his first centurion with an approving stare. "Report, Primus."
***
As Quintus described the situation and how they'd gotten here, Tiberius nodded with satisfaction. Watching his men vanish before him had been a terrifying sight. Witchcraft like that would unsettle anyone's stomach. A few quiet words and prayers to the gods were the only thing he allowed himself in front of his men before he, too, was banished.
Finding everyone intact on the other side had been a relief. One that he didn't show outwardly, of course, but still felt nonetheless.
Tiberius stepped forward through the gates and surveyed the area. He frowned, agreeing with Quintus's impression of the place as a backwoods barbarian outpost. But still, it meant there were other people about. At least they weren't in the middle of nowhere.
As Quintus finished his report, Tiberius nodded once again. He wished there was some promotion he could give the man. He wasn't sure if he could trust any of his staff officers or even a second to keep a level head in that kind of situation, let alone so efficiently secure the area and eliminate all threats.
Unfortunately, any commission would need to be confirmed by the Senate or the Emperor for him to advance. And as far as they knew, Rome might as well be a world away. So for Quintus to advance any further... Well, if there was a battlefield vacancy, he knew who was going to fill it.
"Come," Tiberius ordered. "We will find the leaders of this settlement. I have many questions to ask."
With that, the two men headed off to the center of the town.
/// I hope you enjoyed. I would love to hear any feedback you have for me!
Comments
boomshockalocka
I love this.
JonZealot
Will they be more anytime soon?
