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Chapter 1

'Do you hear that faint sound carried on the wind my lad?' Cato looked up from his energy sapping work in the field to stared across at his father. A mountain of a man, who leant upon his hoe staring off into the distance to the east of their small farm in the hills that encircled the small local town below.
Wiping his sweat drenched brow on the back of his arm, Cato answered. I hear nothing but the wind in the trees father.
He had been toiling along side his father since the break of dawn, and was finding it hard to hear anything other than the pounding of the blood in his ears. He lifted his hoe to continue in his work when the intensity of the words spoken next made him freeze in his labour and truly listen.
'Listen boy!' A few seconds passed before he became aware of the faint murmur and the distant ringing of what seemed like hammers and the striking of metal.
'What is that sound..Father?' But the man he had once knew was gone. Instead a warrior now stood in his place itching for his armour, a sword to grasp, and a stout shield on his arm. 'War' He answered with relish.

His father bade him find his brother to warn him of the impending danger and had set off at a manful pace down the track leading from their farm to raise the alarm. Having been set to his task, Cato bounded along the hillside in search of his brother 2 years his younger.
Leaping small brooks and streams at the gallop, trying hard to keep a firm footing in the loose pebble and stony ground that dotted the landscape, he called his brothers name as he ran. Catching a few mournful notes from his flute just over the next rise, he ran towards the sound as fast as his laboured breath would allow.
Up ahead his kinsman lounged on a large flat rock surrounded by a small flock of goats and offspring, happily chewing the yellowing summer grass before his dangling feet. Being 13 meant it was entrusted to him the duty of guarding the livestock and to keep the wolves at bay from the land. The notched leather sling by his side was no idle threat.
Peeking through the thick mop of curly unruly locks, Anton caught sight of his brothers speedy arrival and called out in greeting. 'Ho, brother! How goes the tilling with father?'
Cato ignored his cordial greeting and pushed his way through the small herd startled by his sudden appearance to grab painfully at his arm. Yanking him from his perch, he pulled him away down the hill, repeating. 'We must make it to the town, hurry brother!'

Sprinting into town on blown legs and gasping breath, the two boys were greeted by a scene of ordered chaos. Women and small children ran in the streets wailing and screaming as they made for the town centre, while men of all ages ran towards the armoury to takes up their allotted position amongst the 15th Calidonian cohort.
They scanned the crowd in search of their father, but it was impossible task in all the commotion laid out before them.
Anton elbowed his older brother in the side after a few fruitless minutes to get his attention over the noise, and pointed the way towards the armoury.
Grasping his plan immediately, Cato lead the way into the press, and once again they set off at a run while scanning the small river of men heading in the same direction.

Three streets back from the main gate and wall, the crowd slowed as they neared the armoury, causing people to push and shove at each other to be free of the wall of flesh around them. Outside it's sturdy doors and solid frame stood a thick set of a man sporting an impressive array of cuts and scars all over his exposed flesh.
Held in his hand was the symbol of his authority to beat the citizenry of the empire to shape them into the best fighting men the world had ever known.
Whack! 'Get into line you son of a whore!' Bellowed the Centurion, and liberally applied his vine cane to the rabble offending his eyes.
'You! Yes you! Your on a charge sunshine' Pointing his cane of lumpen wood at the offender in question, who visibly shrank back from the savage training tool.
The Centurion wheeled round to face the nearest of his subordinates at his back. 'Opito, take that man's name and rank!'
'Sir!' Said the grizzled veteran snapping to attention, and then preceded to beat the man on the spot as the now hushed and orderly line filed past the groans and writhing form in the dust, and the punishment meted out by cane and fist rained from above.
Not daring to face the wrath of the officers icily glare scanning the crowd for his next victim, the two boys held their place in the line that had formed up around them a moment ago. Steadily they shuffled along with the rest with thoughts of looking up and down the line for their father banished from their minds.

Nearing the front, they were quickly picked out by the steely gaze of the grey flecked Centurion, who briskly walked over to their place in line to cast his professional eye over the two unlikely hero's.
Both seemed fit and agile. which was to be expected at their age. And both held his gaze as he gave them the once over. Telling him they had spirit. Good he thought. They were going to need it, and addressed the elder of the two.
'A little premature for you boys to be lined up with the lads is it not..?' But nothing escaped from the two brother's dry cotton ball mouths.
'Well it's your lucky day ladies, because I need every man I can get my hands on, and your it. Welcome to the 15th. He said with a smile and draping his arms over their shoulders as he steered them to the front of the que towards the desk at it's head.
'Pisco, Iv'e got just the challenge for you' He called out, addressing the grey haired veteran looking up irritably from his indentures on the wax slates spread across the campaign desk.
'A little young for this Malarkey ain't they, sir?' Casting disapproving glances in their direction while he spoke frankly with his commander.
'Just get them signed up on the books and issue them their seal will you' All joviality of the moment before gone from his voice. 'And make sure they sign for their equipment or I'l hand your tanned hide to the Quartermaster as payment if you don't' With that he had walked off to scream a stream of obscenity at some luckless fool.
An awkward silence followed as the two young boys and the Centurions adjacent stared at each other over the dented and battered desk. Pisco broke the moment with a sigh and reached for a wax slate and stylus, flinging it it down in front of them with a growl and a thumb gesture over his shoulder. Sign here, and collect your kit in there.

Half an hour later the two unlikely soldiers took it in turns to admire themselves in the brass bosses of their heavy wooden and lacquered shields at their newly acquired appearance. Like thousands of men before them, they swaggered back and forth for the next five minutes in their jingling armour in a poor attempt in imitating the gait of a seasoned fighter while wearing a simpletons grin stretched across their face.
Having been told to wait close to the enterance of the armoury for the Centurion who had been saddled with with these two young up starts being inducted into his century, they waited in apprehensive silence.
'What do you think he'l be like?' Asked Cato, as he nervously scanned the three streets leading to where they stood.
'Proberly a hard bar-steward with six teeth' Joked Anton, only half listening as he admired the Gladius's lethal edge with his thumb he had snatched out from the scabbard by his side.
'Seriously brother' Casting a withering glance in his direction.
'Oh I don't know Cato, it's not like I've been a soldier for five minutes. Ask me next week, by then I'l proberly be a Centurion by then' He joked.
'And Emperor by the end of the month, eh' Replied Cato with a grin.
'Hail Caesar!' Said a voice from close by, startling the two, who turned to see a hulk of a man bedecked in chain mail, greaves, and a heavy brass crested helmet clamped over his head and bull of a neck. Standing there with a mocking smile, and tree trunk arms crossed before his barrelled chest, the man lifted his right hand in a mock salute. 'Hail!'
'Father?'
'Yes lad. Now follow me as quick as you can now, there's no time for questions. There's not much time left to prepare' And lead them towards the eastern gate.




Standing next to a store of neatly stacked javelins and piled rocks, the two boys stared out upon the vista afforded to them from their view atop the battlements above the gate. In their ill fitting armour, they felt more than a little conscious about being surrounded by men more than twice their age and fighting experience. As Cato watched the skyline intensely, Anton beat a nervous tatoo on the metal rim of his shield.
'Do you think we'll have to wait long?' Asked Anton as he checked his scabbard for the hundredth time while leaning his javelin on his shoulder.
'Who knows brother'
'I don't think I can stand all this waiting much more' To which Cato simply nodded his assent not once taking his gaze off the horizon.
'Easy lads' Rumbled the hoary middle aged soldier at Anton's side. 'The waiting's the worst part of war. It gives soldiers like us too much time to think about the frailties of the flesh and what carnage a sword can truly do. Chin up my lad, you wont have long to wait now.' Clapping his shield arm on Anton's shoulder before turning back to watch the rise of the nearest hill.
Anton gave Cato a side long look as if to say was that meant to be comforting, to which he could only shrug in reply.

Seconds dragged on like minutes, and minutes seemed like hours as they waited for the enemy combatants to cross the rise to their front, giving Cato time to wonder at the man he thought he once knew. He stole the occasional glance down the row of roughly 80 hardy men deployed atop the gate and surrounding walls. Watching as his father confidently strolled the walkway talking at ease with his section leaders and one of two nervous squadies with his Opito and standard bearer in tow.
How had he not known? Why had he never told him? These questions and more swirled inside his skull at the enigma that was his father. A man who he had never thought more than a simple farmer. These thoughts were all consuming, leaving him in another world as he stared ahead sightlessly over the small plain that was little more than the bowl to the encompassing hills.

A flash of metal caught his eye as it gleamed in the afternoon sun atop the rise to his left, and it took him a moment to realise that he had sighted the approach of the enemy first. His heart skipped a beat and began to pound in his ears as his palms became wet with moisture that had not there a second ago. The cold chill on the nape of his neck made him shudder. 'Enemy in sight!' he yelled, and waited for his father to jog over from near by.
'Where lad?' Scanning the hillsides but finding nothing he let out a frustrated breath. 'Use your javelin boy!' And Cato sighted his spear tip on the horizon. Looking along the shaft to the tip the Centurion spied the enemy at once.
Speaking in a soft enough voice so that only his two sons could ascertain the words, he said. They're coming, stand ready...know that I love you no matter what happens next. And quickly strode away before either of them could reply.

Now this I can like, you never can go wrong with Romans

Exactly! It's because they are soooo awesome. Damn I love history.

Now do Vikings!

Indeed, Roma victor!

And good job!

Hmm, Vikings you say, not bad idea that.

Thanks rez.

Ave Caesar!

IN NOMINE IMPERATORIS!

Though I'd get that one in there to be a flying

By Odin! I will loot and pillage your home and wench Roman!

Fortune will smile on me that day for the mighty god Mars, rides at my side. Death to Romes enemies follows in his wake, and haunts his every step. Do not test thy wrath barbarian!

Bit of a fan of the Romans so i couldn't resist giving this a read. It seems well researched and i couldn't really find any major problems with the facts. I look forward to the battle.

My only real issue regarding the setting is also a story one, the pacing seems very off. The story seems to repeatedly jump from eager young recruits joining for adventure to a desperate call to arms. Makes it quite confusing, the first paragraph is also a bit muddled for me, starting off on the wrong foot. Personally i would recommend going down the eager young recruits looking for adventure route. With minimal editing/rewrites you could even still involve their father

In terms of writing i feel alot of the sentences were too long, often with commas in the place of periods. There were a couple of confusing apostrophes i really struggled with as well (Hero's and [the two]Gladius's). I initially thought they were grammatically incorrect but on second thought i think you're correct technically but they are clumsy and the sentences they're in need edited imo. I don't usually harp on about grammar but the repeated misspelling of 'You're' really grated and ground the story to a halt.

All in All i liked it but it needs a really thorough proof-read.

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
Fortune will smile on me that day for the mighty god Mars, rides at my side. Death to Romes enemies follows in his wake, and haunts his every step. Do not test thy wrath barbarian!

Oh look, the wolf cub growls! I like my women fierce Roman!

Thou knowest not the danger thy is in Northman. Trouble not the machine of war. Your kinsman shall be left for the ravens and crows to peck at their greying flesh! To war! None shall stand in our path!

The woods of Germania will be your grave son of Rome, Varrus never saw the blade looming over his head. Nor will you

I am the distant thunder of a thousand shodden feet. I am the clank and clatter in the night before the dawn. I am the arrow notched to the bow sent sailing into the sky. I am the blade at your throat smeared with your families blood. For I am Rome.

Perkustin - This story is just meant to stop a bit of writters block, but thank you for the feed back. I will try to keep spelling and grammer mistakes to a minimum.

I pretty much agree with Perkustin. The pacing needs some work, but overall its well written. Nicely done.

Chapter 2

A tide of bobbing figures poured forth from the hillside onto the plain below from the east, lead by a screen of horseman. Their uniformed marching tread echoed like a drum beat from the earth as the squeaking of wheels from their baggage train snaking into view from above filled the air.
To Cato's unprofessional eye it seemed like tens upon thousand's of warriors filled the plain before him, but in reality was only a mere four thousand. Watching them tramp over the small plain towards him sent a swarm of butterflies racing through his stomach and bile pushing at the back of his throat, and he swallowed uneasily. On they tramped, over the yellowing grass, scattering the livestock left beyond the safety of the walls who bleated as they ran.
A half a mile distant from the town, the host halted with a stamp with their silent still ranks glistening in the sun off their assortment of armour and weapons.

A small group of horseman broke into a canter and approached the gate while the vanguard continued to slowly encircle the town. A hundred feet from the gate, the Centurion cupped his hands to his lips to shout his challenge. 'Halt! Stand if thee be men of peace!' The twenty or so lancers and horse archers reined in at his command with the leader emerging from their middle to the front and drawing back his face covering to reveal his darken features and neatly oiled ringlet beard.
'Parthain's' Said the hoary soldier from earlier, and spat over the wall towards the envoy and his bodyguards.

The envoy rode forwards with two escorts and lifted up his voice so all the soldiers upon the wall could hear his words. 'Greetings Centurion, I bring warm tidings from my master prince Amenton to your noble town' His voice dripping with the practised ease of a man versed in rhetoric and dealings of court. His mouth set into a falsehood smile that never reached his almond eyes.
'My prince only wishes friendship in this land, not bloodshed. We need not be foes with you and you people. He only asks for any spare food and water in this land of plenty for his highnesses army in sign of your fealty. What say you? And very eye turned towards the Centurion in anticipation of his reaction to this veiled threat.
'I will not hear lies from you, snake. You slither in the grass and speak with forked tongues to whisper in my ear. If you be not a man and have no true words to speak, be gone before my javelin is sent in answer, slave.
The envoys face flashed red as he gripped his reins tighter and rose up in his saddle. The blood of your people shall flow in the streets about their hovels! your women and children shall be slaves, but not you! If you live to see these walls taken I shall personally see to your execution Centurion!'
In answer the Centurion stepped back and hefted his javelin. His arm shot forward in a instant, hurling it's bolt slicing through the air to impale the archer next to the envoy in the guts, and the man rolled off his saddle with a groan to sprawl in the dust.
With that a small but furious exchange of shots zipped through the air as the horseman galloped to safety, firing their barbed arrows twisted in the saddle to protect their charge as the soldiers from above who had snatched up their bows to speed them on their way, leaving several bodies lying before the gate and road.
A small cheer rose up from the century at the flight of the enemy, but the Centurion knew it just signalled the beginning.


As the sun sunk to the west, the Parthain host arrayed it's self for battle. Cato watched anxiously as hundreds of men in the garb of tribesmen began to form up into a dense mass armed with incendiaries, ladders and wicked looking curved swords and short round shields. Behind these were the main infantry armed with banded armour, falitcas(spell fail) and leafed spears ready to stab over their rectangular shields, ready to be called forward if and when a breach in the defences were made.
He shifted his gaze away from the bobbing masses to the small thin red line around him starring impassively out over the scene. There were a few faces among them that wore their fear openly, but most awaited the charge with stone hard expressions of seasoned professionals.
Beside him, Anton, fidgeted once again with his wire grip pommel or rapped a tatoo on his shield and he prayed that he didn't look so fearful, even though the iron grip of fear clawed at his guts.
A chant was taken up by the tribesmen, refocusing his attention outwards once more, and he watched their chieftains stood before the massed warriors whip them up into a battle frenzy.
Their voices rose and fell on the cool breeze, punctuated by a unified clatter as they beat the edge of their shields with their blades as they began to edge towards the wall. The chant rose one last time to it's crescendo and with a terrifying war cry on each lip twisted in hate, they charged.

Eyes wide with fear, Cato stared at the tribesmen sprinting eagerly across the open ground before the gate and wall as their flowing robes billowed behind them. The few armed with compact bows dropped to their knees as the rest ran by, and began loosing a constant stream of arrows onto the defenders who sheltered behind their defences and oblong red shields.
A loud whack from the left then the right of the gates towers and corner towers signalled the flight of the massive bolts soon to tear through human flesh, spearing through blood and bone in welters of red spray.
The tribesmen bearing ladders and incendiaries held their nerve as scores were cut down around them by hastily flung javelins and men bobbing up from the shelter of the wall as they released the leaden weight from slings worked to blurred motion. Doggedly they piled lumps of wood and cloth soaked in oil and pitch against the gate as the rest raised their ladders to the battlements above even as heavy rocks hurtled down from above to crush men to misshapen flesh.

Cato knew none of these things as he pressed himself deeply into the curve of his shield while barb tip arrows skidded and deflected from it's front and brass boss and he stifled a cry at every jarring impact to a teeth clenching cringe.
A solid thump on the wall and scraping of loose stone meant only one thing. He peered round his metal trim in time to see a cloth bound head appear above the parapet and a pair of almond eyes regard him in a calculating manner before the man leapt atop the wall preparing to jump down amongst his foes.
Cato felt frozen with fear and his feet looked in ice while his mouth worked dumbly as he hyperventilated in terror. The man pulled back his war spear with a savage joy in his eyes as he prepared to rip out Cato's throat in a gory fountainhead gush of blood, but the cold metal never got the chance to taste his flesh. Anton's javelin stabbed in from the side, and the man fell back from the wall with a cry, gripping the javelin wedged in his chest.
Cato nodded in thanks to his brother who nodded back grimly as he snatched up a fresh javelin and focused his attention on the wall again where a new enemy crested the stone battlements to his left as more and more ladders were flung against the wall.

All along the towns wall the tribesmen swarmed like locusts with their war cries resounding from rock and stone as the thin red line hacked, slashed, thrust, cut, and battered them bloody from atop the walls to fall back amongst their kin.
Time and again small foot holds were gained upon the battlements, only to be beaten back by the superior war gear and short stabbing blades of the Romans as they made light work of the weight of numbers arrayed against them in the close quarter fighting.
With the cohort was distracted by the princes fodder, the elite of his host sprang to life as they formed up in a dense column around the ram shaped brass tipped battering ram housed in a hide covered shelter on crude hewn wheels. The crack of whips against tortured flesh and the cries of pain from the slaves inside told of the Herculean effort it took to move the mass of timber from the camp and across the uneven ground to the road leading to the eastern gate.

Bloodied blade in hand, Cato duelled with a tall gaunt faced tribesman who hacked and slashed with his curved blade, punching his round shield repeatedly into his own as he tried to widen the battle line for his comrades following behind up the ladder at his back.
His grip on the leather strap to his shield began to fail him as the strikes to it's front numbed his arm, and his sword arm jarred painfully as he meet the downward slash aimed at his head with a overhead block.
The two blades clashed with a ring and shower of sparking metal were they hung in the air as each combatant tested their strength against the other as they tried to force their blade to do their bidding. The tribesman snarled into his face while slamming his shield forward in a attempt to brake the deadlock, but Cato rode the blow with a slight stagger and pushed himself forward into the curve of his own to throw his helmeted head into the face of the battle crazed man.
With a cry and squirt of blood from his ruined nose, his attacker fell to the floor as his vision dimmed and Cato plunged his blade down into the man's ribs aimed at his heart, pulling it free with a twist of his wrist and grimacing at the crack of bone as the gladius tore free.

Looking up from the dying man he saw his brother and another pushing the ladder away from the wall to his left while the veteran from earlier battled with two tribesmen pressing home their advantage to his right.
He moved to support the hard pressed warrior by appearing at his side and striking out with shield and blade that saw their foes put to the sword in short order, and he shared a grateful grin of thanks with the man.
The wall shook suddenly under foot, and he dared a glance over the wall to the gates bellow to see the rams head slam into the towns thick wooden gates and shake the wall once more, the sound a death knell to them all.

Chapter 3

The rhythmic thump of the ram below and the clatter of blades, occasionally accompanied by a wail of pain or shout of triumph mingled into a constant roar in Cato's ears. And if he had time to think past the next thrust, he would have found it truly terrifying.
The sound of battle had a peculiar effect on fighting men. Firing the the senses to fever pitch with it's sights and sounds, as well as chilling men to the core with the blood curdling screams of the mortally wounded, and the sight of dead men staring in shock at their gaping wounds.
But Cato was insensitive to all this as he, with his companions and kin, were slowly driven back from the wall behind their large rectangular shields. Blades punching out into the press of flesh before them while they withdrew step by step down the towers broad steps, until they found themselves at the gates with their enemies hard on their heels. With the rest of the century from the surrounding walls fighting their way towards the relative safety of their comrades gathering at the gates.

When the last section had reached safety, Cato heard his father raise his voice over the din to form a four sided box, and the men punched out their shields and swords to clear space while the faint of heart were cajoled into formation by the hash barks and the flats of blades from section leaders who passed the order down the line to the men under their charge.
The legionnaires drilled ruthlessly with years of training fell into formation under the blows of their foes on their splintering shields. The first rank stepping over the bodies piling in the street before them as the second rank finished off the wounded under foot until a small box stood in the enterance to the main street surrounded by screaming and shouting tribesmen intent on their blood.
After a silent count of three, the order to advance was given, and the box of tired men tramped off towards the square at the center of the town. Followed by the levies of the prince, who hurled themselves at the rearguard in hope of breaking the shield wall. Only to earn six inches of steel thrust into the ribs for their recklessness, causing a carpet of bodies of friend and foe to follow in the century's wake as they marched on.

Barely had they gone more than a hundred yards when the locking bar finally gave way to the punishment of the ram, and the Prince's elite cadre poured through the hard won defenses to chase down the dwindling ranks of the legionaries beset by tribesmen swarming around their rear and flanks. Their pace grinding to a crawl under the combined weight or numbers. With the rearguard ducking low to avoid the spears of the new enemy while the Centurion called out the time of the withdrawal with steady tones from his position of the front rank of the rearguard.
The Standard Bearer gave a cry of pain as a barbed spear found its mark over the heads of his comrades, and found purchess in the flesh of the small of his back. Causing him to slump to the ground in agony while he valiantly tried to keep the standard from the blood slicked mud. A nearby legionary from the rear ranks quickly came to his and the standards aide as he called for the Centurion.

With a final thrust into the masses, the Centurion called over his shoulder to the man behind to take his place, and shouldered his way through the two ranks until he broke through to the hollow of the square and over to the downed veteran. And after a brief exchange of words, he scanned the backs of the men surrounding him until he found what he sought, and called for Anton to fall out from the rear rank of the formations head.
Anton, relinquish your shield to Varcurus; indicating the man laying in a growing pool of his own blood and looking deathly pale with the tip of his bloodied sword. I have another duty for you to perform
my lad. And pressed the standard he had been holding into his now empty hand, where the boy stared up at it with a mixture of pride and awe.
Never let it fall from your grasp, and defend it with your life, understand? Giving the boy a level stare to make sure he understood the gravity of the thing asked of him. And the young boy gave a nod in return, sheathing his blade to grip it with both hands.
Satisfied once more, the Centurion gave the order to move off and returned to his place at the center of the rear guard.

Cato threw his younger sibling a glance from his position on the left of the formation, and Anton beamed back with pride from ear to ear and giving a pointed look up at the standard above. That made him quickly face away to hide the stab of jealousy on his face at the honour done to his brother, before he remembered the fate of the last man to hold it in his grasp, and sent a silent prayer to any Gods watching to keep him safe.

Slowly the century made it's way onward, with any wounded able to stand pushed into the hollow of the shrinking box. While others were left to the mercy of the enemy as their friends passed them by with barely a glance as they stepped around them, knowing that to stop and render aide would doom them both. So that these doomed men sold their lives dearly as they fought their last stand until their blood sprayed upon the retreating shield wall.
After what seemed like hours, they rounded the last corner to the square and saw ahead a cordon of Legionary waving them on with sweeps of their javelins over their shoulder. And the depleted ranks spurred on by the sight relentlessly ground over the remaining distance to pass through the cordon, who now took up the fighting in their stead.
Men dropped to their knees in exhaustion or sank to the ground in a numbed stupor, only now becoming aware of minor wounds to their flesh as the adrenaline ebbed away replaced by an aching weariness in the limbs.
Above them all towered the Centurion. splattered in gore and breathing hard, but held erect by his iron will in readiness to react to fresh orders and a need to set an example to his men. Nearby, Anton lent heavily upon the standards pole, and close to his feet, Cato crouched on his haunches as his mailed chest rose and fell in rapid succession.
The Centurion made his way over to the century's surviving veteran, promoting him to Opito, who instantly dragged himself to his feet. And left orders to see to the needs of the men before he made his way towards the Cohort Commander. Easily found by the constant stream of runners with orders to his men, and diatribe aimed at the enemy. Followed by the Cohorts Standard bearer, trumpeter(name?) and bodyguard of eight men clustered protectively about him.

It would serve you well to type on a computer, it would make the text somewhat more coherent. And its four thousand not 4 thousand, and a hundred feet. Minor things but it mathers

Sorry number one fan. I'm far from a pc at the minute but will add and edit tomorrow at sometime. I just had to write it down because, believe it or not, there is no pen or paper to hand. Apollogy to all.

I will post a more detailed coment when I have recovered from 12+ hours behind the wheel, but one can never go wrong with swords and sandals

Well I can almost imagine the hardship they must been trough. Good work I dare claim

How dare you claim good work, that's not very grimdark of you!!

On a serious note, thanks

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
How dare you claim good work, that's not very grimdark of you!!

On a serious note, thanks

Because every servant of darknes sin secret craves a hug and a cup of warm milk at night

Chapter: 4

Ignoring the crusting blood drying rapidly upon his mailed shirt, tunic, and greaves in the afternoon sun and the sounds of battle nearby. The Centurion marched towards his Cohort Commander as if on parade down the streets of Rome and under the eyes of the Emperor himself. Snapping a crisp salute as he came to a halt in front of the senior Centurion and ignoring the wrinkling of noses at the smell of freshly spilled blood coming off his uniform.
'Sir!, beg to report effective's and casualties of the second century, sir!' He barked as he stood ram rod straight with his vine cane tucked under arm while staring off into the distance a couple of inches over his Commanders left shoulder.
Ah, Varius. Good to see you my lad, we thought we had lost you when these bastards broke through. said the older man with flecks of grey protruding from under his helmet as he stepped away from several runners competing with each other to catch the Commanders eye so they could make their report. And Took in his appearance at a glance before offering his hand. 'No need to stand on ceremony my boy, we've known each other too long for that. And I'm sure the other lads wont mind.'
To which Varius smiled, breaking his stern mask. 'Yes sir.' And took the grizzled veterans outstretched arm in a warm clasp.
'What's the butchers bill so far?'
'Fifty-seven effective, twenty six dead. Including my Optio and Standard Bearer, sir.' To which the older man simply nodded as he accepted the news.
'Hmm, that leaves us with barely three-hundred effective's, and that's including my guard and staff. The funeral clubs going to be hit hard i fear, but I'm sure the masons wont lament too much, ay.' Offering a short chuckle to which Varius smiled at the poor joke before becoming business like again.
'Orders, sir?'
'I want you to take charge of the reserve century for when these sons of bitches break through.' gesturing to the nearest cordon whose lines bulged inwards even while the rear ranks leaned into their broad shields pressed against their comrades in front, as their nailed boots skidded for purchess on the cobbles below. 'Which will comprise of your century, the reminence of Julius's century, and my bodyguard.'
'Julius's century, sir?'
'Yes, we lost him on on the walls along with half his men, spear trust to the guts I believe. the rest stumbled through our lines not long before you did. You'l find them over there.' Pointing to the steps of the magistrates villa off to the side of the square where a number of men sat.
Yes, sir. Snapping off another salute and with a wave of the hand called the eight bodyguards to follow him as he turned to cross the square.
One more thing Varius his Commander called
Sir?
I'm sorry your discharge papers didn't come through in time.
The army is my life, sir
You have a new life with your family now my boy. The words cutting deep into the ox of a man, and a flash of emotion crossed his face before he mastered it.
Not all of them. he replied softly, and turned away before the older man could offer any words of comfort for his wounded heart.
With bodyguards in tow, Centurion Varius crossed the square to the steps where the survivors lay in a despondent mood.
'Aright you lot, on your feet and welcome to the century.'

The town had effectively fallen to the attacking Persians evidenced by the taken walls and it's streets already awash with blood from the melee and those too slow to flee. The square was the last bastion in a sea of violence where the remaining populous and surviving members of the Cohort gathered in their last hours of life as the enemy howled around them.
Small fires where started across the town as the looting of homes began. Accompanied by the odd wail of terror from huddled families as their doors were broken down and the men folk put to the sword while the women were sickeningly raped before their mothers eyes.
While the smoke rose into the sky with the screams, in the square the Persians pressed to break the cordons that held back their wrath.

'Hold that line! Hold you bastards!' Yelled someone amongst the scum of a cordon holding out the Persians to Cato's left. Sweating heavily in his woolen tunic, the smell wafted around him even though the sun had begun to set over the hills. Around him stood the swelled ranks of his fathers nearly double strength century. His brother stood a little ahead of him holding the standard tightly one step and to the side of the giant that was his Centurion and father who conversed with his Opito in low tones.
The day had seemed like one long nightmare that he willed himself to wake from. But the series of events he had witnessed and done over the course of the day were very real indeed. And he longed for the tilled earth of his fields and the soft lilt of his brothers flute drifting over the hills once more.

The rear ranks to his left bowed inwards under the strain of the pressing mob to their front until the inevitable happened. One of their number suddenly bent double under the trust of a spear as the rest of his comrades were knocked from their feet with sweeps from rounded shields to be impaled were they fell. Realizing they had broken through, the lead elements of spearmen let out a roar of triumph as they surged into the square.

Century wheel right! Shields up! Here they come!' Yelled the Centurion in a rush. Cajoling his men to face the enemy with one hand while pulling Anton behind him with the inner curve of his shield in the other.
The Century acted admirably to the call to arms, wheeling round in time to face the charging mass with a solid wall of shields where a stabbing gladius could flicker out between to deliver a killing or maiming strike. Into this wall ran the out riders of the charge, hoping to break it's cohesion by throwing themselves bodily into the huge curved rectangle red shields. These brave or foolish men where easily cut down by the soldiers around them or by the next rank of blades awaiting them beyond.
As more and more began to appear in front of the red wall stabbing with their spears thrust into any exposed flesh they could reach, casualties began to litter both side of the wall.
Pouring through the cleared enterance into the square came hundreds of wild eyed tribesmen and elite infantrymen of the Prince in a tide. Cutting and slashing at all in their path as they surrounded the pockets of Romans.

When the enemy had begun to flow round his flanks, Varius had ordered his shrinking command to form a tight ball of brass and steel. This ball of flickering blades stepped across the square beset on all sides as their Optio standing with the new Standard Bearer called out the time in their center. The Centurion however fought like a man possessed to keep the foe at bay, while Cato blocked and stabbed with the rest of them as he stepped over the men he cut down and drove the ball on.
These desperate men had one option alone, and they took it. Inching across the square the survivors cut a path towards the Governors house a few scant yards away. Smashing their shields into the faces around them before stepping into the gap to trust into the masses assailing them.

Across the carpet of bodies they strode of their own making, behind them trailed the cadavers dotted with Roman forms until they came to the walled enterance of the grand house.
Cutting down the last man in his way Cato stepped through the gates, casting his eyes back to the rearguard and the bobbing plume of his father until the Optio chivied him along to make room for others yet to make the sanctuary of the house.
He passed under the arch that lead to the inner courtyard stood just inside scanning the pasting exhausted faces for his kin, then he saw him. Anton came into view still clutching the Standard now heavily flecked with blood and sank to his knees. Cato ran to him and embraced him in joy to see that he stilled lived.
Pulling back from the embrace as his thoughts shifted to his other family. 'Where is father?'
'I...Don't...know...' Replied Anton with panting breath.

Without thinking, Cato stood and passed back under the arch past the weary soldiers filing into the courtyard where the Optio kicked them to life from the floor where some had collapsed. striking with the flat of his sword to other refusing to move as they gasped for air to fall them into two ranks stretching across the thirty meter flagstone open air courtyard.
Shield up and head tucked low, he forced his way to his fathers side.

'Cato! What in Hades do you think your doing boy?! Back inside quickly!' Varius shouted above the clatter and pounding sounds of battle.
'No, not without you. You can thrash me later but I will not leave your side.' Thrusting his sword into the face of the Princes elite who fell back with his cheek laid open.

With a snarl the Centurion took out his anger on the Pathains before him. Slowly backing up with his men and son until the two of them barred the doorway alone.

'Run for it Cato!' Yelled the Centurion as he laid about himself with new ferocity to buy his son time to flee to safety as he roared his war cry. The Parthains fell back from the sweeping blade and with a final swing, Varius turned and fled.
In seconds the sound of pursuit echoed from the flagstones along with the snarls and curses of those behind. Forcing him to pump his legs and run for all he was worth as he sprinted awkwardly under his chain mail over the courtyard to the safety of the shield wall ahead.
'Get down!' His Opito cried before giving the order for the remaining javelins to be loosed .
Varius flung him self down to slide a little over the stones with a grate and flipped onto his back to cover his body with his battered shield. As overhead arced the ragged volley that sent a score of Pathians screaming to the floor, or forced them to discard their own shields as they became cumbersome under the weight of the protruding missile bent at the head.

Varius picked him self from the ground to rush the last distance to the safety of his men, but there was no need. The enemy was gone, leaving their dead and wounded to the mercy of the gladius that would show no quarter.

OOooo now this I enjoyed! Well done! And its always nice to read about swords & sandals

to whom it may concern. How sad. Get a life and bother me no more, I'm staying on dakka no matter how many times you feth with my stories.

Capter: 6

A section of weary legionaires strung themselves four abreast and two ranks deep across the courtyards enterance under the command of the Opito. Giving the others the luxury of removing their helmets and liners to tend their wounds and gather some strength for the end.

The enemy had withdrawn to the villa's gate and beyond to were a thin line of the Princes infantry guarded against any sudden rush from those inside. And the two sides glared at each other with mutual hate from twenty paces away.

The bodies that had lain on the flagstones had been removed, leaving behind cooling pools of blood and darkening drag marks in the twilight that now gripped the scene. A few torches had been lit, but most prefered to sit in darkness or were just too tired to move. None had been lit near the enterance so as not to iluminate those on vigual there.

Sitting in one of the pools of gloom, Cato dozed lightly against the wall until Anton slumped at his side after resting the standard close by. Rubbing his red rimmed eyes Cato sat up ans took in the scene around him befor he spoke.

'Where is father?'
'Over there with the wounded.' he said while trying to stifle a yawn.
'What time is it?'
'An hour past sunset, maybe less. What happens now you think?'
Who knows brother, who knows. All we can do is wait, and pray.'

Not knowing what else to say, the two brothers gazed at the stars above that began to twinkle in the cloudless sky in the canvass of velvet of the heavens.

A short distance away, Varius gripped the cold and clamy hand of his commander and friend as he hacked up another wad of blood onto his lips from his lungs. The bandaged wound to his chest bled profusely as it drained his vitality and colour from his face. Varius wanted to look away, but he owed the old veteran as much to watch over his last moments.

'I'm done for, I'm dying old friend.' His each word punctuated with a weize.
'What a tough old goats son like you, never.' He lied.
'You lie poorly, you should work on it. How else are you going to fool the next woman into marrying you looking so ugly.'

And they both laughed until the dying warrior began to cough again. When he next spoke he gripped Varius' hand tightly as he struggled to hold on to life just a little longer.

'We hurt them, didn't we? We made these sons of cattle pay for our blood, didn't we? We can see our ancesters without shame?'
'Yes.' Varius said simply. Watching his pupils widen as death stole stole over his face and slowly let out his last ragged breath from his cold lips.

Varius prized his hand lose from the still gripping hand and stood to look down on the prone body at his feet as he felt the anger build inside.

A shout from the sentries grabbed his attention away. Rushing over the courtyard passed his men fumbling in the dark with their helemet and chin straps or weapons he barked ay his Opito as he drew near.

'Opito, report!'
'Sir! Beg to report enemy movement! It looks like they're forming up out there.'
'Very well Opito, get the lads formed up. Looks like this is it. I'l take over here.'
'Yes, sir!' Jogging away to carry out his orders after giving his Centurion a salute.

Staring past his men, Varius could indeed see movement in the square along with the chink of equipment from a large mass of men close by. He pushed his way to the fore to get a better look, ordering the nearst man to give him his shield and sent him to retrieve another from inside.

The sadowy figures in the square parted for a pair of torch bearers escorting the Princes messenger from earlier in the day who confidently strode up to the gates. Halting just behind the screne of soldiers there.
In the torch light the smarmy slave spotted the Centurion and smiled sickly.

'Centurion, how good it is to see you again. You are well I hope? After our last descussion at the gates I feared it would be the last I would see of you.'

'Save your skilled tounge for you masters gak herald. Speak and be gone.'

'Oh how you wound me Centurion.' Clutching his chest in mock pain. 'I have come once again to offer terms fot you and your men.'

'Speak.'

'You and your men may go free. All that my Prince asks is that you lay down your arms and step out into the square. You will not be harmed and will be free to leave to go where you will.'

'Truely?'

'Truely Centurion, on my honour.'

'I will need some time to speak with my men.'

'My Prince gives you five minutes to decide. Use them wisely Roman.'

He left the enterance and walked back into the courtyard where his men where formed up awaiting the enemy charge.
He called for his Opito and section leaders along with his sons to hear what had transpired with the herald.

'I say we do it.' Said one. 'We're dead men if we don't.'

'We're dead men if we do.' Shot back another.

'Three minutes, Centurion!' Called the herald.

'What do you think Opito?'

'It's Parthians, what do you think.' As if that would answer the question.

'Two minutes!'

'Centurion?'

Staring around at the faces judging him, Varius cleared his throat before answering.

'We step out there without weapons and we're dead men, then again if we stay in here were equally fethed.'

'One minute!

A silence built between the legionries as time ticked by as each knew what had to be said.

'Times up! Your answer Centurion.....Well?'

'Opito get the men formed up near the enterance I'l buy you some time.'

'The Gods be with you, sir.'

'The Gods be with us all.'

I do love ancient historical fiction and you're doing a great job with these legionaries!

Thanks rez, but it's just my ramblings to kill the writers block for my other story.

I wouldn't hold out much hope for a happy ending. Things are about to get fethed for the weary band.

For the Senate! For the People! For Rome!