Travis Starnes
patreon
The Trumpets of Mars (Imperium #2) - Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2021-12-27 17:54:59 +0000 UTCKy had hoped to slip out of town with his normal guards and a hundred Praetorians who would be taking the place of the legion currently manning the border. It was a large crowd, but he’d assembled them outside of the Praetorian camp, a little away from the city, to keep the fanfare to a minimum.
Despite that, three times the number of men he was taking with him were gathered around their assembly area, watching the men load up and occasionally talking to a friend here or there, which is probably how word of their departure slipped out. The crowd was a mishmash of people including legionaries on passes, Picts, farmers from the nearby fields who didn’t have much to do now that the ground had turned too hard to till, and tradesmen and new members of the working class come out from the city to see the men off. Closest to Ky were several of the legates and city leaders, as well as the Emperor and Lucilla accompanied by their guards, who’d come out to wish the men well on their travels north.
“I believe they want you to say a few words before you leave,” The Emperor said, nodding to the assembled crowd.
“Are you sure they didn’t come out just to see friends and loved ones off?”
“Some of them,” Lucilla said. “Look around, though. Most of these people are just here to see what’s happening. You’re headed north to sign the alliance that will form the new Empire. They might not all understand why we have to do this, but no one in Rome can ignore what a momentous trip this will be. Soon, men from the north will be traveling openly through Roman lands, looking for work, sightseeing, and trading. It’s a big day for all of us.”
“Very well,” Ky said, and mounted his horse, putting him above the assembled crowd. The men around him, most of who hadn’t mounted up yet, backed up to give him space.
“Thank you all for coming,” Ky said, projecting his voice in a way most natural-born humans could not, thanks to the augmentations that had happened across his entire musculature. “I know some of you are here to see your friends and loved ones who will be stationed along the northern border, some of whom you might not see for some time. The Emperor and I both want you to know that we recognize the sacrifice you and your families are making to support and protect the Empire. I promise you that everything possible has been done to ensure your loved ones are prepared for the duty ahead of them.”
He paused and looked out at the crowd, some of whom were still hugging their husband or brother or father who was heading north as part of the Praetorian detachment. A larger percentage of the crowd, however, was unmoved by the previous words, since they had no real connection to the men going north, beyond recognizing that these soldiers were going to protect them.
“For the rest of us, this is still a momentous day. We ride north to sign the treaty with our new allies and establish the Britannic Empire, through which we will reclaim what has been lost and push the Carthaginian hordes off these islands and away from Rome forever, ensuring the safety of every Britannic citizen, be they Roman or Caledonii. This new Empire will also bring new opportunities for prosperity to both of our peoples. New challenges await those who are able and willing to accept them, and a new world is ahead for all of us. Today is a new day. A happy day. A day neither for Romans nor for Caledonians. It’s a day for Britains!”
Most of the people cheered as Ky finished his brief speech. He hadn’t actually meant to name the people of the new Empire after the name of the Empire that would have one day sprung up in this same place, if history had been allowed to play out as it should have. He’d picked the name Britannic Empire for the new Empire simply because, by this time, most of the people on the island seemed to recognize the Roman name for it and its inhabitants.
Even in the real history, there had been such a layering of cultures over the centuries as Saxons, Celts, Romans, Scandinavians, and finally, Normans that they’d eventually just accepted the Latin name for the island. That process had accelerated in this timeline with the Romans controlling two-thirds of the lands for more than a century. The natives wouldn’t see themselves as Romans, since that was a foreign place, but Britain, even though it was a Latin word, was meant to identify the people of the islands and so considered acceptable.
It struck Ky as funny that, on a whim, he might have ended up giving the people who’d populate this island the same name as it would have in his history.
The end of the speech turned out to have a dual purpose. Although they had a long way to go that day, Ky hadn’t pushed them too hard to leave because he didn’t want to pull the men whose families and friends had shown away too early. Had this been back when he first arrived, he probably would have already gotten the men on the road, but his recent experiences made him reconsider what being separated from their loved ones would do to the men.
Everyone took the end of the speech as some kind of unspoken signal that it was time to go, with the civilians who were intermingled with the soldiers starting to break out and move out to the sides of the parade ground where they’d assembled. Ky gave a signal to the centurion that had been put in overall command of this detachment who quickly got the men in order.
“Wait,” Lucilla said as Ky started to turn his horse and lead the men out.
He rotated the animal around so she could step up next to him. All of the saddles used by Romans had been modified with stirrups by this point, but Ky had been presented with one of the first saddles made with stirrups built into it two days before when he’d spent the evening with the legion. Now Lucilla motioned for him to move his foot out of the stirrup, which he did.
Once it was clear, she put her foot in it and, gripping the saddle, she pulled herself up so she was standing balanced on one leg, which was braced in the stirrup. Ky had to shift his weight to keep the saddle from sliding, but she was so light that the horse seemed to barely notice. Standing as she was, she ended up being actually a good half head span above Ky, looking down at him. Considering the conversation the night before about the proper way to show affection Ky was surprised when she broke her own advice and bent down, kissing him hard in front of all of the assembled men and their families.
She took Ky’s breath away to the point where he almost didn’t notice the cheers going up from around his men as she wrapped her arms around him and really leaned into the kiss. Finally, she broke off and leaned back, holding onto Ky’s shoulder as she gave an exaggerated bow to the assembled troops before hopping out of the stirrup and stepping back.
Ky had to hand it to her, she did have a flair for the dramatic and the men certainly seemed to appreciate her performance. It was all Ky could do to keep himself from blushing as he straightened himself up and signaled the men to get moving.
Legion Training Grounds
“No, goddammit. This is your left foot. Figure it out or I’m going to jam my left foot so far up your ass you’ll never forget which is which,” the optio yelled at one of the new soldiers.
Velius had just ridden back from seeing off the Consul and the rest of the men headed north. While it would be good to have the Fourth legion back with them to help fill the gaps made during the insurrection, he wished Ky had remained behind. Although the legate was officially in overall command of all of the legions while the Consul was here, Velius could take the really challenging problems to him. Without him, they all ended up in front of the legate.
It wasn’t that Velius was scared. He’d been a soldier since he was barely out of puberty, had fought in numerous border clashes, and made legate when he was only twenty-five. That, in and of itself, might have been part of the problem. Rome might have been under threat from both the Picts to the north and the Carthaginians to the south, but the assault on Devnum a few months ago was the first major clash Rome had been involved in since they’d been pushed out of Londinium twenty-four years ago, well before Velius’s time with the legions.
That meant there weren’t many opportunities for promotions to high rank on merit alone. Velius, like all of the other currently serving legates except for Ursinus, had gotten his position thanks to political connections. In his case, it had been after five years of service as one of the Emperor’s guards, which had earned him the Emperor’s favor when the previous legate in charge of the seventh legion had died. Even as legates were replaced, he’d never held top command, since men like the late Eborius and Globulus had always had the seniority. It wasn’t until the coming of the Sword and the battle of Devnum that his fortunes had really changed.
Unfortunately, after that surprising victory, they’d gone back to the same life the legions had beforehand, with field training and garrison duty. Armies were tools of destruction and when on campaign, they were focused, the men all understanding the danger they were in and the importance of being part of a well-functioning unit. A sedentary legion, however, was an unruly beast. Hardly a day had gone by that he hadn’t been forced to hand out disciplinary punishment for offenses ranging from the minor, like petty thefts and fighting, to the severe, such as the murder of a new recruit by one of their seasoned men the day before over a perceived slight the veteran had felt.
“You are the most worthless recruits I have ever had the misfortune to train. Do any of you even understand why it’s important to keep in lockstep with the men on either side of you?” the optio yelled, knocking a man who’d continued to fall out of ranks to the ground.
There was silence among two dozen men gathered in front of them. Although they’d decided to mix the new recruits with the veterans, training sessions like this were for those men first inducted into the legions, before they were assigned to their contubernium, which was the smallest unit in the legion. This training involved how to march in column for travel, and move in combat formation, how to properly hold and use the tall scutum shield and the short gladius. Later they’d learn more advanced weapons like the pilum spear or the new arcuballista, but those were for later. The Roman legion was primarily a walled infantry unit and the scutum and gladius were the tools of their trade and had to be mastered before any legionnaire was ready to be deployed.
Unfortunately, the new batches of recruits made this seem much harder than it should have been. It wasn’t the sons of farmers and merchants, like when Velius signed up so long ago. The ex-slaves he could understand. These people had never been allowed to even touch a sword under penalty of death or even learn simple things like which side was left or right. The Picts that they’d started getting the previous day, or Caledonii, which he’d been told specifically to call them by the Consul, were able to pick things up pretty well. They might have problems working as a coordinated group, but they at least knew their way around a sword.
The worst ones were the ex-Carthaginian soldiers. For a people who’d managed to conquer most of the known world, Velius would have thought the Carthaginian soldiers would have been more formidable than they were. Instead, they were essentially one step above the ex-slaves, and that was being charitable. They might know how to hold and use a sword, but all basic education was withheld from them and they had no ability to think for themselves. The Carthaginians made sure to beat any independent thought out of them early on, since their way of fighting battles was to just throw walls of men at the enemy until they overwhelmed them with bodies.
It was hard to train men who’d been trained to never think for themselves.
“Why even do this. Let me at the death eaters and I will tear them apart,” one of the new Caledonii recruits said in broken Latin.
“Because it will get you and every one of the men with you killed,” Velius said, causing the optio and several of the men to look up towards him. “I’m sure you’re a seasoned warrior and you have many battles under your belt. How many battles have you been in?”
“Twelve,” the man called out.
“In these battles, did you usually outnumber the other side, did they outnumber you, or was it about equal numbers?”
“Usually equal, except against you Romans. We always outnumbered you.”
“Did you win against us?”
The man was quiet for a few minutes before saying, “Sometimes.”
“The times that you won, how many more men did you have than we did?”
“Many times.”
“Did we retreat, or did you slaughter the men you fought.”
“You ran away like dogs.”
“How many men did you lose in those engagements compared to our forces?”
The man didn’t answer.
“I’m going to assume by your silence that the difference was significant. Fighting man to man might show your prowess as a great warrior, which I am not doubting, but it will not lead to victories. When the Carthaginians come, there might be as many as five times our number facing against us. Each one of you will have to kill five or six of their men before you fall, and even then it might not be enough. Fighting one on five, you could never accomplish that, or at least not enough of you could. The good news is, you won’t have to do that. We fight the way we do because it works. We protect the man on the side of us and they protect us. We are a juggernaut that can roll over any obstacles that we come across. I’m thinking you don’t believe me though, do you.”
There was silence again.
“Optio, go grab another trainer and bring him back here, along with a space scutum and training gladius,” Velius said, sliding off his horse and hooking his sword belt onto the saddle. “What is your name?”
“Guto,” the man said.
“Guto, find another man you think can fight and come up front.”
The Caledonii soldier seemed unsure, but grabbed another man who, from his hairstyle was also from the north. Both men were holding their wooden training gladius. They stood around looking nervous while Velius waited, arms held clasped together behind him and feet planted. The optio returned at a jog with another man who wore a wicked scar across one cheek as a symbol of his experience.
“Guto, if you and your friend can get through the three of us, I will give both of you three days unfettered leave. If you fail, once you finish today’s training, you will report to me and serve the evening free period as my runner instead. Deal?”
“Easy,” Guto said, with a wicked smile.
“Cantered wall, two three-step,” Velius said to the two veterans.
Normally, a legion wall was flat all the way across with one-century welding up against the next one and even one cohort against the next if their battle line was long enough. There was, however, always a flank that hung out in empty air. If the Roman forces were larger than their enemy, they’d just extend the wall out far enough to cover the enemy’s entire front line and then use cavalry to keep the other side from thinning out enough that they could edge around the wall. That practice had had to change as the Romans became a smaller and smaller force in the region, however.
They’d altered their formations so that the ends of the formations cut at a slight angle, sloping away from the enemy. The Carthaginians fought in tight phalanxes and used long spears that didn’t allow the close-packed men to turn or pivot very well, which meant as the Roman line bent away from them, their line couldn’t follow its curve without opening up gaps.
They’d also created calls to keep the men attacking in lockstep, changing the step-step-stab pattern depending on the type of ground they were fighting on or how tired the men were. Normally these formation and cadence decisions were called by message trumpeters, and bannermen, but the veterans understood his command and moved instantly, flanking Velius on either side and forming their shields up tight against his.
Guto did the predictable thing for a Pict, charging straight in, his friend at his heels. The current roman scutum stood at just over one meter tall and when held center mass would stretch from the center of Velius’s head to just below the knee. He and the two veterans were in an advancing formation, meaning they were holding it up and had their bodies turned sideways to fit inside the curvature of the shield.
“Step,” Velius called out.
The three men stepped forward towards the Picts.
As soon as Guto’s feet left the ground, Velius called out, “Up.”
As one, the men lifted their shields up, bracing them against their shoulders as they did. From this position the shield reached up towards the top of their helmets, meaning they lost sight of Guto, but it didn’t matter. Both of the Picts were already in motion and weren’t going to be able to change their trajectories before they impacted the Romans.
“Brace,” Velius called.
The three men leaned back and crouched slightly so they could place their knee against the bottom of the shield, right in the center of its curve. Held like this, a legionnaire had two points of contact with the shield, one at the shoulder and one at the knee, with their back foot pressed firmly into the dirt behind them. Alone, it would be hard to push over a legionnaire coming straight on, but when the shield was slightly overlapping with the one next to him and being overlapped by the one on the other side, it became even more stable.
The two Picts slammed into the short wall, their wooden training swords trying to stab over the shields. Because of the angle and the force with which they bounced off the immovable shields, they managed to do little more than scrape across the metal framing that ran around the edges of the shields.
“Step,” Velius called as soon as the men had hit.
The Romans pressed out hard with their shields as they took a step in unison, their footwork matching precisely. Guto and his friend were still off-balance after crashing into the shields while the Romans had solid footing, rear foot still bracing them as they pressed hard with their shields in a quick motion, their shoulders still leaning into their scutum. The Picts stumbled back to keep from getting run over by the Roman wall, making it difficult for them to cover themselves properly or block an incoming attack, which is exactly what Velius wanted to happen.
“Strike,” Velius said.
A small gap appeared in between each shield as the three veterans showed the true value of the gladius. Picts and the Germanic tribes preferred larger slashing weapons, often deriding the short roman blade, which didn’t have the length to get enough leverage for a slashing motion or the range that a larger sword would have. What the Roman sword did have was a rigid, short blade that was able to become an extension of the soldier's arm. They were able to stab out quickly and apply a freighting amount of power to them, all while keeping their shields in position to offer very little for their opponents to fight against.
Guto saw this up close as three wooden swords shot out between the shields, quick as a viper strike. Neither man was able to get their weapons up in a position to block, since they were still stumbling back from the shields and grunted as the wooden weapons smashed into them.
“Step,” Velius called out, and the three stepped forward, pushing with their shields again.
Guto stumbled backward, crashing to the ground.
“Hold,” Velius called, standing up straight and resting the butt of his shield on the ground. Looking at the assembled trainees, he said, “That is why we learn to march. We move as a single unit, putting our collective weight into each movement. If done correctly, we can become an unstoppable force. Listen to your trainers and learn it well, because each of the men next to you will rely just as much on you as you will on them. One misstep can mean losing the protection the wall gives you. Carry on, Optio.”
Velius handed the training equipment back to the other veteran as the optio got the men back in ranks. Climbing back on his horse, he pulled the reigns, leading the animal on to the next batch of recruits.
Devnum
“That was foolish,” the Emperor said as his daughter walked into his meeting chambers.
“What was?” She asked, not sure what she’d done this time to draw her father’s ire.
“That display you made with Ky. I understand you have feelings towards the man and I approve of the match, both personally as your father and politically as your Emperor. Despite that, we still have appearances we must maintain. We control the mob only as long as we can make them believe they have no other option but to be controlled. If we lose that control, we’re like a rider on a spooked horse, clinging for our lives lest we be thrown and trampled. You saw yourself how badly things can go if enough people lose faith in us.”
“What does my kissing Ky have to do with losing control over the people?”
“There are standards to maintain. You’re my right hand and, now that your brother’s treachery has been revealed, my only heir. Do you want people thinking you’re some kind of common harlot? What kind of judgment does that show the people? A woman will have enough trouble convincing people to follow her, you don’t need to add to those difficulties by making the people assume you have loose morals too.”
“I’m not one to normally disagree with you, Princeps,” Ramirus, who was the only other one in the room, said. “But I don’t think you’re right, at least as far as how the people are reacting to the display. I have men continuously cycling through the marketplaces, inns, and bathhouses, keeping an ear open for what the people are saying. Mostly, it’s to try and catch any whiff of insurrection or disloyal gatherings, but I require them to give full reports every day of anything they hear and my scribes compile those for me, finding any kind of pattern or trend in those reports. One thing that has been building for a while, but gained momentum after the … display this morning, is talk about your daughter and our new Consul.”
“What are they saying?”
“They seem to overwhelmingly approve of the match. Word of his charging into the Palace single-handedly to rescue his love has begun to make the rounds, growing in its heroics with each retelling. The moment today looks to have cemented their love story with the people. I’ve heard them likened to Paris and Helen.”
“Ridiculous,” Lucilla said. “He didn’t come into the palace single-handedly and he came to save more than just me.”
“The soldiers and people huddling with you tell a different story. They say he swept you up and embraced you as soon as he got into the forum.”
“That’s fine when it’s Ky swooping in to rescue my daughter. It’s different when it’s the woman launches herself at the man.”
“I’m sorry, but I must again disagree. Your daughter has always held the publics' favor because of her … headstrong ways. It’s why they’re drawn to the two as a pair. For them, it makes sense that only a great warrior sent by the gods could be the one to tame your daughters' wild instincts. The display today just reinforced that story.”
“I just wish someone would tame her wild instincts,” the Emperor groused.
“I’m standing right here,” Lucilla complained.
“Fine, I wish you would tame your wild instincts, or at least think through the ramifications of your actions before you do them. If Ramirus says this little display will play out in our favor, then I believe him. But don’t tell me for a moment that you considered the possible effects and came to this conclusion before you jumped up on his horse.”
Of course, her father was right … not that Lucilla would ever admit to that. She understood that her position was inseparable from the politics of the Empire, but she wasn’t ready to let those considerations rule her life. She was going to do what she needed to do and would let the chips fall where they may.
“I wasn’t the only one on that horse,” Lucilla said, her defense sounding hollow even to her.
“Everyone saw Ky’s face. That boy was as surprised as anyone there, more so probably. He might have more knowledge than the entire Empire, or even all of Britannica combined, but I’ve seen him with you and around other women who throw themselves at him, thinking they could somehow snare him. He’s completely clueless when it comes to women.”
“Fine, I’ll try to be more discerning, but like Ramirus said, the people like my headstrong nature. If I change too much I’ll become one of those pathetic women who exist only in their husbands' shadows. You wouldn’t want that for me, would you father?”
She gave him the look she’d been perfecting since she was a small child and wanted to get out of whatever trouble she’d landed herself in by flattery and feigned submission. He fell for it when she was six, but had grown wise to it by now.
He just snorted and waved his daughter off to do whatever she needed to do today so he could focus on the business of ruling his soon to be much larger Empire.
He looked up and watched her leave, a small smile on his face. That girl may be the death of him yet, but she always kept his life interesting!
Comments
Idaho Spud56
Good chapter, thanks.
