Domina Victrix

Chapter 25: 23 AD, Artaxata, Armenia

"The army will advance!" he shouted. Buccinas blared and drums beat the charge.

...

Cornelius stood with the men of his century near the far left of the army. He was too far away to see the headquarters tent, though the cheering would let him know when General Marcus, Bolt, and Victoria were in position. He turned to his men and motioned for quiet.

"Listen up. Today we stay together and we fight together. We will get slings and arrows. But the moment we stop and hide behind our shields, we stop advancing. We have to move and kill anything else that's moving. Any one of you bastards that doesn't kill a hundred of them, I will make it up to you!"

He had overheard the conversation between Bolt and General Marcus and it confirmed everything he knew about Young Marcus. Generous, kind, unselfish, loyal to a fault, naive, enough brains to get in trouble, tart-tongued, and master of backhand thought and speech. There were ways a Centurion could be taken seriously and it had nothing to do with medals. In sending Cornelius back to the line, it also increased the chances of him being killed, but he doubted Bolt had thought that part through. Bolt meant well, wanted to benefit others, but he went the strangest ways of going about it. At least he tried.

Cornelius was not surprised Bolt had told the King of Parthia to screw off and had antagonized his captors. A more experienced soldier might have figured out some drivel to string the Parthians along, and realized who he was spouting off to. Bolt, a linear, A-to-B thinker, a man of his absolute honest word, living in that moment, had no clue. In his own way, he was as temperamental and reactive as the blooded horses he rode so well. He also did not understand that blaring his name and rank, particularly the Antonius part, rubbed salt in old wounds. Not everybody adored Mark Antony, Juba, and Lucius. That he was brave and born to play the part he would today was obvious. That he had added to their predicament and his own was also clear.

Cheering broke out along the Roman line as Gaius Antonius appeared. Unlike Lucius, who could be brutal and made no secret of his heritage and what he thought he was entitled to, Gaius was quiet, basic and humble. The men respected him as much as they disliked Lucius. That he had waded and slashed through rank after rank of Parthians to take his grievance to the top of their chain surprised and shocked everyone. Their esteem of him now knew no bounds. He would get them through this. Bolt would in time, Cornelius hoped, mature into a man like his father. Cornelius heard the bugles sounding.

"Let's go!" he shouted.

....

Marcus watched the action in the valley below the town. The lines were holding and making steady progress. On either wing, Juba and and Lucius were keeping the dreaded Parthian horsemen at bay. The bowmen and slingers were taking a toll on the allied army but the rate of fire was at a fraction of what it usually was for a Parthian army of this size. He was holding Commagene and Cappadocian heavy infantry in reserve, and did not have to commit them yet.

He stepped to a nearby rise to get a better view. Augurs were chanting and pouring libations near the spot where Bolt's litter rested. Bolt motioned to one of them and the Augur bent down to him. Bolt said something, the man nodded, and hurried back to the altar. Marcus came over to Bolt.

"Who did we forget, Tribune?" he asked.

"Epona for the Cavalry, Sir, Tyche for Antioch, and Nike," Bolt said.

Marcus shuddered, hoping these powerful goddesses were not too unhappy. Two more staffers approached him. Juba, in particular, was eager to put more pressure on Parthia's rear. Marcus gave the go-ahead and returned to the work table. A staffer pointed to the Parthian left.

"They're turning the line, Sir," he said.

Sure enough, the Emessans and other allies on the right had managed to come around the Parthian army, further separating it from their cavalry on that side. He went back to the rise.