//AN: Thank you so much for reading, it means the world to me. I hope you enjoy the story :)
No sooner than our column cleared the southern gates of the city, a series of messengers arrive all bearing similar information: the road to Rome is blocked by 31 cohorts of legionaries still wet behind the ears under the leadership of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus (Red-Beard) in Corfinium. The city they hold was, in Caesar's youth, the common capital of rebellious tribes, once allies for centuries. Formidable are the walls, but being the focus of Rome's ire would do damage to the city that no amount of masons could repair.
Our path takes us along the coast, with the cerulean expanse dividing me from my homeland. I strain every morning to see over the mortuary shrines lining the road, towards the east in search for any sign of a familiar coast. And every morning Subsolanus hides the Dalmatian shores under a curtain of white. Bereft of visuals, I retreat into my mind. I focus my will on memories from childhood; on the golden beams shining across near-ripe fields of crops, as I beg my father to let me accompany him to the town and on this day he assents. I remember seeing the gates choked with carts of goods and beasts of burden, all struggling to get to the market. I remember how boring waiting for my father to return from selling to the grain dole was; baking under the late summer sun for less than what slave farms make in a week.
With much sadness, I follow Caesar's lead inland. Neptune bids us farewell to the tune of crashing waves, fading to silence before the eye loses the shore. Surrounded by brown, dead earth, clouds form in my heart, conjuring thoughts of the sad days back home: the day my brother marched to war and never returned; the day that my mother died after getting ambushed by pirates in the Adriaticum; and the day that I marched off to war, leaving behind my widowed father and younger sister. The clouds darken and unleash a torrent of rain as I assess that, yes, I too will not return home. Life on the farm isn't for me anymore; those fond memories, coated in a golden glow, feel as real to me as my dreams. But at least nightmares don't plague me in the waking hours.
Three days following the Kalends of Februarius, we set up camp within sight of Domitius the red-bearded's camp. Camp? Why leave the walls and the city undefended? Even Sulla declined to attack Corfinium. Maybe he anticipates our horde to be large enough to negate the advantage of walls. Regardless of the size of the enemy gathering on the horizon, I would order my men to defend our post unto death.
Dawn broke over the horizon on the fourth day after the Kalends, blanketing the Apennine ridges in a warm orange glow. I stifle a yawn. Excitement builds in my heart as I stow my roll, for it has been short two and a half years since last my gladius were painted by blood. Though, something mumurs in the depths of my soul; the men I am to face are fellow Roman citizens. All the enemies I've fought were clearly enemies. But these men carry Aquilae, just as we do. Can a nation be saved over the blood of one's countrymen? Nevertheless, I slide the mail armor on, following it with a billowing red cloak. I gave my word to Caesar, so on Caesar's word I shall die.
As I emerge from our tent, concerned voices carrying messages of anxiety and fear reach my ears.
"-but they outnumber us three to one! We'll be torn asunder for sure!" One of the new recruits laments.
"You needn't worry! The fear you feel now is certainly shared by all the men just up the hill from here, for they have bore the Aquila for shorter than you two!" Marcus reassures.
"Truthfully so." I add, sitting on the ground near Marcus, "Our first battle was against the Nervii in Belgica. I remember as vividly as if I stand on the field that we were nearly overrun at several points in that battle... and we were at the baggage train!" These words only seem to draw more fear into their eyes, "But, just like Marcus said, you needn't worry; we have Caesar on our side and they don't! It was Caesar's quick thinking that saved us then and it is this that will save us before this battle even begins!"
"I wouldn't say it was Caesar who saved us then. It was Labienus, in command of the Tenth, that marched straight to the Belgic camp and crushed the Nervii from behind. Caesar's plan was to hold the line until it broke and we would all lay dead on the field." Marcus coolly retorts.
"Not so! As we reached the battle lines, I saw him in the midst of a melee with the Seventh! Caesar was just as prepared to die there as we were!" I argue.
"You are correct, Publius, yet Marcus is right about Labienus saving the day. Truly a shame that he denounced Caesar and stormed from his camp once he heard of our actions, but I can't say that it isn't understandable, if not justified." Granius states, seeking to cool the embers before a fire erupts from them.
The other recruit glances between myself and Marcus, confusion emanating from him, "While the merits of both of those commanders are without question, how does reveling in the past calm my nerves in the present?"
"Because if we've seen Dis' domain and returned, then you can be sure that we'll carry you both back with us!" Junius rises to rub the heads of the recruits, "This'll go over easier than canoodling your wife on the Nones!"
They both force a smile, but the fear clings to them and refuses to release. The best that any of us old-timers can do is hold the line for them and hope they gain their sea legs soon.
A horn slices through the camp, followed by the sound of thousands of men rising to tear down the camp and advance. Forming our battle lines at the base of the hill, I notice that not a single man stands opposite us. I nudge one of the recruits behind me and point this out.
"Look," I say, "we were right. They are too scared to raise a single sword in their defense!"
This appears to calm him slightly, but there isn't much that I can do to stop the first-battle-jitters. In fact, I, myself, feel Thantos' hands slip across my chest.
Another horn sounds, ordering the advance. The ground rumbles with the footfalls of our half-strength legion, our presence augmented by our unwaivering will to see Caesar's orders through to the death or victory. Even Neptune the Earth-Shaker trembles from our advance! Yet still, the seconds drag into hours and the enemy camp stretches further and further from our grasp.
We reach the outside of missile range, with three blasts of the horn signalling a halt. Our Centurion, along with every other, fall out of formation and meet behind the lines. I barely have time to scan the surroundings for myself before they come sprinting back to their centuries. With a gesture, our Centurion calls forward our Decani to pass down specific orders. With this accomplished, he turns and leads us to our designated position. Our whole line obliques the camp, then fractures into pieces to surround it. We stop at a point in the north east of the camp, between the Sixth and First cohorts. Before our baggage train mounts the hill, half of the cohort melt into the woods to gather wood, while our half are told to begin digging in.
"I want everyone to assist in digging the trench first. Once that is done, myself and the new-bloods will construct the ramparts. I want Marcus, Junius and Publius to build the inward defenses. I trust you three will stay safe from enemy fire as you do so." Granius orders.
"Ave!" We all reply.
The sun dips under the third cohort's gate as we finish the fortifications, glinting off the sweat coating my body and clothes. I trot up the ramp to the top of the ramparts to see the lay of the field. An orangey-red (rutilus would be the word for it) hue falls over the unbroken chain of walls, coiled around the camp like a snake. From inside it, our disposition would appear quite frightening and stifling. This could be another Alesia. I think, Pompey will send his forces to relieve them by the first Nones of Februarius, without question. Which means that a contravallation will soon follow the walls I stand on. Though, at least at Alesia we had eleven other legions to fill gaps in the line.
The second sunset of the siege ended as uneventfully as the first; the enemy lurks within his own walls, not even manning their defense. A concentrated push on the gates may collapse our lines, but I have faith in the first through fourth cohorts to hold these strategic positions. Surely the enemy has noticed this as well, right? Would that be the reason that he slinks in the shadows and slips between the sun's rays in the day; trying to lure us into a false sense of complacency? If it were me in their position, I would've contested the approach and stretched Caesar's lines thin with the overlong length of the three legions at my disposal. This Lucius Domitius guy can't be all he's cracked up to be if he cowers behind his cowering men at the sight of us!
On the morning of the seventh day of the siege, the eastern gates of the camp swing open, revealing a column of men marching out with their swords raised to the sky. Men keep pouring from the gate as the vanguard passes a point halfway to our lines.
"They seem to be only massing on that side, Junius and Publius, take Gnaeus here and go reinforce the First!" Granius slaps one of the recruits on the back. Oh! He's the one that I reassured as we marched up here! So that's his name!
"Ave, Granius! Be well!" I call, racing off to the First's ranks.
"Ave!" Junius and Gnaeus salute before joining me.
"Are you alright, Gnaeus? You are shaking more than a canine bereft of a place to relieve himself!" I jest.
"I-it's really about to happen, isn't it?" He squeaks.
"What's about to happen?" Junius inquires.
"It." He states, matter-of-factly, "The killing, the dying, the bloodshed! Dis is here, I can feel it! He hungers for carrion!" His face slides to white, his eyes pop from his face like apples hanging from the branches that are his hair.
"What'd we tell you, amicus? You're with us, so if Thantos tries to snatch you from the field, we'll hunt him down and drag you back!" Junius reminds him.
"I don't know what's scarier; the mass of men down there or the fact that you two think you can overpower Pluto and bring me back like you're Hercules or something." He shakes his head, but when his head rises, a smile pulls at the corner of his lips.
"There's a good lad." Junius ruffles his hair, "Now, we've got to double-time if we're to make it before the fighting starts!"
Huffing, we reach the area designated to the First. Immediately, we search out their Centurion. Searching for a moment, we find him behind the archway of the gate speaking to the Decani of his cohort. Their faces are ashen or stoic, all being briefed about the difficulties of holding their position, no doubt. But, I'm sure that they are already more than aware of the overwhelming horde opposite the wooden gate. We favor waiting for the briefing to end before reporting to the Centurion.
Sure enough, the Centurion waves the men off to their stations and turns to face the towering ramparts in his command.
We walk over and salute, "Ave, Centurio!"
"And you men are...?" He studies us intently.
"Publius Sentius, Seventh Cohort."
"Fabius Junius, Seventh."
"Gnaeus Appius, new recruit for the Seventh."
"Ah, I see! Well met, comrades! What brings you to our cohort?" He softens his gaze, gesturing to us with open arms.
"Our Decanus, Manius Granius, sent us over to swell your lines for the fight." Junius reports.
"Gratias ago! Your Decanus would be right to send you here. For now, I'm your Centurion and Decimus over on the right of the gate will be your Decanus. Once the fighting dies down, you're free to return to your unit." He salutes us and points to Decimus.
"Ave!" We salute back and hasten to the new Decanus.
Reaching the ramparts, I tap who I think is Decimus on the shoulder. He turns and casts a wary eye over us.
"How can I help you all?" He asks.
"Your Centurion has put us under your care for the duration of the fight, sir!" I report.
"Glad to hear it! Find an open spot on the rampart and prepare to make Mars proud!" He turns back to the approaching men, furrowing his brow at the odds.
On the rampart, I grip my pila tightly, resting three others on the sticks in front of me. Raising my arm to ready a throw, I aim for somewhere in the middle of the enemy. My arm swings forward out of instinct, but- "Hold! Hold your fire!" stops me mid-throw. I lower the pila and look to see why we were stopped.
The enemy column stopped when they saw the points of our javelins bristling from every branch composing our wall. In unison, they throw their swords to the ground, lifting both hands.
"Hail Caesar!" They call, "We have come to offer our surrender!"
"Surrender?" I utter, awestruck.
"Surrender?!" Junius growls.
"Yay! Surrender!" Gnaeus cheers.
The column parts down the middle, making way for two men carrying a limp patrician. The two march along the path, reaching the gate in moments. They toss the patrician towards us, his body rolling before coming to a stop face-down. I notice the binds on his wrists and ankles, more than enough to stop him from fleeing, but not enough to stop him from thrashing once he realized where he was. Could this be L. Domitius? Are these men so new as to surrender their commander at the first sign of conflict, or did they plan this?
"We have brought our Legate, Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, as hostage!" The two men announce.
The Centurion of the First calls out, "Open the gate!" Every Decanus along the line repeats the order, with our men throwing it open with a bang.
"Line up along the path!" Our temporary Decanus orders.
This having been accomplished, Caesar appears on his white horse and dismounts at the end of the lines. The two men pick Domitius up once more and stride forward, followed by ten men of their rank. The ten stop at the threshold of the gate. With a closer view, I can see that they are the most senior of the Centurions. The guard for Domitius passes me, both men appearing to be the highest ranking officers other than Domitius himself. They finally stop one sarissa length from Caesar and drop Domitius for a second time. That's gotta hurt each time they do it.
L. Domitius Ahenobarbus' perspective
// "Vercingetorix Surrenders Arms to Jules Cesar"
I struggle against my binds, just hoping that one good pull will undo the knots tied by the rock-heads that I should be the commander of. Yet here they are, turning me over like a bag of grain to the traitor Caesar!
"No more struggling, sir, now's the time for groveling." The Camp Prefect whispers in my ear as he pulls my head off the ground by my hair.
I spit in Caesar's direction. "Grovel?!" I shout, "To him? Not in this life or with Pluto!"
I defiantly meet Caesar's eyes, trying to get an upper hand in the staring match. He looks back coldly, uncaringly and honestly like he is kind of bored. He continues on studying me, not moving a single muscle, even in his eyes. The tense moment breaks as he waves his Prefect over. Murmuring something in his ear, he points at me and then waves him off towards the nearest camp. He returns his gaze to me, staring for what seems like an eternity before his lips break into a grin.
"Lucius... Domitius... Ahenobarbus..." He laughs with glee, "Just the man I wished to see in this very position! Do those binds make you feel uncomfortable?"
I scoff, "No more than staring at you does."
He laughs again, louder, "You've still got fight in you, but your men don't! I can respect that." He looks off to where the Prefect ran off to. I strain my eyes to catch a glimpse of what's coming, but my head gets snapped back into place by "my" Prefect. The only warning I have is the growing sound of hoofbeats.
The Prefect arrives on the horse and dismounts, handing the reigns to Caesar. "Now then, we can begin!" He looks at "my" Prefect, "Release him, if you would." He drops my hair, "Good, now, Centurion, his binds." The Centurion nods and steps to my back, grabbing the rope on my wrists and wrenching it upwards. I howl in protest. To my shock, the binds fall loose and he moves to my ankles to do the same. I rise and rub my wrists to rid them of the red burns. "This horse I have in my hand is yours, should you do one thing for me."
"What would that be, oh mighty Caesar?" I reply sarcastically.
"Swear to me that you will never again raise arms against me. And, seeing as I am the Pontifex Maximus, this oath you not only swear with me, but the gods as well! Choose wisely, friend, hostage or free?"
I stare at him angrily, but finally sigh and agree. "Before all the gods and the Pontifex, I, Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus second of my name, swear to not raise arms against you, Gaius Julius Caesar, for the rest of the days that I walk the mortal plane." Actually, I may.
"Very well, then! You're pardoned and this horse is yours." He meets me in the middle and passes the reins to my hand. "Safe travels, friend!" He swats my horse's backside to get it moving.
Where to next that will annoy Caesar the most?
//AN: Another one of these, I know! I'm sorry this took so long to put out; I strive to make this perfect, but humans are fallible, so the task makes me like Sisyphus. I hope to post more often and make the quality even better with each chapter! :))
Amo vos!
-Absolute "That fucking Romaboo"