Part four of the Artorian Chronicles. Centurion Artorius and the Twentieth Legion head north to put down a rebellion in Frisia, unaware of the true causings of the uprising.
In the year 28 A.D. the people of Frisia, a previously loyal province, were suffering under the oppression of the Roman magistrate, a former Centurion named Olennius. So blinded by greed had he become, that he taxed the populous well beyond their means to produce. Now impoverished and risking starvation, the Frisians did the unspeakable and sought open rebellion as their only means of survival. The Emperor Tiberius, now living in self-imposed isolation on the isle of Capri, is deeply troubled upon hearing that such a staunchly loyal province would seek to throw off the rule of Rome. Nevertheless, he orders the mobilization of the Army of the Rhine to suppress the Frisians back into docile submission, never knowing the real reason as to the origin of the rebellion. As the Twentieth Legion marches north into Frisia on its first major campaign in eight years, Centurion Artorius finds himself facing his first major battle since taking over his Century. Years of relative peace, combined with the mass discharges of many of his veteran soldiers, have left the ranks filled with a number of young and inexperienced legionaries. For over a third of his men this will be their first action. The Frisians, in their desperation, know that they face death either by starvation in peace or slaughter on the battlefield. For Artorius and his legionaries the crucible of war will end in heartbreak; for only after the devastation of battle does the truth arise.
Excerpt
There was a deepening fog on the far side of the river, which made Centurion Artorius apprehensive. Scouts had reported that the rebel army was huge, far larger than anticipated. One report had the enemy strength in the tens-of-thousands, though between the fog and dense woods this was impossible to verify. If it was true, Artorius had doubts as to whether or not their force would be large enough to defeat the Frisians even under ideal conditions. He also knew that whether they crossed here or at the ford to the north meant little. They would still be stretched thin and could only cross so many soldiers at a time. Speed would be the key; get enough men across to hold the far bank and allow the rest of the army to deploy.
With the possibility of battle being joined as soon as they crossed, all Centurions and Options had been ordered to leave their horses with the baggage trains. The Frisians had to know the legions would pursue them after breaking the siege around Flevum, and what better place to set up an ambush!
“I don’t like this,” he said as he was joined by Centurion Vitruvius.
His superior made an assessment of the situation and shook his head. “Neither do I,” he replied. “These people aren’t stupid. They knew better than to engage us in force when we liberated Flevum. No matter where we cross it’s going to be a real bitch if they are waiting for us on the other side.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Artorius added. “And with this damn fog we can hardly see each other, let alone what may be on the far side.”
“I suspect they’ll hit us with everything they’ve got as soon as we’re across,” Vitruvius continued. “It’s like we are at the River Styx assaulting Hades itself.”
The air was damp, and Artorius felt his skin crawl as a feeling of unease came over him. He then took a deep breath.
“Well, if we’re going to die storming the pits of hell, we might as well get it over with,” he said with a grin.
Vitruvius returned the grin and grunted in acknowledgment.
“Vitruvius!” shouted Master Centurion Calvinus, who was still on his horse, coordinating final movement orders. “The Third will cross here and anchor the right flank. Make sure you leave enough room for everyone else to fall in on your left. And be sure you get across as quickly as you can; this place gives me the fucking creeps!”
“Yes, sir,” Vitruvius nodded before turning back to Artorius, his grin returning. “Well, old friend, since I’ve already got you here, why don’t you do the honor of leading us to the other side.”
“It would be an honor,” Artorius replied as he clasped his Cohort Commander’s forearm.
Vitruvius became somber once more.
“Get over that damn bridge as fast as possible and start pushing out to the right,” he ordered as he clutched Artorius’ arm harder. “Dominus will follow you with the Fourth; I will take the center, all other centuries on my left.”
He then released his junior Centurion’s hand and rendered a salute, which Artorius returned. Vitruvius then nodded to his Signifier, who waved the Signum to let the rest of the legion know they were set. In the distance, the Legion’s Eagle was tilted forward, the signal to advance.
Artorius stepped onto the bridge, drew his gladius, and swept it in a high arc towards the far side. He turned back to see Rufio directly behind him with the Century’s Signum, the rest of his men but a few paces behind, anxiously eyeing their Centurion. He cocked a half smile to reassure them before sounding the order in his loudest command voice.
“Second Century… follow me!”
Ireland 1944.. A young man’s body is pulled from the River Lee. He’s wearing a distinctive silver ring that belonged to Paudy Daly, the eldest son of the notorious Mixer Daly. Why?
Ireland 1967. The Summer of love. Or was it?
A holiday weekend. Amazing weather. American student Dakota Lacey is hiking around Kerry.
But there’s a sinister, dark side to the atmosphere. Lone female hikers are being brutally attacked.
Ireland 1944.. A young man’s body is pulled from the River Lee. He’s wearing a distinctive silver ring that belonged to Paudy Daly, the eldest son of the notorious Mixer Daly. Why?
