"An action committed in anger is doomed to fail." – Genghis Khan, conqueror and military genius.
The fleet had been battered by a powerful storm, but they had prevailed. It was destined, like their people said.
Lucius Verinius was an aristocrat and patrician from Patavium, north of Italia. His father had been a commander under Caligula, then murdered by the Praetorian Guard.
He held emperors now in contempt and pity. Pity because their lives were forfeit if they could not tackle a problem in time, be it barbarian raids or hunger in the streets. And contempt because once corrupted, their antagonistic ways knew no bounds.
Now, Emperor Claudius had devised a thrust into the island dubbed Britannia. An invasion mainly composed of four legions plus the auxilia and cavalry recruited from the different tribes in neighboring Dacia.
Obviously, a military conquest to cement his reign after Caligula left the empire trembling in rage and fear.
"Close yet?" His dear friend and subordinate Aulus Crispus groaned, sitting up from the bed where he was staring at nothing, most likely bored.
Lucius smirked. "Most likely, though I told you that two days ago."
The other man groaned in disgust, anger and desperation. "This is so pointless. It was just the channel to cross! Should have taken us less than a week!"
"Sometimes, the winds do not blow in our favor, my friend."
Scoffing, Albus took an apple and began chomping on it. "Bollocks, this shit. The men are exhausted out of doing nothing except whore among themselves and trying to take the auxilia's slaves."
It was true. The life of a soldier in the Roman Empire was harsh and unforgiving. They were expected to… rid of their urges in whatever ways they could, so long as no death was at stake. However, that life was not without its benefits either.
Loot in treasures and slaves was something a Roman soldier could hope for and achieve. Some even returned as rich as a nobleman and subsequently were promoted in social status. Of course, provided they supported the Senate or Emperor.
A stern look crossed Lucius' face. "If they are caught on the act, they will be punished."
Now it was Albus' turn to smirk. "You would not do it, especially to your own legion. Golden boys, they are to you."
"And if you do not stop with your incessant jabbering, I will have you cleaning my own latrine for a week."
"But you said it would take us less than a few days to arrive."
"Who said anything about your duty just being on a ship?"
Albus sneered, much to his companion's delight. "Fine, but do not come hounding me when you are utterly bored."
With that, the cohort commander left the chambers, most likely to see what the scenery was outside.
Lucius knew he should have been outside all this time spent talking to his friend, but he was exhausted of just seeing… blue.
And just when he was about to get up, a soldier burst through the door and saluted. "Sire, we have spotted land!"
Of course, he could hear Albus' racket outside, probably shouting to the gods his thanks and delight.
"Very well, keep the men in line Sixtus." Lucius nodded to him and with purpose, began walking outside his chambers. "Have Alaric and his idiotic arses to start assembling our ships to land."
"At once."
The Roman general sighed. Finally, it was time to match up to Julius Caesar and see if they could finally conquer this cursed land for their so called emperor.
Lucius looked at the land, far away but getting near their fleet.
"The die is cast."
Those words would be remembered for centuries after the general had made them vocal at the top of his ship, en route to a land full of myth and mystery.
"I told you to get out of there!" Marcianus snarled. "Fool! What got you there?"
Laughing, Severus extended a hand to his friend. "It was an accident! Our men got excited at the prospect of finally arriving to our destination!"
"Or perhaps you were trying to bed one of the barbarian's slaves." Antoninus replied to his friend as he approached.
The three men had been friends and brothers in arms since their induction into the Legion six years before. One could not be found without the other two. Some of their fellow soldiers honestly thought they were brothers in blood but that was a lie, much to Antoninus' relief.
"Enough of this nonsense! We are to be called on board, the general will give a speech before the landing."
Marcianus and Severus straightened at their de facto and self-proclaimed leader. He was the smart one of their group and as such, followed after him.
"Come on, before the centurion goes whip happy at us." Marcianus muttered while Severus just smiled and followed after the others.
Arriving, they saw the other ships in the horizon making way to the new land that promised loot and glory.
"Lads! We have finally caught sight of the land our emperor has proclaimed as ours!" General Lucius shouted to his men, much to their delight. "It is in our destiny, in our blood that the might of Rome descend upon this people! We will conquer and prevail for millennia!"
The legionaries shouted their approval, all battle ready for the fight soon to come.
"You will be remembered for this! Glory awaits us!"
As the shouts died down, the land seen was covered in forests and tress close to the shore. It was as described in Julius Caesar's memoirs made a full century before them.
Their forefathers had been there and repulsed a huge barbarian attack. They had fought and bled with one of the finest military leaders the world had ever seen.
The anxiety had been building around all of the men. The auxilia and barbarian men sworn to service of Imperial Rome were the same, albeit their eyes sparkled with delight as finally a battle was to be fought soon.
Roman soldiers stood at the ready, their eyes cold and unforgiving. Discipline was the main builder of Roman success in battle. Their soldiers were the finest the world had ever seen and their logistics, level of organization and strategy made the Spartans pale in comparison.
While the Spartans arguably had the better soldiers in terms of training and discipline, the Romans were much more flexible and jack of all trades. If not fighting, they built defenses, paved roads and other marvels that the Spartans would have found dumbfounding.
The Romans were also unrelenting and cunning, something the Spartans were no in their many wars with fellow Greeks.
Antoninus then saw the flagship of their overall leader, Aulus Plautius, as it stood in front with their men also at the ready.
Most of the soldiers respected Plautius but his forte was diplomacy and political cunning. The men most of their men saw to, including their commander, was Vespasian.
He was a brilliant general and strict but just leader. Many of his men's squabbles were settled fairly and squarely. He was also said to admire barbarian military prowess, so his own legion had Sarmatian horse archers and Germanic fighters. His own personal bodyguards were Sarmatian.
The ship he commanded was at their left. Marcianus saw him standing proud in his regalia, eyes coldly set on their target.
Finally, the moment of reckoning began.
"Dismount and land!" Lucius barked. "Take the land and establish defensive positions!"
The orders given, the men immediately began descending on land and ran as fast as their feet could carry them through the sea, eyes fixed on the shore.
Lucius and his subordinate Albus watched as the men of other ships as well as their own made to land and established their large shields before them to protect their brethren in their land.
Eyes narrowing, Lucius turned to his friend. "I thought the Catuvellauni were expecting us."
"Scared, most likely." Albus smirked. "Victory or death, sir."
The main motto of the Legion was just that, Victory or Death. Nothing short of an overwhelming victory was expected of the legions and their commanders. That or die trying.
"Impossible." The deep voice of Vespasian came to their ears as he approached. "The Britons are foolishly brave enough to try and defeat us right at our landing point."
Albus immediately straightened and saluted, as Lucius just did a second flat before him.
Vespasian was one of their most brilliant military minds and heavily respected in the circles of the four legions and auxilia making their landing in the supposed Britannia.
He was also a charismatic leader and overall good man to know, though his angry side was something they dreaded.
His voice would descend to barely above a whisper and his words cut through even Parthian heavy horse armor.
"Maybe sir, but this situation is closely moving into a mystery." Lucius said after a moment. "My scouts are already working around the area."
Nodding, Vespasian turned to his right and called for his head scout.
In response, a man with scale armor and a pointy helmet ran and saluted. "How can I be of service sir?"
"Makvar, I want you to scout these woods, swiftly and stealthily. If you mind anything worthwhile bring it, am I clear?"
The Sarmatian nodded with a smirk. "It will be done, sir."
After that, the man mounted his horse alongside three of his fellows and departed at full speed towards the woods.
Lucius lost sight of him after a few moments. "Let us hope he brings clarity as to our enemy whereabouts."
"He will." Vespasian supplied confidently. "I am honestly surprised we have not met even one of the Atrebates here."
"They are probably nursing their wounds after the beating Caratacus gave them not too long ago."
Vespasian nodded but his eyes showed the doubt most felt at the moment. "I pray to the gods you are right."
Eyes turning to their front, they saw their men preparing palisades and hole defenses rapidly, working in tandem with their brethren.
The auxilia were now guarding while the heavy infantry worked. The next day, it would be the other way around.
According to numerous generals and statesmen, this ensured no infighting to occur, as all men did their fair duty without exceptions.
"I sure hope this calamity is all but my imagination, gentlemen." Aulus Plautius scowled as he approached. "No sight of the enemy tribe or even our supposed barbarian allies! Have the gods been mocking us ever since we left Gaul?"
"Sir?" Vespasian prodded with a blank face but Lucius saw the man's eyes twinkling mischievously.
Aulus sneered. "Please Vespasian, you perfectly know what I am referring to!" He ranted. "Almost two weeks at sea, when it would take a ship less than four days with full wind, which we had!"
Granted, it took them eight days to arrive to land but their general liked to exaggerate during his furious tirades.
"Perhaps the wind pushed us to a different place of landing, sir?" Lucius replied with an even tone.
Shaking his head, their leader snarled. "Impossible! And even if it did, we would have noticed!" The man then deflated slightly. "Without confirming or denying these allegations we have come to, we must not proceed into enemy territory."
"I see your scouts are reporting back, Lucius." Vespasian intervened in an opportune moment, knowing the exploding temper of his general.
As said, the scouts wearing Roman cavalry regalia saluted respectfully to their commanders.
Their leader, Valens, nodded towards Lucius. "Sir, there are about six hundred men less than a few leagues away from the coast. They do not know of our landing to be sure, but are agitated towards something coming from the cliffs."
"I wonder why." Aulus muttered sarcastically.
Valens shifted nervously but managed a shaky. "They do not seem to be Britons."
"I beg your pardon?" Vespasian raised an incredulous eyebrow while Aulus' face slowly turned red in rage.
"What he is saying is true, sire." The scaled Sarmatian arrived, his face grim while holding something in his hand.
Lucius shook his head slowly in annoyance and stupefaction. "Get to the point."
"Those six hundred men are clad in mail armor and have huge swords, true it may sound like the warriors from Gaul or Britannia, but this…" He looked at the object in his hand.
Aulus snarled, his temper flaring. "Well, speak! What the hell is it?"
"Our men stayed in the shadows as we sent our horses back, seeing the supposed enemy was near." Vespasian and Lucius raised eyebrows almost at the same time when the word supposed was muttered out. "They were agitated towards the cliffs so we had the chance to cut this out of one of their horses and retreated back."
A few moments later, the Sarmatian finally said. "These are brilliant. They use them in their saddles for better support and power. I have never seen anything like it."
"Jupiter swallow me whole!" Aulus ranted and retreated back to his tent.
Vespasian shook his head at him and turned to Makvar. "Excellent work. What else did you see?"
"Not much else, but their little gathering had about six hundred to one thousand men. Thankfully they are too far from our camp to hear us but soon enough they will notice."
Lucius eyed the strangely important object. "Can you replicate that?"
"Of course."
Nodding, Vespasian said to his scout. "Expect a raise for this, good work. Replicate it and your men will have a raise as well."
Smiling slightly, the Sarmatian bowed to his leaders and left to his own camp.
"This is not looking good." Lucius said grimly. "When the hell did the barbarians in Britannia get this?"
"And how, exactly, did they abandon their preferred chariots over pure cavalry." Vespasian mused. "Strange... strange indeed."
Shaking his head, Lucius turned to his superior in all but rank. "Sir, would you like to have a drink with me? I am sure we can discuss this better at my tent."
"Lead the way, Lucius."
Both men then walked away while Albus stood there dumbly, forgotten and scared. "Where the bloody hell are we?" He exclaimed before deflating and then departing towards the palisade.
Barking orders and seeing horrified faces on their men after a few threats suddenly became a better prospect than dreading.
Robert Flint snarled. "Seven hells! What are you saying?"
His scout shook his head. "My lord, they just appeared out of nowhere. We noticed after one of our saddles was…. cut." Even he could not comprehend why these strangers had done that.
"So you followed them?"
"They noticed some of our movements but we ended up in some bushes close to the cliffs. They are…" The scout shook his head. "They are more than twenty thousand, and armed to the teeth."
"Just what I needed!" Lord Flint muttered. "A marauding tribe attacking us from the cliffs and now a huge host parading in my coasts."
"What do we do then, father?" Another voice cut through with anxiety. "Should we call all of our banners?"
"We do not even have enough men to repel this tribe with our banners and you are considering to fight this army as well?"
The lord was then met with silence. It was true, though. The Flints were once a proud family but now a shadow of their former selves. It was a miracle that no other family had taken over them.
That and the Starks being the honorable lords they always were.
"Send a raven to Winterfell, my lord?" The scout then supplied with a grim face.
Robert nodded. "We have no other choice."
Departing with dreaded steps, the lord of Flint's Finger was experiencing fear for the third time in his life.
The first was when his late wife was dying with his twin children. That sent him into a drunken rage for a year before his eldest and only son set him straight
Second time was his son fighting bandits and the same tribe that just grew in number.
Now this…
"I hope Rickard comes here fast." He said to nothing and no one in his private chambers.
He then closed his eyes and prayed to the gods old and new.
They had seen this huge host amassing on the coasts, waiting and sending scouts to see the terrain.
For the first time, his leader was afraid but also now much more invigorated to finally rid of the Flints establish himself as the overall ruler of the Flint.
Unlike the marauding tribes that still plagued the Arryns, hers actually had royal blood. Descended from the kings of old even, back to the Age of Heroes.
She was also afraid of this strange host.
From her observations their cavalry was moderate at best in terms of armor and power, complete joke compared to theirs. However, their infantry worked hard every single day under the sun and trained. They were fierce fighters even without seeing them actually fight.
Their armor was simplistic at best but she was not deceived. The standards they wore maybe had a link to the units they had, like the banners for them.
Their discipline was baffling as well.
Surely, gaining an enemy out of them was out of the question. Before the Starks could arrive, they could wipe out the entire peninsula within a month.
They needed to approach them first before the pretender to the land, Robert Flint.
Of course, her idea was shot down by her father. Not only did he disapprove of her being a warrior but also grew angry at her as his wife died.
He just wanted her to breed children for the family.
As if that would happen.
"Orders, milady?" One of her men bowed to her respectfully.
She smiled at him. "Stay put, but send your best scout to see what these…. invaders are doing for the time being."
"Of course, milady."
Smiling, she looked up to the sky, now turning dark as the moon took over duties from the sun. She was Myrcella, and she knew she was destined for great things.
Too bad she did not know for what exactly.
A/N: Thank you for stopping by and seeing this. I will await for your input and see if you like it or would like to make certain points to me.
Anything helps, really.
Also, this is not a copy of A Legion for Westeros but that fic is amazing, I can tell you that. The stirrup was obviously a shout out to him. Not many people know the Romans did not have those for their horses. The asiatic peoples were the ones who then brought it later on.
Differences you will find between his work and mine. If he sees this, I am fan man, you are good at this.
In case you noticed by a small little name there, you will notice this is not the current time of the books…
Comment, rate and subscribe and thank you!