We few men of Rome:
Synopsis: We few men of Rome, listen. You Keltoi of a great many tribes, listen. You men of Hellas, listen. You rabble-rousing Socii, listen. You friends and enemies of Rome... I care not for quandaries born of home. We are here to fight together, that we may return home, wherever home may be. As many fingers make a hand, let us be as a fist. Let us fight, let us go home!
Note: This story will not be entirely following along with any real history (That said, a certain level of historical realism is still something that I will be aiming to achieve). As such, take this to note. Europa Barbarorum 2, Divide Et Impera and Ancient Empires mod are all sources of inspiration that I have drawn upon.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but the characters of my own devising I have conjured up. Total war Rome I/II is owned by Creative Assembly studio's and Sega.
Chapter 1: Last battle on Earth.
There was an expansive field that was green and verdant with life. The rays of the June sun illuminated all the land and brought a vibrant, excited energy to those present below the clouds… on the surface of the world.
There were two large armies below on opposing sides, where one had taken the safety of a hill, and the other which had camped near a river which had since been vacated. Now they had settled to a large patch of flatland and distributed themselves out in steady order, slowed by brambles, nettles and incessant bees, who loved the merriment of the sun but opposed the violence of the footsteps of well-over ten thousand men marching at pace.
It was these men who opposed the army on the hill, in all their panoply and splendour for war. These gallant soldiers, these stalwart men of Rome.
"Ah-we..."
"Ave!"
"Ave!"
"Kamros!"
And many other words shouted in foreign tongues were the hearty cheers of the masses of those opposite the hill. Roughly a roman league away laid the camp of the roman army, a vestigius sea of linen and rawhide and rope, campfires tended to by camp followers, cooking a meal for those who would return home victorious. Victorious because the glory of the Senatus Populus Que demanded it. Atillius, Consul of Roma, demanded it.
Atillius Fabianus Fonteius, of Gens Fonteia, the first of two Consul's elected in term of office of the 614th year of the Ab urbe condita, in this first month of the first year of the 160th Olympiad by Hellenic reckoning, stood tall on this day. To the citizens of rome, it was known as the year of Atillius Fonteius and Porcius Egnatius, Acting consuls of that year, the men entrusted with leading the twin arms of the Senatus Populusque Romanus.
He no doubt looked impressive, Atillius, with roughly seventy pteruges that emerged from his waist and some twenty that emerged from each of his shoulders, these pteruges attached to his quilted thorocomachus. Above this was his armour of Hellenic design, the bronze masculata. On his shins he bore bronze greaves. At his left hand was his clippeus shield, at his belt rested his sword of spanish origin, the Hispaniensis sword honed well and made of fine steel, and was quite long which made its use advantageous from horseback. On his back was his woolen cloak, dyed red as is the colour of Mars or of Ares.
His new horse was brown skinned. Atillius missed his previous horse, having lost his Roman horse in an ambush against some Celtiberian ambushers, in which Atillius was lucky to be alive. This loss set him back many denarii, as his horse had been of good quality.
Fortunately, a neighbouring 'Rix' had gifted him his Volcae horse, from the same tribe who contested Hannibal and his men from crossing the Rhone. Atillius himself would have offered him a gift in return, but had nothing to hand at the time that was worthy. He would rectify this at some later date.
"They look angry today…"
Atillius turned to face one of his allies. He was a strange sight to many a roman, indeed, he wore a linothorax with many bronze scales. About his neck he wore two objects, a silver and gold torc with the wires twisted round and round with a broken part at the back that had been mended by a patch of copper sheet. The other was an object well-known by any roman, a two-pronged fascinus with one end being a penis and the opposite end being a clenched fist with the thumb held between the index and middle finger. The fascinus was important for providing good luck as well as safeguarding one against Invidia, the evil eye of envy. On his head he wore a hellenic helmet, Boeotian in it's design with the unique folded brim of bronze, and on the top he had a plume of horsehair held over the top, dyed madder-red. He had a celtic shield that bore many similarities to the scutum and the thureos, being that it held a metal ridge through the middle extending from the boss, but it was different in the shape, flat as it was rather than curved in the italic fashion, and the motifs painted on the shield were different.
This man was a son of a provincial dux of the Cenomani from the north of the po river, neighbors of the Veneti of Gallia Togata, and thus were allies of Rome. "They do look angry." Atillius uttered.
Katorix was his name. Atillius couldn't believe it at first, that a provincial chieftain had named their son after the famed Cato. Perhaps it was some form of joke. Nevertheless, Katorix joined Atillius with around two thousand foot-troops, around a hundred cavalry and two hundred slingers of Veneti stock. They, the Cenomani and the Veneti both, allies of Rome, were concerned about encroachment from the Gauls from the other side of the alps. Katorix was thus chosen to lead the small detachment of their combined forces to assist the Roman's in their attack against the new Gallic confederation.
Atillius was about to speak again, but he was distracted by four horsemen charging out from the enemy ranks.
Atillius knew what this was, the Celtic 'Rix' or tribal chieftains were likely to make a final chance of diplomacy before a battle. Atillius had had enough of words, they had spoken before… they had denied listening to him before as he tried his hand, and now they were at stark opposites, rivals to be defeated. They opposed Rome, and now they would be defeated by Rome.
Atillius shouted aloud. "Sextus Curiatius!"
Within a few moment's, Sextus's horse emerged from within his ranks. "Salve!"
Sextus Curiatius, donned in his lorica hamata and his helmet of gallic origin brandished with four feathers, looked at the four celtic horsemen on the other side. Sextus was Atillius's questor.
"I want you, with five of my men, to oversee my left ala. Do not charge unless you have been ordered to, or if it has fallen to the triarii and it is prudent and necessary to act without my consent, to turn the tide."
Sextus palmed his chest with his right hand, then he held it outstretched at an acute angle. "Ave, may Minerva and Spes be with us." Proclaiming that, Sextus made to leave, asking for five of Atillius's chosen men to accompany him before leaving.
Atillius then turned to face Katorix. "You had better go and lead your men. Follow my plans from yesterday. You may act independently outside of my plans should the battle go to the triarii, but indiscretion outside of this… is ill-advised."
Katorix gave his own salute back before leaving.
Atillius rode over to the velites, those wolf-pelted skirmishers, and ordered for seven of them to act as his messengers. "You." Atillius commanded to one of them. "Tell the artillery divisions to move their pieces forward one hundred paces at the issuing of five trumpet calls. When this is done, tell them to await further orders. Come back to me when this is done, and await further orders yourself."
Atillius then turned to face six of the others. "I want you all to inform the standard bearers of each maniple that they are to march forward at two hundred paces at the sound of five blows of the trumpet. Inform them that once this is done they are to form in quincunx. Should the velites retreat behind the hastati, form the army in triplex acies. When this is relayed, return back to me for further orders."
Atillius retreated to the right ala where he received the salutes of both the roman and socii cavalry. He returned no salute back, but stood tall to give the appearance of strength and vigour that middle-age was beginning to take from him.
When Atillius was in his position, he waited several moments before giving a verbal retort for a trumpeter to sound five blows.
It was at that sound, that the army began to march.
Atillius's trumpet-calls were returned in kind on the opposing side, as the Celtic confederation began to sound their carnyxes. They played them first in a slow fashion, but as time progressed it became faster with a sort of repetition, a haunting 'brrrrrrrmmmm-hrrrrmmmm' sound that pulsed with an odd energy.
Katorix's men returned back with their own carnyxes, though they made pulsed sounds of 'Rrrooorrr-wwroorrr' with their instruments, which sounded somewhat like the sound of a whining dog. These instruments were quite unusual, with moving, vibrating bronze tongue-pieces set inside of the mouths of bronze-wrought wolves and boars.
The carnyxes on the opposing side changed the tone of their instruments, now making a more cacophonous sound, there was little harmony in what was heard.
Atillius's Massalian mercenaries decided to join into the battle of the instruments, as a few aulist's began to play their reeded instruments, the droning sound of 'Brrrrrmmm' filled the air, but bursts of fast-fingered playing made a sort of fiery accompaniment.
Atillius himself turned to one of his men. "Get our men to join in."
After a few moments, Roman men joined the fracas with their brass instruments.
-Truum-buum!-
-Truuum-buuum!-
-Truuuum-truuum-buuuuum-bbuuuuum!-
Were the sound of the trumpets, that loud ringing which rung in the ears of all present on the hill.
Cunobelinus looked to the enemy, seeing them go about in the quincunx, the standard roman formation before an engagement. Tactically flexible and mobile, it was a particularly effective maneuver. "Battle it is, then." He uttered a moment later, to his allies, Batorix and Autiritus.
At this, the leaders returned to the back of the army, overlooking the enemy as they rode to the apex of the hill.
Batorix fingered through his moustache before making a comment. "I shall take the consul's head today…"
Cunobelinus looked at Batorix. "Not if I get to him first."
Autiritus looked to both men. "Boast all you like, we must be careful of these men. Though we are more in number, they remain great fighters"
Cunobelinus pointed to his panoply, a suit of fine roman hamata which he had taken from a conquest and wore as a badge of pride. It had been taken from a triarius, and the leather shoulder-guards gave this away as it was dyed red and had white snakes painted over the top.
"The Romani are brave, but we are ferocious… and for as much as they call us barbarians, they will be in for a rude awakening." Cunobelinus replied.
"Hah, and their widows shall know me as Brennus, when I hump them. Rome, here I come to take your women and slaughter the geese of Juno!" Batorix added in a crude jest.
Cunobelinus laughed. "I would not be so disinclined from trying a Roman widow… but my wife would bury my head in a cauldron… and her sister too would beat me with a club!"
"Silence!" Autiritus shouted. "Can you see that?"
Cunobelinus looked out on the enemy ranks. Rushing in front of the velites were shield-bearing men who seemed to lack javelins.
Autiritus uttered a single word. "Rhodians." He had deduced this by the shields they used which were painted in a hellenic fashion and granted that they wielded no bows or javelins, knew that they were likely slingers.
Batorix paled at the realisation of what the romans were trying to do. "Rhodians? We had best ensure the idiots in the first rank stay on the hill!" Batorix then rode off with some of his men.
Cunobelinus looked to Autiritus for an explanation. "What?"
Autiritus explained. "I've heard among Galatian friends that the Rhodian slingers are renowned for killing from four hundred paces and beyond, when armed with lead glandes. They will outrange us in the battle to come."
Cunobelinus came to the same realisation. "They mean to draw my men off the hill."
Autiritus sighed. "And if it is not them, then their Greek-devised bolt-throwers will do it for them."
Cunobelinus quickly thought up of a solution. "What about the Tigurini skirmishers, or the Iberian mercenaries?"
Autiritus nodded his head, it was only standard practice that before a battle, there would be the engagement of skirmishing lines. "I'll get that sorted."
However, just as Autiritus was about to leave, the sight of dart-arrows arcing down from above with a comparable power of javelins was somewhat disheartening.
Atillius noted that the Gallic confederation were sending off a screen of skirmishers to engage with his Rhodian dart-slingers and his velites. His Rhodians, being one of his most highly-prized mercenary arm, quickly made the decision to have them withdraw from their position.
Atillius called up for one of his retainers. "You, tell the dart-slingers to withdraw, quickly, and have the velites proceed normally."
As his retainer ran off to deliver his orders, another retainer raised his opinion. "What of the scorpio's, they are within range and capable of engaging."
Atillius looked to that man. "I want the barbarians to be a little closer, first. I want as many bolts to hit as possible, to preserve ammunition. You wouldn't believe the senate, I asked for a resupply and they've not sent any."
Numerius Bibulus of tribe Stellatina waited anxiously, kneeling down in the tall grass of the slope of the hill, his right hand grasped his amentum-wrapped javelin.
He was new to war, at eighteen years of age, son of a man who owned sixty iugera of land, worth around 600 denarii, or around 9600 asses, which ensured his son the position as a velite, ranking him among the poorest of the social classes. His father was once even wealthier, enough to make him hastatus, but the neighbouring latifundia sapped much of his selling power and he sold off much of his land to debtors.
When the Rhodians ran, he knew that his chance for courage might soon come…
"Porro Porro Porro, Iacite!" Was the shouted charge. The shout came from the most veteran of the velites, for velites were not lead by any commanders, but were commanded by the centurion's of the Hastati, and thus velites were more prone to individualistic decisions when skirmishing.
Numerius jumped up from his perched position and ran forward with his parma outstretched. He looked to the enemy and gave a quick jog before hurling his amentum-aided javelin forward. It spun around and flew through the air about a hundred paces before landing in the dirt.
It was a strange way of war, more a dance than anything, as men skirted from side to side with their shields outstretched as they both loosed javelins whilst trying to dodge their enemies javelins in the process. It was a dangerous sort of rain, but if one was attentive, you could easily dodge an enemy javelin. It was a battle of agility and speed. A constant dash of running as men charged in order to improve the range and power of their throws, a dash that then concluded by men kneeling low with their shields held at an angle to further the protective covering as they reached for their next javelin from the hand with which they gripped their shields. Then they dashed forwards again before kneeling, dashing then kneeling, both lines of skirmishers drawing ever closer to the other.
In this way, the skirmish battle was fought, Numerius threw his four javelins and was left with only his gladius of spanish origin. They stood there and held their position as more javelins fell from the sky… the gallic skirmishers were nearly one-sixth of a stadion in distance, and they looked like a tempting target for the velites, who were better armed in comparison to the Gauls.
Then, the shouted words of "Porro Porro!" rang from the more experienced men of the velites, who dared the others to join in. They were followed by almost all, and Numerius himself joined in.
As the velites began to charge, new foes arrived from the horizon, running through the dispersing ranks of the celtic javelineers dashed men with round shields, men who wore bronze-disks about their chests. These were Iberians who held two or three soliferrum each, and cast them in a charge, shouting and screaming in their foreign tongues. They were better armoured and were armed with falcata or machaira, xiphos or gladius hispaniensis, and the velites reacted accordingly.
Numerius's parma was struck deeply through, the iron-wrought head of a soliferrum embedded thoroughly out the other end of his shield, an ideal weapon so suited for defeating shields, so inherently similar to the pilum. Numerius threw his parma shield aside and ran with all his might, even without an order to do so. Many of his like did the same. They were skirmishers and this was their role, to skirmish and to fight similar troops in combat when the opportunity allowed, not to fight against opponents heavier than them.
"Recedite!" Was the shout of the most experienced man of the velites, and they followed him as they ran.
Numerius ran for his life… he feared that he might not even make it to the Hastati as he began to hear the rushing sound of galloping horsemen descending upon his rear. Javelins were being thrown each and every way, men were screaming and crying to be home, crying for their mothers.
Batorix, saw firsthand the decisive charge of the Iberian mercenaries, whose use of their iron javelins and the shock caused by their unexpected appearance caused the velites to rout.
Batorix thus decided to take the initiative. He galloped towards the right flank of the Gallic army and gathered up a force of roughly two hundred Leuce Epos, gallic light horsemen with which to pursue the thousand or so velites.
"Basbh Basbh Basbh!" was Batorix's warcry as he and his light horsemen descended upon the hastily retreating velites, hot on their toes, dispersing several javelins each before slamming their shields with their secondary weapons, creating a noise and a clamour to terrify. Upon reaching near enough to an enemy, they struck with their weapons of varying nationalities and origins...
"Iberians!" Atillius remarked with a hint of anger.
At this, Atillius ordered for one of his retainers to deliver orders again. "You, tell the Rhodian slingers to target…" He halted when he saw a small mass of cavalry chasing after his velites. "Tell the slingers to target those horseman, now!"
Manlius Titus, Hastatus of the front rank of one of the central maniples, watched as the velites ran through the sides. Then, the gaps closed as the back-half of the Hastati maniples plugged the gaps in ordered rows. In this way, the first line of battle had been drawn, the first wall of the triplex acies had been formed, the velites were safe and they rushed to the baggage trains located behind the triarii to take further javelins from the stores.
-Wwhhhhiiiirrrrrr-
Was the constant, haunting sound of lead bullets as they were slung from the Rhodian slingers, nearly invisible in flight, they were a terrifying prospect to face.
It only took three or four volleys of these whistling bullets to make the enemy cavalry retreat, but they were likely going to do so regardless, as they themselves tried their best to stay out of pila range and were only intent on causing harassment, as they threw their javelins from outside of the range of their pilum, until all their javelins were thrown.
"Hah, fucking barbarians!" Manlius shouted. He was joined by a chorus of other men, who joined in. Only the centurions refrained from taunting, and after allowing their men to taunt the enemies for a moment, they ordered them all to be silent.
Atillius watched the enemy cavalry as they retreated, then watched the enemy formations to gauge how they might react. Even after prompting a skirmishing battle in order to sway the enemy ranks off the hill, they refrained from doing so. This would have to change.
Atillius figured that the enemy would likely not act for some time, sticking to the hills for the advantages it provided, and he decided that he would use this time to his advantage. He called up for one of his retainers and gave him a command. "I order that ten scorpio's on the right flank are to loose at will, for as long as their ammunition holds out. Then, you will inform the fifty other scorpions that they are to loose one volley at the sound of three horn blows, at any target that they choose."
Then, deciding that the ram had touched the wall, Atillius called up another retainer. "Inform the Rhodian slingers that they are to loose five glandes at the flanks of the enemy ranks, specifically targeting their cavalry.
The entire time, Atillius had the front ranks of the Gallic confederation within the extreme range of his Rhodian slingers, who could reach out to one and a half to two stadions distance.
Batorix was completely caught off guard when lead glandes fell upon his ranked cavalry force. Though being that the panoply and shields of the heavier cavalry were an adequate defence at such a distance, the horse's themselves and the lighter cavalry units suffered the worst of the hail of bullets. It was demoralising, the worst aspect being that they were nearly impossible to see in flight.
Unbidden, the first infantry line, the line of inexperienced Gaelaiche, Uirodusios and Lugoae troops began to charge. The second celtic line held for the moment, but only because the more experienced and better-led troops restrained the younger and more untested men from charging in with the rest.
The charge was foolish, as the then relatively unarmoured troops were then targeted by a volley of both scorpion bolts and lead glandes, which reduced a fair portion of the men, since they were in disordered formation. Any reasonable, competently led formation would have seen marginal losses at worst, except for those caused by field artillery.
The second celtic infantry line was beginning to break as the more experienced men could no-longer exert control over the younger troops, though these younger troops, being more experienced than those of the first line, were in greater order and thus suffered less casualties as they marched forwards.
When the first line of inexperienced levies and spearmen reached to within a hundred paces of the roman army, the velites hurled amentum-wrapped darts from behind the hastati, and when the distance lessened, they began to hurl javelins without amentum strappings. The hail of javelins stopped as the velites rushed back to the supply wagons to resupply. As the distance was reduced, the hastati rushed forward and hurled their singular pila before retrieving their swords.
"Expugnate!" Shouted Manlius's centurion. He held the grip of his sword tightly, waiting for the prospect of battle, his shield held out in front, but in such a way that it did not impede all of his visibility.
A spear struck against his shield and was deflected. Manlius stepped in with his left foot forward, the leg protected by his singular greave, and rotated his shield to give him room to move his sword as the spear remained trapped by his shield. He twisted his hip and then he moved his right hand to where his arm hovered over the spear-shaft, twisting his wrist at an angle towards the Gallic man's head, then, with a right step forward, he propelled the tip of his blade in a thrust.
The celtic man's spear-shaft, long as it was, impeded the man's shield from Manlius's angled stab, and so unprotected about the face, he received a strike from the tip of Manlius's gladius. The blade struck against the chin and lower jaw and was deflected by the jawbone, which thus caused the blade to veer to the right, taking out a large wedge of the gallic man's cheek. Manlius withdrew his blade quickly and stepped back into formation. The sight was unusually brutal to Manlius's eyes, as the man cried loudly as he fell upon the earth, only to be stepped upon by his gallic brethren. To Manlius's horror, that man struggled but finally got up on his feet and got back into the fight.
Another spear was thrust against Manlius's shield, and then another, but all attacks were recoiled by the strength of Manlius's scutum, metal ridged, formed of planks that had been wrapped around with the rawhide of an auroch or an ox, or sometimes from layered, felted wool and glued down by hide glue, Roman shields were second only to the Hellenic hoplon or aspis in strength and durability, but this came at the cost of weight.
For several minutes of the fight, Manlius was occupied solely by the task of fighting off errant spear-strikes that put him and his compatriots at risk, or occasionally lashing out with his sword, even if doing nothing, to hopefully deter the enemy from attacking themselves.
"Fay-OO, LOK-en!"
"Fay-OO, LOK-en!"
"GAL-ah, roy-TAM-bor!"
Manlius overheard these shouted sentences, confusion dawning on his face. It was incomprehensible to him, these indecipherable foreign words. However, he saw as the gallic men retreated…
Manlius cheered and mocked at the gauls, laughing at the cowards. He and a few of his men made to run forward, but were stopped from doing so by the men behind them, who pulled them back into position.
These men were right to do so, as the second line of more experienced gallic men ran forwards. These were not mere levies, but were experienced men, not elites, but some were veteran men with a skillset earned in battle.
However, all the gallic men stopped within fifty paces or so… Manlius watched on.
"am-EE-no!"
With this shouted sentence, Manlius watched as javelins were thrown high into the air.
While the javelins began their descent from a high arc, many of the Gallic men made a hasty charge. These men were unusual to Manlius, donned in either rawhide spolas or celtic-made rawhide panelled armour that were dyed in many interesting colours, but others were armoured only by their tunics. They were armed with gallic shields and they held axes or swords.
Manlius didn't know whether to direct his shield upwards to protect him from javelins or to keep his shield out in front. He quickly decided to leave his shield placed in front of him, as the gallic men rushed.
One gallic man targeted him, punching his shield into Manlius's scutum. Manlius's scutum resisted much of the energy from the punch, but the lighter celtic shield blocked Manlius from using his shield to full effectiveness. Manlius stepped his right foot back in response as the celtic man levered his axe downwards, aiming for Manlius's head.
Manlius was saved by his backstep, but even though the gaul had missed his helmeted head by a small margin, the gaul pulled his axe back, levering the weapon such that it hooked around Manlius's shield. With force, the gaul wrenched Manlius's forearm forwards, nearly causing him to take an inwards step with the force.
Manlius aimed to make a slash for the gaul's thigh, but the gaul, expecting a counter-attack of some fashion, hacked up some phlegm and spat towards Manlius's face, this act both disgusting and confusing Manlius for a moment.
"Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmm!"
Manlius heard the roaring sound of a carnyx.
The gaul moved to a side as he heard the sound, his axe still holding onto Manlius's scutum… a sight of terror came to Manlius. There was a gallic phalanx.
Manlius and his compatriots were greeted by the sight of a wall of celtic shields held together in a wall, with spears held outstretched in an overarm manner. They stepped in with the right foot with measured pace, slow so as not to lose cohesion or make gaps. They quickly closed, and as some of the frontal hastati had their shields pried by gallic axemen, the phalanx was likely to exploit these weaknesses and cause casualties, whilst suffering little due to the coverage of their shields and the closeness and strength of their formation.
"Milites, recedite se!"
Manlius turned his cheek to his right… to confirm if the centurion had truly said those words… Manlius's courage dropped as the centurion began to backstep. Manlius, shield held in place by the gallic axeman, dropped his grip on his scutum and stepped backwards in a quick pace, his front covered by his gladius. When he felt that there was enough distance between the axeman or the gallic phalanx, Manlius turned his back and ran for the gap in between the maniples of the principes. Once behind the principes, he walked behind the maniples of the triarii.
As he walked, he spotted the Rhodian slingers hurling stones towards the gallic phalanx. They had since switched to using medium-sized slings and were hurling clay shot just smaller than the size of a clenched fist from a high trajectory.
Additionally, the Massalian mistophoroi psiloi toxotai were loosing arrows into the gallic ranks, though they were of dubious effectiveness.
Atillius was confused by the sudden withdrawal of his hastati, having only learned about it from a messenger. This was due to the flat terrain, he could not see the event as it occurred, as the view was obscured by the ranks of his men from his given position.
But then, a dazzling white flash appeared from the heavens… hurling thunderbolts crashed against the earth in a haphazard pattern.
And suddenly, the battlefield had changed. Where once rested a field of green was replaced instead by the scene of desolation, scorched earth, clouds of ash spurting from burnt thatch-roofed houses.
"Jupiter Optimus Maximus!"
Cunobelinus looked at his feet. Where once stood a hill was instead flat-land. Whatever had happened, the lightning had gone, as had the rays of heavenly light.
"Taranis! What is it that you will?"
"Ambisagrus?"
Katorix uttered, immediately concerned about wherever they had arrived, by whatever divine providence.
But from a distance, Katorix thought he had seen an array of monstrous shadows emerging from a nearby forest. Given the situation, he felt that what he had seen was too risky to not tell Atillius
Katorix, his left hand gripping onto his fascinus charm for good fortune, quickly reared his horse up towards a mad dash, rushing towards Atillius.
"Call a truce! Momentary truce!" Katorix shouted.
Do let me know what you think.