Note from Kanuro5: Apologies, this was supposed to go out last month, but I won't lie, procrastination hit me hard. Now this chapter is what I view as pivotal, at least to me. I had this chapter planned in my head for years now and I'm finally happy to see it finally finished. Enjoy!
XXXIX
The Terms of War
The air around Samarobriva seemed to be colder than it's ever been to the Romans. Out in this seemingly frozen abyss stood thousands of Briton barbarians marching forward to Samarobriva. The legionaries stood there on the summit of the village, staring wide-eyed and furious at the endless horde of savages that marched forth at them. Their darkest desire to reap the lives of these exhausted Romans for their pagan gods. Cossutius had to take a simple look around to see the growing anger and fear amongst his fellow soldiers. He counted the numbers of the soldiers, trembled in subtle fear, then recounted again.
Out of the hut came the three Roman patricians, storming towards the soldiers wearing masks of utter forlorn.
Cossutius said to them, "Generals, we've tallied the number of Britons to be—"
Proculus lowered his head as he walked past his men, "8,000."
Cossutius blinked with a furrowed brow, "Yes, General. But how did—"
"Lugotorix, he played his finest hand." Vitus answered, "His son, Lugo, commands that force outside the walls. He told us that the army is 8,000 strong, and from the very beginning, he was going to utilize them in the siege. We've…been deceived again!"
Marcus punted a discarded helmet into the air with a shriek. His teeth began to gnash. "How is such a feat possible?! They're fucking savages! And that deer fucker inside that hut is simply the King of the savages! How can this be?! Fuck!"
A senatorial legionary collapsed on his ass, his hands were ruffling his hair, "It never ends, it never ends, it never ends, it never—"
Cossutius seized the man by his underarms and raised him to his feet, and yelled, "Get a hold of yourself, man! You are a soldier of Rome! You do not fall to panic!" Cossutius spun around, looking at every legionary present, "None of us shall fall to panic! We are soldiers! And we're going to bloody act like soldiers!"
"The Primus Pilus speaks truth!" Aelianus added on, "We shall never allow fear to rule us! We must stand tall in this face of the enemy!"
"But, what are we to do? We do not even number a hundred, what are we to do?" a soldier asked.
Proculus couldn't stop his left hand from shaking. All he thought at that moment was what he had accomplished with his life. His memories ended with the radiant face of Appia smiling at him.
He gripped his trembling left hand tightly with his right. He steeled his voice, "There is only one thing we can do. When we die…we die with honor."
Each man present lowered their heads to the snow, shutting out the world around to search their own souls. In the past when they were faced with insurmountable odds, they always carried a notion that they could survive, somehow. But not now, probably for the first time in the lives of these soldiers, they were finally beginning to accept the concept of death.
Vitus' eyes fell on Proculus; the brothers gave each other a soft silent nod. This was to be their last time they together. After sixteen years of being together, it seemed to finally come to the end. If only their mother could see them now, dying with sword in hand like true Romans, oh how proud would she have been? Yet the only memory that tainted their idea of sacrifice was the failing of their mission from their Senate. At all costs they were to bring the Praetor back alive, and now he would die with them. There goes their Father's mission; there goes their Father's unfailing legacy.
Vitus looked to his brother, and sighed bitterly, "Proculus…"
"Yes?"
"Do believe Father would have been proud?"
"With it ending like this?"
"Yes."
"I say he might have been s—"
"They've stopped!" Ardunas announced.
Vitus' jaw slacked low, "W-What?"
"They…They've stopped. The Britons stopped advancing!"
The eyes of the Romans scoured the formation that laid on the hills. Indeed the Brittonic army stopped their advance. They stood in a disciplined formation on a horizontal line, with the infantry in the back ranks, archers and slingers in the front ranks, and the cavalry on the flanks. Not one man advanced forward, not one barbarian voiced a fiery war cry, and not one warrior banged on their shields or beat on their chests.
"Wh-Why? Why have they stopped marching?" the Praetor asked open-endedly .
"Most likely assessing the situation, Praetor," Cossutius answered. "I'll give them two minutes at the most before they resume their marching."
"Wait, I think I see, someone walking forward…ahead of the army," Ardunas announced.
From the hilltop it was difficult to see clearly, but it seemed to be a lone figure walking on foot towards Samarobriva whilst the remainder of the army stood in complete disciplined formation. Then two more were walking out the Briton ranks, then five, then ten. At that moment, it seemed like thirty Britons were seemingly roaming down to Samarobriva on foot away from their army, they were in no rush; they were simply walking as if they were on a stroll in a garden. The remaining Brittonic army stood as statues, watching on as these thirty Britons walked all around the battlefield. One Briton walked towards a Briton corpse and knelt beside the body for five seconds, then stood back to his feet and moved on. Another Briton walked to a corpse and pushed it with his arms, and the corpse seemed to be moving. The Briton called another to the wounded barbarian and they both picked up the wounded man and brought him back to their lines. Other Britons were doing the same, moving from body to body and grabbing those who were still alive and left alone in the snow, bringing them back to the safety of their kinsmen.
"Wha-What are they…?"
"They're collecting their dead and wounded. Look at them. They got their own men bringing the wounded back into their ranks. Why? Shouldn't they be attacking us."
The Romans looked closer. The small figures in the distance were approaching Samarobriva, yet were just far enough away where they were out of arrow range. A sizeable group of eight Britons, moved to the corpses that wore crimson capes. The legionaries gasped as the Britons were searching the crimson bodies. They took away the gladii, and peeled off the armor from the crimson Briton was even kicking each corpse he passed by, none of them reacted, except for one. After he was hit, the legionary was slowly rolling around in the snow and began crawling back towards the village. The Briton alerted the other seven.
"Gods no," a legionary said to himself.
"Does that soldier yet live?" another asked.
"Possibly, we didn't have enough time to fetch the wounded outside the village."
The Britons crowded around the soldier, and they bent over the crawling man. It was hard to see, but it seemed that the wounded legionary was shaking his head with utter fervency. He was crying out in resistance as six of the barbarians knelt over him the legionary, seizing him.
"Oh Gods…that poor bastard…"
"Those cunts! Leave that soldier alone!"
"Wh-What are they going to do to him?"
"The Gods only know…if he was wise…he should bite his tongue to end it here and now."
"Are they, to capture all of our wounded outside the village?
But the focus of the legionaries broke upon hearing the neighing of several horses. Within the town square was Vitus mounting Romulus, with Ardunas and the remaining three of his archers mounting horses as well.
"Vitus, where are you going?"
"To save that man! If they're seizing him, then they desire information! Who knows how many legionaries are still alive out there that can be captured as well?"
"What?!" Proculus shouted.
"You fool!" the Praetor said, "You desire to venture out there? They shall seize you!"
"Don't go out there, Vitus!" Proculus begged. He ran in front of Romulus with his hands out, "That soldier, he…he cannot…"
"And if they torture the wounded, what information will they disclose to the barbarians, Proculus? All the defenses of the Roman territory to the West and North, the strength of each garrison! We cannot allow that to happen. And if that isn't enough, how about because he's a soldier of the Twenty-Eighth, and I shall not allow him to suffer such an ignoble end! Ardunas, with me! Let's go!"
Vitus kicked his horse and he galloped down the slope of the hill and darted towards the gate with his Gallic archers close behind. His brother futilely chased after him.
"Vitus comeback! VITUS! Fuck!" Proculus stopped once he realized he would never catch him. Proculus began running back to the square.
"My horse! Fetch me my horse! Quickly!"
When will I every stop leaping without looking?
Vitus was cursing himself, the moment he left the gate of Samarobriva. His stallion galloped full speed into the snow, kicking up clumps of the blood-dyed snow and stepping on the littered corpses of barbarian and Roman alike. The closer he got to the Britons, the more he felt the urge to soil himself.
I can always turn back…that's right! What am I going to do anyhow? Kill all the Britons myself? Damn it, Vitus, you fool! I can just turn back—what am I thinking?! I can't abandon that man! What would Father do? What would his father do in this situation? Probably actually use rationality in this case, instead of acting on impulse like Vitus always did. But the Roman youth felt a dark reason to venture out of Samarobriva. Is this feeling…just pure curiosity? I…I must know why they are doing this. I must—by the Gods, does it matter why they're taking him? I just need to save the man!
Vitus galloped closer to the group of Britons who were struggling to carry the wounded legionary away. Once he reached them, he reared Romulus, and the mighty black stallion neighed with ferocity, startling the group of Britons. There were seven Britons surrounding the wounded man. The seven men drew their swords and stood their ground while staring at Vitus. All seven of them were wearing the dreaded armor of those "Chosen Swordsmen" that Lugotorix called the warriors that inflicted the casualties on the 28th…the same warriors who killed Oroles…
But the eighth man, well, not quite man, he was a boy. He was shorter than the armored Britons around him and did not wear any distinguishable clothing, in fact, his clothing seemed to resemble as if he was grabbed from a Roman gutter.
A slave. A slave to the Britons. Vitus eyed the slave boy with curiosity. The slave boy was young seemingly close to Vitus' age, yet was slightly taller than Vitus by an inch or two. The boy was wearing clothing that Vitus was used to seeing on the homeless. He wore a roughspun tunic of burlap that clothed his torso and arms and dingy burlap trousers and footwraps that covered his legs and feet. Yet through his disheveled appearance, the boy was undeniably handsome. His hair was of medium length, draping down to the lobes of his ears, and had the color of pure gold. His eyes were as blue and clear as the ocean.
The slave boy did not break his gaze upon Vitus for the longest time. Vitus ensured himself he would not be the one to break the stare down. The wounded Roman groaned in agony. Out of his peripherals, Vitus noticed the other Britons snapping their head to the noisy wounded man. But not the slave, his blue eyes were locked on Vitus' dual colored eyes.
From atop his stallion, Vitus grimaced and pointed his sword at the slave. "Unhand him!" The slave's face contorted to childlike confusion. What are the odds that he knows the tongue of Rome? Shit…Vitus had to raise his voice and shoved his sword out, "Now!"
The golden-haired slave seemed to have gotten the message. The slave spoke to the other Britons and the Britons nodded at Vitus. They placed the wounded man before Vitus, and backed away with hands in the air and their swords in their scabbards.
The three Gallic archers finally caught up to Vitus; and from atop their horses, they nocked their arrows at the Britons. Ardunas' arrow moved from Briton-to-Briton, yet the Gaul's eyes were aimed at the slave boy who was the closest to the wounded man. "Get back! Get back you fucking slave!"
"Easy, just back away, I do not wish to harm you, I do not." Vitus dismounted Romulus and moved closer to the wounded Roman, his eyes refusing to leave the Swordsmen who glared with furious anger, yet the slave boy's face held no anger, just peculiar puzzlement that bordered on astonishment. "Get back, I do not seek to harm you, yet I will. Get back!"
Vitus knelt and brought the wounded legionary to his feet. The legionary smiled, looking as if he was about to shed tears, "Gods bless you, General! I feared I was to be captured by these savages. Gods bless you!"
Vitus broke his eye contact. He turned around and walked back to his horse, giving a reassuring smirk to his soldier, "Of course, Twenty-Eighth for life. And a General can never abandon his men."
"Truly? You're a general?"
The voice came from behind him. It held the accent of a barbarian. Vitus spun around and faced the eight Britons; he blinked in disbelief as he was trying to match the voice with the face of the barbarian.
"You're the general of that garrison?" the Briton said again.
Vitus' head jolted back. Was that Briton really speaking to him? In perfect Latin, no less.
"Uh…indeed. I am..." Vitus didn't know what was going on.
"Incredible, and you came out here by yourself with three archers by your side?" the slave boy's eyes lit up in exuberance as he laughed, "The balls on you!"
Was this a joke or something?
"Y-You're speaking the Common tongue," Vitus stated to the adolescent.
"Yes, and water is wet. Are we to continue stating the obvious?"
"I…uh, I—I don't under—"
"Oh don't be like that. I'm confident your slaves speak your language as well, correct? What I'm more interested in is that you are the leader of the garrison inside that village. How about this, you tell me your name and I shall tell you mine?"
"What does a name mean to a slave?" Ardunas scoffed, his arrow now focused at the slave boy's face.
"Hmm, then you've never truly spoken to slaves before, have you? Identity is everything towards a slave." The blond-haired slave shook his head and turned back to Vitus. "Now please, what is your name?"
"Uh…I…I am General Vitus Julius of the 28th Legion, son of Lucius Julius the Mighty."
The slave boy stood up straight and proud, whatever was left of his demureness had vanished completely. "Greetings, General Vitus of the 28th Legion. My name is Lugo, son of Lugotorix the Bloodyhanded, Prince and Heir of the Britons."
No…no way…no fucking way…
His jaw felt like it fell all the way through to the Earth's core. The Roman's eyes fell on this boy's burlap tunic, the dingy burlap footwraps that covered his feet, the mud and dirt caked on his face. That is impossible…
"Y-You? Y-You're the Prince?"
The Briton smiled from ear-to-ear. "Indeed, I am."
"You lie!" scoffed the Gallic archer. "You are no prince."
"Truly? How would you recognize him? You've never met him. I am who I say I am. Eyes are always prone to deception. Would you look at Vitus, small in frame and youthful in face, and judge him a general of a legion?"
"Well answer me this, if you hold such an observant eye, how would you judge me?"
"Hmm, judging by such appearance, mannerisms, poor hygiene, and your fondness for the color green…I assume you are a Gaul, correct?"
"I am. And do you judge that I will loose this arrow straight into those blue eyes of yours?"
"No, I judge that you lower your arrow and we speak with utter civility."
"Fuck off!"
Lugo's jovial eyes, suddenly hardened. Vitus couldn't explain it, but chills crawled up his spine. Lugo stared at the archer. "Or simply, I can take that fucking arrow and shove it up your ass, where even your catamite kinsmen shall be unable to find."
"Truly? Then come over here and make me drop my arrow!"
"I don't make pigs," the young Briton said with crossed arms, "I eat them."
The Gaul snarled, and brought back the arrow to his shoulder. "Ardunas, lower your arrow," Vitus commanded, not taking his eyes of the eccentric Briton.
"But Vitus—"
"Just do it, tell your men to do so as well."
Ardunas growled to himself, but ultimately complied. His men lowered their arrows with hardened scowls.
Lugo nodded to Vitus, "Gratitude for taking the higher road."
"Well, it seems as if I hold no choice. Now, may I ask for what—"
"Blue and green. Fascinating!"
"Huh…wait, what?"
"Your eyes…by Andrasta, your eyes! Blue and green!"
Lugo suddenly darted towards the Roman. Vitus nearly went for his sword on instinct, but for some strange reason he chose not to. Lugo was inches from his face and with expression of utter fascination that was plain to see.
The Gallic archers raised their arrows again at Lugo. "Back away from him!" Ardunas shouted.
Lugo's smiling continued. "One eye is blue, and the other green. Incredible! In all my travels, I've never seen anything like this!"
"Uh…gratitude…for the comment." Vitus noted several of Lugo's men inching forward, just as mesmerized by his mismatched eyes. Vitus took a few steps back.
"Such eyes you bear. Is such a sign a blessing…or a curse, by the gods?"
Vitus momentarily closed his eyes, his mind escaping to the past. "You know, I've been asked that question many times and I've heard whispers of such behind my back quite often. You desire the truth? Many things have been given to us in this world for unforeseeable reasons, but what we do with such blessings and curses, that is the true measure of a man."
The young man in burlap was seemingly taken back by the answer in surprise, but a soft smile grew, "Well said."
"Now if I may ask? Why are you collecting your wounded? Why did you, the Prince, come out this close to our gates? And why are you dressed like this?"
"For the same reason you came out of those gates. Curiosity. I'm cautious by nature. Some claim it virtue, some claim it vice. But as I marched my men over here, I heard from my Father that the battle would be near won once I arrived, and his army would still be besieging the Romans. Yet here I arrive, and there's no siege, dead Romans and Britons everywhere, the Briton chariots have been either abandoned or destroyed, and Romans are still holding Samarobriva. Quite strange would you not agree?
"So naturally, it pegged me most foul that such a disaster could occur. If these wounded men could still divulge information about what happened and what kind of enemy you are, well, that's more of an advantage for me. Though to be honest, I'm already at an advantage and could afford to wait. If I chose to linger, what would you Romans have done? Fortify yourselves more? And about my clothes? Well, if I wore my armor, you would be able to spot me a mile away, and unfortunately…I cannot fit the armor of these Swordsmen, so…and besides I wanted to judge how you Romans would react upon seeing me like this. I was curious. Yet I digress, how many men do you have in that cursed village of yours? Less than a hundred?"
Vitus glared at the prince. Lugo continued, "Hmm, it seems that I am right. But then again, I'm cautious. If we found any living Romans, then maybe with…assistance, they could divulge precious information about the total number of survivors inside that accursed settlement. And, anything else they may be privy to. Especially if it's locating someone I hold dear to me…"
"Fortunately, I arrived to stop you."
"Yes, quite fortunate indeed. But answer me this, you come forth with three archers behind you, against my seven men behind me. If I had refused to hand over that Roman, would you have attacked us?"
"Yes, I would've taken my sword and struck you down."
Lugo tilted his head slightly up, he showed some teeth in a crooked grin, "No, you would have tried. But why risk certain death at our hands with no army to aid you? Why do such a thing for a dying man?"
"Because that's what a true leader does. How can he ask his men to die for him if he won't die for them? How can a leader sit behind the safety of walls while his men are suffering from outside? How can he watch them being tortured and not intervene? You shall not take any Roman from this field of battle, Lugo. Not while I still draw breath. But you understand this, I…I know this is a principal that you and I share."
"We've have just become acquainted and you claim to be familiar with my principles? How do you know that?"
At that moment, Vitus paid no heed to it, but his apprehensiveness slowly began to fade. "Why else are you out here dressed in rags looking through your own people? You seem to enjoy the thrill of danger yet are not foolish enough to fully expose yourself to itself. Such is why you did not wear an attire of royalty in fear of being targeted. You wanted to prove that you need not look like a Prince to care for your men. And you lead by example. The first figure that walked ahead of the army, that was you, correct?"
The prince nodded approvingly. "Vitus, how old are you?"
"I'm in my sixteenth year."
Lugo chuckled with a surprise baritone in his voice, "As am I."
Such a thought made the corner of Vitus' mouth rise. He couldn't figure out why.
Lugo examined the Roman from head to toe, "I do not recall Rome creating generals so young?"
"I have earned such a title through…a passing of family."
"Hmm, such another thing we share, you and I. Yet in my case…the title of Heir."
"It was…not originally yours?"
"Such a title belonged to my elder brothers…for a time. I'm third born. Both who were groomed by my father before I. They fell on the fields of battle, and so I was crowned Heir."
"Oh…apologies, I grieve."
To Vitus, Lugo seemed amused by that comment. "Do you?" the Briton asked him.
"Not for them, for you. The loss of a family member so close is always heartfelt."
"And yet I know several men who rejoiced upon their brothers' passing. What about you? Do you have a brother?"
"I do. He's the eldest by five years."
"You love him dearly?"
"I do."
Lugo's eyes looked slightly upwards, "And apparently he loves you just as much."
Vitus' eyes narrowed, " 'Apparently'?"
The Chosen Swordsmen bodyguards suddenly drew their swords, yet Lugo simply crossed his arms and grinned at Vitus. "Because I believe that's him riding out here to save you."
The Roman and Gallic archers spun around once they heard the heavy crunching of snow behind them. Out of the gates of Samarobriva were a dozen men galloping hard on their horses towards Vitus and Lugo. The foremost horse that was out-galloping the rest was Remus with his rider screaming Vitus' name. The younger brother softly spoke a name.
Proculus jumped off his horse before Remus even came to a complete stop. He ran to Vitus with sword in hand, his expression forming into a mixture of relief and fear. "Vitus! Are you unharmed? Have you lost mind?! You could of—"
"Put your sword away, Proculus!" Vitus said through his teeth, trying to show a level of calmness.
"What? How can I with the enemy right—"
"Proculus! Do it!"
The Praetor and the remaining of the horsemen finally reached Vitus. They leapt off their horses with weapons drawn and formed a semicircle behind the brothers. Marcus clenched his sword tightly, his eyes refusing to leave the Britons that stood in front of them. "Vitus, you fool! What has possessed you to leave?! And why were you locked in staring with these savages? Were you conversing with these dreaded shit-eating bastards?!"
Oh Gods no…! Vitus' teeth were gritting tighter as he spoke, "Marcus, drop the profanity…"
"Speak clearly, boy! Why were you speaking to these sullen cunts?"
Vitus noticed Lugo's eyebrow raising and his lips tightening. Why did Marcus have to come now?!
"Answer, me Vitus! Why are you out here conversing with these mongrels?"
"Using such language when you believe others cannot understand you? Oh the hubris of you Romans."
The wide-eyed Romans slowly twisted their heads to the boy covered in rags. Marcus was the first to express his confusion.
"What…? I—I…Who the fuck are you?"
The young Briton's eyes flickered towards Vitus. The Roman youth gulped softly, "The man that stands before you is Lugo, Prince of the Britons, and son of Lugotorix, commander of the mighty host that stands behind him."
To Vitus, it seemed everyone's eyes nearly popped out of their heads. Many jaws fell in unison at this "prince" who could be confused for a peasant. Proculus kept swiveling his head at Vitus and back to Lugo to see if this was a Brittonic jest, and Vitus sadly shook his head.
The Praetor said, "This is the Prince…Lugotorix spoke of? This boy?!"
"A boy I may appear to you, but realize now that you speak to a Prince. But if you keep debasing yourself by claiming me a 'boy'…well, simply; you shall be defeated by this 'boy', captured by this 'boy', and die at the hands of this 'boy'. This 'boy' shall enjoy hearing the gurgle of your blood as your throat is slashed, and this 'boy' shall revel in the cracking of your bones when your carcass is thrown in the pyre."
Proculus asked, still in disbelief, "And you know the Common tongue?"
"Of course, if you must know, a Roman taught me, and I've gained much experience in its use in the past years. Now, Vitus, give me the introduction of these two men. The one closest to you, I assume is your brother, based on the hair and resemblance of the face. And who is this annoying blond filth that parades around like a child?"
"This man here is Proculus Julius, my brother. And this man that stands before you is Marcus Maxentius, a Praetor of the Republic."
"I would express courtesy to you…but," Lugo's eyes hovered on Marcus, "I was given none by you."
"Like we would share some with the likes of you barbarians."
"Marcus," Proculus said softly, "We are speaking to a man with an army behind him, such words are never needed in this situation. In fact," he then turned to the Prince, "You possess an army that can topple us, for what purpose are you scouring the field for the dead and wounded?"
Lugo's face brimmed with eagerness, "You cleave to the heart of the matter? Very well, allow me to explain my real purpose here. I'm searching for my father. You have seen him, right? He's taller than most men, golden hair like mine, blue eyes like mine, a thick moustache that drapes his lips, extravagant armor with the colors of blue, grey, and white. You have seen him? Because the last thing I desire is for him to be wounded in this snow, and when I charge with my army, he's trampled to death. So here I am, searching the snow to see if he is among the dead and wounded. If you know of his fate and he survives, then such is a blessing!" Lugo began rubbing his hands slowly, "But…if he was killed, then that would be…problematic for you all." His jovialness disappeared. "So, I'm only asking once. Where, is, my, father?"
Vitus said unto him, "He is alive and in our care."
"Truly?"
"Yes."
A smile formed on Lugo's face, "You're not fucking with me are you?"
"I'm not. He was wounded in the fighting, but we had him treated. After the end of the battle, the Praetor was prepared to execute him, but I stopped him, and convinced him to be taken prisoner."
Lugo turned a hard eye to the Praetor, then back to Vitus, "You spared my father, why?"
By Venus' mercy, what could Vitus say? The truth? By the Gods, telling him the truth might have Lugo call in the attack and kill them all. But then again, if they were to die anyway, would lying really matter?
Lugo continued, "From his letter to me, he defeated your father in battle, and took his head from his corpse. Why keep a man alive who did that to your own father?"
Vitus exhaled deeply, "In truth, I…told the Praetor to spare him, because I wanted him to suffer…"
Marcus slammed his palm into his face. Proculus sighed with his eyes closed. Ardunas was slowly reaching for an arrow in his quiver incase the Britons attacked. Vitus was mentally kicking himself. Lugo was just blinking slowly, lost in what the Roman had said to him.
"What? You wanted my father to suffer?"
He already said the truth, why go back on it now?
"I did. I wanted…I wanted him to fully grasp his failure in this plot of his to seize power. As we ventured back to Roman lands, each passing day would be worse for him as the weight of his undoing sinks deeper into his blackened soul. And when we return to Rome, he shall be paraded in a cage like a monkey as men, women, and children hurl jeers and rotten fruit at him as he visits each of the Seven Hills. Then he's shackled in the deepest cell Rome can offer and for months he starves and grows weaker, his mind close to breaking upon his failure of where everything went wrong. The guards come upon him once a day to flog him and…dominate him if they were of a mind; all to show his worthlessness as a man. And as his mind finally shatters to pieces, his spirit destroyed, his body weaker than a newborn's, then we finally kill him. He's strangled in front all of a Rome, or maybe hauled off the Tarpeian Rock! A grand execution for a grand failure. A cruel mercy for an even crueler life he lived…"
Lugo blinked hard for several moments, his eyes fell to the ground. "Fuck…" Lugo raised his head, his eyes seemed to be begging Vitus for the absolute truth, "You tell of the horrors you shall inflict upon my father, to my face? For what reason are you so honest?"
"Does it matter anymore if I usher deception? At the end of the day, you're going to decide what shall become of us. You hold the larger army. You hold the sword over our heads. And my father always told me to die with strength and honor, and where is the honor in fear? I shall bear false tongue to you because I'm afraid? Never. That may have been the old me, but not anymore. You hold my life in your hands, but not my tongue."
Lugo grunted in approval. "Huh. You are not wrong in that. I must say, Vitus, you are well versed in negotiation with someone stronger than you. You know how vital it is to amuse the person who holds your life in their hands."
Vitus shrugged softly, "You are not the first one to call me 'amusing'. I must speak the facts as I see it. And as you are deciding to kill us now, know this about my honesty. If we are to die at your hands, Rome shall have its vengeance. We Romans are terrible at deception, for everyone knows our policy. 'Rome does not forget, and Rome does not forgive' You kill us, and we're going to keep coming after you again and again until one of us is completely destroyed. You need proof for such claims? Go ask the Carthaginians. Oh wait, you cannot. Because their civilization is dust. And the survivors are enslaved as household property or gladiators. And yes, this my Roman arrogance speaking to you. We may fall before your sword, but know that we here at Samarobriva will gain our vengeance through proxy by the Senate and the Three Families of Rome."
Lugo looks upon him with a smile, "You are indeed a conundrum." He began to laugh heartily as if told a great joke, "You possess the physical menace of a butterfly, yet I peer into your eyes and see a warrior born of the mighty wolf! Your speech is soft and polite, yet your planned actions for my father are cruel and malicious! And you plainly admit your own vices, whilst you come from a people who thrive on vices and hypocrisy!"
Lugo walked up to Vitus, his nose barely touching his, "Vitus Julius…you are the most interesting Roman I have ever met."
Vitus raised his eyebrow and kept a grin, "And you…are the most bizarre prince I have ever met."
Lugo smiled, "I render guilty in such a verdict. But, living in Rome for three years would do that for you."
"What? D-Did you say you lived, three years…in Rome?"
"Such is the truth." The smile on the young Briton's face morphed into an arrogant sneer.
"Ha! You expect me to believe such drivel?" Marcus roared with laughter. "Oh the fucking cock on you! You had me fearing you for a moment, but now I see you're a simple boy who seeks to play the game of politics with us Romans. You cack-filled catamite."
Vitus began to shudder when the smile disappeared from Lugo. As Marcus continued to laugh, the prince's voice was soft, colder than the climate of his homeland, "I see…tell me Praetor, how is your uncle, Caius? He was running for the position of Consul last time I was in Rome. He was favored to win over Gnaeus Carbo, was he not? And how is his young wife…uh, give me a second, what was her name…with an "s"…oh, Servilia Silanus! Yes, she was attractive, and that wedding on the kalends on the Capitoline was marvelous."
Marcus stopped laughing. His skin began to pale as he trembled. "H-How d-did you—"
The dark smile returned to the prince's face.
"Only those of the highest renown of the Republic were at that wedding…so if you were there…"
"You, were a spy?" Vitus asked.
"For three full years."
Proculus gritted his teeth, "Spying like Cassius."
"Who is this Cassius?"
"A Briton spy, your father assigned to sabotage our Father's legion! That's who Cassius is."
"I see, he must have been born with the tongue to put Dolos to shame if Father assigned him to spy on your legion!" Lugo laughed.
Proculus' fist clenched. "How dare you laugh in that manner! How does a barbarian know of the spirit Dolos? And how did you get this close to the Senate? Only those of worth can be that close to senators!"
"You arrogant Romans, always believing societal worth is a birthright. I witness you Romans pass through the Forum with your noses stuck so high in the air, it proves a miracle you all do not drown from the rains. I pose a riddle, in a patrician's world, what sees everything, but is never seen? What aids a patrician, but is never thanked?"
Marcus yelled out more obscenities about the futility of the riddle. Proculus tried to think of what it entailed. But Vitus' eyes were still lost in Lugo's shaggy attire. Right then, the riddle made sense to Vitus. The young Roman said, "You…you posed as a slave?"
Lugo rolled up his sleeve on his right arm and held up his wrist for all to see. Underneath the palm was a wound that had healed somewhat but left a gruesome scar in its wake. The wound seemed to be self-inflicted, as if the man responsible took a dagger…and peeled off his flesh. The spot for the wound was a popular spot for Romans to brand their slaves, a spot where Vitus recalled most of his own family slaves were branded. For upon being asked, a slave would simply hold out his arm for all to see who owned them.
"You ask if I posed as a slave?" Lugo said to Vitus, there was no emotion in the Briton's eyes, "Know it was not by choice."
"But how were you a slave if you were the Heir to the Britons?"
"Three years ago I was not. I was simply a third son to my father. My father desired more eyes in every nation and upon deciding on who to send to Rome, I volunteered to travel to Rome. It made sense, Rome was in the midst of a civil war, because of Sulla, they were at its most vulnerable. My brothers had already had their world trip as they sailed to Greece and Scythia respectively, I wanted to outshine them, so I chose Rome. My mother hated the idea, but my Father allowed it. I had several men watching over me as we sailed across the mainland into Roman lands. We docked on the peninsula by Capua and were prepared to move to Rome, but we were set upon by a Roman patrol who believed us Gallic infiltrators. They slew most of my guards, yet I was wise enough to submit and not mention by title as a Briton Prince. Upon seeing that I was a short boy of thirteen and could speak their language…they shackled me and brought me to Rome in a cage. And when I entered the city of Rome, I witnessed…the magnitude of what made Rome truly terrifying. The stone walls of their city, the population, the flowing systems of water and the organization of their military. Even when I was caged like livestock, I prayed to Andrasta, thanking her for allowing me to come to Rome. For I realized with the sharpest of epiphanies, that we barbarians can never take down Rome with might alone. To take down the beast, one must emphasize cunning above all else.
"I spent the following three years under the house of…well, you needn't know his name, just know he was in the Senate. I followed him everything as a body slave in-training, especially at gatherings at other senator's villas, and of course, overheard such…crucial information about men's ambitions, corruption, treason, banishment, perversion, and murder. Oh yes, corruption and murder were prevalent on their tongues. I've learned so much of Roman society from my "master", and do you desire to know how I repaid him after three years of service? I stole his gold, sabotaged his letters, witnessed the fighting style of Rome from his sons who trained with legionaries, deflowered his daughter, shame really, I should have taken her with me when the slaves and I escaped, his daughter was so willing to accompany me…and I also—"
Marcus shook his head with defiance. "Impossible! No, I shan't believe this! I find it impossible that barbarians are capable of such elaborate espionage!"
Lugo smiled, but his words carried a tinge of anger, "There it is. The Roman hubris your people are famous for. Why? Why is it that large nations cannot believe that smaller nations have the capacity to be ingenious? What makes us so different? Is it because you have a more thorough use of technology? Because you live in stone homes and we in sticks and mud? Why must you think you are better than everyone else? You claim we are not 'elaborate'? No, what isn't elaborate is your perceived web of security around Rome. You think you are safe, yet I've found many holes in your infrastructure, many risks that you Romans overlook, and many…foreign eyes that exist within the Senate."
Marcus was now completely pale, "What do you mean by that? What 'foreign eyes'? Tell me…tell me!"
"Why are you telling us this, Lugo?" Vitus asked.
Lugo yawned, "Why not? What are secrets to dead men?"
Marcus stood tall, growling slowly as he gripped the handle of his gladius, "If what you say is true, and we truly are doomed, then what's stopping us from simply killing you here and now? If we are going to die anyway, then it doesn't matter what shall befall you."
"An excellent point. What's stopping you? Truthfully?" Lugo gave a simple shrug. "Nothing. You all know how it shall end. Have that Gallic archer shoot an arrow through my heart. Charge at me, oh fearsome Praetor, and lop off my head. Whatever occurs, I'm dead. My army charges, my father is killed in the fighting, you all die, but my people still hold the town. All of us standing here in this moment may die, but us Britons still win the war. The pieces always change, but the game is still played. There are always others who shall rise and take my father's place, who shall take my place; my own family shall rise during our fall. Kill me and be done with it, yet nothing shall change."
"And yet you chose to personally walk into the field of battle knowing that you might have been killed?"
"Of course, I am no craven who hides behind his men when they perform menial labor. And death is inescapable. True, I hold no desire for death, yet when I shall be called, I shall proudly court her. Besides, Vitus did the same as I, he knew he might have been killed but he did the action anyway to save another's life. Such a feat is courage. If only every man could grasp honor in such a way."
Marcus spat some phlegm from his mouth to the snow. "What is honor to a barbarian?"
"What is honor to a Roman?"
Vitus stepped forward, "It stands before you."
Lugo smiled. "Indeed it does. For it seems that you, Vitus, you can—"
Lugo suddenly stopped speaking. He eyed Vitus some more, then shifted his focus to Samarobriva that stood behind the Romans. He started pacing in a small circle, rubbing his chin with a bizarre smile that one usually has when they are bordering on an epiphany.
"Uh, Lugo…is something the matter?" Vitus asked. The Roman didn't notice that his tone held more concern than general confusion over the Briton's behavior.
Lugo stopped pacing and spun around to the Romans, his smile still intact. "Huh. Imagine that. Gratitude, Vitus, you have shown me something truly…grand."
"I…I have?"
"Indeed. In fact, all of you should be thanking Vitus, because he might have just saved your lives. Allow me to make my claim simple for you Romans, I shall give you three terms and your fate shall be decided upon your answer."
Marcus said, "Whatever terms you offer, we shall not accept! Besides, what could you possibly offer that we shall agree to?"
"I would believe walking away with your lives would suffice, correct?" Every man present that understood was suddenly hit with the gravity of those words. Lugo smiles, "I figured that would gain your attention. Accept these terms that I lay before you and I shall allow every living Roman, Gaul, and whoever else in Samarobriva to keep their life. I shall allow you to walk out of the village and return back to your Roman lands."
The Gallic archers nearly dropped their bows in shocks. The Thracians began blinking in disbelief. The brothers exchanged looks of utter bewilderment with one another. Proculus could feel his body tremble, Vitus felt the world escaping up under him. Was this true? Was this happening? Could…Could they survive this?
The Praetor snarled, "Rome does not negotiate."
Lugo rolled his eyes, "Well Rome is not here, just us."
Proculus' eyes shot open. The image of his father's face emerged in his mind, his father's rugged mouth whispering the words. Power and Strength.
"Lugo," the elder brother said with renewed vigor, "The snow beneath your feet, from where does it belong?"
"Uh, what?"
"From where does it belong? Since your army stands over this part of the land, to what nation does that snow you stand over belong to?"
"It…to the lands of Britannia? Why does such matter?"
Proculus kneeled down and scooped up the snow directly under him, and showed it to the Briton. "This snow from my feet, this comes from the territory of Rome. You see Lugo, we are Rome. Wherever we stand, that territory is Roman. In whatever direction we walk, we are expanding Rome's territory. Just know that since we still hold Samarobriva, we are still Rome, never forget that."
Lugo chuckled amusingly, and nodded with understanding, "Fine, you are in Rome then, if such makes you feel better. What I meant before was in a sense, I believe two men can achieve more for their nations than a hundred men could. After all, was it not politics that got you Romans stranded here in the first place?"
Vitus smirked, "And you are saying politics will get us out of this?"
Lugo returned the smirk, "Ah politics. A contradiction by any other name."
"Fine, we shall hear your terms, Lugo."
"No we shall not!" Marcus interjected. "Vitus, I am the Praetor of the Republic, I speak for Rome, not you! I am the Praetor!"
The Briton Prince sighed, "Any man who must repeat their authority holds no true authority. I thought they taught you that in the cursus honorum."
"Why you impudent little—"
"My first term is fairly obvious, release my father."
The Romans' eyes grew wide at the demand. Vitus sputtered, "Wh-What? We cannot release him."
"Of course you can. Just bring him out to me. I just require the return of not only my father, but the king of our people. Can we not say such is an even agreement by the son?"
Proculus said, "We possess two kings, and we're losing both…how would you considered this an even agreement?"
" 'Both', you say? Who is the second—" A malicious grin grew on Lugo's face. "Segovax? To shit with Segovax, you can keep the damn Gaul. He has no army, no lands; he's worthless to us. Take him as…a symbol of good faith and willing compromise. Indeed you are losing a barbarian king, but you're at least still returning home with one. I just want my king back. I just want my Father."
Proculus exhaled. "The Gaul is shit compared to the Bloodyhanded, you just stated so. Your father would serve a more lofty pedestal as prisoner."
"He would, I shall not deny. But what kind of son would I be to leave my father in the clutches of Rome? What would my army think of me abandoning my king, why would they follow me if I leave him to his fate? I cannot imagine the pain you two have felt in losing your father. I do not wish to discover such emotion, not yet. But my Father gave you all some mercy, in his letter, he informed me he sent your father's head back to the city of Alesia for receiving proper death honors."
Vitus was blinking in disbelief. "Alesia"? Just like Lugotorix told us, so…is it true? Is our Father's skull back in Alesia? Lugo himself would hold no reason to deceive us in this matter…or would he?
Lugo continued, "It may not seem fair in such a balance, but look upon it as this. Instead of a mysterious king from the haunted waste of winter in the north, you Romans seize Segovax, "The Last King of the Gauls", Rome's longest enemy. I can only imagine the pomp that will preside over his execution. The final celebration you shall have after he is dead, to truly end the civilization of the Gauls. That is what I'm offering to you all in my father's place."
Vitus smirked darkly, "Lugo…oh Lugo, how dare you. You offer us piss and claim it wine."
Lugo chuckled, "What you or I call, it does not matter. Such trivial naming is irrelevant. All that matters is whether you drink what I am giving you or you spit it in my face. Only break the words from your tongue, and reap the reward…or consequence. Now for my second term, this may be bitterer to swallow. I demand the Republic of Rome to surrender Samarobriva unto me."
"S-S-Sur-Sur—" It seemed like the word was a foreign language to Marcus. He continued to mutter, "Sur-Surrender Samarobriva? To you?"
"Do you witness any other army here? Surrender the village to me and return my father. Those are two of my terms in granting you all life. Let us be candid here, you cannot hold this settlement. You and your men are already stretched past your limits. The numbers of my army already ensures my victory ten times over. But allow us to break down your defeat, even more, shall we? I can just listen to your ragged breath and examine the ferocity of the battle around us to determine that your men are thoroughly exhausted. While my men are perfectly fresh. Your settlement walls have gaping holes in them and your main gate is destroyed, so there's no need for a siege, my men can simply enter. And even if we do form a siege, you all shall not last a week. From the hill I noticed you only have one hut standing in the village, and even if you crowd all your men in that hut, it shall not spare you from the full brunt of winter. Another blizzard shall come, worse than the last. You shall not survive that. But in this notion, if you desire to breakout and charge us in a futile attempt to gain honor in death…well…you shall seek an honorable death, but it shall not come to you. As soon as you all leave the sanctity of Samarobriva, a thousand arrows shall rain down upon you from my archers. And even if you survive the arrows if you form testudo, then you shall face the might of my cavalry. One thousand strong. Four hundred of which are heavy cavalry which shall charge headlong into your paltry defense of a testudo and grind your bones into the snow, followed by the trampling of the 600 remaining light cavalry who shall encircle you all. And, hmm, let us be gracious and say that five through a dozen of you somehow survive that, I shall simply rain arrows upon arrows on the survivors who are too weakened to even raise their shields. That is if, and this is a pretty large if, if your men do not run for the hills as soon as you try to come out of the village to attack us. If you try to hide in the village, we'll starve you to death if the winter doesn't claim you first. If you try to flee, we shall run you down. If you try to fight, we'll kill you all without suffering a single casualty. There is no honor that you can gain from this situation."
The Romans found that Lugo was not wrong, this self-evident truth was the bitterest to swallow. Because of this breakdown of facts, every man felt a surreal understanding of hopelessness about the defense of this cursed settlement that over 50,000 men have died for. Vitus looked back at the village and saw his father hovering over the village in the sky, giving him a stare of desolation. Was…this truly all for naught then?
Vitus sighed, "So Lugo, what is this third term of yours?"
"It is the most crucial of the three. Seeing as my father is captured and I am the Prince, I act as sole voice for the Briton Isles. And as such a voice, I offer the Republic of Rome an official ceasefire to end hostilities between the Britons and the Republic."
The Romans' heads snapped towards the Briton, their hands were trembling at the offer.
" 'A ceasefire'? Surely you jest?"
"I do not."
Marcus was sneering slowly, "You, fucking, Briton. After all that occurred, after you essentially won this little war of yours, you would desire to cease hostilities simply because you're the victor?"
"Ending things while you're on top is the best way to end." Lugo's chuckling showed his teeth,
"But you won. Why do you ask for a ceasefire?" Proculus asked. "Why not keep conflicting continuing with Rome?"
Vitus' eyes opened, "Because, this isn't about Rome. You truly are fighting just for your homeland."
"Yes we are. I do not know how many times I can explain. All that we Britons desire is the return of our land. The Germanians and the Gauls stole our land a century ago, massacred our people, and banished us to the Isle of Britons. Is it so wrong to fight for something that's yours? Is it really? What happened with you Romans was mere…coincidence, to say the least. According to my father; he informed me that had Marcus Maxentius not marched on Samarobriva, we Britons would have eventually launched an attack of the mainland itself. The Brittonic Invasion was inevitable. All that the Senate's war on the barbarians caused was just a credible excuse for my father to form an alliance to get our warriors on the mainland. Samarobriva has always been our target for it is the nearest settlement to our island, where we could easily resupply and reinforce.
"All the things that occurred to you by Briton hands…your Father's death, this Cassius fellow, such was an unfortunate facet of war. For you brothers, I do not have to inform you how filthy war can become. In fact, we Britons should be thanking you Romans. For destroying Gallia, destroying Cunovindus' army and sowing anarchy into his Germanic Confederation, you've made it easier for us to move back in to the mainland. You Romans were more of an ally to us than the other barbarians. But I assume you already knew of this.
"And even so, we Britons care not for Rome. You are a disgusting, greedy people who cannot see the root of their hypocrisy. Yet, we harbor greater hatred for Gallia and Germania. You Romans have never taken our people away, never taken our lands…not yet anyhow. But when that day approaches, we shall never stop fighting you. So in short, all that I demand is for you to stay in your territories, and we shall stay in ours. Once we have Samarobriva, we are officially in the mainland, then our conflict with Rome is done." Lugo couldn't refrain from a chuckle with a shake of his head, "Apologies, I do enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice. That's my damn vice."
Vitus gave a half-hearted chuckle with a faint, amusing smirk, "Guess us Romans are not the only arrogant people."
Lugo chuckled more, "Guess not, Vitus. Listen, Rome is not our enemy, not yet anyway. We shall have another bloody war between us. That as well is inevitable. But not now. I know you cannot afford another hard fight, and we just want to cultivate our home. So let us be at peace, eh?"
From inside Samarobriva, the legionaries of the Julii and the Senate watched on with nervous eyes their patrician leaders seemingly conversing with the enemy. They have been speaking for what seemed like eternity but in actuality was ten minutes. At the back of their minds, they held the horrid thoughts of witnessing the treacherous barbarians drawing their swords and slaying their leaders. And with the legionaries leaderless, they would have to fend off the Briton army attack by themselves. They would have to die with honor.
"To whom do they speak? What is happening?" Aelianus asked.
"I…do not know." Cossutius squinted his eyes, but the image did not clear of the brothers and the Praetor speaking to the armored Britons.
"What are we to do, Primus Pilus?" Aelianus asked.
Cossutius heard the murmurs of the legionaries around him and could feel their eyes over him. "When they come, we meet them at the gates. If we stay in the square, they shall encircle and destroy us all. We fight hard and without mercy, and die with strength and honor."
"Indeed, we shall die, there is nope hope for that," an optio of the Senatorial legions remarked.
"Well thank Poseidon that you are still alive then, I lost heart that the barbarians would have feasted on your innards."
The beating hearts of the legionaries suddenly stopped. They turned around to see where the voice came from. In the middle of the town square was a man covered in a leather cloak that held gold emblazoned across the cloak in an extravagant fashion. Wrapped around his neck was a luxurious crimson scarf that held Greek lettering stitched across the scarf. His front tooth was silver and he was missing several bottom teeth. He was olive-skinned and stood a few inches above average height and had a burly physique.
"What?" the stranger asked. "Was that in poor taste? Apologies, for I—"
"Seize him!" Cossutius growled with the point of his sword.
Before the stranger knew it, three legionaries tackled him into the snow. They propped him up in a sitting position, two men pinning his arms behind his back as the third man placed his gladius to the stranger's throat. The legionaries crowded around the outsider, shouting venomous threats and horrid profanities.
"Wait, do not kill me!" the mystery man begged.
"Who the fuck are you?!" a legionary roared.
"He's a damn Briton who snuck inside!"
"Kill the fucker!"
"Take pause! I stand no Briton!" the stranger pleaded.
"Liar! Cut the cunt's throat!"
"Hold!" Cossutius bellowed. The angry shouting of the legionaries died away. "This man is no Briton!"
"How do you know of such things, Primus Pilus?"
"Just look at him. What barbarian wears cloak of such extravagance? And his skin, all barbarians are pale of skin, especially Britons who spent their times covered up from the cold. This man is olive-skinned and has a heavy tan over it." Cossutius bent down and removed the scarf from the man's neck, revealing a lighter shade of skin underneath his neck. Cossutius continued, "He is out in the sun many times. And why would a barbarian sneak inside the village and gain our attention in such an idiotic manner? Why not go in the hut and free his king? This man is no barbarian. Though I ponder why he is here. Speak now, who are you?"
"Yes! Yes I shall." The man began to stand to his feet, "I am called Tryphon." He stared at Cossutius with relief in his eyes, "Gratitude in not having me killed! By such authority in your voice, I consider you to be second-in-command when the Praetor is not around?"
"How do you know of the Praetor? You informed us of your name, now continue on about yourself, what are you doing here? How did get in here?"
"I snuck over the walls in the back of the village. You Romans were at the front of the village and so it was easy for me to enter. As to why I am here? I am fulfilling my end of the bargain as I was assigned to do."
"What is this 'bargain'?"
"Look to the north, and see the worth of the bargain."
Cossutius followed the direction of where Tryphon's eyes pointed. One could see the vast channel of water that separates the mainland from the Briton Isles from the middle of Samarobriva. And within the miles of ocean, the old centurion witnessed the flapping of sails and the wooden frames of galleys floating in the channel, hundreds of them. They sailed with utter tranquility on the grey water, shining proudly with their multicolored sails catching the full gale of the sea. One bireme sailed with a black flag that bore a brazen crimson head of a bull with large golden eyes. He then spotted a trireme that sailed with green flags that held black scorpions painted all over the flag. Each sail bore a different icon on its field that flapped proudly in the wind. Cossutius remembered as a boy how he and the children of his city would build small toy ships during the summer and sail them down the water at the beach and cheer as the waves to them into the sea. Those were hundreds of ships sailing on that beach, and now there were hundreds of ships sailing in the channel. Cossutius' heart had soared as if he was a child once more.
"The port was destroyed," Tryphon managed to squeak. "So we sailed further down the inland and we spotted the village. And here we are."
Cossutius said nothing. None of the legionaries spoke a word, for awe had captured their senses. The soldiers released the pirate, their only concern being what lied in the channel. Tryphon took a gander of his surroundings.
"I was told there would be 7,000 of you? Why is there so few of you!" The pirate grimaced and slapped his forehead. "If I would have known it would have been this few, I would not have gather this sizeable fleet! Now I must split the gold with all of them! Do you understand the trouble it took to organize this fleet?!"
"You've kept your word…?" the words flowed from Cossutius' tongue in wonder.
Tryphon ultimately sighed and then slowly smiled with pride that seemed to border on arrogance, "Indeed I have, just as long as the Praetor kept that chest of gold and his agreement on that wonderful pardon he shall bestow upon us! Speaking of which, I do not see the Praetor, where is he?"
"To believe that we shall accept these terms of yours…" Marcus said with the roll of his eyes.
"For Vitus' sake, I hope you accept." Lugo said, "If you do not wish to accept, then I'll be most eager to snuff out that fire in your soul, here and now."
"You dare threaten a Praetor of Rome!" Marcus went for his sword. The prince's Swordsmen grabbed their hilts and already had them half-drawn.
Lugo continued, "Of course I do. You have been an utter irritation since you came out here, and I for one shall not st—" the confidence in his eyes faded into obscure confusion, "Not…stand…for…" Lugo stopped talking, his gaze no longer stood on the Romans in front of him, but behind them.
The Chosen Swordsmen sheathed their swords once more, and their eyes were drawn to the horizon beyond Samarobriva. Vitus and Proculus followed their stares and turned around, and joy utterly consumed their hearts.
In the middle of the battlefield, they clearly saw the fleet of galleys that were sailing into the water behind the village of Samarobriva. Their multicolored sails that took the full brunt of the ocean wind, the 50 foot oars that rowed in unison, the painted faces on the rams that were meant to strike fear into other ships; all of it came as a bolt of utter joy and beauty to the Romans' eyes.
Only Marcus found his voice. Only he spoke with the emotion of the delivered, "By Jupiter Maximus, they came. They came. They kept their word."
"Ohhhhhhh. So that's how you all planned to escape."
The Romans were forced back into their dreaded existence. Once they turned to meet the Britons again, Lugo was giving them a mischievous grin combined with a gaze of utter ruthlessness. "Clever. I wonder though, what would have happened if I arrived an hour earlier or an hour later? So much would have changed I presumed."
Vitus frowned, the reality of this new situation just hit him. "Unfortunately, this doesn't change a thing."
Lugo continued his smile with a nod, "You're exactly right, Vitus. Although you now have a fleet, nothing truly changed. From here, it doesn't seem like any soldiers are on the galleys…it seems, like they're empty…hmm, so no reinforcements have come for you. Oh yes, the situation definitely has not changed. I actually find it amusing if there was a possibility you could reach those ships."
Ardunas sneered at the boyish prince, "Of course we can, we can run to the ships and escape and—"
"You could try. But can your men, who just fought a hard-won battle and are exhausted, can they outrun my cavalry? In the snow no less. Samarobriva is close to half a mile from the water, can you make that distance before we descend upon you? Before your exhausted legionaries leave the village and make it a quarter of the way to the ships, my fresh cavalry of 1,000 horsemen would have already ran them down in the snow. Especially if they're carrying armor, weapons, your standards, the wounded, and other various equipment."
The brothers and the Praetor remained silent. They knew it to be true.
Yet Vitus showed the mask of certainty, he spoke to the Briton, "Lugo, you know we shall all perish if we trek back to Alesia through the winter with no supplies. I offer this, if we choose to leave Samarobriva, may we board the ships and leave using the water? It shall be quicker to return home if we sail than walk. And if the size of those ships proves correct, then we can live below deck in the ships and be relatively warm from the winter winds."
The Briton's brow furrowed, he contemplated the request before answering, "You speak sense. It would not do to offer you peace terms just for you all to succumb to winter with the notion of peace being only knowledgeable to you. Fine, if you do surrender, I shall allow you to venture on to those ships of yours and leave the North. That is my word."
"Gratitude, Lugo." Vitus had to ask. "But Lugo, why? Why are you even negotiating with us? You have 8,000 men, you could easily just kill us all and be done with this. Why do you offer this to us?"
"Because we want to be left alone. And I believe letting you go shall enable us this small piece of liberty. You all know the character of the Senate, they pride honor of the Republic over everything, but answer me this. If I order the complete decimation of six legions, the Praetor of the Senate, the two sons of Rome's greatest general, and capture their six eagles; do you truly believe Rome shall leave us alone? We as a people hold a better chance of existing allowing you all to leave with your lives, to show your senators that we are sincere in this ceasefire. This conflict was never about Rome, but about our homeland, and I intend for this action of peace to show it. Once you return home with this truce…leave, us, alone. And we shall not molest your people or territories.
"And about you honoring this pact…truthfully, there is nothing that keeps you Romans from honoring the ceasefire. Nothing but showing the entire world how you value honor, but you Romans have proven to have shit for honor. And if you shall break this pact, I shall ensure that we Britons shall pose a larger threat than the Gauls and Germanians have ever posed to Rome; past, present, and future. But know that I place this term for Vitus. Vitus, you have shown me character I long believed was absent from your people, if you hold this ceasefire to heart, then maybe you can tell your Senate of this peace between our people. You've gain your Praetor, your mission is done. Why die for meaningless honor? Imagine what you and I can do in the future…we can—" Lugo silenced himself, his eyes trailing to the snow. "Alas, I digress. I would hear your answer of my terms, and pray that I find that answer satisfying."
"Hey!" Marcus snapped, "I already hold an answer for your ears, and my answer is to—"
"Shut the fuck up? Good! I was hoping that was going to be your answer." The ocean blue of Lugo's eyes seemed to chill into an icy grey as he glared at the impudent Maxentius. "This answer is not for you, this is for Vitus Julius, alone. Only he has earned my respect."
"You miserable little…I am the Praetor of Rome! You shall show me such respect in your addressing of me! We shall not—"
Proculus slapped his heavy hand hard on Marcus' shoulder. He leaned in close and whispered just loud enough for Lugo to decipher. Proculus said through his teeth with slow emphasis, "Marcus! Listen to me, my father taught me the art of negotiation, and he explained to me about the facets of power in speech. Look at the man you are insulting, look at his body language and calm demeanor, now look at the army behind his back, they are not charging like regular barbarians, despite waiting for over 15 minutes. They are disciplined, strong, and fearful of this prince. And they outnumber us more than 100 to 1. He has a personal guard of the best fighters we've seen, these men even killed some our soldiers who we never conceived could fall in battle. We have no power here. If you choose that we should fight to the death, then let us not fight out here away from our soldiers and exposed to the enemy. Do not insult this man any longer."
Lugo clapped his hands slowly, "Proculus…" the Briton began to nod, "I congratulate you, you're the second wisest Roman I've met." Lugo turned to Vitus who watched on in hallowed silence. "So Vitus, what do you say to my terms?"
"I'm grateful you offer these terms to us. Allow me to extend this honorable courtesy. Will you allow us to discuss these terms back in Samarobriva?"
"I shall. So hear me out, Vitus, Proculus…and even you, Praetor. These are my three terms. You give back my father unharmed, you surrender Samarobriva, and you return to Rome to inform them that we have made a ceasefire between our people. You have half an hour to discuss it amongst yourselves. If you refuse, or if we catch anyone fleeing Samarobriva, we shall kill every last one of you. As simple as that. So go. Go and discuss the future of your Republic and do remember the perils that a lone wolf straying from his pack shall face."
This chapter and the following chapter are based off my two experiences that I had in Medieval II. The first was the mercenary recruitment system, if your army was near the water, you could recruit mercenary ships to board. Saved my life a lot on Very Hard difficulty where an army was about to destroy my army and I safely boarded the ships before I was attacked. The second was a little bit...more unique. I had just taken a settlement in a hard fought battle and then the Holy Roman Empire sent two more fully stacked armies to take it back. And since my favorite General was in that settlement, and I couldn't repair the city walls in time, and it was a low tier settlement, I abandoned it by having my General take his army and flee back to our lands, the HRE took the empty settlement, and the next turn their diplomat came with terms of a ceasefire. I was very shocked by that and angered that they offered me that once they took the settlement, and so I refused. But the next turn, the Pope threatened to excommunicate me if I didn't stop fighting, and so I gave them a ceasefire.
Does anyone else have a similar Total War story?
I so enjoy writing snarky and clever barbarians, it's always great when a smaller nation can tell a larger arrogant nation off.
I would like to thank everyone who is continually reading this fic. I want you all to note that it is keeping me committed to the story. Truly, thank you all!
-Kanuro5