Pax Romana

“Welcome, citizen, to the Pythagorean Library of Veii. Is there something you are looking for?”

Archimedes looked the man up and down. “No thank you.” Walking past him, the young traveler whistled upon passing from the foyer to the main hall. The interior was some 30 feet tall in the center at the peak, and maybe 20 feet along the walls. Shaped roughly like a square, the main room had to be 50 feet along each wall, those same walls sporting thin, leaded glass covered windows and shelves and shelves of books, scrolls, and tomes.

“Pretty impressive, eh?” Turning around, Archimedes found himself staring at a very tanned, almost bronze skinned man. His face was weathered, his hair hacked short and stuffed under a simple cloth hat. From his thin physique and his ink stained fingernails, Archimedes took him for a scholar or scribe.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It sure is.” He looked pointedly at the man’s slim build and added, “If you’re into this sort of stuff.”

Taking hit hat off, he ran his hand through his unruly hair quickly and replaced his hat with a single movement. “I most certainly am. Damned glad Lord Caesar thought about building more of these places.” He looked about. “Of course, it’s not as nice as Memphis’, but then again that one has been around for some hundred, two hundred years.” He walked over to an unused table and achingly placed his rucksack on it.

“Memphis?” Archimedes asked, following the stranger and pointing at a chair. When the other man nodded, he sat down with a sigh of relief. “You’ve been to Memphis?”

The man nodded, a scowl and frown crossing his face. “Yes I have. Spent 6 years in Egypt, most of it in Thebes, Elephantine, and Memphis. Nice cities, haughty people, clean neighborhoods.” He opened his bag and withdrew a small wheel of cheap bread and some loosely wrapped goat’s cheese. Offering a hunk and slice to Archimedes who happily took them, he continued, “Then next thing I know, BLAM! We’re at war with the damned Egyptians. Cleopatra tried to kill Caesar, and every man who’s the wrong color and nationality is snatched off the streets and locked away for ‘questioning’.” He shoved a large piece of bread in his mouth, chewing noisily.

Archimedes nodded. “I heard about all that. Criers were wandering Neapolis talking about the hundreds of Roman merchants and scholars being held and tortured.” He glanced over his newfound friend’s body and asked, “They torture you?”

Swallowing, he bobbed his head, frowning. “Yes. Yes they did. Spent 5 months in their cells. Was questioned every day for weeks while they beat me with split canes and jabbed scorpion’s stingers into my arms. I wasn’t the only one, there were about 20 of us.” He shook his head. “6 died the first week, with another 1 dying every week or 2 after that. When it was just me and 2 others and they knew they weren’t going to get anything else out of us, they had us bound and gagged and sold off as slaves.”

“How’d you escape?!”

“Well, seems the Egyptian who bought me was a scholar himself. He used to work with me at the Memphis library and couldn’t imagine me winding up as a slave. So he purchased me, traveled to the Mayan border, and released me to the militia of Bonampak. After 2 months of hard travel over some enemy and friendly filled roads, I was happy to be back in Roma Terra.”

Archimedes stared wonderingly. “That’s amazing, friend. Truly. You’re lucky to escape with your life.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. What bother’s me most is all the research notes and work I was doing in Egypt was lost and taken when I was first arrested. 6 years of hard won knowledge down the drain and in the hands of the Egyptians. I was on to some serious breakthroughs. Mechanical ideas and different possibilities of applied force.”

Archimedes nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to read some of your stuff before. But, at least you have the opportunity to recraft your ideas. Hell, give me a lever long enough, and I can move the world.”

The stranger smiled, rewrapping his meager meal and placing it back in his bag. “I’d like a Roman set of eyes to look at my work. Beats the snobbish attitude the Egyptians would give it and me. Refuted most everything I said. Said it went against common observational proofs. Bah!” he slapped his hand on the table. “Knowledge is fleeting. I wish they never took my books. It’s going to take me forever to recreate them.”

“Knowledge is eternal, my friend. What you’ve learned never truly leaves you. Maybe the details get fuzzed, but as surely as boats float and gold glistens, you can replace your notes.” He patted him on his arm. “You can’t replace yourself.”

“Thanks friend.” Pulling a soft leather bound book from his sack, he opened it to the first page and stared at the clean, blank paper. “I might as well get started again.” He withdrew a vial of ink and a half dozen ratty quills. Laying his tools out, he stood up and scanned the room. Picking a section of shelves, he looked back at Archimedes and asked, “Are you going to be staying in Veii?”

Archimedes stood up, stretching toward the ceiling on his tiptoes. When finished, he wiggled his shoulders and replied, “I’m still not sure. I work for the Magister Ioral in Rome. He sent me here to give him a report on the new library here. So I’ll be here for a few days. After that? I was told that I could remain in Veii if I wish as Ioral’s representative. He’s trying to set up a learning center and foster research for the betterment of the Kingdom.” He grabbed his cloak, flinging it over his shoulder and smirked. “I get bored easily, always did, always will. Most people are dull and I am happy tinkering about on my own. There’s not much money to be made in that, and my pouch is very often light of lira. Rooms cost money, the poor houses don’t. And I don’t like to stay in the poor house.”

“Tell me about it.” He came back to the table, dropping 4 volumes he had pulled from the shelves. “There hasn’t been much money in my pocket either. I’m lucky I have a steady hand and have been able to make a few coins scribing for the courts and drawing people I meet on the street for a hot meal and warm bed.” He gave Archimedes a frank look. “Tell you what, friend. I like your tone, like your company, and could use a friendly face after the last year I’ve had. If you can swing half the rent, I’ll split a room with you. There’s a dowager nearby that has a 2nd story room to let, I’d be willing to cramp my lifestyle if it meant both of us could double our pocket coins.”

Archimedes thought about it and then smiled, nodding back. “Sounds good, right, and fair. Mind you, I’ve been told I’m a horrid snorer. And I spend most of my nights staring at the night sky, watching the heavens.”

“Ha! The only reason I need a room is not to sleep, cause I rarely do. But to hang my clothes and give myself haircuts.”

Archimedes gave a short laugh, noting the horrible condition and ragged cut of his hair. “Then, it’s settled. Let me get started on my report and by even watch, let’s go visit your dowager and haggle our room price. By the way,” he strode up, extending his hand, “I’m Archimedes.”

The other man smiled, shaking Archimedes’ hand with an honest vigor. "“Nice to meet you, friend. I’m Leonardo.”"

OOOoooh this is getting veeeery intresting! Wonderful text Vanadorn, I'm enjoying this as much as... any good book I've read

I've only got one suggestion, and that comes from my liking of comedies: if you could put a few "inside jokes" for us (like with the marketplace a "These goods make me strangely happy" would've been nice). But its your writing, write how you like, me like very much

I just read everything from page 3-7, in one go.

Hey, Paasky - thanks! As for inside jokes, well, there really aren't any in here, although there are some humorous moments and comments. As for "inside information" - I've layered in many sayings you find while playing civ -some obvious - some subtle. It's up to you to find them.

Thanks again for the kind words and your following of this thread. Every time I get a reply or the viewed number rises, it makes it easier to get the next part out . .which should be in 20 mins or so.

V

Edit: Ah well, 20 minutes, 4 hours - the joys of being a parent.

Crucius ran forward, whirling his flail overhead like a madman. He could no longer hear his own voice; it was lost in the thousands of screams that filled the plains outside Bapedi. The summer had dragged on, and so had the siege. This was to be the 30th time or so he had charged the defenders and now rubble-strewn walls of the captured Zulu city. Each time, his would strike out at the Egyptians guarding it, whether in the field or on the walls, and try his hardest to get into the city. And after hours of fighting and catapults and trebuchets and attacks and counter attacks, the sun would set and the retreat would be blown and the Egyptians would go back into their stolen city and jeer at the dejected Romans.

There was once talk that the attack would be fast and Bapedi would fall below the amassed Roman might. But that was months ago when the ground was still cold with winter’s snow, not now when the summer sun no longer shone as late at night and the evening breezes were getting cooler. Now, it was just the steady grind of Roman men against the Egyptian defenders.

Generals Iuldias and Trajan had ordered this massive attack on the well-defended city, claiming that an overwhelming engagement would finally crush the Egyptians. Crucius didn’t know if that was true or not. He had heard that additional defenders were trying to break through the lines from the other captured Zulu city, Intombe, and that this was Rome’s last chance to possibly take it. He did know that his own unit was still not at full strength, and neither were just about every other unit. Scipio’s Legionnaires, Iuldias’ direct army, was suffering with less than ¼ its normal complement of soldiers, making their fielded strength even less than a standard unit.

For the last time, the great siege engines launched their missiles at the Egyptians, raining death on the men hiding within. Crucius was happy that the shorter ranged catapults were all now replaced with the more versatile and accurate trebuchets the Romans were now using. He watched as the battery of 7 stone boulders landed inside the city, raising clouds of dust and debris after their impacts. The defenders of Bapedi came pouring out of the broken walls, charging the Romans attackers with the benefit of a downhill run and lighter, more maneuverable armor.

He watched them get closer and closer. The clash of metal sounded over the cries of the Roman attackers. He pressed forward, anxious to get into melee range. The Egyptians seemed to be fighting well again. Crucius cursed, knowing full well that the men he was facing were not only fresh and able, but also fully rested and determined in their stance. Every time he faced them, they did not seem to suffer the slow grinding fatigue that seemed to embrace the Roman soldiery.

The battle proceeded apace, the Roman line and Egyptian line spreading out and mingling as the combat continued to strengthen. He counted the men in front of him; 6…4…3. Excitedly, he flexed his grip on his flail, waiting for his turn to engage the enemy. 30 battles plus and still fighting, he considered himself more that a match for the Egyptians he was soon about to face.

Displacement and silence.

A veteran of this siege and a steadfast soldier, Crucius didn’t feel the blow that split the links of the chain mail coif he wore and severed his head from the back of his neck forward, killing him instantly.

*****

Trajan watched as the heavy infantry was flanked, its soldiers hewn down like autumn’ wheat. “Charge!” he shouted, spurring the Legion Knight Army into the battle. The 2,400 hundred knights still able to ride, set upon the Egyptians in the field. Many of the knights no longer had lances to tilt with, and were forced to charge with spears scavenged from the battlefields, or their own swords held before them. Trajan cursed, knowing that the supply lines from Rome’s heartland were being delayed by increasing banditry and unhappy plebeians back home.

This war was quickly becoming unpopular, even though the Roman front was still advancing against the Egyptian defenses. He heard that it was the probing attacks on Utica that had the populous all worked up. The latest missives from Lord Caesar were very adamant that Trajan and Iuldias find a way to secure Bapedi before the 1st harvest or he would have to sue for peace. The generals knew that this order could not be refuted and expected that whatever captain was running the troops in Bapedi, purposely sent some fast cavalry to scare the closest Roman settlement in an effort to upset the Roman offensive.

Turning his attention back to the battle at hand, his troops were quickly able to stall the flanking attack on the Roman infantry block, but it was obvious that even with superior numbers, there was not enough of an advantage over the Egyptians. As the battle dragged on, he grimaced, unhappy that his observation turned out to be true as his own knights and their formations became bogged down in the grander melee.

Glancing up, he was surprised to see the day was already getting on, the sun approaching the horizon. The city of Bapedi was still so far away, and with nightfall coming and fatigue claiming his men, Trajan had a sinking suspicion that the Roman advance force would not be able to reach the city. And failure to do that tonight meant failure to do that, completely.

*****

Iuldias couldn’t feel his grip around his gladius anymore. His hand numb, his arms leaden, he staggered about the battlefield, trying to see past the mounding dead and wounded Romans. He had entered this final battle with over 20,000 men, the fighting elite of Rome’s armed forces. In the space of 8 hours, some 8,000 soldiers of the Roman side, and maybe 10,000 soldiers on the Egyptian side laid dead or injured.

He had turned every counter attack that came his way. He had flanked and reverse marched his legions, seeking any weak point on the Egyptian lines. He sent reserves in, one unit at a shot, to shore up weak points and commit his advance in different areas. The cavalry had charged so many times, there was no longer room for them to maneuver and wheel their mounts. Formations were modified, then changed again, then finally disbanded. Although they had paved some 1,000 meters with blood, guts, and sweat, the city was still too far away; there were too many yellow clad defenders in the way.

Hearing his name being called along the western lines, he renewed his grip on his sword and fast marched in that direction. His legs aching, his lungs puffing, his heart throbbing and tired, he didn’t know what he could do to help the situation after he got there, but like a man haunted, he ran off to help, because that was what he was supposed to do.

*****

“LIFT! Lift you dogs, lift.”

The three dozen engineers of the war machine struggled to raise the front of the trebuchet any higher. Centurion Tigritus rammed another wedge under the front of the leg base, hammering the thick wood in with a heavy mallet. Magister Esberon was finishing the final touches on the release pin, lining up the metal shaft with a precut length of firing stakes.

Esberon grimaced. “Tigritus, there’s no guarantee that this’ll work you know. If we’re off, it could conceivably be catastrophous.”

The Centurion gave the wedge another whack with the mallet and then pointed angrily at the battlefield. “You see that? If we don’t do something, then it won’t matter cause our army’ll be either whittled away to nothing, or driven back by tomorrow’s noon. Just keep the pin as short as you can and let’s hope we’ve shortened the range enough.”

“That’s the point!” shouted the magister. “If the range is TOO short, the damned missiles’ll come down on OUR troops.” He wrung his hands. “We’ve never tried anything like this before.”

“That’s why it will work.” Tigritus flung his mallet to the side. “Alright, you dogs. Load. I want 15 men ready to pull. You six, you’re on reload duty. You four, and…you two, get guide ropes and stakes around the front of this frame. I want more than one shot with this baby and don’t want it rocking off the lifts.” Nudging Esberon, he asked, “Well? Is it high enough? Come on…give me your best guess.”

“It’s close, Tigritus. It’s as close as we’re going to get it. Damn it, Centurion! It’s your head if this doesn’t work! I’m not taking 12 lashes for your recklessness.”

The Centurion pointed at the setting sun. “Apollo is tired of our fight and is leaving. We have to do something before the retreat is called.” Shouting over the magister, “You men, you ready?!”

“Ay, Ay, Centurion!”

“Then let’s not wait for it.” Drawing his sword, he pointed it at the distant army fighting in the valley below. “FIRE!”

*****

Sekhemre, captain of the 5th Scorpion battalion and de facto commander of the occupational force of Bapedi smiled. Amun-Ra was fading and the night would soon draw its cloak over the land. He had emptied the garrisons and halls of all the best and capable men and boys. It was a gamble, but the Zulu savages were cowed by this time, and revolt would not be on their minds. Chancy as it was, he held the red-cloaked Romans at bay. Their commander was good, but time and the land was not on their side. He frowned, remembering how hard his people had to fight to take Bapedi from the Zulu’s in the first place. Only superior arms and tactics were able to wear out the Zulu forces.

According to the intelligence, troops were moving to the city from Intombe, and would arrive outside the gates before long. Many fighters and warriors of the Asp, Viper, Scorpion and Ivory battalions would turn the tide against these Roman scum. The battle was as good as over, and all the steady retreats he was forced to make this day back to the city would be reversed by fortunes first cast on tomorrow’s dawn.

He heard a strange whistling sound, thinking it to be the call of a hungry scavenging bird. Looking up, he saw a great stone fall from the heavens and tear into his battalion. Men were crushed and killed under the mighty falling rock. It bounced up and landed again amongst his troopers. And again, crushing chests and breaking bones.

And while his troops were dazedly getting their bearing, wondering wear the stone came from, Sekhemre watched another huge stone fly out from the cursed Roman war machines. The mighty stone soared impossibly high into the sky, as if plucked from the ground by Amun-Ra himself and drawn heavenward. It rose higher, stopped and began falling again. Once more, it ripped through the air with a whistling cry and smashed into his battalion again.

More men were killed, a great many more wounded. But worse than that, his men began to lose their nerve. Without facing Roman blades, they started to give ground. Just as he was about to berate them for cowardess, two more stones flew from the Roman war machines to fly against his men.

*****

Gaius watched the impossible happen. The massive trebuchets fired their missiles at an impossibly short AND accurate range, sending stone after stone landing amongst the rear defensive lines of the Egyptian hosts. His knights, tired, aching, wounded, were rallied behind him and his banner, numbering 400 willing men, and waited for Gaius’ orders.

The rear lines melted away, the troops there dropping shields and swords in their dash to avoid being struck. Seeing this, the main Roman infantry redoubled their efforts, attacking their enemies in the fading light of day, driving the Egyptians either back into the fielded range of the falling missiles, or onto their own weapons as they advanced steadily against the yellow clad host.

The battle was quickly turned to chaos as all order on the Egyptian side broke down. Seeing this, Gaius drew his sword with a flourish and shouted, “1st Roman Knights! Charge!” The heavy cavalry slammed hard into the left flank of the tightly massed soldiers. The lines there rolled up, the men trampled and skewered, their bodies falling under the flashing hooves and tearing blades. The last few stones pounded the scattered Egyptian lines and then left the field clear for the Roman advance to sweep across the field.

Wheeling his knights, Gaius spearheaded the attack against the city. His men tore into the retreating Egyptians as spring rains tear through winter’s final snow. The resistance dissolved under the punishing attack of the 1st Romans. In their wake, the Legion Knight Army rode at the head of the remaining Roman invasion force, the knights and soldiers striking down any Egyptians who ran or turned to fight. Those who surrendered were spared, all others were slain.

Gaius watched the busted walls of Bapedi come closer and closer, and then with a leap over the busted stonework there, he found himself the first Roman to enter the captured city. Calling out to the dark skinned Zulu’s in the area, “Free! Bapedi is free! Throw down the Egyptians! Bapedi is free!!!”

In the twilight hours, after 11 hours of furious, all consuming combat, the Roman army broke the defensive works of the usurping Egyptian forces arrayed in Bapedi, liberating the city and its citizens from the cruel tyranny of Cleopatra’s hand.

I knew you you would take of busisiness Vanadorn!. Here, Here! The roaman ramy has a lot of work left ot do including acclimating the new clods nto Roman living.
I am really loing forwad to Archemedis and the infamaous Leo figururing out the world together.
Great story. I look forward to it as much as my SG strings. This is great work!

“Thank you for coming, Generals. How fares the men?”

“They are well, Lord Caesar. They will be please to hear you have asked about their well being.”

The winter snows, always early in Rome, had been falling steadily for some time. Caesar, his closest Lords and advisors, Generals Iuldias and Trajan, as well as King Proaga Zulu of the Zulu nation were holed up in the great chamber of Caesar’s palace. Iuldias and Trajan still wore the dust and dampness of the long road from the Egyptian border on their boots and cloaks, their faces tired and drawn.

Caesar waved his hand absently. “I know you men are tired so we will keep this brief. Our campaign against Egyptian hostility and aggression has proceeded well, if not as rapidly as I would have liked. Abydos, Byblos, Bapedi…all have fallen out of Egyptian hands and have been restructured under Roman occupation. Our forces are healing and being reinforced from the willing populace of our kingdom, and the militia and local garrisons of Utica were able to turn aside the probing attack from Egyptian bandits successfully but with some loss.”

He turned and tapped the map behind him. “Now, after this winter ends, the 2nd winter of our crusade against Cleopatra and her consuming vision of world domination, we will be faced with a choice. Where will we send our troops next?”

Iuldias strode slowly to the map and ran his hand across the redrawn front. “Thebes, Giza, Intombe. Giza is Cleopatra’s capital. If we could take it and take it quickly, it would make all our future advances against the Egyptians easier. However, I would request at least another 10 units to be ready for the attacks come 1st thaw.”

“Iuldias, you will only receive 3 units in time for your next campaign.”

The general scowled. “Lord Caesar?”

“We have poured enough Roman blood into this foray against our northern neighbors. Our goal is not to conquer them, liberate the cities they have erroneously taken and to punish them for their effrontery and attack on our personage.” Caesar moved his finger down to Intombe. “We would like to attack the garrisoning forces and free the noble people there.”

“Our people, the people of Intombe,” King Proaga Zulu seemed anxious as he spoke, his eyes wide as he struggled to get his thoughts out. “They suffer much under the Egyptians. They slave in the fields. They sweat blood and bile for the cruel usurpers. We, the people of Zulu will not rest until the city of my people is free.” He narrowed his gaze, taking Caesar in with a calculating look. “And how long until the Romans turn over control of these cities to the Zulu people?”

“As I stated to your father and again to you, Rome has no lasting design on governing your people or your affairs. As soon as you are able to take over control of the governing bodies and replace our troops with your own, we will happily vacate your cities.”

King Proaga snorted. “We shall see, Roman.”

Caesar said nothing, being very used to dealing with the constantly angry and rude Zulu nation.

“Lord Caesar,” interrupted Trajan, “you mentioned something about only 3 units?”

“Yes, I did.”

Trajan sputtered. “Might I ask why?”

Caesar frowned. “Compose yourself when speaking with me, General.”

“Sorry. Lord Caesar”

Nodding slightly, Caesar continued. “I will have 2 more units of knights and a unit of armored swordsmen sent up to you by the time you are ready to attack. Generals, I have said it before; we do not want to conquer the Egyptian people. I am not going to invade them and subjugate their citizens. I have already begun the process of continuing the civilization and beautification of our people and empire. We will not be known as the monstrous warmongers who ate the Carthaginian people and 2 generations later, ate the Egyptians as well. Our days of rampant empire building are over, they ended during my father’s reign. The legacy we are going to leave our children, my children, is one of strength, tolerance, and peace.”

Iuldias started, “Yes, but Lord Caesar…”

“No buts! We are going to free Intombe and most likely, nothing more. We’ll cross that river when we come to it.” He softened his expression. “I know you gentlemen expected differently. I myself felt it too, when our forces struck hard against Cleopatra’s defenders. It reminded me that there was a time when our people were strong, strong of arms. But the world is a different place now. That last war cost thousands of lives on both sides in 10 years of violent combat. It brought out the worst in us, goading us into atrocities that sicken our kingdom to dwell upon today. We will not bloody this generation of Romans with another 10 years of horrible conflict. The day will come when will engage in commerce once again with the Egyptians, and I want them to remember us as honorable people; both on the field of battle and off.” He paused, studying his generals. “Do I make myself clear?”

A pause, then a pair of, “Yes, Lord Caesar.”

The Roman king nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. Then this matter is not only finished, but closed as well.” He rose, the seated assembly doing so too. “Generals, I leave you to pursue whatever it is you need to, you are free to go.”

Both men, bowed low, turned, and quickly left the chambers. Once in the hall, Trajan whirled on Iuldias and said, “What the hell was that? Zeus’ Boils! We’re advancing on the Egyptians. Slow yes, but my God! It’s basic tactics, when advancing, you KEEP advancing.”

Iuldias grimaced. “I know, I know.” He shook his head, feeling the aches and pains across his neck and back. He sighed. “I can understand his point in some way.”

“How so?”

“He wants to be remembered as the Roman king who founded a legacy, not one who waged war. Lord Julius Caesar, Hades watch over him, was an excellent king, but as our current Caesar so put it, it was a different time. I’m 42, Trajan. Caesar’s got to be about my age if not older. You’re still in your late 20’s. Age does things to you besides slow you down. It makes you think about what you’ve accomplished and what you’d like to be remembered as.”

Trajan was silent, listening to the older General.

“I’d hate to say it, but if Caesar had his way, we’d probably not even attack Intombe. But, with King Proaga and the rest of the Zulu still battling on…on two fronts I hear – Cleo and the Iroquois, we can’t back out now.” He chuckled. “The best we can do is rest up this winter and then go embarrass more yellow clad soldiers.”

Trajan smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess. You know, the Egyptian’s haven’t been able to mass that many troops against us. Maybe if we take down Intombe fast enough, Lord Caesar’d let us march on Giza as well.”

“Ha! You’d like that, huh Trajan? March on Giza; take it down.” He chuckled again. “Ah, youth.” His was silent a few heartbeats, his smile broadening. “Giza. Zeus above, that would be a sight, wouldn’t it, Trajan?”

The younger General smiled too. “Yes it would, Iuldias.”

“Yes it would.”

“Captain Thrium, another canoe attempting to block our way.”

“Good man, Pratius.” Thrium turned to Perus and shouted, “Helmsman, I want the rudder held firm. You deviate from this heading and I'll give you 4 lashes with my own hand. Do you get me?”

Pratius nodded, his jaw firm. “Ay, Ay, Captain.”

The Furious Thundercloud swept southward along the Incan coastline, her sails heavy and her bow kicking spray. For over 7 weeks, the Roman galley had sped along, guided and tillered by Captain Thrium after their narrow escape from the Sapa-Inca in the capital city of Cuzco. Fully stocked and provisioned, there had been little need to go ashore, especially since the attitude of the Incan people had deteriorated from polite and helpful to distrusting and annoyed. Earlier on, Thrium had met with whatever representatives the Incan people had sent out. However, after hearing constant threats to either leave the Incan waters or return to Cuzco for trial, Thrium had had enough.

“Kirus, kindly inform these men that I have no interest in speaking with them.”

“Ay, Cap’n.” The deck master leaned over the bow rail and shouted at the rapidly closing canoe, “The Cap’n has ‘eard your request, an’ we’re gonna leave right now. So move your boat a’fore we strike it, ‘cause it’s right where we’re trying to go. Move it. Move! Move you silly sons o’ fishwives and drunkards!”

The Incans realized quickly that the Roman galley was not going to stop or turn. They dropped their paddles into the water and dug deeply, trying to get their smaller boat out of the way. The imposing bulk of the Thundercloud passed within 2 meters of the bobbing craft’s stern. Unable to weather the deep wake, the dugout canoe upended, rolling over and throwing the Incans into the cool waters of the Serenic Ocean. Coming up and sputtering, they shook their fists at the leaving galley, cursing the Romans in their own language.

Kirus turned back to Thrium and saluted smartly. “Cap’n! I wish ta report that the Incan representatives have ‘eard your reply and safely ‘llowed us to pass unharmed.”

Thrium smiled. “Thank you, Kirus.” Addressing the crew at large, Thrium shouted, “Alright boys, show’s over. Back to work. Perus, good man, good control of the rudder. You, I want you over the side, harnessed. Check the starboard side. Make sure those angry boys didn’t leave us a present on our hull.” As his crew went about their duties, Thrium retired to his chamber. Once inside, he withdrew a ceramic jug from under his footlocker and drank deeply.

A knock sounded at his door, followed immediately by Kirus sticking his head in. “Cap’n, requesting a moment of your…Ah, Cap’n. No.” Thrium had hastily lowered the alcohol and was trying to hide the jug from his deck master. “No, Cap’n. Come on. Give it here.” Kirus shut the door behind him, locking it, and strode up to Thrium, snatching the liquor bottle from behind his back. “Damn it, Cap’n! Wot’s wrong with you?”

Thrium rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Kirus. It’s beginning to get to me.”

“Wot?”

“I’m beginning to lose confidence in my decisions. Sweet Neptune! We’ve been at sea for so long, I don’t remember what Rome looks like anymore. I have nightmares every time I shut my eyes. Between the fighting and the wars, the threats, the treaties, the escapes, the treacherous waters, the cold, the heat, the diseases, the men.” He looked blankly at Kirus. “It’s too much. Too much. Now, what if by snubbing the Incans this time, they try to sink us? My god! It’s war! War over us!” He laughed, a little hysterically, “Ha, ha, ha! Over a decision I made. Who am I to make these decisions?” he shook his head, sitting down abruptly on the wooden bench.

“Cap’n. Damn it. You’ve been leadin’ us more than fine. You’ve made some great calls and commands that would ‘ave most other men on this tub, puke his guts up at the thought of makin’ em’.” Kirus sat next to Thrium. “You don’ need to get your courage from the bottle. You’ve got more ‘en enough for most people already.”

“Kirus, what if we don’t make it home?”

“We will.”

“But, what if we don’t?”

“We will.” A hint of steel edged into Kirus’ voice.

Thrium sighed. “Maybe we will. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” He climbed to his feet, his expression haunted, his eyes hollow. “I hope we do, Kirus. I really do.” He rubbed his forehead, grimacing. “I’ve got a serious headache.”

The deck master rose, guiding the Captain to his hammock. “Take a rest, Cap’n. The Thudercloud’ll keep her course. Just let it go and sleep.” He shook the mostly full bottle and frowned. “An’ no more o’ this. We need you sharp an’ ‘lert. Tell ya what, Cap’n, I’ll share this with ya twice during our trip home. Once, when we finally turn east in the southern waters, and ‘gain when the docks o’ Rome are cried out by Pratius. Deal?”

Thrium nodded, swinging his feet into the hammock and closing his eyes. “Deal, Kirus.” Smiling, he said, “The docks of Rome. By Neptune! I’d love to see that.”

Unlocking the door, the deck master turned back, grinning as well. “As would us all, Cap’n. An’ we’re gonna get there, followin’ your lead.” Stepping out, he cradled the jug under one arm and added, “Take a rest, Cap’n. Things’ll get better, you’ll see.” Pulling the door closed, Kirus left the tired captain of the Furious Thundercloud and his friend to rest.

I wish I could read it, but I'm still on the first few pages.

I've been reading.. three different stories in here, but the two others are like comics, when this is like a book.

Hear ye! Hear ye! To all personages between the ages of 14 and 45, in light of the recent insurrections and attacks on our city and surrounding barony, Lord Leofsig Uticus is mobilizing the 3rd Utica Pikers division. Any man or woman interested is to report to Centurion Halthastius at the recruitment center on Main Street and Cobbler’s Way. There will be a sign up stipend of 125 liras and a monthly salary of 25 liras. Service is to last 2 years, with an option to renew for 2 more at end of service. Formal training in arms is not required.

Click to expand...

“Don’t ya be tellin’ me what in Zeus’ dang blasted sewer hole I can and can’t be doin’, you foul mouthed, snaggle haired, old battleaxe!”

Kellum was waving the torn off broadsheet he had plucked from the post board at town square, under his wife’s face. His reddened nose and weaving stance belied not only the chill of winter, but also his own visit to the alehouse while at the town proper.

“Kellum, you durned drunk cooter!” his wife yelled back, swatting the paper away with a quick flick of her wrist. “It says right on it, 45 years of age. You’re 3 years past that, and unless there’s a young ‘un of you hiding in your skin, you ain’t getting any younger!”

“Bah! Whata you know, ya twisted crone? They don’t gotta know fer sure my real age. An’ damnit! I already beat off two o’ them scutter-slinking flinksters. An’ you can’t be sayin’ I didn’t!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, you stubborn mule.” She rubbed her jaw, which was still sore after all this time, even though there were no bruises or wounds visible. Her eyes were also haunted as she remembered the ravages she experienced by the hands of the villainous marauders. “And everyone from Blix Hollow Smithy to old Napoli’s farm has heard about your run in and saving of me from both your lips and mine.” She laid her hand against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “But, you’re not a young man anymore. And you know as well as I, you spend a lot of time inside a bottle instead of working.”

Kellum puffed out his chest. “I might not be as young as some o’ the men an’ boys that’ll join up, but I can hold my own ‘gainst them if’n I had ta.” He gave her a quick hug, squeezing her body tight. “It’s ta protect you, ya silly nag, that I wanna join. God dammit to seven Sundays! If’n I knew how ta fight’m proper, and if’n I had some armor and weapons, they’d ‘ave been cut down faster than ya can say rabbit’s feet.”

“You can’t protect me, if you’re marching at the barracks and training with the pike.”

“I know. That’s why I’m lettin’ ya know I leased the farm to the Klistiers.”

“You what?!?”

The farmer slapped his open palm with his fist. “I leased the farm! If’n I ain’t gonna be here to plant an’ harvest, then I can’t expect you ta do it!”

“Why not? You damned stubborn coot! I’m 10 years younger than you! Who the hell do you think does most of the work on the farm anyway? You’re too often drunk and sleeping to thresh the grain, plow the field, or harvest what crops we can get.”

“Don’t ya be speakin’ like that ta me! I’m the damned man! Me! I am! It’s my job to get it all done and make the ‘uge decisions.”

“Then you talk to me about them!”

“I don’t wan’ ya on the farm alone!”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, stunned at this.

“Don’t ya get it, you bitter twit? I love you, though Venus be damned for cursin’ me like this, an’ don’t want anythin’ ta happen to ya.” He rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed. “I almost lost ya once, I don’t wanna lose ya again.”

“Oh. Kellum.” He eyes grew watery as she stared at her husband.

He scowled, growing embarrassed at his wife’s display of emotions. “Besides,” he growled, “If anyone’s gonna kill ya, it’ll be me! Cause ya nag me too damned much!” Watching her face take on its customary frown, he relaxed. Continuing, “For whateva reason, we ain’t had no sons or daughters to help us out. If’n we did, maybe I’d let ya stay out here. But we don’t, so you’ll be joinin’ the other soldiers’ wives at the barracks.”

She thought about it, then nodded. “Fine, Kellum. Believe it or not, I understand why you’re wanting to go. I’ll cover for you about your age.”

He nodded, trying not to grin. “Damned straight, woman! I give you an order, you dang blasted jump over a flamin’ toadstool to do it!”

“Mmm,” she murmured, unimpressed. Giving him a once over, she snagged her hands into his pants and pulled him towards the bedroom.

“Wha..What the…” he sputtered, trying to pull his wife’s hands free. “What in the rusted halls of Hades do ya think yer doin’, woman!”

Gripping his waistband firmly, she said, “You can go and defend the townsfolk of Utica all you want. But, I’m gonna make sure you remember what it is you’re joining the military for.”

“But, but. Damn it! I’m the man! I’m supposed to be guidin’ and draggin’ you!” He grabbed the ties of her jerkin, yanking the laces loose, pushing her towards the bed.

Together, the two of them fell to the fur-covered pallet. A flurry of clothes filled the chamber followed by the dousing of the oil lamp. In the darkness, they came together in a flurry of kisses and embraces, their long marriage and loving bickering forgotten in the knowledge that they might not see each other as man and wife again in this life.

This is good too. I've added it to my watch list.

It's nice to know the Romans had rednecks too...

@# Mistfit - some of the cities (and I'm sure everyone does it) just were not as...completed as other cities in the empire. This is provincial areas of the world, with a single, 1 horse at a time, dirt lane and nothing around for miles except farms, skeeters, and coons. So, Utica, to me in my game, falls under the "redneck" territory.

I've enjoyed Kellum and his "simple, don' have no fancy galooting, 'onest man's view o' ta world!" Brings a smile to my face everytime I thing of him. Next chapter, coming soon. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and following.

V

The mountain shuddered. Bits of rock and stone slid down its face, slowing as it filled ledges and slopes. Shortly, the mountain was silent again.

CRACK-BOOM!

Another volley from the trebuchets on the opposite pass slammed into the cliff face. Far below, the well-rested mass of 14,000 Roman troopers were filling the slopes and highways to the South East of Intombe. The mighty walls were still keeping the spring attacks at bay, but the approach to the city offered little tactical advantage to the garrisoning Egyptian defenders.

THWOCK-CRACK-BOOM!

Two well-placed missiles struck the base and side of a large, supporting ledge. The fractured stone gave way, sliding rapidly down the mountain. The rubble slid over existing shelves, falling faster as it went. Other stones and rocks were knocked loose, joining the burgeoning avalanche as it crawled its way down the slopes.

CRACK-BOOM! KIRR-CRACK!

The trebuchets sent their heavy payloads flying, gouging rents and pockets in the craggy face. With a groaning WHOOM, the entire tortured area of the cliffs slid away and raced down the mountain. The mountain no longer shuddered, it roared; rocking back and forth and dozens, scores, hundreds of tons of cascading boulders fell the hundreds of feet to the ground below.

The ground that the city of Intombe sat upon.

The avalanche ripped across the high roads, spilling down the trench ways toward the fast flowing Mgombo River. In a few seconds, the northern highway to Giza was buried and useless. The northern gates were blocked, choked, and then overwhelmed as the continuing avalanche washed over the defense works there, trapping and killing the Egyptian guards and militia posted there. And still the stones fell. Citizens of Intombe unlucky enough to have homes and businesses on the north end of the city were killed as the rising mound of rubble and shale flattened thatch huts and wooden warehouses.

Everywhere, the usurping Egyptians stood slack jawed and stunned, overwhelmed by the amount of destruction the Roman artillery was able to accomplish in such as short period of time. When the last boulder fell and the rain of loose gravel finally petered out, every bronze skinned man still able to stand in the city, realized that there was no help coming, no place to escape to, and no mercy to be expected from the now jubilant red and black clad Romans.

With the cries of 8,000 voices, the cornered Egyptians launched themselves at their attackers. They overran the 2nd Virconium Pikers, their khopesh blades tearing into the iron armor with a fury unmatched. The center and right flank failed in the first 20 minutes, leaving the surprised Virconiums unable to turn the wave of marauding swordsmen.

Scipio’s Legionnaires, the foundation block of the northern offence against Cleopatra, force stepped themselves into position, their wedge shaped front plowing into the left wing of the Egyptians. Swords rose, shields rang, orders were blasted with voice, flag and trumpet. The yellow wave parted along its eastern edge, and Ivory Cavalry struck the left flank of the Legionnaires. The northern steeds carried their blood-crazed riders wildly across the edge of the Roman front, finding weak spots and holes in the battle line. In pairs, then scores, then hundreds, Roman soldiers found themselves loosing ground, their bodies struck and struck again under the punishing attacks.

The main infantry block attempted to bolster the fading army line. Three companies of heavily clad chain and plate mail soldiers engaged the Egyptian cavalry. At four men to one, the mounted advantage was swept away, but not before their damage had been done; the once full and glorious ranks of Scipio’s Legionnaires had been decimated and scattered.

The stalwart pike lines of the Roman army held fast, their Centurions forcing the lines tight, not a man was given leave to step back an inch. The flow and weave of the combat swayed across the valley, but never once did it drop behind the iron wall of spears and halberds the Romans had established.

As night approached, it became obvious that even with their original impetus against the red clad attackers, the Egyptian forces did not have enough men to keep up the storm of arrows and swords against the Romans. By dusk, the defenders had been pushed back to the original trench lines and punji stakes outside the walls. The commanders of the city defense began arming Zulu natives with swords and shields, sending them out the sally ports to bolster their fading troops.

With fires running rampant through the city and burning casks of oil and pitch across the field, the fighting took on a garish hue. Each man was limned in a reflecting glow, their faces twisted into grimaces of hate and anger. The pace of the battle increased. Roman soldiery, both mounted and afoot began storming the walls in bunches of 50 or so men. They would close to the defenses, scale, fight, and allow themselves to be rebuffed. Further away, the same dance would take place. And again it would happen, at a different place on the wall. The Egyptians began to lose track of where the feints were, and where the real attacks were taking place.

At the tenth hour cry, the remaining Roman forces, numbering 5,000 strong, stormed enmasse the achingly exhausted Egyptians one final time. Their numbers reduced to a few hundred men, they were over run; both by the attackers from outside the wall, as well as the Zulu’s they had recently rearmed from inside the gates.

The portcullis was lifted, the sally ports thrown wide. As the conquering peoples that they were, the Roman hosts, tired, depleted, and victorious, entered the city of Intombe and struck the yellow and white flag of the Undying Queen from the battlements, burning the banner as a sign to Cleopatra of what happens to those who trespass against the might of Rome or those who fall under her protectorate.

The battle for Intombe was over. The Zulu people were once again free.

Pax Romana and Vie Victus.

Ugh. I lost alot of troops taking Intombe. Many of them became redlined. My forward momentum was definately slowing at this point. My legionnaire army was red lined all the way down to 1 and my knight army was in the red as welll. I wanted to whack Giza so I was going to have to rest a bit because I knew it was going to be tough. If I could, it would deny them iron (or so I could see - didn't have their heartand mapped out), which would make further attacks much easier. I had a bunch of slavesand roads were now going everywhere, but alot of my "safe" cities were still only guarded by spearmen - not alot of cash, tech is running high. She started Leonardo's and I wanted to make a shot at it (don't do alont of wonder chasing but if I'm playing war monger - then its sun tsu and leo's all the way). I'm close to discovering it.

She's up Invention, and Monotheism, I've got Chivalry over her. Still haen't had communication with Arabs - but that is coming very soon.

BTW: 68k words, 122 pages. 7 page threads and 2200 plus views. The story is still progressing strong and it just keeps going. Thanks again to all.

V

And you are in Early Medieval Era!

We can expect this story to go on for a looong time. (That's a good thing)

I registered just so I could say what an excellent story you have composed here. Truly phenomenal writing; I just could not stop reading! Here's hoping you post more of it soon!

Good, good...

But will you really give land back to the Zulus, or find a reason to work around it?

@ MSTK - It'll go on as long as there's interest and until I get to the bitter end (I stopped the game at the beginning of the industrial era so I can catch the story up)

@ Deleted scenes - Thanks alot! I try to post at least every other day if not more. And welcome to CFC!

@ das - Give land back to the Zulu? Rome, for all its trapiings of royalty and good will is still an imperial power. As soon as the Zulu find a way to pay me back for my costs and loss of life in the battles, I'll gladly return their cities. (sarcasm) It will come out in the story.

Thanks again to everyone.

V

“And that seems to be the crux of Esberon’s complaint. The stop gap measure he and Centurion Tigritus concocted during the siege of Bapedi worked, but it was a dangerous ploy.”

Archimedes nodded. Leo had been going through all the correspondence forwarded from Magister Ioral to his assistant in Veii. The magister in training was sketching a rough outline of the standard Roman trebuchet on a sheaf of vellum while seated at the Pythagorean Library. The long and graceful lines came together quickly. In clear writing, he scrawled a series of numbers down the right hand margin, followed by a pair of formulas.

Leo glanced over. “4/3rds? Are you sure about that?”

Archimedes agreed. “Yeah. The arc of the missile is effectively a parabola, so 4/3rds is correct, otherwise the area is too short.”

“I guess. This is your area.” He looked over the drawing, shaking his head. “Give me that.” Snatching the stylus, he made some rapid marks across the trebuchet, correcting Archimedes’ design slightly. “The fulcrum is rounded over here. And here, the trough is 4 feet wide.”

“Thanks.”

Leonardo grunted. “Well, he’s right. The trebuchets work great at long range, but shorter throws have no way to gauge the force and range. Chances are, less men and a standard pin would have resulted in more stones pounding our boys then hitting the rear lines.”

Musing, Archimedes pulled out a beaten leather wrapped pad from his sack. Opening it, he scanned through the pages until stopping and smiling. “Ah ha. Here it is.”

“What?”

Scribbling quickly, he copied a series of numbers from the note pad onto the vellum they were working on. “The standard weights and sizes of the catapult crews’ missiles.”

The bearded engineers frowned. “Standard weights? Someone actually cuts each stone so they weigh the same?” Archimedes nodded. “Zeus save me, that sounds boring as hell.” Reading down the figures, he noted the groupings of the weights. “20 kilos, 50, 100, 175, 300. 5 weight classes. What for?”

Archimedes shrugged. “Each weight class applies to a range. 5 men can throw a 20k stone so far, a 50 less so, and so on.” Showing the figures and ranges to Leo, he continued. “And here, Magister Ioral had plotted the increase in range with more men operating the machinery. 10 men throw the same weight twice as far. 15 can get a 40% increase in range. 20 men can eek out a 25% boost, and a full compliment of 30 men can maximize the range with another 20% on top.”

Leo fingered his chin. “So let me get this straight. To increase the range of a barrage from the trebuchet, you either have to throw a lesser weight stone, or apply more men. Correct?”

“That’s right,” agreed Archimedes. “Unfortunately, the lighter stones are not as useful against the newer walls and defenses we’ve been supposedly firing at. So to throw a heavier stone requires more men, or worse, to reposition the trebuchet closer to the target.”

“That’s not efficient at all. The latest trebuchet, the Leaping Puma, has to weigh over 2000 kilograms. What do they do? Take it apart and rebuild it closer?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh,” Leonardo grimaced. “I can understand a bit of what Esberon was complaining about then.”

“It’s a bit worse then that as well. The men eventually get tired. Each trebuchet crew is 100 men. 1 Magister, 3 assistants, 1 Centurion, 20 legionnaires, 10 carpenters, 5 masons, 40 pullers, 8 loaders, 2 triggermen, and 10 gophers. The 40 pullers cycle in and out of the firing line in an effort to keep the men fresh, however after hours of launching stones, the men lose their ability to fire as far, and the range decreases. Which then means we are forced to use lighter stones to maintain the range.”

“What about more pullers?”

“The firing platform is only so large. The traction firing breaks down in usefulness after 30 men. I call it the Diminishing Return Rule. Basically, more men assigned to the same task offer less advantage to finishing that task any faster.”

Leonardo smiled. “Hey, that’s neat. And it makes sense too.” He tapped the vellum. “According to this, we need 5 times as many men to increase the thrown range by a factor of 3 or so. Heck, even the last group of men, a 50% increase in manpower, only results in a 20% increase in range. That’s…a 60% loss of efficiency.”

“You got it.” He looked over the numbers himself. “What we need is way to improve the throwing arc, without the use of more man power. A longer lever could work, but then we have to contend with the increased weight of the throwing arm.”

“Plus there’s the larger frame to support it, making the trebuchet even more unwieldy and possible to tip over.” Leonardo was doodling absently, his hand drawing a simplified version of the traction war machine. “You know,” he sketched out the firing platform the pulling crew would stand on. “What if we had the entire platform drop as well?”

“I don’t follow you.”

He drew a pit under the platform. “What if at the time of firing, the entire platform fell into a pit, say some 10 feet deep or so. As the men are pulling, their own weight is also yanking the throwing arm up.”

“Hmm.” Archimedes took the stylus and scribbled some more numbers down. Checking his figures against the previous columns he smiled. “It would be a pain to get the platform to drop evenly, but assuming each man weighs 70 kilo or so…and add that to the draw power…carry the 4…Eureka! That’s a 60% increase in range and power alone. Good call, Leo.”

The engineer beamed. “Thanks. By doing this, you’ll also get a more even throw, increasing the accuracy because even if the men pull weaker, their weight remains the same.”

“You know what would be better than a pit?” Archimedes redrew the platform off the ground. “Suspending the platform. Then, when its braces are released and the men are pulling, we get the same result without the need of digging a pit. The last use of the trebuchets were in the mountains, so pits would not be an option.”

Leo took the stylus back, growing more excited. “Good call. However, the platform would have to be narrowed over here, otherwise it wouldn’t fit between the uprights.” He drew some chains running from the ends to a central point on the base of the throwing arm. “It’s going to swing. The two anchor points are going to force this to tip over. Better off with a firm connection on each corner.”

“Ah-uh.” Archimedes shook his head. “Can’t do that. The men on the edges of the platform would get tangled in the chains. They’d not be able to get a good pull.”

“Damn! You’re right.” Taking a quick measure, Leonardo frowned. “We’re down to 15 men at most then. Damn it! That brings us back to below our original plotting without the swinging platform. Plus, we lose the weight of the missing men.”

The two men sat silently, a bit dejected that their idea was not working out as expected. They passed the stylus back and forth, each one trying new formulas and sketches; only to stop as the possibilities and guesses failed to bear fruit.

“This is ridiculous.” Archimedes said after an hour of mulling on the problem. “This idea is a dramatic improvement. We’re missing something, something simple.”

“I agree.” Leo stood up, stretching the kinks out of his neck. “I like the gravity force of the trebuchet. It’s just right.”

“Hey? Why don’t we just take the men out entirely?”

“What do you mean?”

Tentatively, Archimedes began sketching the pulling platform again, this time redrawing it as a large lipped box. “Instead of the men pulling and the platform falling, just fill the platform with dead weight. Since rock and lead is denser then men, we can fill the box with more weight than the pullers weigh in less of an area.”

Sitting back down, Leo looked over the design. “Plus, the added weight should more than compensate for the loss of the pullers firing. If we keep the weight in the box the same for each firing, and the missiles being used are all standard, each one should strike the same point.”

“That’s right. You know, this should also increase the range dramatically because we can load the box with more weight, generating more power, than any group of men could muster.” He re-added his formula work, this time factoring in the assumed weights of the full firing box.

When he was done, Leo whistled. “Vulcan save us. That can’t be right.”

“You do it.”

The engineer went through the same step Archimedes had, coming up with the same list of figures. “We’ve got to try this out. If this works, it could revolutionize the way all our war machines work. A gravity trebuchet.” Sweeping his books and papers into his rucksack, he stood up. “Come on. I want to start modeling this right now.”

Gathering his own belongings as well, Archimedes scooped up the vellum they had been working on. “What about the picture you’re doing for the dowager? Miss Lisa was expecting the painting by this weekend.”

Leo grimaced. “She’s just going to have to wait. I’ll butter her up, telling her that a beauty such as her takes time to paint correctly.”

“That’s funny. Maybe you’ll be able to get a smile out of her with that. She’s always so dour.”

“Ha!” he laughed, pushing the door to the library open and squinting into the spring sun. “If I can get even a small grin out of Miss Lisa, I’ll be sure to paint it as proof that even the most serious of woman won’t shatter if they show a smile now and then.”

Laughing, the two men hurried back to their room to construct their vision of the next generation of war machines.