r_rolo1
King of myself
You should give it more interest now... one of your neighbours is being dogpiled and you're missing the party 
Princes of the Universe, Part I
- Thread starter Sisiutil
- Start date
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Pieman
Prince
Woooo, it's an update! And a damn good one at that!
Nerowannabe
Warlord
"Nero are you crying"
"I'm just so happy..."
Great update
"I'm just so happy..."
Great update
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Chapter 16 – Scipio's Sabre
Part 2
Colonel Subotai stood on the parapet of New Serai’s high stone walls and glanced up at the sky. It was still the rainy season, but it was merely overcast today; the heavy grey clouds were only slightly less dark than the steel of the heavy Roman cannon that were just visible in the distance as they slowly rolled into position.
The city was doomed, that much he knew; the Great Khan had refused to be distracted from his efforts to conquer England to reassign troops to defend the homeland. The Romans would take the city with their usual ruthless efficiency, aided by those horrific, booming cannon they used to such great and deadly effect.
But he would give them a fight. He’d already blooded them; the Mongolian cavalry commander took some small satisfaction from that. Not much satisfaction though, and not as much as he’d hoped for when he’d led his best cavalry troops out of the city four days before. He’d found a perfect place to ambush the Roman column, where the road from Ning-Hsia to New Serai passed directly beneath a hill with a long, smooth slope, perfect for a cavalry charge. He hadn’t possessed sufficient numbers to smash the column completely, of course, but he’d expected to wipe out at least one Legion, possibly more. By rights, he should have. The ambush had worked perfectly. The Romans had been caught by surprise and unprepared; their usually-formidable infantry squares had been smashed asunder.
But they’d rallied. Some had fled, but most had stood and fought. They were accomplished soldiers, Subotai had to admit. He particularly remembered that tall, sandy-haired rifleman he should have, by rights, decapitated with a single blow from his sabre. He’d targeted the man because he’d been rallying the Roman troops, and they had, in turn, inflicted an unexpected and surprising number of casualties on his horses and men.
Subotai grunted in irritation at the memory. It was the first sound he’d made since he’d climbed to the top of the wall. His aides, standing nearby, knew better than to disturb the Colonel, however.
Infantry were supposed to quail at the very sight of cavalry; if their defensive formations broke apart, they were supposed to run like rabbits. Instead, the Romans had stood their ground, firing their rifles, attacking the horses and riders with their bayonets, even dragging the men out of their saddles!
Yes, he admired them; no wonder they’d conquered their own continent and now seemed destined to conquer another. But he hated them too. He was, of course, a Mongolian—and a patriot.
Now they’d come to his city, the city where he’d been born and raised, the city whose streets had been his playground, and whose surrounding fields had been his training ground. To the Romans, it was just another city, just another siege, just another stepping stone on their path to world conquest; to him, it was home. They’d take her, his city, but not without a price. He expected to die in the process, but he’d take many, many Romans to hell with him—that big, sandy-haired, hard-faced rifleman among them. They’d meet again; Subotai knew it in his bones, and this time it would end as it should when cavalry and infantry clash.
A sound like a single clap of thunder, but lower and sharper, echoed off the walls of the city and the buildings behind them. Subotai watched as a cannonball bounced harmlessly off the grass-covered glacis below the high stone walls.
“That didn’t take them long,” one of his aides remarked grimly.
Subotai nodded. “They’ll find the range before too long. For all the good it will do them.”
His aides laughed softly at that. New Serai’s walls were high and thick and solid, made of solid granite. Though they’d been built centuries before, they were kept in excellent condition; a coastal city on a continent shared with the Greeks and the English couldn’t take chances. It would take the Romans days, maybe even weeks to carve out a breach in the high, thick walls. The city gates were huge, made of solid oak faced with thick sheets of cast iron, and looked out over the lowest-lying terrain around the city, where the cannons would have the hardest time shooting at them. And New Serai’s seaward-facing walls were just as formidable. The Romans would be sitting outside in the cold and wet for some time. They’d shiver on the cold ground or in makeshift tents while the Mongolians were comfortable in their homes, warmed by burning the massive amounts of wood that had been chopped out of the nearest forests in anticipation of this siege.
Subotai frowned and grunted, reminding himself that it was not wise to underestimate one’s enemy. Would waiting in the rain make the Romans weary and demoralized, or would it make them angry and determined? He couldn’t allow his own men to get soft, especially since they might not have to fight the Romans for weeks.
“Order an assembly,” he said to one of his aides. “The entire garrison. Infantry, cavalry, artillery—everyone in the square in one hour. Tell the men to be ready for full drills.”
“Yes, Colonel,” the aide responded sharply, then turned and left. Subotai noticed the subtle grin on the man’s face. He clung to hope, as many in the city did, that the Romans could be stymied, that they’d turn away. Subotai knew better, but if the illusion meant that his men fought harder and killed more Romans, so much the better. Perhaps if the Romans won enough pyrrhic victories, they’d decide that the price of conquering Mongolia was too high, and they’d return home in their frigates and galleons and stay on their own continent where they belonged.
Yes, the Romans would pay dearly for New Serai, Subotai told himself; they’d curse the name of this place down through the ages. As for the Mongolians, songs would be sung about Colonel Subotai’s last stand. He was certainly doing everything in his power to ensure it. The Great Khan would be proud.
Nara waited in the shadow of a recessed doorway and silently cursed her own efficiency.
It hadn’t been that hard to obtain employment in the home of Major Hakuho, Colonel Subotai’s quartermaster. Many people, women in particular, had fled the city when Ning-Hsia fell. Domestics were, therefore, hard to come by. Then she had made herself indispensible to the fat old man, segueing from mopping floors to demonstrating a talent for numbers that meant she was, before long, putting the regimental books in order (probably for the first time ever). Hakuho blessed her and congratulated himself on finding such a jewel, even if he sometimes regretted that his age and girth meant he could no longer take advantage of all the qualities that the attractive young woman had to offer. Nara tolerated the occasional leer or pinch in exchange for ready access to detailed information regarding the city, its supplies, and its defenders. And she had to admit, she had a talent for organization and numbers.
But maybe if she didn’t, the city wouldn’t now be so well-supplied, and then maybe the sentry strolling down the street wouldn’t be so intolerably fat and slow. She silently urged him to move along, trying to add the power of her own mind to whatever kept the man’s chubby legs moving. She had an appointment to keep, after all.
Eventually, the rotund guard managed to amble past her and around the corner of a low stone building—without noticing her in the doorway, even though it was still daylight, leaving her both critical of yet thankful for his unsuitability to his assigned task. The narrow, cobble-stoned street was now abandoned, save for Nara. She silently strode across the lane, then past several doors until she came to the one she was after. She eased it open and stepped inside.
The doorway opened into a stairwell, which she started to climb. The building itself had the desirable features, for her purposes, of being little-used, relatively tall—six storeys in total—and also being right next to New Serai’s wall. Nara reached the stop of the stairs then settled in next to a window to wait.
She didn’t have to wait long; she heard a bell pealing in the distance at the nearest Hindu shrine, tolling the hour to the faithful. Nara had the small lamp she’d carried in a cloth bundle under her arm lit before the echo died away. The lamp was unusual in that its light could be completely concealed by brass shades; each one could be easily lifted to reveal the light and thereby point it in a particular direction. Hide and reveal the light in a predetermined sequence, and one could use it to communicate. As Nara was now doing.
If she was caught, of course, she’d be killed as a traitor and a spy. Well, that was what she was, so she had girded herself mentally and emotionally for that possibility. The Khan had taken the life of her mother and father; perhaps it would be appropriate, she thought, if he took hers as well. But not before she hurt him back as much, if not more, than he’d hurt her. Nara took every precaution to avoid capture, yet she was resigned to the likelihood that sooner or later, her luck would run out.
Or at least she had been. Before Mycenian.
It had seemed then that her luck had indeed run out early, just after that Mongolian city had fallen to the invading Romans, the first to do so. One of the local resistance cells had discovered and captured her, then had tortured her to discover what information she’d conveyed to the enemy. Day by day, hour by hour, they had sapped what little strength she had left. It was a waiting game, with her merciless captors holding all the cards. Sooner or later she would break and tell them everything. Then she would be disposed of.
But before that happened, against all sense, reason, and expectation, she’d been rescued.
As she descended the stairs, her mission for today accomplished, she smiled at the memory, shaking her head as she remembered her unlikely saviour. Lieutenant Marcus Scipio. Sometimes it bothered her, how often she found herself thinking about him. Sometimes she hated him; here she’s been prepared to die, and he’d gone and given her something to live for. Damn him. She didn’t think she could fall for a soldier, and a soldier he was, to the core: simple, tactless, uncouth; reckless and foolhardy to boot. But he had a good heart... and he was all man. What more could a girl want?
To live to see him again, for one thing, she silently answered her unspoken query.
So as she opened the door to go back out into the street, she reminded herself to focus on the task at hand. She reflected, as she made her way down the quiet street, that she might have her wish soon. She might have a chance to see Marcus, assuming that he was indeed camped outside the city walls with the other Romans, and sooner than anyone else supposed. Provided the Romans were able to properly use the information that she’d just sent them.
Because Nara knew there was another way into the city. And now the Romans did as well.
“Thank you, Captain,” Major Scaurus said pleasantly as he was handed the note, which was sealed with wax. He placed it upon his desk as if it was of no great import and waited until the Captain left the tent.
Once the Captain had gone, Scaurus picked up the letter and tore off the seal. The Captain himself had been the only one to witness and transcribe the message. Even then, it was in a code only the Major understood, because he had created it. No, that wasn’t entirely accurate: one other person understood it, the young Mongolian woman whom Scaurus had taught the cipher.
“Now then, my dear Nara,” Scaurus muttered to himself as he decoded the message. “What bright news do you bring me on such a dreary day?”
A moment later, a grin appeared on the Major’s lips, beneath his long moustaches. Shortly after that, the grin broadened into a smile.
Scaurus lit the sheet of paper in the flame of the lamp that illuminated his desk, then left it to burn on a plate while he sat back, lips pursed as he thought and planned. At last, he rose from his chair and went to see General Rutullus.
“Sir,” Scaurus said once he was alone in the command tent with his General.
“Major,” the General said with a curt nod, setting down a supply report to give his chief intelligence officer his full attention. Scaurus noticed that the close-shorn auburn locks appeared shot through with a little more grey of late.
Neither man flinched as a nearby cannon went off, followed by a distant, muffled thud as its payload impacted—rather ineffectually—against the thick city walls. After the sound faded, however, the General sighed heavily.
“We’ll be here until doomsday at the rate my esteemed engineers and artillery commanders are proceeding,” General Rutullus said gloomily. “If you’ve come to tell me how low morale is, save your breath. I’ve been told as much several times over.”
“Well, speaking for myself, sir, my own morale is excellent—markedly improved, in fact,” Scaurus said as his General cocked one sardonic brow in response. “You see, sir, I just received the most interesting little message from a young lady-friend of mine.”
“Why would I be interested in your peccadilloes, Major?” the General asked gruffly.
“Because you’re acquainted with the young lady as well, sir,” Scaurus replied good-naturedly. “You may recall being formally introduced to her at Mycenian?”
Rutullus blinked. “Nara?”
“None other, sir,”
Rutullus’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You have something, Major. Tell me what it is.”
Scaurus told him.
The General propped his elbow upon his table and rested his chin in his hand. “It’s risky,” he said.
“My father, God rest his soul, sir, always said, if war wasn’t risky, we’d let the women and children fight it, wouldn’t we?”
“You’ll need the right man to run such an operation,” Rutullus said. “Someone who’s… what’s the word… hungry. And, dare I say it, reckless. Not to mention…”
“…expendable?” Scaurus prompted him. Rutullus eyed him sharply; Scaurus pretended not to notice. “I think I have just the man, sir.”
“Very well,” the General said. “I leave it in your capable hands, Major.”
“I’m honoured by your faith and trust, sir,” Scaurus said.
“Don’t get used to it,” Rutullus muttered as Scaurus turned and left, well aware that the Major had heard him.
As the light of day—such as it was under the gloomy skies—faded, Scipio and his men watched desultorily as the last few cannonballs fired that day bounced harmlessly off of New Serai’s thick stone walls.
“Bloody hell,” Silo remarked, unknowingly echoing his own General’s sentiments not long before, “we’ll all be in our graves of old age before they get us in there!”
“I thought that last shot caused a little damage,” Corporal Lallena said brightly.
“Aye, to the cannonball,” Sergeant Necalli remarked with a grin.
Scipio and the others laughed quietly at the remark. The hard-featured Lieutenant reflected that it was good to hear a little laughter from the men, even if it was subdued. After the news of the fall of London, the long, soggy march to New Serai, the loss of several of their comrades in the cavalry attack—Private Li especially—and now what appeared would be a long, drawn out siege of New Serai, the spirit of his unit was lower than he’d ever seen it.
There were rumblings among the men, as they wondered just what they hell they were doing on Mongolia anyway. The Mongolians certainly didn’t want them there, and it didn’t appear they were doing the English any good, so what was the point? It wasn’t much more than the usual grumbling soldiers indulge in—yet. But standing around watching their cannon ineffectually attempting to open a breach in the city’s formidable walls wasn’t exactly helping.
“Well, well, now here’s a fine sight,” a cultured voice said from behind them. “Some of Rome’s finest, enjoying the night air and the local scenery.”
The riflemen turned around and, upon seeing the silk sash of a senior officer and the silver epaulettes of a major, brought themselves to attention.
“At ease, lads,” Major Scaurus said with a good-natured wave of his hand. “Marcus, my boy,” he said, smiling as he glanced at Scipio, “A word, if you please?”
Scipio did not return the Major’s smile, nor echo his friendly manner in any way. He cast a wary glance at Necalli, then followed Scaurus away from his men.
“Uh-oh,” Silo remarked under his breath.
“This means trouble, doesn’t it?” Lallena said.
“Count on it,” Necalli replied.
“What do you want?” Scipio asked insolently once they were out of earshot of the men. “Sir,” he added when Scaurus cast him a warning glance.
“That’s one of many things I like about you, Marcus—you’re all business,” Scaurus remarked. He nodded towards the city walls. “What do you think of our progress thus far?”
Scipio barked a laugh. “What progress? Slapping the walls with a wet noodle would have as much effect!”
Scaurus frowned. “The cannon will open a breach, Lieutenant. Eventually. The thing is, the General, see, he shares the sentiment of his men.”
“What sentiment is that, sir?” Scipio asked.
“He’s impatient,” Scaurus said. “He doesn’t relish the prospect of standing it out here in the rain for weeks, waiting for the artillery to eventually do their job, anymore than the rest of you do.” Scaurus smiled wolfishly. “Fortunately, thanks in no small part to his utterly brilliant, if I do say so myself, chief of intelligence, the General has a plan to crack this particular nut open much, much sooner.”
Scipio caught the drift of the conversation immediately. He laughed ruefully.
“Why do I get the feeling this will involve me and my men doing something foolhardy and dangerous?” he said.
“Now, don’t be petulant, Marcus,” Scaurus mildly remonstrated him. “Last time you did something foolhardy and dangerous, it was your own idea.”
“A woman’s life was at stake,” Scipio replied quietly, his gaze cast down at the ground.
“So it was. And so it is again.” Scipio looked up suddenly, directly at Scaurus. “She’s there, Marcus. In New Serai.”
“Nara?” Scipio asked. Scaurus nodded, and Scipio looked over his shoulder at the city, as if he could see her there, or sense her somehow.
Scaurus looked at Scipio with an appraising eye, then frowned. “What happened to your sword, Lieutenant?”
“Huh?” Scipio said, tearing his thoughts away from the comely Mongolian spy he’d rescued in Mycenian. “Oh. That. Cheap bloody thing. Broke in that cavalry ambush.”
“Hmmm. Can’t afford another?” Scaurus asked shrewdly.
Scipio’s lips pressed together and he glared at the Major. No, of course he couldn’t afford another sword, he’d barely been able to afford the cheap weapon he’d purchased when he’d been unexpectedly promoted to the officers’ ranks.
If he’d been pressed, Scipio would have admitted that the Roman army had its priorities straight: it provided its riflemen with their guns and ammunition, the artillery with their gunpowder and shot, the cavalry with their horses. Officers, however, were expected to purchase their own swords. Some bureaucrat back home had classified them as a fashion accessory, a relic of a bygone age; and yet, any officer worth his salt was expected to carry a sword. (They were also expected not to wield firearms—though Scipio did, another thing that set him apart from his fellow officers and earned their disdain.) Most officers came from Rome’s wealthy patrician class—a fact of which Scipio was constantly reminded—and could easily afford to buy a decent sword. But Scipio had risen from the ranks based upon merit, and without a sestertius to his name.
“You know,” Scaurus said matter-of-factly, ignoring Scipio’s resentful glare, “a Captaincy carries with it a substantial pay raise.”
Scipio laughed derisively. “Is that what you’re offering me if I do whatever this thing is and succeed? You’ll make me a Captain?” In response, Scaurus nodded. “And what if I fail?” Scipio asked.
Scaurus smiled. “Ah, Marcus,” he said smoothly, “if you fail, you’ll be beyond all such worldly concerns.” He put a fatherly hand on the dubious rifleman's shoulder and began walking toward the outskirts of the Roman camp, just as the first of the evening’s cooking fires were lit. “Let me tell you about this little hole in the Mongolians’ armour that your young lady friend has discovered and shared with us…”
Part 2
Colonel Subotai stood on the parapet of New Serai’s high stone walls and glanced up at the sky. It was still the rainy season, but it was merely overcast today; the heavy grey clouds were only slightly less dark than the steel of the heavy Roman cannon that were just visible in the distance as they slowly rolled into position.
The city was doomed, that much he knew; the Great Khan had refused to be distracted from his efforts to conquer England to reassign troops to defend the homeland. The Romans would take the city with their usual ruthless efficiency, aided by those horrific, booming cannon they used to such great and deadly effect.
But he would give them a fight. He’d already blooded them; the Mongolian cavalry commander took some small satisfaction from that. Not much satisfaction though, and not as much as he’d hoped for when he’d led his best cavalry troops out of the city four days before. He’d found a perfect place to ambush the Roman column, where the road from Ning-Hsia to New Serai passed directly beneath a hill with a long, smooth slope, perfect for a cavalry charge. He hadn’t possessed sufficient numbers to smash the column completely, of course, but he’d expected to wipe out at least one Legion, possibly more. By rights, he should have. The ambush had worked perfectly. The Romans had been caught by surprise and unprepared; their usually-formidable infantry squares had been smashed asunder.
But they’d rallied. Some had fled, but most had stood and fought. They were accomplished soldiers, Subotai had to admit. He particularly remembered that tall, sandy-haired rifleman he should have, by rights, decapitated with a single blow from his sabre. He’d targeted the man because he’d been rallying the Roman troops, and they had, in turn, inflicted an unexpected and surprising number of casualties on his horses and men.
Subotai grunted in irritation at the memory. It was the first sound he’d made since he’d climbed to the top of the wall. His aides, standing nearby, knew better than to disturb the Colonel, however.
Infantry were supposed to quail at the very sight of cavalry; if their defensive formations broke apart, they were supposed to run like rabbits. Instead, the Romans had stood their ground, firing their rifles, attacking the horses and riders with their bayonets, even dragging the men out of their saddles!
Yes, he admired them; no wonder they’d conquered their own continent and now seemed destined to conquer another. But he hated them too. He was, of course, a Mongolian—and a patriot.
Now they’d come to his city, the city where he’d been born and raised, the city whose streets had been his playground, and whose surrounding fields had been his training ground. To the Romans, it was just another city, just another siege, just another stepping stone on their path to world conquest; to him, it was home. They’d take her, his city, but not without a price. He expected to die in the process, but he’d take many, many Romans to hell with him—that big, sandy-haired, hard-faced rifleman among them. They’d meet again; Subotai knew it in his bones, and this time it would end as it should when cavalry and infantry clash.
A sound like a single clap of thunder, but lower and sharper, echoed off the walls of the city and the buildings behind them. Subotai watched as a cannonball bounced harmlessly off the grass-covered glacis below the high stone walls.
“That didn’t take them long,” one of his aides remarked grimly.
Subotai nodded. “They’ll find the range before too long. For all the good it will do them.”
His aides laughed softly at that. New Serai’s walls were high and thick and solid, made of solid granite. Though they’d been built centuries before, they were kept in excellent condition; a coastal city on a continent shared with the Greeks and the English couldn’t take chances. It would take the Romans days, maybe even weeks to carve out a breach in the high, thick walls. The city gates were huge, made of solid oak faced with thick sheets of cast iron, and looked out over the lowest-lying terrain around the city, where the cannons would have the hardest time shooting at them. And New Serai’s seaward-facing walls were just as formidable. The Romans would be sitting outside in the cold and wet for some time. They’d shiver on the cold ground or in makeshift tents while the Mongolians were comfortable in their homes, warmed by burning the massive amounts of wood that had been chopped out of the nearest forests in anticipation of this siege.
Subotai frowned and grunted, reminding himself that it was not wise to underestimate one’s enemy. Would waiting in the rain make the Romans weary and demoralized, or would it make them angry and determined? He couldn’t allow his own men to get soft, especially since they might not have to fight the Romans for weeks.
“Order an assembly,” he said to one of his aides. “The entire garrison. Infantry, cavalry, artillery—everyone in the square in one hour. Tell the men to be ready for full drills.”
“Yes, Colonel,” the aide responded sharply, then turned and left. Subotai noticed the subtle grin on the man’s face. He clung to hope, as many in the city did, that the Romans could be stymied, that they’d turn away. Subotai knew better, but if the illusion meant that his men fought harder and killed more Romans, so much the better. Perhaps if the Romans won enough pyrrhic victories, they’d decide that the price of conquering Mongolia was too high, and they’d return home in their frigates and galleons and stay on their own continent where they belonged.
Yes, the Romans would pay dearly for New Serai, Subotai told himself; they’d curse the name of this place down through the ages. As for the Mongolians, songs would be sung about Colonel Subotai’s last stand. He was certainly doing everything in his power to ensure it. The Great Khan would be proud.
* * *
Nara waited in the shadow of a recessed doorway and silently cursed her own efficiency.
It hadn’t been that hard to obtain employment in the home of Major Hakuho, Colonel Subotai’s quartermaster. Many people, women in particular, had fled the city when Ning-Hsia fell. Domestics were, therefore, hard to come by. Then she had made herself indispensible to the fat old man, segueing from mopping floors to demonstrating a talent for numbers that meant she was, before long, putting the regimental books in order (probably for the first time ever). Hakuho blessed her and congratulated himself on finding such a jewel, even if he sometimes regretted that his age and girth meant he could no longer take advantage of all the qualities that the attractive young woman had to offer. Nara tolerated the occasional leer or pinch in exchange for ready access to detailed information regarding the city, its supplies, and its defenders. And she had to admit, she had a talent for organization and numbers.
But maybe if she didn’t, the city wouldn’t now be so well-supplied, and then maybe the sentry strolling down the street wouldn’t be so intolerably fat and slow. She silently urged him to move along, trying to add the power of her own mind to whatever kept the man’s chubby legs moving. She had an appointment to keep, after all.
Eventually, the rotund guard managed to amble past her and around the corner of a low stone building—without noticing her in the doorway, even though it was still daylight, leaving her both critical of yet thankful for his unsuitability to his assigned task. The narrow, cobble-stoned street was now abandoned, save for Nara. She silently strode across the lane, then past several doors until she came to the one she was after. She eased it open and stepped inside.
The doorway opened into a stairwell, which she started to climb. The building itself had the desirable features, for her purposes, of being little-used, relatively tall—six storeys in total—and also being right next to New Serai’s wall. Nara reached the stop of the stairs then settled in next to a window to wait.
She didn’t have to wait long; she heard a bell pealing in the distance at the nearest Hindu shrine, tolling the hour to the faithful. Nara had the small lamp she’d carried in a cloth bundle under her arm lit before the echo died away. The lamp was unusual in that its light could be completely concealed by brass shades; each one could be easily lifted to reveal the light and thereby point it in a particular direction. Hide and reveal the light in a predetermined sequence, and one could use it to communicate. As Nara was now doing.
If she was caught, of course, she’d be killed as a traitor and a spy. Well, that was what she was, so she had girded herself mentally and emotionally for that possibility. The Khan had taken the life of her mother and father; perhaps it would be appropriate, she thought, if he took hers as well. But not before she hurt him back as much, if not more, than he’d hurt her. Nara took every precaution to avoid capture, yet she was resigned to the likelihood that sooner or later, her luck would run out.
Or at least she had been. Before Mycenian.
It had seemed then that her luck had indeed run out early, just after that Mongolian city had fallen to the invading Romans, the first to do so. One of the local resistance cells had discovered and captured her, then had tortured her to discover what information she’d conveyed to the enemy. Day by day, hour by hour, they had sapped what little strength she had left. It was a waiting game, with her merciless captors holding all the cards. Sooner or later she would break and tell them everything. Then she would be disposed of.
But before that happened, against all sense, reason, and expectation, she’d been rescued.
As she descended the stairs, her mission for today accomplished, she smiled at the memory, shaking her head as she remembered her unlikely saviour. Lieutenant Marcus Scipio. Sometimes it bothered her, how often she found herself thinking about him. Sometimes she hated him; here she’s been prepared to die, and he’d gone and given her something to live for. Damn him. She didn’t think she could fall for a soldier, and a soldier he was, to the core: simple, tactless, uncouth; reckless and foolhardy to boot. But he had a good heart... and he was all man. What more could a girl want?
To live to see him again, for one thing, she silently answered her unspoken query.
So as she opened the door to go back out into the street, she reminded herself to focus on the task at hand. She reflected, as she made her way down the quiet street, that she might have her wish soon. She might have a chance to see Marcus, assuming that he was indeed camped outside the city walls with the other Romans, and sooner than anyone else supposed. Provided the Romans were able to properly use the information that she’d just sent them.
Because Nara knew there was another way into the city. And now the Romans did as well.
* * *
Once the Captain had gone, Scaurus picked up the letter and tore off the seal. The Captain himself had been the only one to witness and transcribe the message. Even then, it was in a code only the Major understood, because he had created it. No, that wasn’t entirely accurate: one other person understood it, the young Mongolian woman whom Scaurus had taught the cipher.
“Now then, my dear Nara,” Scaurus muttered to himself as he decoded the message. “What bright news do you bring me on such a dreary day?”
A moment later, a grin appeared on the Major’s lips, beneath his long moustaches. Shortly after that, the grin broadened into a smile.
Scaurus lit the sheet of paper in the flame of the lamp that illuminated his desk, then left it to burn on a plate while he sat back, lips pursed as he thought and planned. At last, he rose from his chair and went to see General Rutullus.
“Sir,” Scaurus said once he was alone in the command tent with his General.
“Major,” the General said with a curt nod, setting down a supply report to give his chief intelligence officer his full attention. Scaurus noticed that the close-shorn auburn locks appeared shot through with a little more grey of late.
Neither man flinched as a nearby cannon went off, followed by a distant, muffled thud as its payload impacted—rather ineffectually—against the thick city walls. After the sound faded, however, the General sighed heavily.
“We’ll be here until doomsday at the rate my esteemed engineers and artillery commanders are proceeding,” General Rutullus said gloomily. “If you’ve come to tell me how low morale is, save your breath. I’ve been told as much several times over.”
“Well, speaking for myself, sir, my own morale is excellent—markedly improved, in fact,” Scaurus said as his General cocked one sardonic brow in response. “You see, sir, I just received the most interesting little message from a young lady-friend of mine.”
“Why would I be interested in your peccadilloes, Major?” the General asked gruffly.
“Because you’re acquainted with the young lady as well, sir,” Scaurus replied good-naturedly. “You may recall being formally introduced to her at Mycenian?”
Rutullus blinked. “Nara?”
“None other, sir,”
Rutullus’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You have something, Major. Tell me what it is.”
Scaurus told him.
The General propped his elbow upon his table and rested his chin in his hand. “It’s risky,” he said.
“My father, God rest his soul, sir, always said, if war wasn’t risky, we’d let the women and children fight it, wouldn’t we?”
“You’ll need the right man to run such an operation,” Rutullus said. “Someone who’s… what’s the word… hungry. And, dare I say it, reckless. Not to mention…”
“…expendable?” Scaurus prompted him. Rutullus eyed him sharply; Scaurus pretended not to notice. “I think I have just the man, sir.”
“Very well,” the General said. “I leave it in your capable hands, Major.”
“I’m honoured by your faith and trust, sir,” Scaurus said.
“Don’t get used to it,” Rutullus muttered as Scaurus turned and left, well aware that the Major had heard him.
* * *
“Bloody hell,” Silo remarked, unknowingly echoing his own General’s sentiments not long before, “we’ll all be in our graves of old age before they get us in there!”
“I thought that last shot caused a little damage,” Corporal Lallena said brightly.
“Aye, to the cannonball,” Sergeant Necalli remarked with a grin.
Scipio and the others laughed quietly at the remark. The hard-featured Lieutenant reflected that it was good to hear a little laughter from the men, even if it was subdued. After the news of the fall of London, the long, soggy march to New Serai, the loss of several of their comrades in the cavalry attack—Private Li especially—and now what appeared would be a long, drawn out siege of New Serai, the spirit of his unit was lower than he’d ever seen it.
There were rumblings among the men, as they wondered just what they hell they were doing on Mongolia anyway. The Mongolians certainly didn’t want them there, and it didn’t appear they were doing the English any good, so what was the point? It wasn’t much more than the usual grumbling soldiers indulge in—yet. But standing around watching their cannon ineffectually attempting to open a breach in the city’s formidable walls wasn’t exactly helping.
“Well, well, now here’s a fine sight,” a cultured voice said from behind them. “Some of Rome’s finest, enjoying the night air and the local scenery.”
The riflemen turned around and, upon seeing the silk sash of a senior officer and the silver epaulettes of a major, brought themselves to attention.
“At ease, lads,” Major Scaurus said with a good-natured wave of his hand. “Marcus, my boy,” he said, smiling as he glanced at Scipio, “A word, if you please?”
Scipio did not return the Major’s smile, nor echo his friendly manner in any way. He cast a wary glance at Necalli, then followed Scaurus away from his men.
“Uh-oh,” Silo remarked under his breath.
“This means trouble, doesn’t it?” Lallena said.
“Count on it,” Necalli replied.
“What do you want?” Scipio asked insolently once they were out of earshot of the men. “Sir,” he added when Scaurus cast him a warning glance.
“That’s one of many things I like about you, Marcus—you’re all business,” Scaurus remarked. He nodded towards the city walls. “What do you think of our progress thus far?”
Scipio barked a laugh. “What progress? Slapping the walls with a wet noodle would have as much effect!”
Scaurus frowned. “The cannon will open a breach, Lieutenant. Eventually. The thing is, the General, see, he shares the sentiment of his men.”
“What sentiment is that, sir?” Scipio asked.
“He’s impatient,” Scaurus said. “He doesn’t relish the prospect of standing it out here in the rain for weeks, waiting for the artillery to eventually do their job, anymore than the rest of you do.” Scaurus smiled wolfishly. “Fortunately, thanks in no small part to his utterly brilliant, if I do say so myself, chief of intelligence, the General has a plan to crack this particular nut open much, much sooner.”
Scipio caught the drift of the conversation immediately. He laughed ruefully.
“Why do I get the feeling this will involve me and my men doing something foolhardy and dangerous?” he said.
“Now, don’t be petulant, Marcus,” Scaurus mildly remonstrated him. “Last time you did something foolhardy and dangerous, it was your own idea.”
“A woman’s life was at stake,” Scipio replied quietly, his gaze cast down at the ground.
“So it was. And so it is again.” Scipio looked up suddenly, directly at Scaurus. “She’s there, Marcus. In New Serai.”
“Nara?” Scipio asked. Scaurus nodded, and Scipio looked over his shoulder at the city, as if he could see her there, or sense her somehow.
Scaurus looked at Scipio with an appraising eye, then frowned. “What happened to your sword, Lieutenant?”
“Huh?” Scipio said, tearing his thoughts away from the comely Mongolian spy he’d rescued in Mycenian. “Oh. That. Cheap bloody thing. Broke in that cavalry ambush.”
“Hmmm. Can’t afford another?” Scaurus asked shrewdly.
Scipio’s lips pressed together and he glared at the Major. No, of course he couldn’t afford another sword, he’d barely been able to afford the cheap weapon he’d purchased when he’d been unexpectedly promoted to the officers’ ranks.
If he’d been pressed, Scipio would have admitted that the Roman army had its priorities straight: it provided its riflemen with their guns and ammunition, the artillery with their gunpowder and shot, the cavalry with their horses. Officers, however, were expected to purchase their own swords. Some bureaucrat back home had classified them as a fashion accessory, a relic of a bygone age; and yet, any officer worth his salt was expected to carry a sword. (They were also expected not to wield firearms—though Scipio did, another thing that set him apart from his fellow officers and earned their disdain.) Most officers came from Rome’s wealthy patrician class—a fact of which Scipio was constantly reminded—and could easily afford to buy a decent sword. But Scipio had risen from the ranks based upon merit, and without a sestertius to his name.
“You know,” Scaurus said matter-of-factly, ignoring Scipio’s resentful glare, “a Captaincy carries with it a substantial pay raise.”
Scipio laughed derisively. “Is that what you’re offering me if I do whatever this thing is and succeed? You’ll make me a Captain?” In response, Scaurus nodded. “And what if I fail?” Scipio asked.
Scaurus smiled. “Ah, Marcus,” he said smoothly, “if you fail, you’ll be beyond all such worldly concerns.” He put a fatherly hand on the dubious rifleman's shoulder and began walking toward the outskirts of the Roman camp, just as the first of the evening’s cooking fires were lit. “Let me tell you about this little hole in the Mongolians’ armour that your young lady friend has discovered and shared with us…”
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
I love you Sis!
Usually I feel so cheesy saying that after ever awesome update but this is worth it! I wanted to say it and I was here since the Merchant. You did a bombtastic job, 2 updates in two weeks.
calms down...
Great Job Sis, you did it again!
And that is a revolt you are planning yes?
Usually I feel so cheesy saying that after ever awesome update but this is worth it! I wanted to say it and I was here since the Merchant. You did a bombtastic job, 2 updates in two weeks.
calms down...
Great Job Sis, you did it again!
And that is a revolt you are planning yes?
Admiral Armada
The Admiral of Armadas
I dont know what to say....
So long without any hope, then, suddenly like the brightest light came updates!
All Praise!
Seriously great work, i teared up a bit when Li died
Keep it up
So long without any hope, then, suddenly like the brightest light came updates!
All Praise!
Seriously great work, i teared up a bit when Li died
Keep it up
DroopyTofu
Double Bass Double Bass
I don't think so, he's playing Civ IV vanilla. No early spies...
Great update Sis. I can't believe after all this waiting, and now, 2 UPDATES!!!
Cynovolans
Not in my dimension.
This is a great story. Read it all from the beginning
Sisiutil
All Leader Challenger
Greetings faithful readers,
This thread has now exceeded the safe size for this board, so at the request of the mods I'm going to have it locked. The stories will continue in a new thread:
Princes of the Universe, Part II
This thread has now exceeded the safe size for this board, so at the request of the mods I'm going to have it locked. The stories will continue in a new thread:
Princes of the Universe, Part II
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