That's that, I guess. Although on another note, charcoal is an effective treatment for certain poisons, and I think people knew that in Roman times, at least. Not sure. We probably need a doctor in this thread.
Cato's Cavalry
- Thread starter Cymraeg
- Start date
That's that, I guess. Although on another note, charcoal is an effective treatment for certain poisons, and I think people knew that in Roman times, at least. Not sure. We probably need a doctor in this thread.
Sorry for the delay on this - I've been insanely busy. More this weekend.
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There had been a time when Cambodunum had been little more than a half-ruined fort with a half-abandoned village around it. That had changed when Gaius Tortorius had taken an interest in the place. There had been no reason why the fort shouldn’t have been repaired long before, so he had moved at once to restore the place, to put a small trained garrison in it and to encourage more traders to pass through it. Now the fort was a place where good auxiliaries were trained and the village was now a town.
It was also rather too close to Eboracum for Cato to feel entirely comfortable with trusting the officers there completely, so he led a force of fifty men, the best that he had, ahead of the main column to secure the fort as quickly and quietly as possible.
It wasn’t hard – and he made a note to have training stepped up another few levels – as the garrison was quite dozy and greeted the arrival of the cavalry with a combination of astonishment and wonder. When Cato had asked when the last message had arrived from Eboracum they had pointed to a young Decurion called Taterix – who seemed to have a single gold solidus from Constantinople amongst his belongings. The man had shamefacedly confessed to having taken the money in return for keeping an eye over what passed through the area and had been confined to barracks as Malgo raged through the fort like a veteran with a bee in his helmet and a need to raise the level of discipline to a new and very high level.
Of course it was impossible to keep the arrival of the main column a secret, but Cato closed the gates to everyone but his own men before calling a meeting of all officers in the fort that evening.
“Tomorrow we will be at Eboracum,” he told them, grim-faced. “We will no doubt be told to join them, or to disperse, or to go away ‘lest we feel their wrath. Well. We will do none of those things. Beliatrix the Elder is a usurper and for all we know a murderer and in any case it matters not a damn thing what he says – his father’s banner and insignia are gone from Eboracum. I took them to Deva at his own instruction and they are now gone to Londinium. Aemilianus is now the only Dux in Britannia. If Beliatrix wishes to fight that fact… well, we will get to that when we arrive. But let me tell you all this – I will bring you all home. I promise you that. If I have to fight that vain boy alone, I will do it. We go to confront and to make Eboracum see that Beliatrix will lead them to ruin and civil war. And I will NOT have that.”
He looked around the room at the assembled men, all silent but also all nodding slowly. “We confront, we persuade them and we bring them back. You know about what we in turn carry. It will not be easy – someone has been spreading mischief in the form of gold coins. But – look about you. We are Britannians. Every one of us. We have always had storms on every horizon and we have always ridden them out. We stand together or we will splinter into a hundred, a thousand, pieces. That is why we ride. Tell your men that on the morning. Tell them that when we ride.”
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There had been a time when Cambodunum had been little more than a half-ruined fort with a half-abandoned village around it. That had changed when Gaius Tortorius had taken an interest in the place. There had been no reason why the fort shouldn’t have been repaired long before, so he had moved at once to restore the place, to put a small trained garrison in it and to encourage more traders to pass through it. Now the fort was a place where good auxiliaries were trained and the village was now a town.
It was also rather too close to Eboracum for Cato to feel entirely comfortable with trusting the officers there completely, so he led a force of fifty men, the best that he had, ahead of the main column to secure the fort as quickly and quietly as possible.
It wasn’t hard – and he made a note to have training stepped up another few levels – as the garrison was quite dozy and greeted the arrival of the cavalry with a combination of astonishment and wonder. When Cato had asked when the last message had arrived from Eboracum they had pointed to a young Decurion called Taterix – who seemed to have a single gold solidus from Constantinople amongst his belongings. The man had shamefacedly confessed to having taken the money in return for keeping an eye over what passed through the area and had been confined to barracks as Malgo raged through the fort like a veteran with a bee in his helmet and a need to raise the level of discipline to a new and very high level.
Of course it was impossible to keep the arrival of the main column a secret, but Cato closed the gates to everyone but his own men before calling a meeting of all officers in the fort that evening.
“Tomorrow we will be at Eboracum,” he told them, grim-faced. “We will no doubt be told to join them, or to disperse, or to go away ‘lest we feel their wrath. Well. We will do none of those things. Beliatrix the Elder is a usurper and for all we know a murderer and in any case it matters not a damn thing what he says – his father’s banner and insignia are gone from Eboracum. I took them to Deva at his own instruction and they are now gone to Londinium. Aemilianus is now the only Dux in Britannia. If Beliatrix wishes to fight that fact… well, we will get to that when we arrive. But let me tell you all this – I will bring you all home. I promise you that. If I have to fight that vain boy alone, I will do it. We go to confront and to make Eboracum see that Beliatrix will lead them to ruin and civil war. And I will NOT have that.”
He looked around the room at the assembled men, all silent but also all nodding slowly. “We confront, we persuade them and we bring them back. You know about what we in turn carry. It will not be easy – someone has been spreading mischief in the form of gold coins. But – look about you. We are Britannians. Every one of us. We have always had storms on every horizon and we have always ridden them out. We stand together or we will splinter into a hundred, a thousand, pieces. That is why we ride. Tell your men that on the morning. Tell them that when we ride.”
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Erm, nope.
I'm a tad busy at the moment, so there should be an update in a few days.
Speaking of which, what is the linguistic situation here? I'd guess that at the least, rural areas tend to be Brythonic-speaking still.........
takerma
Banned
New to this forum, been reading this thread for a few days. Subscribed 
Very good stuff
I think butterflying away the plague is by far the biggest change to happen and maybe unfortunate? Would have been fun to see how everyone dealt with it, would be a dark dark reading though. But it would have made for an amazing recovery story, just the 3rd part needs to start a bit later. Maybe in 4 you can have a plague show up?
Very good stuffI think butterflying away the plague is by far the biggest change to happen and maybe unfortunate? Would have been fun to see how everyone dealt with it, would be a dark dark reading though. But it would have made for an amazing recovery story, just the 3rd part needs to start a bit later. Maybe in 4 you can have a plague show up?
Sorry for the delay folks. I've been insanely busy on the new job, plus dealing with the last bits of freelancing. More this week.
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The rider was tired when he reached the gates, and his horse was badly blown, but he handed the horse over to the duty officer and then ran – staggered almost – for the main office. “I need to talk to the Dux!”
A Decurion looked up from his desk. “What?”
“I need to talk to the Dux!”
This earned him a look of total contempt. “And you are?”
“Borix. Marcus Borix. One of the scouts that were sent out?”
The contempt turned to indifference. “So what do you want to talk about to someone as important as the Dux?”
He stared at the man. “There’s a force of cavalry coming up the main road from Deva.”
More indifference. “The Dux isn’t interested in patrols.”
He balled his fists and leant over the man, using his height to cast a shadow over him. “This isn’t a patrol. I saw them, from a distance. At least a thousand men. With spears that gleamed in the sunlight.”
The Decurion looked at him, but as the thoughts visibly churned over his face, like ripples on a very muddy puddle, there was the sound of a throat clearing and then a tall man spoke from the shadows of the doorway that was to one side. “Tell the garrison to prepare for a possible attack. The gates to be closed, the city and the fortress. Everyone on full alert. I’ll tell the Dux – good work Borix.”
Borix saluted, but the man was gone. “Who was that?” he asked in the growing chaos of the room, as men started to run about and in a few cases visibly panic. “Who was that?”
“The Dux’s old friend,” he was told by a passing soldier. He turned to ask for a name, but the man was gone, hurrying off down the corridor as he shouted out orders and Borix never saw him again.
An alarm was being sounded now then Borix heard the sound of another rider arriving. He too was riding a badly blown horse and he too was bearing bad news. “Cavalry! Coming from the South-West!”
Footsteps rumbled in the corridor and he saw the Dux himself, rumpled and blinking. Had he been asleep? Napping? “What’s all this then?” He sounded annoyed, almost petulant.
The Decurion who had so casually dismissed him when he arrived stood up, saluted and then said eagerly: “Cavalry from the South-West sir, apparently about a thousand of them.”
The Dux looked around, his eyes incurious. “Ah. Men joining us?”
“I fear not,” someone said behind the Dux and comprehension dawned in the man’s eyes. “Oh. Then – we will confront them! Show them our resolve! If anyone comes in arms against us, then we will fight them!”
As the Dux stalked out, followed by his officers, Borix stared after him. Something was screaming at him and he had no idea what it meant.
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The rider was tired when he reached the gates, and his horse was badly blown, but he handed the horse over to the duty officer and then ran – staggered almost – for the main office. “I need to talk to the Dux!”
A Decurion looked up from his desk. “What?”
“I need to talk to the Dux!”
This earned him a look of total contempt. “And you are?”
“Borix. Marcus Borix. One of the scouts that were sent out?”
The contempt turned to indifference. “So what do you want to talk about to someone as important as the Dux?”
He stared at the man. “There’s a force of cavalry coming up the main road from Deva.”
More indifference. “The Dux isn’t interested in patrols.”
He balled his fists and leant over the man, using his height to cast a shadow over him. “This isn’t a patrol. I saw them, from a distance. At least a thousand men. With spears that gleamed in the sunlight.”
The Decurion looked at him, but as the thoughts visibly churned over his face, like ripples on a very muddy puddle, there was the sound of a throat clearing and then a tall man spoke from the shadows of the doorway that was to one side. “Tell the garrison to prepare for a possible attack. The gates to be closed, the city and the fortress. Everyone on full alert. I’ll tell the Dux – good work Borix.”
Borix saluted, but the man was gone. “Who was that?” he asked in the growing chaos of the room, as men started to run about and in a few cases visibly panic. “Who was that?”
“The Dux’s old friend,” he was told by a passing soldier. He turned to ask for a name, but the man was gone, hurrying off down the corridor as he shouted out orders and Borix never saw him again.
An alarm was being sounded now then Borix heard the sound of another rider arriving. He too was riding a badly blown horse and he too was bearing bad news. “Cavalry! Coming from the South-West!”
Footsteps rumbled in the corridor and he saw the Dux himself, rumpled and blinking. Had he been asleep? Napping? “What’s all this then?” He sounded annoyed, almost petulant.
The Decurion who had so casually dismissed him when he arrived stood up, saluted and then said eagerly: “Cavalry from the South-West sir, apparently about a thousand of them.”
The Dux looked around, his eyes incurious. “Ah. Men joining us?”
“I fear not,” someone said behind the Dux and comprehension dawned in the man’s eyes. “Oh. Then – we will confront them! Show them our resolve! If anyone comes in arms against us, then we will fight them!”
As the Dux stalked out, followed by his officers, Borix stared after him. Something was screaming at him and he had no idea what it meant.
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All right.
Hm. If I were a shadowy puppetmaster whose puppet seems to have drawn a bit too much heat, what would I do?
Hm. If I were a shadowy puppetmaster whose puppet seems to have drawn a bit too much heat, what would I do?
This really needs to be longer, but I'm so tired right now that I need to fall into bed.
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He looked at the bag of coins and then pulled a face. He’d been a fool. He should have gone at least a day ago. The more he thought about the more he knew that the old plan had failed. That said, there was always the new plan. He smiled bitterly. Oh, there were times when he thought could almost curse that dark and terrible part of his mind, the part that could think such thoughts, such dark thoughts.
The first plan had been well-paid. The second would still be well-paid – why hadn’t he sent that money off yet, he was such a fool! – and might just still have enough of an impact as to get him that final payment, once he’d gotten to Gaul and talked to the man who had started all this so many months ago.
He tied the bag closed and then thrust it back into the hole in the wall. The bricks slotted back in and then he wiped a dirty rag over everything to make sure that nothing stood out. As he strode to the door he adjusted his breastplate slightly. Well. Time to act again. Time to misdirect. And also time to murder again.
Opening the door he strode down the corridor. The courtyard outside was a hive of slightly bewildered activity. Poor fools. Well – they just needed something to fight for. Perhaps he should give them that?
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He looked at the bag of coins and then pulled a face. He’d been a fool. He should have gone at least a day ago. The more he thought about the more he knew that the old plan had failed. That said, there was always the new plan. He smiled bitterly. Oh, there were times when he thought could almost curse that dark and terrible part of his mind, the part that could think such thoughts, such dark thoughts.
The first plan had been well-paid. The second would still be well-paid – why hadn’t he sent that money off yet, he was such a fool! – and might just still have enough of an impact as to get him that final payment, once he’d gotten to Gaul and talked to the man who had started all this so many months ago.
He tied the bag closed and then thrust it back into the hole in the wall. The bricks slotted back in and then he wiped a dirty rag over everything to make sure that nothing stood out. As he strode to the door he adjusted his breastplate slightly. Well. Time to act again. Time to misdirect. And also time to murder again.
Opening the door he strode down the corridor. The courtyard outside was a hive of slightly bewildered activity. Poor fools. Well – they just needed something to fight for. Perhaps he should give them that?