For everyone still here, another update!
84AD Part III- King Diurpaneus was a strong and competent king with a strong, wealthy nation. Dacia, culturally a member of the Thracian tribes, was militaristic, structured around the warrior, with many soldiers shunning armor of any kind, even shields. What prevented the wholesale slaughter of the Dacians in combat was the use of their short and long sickle like weapon; the Falx. The one, or two, handed Falx was curved and could easily sever limbs with one, well placed, strike. Even armored opponents found that skilled placement of the Falx could incapacitate enemies in one blow, a potentially major issue for the traditionally outnumber Romans.
To further complicate the efforts of any invader, Dacians were masters at the concealed ambush and knew just when and where to strike an enemy for maximum effect. Using an intricate system of small fortifications, warriors could easily engage and annihilate a separated unit and then retreat to safety. If a larger force arrived to reinforce their comrades, the attackers could easily slip away through secrete passages and reemerge in another fortification or worse, behind the reinforcements for a second ambush.
It was perhaps for these reasons Domitian chose to attach the more appealing Suebi tribe to the west. He did not need a victory on the level of Agricola’s in Britannia, only something notable enough to allow a triumph back in Rome. Then he could dismiss Agricola with limited fanfare without earning too much scorn from the plebs and military. It was also late in the campaigning season, meaning any retribution from the Germanic tribes would be postponed until the following year, more than enough time to recall the troublesome governor and weather the political fallout.
Unfortunately for Domitian, King Diurpaneus was of a similar mindset. While the Emperor and his Legions were conducting their assault on the Suebi, the Dacian army poured across the border in force, pillaging and ransacking as they went. Caught more or less unprepared, the small garrison was tossed aside leaving Dipurpaneus unopposed. By the time Domitian was made aware of the situation, the Roman province of Moesia had been consumed and its governor murdered.
Fuscus, the leader of the Emperor’s Praetorian Guard, had been placed in charge of the army tasked with earning Domitian his triumph against the Suebi. A seasoned general under Vespasian and Titus, Fuscus immediately conducted a force march and arrived in Moesia within days, leaving a Legion behind to contain the now offended Suebi. Fuscus found the Dacian king Decebalus, who had changed his name from Diurpaneus after beheading the governor, pulling back across the border laden with loot and plunder.
Unable to wait for Domitian, who had taken a more leisurely course and had not yet caught up with the Legion, Fuscus ordered pursuit and his four Legions marched into Dacia.
Britannia
Polonius scribbled absently on a wax tablet while the men around him laughed and cheered. He realized it was rude not to at least halfheartedly join in the celebration of their host, Governor Agricola, and the monumental feats he had accomplished, but Polonius really didn’t care. He had tried to avoid the event all together, feigning fatigue from the long journey, but Pliny had insisted. Aside from his obligatory participation in toasts he simply reclined in the corner, doodling on the tablet he had brought along.
He was aware that he should be doubly grateful to his host, not only for his conquest of Britannia, but for offering him shelter. A few weeks after dismissing Cassius a messenger arrived with funds and provisions for Polonius’ trip. As no work had been done on the Emperor’s order, Polonius reluctantly agreed to self-imposed exile rather than scourging and crucifixion. It was only after he arrived, several days earlier, that he was told it was Cassius who was to thank for bringing the plight of the inventor to Pliny, and thus Agricola’s, attention. This drove the dagger of remorse deeper as Polonius would have preferred to thank the metal worker in person for his kindness and loyalty.
All was not melancholy, however. While still in Alexandria, Polonius had made a halfhearted effort to construct the steam driven war elephant Domitian demanded. The project did not go very far but did yield an unusual discovery. While testing the seals of the engine, Polonius had been called away. When he returned, he found the piston chamber, having previously been filled with hot steam, had contracted and partially collapsed.
Intrigued, he reproduced the conditions that lead to the implosion but watched the engine rather than leaving. As before, the piston slowly moved inward, followed by the thinner parts of the chamber. It appeared that, as the boiler cooled, it reversed its outward force and turned inward. Polonius didn’t know what that meant, but he was sure it was important.
Polonius’ dance between despair and intrigue was halted by the sudden, and decidedly uncelebratory, entrance of a fully uniformed Centurion. The man quickly glanced about the room before locating his target and diving forward into the crowd. So abrupt and purposeful was his attitude, and in such contrast to the revelry around him, that no one could help but notice.
Concluding his short jaunt, the Centurion saluted Agricola smartly and handed him a hastily rolled scroll. Quickly returning the salute out of obligation, the governor unrolled the document and scanned it for a few moments, his face turning grave in the pale yellow candle light. When finished he collapsed the scroll rather than bothering to reroll it and marched from the room, Pliny and other officers in tow.
Polonius shook his head and mumbled something about military men before returning to his scribbles and formulas.
