The Ultimate Spoils (Tumultus Chronicles Book 1)

by Nathan R. Mancini

  ‘If we cross this river we shall no longer be in Arcem,’ Valko shouted over the wind to those huddled before him. Hugging their fur coats, the senior staff of each of the three legions dismounted their horses and came forward to see for themselves.

  ‘I call for a council of war,’ said General Horatius, his voice carrying firmly. ‘We must decide how we are to continue in this matter.’

  ‘What, now?’ asked Bantius, clutching a scarf to his face. ‘Pardon me but what could we possibly need to discuss here?’

  ‘General Horatius has yet to decide whether he is going to cross this river at all,’ answered Fulvio. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  Horatius growled at this.

  ‘Why would you consider not crossing the river, General?’ asked Corvinus, turning towards Horatius. ‘We have been on our enemy’s heels for days now, giving chase as you desired. In that time how many hundreds of their dead have we counted on the roadways? How many stragglers have we killed? The Evastii are almost finished, you know that. They have been scattered to the winds by my legion; they are without supplies or ample equipment to sustain this march. Each day we draw closer in our hunt and now with the end so near you hold reservations?’

  ‘Silence, you insolent pup!’ barked Horatius. ‘Who are you to question me when I call a halt?’

  None of the senior staff dared move, even the cold was forgotten in that moment as they watched on. Beside him, Corvinus saw the leather-cloaked features of Xaphia tense at the prospect of a confrontation and her gloved hands slowly make their way towards the hilt of her blade. Corvinus shook his head as if disagreeing with Horatius, but his eyes remained fixed on the bronze mask of his bodyguard. Wordlessly, Xaphia obeyed.

  ‘Our orders were to defend Arcem from the Evastii,’ growled Horatius, ‘and the Evastii are no longer a threat in Arcem. Do you expect we just invade the north? In winter no less?’

  ‘Yes-’ said Corvinus.

  ‘Let me interject right there if I may,’ Fulvio began. ‘As Tribune of the Fourth Legion, it is my duty to inform you that continuing across the river in search of the Evastii would not only be a tremendous gamble of Arcem’s military resources – strained as they are with the Oirthir crisis – but may even be considered unlawful by the Senate. Our orders were clearly defensive and as such we should proceed no further in this campaign.’

  ‘The Senate would have been disbanded by now for winter,’ said Valko. ‘We must accept that we are far away from Monarx and it would do us no good to wait here for orders that may never come. We cannot afford to pass on this opportunity.’

  ‘That is sedition,’ snapped Fulvio.

  ‘That would be for the Senate to decide,’ said Valko calmly, ‘and I find it very hard to believe that the Senate, led by your general as consul, would fail to understand our situation.’

  As Corvinus listened to the exchange he knew that if he could not sway the men on this small act, then he could not hope to bring them to march against the Senate later with his father.

  ‘Thank you, Tribune Fulvio, for your thoughts,’ he said, ‘I know it is only out of duty that you speak, but this is a grey area and yes, General Horatius was correct to call for a discussion. We must settle this and be of one mind.’

  General Horatius stood sternly, arms crossed. Fulvio just looked away.

  ‘Now, it is as First Centurion Valko said, the roads are icing over and the birds shall not fly for months, who knows what messages the Senate has tried sending us in the weeks since our mobilisation. We alone must make a decision in the interests of Arcem. It is our duty to do so, as men of rank, representing the Senate in the field,’ said Corvinus, ignoring the knowing look from Prefect Castus. It was a small lie, Corvinus told himself.

  As the Camp Prefect knew, a letter had arrived by rider from Monarx earlier that morning from his father. However, it had clearly been sent many days before the events on the Gaur Mons, for it still cautioned him to be defensive, to await the arrival of both the other legions from Emissus and Tarqus before engaging with the Evastii. Corvinus dismissed the letter, he was not merely some boy playing soldier, he was a general in his own right. The Gaur Mons had proved that and he would do so again by his next move.

  ‘Do you even know your own history? No Arcemite has ever crossed this river and lived.’ Horatius warned. ‘The only reason you managed to raise a legion is because of the vacancy in the Senate scrolls left by the previous Third Legion twelve years ago when they tried the same thing. Do you really want to be the one responsible for another doomed northern venture?’

  ‘No more than you would want to be the one responsible for letting the Evastii king escape when so close at hand,’ said Corvinus firmly. ‘Also, General, I do know my legion’s past history which is why I know we shan’t be repeating it. When the Third Legion last crossed this river they were alone and Ariogaisus was ready for them, but now the Evastii are already in flight and vulnerable. If we do not march now, Arcem will not have such an opportunity to strike again. Consider this; our orders were to defend Arcem from the Evastii threat, by attacking now we can rid ourselves of the Evastii threat once and for all.’

  ‘That is a very fine line to walk,’ said Fulvio snidely.

  ‘It is fine enough for me,’ said Horatius suddenly to the shock of everyone around. ‘What say you Germanus?’

  ‘I think we have gazed across this river from the southern banks of Tarqus for far too long,’ said the First Centurion. ‘Besides, the Bronze Fists have a debt to settle with the Evastii.’

  As Horatius nodded his approval, Corvinus beamed with triumph.

  ‘You cannot be serious General,’ hissed Fulvio, ‘all our orders were defensive.’

  ‘You would do well Tribune to remember that we are the legions, not the militia,’ growled Horatius. ‘We are not trained to stand behind walls and wait, ours is the job to advance – even when in doubt. And it shall never be said of me that the Tenth Legion stood by when there was fighting at hand.’

  ‘Alright then, what next?’ asked Fulvio. ‘We have been on the road since Ultor and you since Tarqus, have you even thought about how we shall resupply in hostile territory? What will we do when our food runs out and we are left unsupported fifty miles north of the river, trapped in the snows?’

  ‘If I may,’ said Prefect Castus, ‘we have enough provisions left for three, maybe four days at best. If we cross now we would have to make for their capital of Caldinium and swiftly seize it with its food stores intact. We cannot afford a siege or any time manoeuvring around the countryside. How we achieve this objective, of course, I leave up to you.’

  Those gathered around nodded their understanding. Fulvio however, looked well and truly infuriated at the idea.

  ‘Now if we leave the wagons behind and carry everything, we could set a pace that allows us to reach Caldinium in time, weather allowing,’ Castus continued. ‘So gentlemen, knowing the risks are you still set upon this course of action?’

  There was a round of muttered approvals and nodded heads as the junior officers sided with their generals. As they approached the frozen surface of the river, a sense of audacity hung in the air for what they were about to do.

  ‘I have wanted to do this for a long time,’ smiled Germanus over his shoulder as he walked the first steps with General Horatius onto the hard ice. Corvinus quickly followed behind with Valko and Bantius.

  A small cheer went up from the other centurions and legion staff looking on. Eagerly the rest of them pushed forward to do the same.

  Tribune Fulvio however was the last officer to step forward, even then with a reluctant scowl plain across his face.

  It took just under an hour but eventually all three legions – some fifteen thousand men – had reached the northern banks of the river and continued on for Caldinium with haste. All through that time, Corvinus could not stop from smiling.

  They had crossed the Tymero.

  ***

  ‘Signal the column to halt,’ shouted First Ce
nturion Eliphas Fallax of the ‘Ironclad’ Seventh Legion – Consul Zeno’s personal legion. A nearby trumpeter sounded the call and as one, the marching column came to a stop. Eliphas looked across the scene before him – the Gaur Mons. There were signs of battle all around. Evastii bodies littered the slopes, half buried in snow whilst the blackened remains of funeral pyres dotted the mountain.

  ‘What in the name of the gods happened here?’ asked one of the onlooking centurions. Deep in thought, Eliphas was too busy studying the field to bother turning to see who had spoken.

  ‘We can assume our brothers have already met the Evastii in battle and been victorious,’ answered Eliphas, ‘but whether this is the work of the Valerii legions or the Tenth I am not certain.’

  ‘How can you be sure they were victorious?’ asked another.

  ‘Because the Evastii would not have bothered to build pyres for our dead,’ said Eliphas, walking forward to where the ground was still marked by the outlines of what was once an Arcemite camp.

  ‘This was the work of the Tenth, only General Horatius is hard enough to inflict this sort of slaughter,’ said the gruff voice of the legion’s second most senior centurion, Marius ‘The Grim’ as he was known in the ranks. The man was famous for his no-excuse attitude and staunch loyalty to the Senate. A veteran of the legion, Marius was a hero from a time long ago when Consul Zeno had still been a young man in his prime. But that did not stop the recruits from hating him. Rumour was that Marius had lost his patience along with his eye to a Balhiran pirate in the Battle for the Parum Islands over twenty years ago. They also said that he liked to express himself through the snap of his cane. Eliphas had heard many outlandish stories about the old centurion in his time, but there was one thing that was certainly true – the man got results.

  ‘I’m not too sure about that Marius,’ said Eliphas, ‘General Horatius is definitely a tough man, but he is not stupid. He would not have been so bold as to attack the Evastii host with a single legion. I think this was the work of the two Valerii legions, perhaps even with the Tenth.’

  ‘Sir, a legion standard,’ said Marius, staring with his one good eye. ‘You can be sure that was left for us.’ Eliphas looked to where the man was pointing ahead and saw, in what would have been the centre of the camp, a single legion banner with the numerals “III” weaved upon it in gold thread, fluttering in the wind. Fixed to the banner pole was a small leather case, the type legion messengers would use.

  Eliphas walked over and untied it. Rolling out the parchment within, he read the message.

  “In the name of the Senate and Almighty Taranis, I, General Marcus Valerius Corvinus, claim victory over this field for Arcem and the III Legion. To our brothers in the VII Legion from Emissus, I thank you for mustering and write this to inform you that my legions and those of General Rufus Horatius are marching north to finish prosecuting the war against the Evastii...”

  Eliphas stopped reading.

  ‘It seems that we are no longer needed,’ he said, handing the message over. Marius took the piece of parchment to study it himself and Eliphas watched him as he did so. He noted how the old centurion’s good eye darted back and forth as he read whilst the rest of his features – split by an ugly scar from crown to chin – remained utterly blank.

  ‘Looks like the young Valerius has some iron in him after all,’ he said once finished. ‘A touch mad though, going up north in this weather and all.’

  ‘Perhaps, but unlike us my friend, they are men from Ultor, levied from the mountains. They know the cold and how untamed this planet can get in winter,’ said Eliphas looking up at the Gaur Mons. ‘I’m sure this young general knows what he is doing... and if not we can always trust General Horatius to keep him well grounded.’

  ‘So then, back to Emissus for us?’

  ‘Back to Emissus, signal the column to move out.’

  ***

  The forest roadway was little more than an old dirt track, churned up by the passage of armies and frozen over. It was however, the only road north to Caldinium and in their three days of marching down its length, the legions had repeatedly seen signs of the retreating Evastii army. Dense lines of footprints still marked the muddied snow and each morning the legions would pass the smouldering remnants of roadside campfires as they drew closer. The end was near; everyone knew it. It would not be long before the madness or brilliance of their march would be decided. They had been marching light since the Tymero River, but as of that morning, they had exhausted all their supplies.

  As close as they were, a sombre mood had descended upon the ranks. By Taranis, Corvinus prayed he would not regret his decision to cross the Tymero. Looking back down the endless column of legionaries he could see it on all their faces – doubt. They looked at him with hollow expressions, the sense of adventure they had carried since crossing the river all but a distant memory. At least the snowstorm has finally abated, Corvinus thought. Those first two days had been simply miserable.

  ‘Not long now gentlemen, I can feel it,’ said Bantius in his usual smug voice as he rode alongside him. Corvinus could not help but smile at the tribune’s ability to speak with such misguided confidence. Was he untouched by doubt or did he just not see the gravity of their situation? In all likelihood, Bantius probably believed himself somehow removed from danger because of his class. Corvinus shook his head.

  ‘Since when did you become a priest of Sorr?’ asked Valko.

  ‘I do not need to read the stars to know that it was fifty miles to Caldinium and that we have been marching for four days now,’ said Bantius, a broad smile playing across his features. ‘Yes, Caldinium is near and with it the prospect of a warm bed and a good feed. I think I might even find a girl to give me a bath.’

  ‘The spoils of war, eh?’ laughed Germanus.

  ‘We have to win some hard fighting before you get to sleep soft tonight, Tribune,’ shouted Horatius from the front of the column, evidently listening in on the conversation.

  ‘Well, General, if things don’t work out I might just have to borrow one of Tribune Fulvio’s pretty slaves to give me that bath instead,’ said Bantius, grinning widely. A round of chuckles and hooting ensued from the legion staff at the remark, but Horatius just grunted at the joke.

  Fulvio did not look very impressed either. Amongst the many extravagant possessions the tribune had transported in his private baggage train, the addition of two young slave girls was one of his more personal luxuries that had quickly become the envy of the camp.

  ‘You know full well that my property was left behind with the rest of the legion wagons when we crossed the river and set out on this reckless mission – on which we will probably all die,’ snapped Fulvio.

  The banter quickly ceased.

  ‘I would normally have such defeatist talk flogged out of my legion,’ said Horatius, ‘but it would not do the men any good to see their leaders in such a way before battle, so I’ll pretend that did not happen, Tribune.’

  No one said anything for several, painful moments.

  ‘You will see,’ said Bantius, breaking the silence with his foolish cheer. ‘Today will be the day – it has to be.’

  Through the mist of the narrow roadway ahead came the sound of heavy footfalls. Corvinus looked up. A shadowy outline galloped towards them through the trees and sent the legionaries of General Horatius’ vanguard into action. Their large, rectangular shields locked together and a line of heavy spears stuck out in a dense phalanx. Several of the legion officers riding behind went to draw their side arms.

  ‘Hail!’ the rider shouted, ‘I bring word from the road ahead.’

  ‘It’s one of our scouts,’ a centurion in the vanguard barked. ‘Stand down. Let him through!’

  The scout came forward and as he did so, it was apparent he was pulsing with fear.

  Watching the man’s arrival, General Horatius turned in his saddle and looked back to where Bantius had stopped.

  ‘Perhaps you were right Tribune, it won’t be long at
all,’ he said. Unsure of the general’s meaning or whether to take this as some form of dry humour, Bantius remained silent and tightened the grip on his gilded pistol.

  ‘General!’ said the scout, panting. ‘Caldinium lays ahead, not two miles away sir, but we sighted Ariogaisus marching out to meet us.’

  ‘How long do we have?’ barked Horatius.

  ‘Ten minutes at most,’ said the scout.

  ‘Tell the signallers to sound the call to battle.’

  ‘Where exactly do you intend to fight, General?’ asked Fulvio as he galloped through the ranks of the vanguard to join the discussion. ‘This narrow roadway is no place to wage a war.’

  ‘Sir, the forest opens into a small field up ahead,’ said the scout nervously. ‘With haste you might be able to form up before the Evastii charge.’

  ‘The column is over three damn miles long!’ shouted Fulvio. ‘You’ll never get the men moving up into formation in time. We must withdraw!’

  ‘May I remind you, Gnaeus Tarquinius Fulvio, that the Tenth Legion already has a tribune. Had I needed your input as an outsider I would have asked for it,’ growled Horatius. ‘Now if you want to raise your thoughts, talk to your own damn general! But I doubt you’ll find any sympathy for retreat from him either, am I correct young Corvinus?’

  Corvinus rode to join the small circle of staff in the debate.

  ‘We have no time to withdraw. We’ve known that since the start. The only option is to meet the attack – head on if need be,’ he said.

  ‘Good, we are agreed,’ barked Horatius. ‘Now if I have to repeat my order again to that signaller, I’ll kill him where he stands!’

  Nearby a legion serf quickly stood to attention. With beads of sweat pouring down his nervous face, the man raised a horn to his lips and blew the double-note signal to attack. The sound was repeated by other signallers all the way down the line until the entire army was in quick step to advance.