The Eagles of Avalon

Alas, the cow's brief cameo is done. Sorry guys. Thanks again for the compliments.

April – August 477

Unable to break the siege of Aguntum, Odoacer was forced to withdraw to the River Plavis, from where he sought to strengthen his army for a second try. Word of his defeat had already drifted south to the capital at Ravenna, and he needed to act swiftly to forestall any possible troubles in his own house. Garrisons as far west as Liguria were stripped of soldiers to provide reinforcements for the main army. Though there were some grumbling at the loss of protection for those regions, the measures did succeed in bringing Odoacer’s army back to a strength that now comfortably exceeded Strabo’s army. By June, with Aguntum barely holding out, he was ready to try again.

Then, however, ominous news poured in. A second Ostrogoth army was invading Italia under the Gothic general Athalaric. Moving through the mountain valleys north of the Dravus and Aguntum, this force was pressing directly into Rhaetia. This was dangerous for the Italians as the seizure of this province would plant the Ostrogoths astride the Via Postumia and Odoacer’s line of retreat. From Veldidena, the capital of Rhaetia, it was simply a matter of marching south to Tridentum and then Verona, which would isolate the Italian army between Athalaric and Strabo.

For Odoacer, it was no longer a question of saving Aguntum and Noricum. It was now a question of saving his army. Abandoning his plan to move against Strabo, he shifted his axis of advance to Rhaetia and set out in late June. The weather was far more favorable than his earlier operations, and good time was made, reaching Tridentum within weeks. Shifting northwards into the fringes of the Alps, Odoacer felt confident after hearing word that Athalaric’s army was smaller than Strabo’s and thus significantly outnumbered by his own, by several thousand. If he could defeat this army and protect Rhaetia, he could once more move against Strabo.

For his part, Athalaric was an experienced commander, particularly in mountainous terrain, and he made good use of the ground to screen Odoacer’s advance. After allowing the Italians to advance far enough north, he waylaid them in an ambush some five leuge south of Veldidena, near a tributary of the River Enus and the settlement of Matreum. In this battle, Athalaric himself led a cavalry charge on the open ground against Odoacer’s own Herulian bodyguard and caused heavy casualties. The Scirians fled and only the Roman contingent seem to hold together in good order. Managing to avoid another damaging pursuit, Odoacer’s army limped back to Tridentum, having given a poor account of itself for a second time.

To add to the setback, word of Aguntum’s fall reached Odoacer in Tridentum, in early August. The Ostrogoths were now free to descend into the heart of Italia.




The view was unprecedented, and Remus could see the terrain almost all the way to the great city of Capua. From his vantage point, astride a large rocky outcropping, he could make out the branching roads, neatly aligned fields of barley and wheat, and various landmarks that gave him easy reference. He could see, across a small valley, a second summit which ringed the mountain to the northeast. At its tallest, the mountain stood seven stadia above the ground. This was Vesuvius, named for Hercules Vesouuios, son of Ves (Zeus as god of rain and dew). This was the perfect spot to rest and recuperate, fully aware that no patrol could come upon him without being spotted ahead of time.


”It’s just about ready, sir.” Behind him he could hear Selenus scrambling up the winding path that led to where he was standing. The boy had come far in a few short months, he realized. His skin was taut with budding strength. From a lanky farmer who had cried on his first night from home, he had emerged as someone of surprising resilience, able to climb with great agility, show a remarkable aptitude for learning about the outdoors and art of the camp. He was also someone full of the most surprising knowledge for one so young. He could speak fluent Latin and Greek, and was rapidly picking up the few bits of guttural Germanic that Remus knew from his campaigns. His eyes, however, had lost some of their innocence, perhaps from the rigors of the journey, or the tough encounters with wild beasts and men.

At last Remus turned as Selenus skidded slightly on the gravel. Though most of its slopes were full of dense forests and sparse soil, bare spots like this one reminded Remus of the story Selenus had told upon their arrival, of the great eruption centuries before that had lain waste to Pompeii and Herculaneum. Remus wondered at the accuracy of the stories, and had even scouted near the Bay of Neapolis. There was no sign of any ruined settlements nearby, though Selenus claimed they had been buried. Neapolis still flourished, of course, as did Misenum and Stabiae, and Remus was careful to avoid them with their local magistrates and garrisons. From what information he had picked up from nearby settlements, the patrols had either pushed to the south or were looking for him in the Apennines. Soon, he hoped, they would give up, and Remus would be thought lost. And then perhaps, he could come up with a plan.

”Is Aulus guarding the camp?” Selenus nodded eagerly, as if surprised he had even been asked the question.

Remus smiled. When Selenus had first asked – no, demanded – to go with him, he had thought him mad, some runt bent on adventure, with no idea of the danger he was putting himself in. He himself told the lad as much and had even left him behind, or so he thought. Within an hour of his departure, he had come across Selenus, lost in the dense thicket of trees, obviously trying to find him though failing miserably.

In a fit of annoyed indulgence, he had brought him back to his farm. Two days, the same thing happened and this time Remus had brought Selenus to the front doorstep, hoping that his father’s firm hand would deter him from running again. The third time, he finally broke, perhaps because of the bruises on the lad’s cheek and arm. With a gruff nod, he had disavowed any responsibility over Selenus. Which naturally meant, that he felt himself completely responsible. He found himself stuck with a companion. It seemed to take endless days of patience to teach him even rudimentary skills in the woods: the ability not to snap every branch or twig he passed by, the ability not to complain eternally about their conditions, and the ability to keep his voice down. Slowly, almost too slowly, he had began to turn into someone who could pull his own weight. Nowadays, Remus was starting to judge him as a decent camp worker, someone he might have had as a servant on campaign.

Together they negotiated the tricky climb back down to where their camp was, hidden behind a small copse of trees, near what had probably once been a cave, before ancient rockslides had blocked it off with boulders. They found the tall Bruttian picking his way on the ground, the way a chicken pecked for food. Remus, however, knew the man was searching for any forgotten piece of trash or material they might leave on the ground. When they shifted camp – and they would do so soon – he wanted to leave no trace.


Aulus was another sad case, and Remus privately wondered how many more he would come across before his journey was done. They had found him injured near a stream at the base of the mountain, his legs badly mauled, seemingly by beast and man. Remus, sympathetic or no, would have been content to leave the man if Selenus hadn’t pressed him. There was no way of knowing who the man was, yet the lad wouldn’t budge, stubborn as he could be sometimes. And so they were now three. As his story eventually emerged, Aulus had once been a manservant at some nearby villa. Slavery was frowned upon by the Church, Remus knew, though many Roman aristocrats still practiced it quietly, usually adopting euphemisms as ‘servants’ for what in reality were still slaves. He was almost as tall as Selenus, though far broader in stature, clearly someone used to hard work. His short black hair was corded in the ancient style, and there was a rugged look about him, as well as a wistful pair of eyes. Any doubts Remus might have had about the man were ended when the quiet servant had saved him from the tusks of a wild boar, which Aulus then dispatched effectively with his own fashioned spear.

Aulus waved without a word as they approached, and returned to his work. Soon he would take his own place on the outcropping, and resume the watch. They could take no chances, of course, even though they had seemingly evaded pursuit. And Aulus was on the run as much as Remus. They were an odd trio. And Remus still did not have a plan.