The Eagles of Avalon

Petrarca: The lack of troops makes it a challenge! I'm not sure if Syagrius could do Fabius. Possibly, if he hadn't committed to Laudunum, he could've danced around Clovis' flanks, but he had minimal cavalry. Most of his army is Gallic levies, and the Roman aspect is primarily infantry. It'll be difficult to maneuver, but there's always hope.

Lord E: Well, clearly neither Syagrius or Clovis was at their best, and numbers told in the end.

Anarcho Liberal: They'll try to raise more, but Gaul is a pretty war-torn region, the highway for many tribes invading the West: the Vandals, Visigoths, Suebi, Franks, Burgundians, to say nothing of Attila. Finding men will be difficult.

stynlan: I think as a refreshment, I'll start off the next section with a resounding victory, for a change of pace. For now, he'll have to contend with Clovis from a weak position.

coz1: We shall see. I'm still trying to figure out Clovis' religious angle. Historically, he married a Burgundian princess who was Christian himself, and this led to his conversion. Now he faces off against an orthodox Rome, and Arian neighbors. I wonder where he'll turn?

Stuyvesant: By the end of this book, Remus' body will resemble a tenderized piece of ground chuck. Clearly a man who's struggled for his success.

Darks63: I sure hope not. Remus needs to keep swinging that sword.

TC Pilot: Yes, even with his victory, Clovis won't be able to conduct a lightning campaign, but his advance is surely inexorable. Laudunum, then Soissons, and then the heart of Gallia. It will be quite the struggle.

Avernite: Good work, prophet. In a way, they're all tied to settlements, Clovis simply to give his men towns to sack and replenish, and Syagrius to defend the key points of his lands.

Draco Rexus: Well, one can never say Remus hasn't earned his laurels the hard way.

The Yogi: Well, Syagrius is in a difficult position. The Franks are invading, the Visigoths are raiding his western lands, and the Britons to the west are antsy. His forces are spread out, and I think his pride made him want to fight it out to a decision rather than wait for his enemies to approach his capital.

Amric: Oh, I'm sure Romulus will hold Remus personally responsible for Laudunum, even though he had no involvement in the fighting itself. Of course, our young Imperator has plenty of other worries in Italia. As for the battle itself, it was a tough setback for Gallia. The Franks were certainly bloodied, and they definitely took some losses, which is why Clovis has to take the fort. He has to give his men the satisfaction of the victorious occupation.

Prussian_King: It'll be a tough fight for Remus and Syagrius, but they remain defiantly Roman.

Pericles: Thanks and welcome!

SeanB: Oh, certainly, this is the dawn of Frankish strength!

aussieboy: Well, if Remus had brought troops, he would've had to fight the Burgundians, which would've been tough. In a way, despite his wounds and losing Arenius, slipping through individually might have been faster. Of course, the Burgundians still separate Italia and Gallia.

September 488

If it was light, he knew he could see Italia across the strait, its tall cliffs offering secure refuge. Rhegium lay a league or two up the coast, and if he was able to view the Roman port, he might feel as if the present nightmare was just a passing horror. It wasn’t, of course and Selenus knew that God was keeping his distance from Messana this night. Hunched over, sitting on a rock outside the eastern walls, he desperately tried to drown out the screams raging from inside the town, trying to ignore the flickering shadows of the flames that swept up from several fires then ravaging the settlement. Most of all, he tried not to think about what Suomar’s army…his army…was doing to the people.

The landings had proceeded far easier than even his best hopes, with no Italian or Vandal ships present to contest the crossing. Despites delays, lack of foodstuffs, and ominous clouds signaling an approaching storm, over three thousand men had been moved from Lucania to Sicily in one day, truly a grand feat for the day. Selenus, however, could not indulge in such pride, worrying about how the men would be fed. He needn’t have dwelt on the question. Suomar, anxious to put the boats behind him and begin his conquest of the island, knew perfectly where to find food. Messana lay less than a league from the beaches, and his estimates of its garrison were accurate enough. Even as the lead columns of infantry approached the town gates, a courier from inside signaled the surrender of the entire garrison of one hundred, led by an aging veteran soldier, Merkandrin, a mix of Greek and barbarian heritage. Selenus thought the man had sense enough to spare the men and the town, but it was clear that Suomar was having known of it. Putting Selenus in charge of the Italians, who he placed into a snug camp just outside the tide, the sack began in the evening, Roman troops, from all backgrounds, marching through the gates with steely glints in their eyes, anticipation in their faces.


The people of Messana, emerging from their homes to curiously gaze on their newest occupiers, knew nothing of what was to come. When the patrols broke down doors and the first daughters and wives were pulled away, that was when the screams began. The fires didn’t take long to follow. Selenus, his back firmly to the chaotic scene, struggled to ignore the disaster, his conscience condemning him, along with the Italian commander. Sitting across from him, the officer glared. ”The basilica is in flames. Your men won’t even spare the priests.” Selenus could only sit numb, the lump in his throat his own visible sign. Merkandrin nodded, not saying anymore, satisfying himself of something. He then walked off to steady his men, who fumed with mutinous intent. It was Selenus’ first real command of troops, and it was falling apart as fast as Messana.

As if to add to his cares, a horseman galloped into camp, a courier from the beach, a scroll gripped into his hand. Selenus didn’t have to inquire about the author, instinctively feeling the grasp of Lady Barbaria, indulging in his affairs yet again. Sicily, with all its woe, was not the escape from her manipulations as he had hoped. He sat down again on the rock, barely acknowledging the courier. He used that terrible light from Messana to read by, trying not to imagine whose homes and lives were giving him this visibility. Deep down, Selenus welcomed the distraction, preferring even the lady over Suomar.

Her words were hardly soothing, however. The news was bad. ”It is a lonely scene here in Rome, my general. My son clamors ever and ever over his tenuous rule. Poor Claudius is now his champion, sent north with his army to face the Goths. Zeno, I fear, has tired of my son’s reluctance. Romulus has grown less accommodating of late, a poor trait when one holds a weaker position. I can only hope Claudius can handle this…Flavius Theodoric. Hardly of blood, I'm sure."


Selenus shifted the paper, thinking about the struggles up north. The Imperator, having attacked the Vandals, was now in turn to be struck by the Ostrogoths. And Remus was in Gaul, fighting elsewhere. He could think of no faster means of breaking this timid empire. With a sigh, he squinted at the writing, trying to read beyond the lady’s nuances.

”I have heard that you and Suomar are less than friends. I cannot say to effect any surprise. He is a crude man, and certainly not my choice. Patience, mea cara. Your request for reinforcements comes at a poor time, with war looming in the east, but I do appreciate your loyalties. I will do what I can to bolster your strength. Sadly, my son’s ear is distant today. Senator Markus and the Bishop are at odds again, and it is clear where Romulus’ preference lies. A war with the east will only bind him tighter to the Church, and he takes opposition so personally. Leave politics to me. Bide your time, cultivate your resources, and remember your gratitude.” Flustered at her closing sentiments, Selenus rolled up the scroll, feeling fresh entanglements already.

Much was happening outside his world, and as little as he knew, he only wished to last the night, hoping the shame at his cowardice and indecision would pass. As if in emphasis, the screams from Messana grew worse. Tomorrow, he promised himself, they were likely to march on Syracuse, and surely then the real campaigning would begin. They could be an army again, he hoped.

I was wondering what you guys meant by 'victory'. Then I realized I had promised stynlan a "resounding victory" in the next section. I was referring to a different chapter, part of the book, etc., not necessarily the next post. And Pet, clear your PMs.

Petrarca: You're tough to please, sir. And I thought you were a fan of the Sicilian campaign, or was that prior to Theodoric's arrival? Selenus as a general? Interesting, especially in the field. He hasn't actually commanded anything in combat really, his only experience at all being briefly fighting with Remus. After that, it was service as a clerk or aide in bigger and bigger armies. It would be another fascinating transformation of the young farmer's son.

TC Pilot: They were mutinous because the Italians felt deceived. Their surrender was peacefully given, no fighting, and Suomar sacked the town anyhow. Oh, I agree Selenus is naive when it comes to war. It's part of his character. As for Romulus, I think he trusts Claudius precisely because he isn't brilliant and inspired, just capable enough to win and not to plot.

Stuyvesant: I'm sure the victory I refer will come eventually. I really need to do something to make Romulus competent looking. I don't mind the impression that he's inexperienced, paranoid, and occasionally bumbling, but he's not a fool either. I'll have to work on that.

Avernite: Well, the army's a far cry from the legions. These troops represent the latest conscripts into the Roman army, which Romulus had cobbled together and handed over to Suomar, who is less Roman than any of the other generals. The best troops are with Claudius, while the prettiest, the Custodiae remain in Rome.

yourworstnightm: Oh certainly, this is a big parallel of history. Instead of Zeno using Theodoric to invade Italia because he was getting tired of Odoacer, now he's doing so because he's tired of Romulus. Romulus was flirting with becoming a junior emperor tied to Zeno, but then the Acacian Schism broke everything, and Romulus needed the Church too much to negotiate faithfully with the East again.

Chief Ragusa: Actually I hadn't even considered the Sicilian landowners, so thanks for the great suggestion. This is why I love feedback! The Sicilian campaign will definitely have a priority problem if a large Ostrogoth army is invading. But Claudius' army isn't small either and he's a decent general, if not brilliant tactician or strategist. Yes, Remus will need to be at his best to pull it off in Gaul. But he did it Italy so why not?

coz1: Things never look good in this story, you should know that by now! Yes, though not significant militarily, hehe, Selenus forced to turn to Barbaria for help is a big deal for them two. He usually slinks away and avoids her as best he can. Now she's in a position as one of the only ones who can sustain his position.

Storey: I think Barbaria fixed on Selenus because she saw Remus' ambitious potential. Identifying Remus as a true force in her son's little empire, she needed to have a lever against him, or at least a source of information and manipulation. Selenus, as the young friend and sort of protege of Remus, was perfect. Even now, with Remus out of the picture, Selenus has a certain value to her, as a budding experienced logistician, and having ties to important figures in Rome such as Senator Markus, etc. Plus I think she enjoys the control.

Prussian_King: Actually, I'm kind of curious about her plans myself. The beauty of an unfolding story...

Lord E: Birthday boy! Thanks for the kind words. Come on, you know you enjoy reading about the Lady Barbaria. I still wish I could find a better name for her. I have this hangup about historical accuracy, but Barbaria conjures up images of Red Sonja or something.

October 488

In the time before Caesar’s invasion of Gaul, King Diviacus of the Suessones, a Belgic people, ruled over much of the Belgae and even parts of Brittania. It was from the name of this tribe, the Suessones, that the name Soissons derives. Referred to also as the “New Town”, or Norviodunum, Soissons was one of the oldest Gallic settlements. In the 5th century, the town achieved prominence as the capital of a Gallo-Roman state sometimes referred to by that very name. As Roman rule withdrew from the region, Soissons remained as a defiant last vestige of imperial power.

Indicative of its origins, the settlement grew around the Belgic hill fort, upon which the Roman core of the town was established, its marble edifices still visible for leagues. Down the hillside, the tidy Roman homes grew steadily into houses of more Gallic construction, with thatched and wooden materials used more prominently. Though Gaul was Romanized over centuries, the layout and nature of Soissons still reflected the region’s ancient roots. By the late 5th century, Soissons was seen as an anachronism, a reminder of once was, benevolent imperial rule reigning over a vibrant Gallic culture.

Rather than expansive and proud, however, Remus felt that the streets of Soissons were constrictive and hemming. Perhaps this was due to the sheer weight of people and supplies that marked its streets. The wide road curving up the hillside towards the forum and temples, for instance, retained but a third of its original breadth owing to the stacks of barrels, amphorae, boxes, and other containers marking the gathered supplies needed to sustain a town in war, particularly one which faced imminent attack. Refugees, too, made their temporary homes everywhere, on roadsides, open fields, even in the little used basilicas. Fires were lit on any surface available, and the trash and human debris quickly grew, adding its particular smell and views.

He struggled to put the scenes out of his mind, using his sense of discipline to ignore the pangs of panic and desperation that surrounded him. Why, he thought, did a people lose sense of themselves in the worst times. It was precisely when the situation was most dire, that a civilization needed to show its proudest bearing. It was that sense that distinguished the Roman from the animal. Much weighed on his mind, and he allowed the cries and wails to pass over him. What his eye did catch, however, were the numbers of men, able-bodied enough, sitting surly in their makeshift camps. This land lifted little in its own defense, he mused, walking swiftly up the long street.

As he at last reached the crest, a beam of sunlight broke through the pillars of a nearby temple to some forgotten deity, the setting sun reaching out in defiance of the coming night. The sun always came back, he said to himself, and wondered if he was the only one left who believed it. He turned to the forum and his obligations, when he felt a tug on his tunic.

”Please, dominus.” It was a young man’s voice and when Remus turned, he saw Selenus. The hair was a lighter shade, the boy was far gaunter, and his nose was longer, but the youth, the shining openness of expression…it was Selenus. It was all he could do not to tremble. The young eyes glistened with tears. ”Where is my father?”

His voice faltering, Remus leaned down. ”Who was he?”

”Valarus. He..he was a soldier. At the big fort.”

Laudunum, then. What could he say? What did he always say to the widows and the children? ”Your father does his duty.” With forced gruffness, he pulled away and walked with a clip down the roadside. He had not turned away from Selenus, and had exposed the lad to war and horror. Never again, he vowed.

The Forum Soissons was unimpressive by Roman standards, though well-maintained. It had swiftly become an armed camp, the scarlet Praetorium draped in the open stone, providing shelter and a headquarters for Syagrius and his recovering army. The stacks of provisions stifled even this central region, and men and material lay scattered, unutilized. The guards saluted with crisp precision, a reassuring gesture, and Remus swept into the center tent in a mixed mood.

”I expected you earlier,” Syagrius barked, his back to Remus, bent down over a crudely drawn map.

Remus walked slowly towards him. ”I was inspecting the city,” he said with some force.

Though his expression conveyed a pent-up rage, Syagrius nodded and made room for him. Their anger was for their lot, not for each other, Remus knew, and quietly stepped over the map. Little sticks dotted the approximation of northern Gaul. Too many, he thought, lay clustered around Laudunum and scattered to the west. The Franks and the Visigoths. He was about to examine one settlement more closely when the tent flaps burst aside.


An officer stepped inside and without a word, handed a scroll to Syagrius, saluting. The Magister read quietly, the lines on his cheeks becoming more pronounced. ”From Riedonum. The clans are stubborn. They smell blood, the little vultures. Once my back is turned, they’ll pounce on the western farmsteads.”

Remus looked at him evenly. ”But you’ll have to turn your back. That’s six hundred good troops you have there, two hundred horse.”

”I know, damn your eyes!” Syagrius shouted. As tough as he felt, it was good to vent his anger.

Nothing was said for a time, and the tent became a sea of low murmuring, staff protectorii and other clerks gazing nervously at their superiors, looking for the confidence they themselves did not feel.

”Have you stepped outside recently?” Remus asked quietly.

”Every chance I have,” the governor said, pressing his hands flat on the table. ”There is much suffering in war. And the town is a disgrace. I’ve already got my primicerium putting together some beneficiarii. They’ll clear the streets by nightfall.” The unvoiced, I am no fool, was evident enough.

A young aide came over to straighten some of the sticks when again the flaps were brushed open. It was another officer and another scroll. Syagrius smiled wearily at Remus. ”At least two every hour.” He handed the scroll over to him. ”The latest from Laudunum. Thank the Lord the King dithers. The concept of the siege tower is beyond the Frankish mind, at least for now. The terrain works in our favor, too,” he said, moving his finger to trace the ground west of Laudunum. ”The Isara runs southwest where it meets the Axona. Soissons is the best crossing on either river and the center of my territory. There’s no room for his horse to maneuver. He’ll have to come here if he wishes to prevail in Gallia. And I intend to break him,” he said with menace.

Remus was silent for a moment, his eyes drifting from Laudunum to the west, following the finger, noting the other names on the map. ”What about the fallback position at Lutet----“

”Vero, in due time!” Syagrius said testily. If he ever confessed to himself that he valued and learned from Remus’ military experience, he tried his best not to acknowledge it. For the Gallic army, however, it was clear enough. Remus had quickly become the most respected soldier in the army. Having done the impossible in Italia, it was said, who else could do so here and save Gaul from the barbarians.

He opened his mouth to speak again, when the tent flaps flew open. ”We should simply keep them open,” Syagrius growled. ”The heat is bad enough, anyways.” Even in the autumn months, the windless days laid an oppressive blanket and on already scourged town. Sweat poured from every man in the dense tent. Reading the third message, Syagrius turned and walked down the map, trying to read some of the names along the Flumen Liger.

”The Visigoths have raided Juliomagus.” He pointed at the spot where the Liger met the Vienna. ”A missive from the garrison commander, or what’s left of them. They poured in a nightfall…thousands…they sacked the town good. Women, children, nothing left. The garrison’s dead or scattered.” Syagrius smacked the map again, knocking some of the sticks over. ”If they’ve taken the town, the entire Liger valley is exposed. The only troops I have in that region are up the river in Vindinium and Orleans, not even three hundred total. All foot. Pieces of chaff in front of the maelstrom”

Anticipating their commander’s need, a protector brought up a stool and Syagrius sat with a loud outtake of breath. The governor could literally feel the weight pressing in on him from three sides. The Visigoths raiding in the west was a sign that King Alaric grew more confident. The Briton tribesmen were ready to take advantage of their neighbor’s misfortune. And the Frankish menace stood ready to break open the front door and sack the capital. Composure, Remus knew, was a Roman virtue most often tested.

”If the Burgundians weren’t tearing each other apart, I could easily bribe them into attacking Clovis!” Syagrius said fiercely. ”I’ve sent word to King Gibuld. The Alemanni fear the Franks too. But it’s too far. I won’t have word for months even if they let the couriers live.” He ran his hand over his cheeks.

Remus stepped to the map, squinting to examine the line of settlements lining the Liger, the back door of Gallia. ”How many men do we have total?”

Syagrius didn’t move. ”Barely two thousand here. I can make that four by spring, five by next autumn.”


Nodding, Remus, put his finger on Orleans. ”Give me five hundred men, and I’ll deal with Alaric.” Some of the aides around them blanched, but no one else spoke. Too many had heard his stories

The Magister stood. ”You’re a damned fool, Remus. And twice God-cursed. But there a times when the rider must give the horse his head. I can spare that much, I think, at least until Clovis comes. If either of us fail, the play’s ending will be written anyways. Deus vobiscum” As they regarded one another, the tent flaps again burst asunder.