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Archdevil: Happy to have you reading! So, was there 33 roman civil wars before this one? I never knew that!

stnylan: There are those little matters to worry about, yes…

coz1: The fashion and lifestyle of the rich and famous… of ancient Rome. Yeah, that would be something:

Twenty ways to cook mice!
The new autumn fashion shocker: togas!
The new positions that’ll spice up any orgy!
:D

Pirate Z: Unfortunately, civil war is not that far ahead in the future, but rather more immediate.

Nikolai:Thanks!

BBBD: Who wouldn’t? Swords, and horses, and Roman aristocracy chicks… Oh my! :D

Unfortunately, I’ve made a factual error in the last post that I’ll have to correct retroactively: apparently, the Gladius was entirely abandoned as a military weapon (since the III century!) in the V century, so there would have been no instruction in its use by the veterans. The Spatha was the military sword for both cavalry and infantry at this time. My excuses for this gaffe.
 
The Yogi said:
Archdevil: Happy to have you reading! So, was there 33 roman civil wars before this one? I never knew that!

Something like that :p . You have to admit, the Romans had a certain talent for them.
 
Nikolai said:
What happened then?:confused:

Andronicus III died without appointing a successor. His Grand Domestic (chancellor of sorts, iirc) John Cantacuzenus assumed the regency, but several people from the court, the Dowager Empress Anne principally amongst them, were jealous of his position and his close friendship with the former emperor. They schemed against him and forced him into becoming a rebel. The civil war is known for its uselessness (it never should have happened), and the fact that Empress Anne pawned the Byzantine crown jewels, never to be recovered. Ah, yes... Anne -- last in the line of empresses akin to Zoe, Irene, and other such female personages in Byzantine history.

Enough factoids -- I hope Majorian wins quickly. Never know what the Visigoths could cook up should this war be drawn out...
 
Carthago, Africa
Vandal Kingdom
Anno Domini 462

vandale.jpg


”Majorian’s invasion of Africa was a protracted affaire without any major engagements. The Vandals skillfully conducted a war of attrition and harassment, hoping to delay the Romans long enough for the Emperor’s war purse to be emptied by payments to his mercenary armies. Nonetheless Majorian laid Carthage under siege in 462 AD.”
-Gibbon, The Decline of the Roman Empire


In the failing red light of the setting sun, King Gaeseric, in full black battle armour, stood on top of a blood-soaked mound of broken stone and mangled human flesh, awaiting the arrival of the Emperor of the Romans. The fighting over the large breach in the walls of Carthago had been ferocious; thrice, Imperial troops had taken it only to be pushed back by desperate Vandal counterattacks. Twice, the German mercenaries Majorianus favoured as shock troops had been driven back and decimated to the point of refusing to charge a third time. The Visigoth Foederatii taking their place had once again proven their martial qualities by clearing the breach of enemies after bitter fighting, but not even they had been able to withstand the final Vandal counterattack, led by King Gaeseric himself. Despite his advanced age, the Vandal King had been at the forefront of the battle and had liberally dealt out death with his huge battleaxe. After extraordinarily bitter fighting between the traditional enemies, Visigoth and Vandal, in which no quarter was given or asked, the breach was retaken for a third and final time. With the sun setting behind the mountains in the west, Gaeseric had requested to negotiate with Emperor Majorianus.

Majorianus, clad in a gilded scale armour and helmet and with a purple cloak hanging from his shoulders, climbed carefully up the masses of stone. His Scholae Palatina Legionaries stood at the foot of the mound, resting on their spears. At the top, Gaeseric was also alone, with the Vandal warriors of his Household Guard all waiting at the other side; the Monarchs would parley alone.

As the Emperor climbed the last few blocks to reach the summit of the mound, the old Vandal King offered his hand in support, and knowing that refusing to take it would look like a show of insecurity, Majorianus accepted it. He said nothing though, in part because he didn’t want to give any further psychological advantage to Gaeseric, and in part because he was out of breath after the climb.

‘Majorianus’ Gaeseric said, more as an acknowledgement than a salute.

The Emperor nodded in response. ‘Gaeseric. What do you want to talk about?’

The old King sighed. ‘I want to make a deal… In the long run, we can’t hold the city. You know that as well as I do, so there’s no point in me denying it. I don’t want to see my people annihilated or enslaved. You can have it all back – Mauretania, Numidia, Sicily, Corsica, Sardinia, even Libya. Just let us keep Africa and Carthago, our capital, and we’ll accept to become Roman Foederatii.’

‘No. Rome can never rest secure with Vandals at Carthago, and besides, only African grain can restore Rome to its former size and glory.’

‘We’ll sell you the grain – we’ll give you a monopoly on buying it and good prices!’

‘I said no. This is a Roman city – it will be ruled by Rome, not by some heretic barbarian tyrant.’

Gaeseric exhaled slowly, trying to keep his anger in check, but his wrinkled face turned red behind the pale grey beard. ‘Damn you, Roman! Do you want to see me beg? I will, if it will save my people!’

‘Save yourself the disgrace, Gaeseric. It wouldn’t change anything anyhow.’

The King spat in disgust. ‘Why are you wasting my time then, Majorianus? If you offer nothing, why did you accept to parley? Surely you know by now that we will fight to the death rather than go willingly into Roman slavery! And you cannot afford to fight this war for very much longer; even your coffers are not bottomless. A lot of the tributes the Burgundians and Sueves payed you must have been spent on mercenaries by now, maybe we will outlast you… and how far can you really trust Theoderic and his Visigoths?’

Majorianus smiled with genuine humour. ‘A good riposte, King Gaeseric, but you failed to grasp the nuances of what I said: Carthago must be Roman again and the Vandal Kingdom must disappear…’ The emphasis put on the word “Kingdom” was not lost on the Vandal King, whose eyes shone with renewed hope.

‘Our Kingdom must die… but our people might still live and be free? What do you propose?’

‘All your fighting men will leave Carthago, and the rest of your lands that we have not yet captured, and follow me as Foederatii. You can keep your weapons, armour and horses, and you may use your fleet one last time for leaving these shores before turning it over to Rome. Everything else must be left behind, including the rest of your people; the woman, the children, the elderly; all will stay here in Carthago as hostages for your obedience. Of course, all Roman captives will be freed. Ah, and your son Huneric will divorce Emperor Valentinian’s daughter Eudocia and turn her over to me.’

Gaeseric went deathly pale, and had to swallow his words twice before finding his voice steady enough to answer. ‘You’re without pity, Roman. We never treated your people so harshly. Well, tell me everything then. Who will we fight for you? How long will we be separated from our families? Were will we settle once we’re re-united?’

‘My enemies, you will know when the time comes. The hostages will stay here as long as necessary, and you will be allotted new land on the Imperial frontier with Germania. Of course, you’ll have to conquer it first, but Rome will help you with that.’

‘This is little better than slavery, Roman, but it IS better.’ Gaeseric replied. ‘Will our families be treated with kindness and respect while we serve you?’

‘I give you my word as a man of honour and a Christian.’

‘I’ll just have to pray that you’re both, Emperor of the Romans.’ The King suddenly looked his age, a sad old man who saw nothing but hardship ahead in the few years he had left. ‘We'll loose everything except hope, but that is the one thing we cannot afford to loose. I will take your proposal to my people. They will either accept, or depose me and go down fighting. Either way you will know soon enough.’

As he began to climb down, Gaeseric looked back one last time at his conqueror. ‘You don’t suppose you could allow my son to keep his wife? He’s quite besotted with her, and it would reduce the chance that he’ll try to split my skull and take my Crown?’

‘Afraid not, King Gaeseric. Please understand, I have no desire to bed her myself, but she is the daughter of a Roman Emperor and was robbed from Rome when you plundered it. I can’t let that stand, it’s a matter of Roman pride.’

The King smiled with some residual humour. ‘I can see what you mean. In any case, that harpy will not want to stay married to Huneric once he is no longer the heir apparent to the Vandal Kingdom, but rather a landless Barbarian chieftain. Good riddance, I say!’

Roman Emperor and Vandal King shared a laugh and a moment of mutual respect before Gaeseric left Majorianus alone on the mound of broken masonry. Behind him, the crimson orb of the sun sunk behind the western horizon for the last time in the Kingdom of the Vandals.​
 
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Majorianus has done posterity a great service. This'll teach future generations of vandals that vandalizing subway cars and spraying their godforsaken graffiti everywhere won't go unpunished! :D
 
So Majorianus got his revenge, though I find it slightly odd that the Vandal would share a laugh at the end. He's put in his place and humiliated for the most part. Yes, a chance to regain glory is there, but still.
 
This is strange. It seems that you are setting Gaiseric up to be a hero of some sort.

I will take your proposal to my people. They will either accept, or depose me and go down fighting. Either way you will know soon enough.

An excellent line.
 
BBBD said:
Grat work, but who will support the land and feed the cities with all the men gone?

Carthage's inhabitants were predominantly Roman, the Vandals were just a ruling warrior clique who wouldn't have done much farming anyway.
 
Rome, Italia
Western Roman Empire
Anno Domini 462

senate.jpg


”While the origin of the Roman Knight as a social strata lies in the period before the Republic,
and the origins of his equipment and way of warfare can be found in the Persian and Roman
cataphracts, these two aspects only came together at a very specific point in time; during the civil
war into which the tottering Western Empire was plunged after Emperor Majorian’s stunning
victory over the Vandals in 462 AD…”

-Perry Anderson, Passages from Antiquity to Feudalism


Once upon a time, no Roman General would have dared crossing the sacred boundaries of the city of Rome while still in command of his soldiers. At one point, even Gaius Julius Caesar had rather forfeited his chance for a triumph rather than give up his command (which he would have had to do to be able to enter the city). Those days were long gone, however, and the current Emperor of the West, Julius Valerius Majorianus had not been shy in the least to enter the Eternal City at the head of his army. He was however politician enough to realize how fatal for his public standing it would have been to take his new Vandal allies into the city that they had plundered not long ago. Instead, he left them camped outside the city where they acted as a two-edged reminder to the Romans of the Emperor’s power: that he had subdued a terrible foe, but also that that foe now stood ready to do his bidding.

As for the Visigoths, having fulfilled their duty as Foederates, their young King, Theoderic II had claimed his share of the Vandal treasure and led them back to his Aquitanian Kingdom via Hispania. With Theoderick went a small detachment of soldiers led by Rufo Avidius, a Preafectus loyal to Majorianus with another big chunk of the Vandal gold. With it, he was supposed to raise a Roman Army in Hispania for the Emperor. The last third of the treasure had gone with Majorianus himself to Rome. The troops that entered the city with him were all Roman regulars, and as such few in number as armies went but still numerous enough to cow any Romans hostile to Majorianus. These, it seemed to the Emperor, were all assembled before him in the Hall of the Senate. He was thankful for his Palatine Guards, without which he was sure he would soon be torn limb from limb.

Majorianus raised his arms, demanding and end to the high voiced conversation, which because of the acoustics of the Hall was deafening. After a minute, it gradually died away. Even the Emperor of the Romans – no, ESPECIALLY the Emperor of the Romans – had no more power than that when it came to commanding the filthy rich and arrogant Senators of the Western Empire.

‘Senators of Rome!’ Majorian adopted the classical orators pose, with one arm raised. ‘I come to you victorious: Gallia, Hispania, Mauretania and Libya are returned to the Empire! The Burgundians, Visigoths, the Sueves and the Vandals have been humbled. I bring with me the riches that the Barbarian horde plundered from this Holy city seven years ago, and freed at last Empress Licina Eudoxia, and her daughters, Eudocia and Placida!’

There was some enthusiastic cheering, but much more was perfunctory, done because it was expected and necessary rather than because any genuine feeling. The victories meant little, save for those who had large estates in the recaptured provinces, and those were probably the ones cheering whole-heartedly, Majorianus thought bitterly. He hid his bitterness behind a suitable smile. Not for two centuries, since the day of Aurelianus, had a Roman Emperor presented such victories to the Senate and all he had in return was their resentment over the laws he had passed to rein in their greed, abuse and corruption. He should have expected little better, but he had dreamt of this moment for all his life and now the honey of it turned to ash in his mouth. His adult life had been spent fighting the enemies of the Empire. For a time he had thought he had defeated them all, but he now realised that the deadliest ones were mostly assembled before him, and still undefeated. The great test of his reign was still ahead of him.

‘A triumph! A triumph for the Emperor!’ The shouted petition came from Senator Lucius Aetrius, Titus’s father and by all accounts one of the leaders of the Senatorial faction conspiring with the Patrician Ricimer. It took a conscious effort by the Emperor to freeze his smile in place. The hypocrite, the snake, the Judas! But Majorianus found comfort in the knowledge of how far from the tree the apple had fallen. There was still hope for the Empire if its youth could be inspired to noble deeds.

The petition for a triumph was received with subdued acclamation and passed without debate. By all rights except the most ancient and long since discarded custom, which for the granting of a triumph demanded the conquest of new territory and not merely the re-conquest of lost one, Majorianus thought he had deserved one. So why not accept it? He wouldn’t confront the Senators now anyway, because he needed time to prepare before Ricimer sprang his trap. But some decisions could not wait.

‘I thank you for this honour, Oh Fathers of the Nation, but I come today to you not for triumphs or honours but to make an announcement regarding this high institution!’

That caught their attention. When the silence had returned, the Emperor resumed his oratorical pose before continuing:

‘When I approached Rome on the Via Appia, I saw in the field beyond Porta Appia a great host of young Romans, even some girls, practicing with sword, bow and spear, riding, in short; engaging in all sorts of martial practice and sport. I was pleasantly surprised that the youth of Rome should spend their free time in such edifying manner, and doubly so when I learnt that these youths were your own sons and daughters, the new generation of Roman nobility. I remember from my own youth that we were rather less virtuous in our pastimes…’

That got some laughter. Memories of a debauched youth was something he did share with these senators, even though his had been spent in the Army and his lack of moderation in his free time was therefore perhaps more excusable than theirs, who had had little duty of any kind.

Majorianus continued his speech. ‘These youngsters and their sports reminded me of the days before Emperor Caesar Augustus, and even during the Golden Age of the Antonines, when it was a necessary prerequisite for a seat in the Senate to have served the Republic in the army. Senators, I intend no disrespect for your august station when I say that it was foolish of our ancestors to allow this custom to fall into disuse. Inspired by the example set by your own sons, I hereby reinstate that custom as law: from this day on, no new Senator will be named that has not proved his worth in the Legions!’

The declaration was received with icy silence. Then somebody shouted ‘I will not have my sons sent to fight the Goths!’, and then all restraint broke down and Majorianus became the object of shouts of protest and shaken fists. He raised both hands, demanding silence.

‘Senators! Senators! Think of the honour and respect your children will gain through this service! And would you rather not have your own flesh and blood in command of the armies that defend our borders, than some barbarian soldier of fortune?!’

That didn’t convince them, of course, even if the last thinly veiled jab at Ricimer shocked them enough that their protests gradually died away. With a chill he realised what that meant: they weren’t protesting, because they knew that his decision would eventually be revoked when Ricimer deposed him. Pretending to accept his decision, the Senators then resorted to practical matters, to lend credibility to their feigned cooperation.

‘Who will pay for their equipment?’ asked Lucius Aetrius.

‘Senators, you will, because I know that you will equip your children with the very best armour and weapons money can buy. There will be lists of what is required later. The army will provide the training that will turn your sons into real soldiers, although from the look of it, they’re are already well on their way to becoming skilled fighters.’

The degree to which even this decision was seemingly accepted without further protest chilled Majorianus. The cost for equipping one fully armed and armoured horseman was trivial for these men, but they would usually begrudge even the smallest expense. How sure they were that they would soon be rid of him!

Julius Valerius Majorianus, Augustus, Casesar, Imperator, three times Consul, left the Hall of the Senate in the heart of Rome to prepare his Legions for the coming triumph with the fluttering feeling in his stomach that he associated with the moments before battle was joined. That feeling had a name; it was fear.​
 
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Very nice work, Yogi.
 
I think the phrase that fits the moment is "Let the Dice roll high!" Very interesting.
 
I hope enough effete heads roll to make Sulla proud. ;)
 
Yet another Yogi AAR? Dear God, man! How do you expect any of us to get anything accomplished let alone find time for our own AARs? :rolleyes:

Okay, kidding aside, outstanding work, Yogi, and I cannot help but find myself gettin' caught hook, line and sinker on this one! :D

Can't wait to read about the show down, otherwise known as the 34th Roman Civil War. :D
 
Majorianus seems to have the Senate in a bind and taken care of for now. With the youth behind him in future, he should stand solid. But he must make sure and here we shall see if that happens. I also wonder if Titus and father will clash openly. Good stuff, Yogi.
 
Lord Durham: Thank you, my Lord! I am not worthy! :)

stnylan, cthulhu, Draco Rexus: Thanks guys!

BBBD: I wouldn't know, I haven't read Discworld.:eek:o He's a bad sort though: a barbarian general risen to Imperial puppetmaster. IRL, Ricimer had Majorian deposed and beaten to death and went through two or three other, less able puppet Emperors before his demise, still in power, of old age. Before that, he had time to betray the Eastern Empire in their first (because of Ricimer) failed attempt to defeat the Vandals.

bigdan, coz1:Only time will tell... An angered father can be more scary than... a very scary thing! :)

Pirate Z: So do I! ;)
 
Rome, Italia
Western Roman Empire
Anno Domini 462

paintingcataphract.jpg


"Their drills are bloodless battles; their battles, bloody drills."
-Flavius Josephus


Titus hadn’t really known pain before Centurion Arshad the Persian made him intimately familiar with it. Pain was unprotected knees smashing together when training to charge riding in close formation. It was what happened to the rear ends of riders that had to suffer the stop-go-stop of cavalry practice for days on end, and it was also what came from connecting with the business end of a practice lance. Furthermore, pain was what happened when a young nobleman such as Titus, forgot that he was a recruit confined to the old Praetorian barracks now and no longer the spoiled son of a senator, and talked back to the former Clibanarii mercenary, now turned army instructor with the rank of Centurion. In those particular cases, pain came from the stinging raps of Arshad’s “motivational device”, a cruelly flexible cane.

Yet for all his harsh discipline and rough exercises, the Persian was not a mindless brute. On many an afternoon, he would be surrounded in the barracks courtyard by a circle of attentive young soldiers incongruously uniformed in the white tunics of the cavalry and red cloaks of the infantry as he lectured them on tactics, armaments and many other subjects. Today’s lecture was about the tactical doctrine of the forming Legio Palatina Equites Maiorianii Romanenses Iuniores, and the choices of equipment necessitated by that doctrine.

‘Men, you are the Emperor’s answer to a problem that has plagued the Palatine and Comitatian Legions since their inception: as mobile units, they need to be able to travel long distances quickly. For that, they need to be lightly armoured, but that makes them vulnerable on the battlefield. To solve this problem, the Emperor has begun to form a model unit for the new kind of Field Army he is planning: that would be you, men. The role of this unit is indicated by its name. As you’re probably all aware, until now there were the Legions of the infantry and the Auxilias and Vexilias of the cavalry. Yet you will be a “Legion” of “Equites”. That choice of name is not a mistake, and neither is that uniform of yours. You will be trained to fight on foot as well as on horseback. You will be able to reach a position or charge an enemy line with the speed and impetus of cavalry and hold off counterattacks and defend positions deployed as infantry. That is why you have been issued with a suitably unique mix of equipment: we will begin with its use when fighting mounted.

Against infantry, your main weapon is the Hunnish bow, an unmatched missile weapon that will decimate enemy infantry in close order formation unless very heavily armoured – which is rarely the case with our barbarian foes. The bow, rather than the heavy Kontos lance of the Clibanarii has been chosen because the barbarians are quite adept at holding off cavalry by forming spear hedgehogs, and while you might still be able to break their lines with a Kontos charge if suitably supported by archers, you would take unacceptable casualties in doing so. With the bow, you can pick the enemy off at range, and charge them only after they break or scatter!’

‘Then why the heavy armour?’ shouted one young lad who had been sweltering in his heavy scale armour all through the morning exercises and now suffered from a bad case of armour chafe. ‘The Huns fought that way with nothing but leather for protection, and did fine by anyone’s standards!’

‘One day perhaps my very young recruit, you’ll be the equal of a Hunnish warrior with a bow and a horse, although I won’t hold my breath. In the mean time, to be able to get half as many hits as a Hun can at full gallop, you’ll have to close in to half the distance and shoot stationary. And rumour has it the barbarians have bows too!’

‘Oh.’ The young man turned slightly pale at the thought. ‘I see.’ There was some subdued laughter at his expense, but not too heartily. It was all in all not a cheerful subject matter.

‘More importantly, you will need the armour because the enemy isn’t in the general case a complete moron. What do you think he’ll do when you start decimating his infantry at range, and he finds that his return fire is ineffective?’

‘Send out his own cavalry after us!’ Titus shouted.

‘That is correct, soldier! And this is where the infantry spear that you Romans call Hasta or Lancea comes into play. This weapon is your cavalry-killer, both when fighting mounted or on foot. To defeat enemy cavalry, you’ll charge knee to knee with spear and shield. Since the Lancea is much lighter than the Kontos, you can wield it with one hand, leaving the other free for a shield. Your Lanceas have been fitted with a simple wooden cross-guard which will prevent the shaft being pushed through your grip when you hit something while charging. When that something is another horseman charging your way, the Lancea will go straight through leather shields, chain mail or even plate armour in some cases.’

‘Won’t that throw us out of our saddles?’ came the worried question of a recruit that had done more than his share of falling from his horse that day.

‘Recruit, that is why we have these high saddles, they will keep you from being pushed over the ass of your horse from the shock of contact. At least if you’re any good as a horseman, it will.’

‘I’m in trouble then!’ came the quick reply, which was greeted by a roar of laughter. Even Arshad couldn’t help the corners of his mouth wrinkling slightly.

‘As you say. Anyway, in this role, the Lancea won’t be as effective as a Kontos but it will be plenty good in most cases. If you come head to head with Kontos-armed Cataphracts… . Well, pray that you don’t, but if you still do, try to use your shields to deflect them. Or pull back, quickly’

The recruits didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. ‘Then why don’t we have Kontoses too!?’

Despite the insolent tone of the question, the Persians aquiline features did not betray any anger. He was merciless when challenged, but a paragon of patience when questioned.

‘That question takes us nicely into the next chapter of this little lecture, men – fighting on foot, in good old Roman fashion. Romans, this is your forte. As a Persian, I can say my people have meet few foes that match us as horsemen, but none that can rival you as foot soldiers. A square of Roman infantry is like a moving fortress, but you need your shields and the Kontos is a two-handed weapon. Furthermore, while a Kontos might do for repelling cavalry, it would otherwise be useless as an infantry weapon due to its great weight.’

That made sense to most, although they would have preferred to have a contingency plan other than “Retreat!” for any foe they could meet.

‘When fighting on foot, you will deploy in close order, shield to shield, in a line, circle or square as appropriate to hold your ground and keep your horses safe. When assaulted by cavalry, the front ranks will crouch behind their shields with one foot on the iron-shod butt of the Lancea, while the rear ranks give fire support with your bows. When assaulted by infantry, you will fight in the traditional legionary fashion, throwing your Lanceas before fighting with your Spathas.’

‘With all these weapons to carry around, in addition to the armour, we wont be moving very fast or very long as footmen!’ one of the young nobles objected.

Arshad nodded. ‘You’re correct. You will be fighting on foot only when ordered to hold a set position, always in defence. Your commanders will be aware of your limitations and not try to march you around, manoeuvring for an attack. For that, you have your horses. Well, that’s about it for today. Any questions?’

‘What about enemy horse archers, like Huns?’ Titus asked again.

‘In most cases, you will be far better protected than they, and with your Hunnish bows you will not be outranged. That should put them at a disadvantage, at least if you can hit a man and a horse at the same range they can put an arrow in you. Anyone else?’

‘Centurion, when…’

‘Anyone who isn’t going to ask when we’re having supper around here, Quintus?’

Laughter drowned any reply the blushing, once portly but now quickly thinning young man might have made, but no more arms were raised.

‘Then that’s all for today! See you at dawn tomorrow for formation charge training, my favourite thing in all the world!’

‘But we did that today, and yesterday!’ protested Titus, black, blue and desolate as the crowd in white and red began to disperse.

‘And we will again the day after tomorrow, and the day after that and so on and so forth until I think you know what you’re doing! You’re scheduled for archery training with that sour milk-stinking son of a Hun Bleda for all the afternoons of the week, so you can get your rest then. See you tomorrow, soldier!’

‘And I helped bringing this about?’ Titus though, staring at the receding back of the Persian Centurion. Any day now, all his friends would come to think of who exactly it was that had lured them away from their former care-free and happy existence into this purgatory of harsh training and disciplinary beatings. That day would see him beaten to a pulp, Titus had no doubt.

Come to think of it, why hadn’t he been already?​
 
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