Which Did Flame and Burn

Dramatis Personae

Book 1: Roma Superat!

The 2nd Cohort
Tulius Severus: A nobleman and soldier; age 19
Emilio Bitus: A fellow nobleman, his friend; age 20
Captain Glycerius: Tribuni Angusticlavii, Captain of the II Cohort; age 26
Tiresius Appius: Comitantse, bannerman and son of Marcus Appius under Glycerius; age 15
Marcello Giosuè: Centurion under Glycerius, a veteran soldier; age 29
Hadi Haidar: Commoner, Equitarian, leader of the II Cohort's cavalry archers; age 23
Lorenzo Valerio: A Nobleman and scout for Glycerius; age 20
Servino Piccoli: A Nobleman and soldier; Age 19 Slain: Battle of Marche
Giovanni: A Mercenary Leader age: ?
Georgio Mercuccio: Trumpeter for Glycerius: Age 19

Leaders of Rome
General Gaius: Magistri Militum of Rome; age 41
Tommasso Romano: Consul of Rome: age 29
Marcus Appius: A Senator, on campaign with Tommasso; age 33
Marcus Severus: A Nobleman, Tulio's father; age 40
Augistna Tyrano Romano: Wife of the Consul, owner of many vineyards: Age 25
Dominicus Tyrano: Her Brother, a senator; Age 24
Flavius Rissolo: Quaestor, roman bureaucrats; age 30
Seneca Martinus: Censor of Rome; age 44

Their Enemies
Vincenzo: Dictator of the city of Marche

Commoners
Cassius: A cripple and peasant; age 15
Father: His father; age 35
Mother: His mother; age 34
Augustin: His brother, a soldier; age 17
Julia: His sister; age 12

Foriegners
A torturer; age ?
A Nobleman: Speaks Septan but with an accent; age ?
Ruffo: A man on the road; age ?
Francesco: An assassin; age ?
Benito: A brigand; age ?
Cloaked man: Benito's friend and companion; age ?
Karl: Foriegner in service to Agostina; age ?

~~~
Terms and placs

Cathol: A saint and fabled founder of Catholicism
Catholicism: A religion of many gods, with Cathol as their prophet.
Christianity: A religion recently founded based off the writings of the Four Saints.
Comitantses: Heavy Roman Infantry
The New Way: A way of life proposed by the Christian leaders, followed by the Consul and many senators
Septa: The language of the Seven Hills, and much of Italy.
The Sea: Mediterranean Sea
The Son: God of the New Way
Seven Hills: Rome, before the War of the Cities
War of the Cities: The war that unified the area around Rome.

Roma superat

Tullio steadied his horse. The wind had at last died down, and the sound of the enemy march was loud enough to be heard. General Gaius had not told them how many there were, but Captain Glycerius assured them that the main force from Marche had marched south of their position. This was merely the northern branch of their army. Most of Consul Tommasso’s army had marched south to flank the enemy force. Most of the army in Marche had been based in Macerata, and was surprised at the sudden arrival of Roman armies.

The temperature had dropped, not significantly but enough to at least make the field bearable. Tullio nudged his horse forward to sit beside Glycerius. The cavalry captain stared ahead into the dense wood, oblivious to Tullio’s approach. The captain very often acted in this way before a hunt, as though there was nothing else in the world. Tullio squinted; trying to spy whatever it was that caught Glycerius’ attention. Nothing was out there. Vincenzo’s troops had stayed hidden through most of the month. It seemed that the Roman army would have to reach the ocean before they actually found the dictator’s army.

They had marched out on Tommasso’s urging and with the Senate’s support of course. Tullio’s father worked tirelessly to give the young Consul as much power as he could, but the power to raise men and money still laid in the hands of the Senate. Senator Marcus Appius had been the leading supporter of this campaign, and even now rode beside the Consul as he made his way deep into Marche. His son was here with the Northern force under Glycerius. Young Tiresius held the banner for the unit of Comitantses, the heavy infantry that had been placed with the unit.

Tiresius and his fellow infantry were not all that had joined the unit of late. A gruff and impolite veteran of the city wars, Marcello Giosuè now led the Comitantses. And a group of priests, sent by Tommasso himself stood chanting behind the cavalry. Tullio, like many of those named in the old way, was not a religious man. He did not care for this New Church, or its harsh criticisms. Tullio was born a lecher, a drunk and a gambler, and the New Church said all of that was wrong. Tullio scoffed at the very idea, stop his gambling and drinking! Never.

It was all that flood nonsense. Trying to explain why things happened. It did not matter why the fall happened, just that it did, and it was finally time to put that behind them. That was what made Tommasso so popular. He may have been a staunch Christian, but he was also a bloodthirsty one. Seven Hills had been purged first, and now they marched against the aggressors in Marche…

Tullio shook the thoughts from his mind. It was his father’s fault. All those years of intrigue and plotting, it had made him weak. Oh the joy his father had expressed when he announced his intent to join the cavalry. It was a ‘nobleman’ warrior who road to war on a steed. The sight of his first unit dissuaded him of that. Though the seven horsemen who fought beside Captain Glycerius were noblemen, the unit of cavalry archers under Hadi Haidar was not. They were common, and rough and rude. They had shown no respect for any of the noblemen, or their rank. Tullio suspected that many were of the outcast, who had just escaped their fate by enlisting with the army.

Tullio was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of hoof beats. Haidar was approaching.

“Captain, the plan remains the same?” He said, his accent thick and foreign to Tullio’s ear. Though his handle on Septan was fine, and he never spoke incorrectly, it was the intonation that was off. Something about the way he sounded…

“Vere.” Glycerius said, finally breaking his stare. “The trees will likely prevent you from actually doing any damage, but that is not your job.”

“It rarely ever is” Haidar said with a laugh. The horsemen around Glycerius looked wearily at each other. Tullio was not alone in his uneasiness around these men. Their language was modern, as was their appearance, but their attitude was barbaric and distant. Haidar gave a rough salute, turned his steed, and sped off to join his men.

“Silence those damned Fanatics!” he called as he rode back to his men. Glycerius ignored him, but a few of the cavalrymen mumbled. He knew which had spoken up; they were of the New Way, and the Christians.

“Quiet!” Glycerius growled. The men shut up, though they may be religious, they dare not risk the ire of their captain. The new priests however where not so cautious. Their leader, an older, balding man, tramped over to the Captain, one of his acolytes in toe.

“I demand you punish that heathen. His insult to the Son cannot be tolerated.” The words came out flat and bland, as though the speaker was bored with his own demands. Glycerius glared in response. The priest seemed ready to speak again, but decided against it. Tullio let himself smile. If the Son was so strong, he would punish Haidar on the field today, for that was the way of the Gods as Cathol described them. His smiles were cut short by an approaching rider. It was Lorenzo Valerio, their scout.

“My lord Captain!” Lorenzo said between breaths. “Tommasso has engaged Vincenzo, and his forces are in retreat in the south. The North guard here will press their attack. Their comitatenses were seen on the crest of the hill.”

“Well done Lorenzo, retire to the rear with the priests…” Lorenzo made to move but was stopped as the captain continued “Tell Haidar first, he knows his orders.”

The rain had been coming down for ten minutes before Tullio finally spotted something. It was Hadi Haidar and his archers falling back and firing arrows into the woods. Haidar shouted at them and they turned and galloped away again, sopping about 50 yards out to fire another round at the now emerging enemy. They were well armored, with large shields much like the comitatenses. These men however carried shields, some riddled with arrows. They seemed oblivious to the reign of arrows coming at them, for obvious reasons. The trees provided them with ample coverage, and their shields protected what was left.

They continued on, following the cavalry on a goose chase away from the main force. Glycerius smiled. Whatever his plan was, it appeared to be working. During their wait, the captain had described what they were up against. They were outnumbered, with Vincenzo’s troops having two large blocks of infantry along with skirmishers and a small force of mounted noblemen. This unit of spearmen was obviously the first of those infantry.

“Captain, look!” One of Tullio’s comrades cried. The captain swung his gaze back to the woods, from which emerged a group of men. They wore heavy green cloaks, and ran forward, short swords unsheathed. This was the skirmish unit of which the captain spoke. As they rushed over logs and under branches they swung their round shields out and charged forward. They had targeted Tullio the other mounted noblemen. One of the horsemen, Servino Piccoli began to move, but Glycerius shouted him back.

The captain held them, even as the enemy was nearly on top of them. Then, with a cry, he kicked his horse forward and led the charge. Tullio dropped his spear point and fell in beside his captain. The rush of wind seemed almost perfect as the horses surged forward into the charging infantrymen. But the perfection came to a crashing halt as the two units smashed into each other. Tullio has his spear ripped from his hands as it dug deep into one of the enemy. He felt a sting as one of the flailing weapons struck him, sliding off his armor. By the time he reached the end of the unit, he had drawn his sword and was ready for more.

But their charge had not been without loss. As Tullio turned his horse, he could only watch in horror as Servino was dragged from his horse and killed by the infantry. “Barbarians!” someone cried, making to charge, but again the captain shouted him still and pointed behind him. Tullio didn’t have time to move as the javelins flew at them. Someone screamed as spear ripped into his arm, but Tullio couldn’t tell who. One of the thrown weapons had buried itself into his steed, and with a high pitched screech, the animal threw Tullio to the ground and fell over, dieing.

He had to find a weapon, something. He didn’t know where his sword had ended up, but one of the skirmisher’s blades lay on the ground not far away. He crawled quickly to it, and drew it, and a shield, up off the ground. The round shield was heavier than his own, and the grip placed differently. But it offered some protection. Next he needed a horse. Tullio looked around quickly, his heart racing and his eyes blurred from his fall. The fighting had moved on, and captain Glycerius and the remaining four noblemen had raced on. He could see the shadows of the priests, praying frantically, and nearby, the comitatenses fighting off the spearmen.

He had no other choice, and rushed to join the infantry. They were in better armor for sure, but he had speed on them, and made his way into the unit. And not a moment too soon, as the cloaked infantry who had survived the charge swept over where he had once been standing. They were greeted by a few javelins thrown from the rear ranks of the comitatenses. Only two hit home, but the barrage was enough to send them fleeing. This inspired Marcello Giosuè, who ordered the comitatenses out of the melee. The unit spread quickly, as the spearmen themselves reformed to better withstand the Roman unit. Tullio made haste to join the regrouping Romans, and watched as they unleashed a full volley of javelins into the disorganized spearmen. Many went down.

Then, something surprising happened. The priests rushed forward, either swinging their holy staffs or bearing daggers. It was more than the spearmen could take, to be attacked by priests. In response, the spearmen turned and fled. They were joined by what remained of their own unit of comitatenses and their captain. It seems that Hadir’s archers had made short work of the heavy infantry, and that Captain Glycerius had managed to drive home a charge that shattered what was left of the enemy’s will. Whatever had happened, it had won the day, and won Tullio the chance to drop his guard; his first battle was over.

coz1 said:

Always have wanted to try it. One slight niggle - watch your spelling.

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I missed something? Damned spellcheck... could you point me in the right direction, looked over the sucker twice before posting it and most have missed it both times.

Amric said:

I think this is what he meant. Spellcheck wouldn't have caught it. Unless you MEANT that Catholicism is purely around to make money, ergo profit. I do believe, however, you meant prophet.

Looking good so far, and good to see you back here in EUII land writing!

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Heh... fixed

coz1 said:

That's really all I found.

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Wow, yeah ouch. Thanks for pointing out that. Makes me want to go back over the rest of them with a fine tooth English major...


Cow Pie: Yeah, the mixture of more modern Italian and ancient roman republic is because the concept of Rome was rediscovered, but the specifics are still sort of hazy to them. And yes, Tangled Up In Blue rocks

Stynlan: Thanks, I expect it to be confusing as we continue.

coz1 said:

I promise not to be so picky going forward. But like I said - these are things I suffer from all the time. Which is why I somehow am able to see them in others but not my own work.

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Please continue to point them out to me. We are always most blind to our own mistakes. And if no one ever points them out to me I'll never know I'm making them

“The pain will stop when you tell us what you know!” Another blinding flash of pain struck through Cassius’ body. The burning had just faded from the last time, and this one was even more intense. It was followed, as always, by the lash. It struck at him, again and again, each time digging just a little deeper. “Tell us what you know and all of this will end!” The man shouted again. Cassius did not respond. Even if he did have the energy to speak, he had nothing to say. He did not yet know who these people were, or what they wanted to know.

“Again!” Once more the pain shot throw him blinding him, it was just too much…

There his sister was, playing in the yard as his father drove the mule forward. The plow dug up the earth as it was meant to. He could smell dinner cooking inside, his mother was hard at work with Julia, teaching her the ways of motherhood. And as always, Cassius had to care for the horses. They only owned two, so keeping them healthy was not difficult. Father loved to ride through town, his eldest son at his side, head held high. Father was the talk of the town, and enjoyed displaying his wealth. There were few in the village who could afford a horse, let alone two of them.

Father was so proud of his son as much as his wealth. Augustin was off with some mercenary group in Naples, earning fame and money for his family back home. It had been a year since last the two, father and son, had ridden through town. Cassius so dearly wanted to ride with his father. Once, in the evening, Cassius had mounted one of the horses, riding in his brother’s saddle. He had been sorely punished that night, and his father refused to look at him the next day. It was his curse.

Being seven years his brother’s junior was a burden. Whilst his brother was out earning fame and fortune for his family, betrothed to the second cousin of a senator no less, here Cassius was, stuck at home with his one good leg. He was a blemish, he knew it. If his father had had his way, Cassius would have been left to die on the side of the hill. Sometimes, Cassius would dream of this, thinking that perhaps he had been the son of some other man, some king. And he would grow up and one day return to claim his crown and rule a distant land.

But alas, not even in the plays that would sometimes come to town would one like him be so great. No, the lame would never rule the healthy. They were fools, or villains. That is what Cassisus was, a fool, and a villain. He existed to embarrass his father, to shame his mother and get in the way. He was unloved, unwanted and unkown. Sometimes he wished he could just fade away…


“Give us what you know or else!” The man picked up a hammer and brought it down swiftly, crushing the finger that he had stretched out over the anvil. Cassisus screamed in pain. He started to black out again, but a splash of water shocked him back into life. The torturers paused for a moment, talking in quiet tones to each other. They were discussing what next to do to the poor boy. But in a moment they halted their whispering, a dim light appeared in the distance. A man appeared, wreathed in light, and approached poor Cassius. Cassius could not make out his face or features, but he heard him plain enough.

He didn’t speak in Septa, instead it was some butchered form of the language, just like the men from before. Nevertheless Cassius could understand. “Do you know who I am?” He said, leaning close to Cassius. The tortured man squinted through the dark, trying to see this darkened figure.

“No….” Cassius coughed out the answer, they were his first words in a long while. The torturers had not stopped to listen to him deny their claims.

“Send him back to his hovel, he is of no threat to me.” The man retreated, standing back upright, still surrounded by the halo of light. One of the torturers moved towards the man.

“But the Praetor…” He said, cowering before the man.

“Silence!” The man shouted, and the torturer withdrew. “We have but one we must kill, and this innocent fool is not him. Besides, he’s a cripple, what threat is he. Let him return to his miserable life, I need not see him again.” With that, the man turned and left.

“Well you heard him. Lets bag him and take him back…” Cassius began to speak, to tell them where he lived. But they were not interested in his words. He felt something heavy hit him, and then things went black.

Coz: Thanks. You will get more on how crappy it is to be Cassius in a few posts from now.

Stynlan: Thanks These guys were not so much cop as... hired tertiary characters to be used in one scene and never seen again.

The meeting was over. Flavius had finally left the hall, and as the last one to leave he felt he had to reiterate what it was that the other Quaestors had spent the last three hours discussing. With Tommasso away, it fell on his most trusted advisor to run the realm. This meant that the bureaucrats, who fell silent when the Consul spoke, now found courage to make their opinions known. And Flavius was the most ambitious of them all. He had his eyes on a higher seat, the steward knew. He was already the leading candidate to replace Seneca as Censor, and possibly one day Princeps Senatus and maybe Consul.

If Agostina Romano had any say in it, Flavius would be back as a junior senator, never to be seen in the halls of the Consul again. The man was ambitious, and ambitious men were dangerous ones. The Consul trusted him, and in the end Flavius was loyal to Rome above all else. So Agostina accepted his presence without complaint. Very few knew of her dislike for the man, only those closest confidants would hear her complaints concerning the growing power of Flavius Rissolo and his bastard son.

Servants began to enter the room and clean up the mess that the bureaucrats had made. They had not eaten most of the food, but the wine was all gone. Even the busybodies of the Roman government enjoyed the wine of the Tyrano’s. Agostina smiled to herself as she stared into her own drink from the head of the table. Her father had done well arranging the merger between his own vineyards and the Duke’s. Despite the damage caused by the war, the vineyards escaped relatively unharmed. And supplying the new Roman Republic with wine had been the perfect in for young Tommasso Romano. From there, it was a position as Tribune, and then, Senator… two years later the young man was consul, and Agostina his wife.

“Agostina.” Someone said, gruffly, from the door to the room. Agostina looked up from her glass, not many referred to her by her given name. One was Tommasso and the other was her brother. It was the later who stood in the door now, robed in dark purple, the garb of a senator. He had gone into politics, no matter how poorly he was gifted in the art of negotiation. He was not a charismatic man, no, he was far from it. Dominicus wasn’t ugly, but he was not easy to get along with either. He angered men easily. His handicap had kept him out of the military, and his idiocy kept him from successfully running the vineyards. It was Agostina’s money and power that kept him in the senate.

“Yes brother?” She answered back, placing the cup of wine back on the table, a servant would soon carry it off.

“I w…w…w… need money.” He said, stuttering with what Agostina could only guess was ‘want’. Dominicus often asked for things, money, a horse, items of that nature. It kept him busy, distracted and out of Agostina’s hair. He was an embarrassment, but he was her brother. And since her father had died, it was up to Dominicus to keep the family name alive. Agostina was sure there were bastards all over Rome that shared his name and appearance, but never one he could claim.

“Why brother?” She would give it to him, but she wanted to know. Usually it was for the games, or gambling of the purchasing of some knickknack.

“A fr….fr….fr…” He struggled under her gaze.

“A friend?” Dominicus nodded. He often referred to the prostitutes he visited as his ‘friends.’ “Alright brother, you want the money for your friend. How much money do you need?” She said, reaching down to write down the number, she liked to keep track of such things. Her brother was not expensive, so she didn’t mind. But to avoid loosing track of things, she felt that writing everything down in its place was key.

“Two h…h…hundred thousand coin.” He said sheepishly. Agostina began to write two hundred and stopped as she heard the amount. This was not some tramp, selling herself for gold. This was something else.

“Brother, what is this friend’s name? Is it a girl?” This had happened before, some whore had gotten into his head, convinced the poor boy that he loved her, and tried to take him for everything he was worth. Agostina had made sure the unfortunate wench had met with a rather violent customer. No one would pay for her services again.

“No, ah, um yes…” He said, looking to the floor. He was lying, and as always she saw right through it.

“Who is he and why does he need this money?” She demanded. Her brother didn’t answer. “Fine. If he wants the money tell him to come to me and…” She paused. Someone was playing her brother, probably to get at her. She needed to know who. “I’ll be glad to give him some money.” Agostina smiled broadly and took a gentle tone. Her brother beamed and left the room, feeling he had accomplished his mission. A few moments later a door behind her opened.

“Do you wish for me to send someone to follow him?” A small, weak voice asked from the dark. His accent was sharp and foreign, but his words correct.

“You read me like a book Karl. Yes, I want to know who this friend truly is…”