In 451, Attila's march had led the Hunnic horde westward to Orleans, where he began laying siege to the city. Upon the approach of the army of Flavius Aetius and King Theodoric of the Visigoths soon after, Attila broke off his siege and moved away towards his destiny at the fields of Catalaunia lying between Chalons and Troyes. Orleans, therefore, would mark the westward extent of Attila's ambition. This contributed to the slow transformation of the landscape as Remus' small force of five hundred Gallic infantry and cavalry skirted the villages north of Orleans and began moving into the heart of the Liger valley.
Here the trees, once sparse and far too brown, began to reemerge, gathering together in lush congress, forming ever vaster forests. There were small Roman homes that still actively dotted the landscape, and there were ample signs that the rolling plains were well worked for agriculture. The presence of mill wheels, maintained roads, and a ruined aqueduct that once brought water to Vindinium and beyond gave proof of region’s heritage. A small basilica reminded the passerby of the land’s faith. It lay tucked in front of a cave from which the early Christians had doubtless emerged from persecution into prominence. The citizens, having never known the scourge of the barbarian march, looked curiously and without fear as the
comite galloped past, trailing columns of Gallic levies and a baggage train for some leagues. They were a people equally unaware of the perils on their borders.
The sound of rustling leaves, however soothed with their subtle movement, and he was beginning to imagine himself in safety's embrace until he saw the smoke. It was coming from up the road, right where their destination lay. Without thought, Remus kicked his horse and, pursued by his anxious escort, raced the final leagues down the narrow roadway. Drawing short upon sight of Turonensis, he was reassured to see that the small river port lay intact and still in Gallic hands.
The fire was coming from across the Liger, a danger he could deal with in time. Exhaling in relief, he trotted the distance between several plots of wheat. Immediately he examined the small town wall. It was useless in a siege, he immediately judged, the stonework allowed to languish. The infantry at the
porta principalis were equally unimpressive.
"Where is the exarchus?" he barked at one of the guards. They eyed him nervously, recognizing his status but not his identity.
"And where is your challenge? Your salute? Would you let a pack of feral Goths into the town? What's your name and rank?" The lax defenses of the town and its garrison immediately became apparent, and the frustrations raged out of him in a torrent, his commander's concern coming to the fore. After being given satisfaction, he made a mental note to make an example of Civilis, as he was called. The entire Liger Valley would need to be whipped into shape, and fast. And Remus meant it literally.
The guards were tall, with hair with a color and length that marked them strong with Gallic blood. The mix of the Gallo-Roman citizenry pronounced itself differently in many, which contributed to the absurd posture the guards affected in the bits of Roman and other armor they wore. In some cases, men wore leather shirts with an occasional mail glove or helmets of exotic variety. Again, he made a mental note. The
fabricae would have to be expanded. An army that wore in unison marched in unison. And they survived battle with better equipment.
Riding into the town
groma where the two main roads met, he spotted what surely was the
principia, a former temple which had been stripped of most of its marble and crudely rebuilt in stone. The remainder was filled in by straw, grass, and wood, or not at all. Much of the town mirrored this state, a place of ancient dignity holding but a hint of its imperial past. He stepped down with a hop - a difficult maneuver - tucking his arm closely to his body. It healed steadily, but made even the basic tasks arduous.
"Are you the Exarchus?" he asked, noncommittally. He knew precisely who the officer was, standing at the center of the party waiting to receive him. When the man nodded, Remus raised an eyebrow and turned to regard the distant river.
"Very well. You're relieved. Legatus?"
One of the former commander's aides saluted.
"General!"
"Turonensis is yours. The Exarchus is returning to Orleans tonight." The officer opened his mouth to speak but Remus glared him down.
"From now on, there will be no such thing as a rear officer."
He studied them, looking for opposition and finding none. Having lapsed into complacency, they were startled into obedience by his firm assurance, precisely as he had intended. There was good material, he sensed, raw and unformed. If the Visigoths gave him enough time…
Spinning his heels, he marched into the
principia, his new subordinates following in step.
"Where is the army deployed?" he asked, taking off his gloves, his back to the
Legatus. There was pause, possibly because Remus was the first to refer to the soldiers guarding the Liger valley as an “army”.
"We have ninety-six effectives in town, general,” the Legatus began.
”Another fifteen guarding the Liger fords, and just over sixty horse spread out along the river bank. Patrols mostly, sir. Another one hundred men spread out along the frontier villages"
Remus was quiet for a moment and none of the staff dared to speak or sit. None was sure of where he stood in the new hierarchy.
"And Vindinium?"
"Seventy levies, a quarter of that mounted."
”The Goths?” he continued, firing his questions like missiles.
”They’ve sent raiding parties north from Juliomagus, none approaching eastward so far. We’ve had reports that a large army is preparing to cross the Liger at that point, perhaps an advance force. King Alaric remains in Iberia, it appears.”
”That may change,” Remus said quietly. The absence of a table map disappointed map and he conjured the one from Soissons in his mind.
Finally turning to regard the officers, Remus' face was a mask of hard precision, with the heavy pride that comes with a decade of incessant warfare. To many in the room, he was the impossible. He slapped his gloves on the center table, causing the men to stir.
"Very good. I want all the horse recalled immediately.”
”General----“
”Immediately. Cavalry sits useless without an active enemy. The same goes for any garrisons outside Vindinium. And Riedonum. I want half the force at Riedonum to march here at once, with all cavalry. The Britons?”
”Restless. Most of their leaders went across the water after Riothamus. There’s still fighting up there and Ambro----“
”That island is irrelevant. Our entire focus is that river out there, and the barbarian scum on the far bank. I take it the fire…?”
The Legatus nodded.
”Yes. Raiders. General, if I may ask----“
Remus sighed. This wasn’t yet a military stuff to drag along with him. These Gallic officers needed to be coaxed. In time that would change, he would see to it. For the present----
”Sit down. All of you.” He waited until they had pulled stools towards the long table. Every face was a blank slate.
”It’s simple. The Goths are greedy. Alaric will cross at Juliomagus, and dare the Gubernator to face him or Clovis, perishing either way. I simply intend to change the plan.” He smiled thinly.
”I plan to take the comite across the river myself, and make Alaric come to me.”
The intake of breath was audible, but to their credit, not one man objected.
”Good then. See to my instructions. And someone get the Exarchus his horse,” he said in passing.