A blue grey dawn gradually transfused the Eastern horizon, beginning to bring light back to the world after the reign of night. It threw stark relief over the hilly valley country south of Iustianopolis and revealing the two armies of Persia and Rome, nearly one hundred thousand men, camped on opposite sides of the valley.

Praetorian Prefect Raeus Vitellius had risen shortly before the dawn – he had slept little during the night, and now wished to survey the battlefield before him. The valley was rich farmland for this far east of the sea, forming around a large oasis. Despite the hilly country, the valley floor, and even some of the surrounding hills, was largely arable, though the farmhouses were all now abandoned – the owners and more fortunate labourers now all taking shelter from the encroaching Persian menace in nearby cities. The ground was therefore thick and heavier than was usual, and the heavy rains of a few days previously had only added to that. Raeus supposed this might help to slow the cavalry down slightly on the heavy ground.

His own army was drawn up on the north-western side of the valley, along a spur of land that formed one of the valleys boundaries. The spur found its origin in a hilltop on the Roman left, the highest point on the battlefield, which was dominated by a large estate house – an imposing stone structure with a private walled garden. The men in that position had spent a lot of time – staying up past dusk – to fortify it, turning the residence in particular into a small fortress – bracing the gates, placing stakes in the ground in key positions to ward off cavalry attacks on the main infantry body, making it as difficult as possible to assault.

From the left, the Roman centre was deployed along a spur of land dropping down, where the right flank was flat and part of the valley floor. Behind this spur was a deep ravine in which ran a small stream that fed into the oasis, which was just advanced and slightly to the left of the Roman right flank.

Facing opposite this, the Persians formed their ranks on another ridge, although it was longer and in many places higher than the Romans ground. The ridge ran across the battlefield, with its high point being at the centre of the Persian position, on a slightly flat-topped hill. From there, the Persian right faced across to the Roman left, on a steep uphill gradient to the Romans fortified farmhouse. However, the Persians’ left was also on the descending slope of a ridge, giving them the definite advantage over the Roman right on the valley floor below them.

Raeus sighed slightly – he knew he would rather have the Persian position – a more defensible one, whilst his own right flank was a touch exposed. He simply hoped he could turn this to his advantage – his whole plan depended on it. Still, he had good troops under his command. The remains of the army of Annius Veno held the left – the two Legions of II Illyricorum and IV Iovia Alpina had been temporarily merged to make one battlefield formation, supported by the Cohors II Afri and I Aegyptia, as well as the peltasts from the Kingdom of Pergamum.

The I Veneria Triumphalis and the Aegean League Phalanxes held the centre, with the Cohors II Mauri and I Austuriani acting in support as light infantry. The Roman cavalry also occupied the centre, supported by 1,000 shock cavalry that the Seleucids had provided the army with. These men were supported with 2,000 archers from Egypt.

Behind the line the I, III, IV and V Praetorian Cohorts were held in reserve with 3,000 additional heavy cavalry from Seleukia.

The right flank was exclusively held by the five smaller Justian Legions, totalling 10,000 men and around 4,500 cavalry, supported by the I Cohors Afri, which had been equipped and trained with bows many years before. Valens Flamininus held command of that sector of the battlefield; the rest would fall to Raeus himself.

Raeus turned away and made for his tent to dress for battle. His nerves were telling, but he hid this from his men and staff behind a steely and confident mask. The previous night the army had held a ceremony for Mars – news of the earthquake in Italia had recently reached the army, and they were keen to avoid his displeasure. Raeus, as Pontifex of Mars, had led the men in prayer, calling on the God of War to favour them in the coming struggle. They had also sacrificed the few oxen or other beasts of burden that they could spare to the God and Raeus simply hoped it would be enough. As his aides strapped his armour to him, he again closed his eyes and silently ran through further prayers.

------------------------------
The Roman Left Flank
------------------------------

Phoebus Apollo had yet to steer his chariot across the horizon to let the days first light appear and Tribune Claudius Trudillus Maxus was already awake in his tent and prepared for the days bloodshed. On the edge of his bed with his face in his hands the young Tribune dreamt of being back in Achaea, at home with his beloved sister. She was way past due for marriage, and when someone did take her hand; Trudillus would be all that was left of his family.

“I will make me something of my name” he said to himself.

Rising from his seat he reached to grab his helm when a centurion burst through the flap, somewhat surprised to see the young officer already awake. Turning to face the man Trudillus gave a wave of his hand motioning for the veteran soldier to speak.

“Sir, would you have me wake the men?”

Placing his crested helm on his head Trudillus made his way for the door giving the soldier a scowling glance.

“No, let them sleep the whole day and we’ll fight this battle ourselves,” he said sarcastically, leaving his confines.

Pausing just outside, the tribune waited for the Centurion. A few seconds passed and the soldier ran quickly through the tent and into the camp barking orders. He was pissed. That was what Trudillus wanted. He wanted them all pissed off.

As his men readied, the young Tribune began making his final examination of the fortified farmhouse he was to defend. It was rather large and little had to be done to strengthen the defences. The front of the house would face the Persian lines with a stone wall approximately 10 feet high. A great door was in the middle and was the only entry into the property besides scaling the walls. Tribune Maxus had ordered some of the fig trees on the property chopped down and used to brace against the door for added strength against the Persian advance, as well as some wood from the army stocks to build a walkway behind the wall for the Greek slingers to perch themselves. With his examination complete he began with the deployment of men.

Along the walls he had the Greeks stretch themselves across its entirety with an increased number in the centre where the door was. Inside the farmhouse itself Trudillus placed some hundred legionnaires, to repel if the door was broke through by Persian infantry. Behind the walls and outside of the house he had the rest of his men form up in Roman fashion. The young officer knew the defences wouldn’t hold, but hopefully the Persians would tire trying to breach them and give the Romans an edge.

------------------------------
The Roman Centre
------------------------------

Prefect Cassius Romulus Julianus of the 1st Cohors Afri walked beside Prefect Pertinax Lesus of 1st Cohors Aegyptia and Legate Quintus Silvanus of I Veneria Triumphalis as they left their tents. Pertinax combed his pepper grey black curls as he untied the reins of his horse from the post. “I will see you two at the end of the day - either here or in the Elysian fields,” he quipped as he mounted his horse. He struck the steed and managed to kick up a mustard yellow cloud of sand and mud as he descended from the command area toward his own position on the Roman left.

Quintus smirked as he checked his own war gear. “Romulus are your men ready?”

“The only way the Roman right will fall is if I am dead,” came the reply from Romulus as he mounted his jet-black stallion in the early morning light. “I will be there when you need me.” Romulus yelled as he steered his horse to a small outcropping near the oasis to survey the battlefield one last time. The cool breeze that blew through his dark curls was the same breeze that causes the banners of the Persian Army on the opposing ridge to begin fluttering in the wind. A wind that is blowing toward his enemy the Persians is a wind that is sent by the gods. Romulus smiled at this omen and looked as the Sun crept over the ridge and thanked Mars for his support.

Romulus observed his brothers of the II Illyricorum under his friend Castilius Didius Carus on the Roman left. He knew their Tribunes well as he had been their trainer not so long ago - he knew they would fiercely protect the left flank of the assembled legions. He snapped out of his reminiscing and galloped off towards his own men.

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The Roman Right Flank
------------------------------

Praetorian Tribune Avitus Sextus bathed himself in the Oasis, splashing the chilly water on his hair and face. A few other soldiers had taken the opportunity of the chance to bathe, but not many – the oasis was advanced of the Roman lines, and many were consumed with nerves. He watched some commotion on the Roman ridge as the Praetorian Prefect mounted and rode swiftly towards the Roman position on the hilltop on the left.

The fresh water here though soothed Avitus’ aching muscles – the army had marched hard to force battle on this ground, but even so, the lay of the land did not seem to overly favour the Roman force. Avitus had raised these concerns with the Praetorian Prefect - in private of course – even though it was somewhat above his rank. But he knew the Prefect well – he had known him for over ten years and fought with him at Cyrene and Appolonia, and so held little fear of him. Raeus had acknowledged the concerns with his usual disconcerting calm – he did not elaborate or go into any great depth but holding Avitus’ eyes with his own, assured him he had considered all the permutations and believed they were set on the best course.

As he scooped more water to his face, the Praetorian reflected on what an unusual man the Praetorian Prefect was. He was neither a great orator nor an open character in front of the men – in fact, he was decidedly frosty. But the men almost without exception trusted and respected him – as a leader by example and a trusted friend of the Emperor. Still, the most testing challenge of his leadership was yet to come, Avitus reflected as he finished his wash, dressed, and returned to the Roman lines.

------------------------------
The Persian Command Centre
------------------------------

The Persian commander, Prince Bahador, had also risen early to survey the battlefield, and now that the sun had finally broken clear of the hills, he surveyed the forces drawn up against him. The Romans had arrayed themselves along the ridge opposite – the Roman left in particular looked formidable on the hilltop, and the central rise was also heavily defended by the Phalanx and Legion. But the flatland of the Roman right drew his eye, held by a group of smaller formations drawn tightly together just behind the Oasis.

“Are those the Seleucids’ pet Legions?” he asked, peering closely at them.

“I believe they are sire” spoke one of the members of his staff.

A trace of a predatory smile traced across Bahador’s lips. “Those men are exceptional soldiers, but they do look exposed. I think perhaps this Roman puts too much stock in them.”

“Indeed sire” another aide spoke enthusiastically.

“Well let us draw up then,” the Prince said, now addressing his generals gathered around him. “I do not like the look of that as a prepared position at all” he said, indicating the Roman left and the farmhouse on the hilltop. “So we shall simply send an exploratory force up there – make it a force of light infantry, say 6,000, and some of the light cavalry. I don’t want that pushed too far – we simply want to hold those men so they’re not able to come down onto our centre.”

“But here” he continued, waving his hand across the Roman centre and right, “here is where the battle shall be won. We make a move against their centre – hit them in waves before committing any heavier infantry or cavalry. Do the same with the right, but here commit all you can. We shall send cavalry to try to flank them, and then commit heavily. Take out that right flank and the whole position should unravel.”

The surrounding generals added earnest agreements – they seemed to have similar forces to the Romans, but with a vast advantage in cavalry. These men were now eager to crush these forces once and for all, and the city of Iustianapolis would surely follow.

Bahador spoke once more. “Act with cautious aggression! This enemy, though we match them in forces, are capable and strong fighters, but with our cavalry we can fight this battle on our own terms. I shall review the situation with the reserves as they come, but I will commit what I can mainly to support our left. Our key to overwhelming is to concentrate our best forces where we can win a decisive victory – remember that! Tonight, men, we shall have shattered the future of the Seleucid Empire and shown that the only real soldiers are Persian soldiers!”

The men cheered in approval. Bahador smiled and dismissed them to rouse their troops. Though he had doubts, he knew his men were veterans and would not fail him. All would now depend on the upcoming fight.

------------------------------
The Roman Right Flank
------------------------------

Valens Flamininus looked on steadfastly as his men formed themselves into formation on the right. He was immensely proud of them – though their reputation was notorious, he knew they were now the finest body of soldier in the world – veterans of ten years of war who had fought the Persians with much distinction in the past.

Now, at the dawn of this battle, he couldn’t help feel they were on the eve of a momentous change for him and the men. The offer Raeus Vitellius had put before him in their first meeting several weeks ago had stirred much interest in the men – although for some it held little interest – they had now settled and their lives were in the East. But some still had family or homes in the West that they wished to go back to, and many held the pride in their Legions, and wished to see them restored.

It felt strange to be fighting with Romans again, and in particular, some of the soldiers they had even fought against in the past. Some of his men had welcomed the chance to fight with Imperial troops, but the majority felt uneasy or hostile. To date there had been a few limited and sporadic cases of feuding between the Justian and Roman troops, but both Valens and Prefect Vitellius had dealt these with most severely, and it had quickly put a stop to the incidents.

He did have confidence in the plan that he and the Praetorian Prefect had developed however, but he was aware it would take a heavy toll upon his men. He understood that it had to be them. After the ceremony for Mars the previous night, Valens and Raeus had held a private counsel, and it had been the Justian general who had stated that his men should hold the exposed right flank. Raeus had nodded slowly in assent – Valens got the impression that he was hoping he would volunteer his men rather than have to make the suggestion himself.

His thoughts were disturbed by a series of loud trumpeting and shouting of the Persian army opposite as they began to move. Serried ranks of infantry and large formations of cavalry began to march in unison across the field. And Valens noted with a strange sense of satisfaction that a large portion of the enemy were marching to engage his own formations.

------------------------------
The Roman Left Flank
------------------------------

His arm stayed aloft for a few moments after releasing its payload and as Arathae Flavus looked down his line both left and right, the same gleam stood in every eye, and suddenly he realized how out of place the stone-faced expression that the faces outside those eyes held. It seemed to him that they should all have a manic smile, like the face of a child who has just found a horde of sweets that must be protected and savoured. As Arathae looked back across the field, he as well had to force his face into a rigid stone face rather than let the manic smile overtake him, for the first volley of pila had just sunk into the Persian line.

How awesome a scene it would have been, were the gods to be looking down upon this small place in the deserts of the East this day that so many mortals stood against one another clashing for the furtherance of their own people. Even as the first of the men along the Persian line fell, their commanders signalled for the infantry to move forward and begin the climb up to meet the Romans at the top of their hill. So too, with the movement of the Persians came the first volleys of Persian arrows, sinking into shields as the Romans moved to defend against them.

As the Persians moved ever closer, Arathae and his men unleashed another volley of pila, which met the Persians with welcome screams. Now, the order to advance was given, blades drawn and the Roman line moved down the hill to meet the Persians. The momentum of the Roman line as it moved down the hill would help them in the opening seconds as the two lines clashed, and so it did. As the Roman line fell into the Persians, many of the Roman soldiers braced against their shields, and used their speed to drive into the Persians and knock the first men to the ground.

-----------------------
The Roman Centre
-----------------------

Quintus Silvanus looked on steadily as the ranks of Persians advanced towards his own men. His Legion looked on with stony faces as the light infantry screen engaged in sporadic sorties with the Persian light infantry. The auxilia currently held the ground to ensure the Persian archers were unable to get within range, but the weight of numbers meant a tactical withdrawal was inevitable shortly.

Quintus took a few paces forward and the Legate turned to face his Legion, Venera Triumphalis. They stretched from almost touching the Roman left held by the Venan Legions, and towards the Greek phalanxes on their right. The old Legate was proud of these men – he had served with them for many years, and he couldn’t help but feel this would be his final battle with them – he was getting old now, and had seen many battles, and began to feel a retirement in politics in Rome might suit him better.

“Men!” he called. “We will be pressed in this battle for long periods – keep strong, for it shall be on our shoulders to seal this battle! And I know you shall not fail our Empire. We fight today with rebels and traitors who fight for their own glory. Let them see that the finest fighters are true Romans – men of honour, grit and integrity!”

He was interrupted as the Auxilia shouted a recall and began to stream back towards the Roman lines. Quintus looked up and saw the Egyptian archers now scrambling into position on the ridge above them – though not armed with a bow as powerful as the composite bow employed by the Persians, with the height advantage they may be able to match the range.

“It is an honour to serve with you! Keep your shield high and your sword strong!” The men cheered their approval as the Legate pulled on his helmet, and joined shields as the Persian light infantry sallied towards their lines, as the archers began to form up behind them.

Augustus Metellus Dio sat upon his horse, overlooking the ensuing battle. Metellus was in the centre of the Roman formation just behind the infantry with his 5,000 cavalrymen, made up of mostly Roman, yet some Seleucid cavalry. Metellus could see way to the left what looked to be shaping up into a bloody and violent affair. As he watched carefully, it brought him back to the battle he had fought under the forces of Annius Veno. Watching the Roman casualties reminded him of the disaster they had faced against the Persians some months ago. He sighed to himself, and thought about all his comrades, the men of XXIV Tiberia, who had all died to the hands of these Persians, nearly to the last man. Metellus was one of the only survivors because he was with the cavalry, and because he was still alive to fight another day, he thought of this as his chance to extract vengeance upon these bloody Persians.

However Metellus was soon interrupted. The Persian forces were just yards in front of them now as Metellus began to speak.

Metellus unsheathed his gladius and held it high up in the air so his men could see it shine in the sun. “Men, today it is our job to screen our centre from the Persian forces. Some of you have fought these Persians before - they are skilled, but they are mortal. So let’s send them to the afterlife! On me!”

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The Roman Command Centre
------------------------------------

Raeus looked on as across the field, battle was joined. The Persians largely pushed on first with light infantry supported with light cavalry reinforcements. They would largely attack in waved assaults – as one light screen would withdraw, the next assault would press on before the Romans had a chance to push their own light screen back in front. Raeus sensed the Persians were probing at the Imperial line, searching for any weaknesses that could be exploited or pushed upon – their heavier infantry largely hung back and allowed their lightly armed colleagues to handle the initial engagements.

The Persian cavalry were being held at arms length as far as possible from the infantry. Raeus noted with some satisfaction that Tribune Metellus Dio and the Roman cavalry contingent in the centre were doing an excellent job of simply pushing the Persian light cavalry and horse archers back as soon as they moved near enough to threaten the Roman line. For slight periods in between, the Persians would pepper the Roman line with arrows, but the Egyptians were just about within range on the ridge above the Persian lines, and it meant the Persians could not spend long periods hitting the line from distance.

He was satisfied that the Persians had so far largely refused his left flank – they had committed with some light infantry and cavalry, but did not show much intent of trying to force the Romans from the fortified position. The major thrust had come at the Justians on the right, whose own cavalry were already heavily engaged against their Persian counterparts. He turned to one of his aides, Cornelius Agrippa, son of the former Consul, Maximus Agrippa.

“Adiuvator, go down to our right and find out where General Flamininus is spending the battle. Stay with him for a time – he will need reinforcement during the day, and I want someone who knows’ exactly where I am. As soon as he sends you, look for me here – if I’m not here I will be down with the troops and will be back shortly. Understood?”

“Aye sir,” the young officer replied, and scurried away. Raeus liked the young Agrippa, he found him efficient and eager to please, and he didn’t ask stupid questions. He supposed he would need to get him a battle commission soon enough – the young man had been on his staff for several years, and he needed front line experience.

Raeus watched as the Persians charged the centre of Venera Triumphalis and the Greek Phalanx again – roaring a battle cry, the light infantry hurled themselves at the formations, and broke like water on a rock. Still they would come, Raeus knew, and they would soon be harder pressed.

Nearby, Gaius Amelius Veno waited. He could hear the sound of battle but could not see how it fared, but the noise was thunderous – it was his first taste of battle on this scale, and to be so near and inactive chafed at him. Still, he knew he must wait, for his time would come.

----------------------------
Two hours later
The Roman Right Flank
----------------------------

Valens Flamininus surveyed his section of the battle from just behind the Justian battle line. His men were massively hard pressed now – the Persians initial attacks of waved light infantry attacks had now given way to the open battle as the Persians committed their heavy infantry and cavalry. Though the infantry were not the match of his own veteran Legions, they had numbers on their side when assisted by the light infantry. But it was the cavalry that were causing a major headache.

The Persians had committed well over half their cavalry already to the right flank. Though his own cavalry were experienced at battling the Persians, and they now had the support of over 2,000 additional heavy Seleucid cavalry that the Praetorian Prefect had recently sent to him, they were heavily outnumbered, and not able to stop all of the cavalry from engaging his infantry. And so his men held as both shock and heavy cavalry crashed into their lines – but serious damage was being done.

His section of the line was now refracting backwards slightly as the sheer weight of numbers pushed them, so that from the Roman centre, the line now went at a slightly obtuse angle. Valens had so far made sure that the junction between his troops and the Phalanx was held, but his reserves were dwindling now, and there was every danger that the Persians would swarm round and flank him.

He watched in front of him as Septimus Vitellius himself stepped into the front rank of his Legion stepped into the front rank of V Ferrata. His men loved the young Legate - he was a fearsome warrior and drove his men on by sheer force of example – he roared a battle cry and ripped into the Persian heavy infantryman in front of him, battering his shield against him and then bringing the point of his sword down through the mans helm.

Valens smiled. With men such as this, he knew his men would fight to the end. But he needed relief soon, or the right flank would crumble away to nothing.

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The Persian Command Centre
------------------------------------

Prince Bahador was pleased with how the battle had been going. Whilst his right flank was doing little more than holding, his left flank already looked likely to make a breakthrough against the perfidious Justian troops. The Roman commander was even weakening his centre in an attempt to hold his right, and his cavalry were stretching the open field as far as possible. He felt like the Romans were simply reacting to him at the moment rather than trying to force the initiative, and that gave him confidence to push his men on.

He felt proud of these men – they were the men who had crushed the last Roman army, and now, even with Justian assistance, they would destroy this force as well, and in particular, the Seleucids own pet legions. These men puzzled the Prince though – they were traitors to the Roman Empire, yet now they fought side by side with them. He felt sure he would never understand Romans – men who lived side by side with barbarians did not deserve the term of civilised.

Still, a further push was necessary. Turning to one of his captains of heavy infantry in the reserves he spoke, “Take your men down and push on to the left of the line. See if you can flank them and start to roll them up.” The captain nodded, and made to gather his 1,500 heavy infantrymen – experienced, battle hardened veterans who the Prince felt would begin to open some gaps in the Justian line. The end he felt, was a matter of hours away.

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The Roman Command Centre
------------------------------------

Praetorian Prefect Vitellius removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow as he paced back up the hill towards where his staff was waiting. He had been down to briefly join the men in the front rank of Venera Triumphalis – he felt it was important that they saw he was willing to get involved and share in the hardships of the frontline. It had been only a momentary spell – he was wary of spending too long away from the hilltop – he needed to keep tight control of the battlefield and his troops.

He wiped his sword clear of blood on a tuft of grass, and as he reached the summit, nodded politely to his aides and turned to survey the battlefield. The Justians were still hard pressed and falling back, but holding doggedly. The centre was being pushed, but nowhere near as hard, and both Venera Triumphalis and the Greek Phalanx looked in solid condition. The left was more difficult to see since it was above his position, but he could still see the men of the two Legions, II Illyrocium and IV Iova Alpina holding strongly.

Across the field though, he could see a large contingent of what seemed to be heavy infantry departing from the Persian hilltop opposite and making towards his own right flank. Almost at the same instant, Cornelius Agrippa returned to the hilltop.

“Sire, given the reinforcements which Legate Flamininus feels are going to press on his lines, he requests any further reserves you could assist him with.”

Raeus thought for but an instant. “Very well. Send words to the Praetorian IV and V Cohorts – they are to move to reinforce the right flank and put themselves at Valens’ disposal.”

“Aye sir,” the young Agrippa spoke and immediately made down the hill to where the IV and V waited behind the Roman centre.

‘Very soon,’ Raeus thought, ‘Very soon I had best make my move or it will soon be too late.’

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The Roman Right Flank
-----------------------------

The Persians pushed their men harder onto the Justian troops as they fell back. As the Persians move to fill any gaps, the sky was clouded with a series of arrows as the 1st Cohors Afri rained down arrows upon them. Amongst the chaos, and virtually unseen, a Persian general fell with an arrow in side.

Cassius Romulus Julianus smiled as he saw the slaughter of the Persians. They were firing high over the frontline to catch the Persians swamping in behind. The second wave would drop 50 paces behind the first wave and then the third wave would hit dead centre between the two points. Romulus could see that the morale of the men was still holding and that while the day was not nearly won the plan was hopefully coming together. He raised his right hand and screamed once more. “Fire!”


Avitus Sextus and the V Praetorian Cohort made double time behind the Roman lines as they made their way to the right flank. He signalled for the cohort to wait, and along with Septimus Victricus from the IV Cohort, made their way to where Valens Flamininus stood with his own staff. The Justian general looked up as they arrived – he had a cut just above his right eye and his skin was oiled with sweat. He had clearly been fighting in the front ranks himself.

“Reporting as ordered!” Avitus addressed the rebel general.

“Ah, Praetorians,” Valens said with maybe a flicker of disdain, which Sextus chose to ignore. “Yes, I need to supplement my units on the far right – I do not ask you to hold the flank yourselves. You will slot in here,” he said, indicating a point between the XX Persa Pestis and the XIX Iulia Hasta, “enabling my men to stretch their flank sufficiently to cover any gaps.”

Septimus Victricus nodded, and spoke “Aye, we’ll plug the gap then.”

“Excellent. Go to it then.” Valens spoke a dismiss.

As they turned, the two Praetorian Tribunes’ eyes caught. The look was clear between the two – neither was happy in the slightest at fighting flanked with traitors on both sides. Both men had been at Cyrene and, despite the Justians reputation, both were far from delighted to be with the sackers of Rome. Still, Avitus reflected as the Justians stepped back from the line and allowed the Praetorians to replace them, he would do his duty, for Rome, if not for the Justians.

----------------------
One hour later
Roman Left Flank
----------------------

The Roman line had fallen back slightly, but was holding the numerically superior Persians at bay. The blade in Arathae Flavus’ hand had become slippery, yet his hand was a vice upon its hilt, and three more Persian’s fell before him as he took another step. Men on both sides had fallen, but it seemed as though both armies were rooted to this spot by some insurmountable force located behind each, as a stone wall driving both groups into a place fit enough only for one. Steel met steel, and steel met wood, but to the ears of Arathae Flavus, only a great song was heard. The sounds of battle flowing and mixing together to form a beautiful and horrifying piece.

Then, a man stepped before Arathae, looking nearly identical to the rest of those who had stepped up to meet him this day, save for one aspect. This man held himself with such ease, even in the heat of battle that it went beyond confidence or even arrogance, and it was this poise that told Arathae this man was no ordinary Persian soldier. There was a moment between them where neither moved, only their eyes clashed, each sizing the other up, yet when even that was met equally, the Persian gave a small flick of his blade as if to say, “After you.” Then both flashed in a flurry of movement, Persian blades crashing against the Roman Shield. On and on the two engaged in this murderous dance, until even the men battling around them had moved outward so as to give the two a wider birth to do their battle. Finally, Arathae caught the Persians blade with his own, and was able to use his shield to strike out the Persian’s face, knocking him back onto the ground, where he was finished with a quick thrust into his chest. His men roared in triumph whilst the Persians groaned slightly in the defeat of their champion, and the two lines re-engaged with increased ferocity.

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Roman Right Flank
-----------------------

Avitus Sextus raised his shield just in time to catch a Persian axe in it, and then skewered the attacking Persian as he brought his sword around his shield and into the soldier’s neck. The man died mewing horribly and clasping at the Praetorian Tribunes feet as he died.

The centurions shouted to rotate and Sextus stepped back from the front rank of the V Cohort. Suddenly, a cheer went up from amongst his men. Turning, Avitus saw the cause of it – the Praetorian Prefect had stepped into the front rank to fight with the men.

Avitus smiled slightly as he watched the Prefect fight. In his fine dress armour, he drew a lot of attention from the Persian infantry – any opportunity to kill the Roman commander would see whoever responsible is richly rewarded. But Raeus was flanked by battle hardened Praetorians on both sides, who took a lot of the pressure from him.

Still, the Tribune reflected, the Prefect hardly needed them. He was a curious man in battle, noiseless and silent, and his face bore a curious neutral expression, as if he were writing a letter, simply going through some well-practiced motion, rather than fighting for his life. But every blow that Raeus struck was calculated and precise, using his shield as a weapon just as effectively as his gladius, and no Persian seemed to be able to stand before him. After a few moments, to great cheering from both the V and IV Cohorts, the Prefect retired from the front line.

As he made his way back behind the lines, Raeus ripped off his helm and gulped in fresh air, running his hands through his hair that had become matted with sweat. He strode, with a few adjutants and of his bodyguard behind him, to where Valens Flamininus stood commanding the right flank.

“General, how are your men faring?” Raeus asked, although he already knew the answer. The line was stretching and bending backwards under the sheer weight the Justians were withstanding.

“Hard, Prefect Vitellius,” Valens returned. “Our line is stretched and what reserves I do have are virtually continually in action simply plugging gaps. Our cavalry are performing superbly but they are massively outnumbered, and not able to shield us well enough, though at least their archers have been quiet. But we need to act soon, I cannot guarantee even my men can take a massive amount more punishment.”

Raeus looked at the line before them solemnly. He could only see a mass of Persians gathered like a hoard beating at a gate held by an increasingly thinning line of men. The only benefit was that the archers of the Cohors I Afri were able to shoot with virtual impunity down into the Persian left flank, though only while they still had the arrows to do so. He felt his nerves tensing.

“Very well. We shall fully commit then. I will get back to my command post and make the move.”

“Good.” Valens spoke grimly. As soon as you do, I’ll press on as much as I can if the pressure slackens at all.

Raeus smiled faintly, and hurried back to where his own staff waited for him atop the ridge.

-----------------------
The Roman Centre
-----------------------

Quintus Silvanus braced himself, his legs set in the ground as the Persian light infantryman threw himself at the Legate. He battered the shield across himself, forcing the Persian off balance and onto the side that his shield didn’t protect, where the man next to the Legate quickly dispatched him.

The Persians had been pressing on the centre, but there had been no heavy pressure to withstand, and it felt like the enemy were increasingly performing a holding actions on I Venera Triumphalis and the Greek Phalanx. Indeed, Quintus now was casting worried eyes to his right, where the Justians on the open flatland were refracting backwards. The ridge had afforded his men much protection, and now he simply hoped it would not all be for nothing.

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The Persian Command Centre
-----------------------------------

Prince Bahador smiled like a predator eying up his prey. The battle was very much swinging in the Persian favour, the Romans were being held in the Centre and the Right, and by the looks of the Justian troops on his left, and they would break before too long. In fact, he was quite surprised they had not done so yet – his captains were keeping almost continuous pressure on, and there can have been little reprieve for the front line troops.

A messenger arrived from the right flank. “Sire, our generals request additional reinforcements to the left flank – they say the Roman reserves are spent, and any additional men will enable them to outflank the enemy.”

Bahador looked hard at the flank. He was wary of committing overly, but below him he saw the road to Antioch before him. With the Justians all but destroyed, all the other allied armies would be forced to withdraw in a final defence of Antioch. The Roman armies would melt away – they always did – if he could just crush the Justians in the jaws of his troops. And it would be he, Prince Bahador, who had delivered the crushing blow to the Seleucid Empire, and delivered the keys of an Empire to his uncle. It was hubris that claimed him.

“Very well,” he said. “Transfer 1,500 infantry from the centre to the right, and send in another 1,000 from the reserves.” Barring his own bodyguard, that was virtually the last of his reserves, but the centre was more than comfortable in holding, and the fighting raging around the farmhouse indicated the Romans were still more than occupied.

He turned to his aides. “Suit me for battle. I intend to be fighting in the front rank when the Justians break.”

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The Roman Command Centre
-----------------------------------

Raeus Vitellius raced up the hill, leaving many of his staff trailing in his wake. He reached the hilltop just in time to see fresh infantry moving off the hilltop at the centre of the Persian lines. Also, infantry were falling back from the Roman centre to re-deploy to the right flank – the centre still matched up but now the weight of cavalry and infantry moving to the right would soon be intolerable for even the veteran Justians. It was time.

Raeus turned once more to Cornelius Agrippa. “Cornelius, go to Legate Veno. Tell him to move – and ask him to take me that hill” he said, pointing to the Persian command centre. “And go forward with them, young Agrippa. It’s time you learnt something of war – stay by Legate Veno, he will see you safe.”

Cornelius saluted eagerly, and disappeared to find the Legate. Turning to the Praetorian First Tribune he barked “Ciriacus take the first cohort and reinforce General Flamininus on the right. Go – now!” The Tribune nodded eagerly; keen to be getting into the battle at last. And Raeus prayed to Mars that he was not too late.

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The Persian Command Centre
------------------------------------

Prince Bahador stalked from his command tent now in his finest armour. His horse was almost prepared for him, and he looked with some satisfaction on the field beneath him. The infantry transferred from the centre were now marching behind the Persian left flank to take up position, and his last reserves were on their way down. Once those men were committed the Justians would have moments to live. His cavalry would probably enable him to hack the Romans down as they retreated, even roll up the centre whilst they were still in battle. His mind raced with possibilities – he was already half thinking of Iustianopolis, and then Antioch.

Then one of his aides frantically gestured to him. At first Bahador snapped at the man, unable to make out what he was talking about. And then he looked again and blanched. For another eagle rose over the ridge.

----------------------
The Roman Centre
----------------------

The men of IX Pompeia Hispania advanced at double time, racing down the ridge towards the Aegean League Phalanx and I Venera Triumphalis, who were both adjusting to let the fresh Legion take a place in the line with them. Gauis Amelius Veno was at their forefront as they struck into the Persians front ranks and simply pushed their way through, with the other two allied formations now forging on with them. Persian resistance weakened rapidly – they were outnumbered and rapidly swamped by the western troops.

Raeus and his staff rode on a short distant behind as the I Venera Triumphalis, IX Pompeia Hispania and the Phalanx desperately drove on across the valley floor. The Persian lighter infantry, so dismayed at the arrival of a whole fresh Legion into the battle had either swiftly fallen back or been cut down where they stood. The few remaining regiments of heavier infantry were holding out, but were massively outnumbered and quickly outflanked and forced backwards after taking heavy casualties. The centres cavalry, already few in number, were being harassed and driven away from the infantry drive by the cavalry of Metellus Dio.

“Drive!” the Praetorian Prefect roared. “Drive!” His men fought ferociously, hacking through the isolated Persian formations. It was imperative that they drove on far enough so the Phalanx on their right could fully wheel round onto the Persian left flank to prevent units from pressing into the flanks of the Romans central drive. Already some units were beginning to disengage from the Justians to try and reinforce the shattering centre. So the Phalanx, which had begun to wheel, had to complete the manoeuvre.

Looking on ahead, a solitary Persian captain of heavy infantry was trying to organise a holding action. He could see Prince Bahador behind beginning to try and get a formation together, and the captain had nobly chosen to organise a rearguard to buy the Persian centre time to reform. They were also preventing the two Legions from pushing far enough for the Phalanx to wheel. The captain beat some light infantry into line with his own to try and make his own line as solid as possible. He would be overwhelmed – but he might buy Bahador time to forge his counterattack.

“Come on boys!” roared Quintus Silvanus. “Rip into them! Tear them to pieces!” The men of Venera Triumphalis threw themselves at the Persian rearguard, battering away with shields and using their weight against the Persians. “Tribune!” he roared. “Move the 4th and 6th cohorts to flank them!” Quintus felt more alive now than he had in years. The adrenaline pumped through him, and though he wasn’t as fast as he used to be, he felt strong and alive. He brought his sword crushing down onto another Persians soldiers’ skull. His men, along with those of Pompeia Hispania, were already wrapping around the formation, which broke and ran moments later with the death of the heroic Persian captain.

----------------------------
The Roman Right Flank
----------------------------

Romulus’ nostrils burned from the early afternoon sun, humidity from the previous day’s rain and the now blood soaked battlefield. Romulus had just sent an aide to deliver the arrow reserves as he watched the Phalanx draw around the Persian right flank and locked into place – shielding the advance of the two Legions in the centre.

“Move!” roared the Prefect and his men made double time to move behind the Greek formation. They needed to move in behind the Greek troops so the Egyptian archers in the centre could move to back up the Justian troops.

Romulus moved at a run – and his men followed in his wake. The ground over which they moved was littered with dead and it made finding a footing difficult. The smell and noise was sickening, but the Tribune was of stout mind, and carried on with his duties.

He stopped the men and formed them up behind the large Greek formation. “Men! Make ready once more – give them hell! Fire!” Arrows streaked the sky, and Romulus knew many Persians would never know their grim deaths streaking from the sky.

-----------------------
The Persian Centre
-----------------------

The battle now hung in the balance. Like two great gladiators in battle, the Persians had beaten away at the Roman shield on the right, hoping to smash it to pieces and leave the line defenceless. But now, an opening had appeared and the Romans had struck, shattering the Persian breastplate of the centre. Now in a little while it would emerge whether the wound would be fatal.

Bahador had been dismayed at the Roman breakthrough at the centre, but he was an excellent commander, and had responded quickly to forge a counterattack. The last of his reserves he had sent to the right flank had been quickly drawn back, and he had rallied the retreating infantry from the centre and forced them into line. Finally, he still had his elite bodyguard of 1,000 heavy cavalry, coupled with the 5,500 infantry, deployed along the slope of the hilltop, he hoped to stop the Romans wanton advance to divide his army, and at least buy time for units from the right flank to transfer to the centre. The left flank was not pushing as hard on the Justian troops, but he needed a reprieve to extricate his army. So he waited as the Romans pressed on towards his thin line.

First contact was made as IX Pompeia Hispania and the leading elements of I Venera Triumphalis. The Persians now fought desperately – and they now had the advantage of being on the slope, if not the numbers. The Romans groped around at the flanks of the Persian infantry to try to gain a foothold as quickly as possible. It was at this moment that Bahador struck.

Looping around the Roman flank, he drove his bodyguard deep into the flank of Pompeia Hispania, wiping out tens of men by the sheer impact alone. The Legion as a whole seemed to convulse and shudder, as if as a whole being. Bahador, deeply engaged in the battle, brought his sword crashing down this way and that about him and the Legions progress, now hemmed in the flank, was halted, and the pendulum of fate faltered the Persians way once more.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a Roman horn sounded a charge. Fresh from having chased off a large section of the Persian centres cavalry, the Roman cavalry under Metellus Dio appeared above the gathering melee. Once again raising his sword, the Tribune ordered a charge. The cavalry slammed into the flank of the Persian elite guards in a great din of swords, screaming and steeds colliding. Metellus and his men became intertwined with that of the bodyguards, and it was an even bloodier affair then the cavalry charge he waged under Annius Veno. As he looked around Metellus could see these heavily armoured warriors using their muscle on the Roman forces - they fought hard and well. In the midst of the battle at one point in the fighting, Metellus as many of the other men grew tired from fighting these fierce warriors, and let down his guard for a moment. A hulking Persian came rushing up to Metellus and smashed him in the head so hard that his helmet fell off and he almost lost balance off his horse.

As Metellus regained control of his horse, his nerves nearly got to him. He knew in a cavalry engagement if you fell off your horse you were doomed. He quickly regained his seat back up on his horse he blocked the Persian’s attack with his gladius, and stabbed the man in the shoulder in the exposed area of his armour.

After fighting for a while, regardless of the great skill these Persians showed, they simply were outnumbered by that of the Romans, and they pulled back the pressure a bit, until finally IX Pompeia Hispania and I Venera Triumphalis really brought the fighting to them.

Bahador fought like a demon himself – he was a skilled sword and horseman, and no Roman cavalryman was able to match him. But as he looked around him, though his guards fought like lions to try to turn the battle, they were too few. The Prince cursed and then shouted to the captain of the guard “We must draw back! Get the men to fall back on the right flank – the centre is lost!” The guards drew back and retreated on the growing mass of men on the Persian left flank – the centre was open and the remaining Persian infantry faced an increasingly hard battle to hold their ground.

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The Roman Right Flank
-----------------------------

The pressure had lessened on the Roman right – Valens Flamininus could physically see it. Units had become slightly lost in dismay as the centre crumbled and they were isolated – some had withdrawn to try and press on the centre, particularly the cavalry, allowing the Roman cavalry to get more heavily involved in the pressure on the infantry. The Persians who had been withdrawing to the centre had been held by the Phalanxes of the Aegean League, and several cohorts of I Venera Triumphalis which were now beginning to form up on their left flank. The net was drawing tighter around the swollen Persian left flank.

His men had taken heavy casualties, but now they were driving on to enact sweet revenge on the Persian troops. The Praetorian reinforcements had braced the line well, and now with the slackening of pressure, Valens urged the Justian troops on in a fierce drive to regain their lost ground.

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The Roman Left Flank
---------------------------

As time had passed in the battle, it became more and more clear that the left of the Roman line was holding quite effectively against the Persian onslaught. Arathae Flavus took a moment to survey the rest of the battle, progressing down in the lower portion of the field, he saw the same there, as the centre of the Roman line churned its way through the Persians reforming centre.

By the time Arathae was next able to step back, withdrawing from the focus of battle, the sun had moved across the sky a fair portion across the sky. The battle was waging on, yet Rome had taken distinct advantages and the Persian resolve was beginning to waver. Each man that Arathae stepped before was far less confident than those he had faced at the opening of the battle, and as his gaze stretched over the Persian line he saw why. The centre portion of the Roman line had broken through their Persian counterpart and there were now Roman troops visible on the hilltop at the centre of the Persian line – cheering and shouting at the victory they had won. Arathae stepped back into the line of battle – there was still much for him to do.

----------------------
The Roman Centre
----------------------

Gauis Amelius Veno roared with triumph as the last Persians turned and ran from his victorious troops. He led his men at a run up the slope after them, and so took the hilltop at the centre of the Persian position. From there, he could see the remains of the centre retreating from the field. They seemed now scattered and broken, and so, leaving a few cohorts to hold the hilltop, and send for him at the first sign of a determined counterattack. With that, Pompeia Hispania marched down to help I Venera Triumphalis in the attack on the Persian left flank.

---------------------------
One hour later
The Roman Left Flank
---------------------------

The battle had been raging intensely for sometime now around the farmhouse. The Greek slingers had done their best on the walls but had tired more quickly than Tribune Maxus had hoped. With the slingers falling back the Persians were not only able to now breach the walls, but had started around the outer perimeter infiltrating the farmhouse defences. The men inside the farmhouse were still holding, but the heavy Persian infantry had started to encircle the right flank and Trudillus had no choice but to order them out to reinforce those men.

“Sir, the men on the right are giving way. We must recall the men from the farmhouse to aid them or we’ll be seeing another route!” screamed a centurion trying to fight and oversee at the same time.”

“Yes I know,” screamed back the Tribune as he cut down a light infantryman and took in the sight. It was no longer organized warfare, but an entangled mess of men in close quarters.

“Have them fall back and enforce the right, but before they do…” he paused as another enemy approached. With a thrust of his gladius Maxus made quick work of the man and pushed him off his blade returning to the matter at hand.

“Fire the farmhouse to prevent more Persian infantry from entering our middle!”

With a quick nod the centurion moved as quickly as possible and Tribune Maxus turned to his right flank, watching as more heavy infantry began encircling the men. Turning to his left he saw they were holding strong. Removing himself from his position in the middle he ran to his right and joined in the fray. Some men paused to see their officer join them, and it raised their spirits. Moments after smoke filled the air and flames erupted from the farmhouse. The men from inside quickly joined up with the right. They were to hold long enough, till the Praetorians of the II Cohort arrived to help subdue the flank.

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The Roman Command Centre
------------------------------------

The field was now one of absolute carnage. The farmhouse was now ablaze such was the fierce fighting on the left, and the remains of the Persian centre were now fragmented and incapable of making too determined an assault against the Praetorians of the III Cohort and the troops of Pompeia Hispania.

And now the encirclement of the Persian left, backed up against the oasis, was nearly complete. Some troops at the rear of the line had seen what was coming, and had broken out and retreated before the men of Pompeia Hispania could close the net. Other men were beginning to attempt to rush through the oasis itself, but the water was deep in the centre, and some men could not cross, and large formations found it impossible.

But the rest now put up fanatical resistance as they were pressed back by the revitalised Justian troops, the Phalanx of the Aegean League and the I and IX Legions. Many of these men must have known they were dead, and they fought with the desperate courage of doomed men, clawing their killers as they fell, spitting curses. Even the mighty Persian cavalry was becoming tactically useless – with no space to move or operate in now, they were now easy targets for the terrible revenge that particularly the Justian Legions wreaked upon them.

Raeus Vitellius now sat on horseback behind I Venera Triumphalis as they cut heavily into the mass of Persian men, now just a bloated mass of butcher’s meat to be massacred. “Push them back!” he roared. “Don’t give them room to move!” He could not see the Persian general, but he knew that somewhere in this mass he lay. If he could kill that man, who, by all accounts, had some talents as a general, then the day would be complete.

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The Roman right flank
---------------------------

General Valens Flamininus ripped his sword through a Persian heavy infantryman’s breastplate, snarling a curse at the man as he died. Looking around, his men were fighting with a similar ferocity, stabbing past their shields at Persian men, who had nowhere to move as they were torn apart. Pressed on by weight of numbers behind them, these men went down screaming horribly, and ichor now spattered across the Justian generals face as he slashed another mans face.

The plan had worked, but at quite a high price. His men had taken a heavy beating, but even in his anger, he knew it must have been them – no other men could have taken such punishment for so long. And now there was a brutal, visceral and sadistic revenge to be had.


Prince Bahador looked around desperately, tearing through any Roman soldier impudent enough to step near him. His men were still fighting, but the gaps were closing up as his men went down. ‘I have been undone’ he realised and he now sensed the battle was beyond him. ‘Damn these Romans,’ he thought, ‘but I can still keep my army in the field.

He now understood at least why his left flank had proved so inadequate at assisting the centre – his two generals who he had sent to command the assault on this section of the line had both fallen, one dead in the front rank, the other receiving an arrow wound that had incapacitated him completely, but neither aides aware of the status of the other, and unable to locate them either. Without these men, the captains of individual units had acted on their own, preventing any active cohesion.

“Sire,” an aide who now looked pitiably afraid shouted to him from a horse next to him. “We must escape! All is lost!”

The young prince looked with disdain at the aide, who looked disturbingly close to weeping, but decided the man was right. There was nothing he could achieve here, and he now had to save as much of his army as he could.

“Organise a breakout” he ordered. “Forge up the men into as large a block as is possible – take the heavy infantry and cavalry where you can. We will throw them at this section of the line” he now indicated the left flank of the IX Pompeia Hispania, and where the unit met with I Venera Triumphalis “We’ll flood them and scatter, and try to regroup again later.” Those captains who were with him nodded gravely but knew what they must do. “Good luck men.”


Metellus Dio smiled. The Persians were now terribly pressed, and he saw they had won the flank. Metellus and the cavalry rode right through many gaps of the Persian forces, and it was a blood bath. Some men did not even fight back, they simply ran, and the cavalry just mowed them down. There were so many Metellus couldn’t swing his sword fast enough to kill them, but his men did good work. Now trapped, Metellus and his men simply slaughtered men as if they were stepping on ants. Some Persians at this point tried to surrender, and while some were successful, others got cut down before the Romans could realize they were trying to surrender.


Raeus kicked his horse forward as he rode away from the front. He hated fighting on horseback – even the best-trained beasts could be skittish and nervous in the height of battle, and he much prepared to rely on his own speed of foot in battle to try and gain an edge. Now, having just taken another spell in the front line, it was time for another change in battle.

He galloped with his aide and entourage towards where the Egyptian archers now sat – they had wheeled round, keeping behind the I Venera Triumphalis, and were now putting fire down into the mass of the Persian left flank. Raeus turned to the Persian captain and barked an order.

“Shoot them in the…water!” he shouted in halting Egyptian. His command of the language was very basic, limited to the little his father had taught him in his youth. However, the Egyptian captains own Latin was not formidable, and he greatly appreciated the gesture. His face flushed a beaming smile of broken and rotting teeth, and shouted at his own men, who now adjusted their aims and began to bring their arrows down on the Oasis itself, which was filling with the men who could swim or others trying to wade round the edge to safety. Men cried out as the arrows fell; others sank or began to bob unmoving in the water. Raeus hoped this would slow the men seeking to retreat that way, and enable him to destroy or capture as many of the Persians as possible.


Quintus Silvanus roared his battle fury. This was what battle was all about – the brutal hand to hand fighting leading to a Roman victory – he had known nothing but victory in his long military career, and knew that another one was approaching now. His men’s morale was excellent, they were facing a trapped, desperate enemy, who were not capable a co-ordinated fight back.

These men had made him proud – they had fought a whole day in a brutal battle, and were still driving on now. It made him fiercely proud to be a Roman, and proud to have fought here. His own arms ached, his shield now felt heavy in his hands, but there was adrenaline and pride coursing through his veins.

Suddenly, a determined Persian surge pushed forward towards the heart of the Legion. All along the lines, he could see the Persians suddenly pushing back in the first cognitive action he had seen from them. Large groups were pushing against the Roman line everywhere in an attempt to break the Roman net, and his men would be hard pressed.

This was the last he saw of the battle as a Persian barrelled into his shield and he lost his footing. Tumbling backwards, he saw a tall man wielding a large axe leading the Persian line forwards. He sneered down at the aged Roman Legate – Quintus looked around desperately for anything that could potentially give him an edge, but there was nothing, and the axe descended with a grim finality.

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The Roman Left Flank
---------------------------

As his section of the Roman lines began to circle around the Persians, for a moment Arathae’s heart skipped a beat, hoping beyond hope that this might turn into the reverse of Veno’s battle with the Persians, so that they might be repaid for their slaughter of his brethren in their last meeting. Yet, even as this crossed his mind, the sound of Persian horns calling for their retreat met his ears, and he allowed those soldiers who chose to flee. Perhaps a foolish decision, yet such savagery as slaughtering those that tried to flee was beneath the Rome, in his opinion.

Thoughts of the fallen were clouded by the victory won over the Persians on the day as Arathae walked towards the area where the Roman commanders were located. Such a victory was a worthy tribute to the legionaries lost in the first battle with the Persians.

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Bahador’s breakout had worked in places, and he had managed to get several thousand troops out, particularly on IX Pompeia Hispania’s left flank, where he and his bodyguard had led the charge. His captains were double-timing the men to get away – they knew there was little they could do to save their remaining comrades who had been trapped when the Romans had moved swiftly to plug the breaches.

He now turned in the shallows of the oasis, forcing himself to look upon the remains of his left flank as it was encircled. His horse skittered and bucked in the water – arrows were falling perilously close to where he stood, making the oasis’ waters look like they caught in a terrible storm. The water was reddening and many bodies bobbed on the surface of the previously tranquil waters.

‘Remember this feeling’ he told himself. ‘Remember it and never let it happen again.’ In that moment, he vowed death on the Romans, on the Seleucids pet Legions and on their commanders – the Justian general he knew, and the black armoured Roman he had glimpsed throughout the battle. He promised himself no rest until his death or the ending of the world against all these men.

The Romans had virtually reached the edge of the water – the few remaining Persians were either surrendering in droves or being cut down where they stood. One Roman, another of these perfidious black clad troops, waded out into oasis, till he stood over knee deep in the water, where he pointed his sword towards the Persian prince and bellowed a challenge of combat.

Bahador did not speak the western pigs’ language, but the intent was clear enough. He drew his sword and pointed it at the officer. “I shall make sure you, impudent dog, are the first to feel my wrath! I curse you in the name of the glorious Persian Empire, and of the King of Kings! You shall know no rest and only unbearable torment before your pitiful death!” But he knew he could not accept the challenge of single combat – his men would need him yet, and he needed to regroup to make the Romans suffer once more. Even worse, Bahador begrudgingly recognized his own weakness—the product of a nasty gash to his side. For nearly half an hour the Prince had ignored the pain, but now he began to experience the fatigue of blood loss. So, this curse on his lips, he sawed at the reins of the horse, and rode hard after his own troops.

Avitus Sextus grunted in dissatisfaction and sheathed his sword once more. The Persian prince had run with his tail between his legs – he had not understood his parting words, but he got the impression they were venomous. He waded out of the shallow waters, which had changed greatly since he had bathed here this morning. The arrows had ceased falling as soon as the Roman troops had made the shoreline, but even now, dead bodies and blood dominated the water, many of the men now resembling pincushions as they bobbed on the surface.

The battle was over though. Men raised their swords and cheered, both Justian and Roman. Avitus reflected that this victory could well help bring the two together, to fight with a man was to grow closer whether you wished it or not – a bond forged by the inbuilt necessity to rely on another man for survival, be that the man who’s shield covered your side or the men across the battlefield who, should they fail, would as surely doom you. Being closer to such men as the Justians did make him somewhat uneasy, but the aftermath of the battle would reveal that for what it was.

As the right was totally dissolved, Metellus was ready to bring the fight to the few remaining Persians, when all of the sudden the infantry and men around the cavalry began to cheer. Shouts of “Roma Victrix!” rang throughout the legions. While Metellus would’ve gladly killed more of them, a smile rose on his face - Raeus Vitellius had led the men to victory.

Metellus looked around. Being in the right flank now, he saw both the Roman, and Justinian forces. As he looked around, a smile rose on his face. Both Roman and Justinian legions were cheering for their victory. Now raising his sword in the air, Metellus too chanted, “Roma Victrix!” He wiped the sweat from his forehead since he had lost his helmet, and cheered with his Roman and Seleucid men. Approaching the Seleucids who had followed him throughout the battle, he exclaimed “Your lands shall be saved yet!” They didn’t understand him but they smiled and cheered nonetheless. It was a beautiful sight, Roman, Justinian, and Seleucid soldiers, all cheering for their victory as one.

Raeus Vitellius had sheathed his sword for the last time as he rode amongst the men and the remains of battle. The land around the oasis, which had once been fertile and solid arable land, now more resembled a charnel house. And it was amongst the killing that the Praetorian Prefect found Valens Flamininus.

The General was surrounded by his men, and flanked by Septimus Vitellius and Valerianus Gratianus Laetinianus. The Justians looked up as the Prefect dismounted and approached them.

Raeus walked stiffly, and then proffered his hand. “Your men fought well today” he spoke semi-grudgingly.

Valens looked at him archly for a moment; Septimus took the Prefect in with disdain whilst Gratianus held an intrigued gaze. Then Valens took his arm and grasped it in a warrior’s handshake, and let himself smile for a moment. “My thanks, Prefect.”

“I believe Iustianopolis is safe for a time” the Prefect responded, “and you have done Rome a great service.

“Pah!” spoke Valens again, breaking his arm from Raeus’. “We did not do this for Rome. We did not even do this for Seleucia.”

“Then for what?”

“Because that is all we know – and for the one little place in the whole world that we can call home.” He smiled ruefully.

“Well, you have earned my respect, and my trust. I shall speak for you before Imperator Vitellius. For now, I believe Prince Bahador and his army have been knocked out of the fight, at least for a while. I suggest we return to Iustianopolis as soon as is feasible.”

“Very well Prefect. Now, I will see to my men, I suggest you see to yours.” The Justian General nodded a salute, and turned back to his troops, who awaited him with roars of approval.

------
Dusk
------

Cassius Romulus Julianus began to feel better after cleaning the caked mixture of blood, sweat, dirt and sand from his body. He had lost a few men and a few friends but he knew that dying for Rome was far more honourable than in a bed of old age. He knew that this day would make the Imperator, the Senate and most importantly the People of Rome very happy. But he also knew the war was far from over.

The western horizon was now burning with a bright red glow as the bloody sun dipped over the hills. A few straggling strands of cloud draped across the sky - Raeus himself stood on the brow of the hill where Bahador had been camped that very morning, looking down on the valley floor below. Though there were thousands of men milling down there, men roaring and cheering in triumph, other screaming and wailing as they died or as the surgeons took their limbs, or worse, as thieves slit the throats of wounded men for a handful of coins, the Praetorian Prefect did not hear it. It was not that he did not care for the men – rather, to him, a battlefield was like a great temple, and where you could feel that Mars had most recently touched the world. He could read it on the skyline and sensed it in the very air. There was something about the close proximity of death, perhaps the souls beginning their passage to Hades, but it made one feel very much alive.

An aide behind him momentarily disturbed his thoughts. “Sir” he spoke, quietly if forcefully – Raeus got the impression the man had tried several times to break his reverie. Raeus acknowledged his presence. "Sir, Tribune Metellus Dio as discussed."

Metellus Dio strode up to the Praetorian Prefect still full of excitement from cheering with the men on their victory. He approached and saluted his officer, offering a compliment, "Well done sir, the men from the right flank are full of joy, your plan worked excellently."

Raeus smiled slightly. "Thank you Tribune. You have discharged your duties excellently. I know Maximus will be very proud."

"Thank you" Metellus said nodding his head, "I hope I have made him proud this day, and I hope I helped to avenge my brothers from XXIV Tiberia."

"Aye that we have. But I wished to speak with you - your handling of the cavalry has been exemplary, and you have impressed in your command. Now I offer you a new one - Quintus Silvanus went down in battle today, and I need a man I can trust in charge of the I Venera Triumphalis. The command is yours if you wish it."

Metellus's eyes opened wide at the news of the Legate. "Well, I'm sorry to hear the Legate perished, he was a good man. If you need someone to take command of the Legion I swear I'll run it to the best of my ability."

"That is what I need from you Legate" Raeus put extra strength on the title. "I expect you to attend a full counsel of war shortly after dawn tomorrow - but for now, go and celebrate with your cavalry, you have more than earned it."

Now smiling at the notion of his new position, Metellus eagerly replied, "I'll be sure to attend sir, and I know you have a reputation as being a hard worker but I hope you take some time tonight to enjoy this victory yourself, you earned it as well!"

Raeus looked a little distant and smiled slightly. "Perhaps. Now go on Legate Dio - your men will want to hear the news. Dismissed." Raeus nodded to the young Legate, and then turned his back to look down upon the battlefield once more. He decided he would stay here for a little longer yet – he may not survive battles as this many more times. But that, he reflected, was for the Gods to decide.

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Results: Roman Victory, Persian Retreat
Moderate Roman casualties, heavier Persian losses
(Phil will update the garrison to reflect the losses)
Rumors suggest that Prince Bahador died from his wounds.


AD 121