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  "Your men know what is expected of them, Marcus," Alexandra said, sidling up behind Marcus and slipping her arms around him from behind. "They will be prepared for battle. You have nothing to be concerned about."

  "I know," Marcus said, spinning around in Alexandra's embrace so that the pair was face to face. "This is something that every leader goes through on the eve of every battle - every leader worth his salt, at any rate. I need to be aware of the state of mind of each of my men; failure to do so would be dangerous."

  "Overawareness of every detail of the day to come could be just as dangerous, my love," Alexandra said, cupping Marcus' face in her hands. "If you overthink, you could overprepare - if you try to prepare for every eventuality, you will end up being truly ready for none of them."

  "You are wise beyond your years, beloved," Marcus said with a tender smile. He kissed Alexandra gently, though their embrace quickly tightened and the kiss deepened until the pair was lost in it. Without a single word, every detail and every bit of stress about what was happening vanished from both Marcus and Alexandra; their passion overwhelmed them and they crossed the room, never breaking their kiss even as they tumbled to their bed.

  Chapter XVIII

  The afternoon sun beat down upon the gathered soldiers outside the western wall of Cologne like an angry golden staff. Marcus was all too well aware of the fact that the day's heat would serve to exhaust his men; the encumbrance of their heavy armour would only make the situation worse. It could be worse,Marcus thought bemusedly. We could be fighting in the mud again. At least this time we have steady footing.

  Scouts had reported that the advance of the Sicambrii was slow but steady; it was anticipated that they would arrive at what would soon become the field of battle in a matter of hours. In the meantime, the Roman soldiers prepared for the onslaught which was headed their way. Hasty fortifications had been added in the form of short wooden barriers around the city walls, designed to do nothing but slow down the enemy advance while volleys of arrows hailed down from the city walls. Dozens of siege engines were set up both within the city walls and outside, ready to release their deadly loads of flaming oil and catapulted stones on the furthest reaches of the battlefields. Every single soldier stood at the ready, unwavering despite the eerie silence which had descended over the normal din of the city. Women and children had been taken into the most secure buildings in the city; most were led to the Governor's mansion, while the remaining citizens were taken into the Temple of Mars. Alexandra was standing vigil in the Temple, steadfastly reciting every prayer to the God of Battle that she could remember, urging the huddled masses which surrounded her to do the same.

  Those few men who had not already been inducted into the ranks of the Legions were thrust into the position of militia. Any man who was strong enough and large enough to hold a spear in his hands was armed and sent to the front lines to stand side by side with their better trained brethren. Surprisingly, none of the men had complained about their dangerous role; every one of them seemed eager to prove themselves in the heat of battle, or perhaps to vindicate themselves for allowing the Sicambrii to rule over them for so long.

  Tense hours passed before the first Sicambrii warriors could be seen on the horizon, but the remaining forces followed swiftly after. The plains west of the city were soon covered in a veritable blanket of men, arms and legs flailing haphazardly about as they attempted to march in something resembling straight columns. Marcus scoffed at the lack of organization under his breath; the same apparent inability to perform the basic tasks of a soldier had been a weakness he had planned to exploit when the Sicambrii mounted their offensive at Agrippinensis. This time,he thought, at least I'll be able to actually exploit the weaknesses of my enemy, instead of being forced to play to their strengths.

  "They come," Domitian muttered under his breath.

  "Oh," Marcus said with a sardonic grin, "so you mean I'm not the only one to notice that?"

  "Apparently not," Domitian said, failing to see the same humour in the situation that had taken hold of Marcus. "Their numbers are greater than expected."

  "You say that like it's a bad thing," Marcus said. "As far as I am concerned, it just means there are more to kill. When all this is said and done, we'll be able to gather up enough of their corpses to send a very strong signal to the heathen gods."

  "Laugh if you will," Domitian said. "If we are not very careful and very lucky, it will be our heads on pikes outside the city this time around."

  "Have some confidence in your men," Marcus said. "They're more than capable of handling this situation. Luck be damned - we could go for lunch and let them handle this."

  "Is that so? I thought it was lack of leadership that lost us Agrippinensis? Or are you saying," Domitian asked, "that these men - these soldiers who have barely enough training to handle their weapons without cutting themselves to ribbons - would be better able to handle the Sicambrii than the seasoned warriors who fought at Agrippinensis?"

  "Relax, Domitian," Marcus remarked. "You'll give yourself a heart attack before the Sicambrii even have the chance to cut you down. The men will be victorious today; in no small thanks to our leadership, of course, but they will be victorious nonetheless."

  "Indeed," Domitian said. He seemed ill at ease with the prospect of relaxation when faced with the sight of thousands upon thousands of enemy soldiers. "Do you believe that Vestatian will abide by the rules of combat?"

  "I doubt it," Marcus said. After a pause, he continued with some surprise. "Then again, I've been wrong before. Look: a rider is coming out to the middle of the battlefield."

  "Do you think he seeks a parlay?"

  "I cannot imagine why," Marcus said dryly. "He knows that we will not surrender. Perhaps it is just his vain attempt to convince himself that, despite siding himself with the heathens, he is still a Roman at heart. The uncivilized do not parlay, after all."

  "Should we go out to meet him?"

  "I will," Marcus said. "It may be a trap. If it is, and I get struck down, the men will need a leader. Understand?"

  "Yes," Domitian said.

  "Good. Now do not give the men the orders to attack until I've either returned or been killed. The last thing I want is to be struck by a jar of flaming oil in the middle of the battlefield."

  "I will try to restrain myself," Domitian said dryly.

  Finally serious, Marcus nodded to Domitian and signalled a nearby page. The boy, too young to carry a weapon, but old enough to act as an errand boy, brought a horse to Marcus' side, leading the tremendous beast by the reigns with an unsteady hand. Marcus smiled at the boy, knowing that the child had likely only seen a horse a few times before, let alone ever handled one. With a mighty heave, Marcus leapt astride the black beast, grimacing under the added weight of his armour. A kick to the horse's flank was enough to speed Marcus toward the middle of the battlefield to meet the solitary figure who waited there.

  As Marcus approached the lone figure, he noted with some small surprise that, while the figure was indeed Julianus Vestatian, the man had abandoned the rich Roman vestments which he had once favoured. Now, rough furs and leather covered his body; even the trademark gladius which had once sat on his hip was gone, replaced with the typical barbarian axe strapped across his back. Black ink dotted his face in swirling patterns; Marcus remembered those patterns of war-paint from the battle at Agrippinensis - the twists and whirls of pain signified, as best he had been able to discern, some sort of combination of both military and spiritual standing amongst the heathens.

  "Unless I miss my mark," Marcus said with a hearty laugh, "it looks like you've undertaken a bit of a wardrobe change since the last time I saw you. It doesn't quite seem to befit a Roman - have you become so enamoured of the ways of the barbaric tribes that you have decided to become one of them?"

  "Be silent, fool," Vestatian hissed. "I've come to parlay as a courtesy to you. Your cowardly assaults on my men defy any standards of decency that any man can imagine. I am willing
to give you a chance at redemption for that sin."

  "Redemption? That's quite a statement," Marcus said, his bemusement giving way to a hardened dispassion, "given that you have abandoned everything that our society - our very Gods - have ever taught us about honour and conduct. You have betrayed your countryment, Vestatian - you are a traitor to the Roman Empire. You are not in any position to offer redemption for anything."

  "If you lead your men off the field of battle," Vestatian said, seemingly oblivious to Marcus' diatribe, "I will allow them to live and serve their rightful masters - the Sicambrii - as slaves. If you choose any other course of action, every last one of you will die today. The precious Empire you hold so dear is destined to be nothing but a flicker of absurdity in the pages of history in comparison with the civilization that I will bring to the world, Marcus. You should learn to live with it now, rather than later; even a man such as yourself can find forgiveness and redemption in the arms of the true Gods."

  "The true Gods," Marcus said, "are the ones who guide my actions here today. They have deemed you unworthy of the goals you have set, Vestatian. They have given me a divine mandate to oppose you, and they have guaranteed our victory by supporting us unanimously.

  "Your offer is rejected. However, I do have a counter-offer for you, Vestatian. Have your men lay down their weapons and proclaim the superiority of the Olympians; have them kiss the very ground and sing the praises of Mars, Jupiter, and all the other Gods and Goddesses. Do this, and we shall make their deaths swift and painless."

  "Fool," Vestatian spat. "The blood of your men is on your hands."

  With that, Vestatian kicked his heels into his horse's flank, returning to the Sicambrii side of the battlefield at a gallop. Marcus did the same, leaping off the horse as he reached Domitian's command position.

  "Am I to assume," Domitian asked, "that our enemy refused to surrender?"

  "Such an assumption," Marcus said dryly, "would be correct. Well, I suppose there's no use in waiting for Vestatian to make the first move. Unleash the oil upon them."

  "Of course," Domitian said. He screamed orders to the men around him. "Catapults! Onagers! Release the oil!"

  On Domitian's cue, several dozen ceramic jars were sent firing through the air in high arcs. Plumes of black smoke trailed behind the containers, evidence of the already-flaming liquid inside. It seemed to take an eternity for the massive jars to reach their destination; the Sicambrii warriors scattered as they noticed the airborne missiles headed their way. The flight of the Sicambrii was too late, however, and the massive containers of flaming oil came down in the middle of groups of gathered warriors. Flaming oil splashed onto hundreds of warriors as the ceramic jars shattered into thousands of shards on the ground. The screams of the scalded warriors could be heard as far away as the opposite side of the battlefield with startling clarity; the wails of the injured were enough to shake the militia-men, who had never been subjected to the rigours of battlefield life before. Noting their unease, Domitian spoke up.

  "The militia are frightened. Do you think they'll be able to handle what is to come?"

  "I do," Marcus said. "You can't blame the men for being a little unnerved. I know that I was exactly the same way the first time I heard the keening screams of enemies covered in flaming oil. It's a horrific way to die; anyone who is not moved, even a little, the first time they hear that, is not a man I would want under my command.

  "Now," he continued, "the next volley. Adjust for their movement; they'll be charging us at any moment, no doubt."

  Sure enough, as Domitian screamed orders to the soldiers, the Sicambrii forces seemed to recover from the shock of the initial attack. The mass of men on the opposite side of the battlefield began to move in unison, the almost-orderly columns of Sicambrii warriors churning into a chaotic mass. The second volley of flaming oil took advantage of this disorder in their ranks; even as the warriors rushed at the Romans, the second volley of oil smashed into the middle of them. Hundreds more warriors fell to the ground, rolling and screaming in agony, first from the pain of the burning flesh, and then from the pain of their crushed bodies as their fellow Sicambrii ran over their fallen bodies.

  "I'll give this to them," Marcus remarked detachedly, "they are focussed. They don't even seem to notice that their compatriots are falling all around them.

  "Let's give them something to notice. They should be in range now - let loose the arrows. Five volleys, then the cavalry."

  "Marcus, are you certain? We have only three hundred cavalry;" Domitian said. "If we send them in now, even after the arrows have softened the Sicambrii's ranks, they will all perish."

  "They know the risks of being in battle," Marcus said. "Death is one of them. If we do not send the cavalry in, our infantry will be cut down like blades of grass by an overwhelming force. The cavalry knows what to do; they will stick to the outskirts of the Sicambrii force, cutting down the warriors furthest from the main group. They will then circle behind the Sicambrii main force and attack from behind. Now either give the orders or get off my battlefield."

  Submitting to Marcus' authority, Domitian once again screamed out the orders he was given. In unison, the Roman archers lifted their bows and aimed them at the sky, then loosed the first hail of their deadly missiles. Even as the first volley was flying through the air, the archers retrieved arrows from their quivers and unleashed a second volley, then a third, a fourth, and finally, a fifth volley, even as the howling Sicambrii force came closer and closer to the Romans. As was the nature of volleys of arrows, not all of the tiny missiles struck their targets; some plunged harmlessly into the ground, while others bounced off the hardened leather armour of the Sicambrii warriors. However, despite the inherent inability of all arrows to strike straight and true, the majority of the weapons did strike down Sicambrii warriors, leaving behind another wave of Sicambrii casualties. Marcus noted the effectiveness of the attack with a smile; nearly half of the Sicambrii force had been laid to waste by the Roman soldiers, and so far not a single Roman had fallen under attack.

  The lack of Roman casualties changed quickly as the cavalry galloped forward to engage the enemy. Hundreds of horses charged from the back ranks of the Roman army, circling around the ranks of the Sicambrii; the riders struck out left and right at the warriors foolish enough to venture close to the horses. Roman blades bit into flesh, cutting down even more of the Sicambrii warriors, but some of the Sicambrii were able to get close enough to the cavalry men to strike back at the horsed soldiers. Dozens of the cavalry were cut down by Sicambrii battleaxes even as the cavalry carved a bloody path to the rear of the Sicambrii ranks.

  "Send in the infantry," Marcus said calmly. He pulled his sword from the sheath and twirled it around in his hand. "And get ready to fight."

  "Surely you don't intend for us to move in with the infantry? That would be suicide," Domitian said. "Infantry always suffers the heaviest losses in any armed combat, Marcus -"

  "I'm aware of that," Marcus said. "I'm also aware of the fact that you are a soldier under my command, and as such you will address me as General Ulpius. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, General Ulpius," Domitian said, his face burning a bright red.

  "Then shut your mouth and do as I command. And next time, I suggest you listen to your orders - I didn't say that we were going to march with the infantry, I said that you need to be prepared for combat. If you think that we are going to avoid involvement in this fray, then you are delusional. We are neither above the call of duty nor immune to the weapons of the enemy, Domitian. When they come for us - and they will come for us, mark my words on that - we will need to fight. Personally, I intend to be in the middle of the fray; that is where I belong. You can stay back for as long as you would like, but if the Sicambrii approach you, you will fight or you will die. Now send in the damned infantry!"

  "Infantry! To the field," Domitian screamed at the men around him, eager to make up for his temporary gaffe, "and kill anyone not in Roman uniform!"r />
  A tremendous cry of approval rose from the men; they had been preparing for exactly this moment for many months. Finally, they knew they would be able to let their actions give voice to the unmitigated hatred for the Sicambrii which raged in their hearts. Every man on that battlefield was a man with a very personal point to drive home to the Sicambrii, and that was exactly what each of them intended to do. Despite the rage which threatened to overwhelm them, the men moved smoothly and in unison, in stark contrast to the chaotic flailing of the Sicambrii. Like a well-oiled machine, the first line of Roman soldiers advanced, spears held aloft in their right hands, body-length shields held in their left. The clank of their boots rising and falling on the ground in unison was enough to shake the very foundations of the earth beneath their feet; several of the Sicambrii were seized by sheer terror upon seeing what looked like a veritable wall of shields approaching their position. The second line of Roman soldiers followed close on the heels of the first, their bootsteps rising and falling in unison not only with each other, but also with the soldiers ahead of them.

  Marcus grinned widely at the advance of the Roman soldiers. This,he thought with no small amount of satisfaction, is exactly how an army should operate. The Sicambrii cannot distinguish between being willing to fight to the death and fighting without regard to their own safety - that makes them foolhardy, and it is precisely that which shall lead to their downfall.

  The advancing Roman soldiers spread out into a pattern reminiscent of waves crashing upon a beach - the first line of soldiers was the largest, fighting shoulder to shoulder in a semicircular pattern designed to protect the soldiers behind them. The next line was slightly smaller, but still stood the same as the first - shoulder to shoulder with each other. Again, the next line was even smaller. Those soldiers in the rear lines who were not needed in the wave-pattern advanced to the front lines in groups of six, two men in the centre armed with bows, protected by four infantryment armed with spears and shields. The tactics, specially devised by Marcus for the exclusive purpose of fighting the Sicambrii, worked with deadly efficiency and precision. As the Roman soldiers advanced, they hacked their way through the crowd of Sicambrii; the barbarians, despite all their best efforts, found no cracks in the Roman defenses. Powerful axe-blows bounced harmlessly off the gently rounded body shields, only to be met by a riposte from the Roman spears. While the Romans were protected by heavy armour and large shields, the Sicambrii had no such protection - the Roman blows which reigned down upon them pierced their flimsy armour and dug into flesh and bone.