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  "Arrows," Marcus said. "Not flaming ones. Not yet."

  "Archers," Domitian cried, "release your volleys!"

  The Roman arches nocked their arrows, raised their bows in unison, and unleashed a deadly hail of arrows onto the heads of the Sicambrii warriors. Unlike the first Sicambrii advance, the archers did not stop after their initial volleys; each archer reloaded and released volley after volley as quickly as they possibly could. So many arrows swarmed through the air that the sun itself was partially blocked out, causing an ominous twilight to fall over the middle of the battlefield as the razor-tipped missiles cut down the ranks of warriors.

  "We should release the flaming arrows," Domitian said. "They are close enough, don't you think?"

  "No," Marcus said, watching the advancing Sicambrii get closer and closer to the jars of oil. "Let them get closer."

  "Any closer," Domitian said nervously, "and they'll be able to pick up the bloody jars!"

  "Good," Marcus said. "That's exactly what I'm hoping for. The closer the damnable barbarians are to those jars, the more effective they will be. If we fire now, we'll splash the first row of warriors. That would be fine, except that the rear rows of warriors would see the flames and then march around them. If we wait another minute, it will be too late for them to do anything but scream in agony as the flames consume their bodies. Let's see their gods protect them then."

  "Of course, sir. Just give the word," Domitian said, acknowledging Marcus' superiority in these affairs, "and we'll send them to whatever afterlife awaits them in Hades."

  "Now," Marcus said. "The flaming arrows and the ballistae."

  As if the order was communicated telepathically to the archers, they released the flaming volley of arrows before Domitian had even finished screaming the order to them. The flaming bolts tumbled unsteadily through the air, their oil-soaked tips causing an erratic flight pattern, in sharp contrast to the massive wooden bolts from the ballistae, which flew straight and true through the air to land amidst the mass of warriors. The flaming arrows landed shortly thereafter; almost half of the missiles struck Sicambrii warriors, the flaming projectiles setting alight the chests of the warriors even as they pierced their flesh. Of those arrows that did not strike warriors, the majority landed harmlessly on the ground, impaling themselves in the already blood-soaked earth. However, several of the hundreds of flaming arrows which had been unleashed upon the Sicambrii horde struck their intended targets; massive fireballs erupted along the line where the oil jars had been placed. The fireballs were far larger than one would have expected from the explosion of the jars, or so it seemed to Marcus. They erupted in a chain of explosions; first, several jars exploded, flinging flaming oil and superheated shards of pottery across the battlefield; some of these shards pierced other jars of oil, causing even more explosions and sending out even more superheated shards of pottery. The cycle continued in this manner until all of the jars of oil had exploded and released their deadly rain upon the Sicambrii combatants.

  "Vulcan smiles upon us today," Domitian said. "Those explosions are far too large to have been caused by mere chance. I sense the hand of the Lord of Volcanoes in the works."

  "That was also my thought," Marcus said. "But we cannot allow such a sign to make us overconfident; we have scarcely managed to kill more than a thousand of the enemy's warriors."

  "We are still outnumbered more than seven to one," Domitian said with a heavy sigh. "There is nothing we can do. We shall not survive the day."

  "I don't know about that," Marcus said, drawing his sword in a dramatic motion. "Seven to one? Those are odds that I'm willing to take."

  "You are bold," Domitian said, "but there's no way we can hope to win this battle, Marcus. Even with the aid of the Gods, the Sicambrii simply outnumber us."

  "What would you do? Would you," Marcus said, his voicing rising to a loud enough pitch that the majority of the soldiers on the Roman side of the battlefield could hear him, "surrender and allow the Sicambrii to rule over us once again? Would you allow them to enter the city and have their way with our women and children?

  "I will not stand by and watch that happen to our people again! I will fight to the death, if that is what is required of me, but I will not allow another Sicambrii to step foot inside of a Roman city again! If your cowardice, or the cowardice of any man on this battlefield, is so great that he will not be able to face down his enemy, then let him run for safety now! Otherwise, get your weapons at the ready, and we'll show these sons of whores exactly what we're made of!"

  A great cheer rose up from the Roman soldiers, followed shortly by the swishing sounds of swords being drawn from scabbards and the clank of spears being handed out to the men. Marcus picked up a spear which had fallen to the ground in his left hand, cutting most of the shaft of the weapon off with the spear held in his right hand. With the spear reduced in size to slightly larger than that of the shortsword he also carried, Marcus whipped both weapons around his body in a dizzying whirlwind. With a satisfied nod, he let loose a battle cry loud enough to shake the nearest Sicambrii warriors and charged past the protective wooden barrier. Every single one of the Roman soldiers, Domitian included, followed close on his heels, brandishing their weaponry menacingly. The Sicambrii warriors had closed to within several hundred feet of the Roman position, so it took very little time for Marcus and his soldiers to close the gap between their position and the warriors. The two opposing forces clashed together like two massive stones smashing into each other.

  It was as if Marcus had released everything in his mind which had restrained him as a warrior before; he moved through the ranks of the Sicambrii like a man possessed, the weapons in each of his hand moving independently, slashing and blocking the attacks of the enemy simultaneously; he would block a Sicambrii blow with his sword, only to thrust out with his spear and piece the neck of a warrior on the opposite side of his body. He continued in this same way, striking and blocking entirely out of instinct, feeling more like a machine designed for no purpose other than bringing death than a human being.

  The other Roman soldiers were not as lucky as Marcus, however; they managed to hold their own with the enemy warriors, but scarcely more than that. The death rate on both sides of the battlefield seemed constant; for every Roman that fell, so fell a Sicambrii. The only notable exception was Marcus hacking and mowing down the enemy warriors. This is it,Marcus thought, we may actually win this battle, after all - the Gods have granted me greater strength and skill at arms than I have ever possessed before. So help me -

  Marcus' train of thought was interrupted by a sharp, hot stabbing pain in his abdomen. Looking down, Marcus saw a gaping wound in his stomach, the flesh torn apart by the blow of a Sicambrii axe-blade. Blood trickled freely from the open wound, and the pain would have been enough to drive a normal man to his knees. Marcus was no normal man, however; he fought on, hacking and slashing at the surrounding Sicambrii, though with considerably more difficulty than the same actions had created only moments before.

  A second blow landed on Marcus' body, this time on his left shoulder. The axe bit deep into his collarbone, smashing through skin and bone with all the finesse of a hammer. Marcus cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Dropping his spear, he scrambled to regain his footing, withdrawing from the mass of men as quickly as his wounds would allow. Fortunately, he quickly reached the edge of the mass of warriors and soldiers; he fell to the ground again, this time propped half-up against one of the wooden barriers which dotted the battlefield. He remained there, gasping for air frantically as he watched the battle unfold around him. He still held his sword in his hand, but he knew there was not enough strength left in his limbs to swing the weapon again.

  "General," one of the Roman Centurions proclaimed, running to Marcus' side as he spotted the wounded officer. "How badly are you wounded?"

  "Badly enough," Marcus said with a weak cough. "Badly enough that I cannot fight further without endangering my life. Not so badly that I need any of my
soldiers here, away from the battlefield. Get back into the fray...we are losing the battle, soldier, and need everyone possible to stave off the Sicambrii advance on our city for as long as possible. Perhaps...perhaps someone watching will warn our women and children, and perhaps allow them to make an escape from the city."

  As Marcus' sentence trailed off into silence, the din of the battlefield was drowned out by the blast from a powerful horn. Raising his neck, Marcus peered out into the distance, trying to ascertain the source of the noise. There, atop the same hill where the Sicambrii force had marched down to Cologne, was a force which was obviously Roman in origin - the sunlight shone off their armour, making them easily visible even from the distance.

  "Who," the Centurion at Marcus' side asked, "is that?"

  "Reinforcements," Marcus muttered weakly, "from Germania Superior. They are too late...there will not be more than a few hundred men. Not enough to claim victory today."

  "Begging your pardon, General," the Centurion said, his voice rising in excitement, "but that is more than a few hundred men. Considerably more."

  Marcus opened his eyes again, straining to see what the Centurion saw. He was confused for a moment, seeing only the expected several hundred men marching toward Cologne.

  "You've lost your mind," Marcus said. "It is as I said, and nothing more. The men are welcome, but they will not -"

  Marcus was cut off once again, this time by the sound of another powerful horn blast from the opposite side of the battlefield. Craning his neck, Marcus' mouth fell agape at the sight before him. Cresting a hill to the north of Cologne were standard bearers - Marcus counted at least six different legionary banners.

  "It seems," the Centurion said, "that the General of Germania Superior's forces has contacted some of our most powerful allies. Those men are from the Imperial Legions, and in great enough numbers that they must be lead by the Emperor himself. I recognize the standards they bear. Victory shall be ours!"

  With an unrestrained smile on his face, Marcus forced himself to his feet, brandishing his sword at his side once again.

  "Sir," the Centurion said, concerned at Marcus' movement, "I thought you said that you cannot fight further without causing undue risk of your own death?"

  "That is what I said," Marcus said, "and it is true. But I will not force my fellow soldiers to fight while I rest here. Come, friend - as long as the Sicambrii still fight, and blood still flows in our veins, we will not stop slaughtering them!"

  Stumbling more than walking, Marcus made his way back to the battlefield. Many of the Sicambrii were beginning to scatter, seeing the vast Roman forces descending upon them from every direction. Of those barbarians who remained to fight, Marcus knew who he had to engage - a particularly large and violent warrior who towered over the others on the battlefield; the intricate decorations which covered his armour were so fine, in comparison to the other Sicambrii, that Marcus knew he could be none other than the leader of the warriors.

  "You! Come," Marcus screamed at the Sicambrii warrior, "and fight! Your death awaits!"

  With a growl, the Sicambrii giant rushed at Marcus, swinging his oversized battleaxe. Marcus did not have the strength to dodge the blow this time; the axe cleaved into his chest, shattering the steel bands of armour which protected him and tearing into the flesh below. Marcus knew that the blow would prove fatal, but still no trace of fear took hold of him. The Sicambrii leader laughed heartlessly at the sight of Marcus falling to his knees.

  "Laugh for as long as you can," Marcus said, a grin slowly spreading over his face. With one final burst of strength, he shot up to his feet, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The still-laughing barbarian leader didn't even see the blow coming; Marcus' sword split the giant's head in two, bringing the vicious warrior's life to an end in a single smooth blow. "Your time is over."

  His strength utterly spent, Marcus dropped to his knees once more, then fell to his back. As he lay there, the last moments of his life passing before his very eyes, he became aware of a Roman soldier standing over him. Looking up, he recognized Domitian standing there. Silently, Domitian saluted Marcus by thumping his right fist into his chest, directly over his heart. With tremendous effort, Marcus returned the gesture with a very weak smile.

  "Strength and honour," Marcus whispered the credo of the Legions.

  "Strength and honour, old friend," Domitian said, bowing his head in reverence before Marcus.

  Marcus' eyes closed, and the world faded to black.

  Epilogue

  The chilly autumn wind whipped around Alexandra, forcing her black dress to swirl around her. She stood in much the same place she had stood for the last six months, in the middle of Cologne's city square. Most of her days were spent there, standing in front of a newly erected monument to the province's greatest hero - her late husband, the General Marcus Eranthan Ulpius. The monument was at once both simple and bold; Marcus stood immortalized in granite in the middle of the square, eternally forced into a dramatic pose - standing at attention in full uniform, his sword outstretched to point off into the distance. Alexandra thought it was a fitting tribute to the man that she had loved - the man that she would continue to love for the rest of her life.

  Many changes had taken place in Cologne over the past months, and many continued even to that day. Emperor Trajan had arrived in the city shortly after the battle with the Sicambrii, his Legions fresh from their victory in Dacia. When told the story of Marcus, the original battles with the Sicambrii, and the resistance movement and final triumph over their barbarian enemy, he had been astounded. It was at his command, and funded by his personal purse, that the statue dedicated to Marcus had been commisioned. The Emperor had also promised that similar tributes would be erected in Rome; Marcus' image had earned a place with the images of the mightest warriors the Empire had ever known, he said. Alexandra had smiled for a full day after that comment, knowing how much the praise would have meant to Marcus.

  "You should see your legacy, my love," she whispered under her breath. "Only six months after you led your men to victory, and already you are immortalized in the hearts and minds of the entire Empire. The Emperor himself was at your funeral, along with half of the nobility in the Empire. He chose a new Governor for the province that very day: Domitian presented the application to have Ceresius punished on your behalf. Ceresius, I'm sure you would be happy to know, has been demoted to a position of no more importance than the cleaner of the Emperor's kitchen.

  "The Legions who came to your aid were astonished at your accomplishments. I spent hours at the funeral listening to their Generals speaking at great length about the impossibility of the task that you had set before you, and how amazing it is that you managed to accomplish what you did. They did not believe that it was possible for a man to do half of what you did, given your circumstances; given the size of the enemy army, none of the Generals believed that they would have been able to do the same. In fact, they said that if they had been in command of an army the size of what you had composed entirely of seasoned veterans and warriors of great might, the chances of stopping the Sicambrii army would be slim to none. You are a true hero, my love, and that legacy will never fade.

  "Even today, bards in every corner of the Empire are singing your praises and telling tales of the epic battle of Cologne, where the might of the Roman Empire triumphed once and for all over the savagery of the barbarian hordes.

  "I only wish you could have survived to see it," she continued, her eyes welling up with tears. "But I promise you this, beloved: as long as there are civilized people in the world with tongues to speak and hearts that burn with passion, your story will be told. Your memory will live forever, my love, in the hearts and minds of every Roman citizen from this day on. As for me, I have returned to my duties at the Temple; I shall live the rest of my life as I lived the first half - untouched by the hands of any other than you, in anticipation of the day we will be reunited in the Elysium Fields. Until then, my love, watch over me just as I a
m watching over you."

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Epilogue