The Crucible of Man

Still tired and sore, Carpathimos and his compatriots broke camp in the dark with morning light still hours away. The air was wet and cold, while the moon and stars remained noticeably absent due to the thick cloud cover.
Across camp, Sorian spoke briefly to a man on horseback and handed him a document, then slapped the horse’s rump, sending the rider briskly away. Messengers came and went frequently to and from a military camp, usually carrying orders or inquiries from Rome or requests for supplies or updates from the field. This messenger carried various letters from Lucius and one kept apart from the others, meant only for Tiberius and written by the hand of Sorian.
Sorian’s first commander when he entered the great army had been none other than Tiberius, a mean spirited, chauvinistic stalwart. They served closely together during several campaigns until promotion parted them, though not completely. Fighting side by side in all kinds of weather had a way of molding men into dependents, relying upon one another for survival. Sorian was never a master of the sword, nor was he one to volunteer for the most treacherous assignment, but he was eager to please and loved the strategy of war. Early on he had been recognized as someone who could be counted on to delegate orders and to understand the nuances of camp. There was little about a massive Roman army camp he didn’t know. It might have been his ability to observe the world around him or even his uncanny way of eavesdropping on important conversations, but Tiberius had discovered Sorian’s qualities early and used them often to his advantage. They shared a lust for victory and an even greater desire for power. As Tiberius ascended to elite status, he maintained alliances with many of the men from his past. In exchange for strategic promotions and unique political unions, both within military and public life, he forged trusted servants. These men were his eyes and ears. Sorian was always one of those men.
Several years earlier, Sorian came to be associated with Lucius, but not by some chance. Now high in the north country, he enjoyed a special and safe position near a general. He did not lead a legion, but he was held in high regard, he was well compensated, and above all, he was useful to the emperor. The message he sent this morning, like many others, served to illuminate the gaps the general might have chosen to leave out of his reports, the orders from Rome that were ignored, the deals and associations made with foreign tribes, the comings and goings of certain visitors, and what they might have said or been told. Sorian clung to his relationship with Tiberius with a steady stream of correspondence.
Shortly before daybreak, the scouts began to trickle into camp to report their findings. It seemed that the main body of the enemy was still located in the near valley just a short march ahead. There were nearly a thousand archers detached along the southeastern flank, while a smaller but formidable number of cavalry supported the southwestern flank. The main body of the enemy army remained on a wide plateau, which backed up to a similar drop as on the opposite side of the mountain the Romans ascended before crossing the pass. None of the scouts could elaborate further on anything beyond the main body; as they had not had the time to work their way around the flanking archers or cavalry.
With the newest information at hand, General Lucius moved his troops forward. As before, the mercenaries in the lead, three legions spread abreast across the wide valley, but this time Lucius flanked the left side of his infantry with the light cavalry and archers. He planned to steer the mercenaries leftward into the path of the enemy cavalry to draw them out, where his own archers could pick them off. He would send his heavy cavalry directly at the foreign archers on the right. The main body of the infantry would charge straight down the plateau and crush the barbarians where they stood.
Roman soldiers could march in perfect union, but they could also run as a group with amazing speed and cohesiveness. Strung tightly together forming a fast-moving wall of bone, muscle, and metal, these Roman soldiers would swing like a hammer against the stationary barbarians, ripping through their front lines and smashing their confidence. For centuries, the Republic had been built by repeated swings of this hammer, slamming down on the unprepared like the tool of the blacksmith.
What typically followed the first strike was in its own right barbaric. Romans viewed their enemies more like prey than adversaries. Ruthless, horrible slaughter ensued after a Roman march. Rarely were there hostages as the masses were slain for sport. Lucius wondered as he looked out onto the plateau at his own weakened and poorly supplied force, would the barbarians have an answer to the merciless charge coming at them today?
As the sun rose over the tree line and punctured through the matting of clouds, the armies edged ever closer. When the gap narrowed to its vital width, the arrows began to fly from both sides. The heavy cavalry of the Romans smashed into the enemy archers deflecting their attention from the legions. These armored men and horses circled the Numidian archers again and again, carving at their edges. By design, the mercenaries marched up to the trees on the left flank to try to draw in the enemy horsemen, but they would not tease them out. Advancing farther still, they pushed carefully into the woods, but the cavalry was gone.
The mercenary commander sent word to Lucius that the cavalry had drawn back past the enemy’s hindquarter. In response, the general shifted his archers and his mercenaries, now flanking the legions, one on either side. In his mind, and then in practice, Lucius manipulated the battle plan. As his cavalry overtook the enemy archers they reunited and came around from the northeast to attack the exposed flank of the barbarians. His archers ran on ahead to establish a mass on the right from which they could rain down their fury. The mercenaries pressed on through the woods to confront the enemy cavalry and keep them occupied long enough for his legions to smash the remainder.
With the building heat of battle, the clouds seemed to deceptively play and roll like boiling water. They darkened and the mist mingling upon the field turned instead to rain. High up in the crags of the Dolomites, such rain was always cold. Lucius tugged at his fur collar, begging it to spare him some dryness.
As the advancing legions marched on, the barbarians formed their ranks and began to chant and beat their shields with their axes, swords, and maces. Their chant was deep and loud and unified the barbarians into one massive fighting force. Now approaching from a spear’s throw away, the Roman archers unleashed a hail of arrows. The sky darkened as thousands flew across the void and descended upon the chanting Gauls. From the experience won by hard lessons, they created a wall with their shields, raising them high above their heads. The arrows rained down upon this metal roof with a thundering clatter. Some of the barbarians fell as a few of the arrows found their marks. The noise quieted briefly enough to hear a second thunderous roar of men and the clamoring of sword on sword as the barbarian cavalry, safe in the distance, smashed into Rome’s mercenaries. It was now that the marching roman thousands began their sprint toward the enemy. As they quickly closed the gap between them, the tidal wave of roman soldiers must have been an awful sight, for the barbarians turned to run. The fleeing herd pushed down the slope, slipping temporarily out of sight, but as the roman front lines came cascading over the plateau, they caught a glimpse of an equally awe-inspiring scene, for the ten thousand barbarians were now thirty thousand.