Spartacus Ch. 01

An intelligent veteran centurion, seeing a chance to improve morale and remove a threat, lunged forward as he threw his javelin at the exposed Druid. The pila was a particularly effective javelin, ingeniously designed, having a long iron spike with a diamond shaped tip instead of a triangular or leaf shaped flat blade. The thin spike was usually around two feet long, with a barbed tip and a weighted neck atop the heavy four foot shaft. That allowed it to punch through a shield and still reach the man behind it before the impact of the wooden shaft stopped it's forward progress, or at least render the shield useless with a bent spear stuck in it, as the base of the spiked head was left untempered to encourage the neck to bend after impact.

The centurion's pilum sailed through the air in a graceful arc, it's aim true and force considerable. Unfortunately for the centurion, and eventually the Romans as a whole, the Nervii were essentially the Spartans of the Celtic world and did not fight with horses, armor or projectile weapons other than their expert use of javelins before a charge. As Caesar would later discover, their hugely impressive physiques and their culture's lack of bows or slings meant that their skill with throwing spears was phenomenal.

Durotorix's right hand planted his staff into the firm ground butt first before reaching out an snagging the flying weapon from mid air. Allowing his body to pivot around with the incoming weapon's momentum, the huge Belgic Druid pivoted on a coin, redirecting the missile's force and adding his own more-than-considerable strength to it. Spinning around with the ease of a dancer, the behemoth sent the pilum back to it's source with more speed than the eye could follow. Entering the offending centurion's chainmail covered chest, it sheared the metal links and passed through his body before emerging from the mailed back to pick the man up bodily and nail him to the legionary behind to his rear, killing both and making the surrounding men goggle with the feat. Many of the Romans had by now convinced themselves that ALL of the gladiators looked as massive as Crixus or Durotorix, forgetting that many were simple farm hands without a drop of barbarian blood.

The Druid waved his staff and the thundering sound of weapons impacting shields stopped suddenly. There was an eery silence that sat on the morning air before Gaulish war cries roared through the relatively confined passage and the trees to either side of the road, which quickly exploded in action. Gallic warriors poured down the side embankments, rushing towards the legionaries with wild roars. As the Romans watched a few hundreds of Gauls charging at them from the surrounding hills, the more experienced men began to take heart, knowing that they had the numerical advantage even in their reduced state.

Suddenly, dirt and grass cover wooden screens along the roadside lifted up from the ground where they had been used to cover trenches and spiderholes before being covered with dirt, grass and leaves. Long spears lanced out from the man made depressions, taking the distracted Romans in the legs and groins. After the first thrust, the men in the trenches began to slash back and forth with the large leaf shaped spearheads, the 13 foot shaft combined with a one and a half foot long steel spearhead allowed the men on either side of the road enough range to reach beyond the outer file and into the column.

There was a series of whooping sounds as dozens of Gauls, all covered in a full body suit consisting of legionary mail covering the torso and gladiator armor protecting the limbs, swung down on ropes or simply jumped from treetop perches. With hoots of joy, the fully armored Gauls landed on the heads of and amongst the legionaries, armed with a long dagger in each hand. At such close range even the roman swords were too long to be useful against giant men who were already in amongst their lines and formations. The few who landed blows in such close quarters found the effect of their weapons blunted by the full body armor. Those chosen men tore through the tightly packed Romans while the spearmen continued to take them from the sides. As soon as the charging Gauls reached the already beleaguered Romans, it was over for them.

Intentionally, the rear half of the column hadn't been targeted by anything besides smaller groups using hit and run tactics, allowing the Gauls to concentrate on overwhelming half the men in much shorter time. The rear section of the column had managed to stand firm and form up in a line across the pass, facing to Gauls to their front. As the Gauls finished off the survivors from the front of the column, they turned and threw themselves at the remaining Romans. However, now prepared, the Roman line was intact and even the junior soldiers were now doing their jobs and holding strong in the shield wall. The Gauls smashed and hacked but lost as many men as they felled, the razor sharp Gladius blades flashing in and out of soft bellies. At another call from that ghastly instrument, the Gauls pulled away and began a disordered retreat. After the horror that they had survived and overcome and eager to avenge their friends, the junior legionaries broke forward in pursuit of the fleeing Rebels and their officers could do nothing to stem the flow.

That was when the thunder started.

A wall of charging horses suddenly appeared to the rear as the Thracians and Spaniards signaled their mounts to stand up from where they lay on their sides in the tall wheat, hooking their legs over the saddle to be pulled up as well. The weakened Roman formation never had a chance, a wall of iron preceding the wall of charging horseflesh as Spartacus' men launched their javelins at any sections of the Roman formation that were still intact. The javelins were based on a type used by Hannibal in his invasion of Italy, essentially a four foot solid iron bar with barbed heads that weighed over seven pounds, and we're capable of devastating effects when the momentum of a charging horse was added to it's projection. The solid iron missiles punched through shields, mail and multiple bodies in a terrifying wave right before curved swords swooped down with enough force to cleave helmets and sever mailed limbs as the horsemen were suddenly among them.

Furius met his fate when a Thracian cavalryman whooped and gleefully attacked the Tribune despite the fact that he was still accompanied by two mounted guards. The first guard rode toward the charging threat but the Thracian's mount quickly side stepped the Roman cavalryman with a nifty change of direction that made it appear as if it was floating sideways. The second guard tried to charge from the side as the Thracian was distracted but was surprised when his enemy ducked down along his horse's flank and the edge of the Roman's blade met only air. The second guard never figured out what happened as a sharp pain exploded in his back and he fell from the saddle with a severed spine.

To his credit, Lucius Furius was no coward. He forced his horse to lunge forward in order to meet the threat head-on as he drew back his sword arm for a mighty blow. As the Thracian entered into range Furius swung his sword diagonally downward in an attempt to cleave the mounted slave from left shoulder to right hip, depending on the longer blade of his Spatha sword to cut down the enemy before the shorter sica could be effectively used against him. Unfortunately, for Furius, the Thracian was no amateur when it came to mounted warfare and reacted accordingly. Though unable to reach the body of the Roman commander, the Thracian didn't attempt to dodge or block the incoming blow but rather used the momentum to his advantage.

As the tribune's sword came down in it's deadly arc there was a flash of pain and a wet snapping sound as the shorter Sica flickered upwards in a backhanded cut that cleanly removed the Roman's sword hand at the wrist. Before Furius' mind could grasp what had just happened, the young Thracian wheeled his horse around in place and returned to remove the tribune's head with a single blow.

:..:

"My lady?" Sabinus greeted as he stepped out into the solarium where Ariadne was relaxing on a couch in a noble pose.

"Hello dear Sabinus," she replied gracefully, "how may I help you on this fine day?"

"Well," he hesitated. "...there is a large host of horsemen at the gate. Their leader says he is our prince's uncle and guard captain. I..."

"Is his name Arslan?" Ariadne interrupted. "A large bear of a man?"

"Yes my lady, that's him." Sabinus replied, clearly puzzled.

"Let them in. Tell Lord Arslan that my husband is out on a raid and I will entertain him. Make sure his men have a good place to set up camp and free access to the city."

"My lady, are you sure that..."

"Yes. I'm positive that it is what my husband would want. Arslan was his father's right hand and if he is here then it means Spartacus' father is dead and he followed his oath all the way to Italia to serve my husband."

"Of course. Consider it done. I'll see that they are given every comfort," Sabinus said as he exited.

A quarter of an hour later, Lucia escorted the grizzled cavalryman out onto the balcony overlooking the surrounding countryside, where Ariadne was watching the Scythians spread out to build their camp.

Arslan, commander of Spartacus' father's Keshig, royal bodyguard, was a muscular but short man, not unlike Castus in appearance, with a thick black beard and the facial tattoos common amongst his people on each cheek. All of the men on the plain below wore fur caps, pointed in the Scythian fashion, and ermine lined capes over intricately patterned long sleeve silk shirts, with heavy felt trousers tucked into tall, doeskin boots. The men of the Royal Keshig were cataphract knights but, unless in a set piece battle or heavy attack, they fought as mounted archers after the usual steppe fashion. They carried a heavier armament than the typical light steppe horseman with composite recurve bow and shortsword/axe, wearing scaled mail hauberks under their capes while wielding a longsword, crescent shaped shield, flanged steel mace, javelins and composite bow. As the Keshig commander, Arslan wore a luxurious sable long coat instead of an ermine cape and his horse's headdress was outfitted with a pair of gilded reindeer antlers, marking his rank.

Each of the horsemen, who appeared to number more than two thousand, had three or four mounts a piece. One horse serving as a riding mount, another serving as a warhorse and another one or two that acted as pack animals for food, supplies, replacement weapons and extra arrows along with the full body armor of a cataphract. For increased speed, the riders could switch between the mounts at intervals throughout their journey to make better time and keep the horses fresh. The horses removed the need of long and vulnerable supply lines or slow wagons, each man carrying everything he needs, including hunting arrows and fishing hooks to supplement their supplies. In a desperate situation, the Scythians could survive for weeks without a bite of food by drinking a mix of mares milk and blood, tapped from a vein in the foreleg, from one of their remounts.

The huge group made for a magnificent sight of shiny steel scales, brightly colored silks and gleaming gold ornamentation. The horses were beautiful as well, even the smaller, leaner type of horse with tapered muzzle, large eyes and gracefully long neck. The larger of the two breeds were nothing short of magnificent, however, as the Scythian Knights rode the famed Nisean horses in battle. The Nisean horse was tall and muscular yet lean and graceful, with long and muscular legs. However, it was the Nisean's courage, bravery and loyal ferocity that truly set it head and shoulders above the average warhorse.

"Lord Arslan, welcome!" Ariadne greeted. "My husband has told me much of you and you are welcome in our home. Spartacus should be returning soon, certainly within a couple days at the latest ."

"By Api! You really are every bit as gorgeous as the boy said! I'm honored to meet you High Priestess!" Arslan replied in a boisterous manner, surprising Ariadne by wrapping her up in a bear hug and twirling around. Setting her down, his jolly face became slightly more serious and he said, "thank you, truly, for looking after the lad. It's always hard for a boy to serve as a hostage for his people before he can grow a beard and I'm forever grateful that you were there for him as you two bloomed into adults. When I heard about what that bastard usurper did, killing the king and selling Spartacus as a slave, I almost slaughtered everything in sight. I might have but..."

"What? What is it? Ariadne asked, seeing his anger fade into something else.

"When Ateas... When Spartacus' father heard the news... You see, he was very old and his health had been failing for some time. Almost one hundred years old, he was. The news that his only surviving son was dead, or enslaved, was just too much for him to bear. His heart broke. It simply stopped beating."

Ariadne nodded sadly, "I suspected as much when I heard that you had arrived."

"I..." Arslan began right as Sabinus entered.

"Forgive me, but your husband is back, my lady," Sabinus informed respectfully.

"Excellent! My nephew returns!" Arslan bellowed in his jolly voice.

"Thank you, good Sabinus," Ariadne said. "Would you be so kind as to tell him where we are and have Lucia bring some refreshments. Thank you."

Ariadne and Arslan reclined on the couches of the solarium as platters of meat, cheese and fruit were brought out and lain on the low tables. It was only a few minutes later that Spartacus strode out onto the patio in dust covered armor, wearing a huge grin on his face. He called out, "Uncle!"

"Ha! My boy! By the Rider, look at you! You're a regular Olympian! Are you sure you haven't earned Apollo's jealousy, you handsome stallion?"

"Of course I did! But, Sun god or not, he's only a Greek!"

Arslan burst into roaring laughter at the remark. However, Spartacus saw the happiness slide from his expressive bearded face and immediately read between the lines. "My father is dead, then?"

The grizzled Keshig guard captain slowly nodded solemnly, "I'm sorry, my boy."

"It's alright, Uncle. Api has taken him back into her bosom. It's not exactly a shock and Ariadne told me that she thought she saw his spirit flee in the flames not long ago. Besides, my father lived more than ninety years and sired many children through dozens of wives. He defeated his enemies and supported his friends, falling from this world a king and a free man. What else could anyone possibly aspire too?"

"Indeed, my boy. Indeed," Arslan said with pride written all over his face. Looking back at Ariadne, the old warhorse shook his head, indicating that he didn't wish Spartacus to know that his father's heart had failed upon hearing news of his son's fate.

"Then tonight we feast, in honor of my father." Spartacus said after a moment of quiet reflection,

"Sounds good to me!" Arslan bellowed. "But first,"

Kneeling down on one knee and folding a closed fist over his heart, Arslan said, "Prince, will you lead our people as King Spardokos?"

"I will,"

"Do you take command of the horses of your forefathers?"

"I do."

"Do you accept the horses, gers and salt offered to you here today?"

"I do."

"Then let it be so."

Spartacus knew that his coronation would be resented by some, as his princely status had been mostly a joke up until that point. However, he didn't realize just how power hungry certain men were.

Nor did he realize that it would tear his army apart.

:..: