Lucius stood under the large canopy Flavius Claudius Constantius had set up in the field in front of his legions arrayed in their battle line. Shivering, Lucius wore his black tunic and the black wool with white diamond bands circling up and down the arms and legs of the shirt and leggings Marpesia had given to him. The cold wind whipped through his shaggy, curly hair. He’d not cut it since before he left the borders of the empire on his final mission for Roma and its imperator.
The boy general hadn’t even allowed him to keep his bearskin cloak. Flavius had claimed it as his prize, wanting to own something from Marcus Aurelius, who’d gifted it to Lucius over a century ago. He tried to keep from shivering, but the cutting wind bit through the thick wool of his leggings and tunic. The iron manacles at his wrist didn’t help, forming two iron bands that relayed the cold directly to his skin. Despite all that, Lucius kept his back straight, his demeanor relaxed with an edge of arrogance to it.
He knew, just beyond the hill in front of them, his legion and Marpesia’s Sarmatians waited. Marpesia had made good time, swinging wide around Constantius’s numerically superior force, getting in front of them to alert Pisakar of Lucius’s capture. Together, they’d selected a prime battlefield and secured the high ground to block Constantius’s advance.
And even though Flavius outnumbered Lucius’s legion and Marpesia’s Sarmatian horse archers at least three to one, no one with a lick of sense would attack the Black Legion uphill when the Black had established fortifications. Even if Flavius appeared not to have much sense, someone on his staff did. They’d halted their line of advance and readied for battle in case they couldn’t negotiate with Lucius’s second-in-command and closest friend.
Ignoring the discussion happening around him, Lucius kept his eyes on the thick line of sharpened stakes lined up near the top of the hill. So far, no one was visible on the line except for a century holding the main banner of the Black Legion and a matching number of Sarmatian horse archers holding Marpesia’s wolf banner. A third banner of truce rose slightly higher between the two other banners.
Pisakar had a flair for the dramatic. He knew that theatricality could go a long way to even the odds, especially with the reputation and legends surrounding the empire’s most elite of legions. There wasn’t a legionnaire in the empire who didn’t know the stories of the Black Legion, been weaned on them, stood in awe of them, hoping to be selected to join them.
A smile quirked the corners of Lucius’s mouth at the sound of the wolf calls coming from the distance. A double line of cavalry road up the hill, between the banners, and split left and right along the picket line. When they reached their predetermined full line, the lines filled a second, third, fourth and fifth rows, leaving a large gap in the middle. He admired the precision of Marpesia’s men and women. Flavius’s legati turned and joined Lucius in watching the action unfolding ahead of them.
When the wail of the first carnyx split the silence, Lucius’s heartbeat picked up.
“The Dragon cohort,” he said, breaking the silence and pointing out the mournful call his first cohort used to call his men to attention and to warn the legion’s enemies who they were about to fight.
Lucius could feel the stares of Flavius’s commanding officers. Behind them, he heard the nervous jangling of the Flavius’s legions as the situation changed after their long wait.
When a horn approximating the screeching of an eagle broke the silence left by the Dragon call, Lucius quietly added, “Eagle cohort.” Lucius called out the cohort after each call. “Bull cohort. Boar cohort. The Horses, the Capricorns, the Elephants, the Harpies, the Gorgons.”
In the silence after the ninth horn call, every ear strained toward the hill. As one, every foot in lock step, all ten cohorts of the Black Legion appeared on top of the hill, the cohorts they’d formed out of the borrowed men from the border forts fleshing out their ranks and standing in reserve. The thunder of caligae stomping in precise order washed over everyone until they gave a quick double stomp as they halted between the wings of the Sarmatian cavalry. The last carnyx filled the sudden silence, giving its best imitation of the eerie call of the wolf.
“And Wolf cohort.”
The Sarmatians joined the wolf call. Lucius took a moment to check Flavius’s legions. They shuffled side to side in place, looking nervously at their neighbors in the line. None of them wanted to charge uphill into the fortified Black Legion with a horde of armored Sarmatian horse archers to pepper their flanks. Flavius ground his teeth, his jaw muscles flexing, anger pouring from his young eyes. They knew as well as Lucius how the warriors of the steppes were just as deadly with their lances, swords, and axes as they were with their bows. Lucius wondered where his three wings of cavalry were though, not seeing them mixed in with the Sarmatians. He knew Pisakar was up to something and had them doing something useful.
From the front line of Lucius’s troops, a banner of truce was raised several times. Next to him, a similar banner was raised by Flavius’s men. Getting the response that Flavius was ready to speak, two groups split off—one from the command line at the center of the Black Legion just behind its arrayed cohorts and a small group of Sarmatians, pulling out of the front of their right wing. Along with the banner of truce, Pisakar advanced under Lucius’s personal banner. Marpesia—he recognized her steel and bronze scale armor along with her golden Sogdian mare—and her Sarmatians moved forward under her wolf banner with its hollow tail catching the wind. Both groups met up and joined into one mass, halting a bit from the canopy. Pisakar and Marpesia dismounted, as did the three banner bearers and Aella.
Pisakar looked at Lucius. “I trust you’re doing well, Lucius.”
“Tolerably, Pisakar.”
Pisakar nodded. Marpesia yanked her helmet off and tossed it to the attendant accompanying her. The bruises left by Flavius’s men had turned to a nasty yellow and purple and covered her left eye and part of her cheek. Glaring at Flavius’s, she stalked toward Lucius, pulling her cloak off and spreading it across Lucius’s shoulders.
“Thank you, Marpesia,” Lucius whispered in Sarmatian just loud enough for her to hear.
She nodded, staring at his swollen and bruised face, and leaned in, whispering in Greek loud enough for everyone to hear. “If they’ve harmed you, I’ll revisit each hurt they’ve done to you upon the boy’s body.” She turned, giving Flavius a withering glare. At five feet eight inches, she had a couple inches on the boy general who’d just turned sixteen.
She smirked slightly as he winced, unable to control his reaction to her naked hostility.
“Have…” Flavius’s voice cracked as he addressed Pisakar. “Have you come to surrender to your Dominus and join us as we march home in victory?”
The tall Black man, towering over everyone under the canopy, pulled his helmet off, tucking it under his left arm, and looked at Lucius. “What say you, Princeps Primus Centurio? Do you feel like surrendering to this snot-nosed little shit today?” Pisakar let his deep, resonate voice carry so the nearest of Flavius’s legionnaires could hear it and carry his words to their comrades.
Lucius kept his face steady, fighting to keep from smiling at his audacious friend. Lucius looked Flavius up and down, letting his contempt finally show as the boy fumed at the insult.
“You know, Pisakar, I don’t think I do.” Lucius turned to Flavius. “I hope you’re sure of your men’s loyalty and fighting ability, because from where I stand, they don’t seem too long on either.”
“I don’t negotiate with prisoners,” Flavius spat out. “I’ve defeated the entire Gothic people. Your one legion won’t stand against my forces.
His eyes betrayed his own lack of confidence, although he tried to bristle and posture to cover it up.
“The winter and hunger defeated the Goths. You just butchered the weak.” Lucius snorted. “I may be the one in manacles, but you’re not the one in control.” Lucius turned so he could easily look between both armies while keeping an eye on Flavius and his officers. “In all the years I’ve commanded the Black Legion, we’ve never once drawn gladius against a legion of Roma. But since your father has seen fit to expel us from its borders, and you’ve betrayed his word to me about the safety of myself and my men, I guess today will be the day.”
Lucius nodded to the man who carried Lucius’s personal banner, Pertinax, who nodded back. Pertinax lifted the banner up then tipped it to his right. Keeping his stare firmly on the Imperator’s son, Lucius had no idea what Pisakar had planned but knew his second had something up his sleeve.
Out of the corner of his eye over the top of the hill and his legion, Lucius caught a speck arcing into the sky, leveling out, then completing its arc gracefully as it fell to earth, plunging into the turf about ten yards from the tent. Flavius winced at the closeness of the ballista bolt still quivering in the ground.
When the bolt landed, the Black Legion started banging their pila against their shields in rhythm, letting a loud, deep wordless chant of, “hah-room” punctuate each hit of the shield. Out of the corner of his other eye, Flavius’s legionnaires took a small step backwards, looking uncomfortably left and right to check the mettle of their comrades. The several wings of horses on each end of the infantry line danced nervously, picking up on the tension in their riders.
Lucius stared lazily at Flavius, a wry smirk on his face. “I think your men are questioning their own mortality as they stare uphill at the best trained and most feared legion in the empire.”
With his legion on his right and Flavius’s legions on his left, Lucius had a perfect view of the situation, including a copse of trees where the right wing of the Sarmatians had ended their line. “Ah, so that’s what you did with my cavalry, Pisakar.”
Flavius and his officers whipped around as the three cavalry alae formed up a line on the other side of the trees, putting them in position to easily flank the left of Flavius’s line. His men took another step backwards, their centurions and optios bellowing to keep control of their men. Lucius admired the precision of his cavalry as the two light wings spread wide with the ala of heavy kataphraktoi jangling forward, the sun glinting off the full armor of horse and rider. When they halted, the cornicens barked out their presence over the potential battlefield.
“Get my men under control, kill any cowards who flee!” Flavius yelled at his officers, his voice squeaking under the strain. He turned to Lucius. “If your men make another move, I’ll have you killed.”
Flavius couldn’t see his officers shocked looks and the loaded glances they shared among themselves, but Lucius could.
Marpesia stroked the side of the blade of her axe with her thumb. “If you give that order, it’ll be the last thing you ever do, boy.”
The blood drained from Flavius’s face at the venomous hatred in her eyes and the proximity of her hand to the deadly weapon she could put against his neck before anyone could respond. He staggered back, his face flushing from white to red as fear and rage warred for dominance.
Lucius nodded at Marpesia before returning his gaze to Flavius. “I think you’re starting to understand the situation, boy. I’m going to give you two options. You can withdraw your legions from the field and return home the victorious son of a proud father. Or, I will let the Roxolani emissary gift me your head. Then I’ll take your head back across the border into the empire with your legions at my back where I shall return your rotting skull to your father in a box just before I take the empire from him. The choice on how you return is entirely.”
“My men will never follow you.” Flavius didn’t sound as sure as his words.
Marpesia had been staring at the hills behind Flavius’s lines for a while when a vicious smile spread across her lips. Lucius checked to see what she was looking at. Sunshine glinted off row after row of heavily armed and armored Sarmatians, far more than their combined forces at the pass. He didn’t have time to count them, but guessed they numbered well over two thousand. Focused on Lucius, Marpesia, and Pisakar, Flavius and his officers hadn’t noticed the newest change in their circumstances. She tipped her head to the right. Her banner bearer took his banner and walked out of the shade of the canopy.
“Pisakar, please fetch me my new legions.” Lucius smiled condescendingly at the furious teen boy in front of him.
Pisakar walked behind Lucius, stopping at the edge of the canopy where the lines of Constantius’s legions could see him. After the chaos of the previous hundred years of legion turning on legion, the chaos that had led to the new Domini and Constantius, Lucius and Pisakar wanted to put the fear of the boy’s own family history to work against him.
“Tirones! Attention!” Pisakar commanded.
As one they snapped to attention, halting their creep backwards and straightening their lines. Every legionnaire had been called a tiro when they entered the legions until they graduated training. When a legionnaire was selected to join the Black Legion, they returned to tiro status until they proved their ability. To be called a tiro by Lucius or Pisakar was a high honor. By calling them all trainees of the Black Legion, Pisakar had just claimed them all, extending to them the glory associated with the Black.
Lucius held Flavius’s gaze. “You were saying?”
Selecting the perfect timing, Marpesia’s banner lifted high into the air, signaling the lines of Sarmatian heavy cavalry lined up behind Lucius’s newest legions. Down the line, horn calls sounded across the valley, bouncing off armored warriors and hills. Flavius’s head snapped to hills. His eyes went wide as fear won over rage, the blood draining entirely from his face as his knees shook.
One of his officers, an older man with mostly gray hair who’d been issuing most of the orders, placed his hand on Flavius’s shoulder. “Caesar, we must accept his terms. We’re surrounded. And your men would rather join him than face a better positioned enemy surrounding them on three sides.”
Lucius noticed his careful wording designed to carry the point home while providing some cover for the ego of the empire’s heir.
“No!” Flavius yelled. “I will not surrender to this Gallic peasant!”
“My Lord, Constantius Caesar, you have the chance to preserve your father’s empire and your future throne.” He paused before hissing, “Take it before all is lost.”
The boy looked like he wanted to refuse, but mastered himself before grinding out between clenched teeth, “Fine.” He stalked away from the officer, leaving the legatus standing alone between the other officers and Lucius.
The man stepped forward and bowed deeply to Lucius. “Princeps Primus Centurio Ferrata, Caesar has elected to quit the field and return home.”
“Very good, Legatus…” Lucius paused, looking for a name.
“Cornelius, Centurio Ferrata. Tiberius Cornelius,” the gray beard replied.
“I believe you have some orders to issue to your men, Legatus Cornelius.”
“Um, I’d feel more comfortable if you were to inform your men and your allies of our decision to take the peaceful option. Not that I’m questioning your honor—”
Lucius interrupted him. “Nor should you. Between your Caesar and myself, only one of us has never violated his word to imperator and empire.”
“Pardon me, Princeps Primus Centurio. I spoke poorly. I only meant I wish to ensure no bloodshed or mistakes on anyone’s part. I will keep our men still until you’ve had a chance to let everyone know we mean no harm and only wish to depart.”
Lucius nodded curtly, turning to Pisakar. “Legatus Pisakar. Stand down my men. There will be no fight today. Legatus Cornelius has elected the path of wisdom.”
“Aye, Centurio.” Pisakar saluted, strode back to the cluster of riders waiting out of range of the tent, and issued Lucius’s orders, sending a pair of riders back toward their lines.
“Legatus Cornelius, I’d appreciate the return of my equipment and the fine horse that was gifted to me by the Roxolani’s emissary.”
Cornelius turned and issued some orders to one of the legionnaires who stood guard, waiting to be of use. He ran off toward his lines and through them to retrieve Lucius’s effects from where they’d been stashed.
Marpesia walked up to Cornelius, scowling at him. “Take his manacles off.”
Cornelius nodded, eyeing the powerful woman who intimidated the Roman officers gathered under the canopy. Her anger at the empire’s betrayal and how she and Lucius had been treated radiated from every glare and action. They feared her axe and that a woman should wield it so well. Cornelius whispered something to Flavius, who took the key out and threw it to the ground. Cornelius bent over and picked it up, approaching Lucius.
Marpesia snatched the key from him. “Keep your distance, Roman.”
She walked to Lucius. He gave her a crooked smile and extended his manacled hands in front of him. She smiled softly at him, gently removing the manacles and scowling at the damage they’d done to his wrists.
“Don’t worry about it, Marpesia,” he said. “They’ll heal.”
She nodded. He reached out but hesitated before touching her, finally letting his hand collapse by his side without feeling the warmth of skin. A brief moment of hurt flashed through her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.
“Sir, we have your equipment.” The legionnaire had returned, along with several people carrying Lucius’s effects.
Lucius nodded at him.
“Allow me,” Marpesia said, sweeping her cloak off Lucius’s back and around her own shoulders.
She took Lucius’s lorica from the legionnaire who held it and gently settled it around Lucius’s shoulders, tying it shut for him. Next, she took the baldric attached to his gladius and rudis and slid it over his head, laying it along his left hip. His belt followed. She knelt and strapped his greaves on. Last, she took Lucius’s bearskin cloak and placed it over his shoulders, clasping it in front. The last legionnaire in line held Lucius’s helmet respectfully, offering it up to Lucius, who took it, holding it under his left arm.
He had no idea what they’d done with his armor padding or his scarf, but he’d be fine until he got back to their camp and dug out his spares.
“My horse?”
“The groom is bringing him.”
Lucius thought he understood. Moonlight Dancing had bonded with Lucius and had kicked at and bit most everyone except for a young groom who finally calmed her enough to be handled. Flavius had thought to take the beautiful silvery blue-gray black point Sogdian as a prize. The horse, taking his measure, had refused to let the boy Caesar near.
In the distance, where his cavalry lined up, a small cluster of riders galloped from their lines. Once they rode closer, he could make out their Sarmatian banners and armor. He looked at Marpesia, who’d noticed them as well, a wicked smile spreading across her face.
“Friends of yours?” he asked in Sarmatian.
She nodded. Seeing Marpesia’s banner, the new Sarmatians headed toward the small cluster. A giant of a man dismounted from his short steppes pony. Long red braids hung out the back and sides of his helmet. His beard was likewise braided. As he stalked toward Marpesia, he pulled off his helmet, a feral grin splitting his beard and mustache.
He called out in Sarmatian, “Cousin! Why are you standing around talking? Shouldn’t we be killing Romans?”
“They have decided to tuck tail and run, Siauakos.”
The giant folded her in a rib cracking hug that she returned, patting his back hard. When they broke apart, Marpesia turned to face Lucius.
“So, cousin, is this the man you’ve raised all this trouble for? He’d better be worth it. I should be drunk next to a fire right now, not freezing my balls off. Does he at least speak a civilized tongue?”
“Aye, he speaks some. Siauakos, this is Lucius Silvanius Ferrata, leader of the Black Legion. Lucius, this is my cousin on my mother’s side and leader of all the free Roxolani, Siauakos.”
Lucius extended his arm and clasped hands with the barrel-chested man covered in full scale mail. “Would you mind sending a messenger to your people letting them know the young Caesar will depart shortly? For some reason, they don’t feel safe.”
Siauakos let out a bellow of a laugh as he turned, contemptuously eyeing the boy who would one day rule the Roman Empire. He whistled back toward his escort and barked his orders. Two riders took off back the way they came, cutting a wide path around Constantius’s forces.
While Siauakos and Marpesia chatted, Lucius checked to make sure nothing was happening with Constantius’s troops or with the boy currently pacing back and forth on the other side of the canopy. He looked like he was working himself up for something. His own officers seemed to ignore him, quietly going over their withdrawal from the debacle created by their young Caesar. Finally, he straightened his back and stalked toward Lucius, his jaw clenching and his hands trembling.
“I hereby banish you and your barbarian whore from the borders of the empire for all time! To violate my command is to sign your own death warrant!”
Marpesia scowled at his insult, translating for her cousin. He took a step forward, reaching for his sword. She put her hand on his forearm, forestalling him. She stepped toward Constantius and unleashed a lightning fast punch, busting his nose and knocking him to the ground, blood spilling onto his face.
Constantius struggled to his knees, his spatha halfway out of its scabbard. Lucius yanked his gladius free of its sheath, leveling the tip at Constantius’s neck.
“It’s not too late to find a box, boy.” He looked toward the opposing officers, who were all studiously keeping their hands unmoving and far away from their weapons. “Get this arrogant pup out of my sight and get your men marching. If he even looks at me cross-eyed, I’ll leave all your bodies for the carrion birds to pick over.”
As one, they bowed to Lucius, two of them dragging the boy to his feet and pulling him back toward their line. Lucius lowered his sword, leaving it naked until they’d disappeared behind the first line of their legionnaires, then returned it to its scabbard.
Siauakos turned to Marpesia, nodding his head appreciatively toward Lucius. “I like him.”
Lucius nodded at Siauakos then turned to see where his horse was. A young boy was standing just outside the canopy, respectfully holding the big, shiny Sogdian on a lead. The boy kept his eyes on the ground. He had the look of a German or maybe a Dacian; he lacked the olive or darker skin tones of the more southerly peoples. He reached up and stroked the cheek of the horse who pressed into his hand, enjoying the attention.
“Thanks for bringing my horse.”
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly.
“Are you a free man or a slave?”
“Sir?”
“Who do you belong to? Yourself or to someone else?”
“The Caesar, sir.”
“Well, how would you like to be a free man?”
The boy looked back toward the legions of Flavius as they made ready to march then back toward Lucius. When he turned back, he lifted his head, making eye contact with Lucius as if checking to see what trap might be in store for him.
“I would like to not be owned by the Caesar, sir.”
“Congratulations. You’re now a free man. If you’d be so kind as to lead my horse over to the others?”
The boy nodded and started off.
“Wait. Where’s my saddle?”
“Um, I couldn’t find it. I think they threw it away, sir.” He looked frightened, in case Lucius was going to blame him.
“Looks like I’ll have to break in a new one.” Lucius gestured with his head toward the cluster of Roxolani and Roman riders.
Pisakar walked up behind Lucius, grabbing his shoulder. “We should probably get out of here in case the little shit changes his mind and gets his men to listen to him. I don’t want to be standing here without a legion around me.”
Lucius nodded and walked over to Marpesia and her cousin. “Care to ride with me back to our lines?”
Marpesia nodded, turning back to her cousin. “Until later?”
“Aye, cousin, we’ll share kumis and tell tales to the wind.” He turned to Lucius, extending his arm.
Lucius clasped his hand and nodded. Together, they walked back to the cluster of banners and horses. Siauakos leapt onto his pony and pulled its head around, taking off to rejoin his forces and giving the legions of Flavius a wide berth. Pisakar relayed orders to everyone as he bounded onto the back of his pony. When Lucius approached his shimmering silver Sogdian, the boy knelt and offered his back for Lucius to step on to aid his mounting.
“Stand back, boy. This is how we mount a horse in the Black.” He jumped up, planting his hands on the horse’s back and pulled himself into position, grunting. He’d barely made it up after Flavius’s harsh treatment. He leaned over offering his hand to the boy. “Ride behind me, we don’t have time for you to run alongside.”
The boy seemed unsure, but he took his hand and let Lucius pull him up. The boy settled in, wrapping his arms around Lucius’s waist. They kicked the horses into a trot then into a ground-eating gallop that would deliver them to the safety of the Black Legion.
“Thanks for coming for me, Pisakar. I don’t think my head was long for my body. The boy wanted to deliver it as a gift to his father,” Lucius yelled over the thunder of hooves.
“Don’t thank me, you fool. Thank Marpesia. If I hadn’t brought the legion along, she’d have taken my head and brought them herself. She’s a very strong-willed woman.”
Lucius pulled his horse alongside Marpesia’s golden mare. “Marpesia, thank you. For everything.”
She made eye contact with him and nodded, turning her attention back to the approaching picket line. Pisakar called out the password as they slowed, a line opening up for them to ride through. As Lucius worked his way through, his men sent up a hearty cry of welcome, the nearest reaching out to pat his greaves and boots as he passed. As soon as he was through, the lines closed behind him.
When he pulled back on the reins, the boy slid off the horse. Lucius followed suit, tossing the reins to the boy. “Micipsa,” he called, seeing his groom. “I got you an assistant. He’s got a knack with this beast. See if you can find him some warmer clothes and some food. Oh, and see if you can find my old saddle. We’re going to need to ride soon.”
Marpesia and Pisakar followed him to the cluster of his other senior officers.
“Anything to report?” Lucius asked.
“Glad to have you back, Centurio. Nothing new to report.” Tinkomaros extended his arm to Lucius.
“Alright, I don’t think we’ll have any problems, but let’s swing the line so we can keep them facing Constantius’s line as they withdraw. Send the Cavalry to the left wing.” Turning to Marpesia, he continued, “Would you like to take your Wolves and swing behind them and cap off the valley?”
She nodded back, a stern look on her face. She crammed her helmet back on her head and leapt on her horse, taking off toward her people, her small retinue following. Lucius watched her ride off.
She had been quite tender with him, giving her cloak as he shivered in the cold and then again as she helped him put his armor on after it was returned. Since then, she’d hardly said a word to him, only replying with terse nods. He’d hoped time and being captured would have diminished some of the hurt he’d caused her by trying to end things. Pisakar snorted. Lucius turned toward his friend, an eyebrow raised.
“What?”
“Nothing we have time for now.” Pisakar shook his head.
“Care to enlighten me?” Lucius asked.
“At the moment, I think we have other things to attend to. And I’m sure the chieftain will handle it.”
“Right.” He turned, looking for his secretary. “Martininius!”
He looked around for the young man, not finding him. A different young man in armor stepped forward.
“Oh…” He was reminded the young man had died trying to protect Lucius from being captured by Flavius. He sighed and turned to the man waiting for his orders.
“Centurio, I’m taking Martininius’s duties until you can select his replacement.”
Lucius nodded. “Thanks. See if you can find me something to eat, a focale, and armor padding.”
The legionnaire saluted and took off to carry out his orders. Lucius watched his officers carry out his orders, shifting his lines. The legionnaire he’d sent off to fetch him food returned a while later with a warm bowl of porridge. Lucius absentmindedly spooned it into his mouth as he watched Flavius’s forces march out at a quick pace, his officers wanting to get out of the way of Lucius’s anger in case he decided to pursue them.
Looking across the valley, his eyes sought the shimmering gold mare of Marpesia that matched the glittering gold bronze and silver steel of her scale armor. He followed her progress as she wheeled her clan warriors through the valley, discouraging Flavius from changing his mind. Her horse warriors halted when they reached their line. Siauakos’s heavy cavalry and archers filled the gap between their high ground and the right wing of Marpesia’s horse archers.
Lucius’s officers watched as Flavius disappeared over the horizon. Pisakar, sending out scouts to keep an eye on them, wanted to ensure no funny business. Pisakar and his officers had everything in hand while Lucius stared out over the valley, his eyes only for Marpesia.
“Centurio… Centurio…” one of his officers said, trying to get his attention.
“Lucius,” Pisakar called, interrupting Lucius’s reverie. “What are your orders?”
It took a moment for Lucius to pull his mind back to the moment. “Let’s get the men moving northeast. I want to consult with Marpesia on a place to camp for tonight, but I want to put as much distance between us and Flavius as we can.”
“Aye. Ah, looks like a delegation from the Wolves are on their way.” Pisakar pointed to a handful of riders separating from the center of Marpesia’s line and heading toward Lucius.
He didn’t see Marpesia among them, keeping his gaze on her as he issued his orders, “Ready the scouts and get the reserves formed up to start their march. We’ll thin our lines from the rear. Leave the First and the Eighth and my cavalry to screen our withdrawal. Have the camp ready for me when I arrive.”
“Aye, Centurio,” Pisakar barked, stalking off to carry out his Centurio’s orders.