If worst comes to worst, would Scaevola's intercession be sufficient to avoid facing Sulla's wrath in the proscriptions? Is there anything that can be done at this point to at least lay the foundation for gaining favor with Sulla should he emerge triumphant, especially as a deterrence against Pompey, who will be seeking to rise high in Sulla's esteem?
We have been good enough to get noticed but we are not high enough in Marius esteem for Sulla to kill us. Well his cousin is in charge of our horse and the winning plan has us working with him. But the best we can do is lead our legion well and keep the love of the men.
Ok so Telemon has a patron I recommend giving the guy a dollar if you can . I plan to give him money next week. He is a good writer and he wants to self publish someday.
I'm actually wondering what does Herakleo wants in this endeavor because currently, he is fighting for Marius but with him being old, and he really doesn't care for what happens to Mithridates or his fellow Greeks wanting independence then maybe he is looking at how the political winds blow for Rome with the Republic in a state of unrest and violence for decades now with the war between Sulla and Marius going hot once more after this campaign. I think he is now thinking on who to back and he would think that Marius' successors might not have what it takes when he dies and he wants to be on the winning side because he is currently fighting for Rome but whose Rome is the greatest question of this age to not get killed by the victor whose vengeance can be heard for millennia.
The wind buffeted Gaius Flavius Fimbria's cloak as he walked, a chill wind from the west biting at the parts of his skin that his tunic and boots did not cover. The acrid tang of smoke filled his nostrils, and he sucked it in with a deep breath, savoring the woody smell of it. The smoke rose in great black charnel pillars above the earth, and the rising sparks of the fire mixed with the black plumes to paint the sky a certain grey-orange that reminded him of blood.
The color of war. It meant that Mars was pleased, and the thought made Fimbria smile. He had punished the traitors well. It was on days like this that he felt proud to be a Roman.
Ahead of him, two of his men shoved a sobbing woman to the ground. As she struggled to rise, one of them lazily placed a sandal on her back, forcing her back down, then slid his gladius softly between her shoulderblades, silencing her sobs. His fellow clapped him on the back with a laugh, then reached down to pluck their prize --a finely wrought golden necklace-- from around her neck. Upon noticing him, the men turned from their victim and offered sloppy salutes, grinning as they did so.
He returned the salute sharply, then left the men to their grisly work. Around them, the city smoldered and burned. Storefronts gaped, their doors torn off their hinges, and men filed in and out, their arms heavy with lucre. Most of the homes had been fired, and those that had not were in the process of being sacked. Everywhere he looked, corpses littered the streets, women and children in night-shifts and smallclothes. The city had been asleep when the Ninth Legion fell upon them. They had not known what was coming until his soldiers dragged them from their bed and put swords to their necks. He had ordered that not a soul in the city should die well, or in their sleep. Each and every one had felt terror before they died, had felt cold steel against their skin, and in the instant of their dying, had known the fear of Rome.
Fear of him.
Some back in Rome frowned upon Fimbria's methods. Brutal, they had called him. Cruel. Sadistic. The words had bothered him once, but no more. Fimbria had been born a soldier's son, and knew that war was never half so clean or easy as the soft lawyers and bureaucrats imagined. His mouth twisted as he imagined them now, weak men full of weak platitudes, who stood before progress in Rome and imagined that their wealth made them great, made them better than him.
He had enjoyed slaughtering them so. His mouth shifted in the other direction as he reflected on the red days and nights when Rome had fallen to him and the men he gladly served. He had killed many of his detractors then, and he had glimpsed again and again the fear which he so enjoyed in their eyes. They had realized in those moments what he had always known -- that Rome was not them. It was not their empty words or prattling speeches. It was not their gold or their palaces or their monuments to nothing. Rome, they had understood as they choked on their blood and stared into his eyes, was him. It was a killer with a heavy hand and an empty smile. It was a sky dark with ash and fire. It was a sword red with the blood of other men.
As Fimbria thought, his eyes were drawn to the body of a man lying in the mud some feet from him. The man's face was a ruined pulp of blood and bone, but his chest, Fimbria noticed with some amazement, was rising softly. One of the Greek's hands were closed weakly around a shortsword, but there was no strength left in the fingers. The poor fool had attempted to stand against the legion, most likely, and caught a sword to the head for his troubles. Fimbria drew his short dagger and knelt at the dying man's side. Carefully, reverently, he lifted up the blood-soaked head and brought his lips to the hole where the Greek's ear had been.
"You fought well, Greek. You fell sword in hand against Rome. Be proud. That is more than most can say. I will give end to suffering, but return me small favor. When you reach the Underworld and are ferried over Styx, tell all the dogs of Sulla who will be waiting there it was Gaius Flavius Fimbria who sent you. They know the name. Count yourself blessed to die by such hand."
He kissed the man on the cheek, then slid the dagger gently into his heart.
When the man's breathing stilled, Fimbria wiped the dagger on the dirt, then rose to his feet.
"Men!" He called, raising his voice to be heard over the din of slaughter. "Ninth Legion! Fimbria speaks! Raise tongue in answer and give ear!"
Answering cheers and shouts of assent returned to him from across the city. When the cacaphony had stilled, he continued loudly.
"I have been given word -- great Marius marches on the Maeander! We march now to meet him, but we do not go empty-handed, like cowards or craven! We bear high the heads of all the Greeks who gave knee to the traitor and his legions! These lands forever and always shall give fear to the name of Rome! We march for the Maeander! For Marius! For Rome! For Fimbria!"
He bared his chest to the sky and howled. "MARIUS! FIMBRIA! ROME!"
The cry that returned was more like the howling of wolves than the shouts of men, and it echoed into the blood-smoke sky.
The mountain was cold. Terribly so. Lucius Magnia was no stranger to the cold, but this far north, it was almost unbearable. There was nothing like this in the hills of Rome.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he would ever see Rome again, or the old farm by the river, or his daughters' smiles. It grew colder as he thought those thoughts, and the centurion pulled his cloak tighter still. The gods visited cruel deaths upon traitors, he had heard, and upon their families to the tenth generation. He hoped that was not true. He did not mind a cruel death. He was a soldier, and he had long ago grown accustomed to the idea of --had even come to expect -- such an end, a slow and bitter dying on a distant field under strange stars. His girls had done nothing, however. The youngest was only twelve, with big brown eyes and curly hair and soft laughter that seemed to him the sweetest sound the gods had ever made. They did not deserve to suffer for their fathers' sins.
In a motion that had grown all too familiar in the past weeks, Lucius cast his eyes to the overcast heaven and offered a silent prayer to his gods. Mars was not kind, he knew, but a man could dream.
He cast his eyes ahead of him, to the tall man in a dark cloak who was his guide on this cold mountain. He had been blindfolded for most of his journey, and had been led by a variety of different Greeks, of which this man was the latest. They still did not trust him to know their final destination, for fear that he might return to Rome and spill their secrets. He could almost have laughed at the idea. Rome, either Rome -- Marius' or Sullas' -- did not smile on traitors. Before any secrets could leave his lips, he would be up on a cross, or strangled, or whatever inventive measure his former countrymen could find for him. His people were creative killers, and cruel when it suited them -- and it suited them often.
That last fact, at least, the Greeks had been well aware of, treating him tersely, and with barely concealed disdain. When they spoke, their sentences were littered with pointed references to the butcheries at Athens or Sardis. They had led him and his broken half of the Ninth Legion blindfolded across most of Asia, caring little for their comfort or their pride. This guide, however, was of a different make than the rest. He was kind, for one thing, and he had removed Lucius' blindfold with an apology in thick, accented Latin. They had spoken a little at the base of the mountain, but the small conversation alone had been different to any reception Lucius had gotten in Asia.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, the man turned and called back to him over the icy winds.
"Your daughters, Roman. How old are they?"
Lucius replied, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the gusting winds. "Twelve and fifteen. The augurs assure a third on the way."
"So you have something to fight for, then. Men without families are too easily broken, and their loyalties too easily turned. But then, you would know something of loyalty, wouldn't you, Roman?"
Lucius bent his lip and gave no reply.
"Relax," his guide called. "I do not mean that harshly. It takes bravery for a man to break such loyalty. If you did not have a family, I might think you coward -- but as you do, I think you perhaps a braver man than I. Perhaps you will see your daughters again, aye? If Mithridates takes Rome."
Mithridates. The name sent a shiver down Lucius' spine.
"Yes," he called back. "Mithridates. Where is he, exactly?"
"Not far," his guide responded. "Not far at all. His majesty holds his war-court atop this mountain for several reasons, you know."
"And what might those be?" Lucius wondered.
"Well, firstly, only soldiers have the toughness for the trip. By the time the soft little lords have made the journey, they're all too cold to argue much. A noble is much less haughty and much more pliant when he's frozen over."
Lucius nodded. He was already finding it hard to talk past his numb tongue and lips. "And the second?"
His guide slowed, and dropped back down the path to walk of pace with him. The man's dark blue eyes drilled into Lucius' own as he spoke.
"When the first Mithridates came to these lands, he had only six horsemen at side, loyal men who had helped him flee the Macedonians. He had received an oracle which said that his hope -- and the hope of all his line -- lay in these very mountains and hills. He sent his riders out to the corners of the land, to raise his name among the people and gather a force with which to resist the army of Antigonus. He would await their return with his army on this mountain. If a year had passed, and no one came, he would know the oracle for false, and would take his life."
"That did not happen, I'm guessing." Lucius smirked.
His guide paused, holding up a hand for patience, and drew a dark bottle from under his cloak, which he unstoppered, and took a deep swig from. When he was done drinking, he met Lucius with a sharp smile.
"It was a near thing. A year had come and gone, Mithridates the First stood alone upon the mountain, and no help had come. But then, on the night of the last day of the year Apollo appeared to him on the mountaintop, and apologized. His prophecy, usually so unerring, had been off -- the Fates had weaved a thread, a hair out of place. Mithridates' army would come on the morrow, the Sun God promised, and deliver him from Macedon, if only he would not take his life as he had so sworn. Mithridates stood tall and replied that he had done well, then, not to place his trust in the prophecy or the god, but in those who served him. He had never despaired, you see, for he knew his six men for true."
"An inspiring tale."
"Indeed. The strength of Pontus has never been it's king (though it's king is mighty enough) or it's faith in the gods, but it's people, who are loyal and bold and strong to the dying. A thousand Roman armies could come to these hills, and there meet their ends before they ruled over Pontic men. The sons and heirs of those six men live in these lands, and they are as true as their fathers were. That is what our king needs in these days. True men, who will serve him to their dying, and he them."
"We do not have kings in Rome."
"I have heard men serve themselves in Rome, and little else. It is poor result."
As they spoke, they rounded a corner and the mountaintop came into view. A ring of torches stood there, with soldiers standing at the ready. Behind them milled men and commanders and nobles, murmuring and planning, perhaps two dozen Pontic princes all in all. As Lucius and his guide came into view, one of the soldiers let out a shout. Immediately, all the nobles and the lords and the generals turned from their planning and knelt, their knees thudding upon the snow all at once. Only Lucius' guide remained standing.
The man turned, throwing back his hood as he did so. His hair was dark, like raven's wings, and his eyes seemed now more steel than blue. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Mithridates," Lucius croaked, and fell to his knees.
"Rise, Roman." The king who had been his guide placed a firm hand on his shoulder and lifted him up. "I walked you here myself, to have the measure of you, and give you the measure of me absent weight of crown. A man should choose freely whom he serves, no?"
Lucius found himself at a loss for words.
"Once more, as my ancestor, I find foes at my borders and enemies all around. I cannot put my faith in the gods or in the oracles -- I can only trust in those men who have given themselves to me. If I have that, I need nothing else. Will you serve, Lucius Magnia of Rome?"
Lucius thought for a long moment on his daughters, and his farm, and his cruel old gods. He thought of the death he had so long come to expect, alone and nameless under strange skies.
He thought on all these things, and he made his choice.
So I think Telemon is trying to humanize our enemies and give us a enemy to hate. Half a legion of blood thirty sadists and half a legion of men surviving the Mithridites but are still Roman.
Telamon's depiction of the factions in the civil war does seem to slightly favor Sulla, if at least by the lens of an unreliable narrator. Here, we see the worst of the Marians, Fimbria, acting out in a manner that even the people at the time found much too vicious. Other followers of Marius aren't portrayed all that well either, with the exception of Sertorius, but his status as a follower of Marius is rather tenuous as both of them have both mentioned their dislike of the other. Also, it should be said that Marius is hero worshiped to such a high degree, its almost cult like.
While with Sulla, it doesn't really seem that way. There are large amounts of historiography that paints the Optimates, or Sullans in this case, as just a bunch of spoiled brats who don't want to part with their wealth. Story here doesn't seem to think that's true, or at least, not all that true as talk of wealth inequality hasn't really come up. One of the most prominent conservatives, that is, Scaevola, is portrayed in a rather sympathetic manner. It shows how fraught with danger the capital is, and that Scaevola doesn't really make mention of the stereotypical, "Plebs should be put in their place!" attitude they've been seen as having, but views the Marians as nothing but a semi-cult that he's not even sure Marius can control, which the story seems to back up.
Wait, does Fimbria really think he can just get to Marius with half a traitor legion and pretend like they totally didn't murder their legate and abandon Marius's army once already? Well, that is certainly a very bold decision.
Telamon's depiction of the factions in the civil war does seem to slightly favor Sulla, if at least by the lens of an unreliable narrator. Here, we see the worst of the Marians, Fimbria, acting out in a manner that even the people at the time found much too vicious. Other followers of Marius aren't portrayed all that well either, with the exception of Sertorius, but his status as a follower of Marius is rather tenuous as both of them have both mentioned their dislike of the other. Also, it should be said that Marius is hero worshiped to such a high degree, its almost cult like.
While with Sulla, it doesn't really seem that way. There are large amounts of historiography that paints the Optimates, or Sullans in this case, as just a bunch of spoiled brats who don't want to part with their wealth. Story here doesn't seem to think that's true, or at least, not all that true as talk of wealth inequality hasn't really come up. One of the most prominent conservatives, that is, Scaevola, is portrayed in a rather sympathetic manner. It shows how fraught with danger the capital is, and that Scaevola doesn't really make mention of the stereotypical, "Plebs should be put in their place!" attitude they've been seen as having, but views the Marians as nothing but a semi-cult that he's not even sure Marius can control, which the story seems to back up.
A.) The Marians are currently dominant and in control.
and
B.) We haven't yet focused on Sulla. He has his own wardogs too, perhaps just as cruel as Marius' own.
I've decided to focus on Marius' faction since they rarely get the spotlight in stories of the time, given that Sulla was victorious (and subsequently murdered them all), but the optimates can be plenty terrible all on their own.
Of course, there are more than a few reasons why the young, aristocratic, obscenely wealthy (compared to the average Roman), and patrician-sponsored Atellus might favor one side over the other, and only have paid attention to the depravations of the Marians.
So something you should know to accurately depict the battles ahead is that by the time of Mithradates, the Phalanx was no longer used by Pontus. Instead the majority of Mithradates' Army was comprised of Thorakitai, troops equipped and fighting in the Roman Manipular Fashion.
Mithradates also had access to some of the best cavalry and archers in the ancient world, Scythian Lancers and Horse Archers working as Mercenaries for the Bosporans, who Mithradates was King of at the time.
This force, and Mithradates own tactical acumen, served him during the war as he would be one of the very few men to actually beat Rome in battle, ending the 1st Mithradatic War as the victor in our history. Ironically it was his own refusal to butt out of the politics of the other Greeks of Asia, as well as the subsequent treachery he committed against those same Greeks, that caused his defeat and ultimate assassination, not any great loss on the battlefield.
Telamon's depiction of the factions in the civil war does seem to slightly favor Sulla, if at least by the lens of an unreliable narrator. Here, we see the worst of the Marians, Fimbria, acting out in a manner that even the people at the time found much too vicious. Other followers of Marius aren't portrayed all that well either, with the exception of Sertorius, but his status as a follower of Marius is rather tenuous as both of them have both mentioned their dislike of the other. Also, it should be said that Marius is hero worshiped to such a high degree, its almost cult like.
Eh. I'm personally mostly on the Side of the Populares throughout the History of the Late Roman Republic, but I'm not gonna pretend that things are as simple as black and white there.
Yeah if Marius dies we switch sides . Maybe move the family outside of Rome back to the estate with a lot of guards. Or get more guards for the current home.
Ok I see the possible ways this goes. Marius defeats Mithridites. Cementing his position as Rome's great general. He than has to fight Sulla who is frankly as good a general and more ruthless.
We loose and what is left goes over to Sulla. I do not think we will loose since it is technically even numbers right now and Marius is well Marius. Also from what we know the enemy does not know we are coming.
Sulla gets defeated and Marius get defeated. I do not really see how both of them could be defeated but well dice. This happens Rome panics and well things get interesting. Maybe Mithridites invades Greece with a bigger army.
During all of this we do not have to worry about being killed in the shadows. Because if we are killed it will be either a execution or in the battlefield. Also Marius May die at any time since he is in his 80's stressed and on campaign. This will be his last war one way or the other.
Yeah if Marius dies we switch sides . Maybe move the family outside of Rome back to the estate with a lot of guards. Or get more guards for the current home.
Ok I see the possible ways this goes. Marius defeats Mithridites. Cementing his position as Rome's great general. He than has to fight Sulla who is frankly as good a general and more ruthless.
We loose and what is left goes over to Sulla. I do not think we will loose since it is technically even numbers right now and Marius is well Marius. Also from what we know the enemy does not know we are coming.
Sulla gets defeated and Marius get defeated. I do not really see how both of them could be defeated but well dice. This happens Rome panics and well things get interesting. Maybe Mithridites invades Greece with a bigger army.
During all of this we do not have to worry about being killed in the shadows. Because if we are killed it will be either a execution or in the battlefield. Also Marius May die at any time since he is in his 80's stressed and on campaign. This will be his last war one way or the other.
We don't have equal numbers. Mithradates has around 360,000 troops he can call on if needed. Thats roughly 3 times the amount of legionaries in the Entire Roman East.
And this is without mentioning Tigranes of Armenia who is also fighting Rome currently and has a further 100,000 troops.
There's a reason it took 3 wars and an assassination to beat Mithradates in history. . .
We don't have equal numbers. Mithradates has around 360,000 troops he can call on if needed. Thats roughly 3 times the amount of legionaries in the Entire Roman East.
And this is without mentioning Tigranes of Armenia who is also fighting Rome currently and has a further 100,000 troops.
There's a reason it took 3 wars and an assassination to beat Mithradates in history. . .
What I'm getting at is that this won't be in any way decisive. Mithradates has a large number of trained troops at his disposal to call up as replacements and this campaign is going to take much more than one battle to wrap up in a victory.
We may seriously want to consider striking at Mithradates personally rather than trying to grind through all the Greeks in Asia willing to fight. . .
What I'm getting at is that this won't be in any way decisive. Mithradates has a large number of trained troops at his disposal to call up as replacements and this campaign is going to take much more than one battle to wrap up in a victory.
We may seriously want to consider striking at Mithradates personally rather than trying to grind through all the Greeks in Asia willing to fight. . .
Which seems kind of like Telamon hasn't done any research, but supposedly this is part way through the First Mithradatic War and it seems to have played out a little differently than in history, so maybe there's a reason for Mithradates' reduced numbers from actual history that we didn't see. . .
