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Story #13 - RV Forum Favonius Cornelius - Jason - 2000 words

Fifth Place!

A rich man and a fugitive, a common pair in these times, Cornelius Pola felt the shores of Britannia seemed actually inviting though they surely stood at the edge of the world. The journey from Rome to the end of the empire was a sad one. It's never a happy thing to leave your life long home, less so because your home now most certainly considered you an enemy. They sailed from Ostia to Massilia, then rode by horse from Nabonensis, through Lugdenesis, up through Belgica. A sickening and twice abortive crossing of the channel between Gaul and Britannia eventually landed the aristocrat on rocky shores. Every leg of the journey was designed to hide their trail. No friends were made. No respects paid.

He never realized how much he loved his daughter Tertia until she died on the road in Narbonensis to a feverish sickness. Favonius blamed himself for it. Not entirely a legitimate claim, but a grieving father is not often reasonable. It was a wound he would always carry with him, a wound which he wholly lay at the feet of one man.

"Father, what are you thinking now?" Favonius had three sons, his eldest Lucius asked this. He knew when his father had a weighty subject on his mind.

"I hate Commodus." A fist grabbed the hilt of his gladius as if he could conjure the man before him now and strike. A thousand times he would.

Lucius gave a pensive glance at the deck hands unloading their considerable baggage. "Not so loud father I beg you..."

"Yes..." Favonius admired the loyalty and duty of his first born, though his plea hardly registered.

Cornelius Pola and the now emperor Commodus had a long history. When a young man, Favonius was as wild as any strapping lad with gold to spend, but he had the restrictions of his class and plain decency to keep him from excess. Commodus knew no bounds. Surely it must be difficult to master humility when your father was destined to become a god. Commodus took advantage of every situation, every chance to show those around him that he too would be an emperor. One raucous night at the party of a mutual friend, a woman he was wooing for years was taken from him on a whim. That night Commodus took her in his chambers, spoiling her virginity. It was as if a certain innocence of soul died that night in Favonius. On another occasion a friend since childhood was beaten to near death by Commodus and a gang of friends on a drunken night. His friend Marcus was not quite the same ever again. Wound after wound, insult on injury. You can only push a man so far.

'I hate Commodus,' thought the man who was descendant of senators and consuls. Where did his destiny lay? The gods were so fickle, life unkind. But to the men who reached out and grabbed what they could; the gods rewarded those who took action and made their own destiny. It entertained them. Not only was such a thing his quality, such a thing was demanded by propriety, and by dignitis.

His family, a group of choice retainers and as little baggage as he could convince his dear wife to bear, made their way north to the very wall built by Hadrian. 'What times those must have been' Pola thought, 'An enlightened emperor, rich times. Happiness from one corner of the vast empire to the other. Millions joined in the sweet rejoice of life.' The landscape of Britannia was not quite as desolate as he expected. The occasional villa dotted the countryside. Wide pastures maintained great herds of sheep and goats. In the hills were villages centered on mining of tin. Provincia Britannia may not have been a gem in the crown of the empire, but it was a characteristic asset nonetheless.

They rode up to a small fort, nestled against the wall that guarded this northernmost frontier against barbarian chaos. From the distance it looked hardly even like an arbitrary line drawn by some far removed emperor. As their little caravan approached Hadrian's Wall, the excellent Roman engineering showed its quality. The wall did not need to be much to achieve the purpose it was intended to serve. Doubtless even the soldiers who patrolled its length even grasped this.

"Lucius, look how well it is built. Not too high, just enough to look impressive. Do you understand?" Favonius smiled at his son.

"Yes. The wisdom of Hadrian." He paused a moment contemplating: "Conquering people without lifting a sword."

Favonius was pleased with his son's penetrating intelligence, but this pleasure soon was replaced by alarm. Something was not exactly right with the fort Vindobala. Men ran about on the walls and a few shouts revealed not all was well on the northern front.

"Lucius, Quintus, come with me. Marcus look after everything here. We will ride ahead and find out just what is going on."

The aristocrat and his sons rode ahead, dust billowing behind them from a worn track uncharacteristically dried by an unusually hot summer. Soon they were at the wall, and a centurion strode forward, apparently the commander of this area.

"Halt! You must leave immediately! The Caledonians approach. You civilians should head south at once and quickly!" The burly man barked his orders with the certainty of one who expected to be obeyed always.

"How many, and how many do you command. What is your name?" Favonius demanded rigidly as any noble would. It was a prerequisite of status.

The centurion was taken aback by the haughtiness of the men who stood before him, and after sizing them up he decided it was best to answer: "there are a few hundred who approach the wall. They have some ladders with them, and they don't look like they are coming to share some drink. I've got some hundred Batavians, twenty mounted legionaries and twenty Syrian archers. The name is Centurion Aulus. Who exactly are YOU?"

"Favonius Cornelius Pola, and these are my sons Lucius and Quintus. Apparently you could use some assistance." Favonius glanced at Lucius and immediately he galloped quickly to their caravan to retrieve weapons and armor.

"Cornelius Pola? That name is familiar." Aulus' brow crumpled in concentration. "Oh, I know, the governor many years back? Didn't he raise a shrine in Londinum. I'm from Londinum."

"No time for talking man! Let us get organized. Are the Syrians on the wall?"

"Yes sir! The men are ready and waiting."

Pola and his sons were soon in gear and on the walls with the rest of the family making quick for a local fortified town. The land beyond was without much outstanding terrain. Rolling hills and the occasional copse of short, hardy trees dotted the countryside. Then of course, there was the also the horde. Approximately three hundred men walked forward towards the fort, carrying crudely constructed ladders. They were almost naked, and quite a few of them had strange tattoos. They carried large swords. These men would not fall back without a fight, and a fight they would give in plenty. Before long they were near the wall and charging forward without much organization.

"Aulus, have the Syrians focus their fire on those who hold the ladders. Let them squirm in disarray for as long as possible. Have your men toss their pili on my command. Keep your best men in front of the fort gate, I have a plan for them. My boys will join them." Favonius tested his gladius in his scabbard. It had been many years since he used it to kill a man. Did he still have it?

The Syrian archers, commanded to fire at will, presently let loose their first volley. Sharp twangs punctuated the first contact between enemies: the deep penetration of wickedly sharp arrows. Some missed their mark, more were implanted in the large shields the barbarians carried, and still more sunk into flesh. Screams were the reward for carefully placed shots that years of training provided.

It wasn't long however before the Caledonians were before the walls. There were just too many. The horde of men ran straight up to the wall as if to break it down by sheer force of will, and brought up their ladders to many points along the wall. There were hardly enough men to meet each, but before the Caledonians had a chance to swarm the top they had to bear more punishment from above. Pola calmly drew his gladius and held it aloft, and on that signal the auxiliaries tossed their spears into the crowd below. Combined with the constant haranguing of the archers, a miserable toll was taken. But they pushed on.

"Push the ladders off! Aulus take the right wing! You there, push it off!" Pola frantically issued orders along the wall, but in a number of areas already the ladders were in place and Caledonians frantically climbing to the top. The auxiliaries did not look like the most test men Pola had ever seen, but for now they held. Before long pitched combat was a reality in a number of areas.

Near the center a ladder full of Caledonians threatened to doom a breakthrough, and thus Pola raced to aid the section. Two auxiliaries were all that could be spared here, and they timidly thrust their spears at the lead climber.

"No like this!" Pola grabbed a large stone and pushed it over the side, catching quite a few and bringing them to ground with a sickening crunch. The ladder swayed to the side and was shattered.

By this time the numbers of the Caledonians had taken a heavy loss. Nearly half their number was dead or injured and unable to fight. Unfortunately nearly half that now remained now fought on the walls themselves. The Syrians were out of arrows, fighting with their short swords for dear life. The auxiliaries fought well against the Caledonians but their ferocity caused much damage. Men of both sides fell from the wall with grievous wounds, others slumped against the battlements watching the remnants of their life fade away. Blood soaked Hadrian's wall again.

Pola was locked in combat with a large one. He had spiraling blue tattoos and actually wore a helm gilded with gold. He may have been the leader, but Pola was too winded and focused to pay much attention. It was a desperate trade of blows, Caledonian wielding heavy attacks with his large sword, the Roman trying to close and stab. Pola paid for his victorious blow with a glancing cut to the leg: with a low cut barely parried, into the exposed chest of the barbarian was sunk a gladius. Pola didn't even bother to retrieve it, but turned towards the fort gate and shouted hoarsely.

"Lucius! Now! Now!" The gates flung open as the legionaries charged forward with Lucius and Quintus. The fresh veterans cut down the barbarians still on the ground with cold efficiency. The demoralizing surprise sent the remaining Caledonians on the ground running for their lives. Soon the remaining were finished off or surrendered, and all men collapsed from exhaustion.

Aulus made his way over to Pola who now sat against the battlements himself, heaving and looking long to the south. "Favonius, I'm glad you were here my friend. I'm not sure I would have called that."

Pola looked up at his new friend and smiled. "Ole man, we both fight for Rome. On equal terms, let us remember this day as the founding of friendship, and perhaps the start of something new."

Aulus helped the limping man back to the fort, and so begun a thread of events to leave its print on history for millennia.


"Above, below, all around are the movements of the elements. But the motion of virtue is in none of these: it is something more divine, and advancing by a way hardly observed it goes happily on its road." --Marcus Aurelius

Overview

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Aki Greus
Andrew Moore
Peter Ponjaert
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Pompeius Magnus
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Adam Yuhasz
Martin Stubbs
Will Brown
T.J. Schneider
Mathew DeLiso
Jason

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Story #13 - Favonius Cornelius - Jason - 2000 words