Heir of Aurelian

Time had passed since Marcellus and his soldiers first entered Gaul, enough time for them to finally enter the Pyrenees. Aside from a few small conflicts with brigands and barbarians, they arrived at their destination with few losses. The soldiers of Marcellus legions were high in morale as they entered the mountain range and cut off Constantine’s ability to escape.

The plan was simple: dispatch a messenger to the allied troops in Hispania, informing them to begin their counterattack so that they can push the usurper and his armies back to the mountains where they would be caught between Marcellus’ troops and those of Hispania. Thus, for the time being, Marcellus had established a camp at the foothills of the mountains where his army lie in wait for the enemy.

Marcellus sent multiple messengers out to his allies to ensure that they reached the destination. After all, they would have to travel around Constantine’s forces to get to the soldiers of Hispania who currently hid behind their tall walls and defended their cities. At any point, Constantine and his army could intercept them. It was a dangerous task, but a necessary one.

—

While Marcellus and the bulk of his forces sat in the foothills of the Pyrenees, Tasius was in the middle of defending Saguntum from the Usurper’s forces. He stood atop the ramparts and watched as the siege unfurled. For the tenth time in the past week Constantine had charged towards the walls, and for the tenth time he was failing to break through. Despite being equipped with battering rams and ladders, the soldiers of the usurper’s army simply could not defeat the defenders of the city.

It was only because they had pulled back from their previous position that Constantine could seize it and gain a “major victory” in Hispania. In reality, this was Tasius’ way of goading Constantine deeper into his lands, to buy enough time for the new emperor and his so-called legions to catch Constantine from behind._.

With a sneer of disdain on his face, Tasius gazed at the volley of arrows that his city’s defenders unleashed onto the hostile forces below. Though the enemy had their shields raised, it was still possible for the thousands of projectiles that were launched to pierce through the gaps and strike the flesh of those unfortunate enough to be lacking sufficient body armor.

Like most forces in this apocalyptic time, Constantine’s army was poorly equipped. Most of his men were lucky if they had a shield and helmet, let alone a shirt of mail. One by one, the projectiles whittled their numbers down. Just when Constantine was about to call back his forces, he heard an order being given from the ramparts above.

“Light them up!”

Constantine was unaware of what this voice was referring to, but he recognized who it belonged to. Tasius had given the command for his soldiers to throw cauldrons of boiling pitch onto the soldiers who were climbing atop the ladders. Screams filled the air as the usurper’s forces fell from the ladders in agony.

However, that was not the worst of it, once the pitch had covered the walls of the fortress, and the dirt beneath the enemy’s feet, a series of fire lit arrows rained onto the substance and create a vast wave of flames that consumed much of Constantine’s forces. He lost hundreds of men in that moment, forcing him to order the retreat once more.

“Retreat! Fall back to camp!”

The soldiers beneath Constantine’s command did not hesitate, and left their burning brothers in arms to die a pitiful death. Too fearful that they might share a similar fate. Thousands of rebel soldiers regrouped at the camp, battered and exhausted. Hagen had practically had enough of Constantine’s failures and was about to rebuke him when the gates to the city opened, and Tasius’ army flooded the field, charging towards Constantine and his exhausted troops.  Hagen immediately ordered his Frankish warriors to form a shield wall in his native tongue.

“Shield Wall!’

Before he even gave the order, the battle hardened barbarians had formed ranks, while their Roman allies crumpled under the pressure. The soldiers of Hispania were rapidly crossing the distance as they threw their plumbatae into the air and onto the panicked forces of the Usurper. Causing many to fall where they stood.

Tasius gazed upon the scene of his soldiers swarming the enemy encampment with a hint of pride in his eyes before looking at the message in his hands, and the heavily armored soldier who had delivered it to him.

“So the Emperor has taken up residence in the Pyrenees? Very well, if his plan is to catch Constantine between our two armies, then I will be happy to oblige. Make no mistake, we will drive the usurper and his barbarian hordes straight into the Emperor’s lines, where we will fight together to put an end to his reign of terror!”

The messenger smiled viciously as he nodded his head. His scale armor clanked as he saluted the General from Hispania.

“Ave, true to Augustus!”

The messenger was slightly perturbed that the General of Hispania did not respond to him in kind. It was the common phrase that the soldiers of Marcellus’ army used to greet each other. To refuse to say it was an insult to the soldiers of the new legions. Still, he did not hold Tasius accountable, and instead bowed his head before watching over the battle that ensuing below.

One of Tasius’ commander was leading from the rear. As his soldiers encircled Constantine’s forces, at least partially, they made sure to leave a gap in the rear for them to escape. Constantine’s Roman forces were on the brink of collapse, with the Frankish Foederati holding the line. At any moment, they would begin to route.  Finally, after his left flank collapsed, and begun to flee for their lives, Constantine issued the order for a full retreat.

“Retreat! We can no longer take Saguntum!”

The usurper had lost too many forces in his previous siege, as well as the current one. With this sudden encirclement of his encampment, he no longer had the forces necessary to defend his position, let alone take the city. He had no choice but to withdraw to previously gained territory and conscript the locals for cannon fodder.

Either way, Tasius had succeeded in breaking the siege, and had begun his counter attack. Bodies lie piled outside the city’s gates, and within the encampment that lie in the distance. Thousands of men fled for their lives, pursued by the hounds of Hispania. It was only after a horn blew in the air, signalling Tasius’ troops to cease their pursuit that the Usurper’s forces could finally relax.

Hagen was displeased, more than he was before his warriors risked their lives to hold the lines. He had lost well over four hundred men in the brief engagement within their encampment. He immediately walked up to Constantine and punched him in the face, enraged by the losses he had suffered.

“You damnable fool! Do you have any idea how many men I have lost in this fruitless campaign of yours? Hispania remains defiant, despite your best efforts to subjugate them, and we no longer have the forces to maintain a presence in the region. Our failure at Saguntum will be the rallying cry necessary for Tasius to raise more troops against us. We have no choice but to retreat to Gaul and lick our wounds. If we stay in Hispania, we will be defeated!”

Constantine was far from pleased with being struck by his Foederati Commander, without thinking about the consequences, he made an order that he would soon regret.

“Arrest this man. He has struck your emperor!”

The soldiers loyal to Constantine did not react to this command, they were too fearful of the Franks. After all, the Franks were better armed and more experienced in conflict. Not only that, they were the largest chunk of forces in Constantine’s rebel army. No man would be foolish enough to provoke them over a much deserved strike.  When Constantine realized that no man in his army would follow his orders, he gritted his teeth in displeasure. As for Hagen, he towered above the puny Roman and shoved him onto the ground.

“I see you have made your choice. Fuck you! You are no emperor, you are just a sad little soldier pretending to be something you are not. I will return with my forces to Gaul and take what has been promised to me. My people have shed enough blood in this failed campaign of yours!”

With this said, the Frankish Foederati and the Rebel soldiers split ways, with the Franks making the long trek back to Gaul, and Constantine stubbornly refusing to yield Hispania. Little did either of the two men know that the Pyrenees had been sealed by Marcellus’ army, and they were now stuck between the forces of the Emperor and his allies in Hispania who had not ended their pursuit.

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