Chapter 101: To Rome

"Cassander, deliver the breakdown." Isolda said.

Cassander stepped into the light of the lamps. He stepped up to the map table and picked up a handful of black and red markers.

He placed 3 red blocks at the mouth of the Alpine passes.

"The core consists of 3 Roman legions," Cassander explained. "The 12th, the 9th, and the remains of the 4th. These are hardened infantry. They are disciplined, armored, and loyal to the Senate. These make up the 15,000 men you already tracked."

Cassander dropped a scatter of black markers behind the red ones, spreading them out.

"As for the 25,000 mercenaries," the spy continued, "this is where the cracks are showing. Rufinus has split them into 6,000 Thracian cavalry, 4,000 Syrian archers and a horde of Balearic slingers and Illyrian spearmen."

Valerius grunted, crossing his arms. "A mob that outnumbers us. If those Thracians get a clean charge on our flanks, they will shatter our shield walls before the bombards can fire a second volley."

"That is the friction point, Commander," Cassander smiled. "The Thracians are proud horsemen. But Rufinus treats them like disposable trash. He forces them to march at the rear with the baggage train, forcing their thoroughbreds to eat the dust of the Roman infantry. The Syrian archers are being paid half the rate of the legionaries, and the Illyrians haven’t received their winter rations in a week."

Lucius leaned over the table, his eyes locking onto the black markers.

"You are telling me that more than half of the Senate’s invading force hates their own commander?" Lucius asked.

"They despise him, Dominus," Cassander confirmed. "The only reason they haven’t mutinied and slaughtered the Roman officers in their sleep is the promise of Gallic plunder. Rufinus has convinced the mercenaries that Civitas Aurelia is built on a mountain of solid gold. He promised them the city."

Isolda let out a laugh.

She looked at Lucius. "If the mercenaries are starving and insulted, they will not hold the line if the battle turns against them."

Lucius sighed. He looked at Valerius. "Commander, I need a piece of geography. If we are dragging them into the plains, we cannot let those six thousand Thracian horsemen maneuver freely. Where do we build the slaughterhouse?"

Valerius leaned over the map. He traced the line of the Rhone River, his finger trailing south of Lugdunum until it stopped at an expanse near the settlement of Arausio.

"Here," Valerius stated, tapping the parchment. "The Arausio floodplains. To the naked eye, it looks like an expanse of open ground... exactly the kind of terrain a Roman commander dreams of for deploying infantry blocks and cavalry."

Valerius looked up.

"But it is a lie," the commander explained. "I marched through this valley twenty years ago. The eastern edge is bordered by the Rhone, which runs deep and fast this time of year. The western edge is boxed in by a rocky escarpment. And more importantly, the ground itself is treacherous. Beneath the frost, the soil near the riverbank is a peat bog. A man on foot can navigate it, but an armored Thracian warhorse will sink to its fetlocks. If they try to charge our flanks, the mud will break their momentum before they reach our spears."

Lucius’s eyes gleamed with approval.

It was brilliant... They would offer Rufinus an open battlefield that was actually a muddy corridor!

"Perfect," Lucius said. "We anchor our flanks against the river and the cliffs. We place the bombards in the center, masked behind a line of infantry. When the Thracians get bogged down in the mud, Rufinus will be forced to push his Roman infantry down the middle to break us."

"And they will march right into the grapeshot," Decimus muttered, shaking his head.

Lucius turned his attention back to Isolda’s infiltrator.

"One final variable, Cassander," Lucius said. "Rufinus is the vanguard. But he was funded by Prefect Aelius in Alexandria and the governors in Antioch. Are the eastern provinces preparing to send a second wave? If we wipe out Rufinus, will I have forty thousand Egyptians landing on my southern beaches a month later?"

Cassander shook his head. "Your fiat currency mandate gutted their economies. By refusing to accept Roman silver for our goods, you drained their vaults. Aelius dumped his liquidity into funding Rufinus’s mercenaries. The Alexandrian treasury is empty."

Isolda stepped closer to the table. "With the eastern legions underfunded, the Sassanid Persian empire has begun probing the borders near Antioch. Aelius cannot spare a single cohort, let alone a fleet. He bet the stability of the eastern Mediterranean on Legate Rufinus crushing you in a single campaign."

"If Rufinus dies," Cassander concluded, "the Senate has no secondary army left to send. They will be defenseless."

For the first time since the rebellion began, the scope of the endgame was visible...

If this trap worked, if the bombards shattered the Roman legions and the mercenaries broke ranks, the path to Rome itself would be unguarded.

Lucius stood still, staring at the map.

"Decimus," Lucius snapped.

The engineer straightened up. "Dominus?"

"I want the foundries running day and night. Triple the shifts. Pay the laborers double the silver notes if you have to. I want twenty Grapeshot Bombards cast, mounted, and loaded with clay within ten days."

Lucius turned to Valerius. "Commander. Empty the barracks in Civitas Aurelia. Leave only a skeleton crew on the city walls. March twenty thousand men north to the Arausio floodplains and begin fortifying the choke points. I want hidden trenches dug for the artillery."

Valerius slammed his fist against his breastplate. "It will be done, Forge Master."

Finally, Lucius looked at Isolda. The Gothic princess was smiling.

"Send your shadows into the mercenary camps," Lucius instructed. "I want rumors planted. Tell the Thracians that Rufinus plans to use them as arrow fodder. Tell the Syrians the gold has run out. When the first bombard fires, I want that coalition to shatter from the inside out."

Isolda nodded.

Lucius reached down and picked up the red markers representing the Roman legions.

He held them in his palm for a second before tossing them into the charcoal brazier beside the table.

The wood caught fire, crackling and blackening in the heat...