moif

Ganatrosj stands on the bank of the great river and gazes through the drizzle at the opposite shore. It is difficult to make out what is going on and he turns to a young warrior who stands close by. "What do you see Belosj?"

"They have landed Mighty One. The Greeks are forming their lines to march."

Ganatrosj smiles and turns away from the river. 

"Would that I still had the eyes of a young man" he says as he makes his way to a nearby camp fire. The warriors clustered there make way for him, and one muscular fellow moves aside so the elder man might sit closer to the warming flames. "Your older eyes see further than most" a slender, well dressed young man tells him. Ganatrosj sits and regards the flames.

"It is indeed as you say your Highness" he replies, "but the ancestors know that we see only that which we want to see. There are none so blind as those you refuse to see."

The warriors exchange glances, nodding to each other. Ganatrosj looks back over his shoulder at Belosj who still gazes across the river.

"What of Tebidus?" he asks.

"He is on the shore now" the youth replies. "He gives orders to his men yet in the boats."

Ganatrosj looks around at the assembled men. Each man is a trusted, hand picked veteran of numerous battles. Finally, his eyes rest on the young, well dressed man. His newly crowned king, Yulosj, is the only man present who has never killed another, nor fought in a pitched battle. Ganatrosj knows his own ambitions can only survive for as long as this young man does, but in order to lead the tribe, Yulosj must first lead in battle. The risk of betting on a young and inexperienced commander is a constant worry to the aging warlord, but it must be taken. Fate has left them with no other option but abject surrender, and surrender is not the Biephi way.

​

The second rider arrives six hours later and awakens Tulla from his sleep. Cross grained and stiff, he sits on his chair and listens as the man relays the message from Mesalla.

"At least three warbands have crossed the river sir" the despatch rider gasps. It is obvious the man has ridden hard through the night. Centurion Mesalla reports that one group is marching towards the village of Saluna. A second, larger group is marching towards the river base at Tarsus, and the biggest group looks like it is headed towards Ultima".

Saluna is but a few hours march from Ultima. Tulla regards his map of the province and muses on the apparent attack. It seems as if the Saluna attack is a feint to draw him out so the third group might destroy his command center. "How large are these groups? Tulla asks.

"Several hundred men in each we think, sir. The Saluna group look to be the smallest, maybe only a hundred or so."

Tulla nods. It fits his theory. He ponders his options. With most of his Auxiliary infantry currently at Carnuntum, and too far away to be recalled, he must make do with what he has and he cannot afford to have Saluna occupied on his flank, even if it is a ploy. He must defend the river base too he realises, leaving him with no good options. He must divide his forces and meet each attack. He turns from the muddy despatch rider to his aide who stands blinking and yawning. "Summon Clepsina".

Valerius Carvilius Clepsina is t he cohort's Princeps Prior, and he must take command of the force which will defend Saluna, and with it Ultima's flank. He will naturally lead the main force and defend the fort, whilst Mesalla will take his current force and march to Tarsus and hold it.