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=== Seleucia Pieria, Syria; Quintilis , 136 AD ===

The Classis Hispanica and its transports made their way to the docks of Seleucia Pieria, the port city of Antioch on the river Orontes. The fleet and its transports had visited many ports on the way east; Septem, Carthage, and Alexandria before arriving at Seleucia Pieria. Standing at the bow of his trireme; Proconsul Carus Florianus Julianus looked out at the port he’d left several years before with then at the time Proconsular Legate Calidus Raeus Vitellius, soon to be made Emperor. It was truly a heartbreaking to remember their former friendship and the soldiers he’d left in the east so many years ago.

Turning around he looked over at the Trierarch of the vessel and signalled him to dock at the nearest available peer. Already the ships marines and half a dozen former Praetorians who were travelling with him and his family were preparing to go ashore.

They had pulled up opposite a transport ship from Legio I Corsica Fidelis. Florianus watched as soldiers from his first private legion quickly began dismounting, this was their third sea voyage now. The first had been from Corsica to Ostia in order to attend a coup. The second from Ostia fleeing to Hispania and now east as an invading force. Centurion Evaristus Hercalius one of the surviving Corsicans looked about the dock and stretched out his arms before he noticed the Magister Militum of Hispania standing opposite him on the peer. He snapped to attention and saluted.

“My Corsican thief.” Florianus said with a wide smile. “How are your children?” He asked remembering the cries from Evaristus wife and kids when he’d ordered his execution.

“They are well, General.” Evaristus replied. “They will be with the baggage train this campaign. I did not like leaving them in Corsica during the civil war.”

Florianus nodded. “The baggage train is a rough place for a family Evaristus; with all those camp followers,” He said. Then again his third wife, Athenias, was the daughter of a Iustian soldier, whose mother had probably been a camp follower. “If you would permit me, I will have one of my Tribune’s find them lodgings when we get to Iustianopolis.”

“That would be a fine favour, Sir.” Evaristus said. “I don’t think I can repay you, Sir.”

“You’ve repaid me enough, I’m glad I didn’t have you executed. You and your Corsican friends have been a fine edition to my private army all these years.” Florianus stated with a soft tone, he loved his soldiers, far more than people knew. Soldiers were simple, they did what he said and if they spoke back lashings would put them back in line. “Continue disembarking your men Centurion.”

Centurion Evaristus Hercalius snapped to attention and hit his shoulder in salute. “Aye, Sir, yes Sir!” He said loudly before about turning and walking over to the other side of the peer where his men were unloading their supplies and equipment from their transport.


=== Antioch, Syria; Quintilis ===

Several days later and Florianus and his soldiers had established themselves in a camp outside of Antioch. Before a move to Iustianopolis could be made, the army needed to organize supplies such as food and winter clothing for the cold desert nights. Florianus had meetings with the young King, Basileus Iulios Seleukos of the Seleucid Empire, and General Zosimos Nikomachos, commander of the thinly-spread Seleucid forces facing the Persian Army far East of Syria.

The arrangement was simple; the four Valenii Julianii Legions, the Equites Floriana and the Cohors Praetoria Floriana would serve the Seleucids as mercenaries in the same manner as the Iustian Legions had done. The Seleucids would pay their upkeep, which they could easily afford with their newly captured Ptolemaic lands in Asia Minor and the Valenii Juliani mercenaries have a mandate to force the Persians east of the Euphrates rivers.

General Zosimos Nikomachos and Florianus had served together at the Battle of Apemeia in November 131. They were good friends but four years had been a long time and there was much catching up to be done between the two men. Preparing to review the Seleucid army of the east and the Roman expeditionary force the two men spoke.
“It’s been a strange few years Zosimos.” Florianus stated, when they had first met it had been uneasy both commanding naval squadrons in pursuit of Cypriot pirates. But time and the long war against Persia had moulded friendship. Florianus always thought of the man as a prowling jackal; a skilled Seleucid general who’d spent his entire career fighting the larger Persian Empire.

Zosimos ran his hands through his gray hair; preparing to put on his Corinthian helmet. “Your friend Augustus Tiberius Varro and his petty criminal friends did alot of damage here, Florianus.”

“I know Zosimos.” Florianus stated. “For that I’m sorry. I would have put a stop to him had I not been at war with Calidus Raeus Vitellius. Unfortunately his lieutenants Ramirus Flavius and Tiberius Maxus are still alive. Both of which are partially my fault. I did nothing to stop Ramirus’ pardon and I took Maxus into my protection in Hispania. At the time I was not aware of their crimes here in the east.”

“Regardless Florianus, it will take a long time before people forget what the Eastern Romans did and your indirect involvement in the events.” Zosimos added before they both left the tent to review their troops before the march to Iustianopolis.

On the march to Iustianopolis the combined army passed Apemeia; where several years before in Decemberis 131, the previous Romano-Seleucid Army under then Proconsular Legate Calidus Raeus Vitellius had won a great victory against the Persian Army of Northern Armenia. Here the soldiers stopped to pay homage to their fallen comrades.
It was especially significant to the soldiers from Legio II Ursus Hispaniorum, the former Praetorians and the Seleucids many whom had been there five years before. Florianus himself spent most of that day seated on a small rock praying to his god, asking forgiveness for his many crimes in the years since that battle.

=== Iustianopolis; Sextilis ===

Arriving at Iustianopolis they found a city half in ruins; much of it still hadn’t been repaired from the siege of 131. Rumour of a Persian attack on the city was imminent. There were barely any soldiers in the city. The Iustians had been decimated by the Eastern Roman and Persian Army of Augustus Tiberius Varro, Sillius Ramirus Flavus and Romulus Tiberius Maxus. Rome never favored the Iustians, but tolerated them, as did the Seluekids, so it wasn’t a surprise that neither powers came to their aid after the destruction.

Nonetheless, Iustianopolis was a cosmopolitan city; it was a large sophisticated city with Greeks, Arabs, Jews, and Romans. Although Soterism was the primary religion there were many other religions represented and as far as Florianus was concerned it was truly a city worth defending.

“It’s a mystery. Tiberius Varro and his traitors disappeared after the battle with us.” Centurion Julius Caprenius, a survivor of the decimated Legio V Ferrata stated.

Legate Vonones Ivmarus Vallentinus, formally of Legio XX Persa Pestis spat before Florianus. “You came too late you bastard. I’ve lost all my men. You left us to die at the hands of that twerp Varro and his Persians.”

“Yes I’m late, but better late then never, no?” Florianus replied as he stood with his arms folded and nodding along as he listened to his father-in-law, and Legate Ivmarus Vallentius. “What about the Persian army, where did they fall back on?” He asked looking over the maps on the table before them.

“Palmyra.” Centurion Julius Caprenius replied. “Our spies report approximately forty thousand men are there, remnants of the old army, and levies from the spring. Give them time and the Persians will be ready for battle again.”

“Then no choice. I will hit them before they hit this city.” Florianus stated; few of his generals showing any surprise by the decision. They all knew Florianus had come east looking for a fight and they had all volunteered; those who hadn’t had stayed back with the three garrison legions of Hispania.

“What does the Oracle say?” General Zosimos Nikomachos interrupted; aware that neither Florianus or the Iustians believed in such things; nonetheless he and his officers did.

It took sometime before the Oracle could arrive from the Seleucid camp outside the city. The Oracle in true fashion predicted doom. The Oracle predicted the doom of one of the officers in the Roman-Seleucid army. “The Persians are far stronger than you, an attack towards Palymra will end in absolute failure. You will be doomed Generals. One will die.”

Florianus thought on the Oracles words but had come too far to fall victim to the words of an insane old man. “Fine doom it is, if I must die to protect this city then fine.” He said. “Let us continue to plan for the campaign.”

That night Florianus lay in his new bed with his former mistress Athenias Caprenius; the woman who was now his third wife. He thought of what the Oracle had said, and of the hatred in the eyes of Legate Ivmarus Vallentius.

“What is wrong?” Athenias asked nestling up beside him as she was briefly awoken by the sounds of Florianus sighing at the thought of Ivmarus killing him.

“Do you think Ivmarus wants to kill me?” Florianus asked kissing her forehead.

“Probably.” She said closing her eyes and falling back to sleep.

=== Iustianopolis, Early Septembris ===

A month had passed and the army still had not moved. Instead they rolled up their sleeves and had spent the month rebuilding the walls of the city. Legionaries of course were not only soldiers, but labourers and engineers.

Eighteen year old Tribune Redabadws Julianus, the adopted nephew of Florianus Julianus, stood on a stone wall observing legionaries from Legio VIII Gothica Hispania at work. “An awful climate.” He said to Praefectus Castrorum Sentius Tutor of Legio II Ursus Hispaniorum.

Sentius Tutor laughed at the Tribune and stopped when the Tribune showed his annoyance. “I’m sorry little Julianus. You remind me of Florianus when he first came over to the east with the old Legio II Vitellia. Always complaining.”

Redabadws placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I am a warrior of Gothic nobility. I do not complain, Sir!” He stated in a firm voice.

Sentius placed his hand over the boys hand and held it down firmly. “Do not threaten me lad, you are far from home and you have never seen real war other than the Gothic occupation of eastern Hispania. I will teach you how to be a soldier. But do not threaten me lad.”

“Understood, Praefectus.” Redabadws replied, releasing his grip on the pommel of his sword clearly embarrassed by the incident.

Meanwhile in his new home in the city proper, Florianus studied the reports from his scouts; he had hired Bedouins to explore the area east of Iustianopolis hoping to find the Persian army; but so far there had been no reports of sightings. Soon he would have to send a force east to occupy Palmyra. The reports generally seemed to repeat what he had heard a few times over since the end of the Eastern Roman Empire: The Persians were too weak to continue offensives.
Legate Aristocles Pamphilos entered the room where Florianus was seated behind his desk and saluted. “You ordered me here?” He asked.

“Yes my friend. I have a difficult task for you,” Florianus replied. “I have your orders.” He said waiting for Aristocles to be seated. “You are to lead the vanguard towards Palmyra; it will consist of three cohorts from your legion and some Seleucid and Bedouin cavalry.”

“That is not much, Sir. What if I run into the Persian army?” Aristocles asked worried about the size of the vanguard.

Florianus looked at the table then back up at his friend. “I can’t let the Persians know the size of this army if they are out there. If you run into them hold out as long as you can and I will come up and relieve you. Besides for all we know there are no Persians in Palmyra. You will head out in three weeks at the beginning of Octobris, prepare your supplies and men- Legate.”

Aristocles stood up. “You were right Florianus; this is a difficult task. Let us hope you are right and there are no Persians in Palyrma.”

Florianus looked across at the bust of Florianus Cappodocius that he took with him on campaign. He looked at the long dead nobleman and ancestor and saw his own face staring back at him; of course the bust was modelled on himself; he wondered if he had come to the east once again to make the same mistake Acedus Florianus Julianus had made one hundred years before. Would Rome and the Easterners betray him like they had his ancestor? He wondered as he listened to the footsteps of Aristocles leaving the room.

Legate Flavius Granius Cumanus who had been standing slightly against the back wall of the room stepped forward. “Florianus; this isn’t Hispania. You must be careful with your eastern friends.”

“How so Granius?” Florianus asked. He knew Granius Cumanus from when they were both tribunes; they knew each other’s dark secrets. They had come along way together; he always had time for Granius’ advice.

“King Iulios is a young king; fifteen years old, Zosimos Nikomachos might be your friend, but what happens if he moved in on the throne, will he still be your friend? How about Aristocles Pamphilos; yes we love him he was your chief bodyguard for six years; but now he is a general, with soldiers and a possible climate for the Seleucid throne too. Be careful Florianus- all your generals and friends are very talented men.”

“And you Granius?” Florianus said. “Do you want my position?”

Granius laughed. “Of course Florianus you know I do. But unlike you; I’m a patient man.” Granius said, referring to Florianus’ coups and adventures.

Florianus laughed. “There’s no other man I love and trust more then you Granius.” Florianus said standing up and embracing him. “But if you ever did betray me; there would be no need to kill me; as the heartbreak would be my end sooner than your blade when through my back.”

=== Iustianopolis, Late Septembris ===

On a fine morning Florianus and his several men from his private guard were on a tour of the city when they came across a familiar face hurrying along the street. Florianus was in conversation with his Generals regarding the painting of Chi-Ro’s onto their shields for the coming campaign against Persia.

“You there stop!” Florianus called out to the man moving towards him, his frustrated Praetorians following as quickly as possible to not leave their leader exposed.

Lucius Pollo knew he was in trouble now. Florianus knew him of course and being caught in Iustianopolis could lead to his death, but to run now in a street full of Florianus’ soldiers would lead to his death anyway. “Sorry Sir, I’m sorry for crossing your path I was just meaning to get to the local tavern.”

“You I know you.” Florianus stated. The man looked familiar but he could not quite place him. “I apologize for startling you. What is your name?”

“Oh... it’s is Annius Vitellius.” He said nervously.

Florianus’ eyes narrowed. This man had picked the wrong name to pretend to be. “You do not look like any Vitellius I know!” He said with a half smile wondering why this man was hiding his identity. “What is your name?”

Lucius Pollo realized the game was over; of all the streets in the city to be walking down he had to pick the street with Florianus the Soterist. He drew his sword and stepped back. “Lucius Pollo, slave of Tiberius Varro!” He shouted bracing himself for a fight.

The Praetorians did not think. Florianus shouted for them to stop; but it was to late; within seconds four of the Praetorians rushed forward and stabbed at him. Lucius Pollo fought well to defend himself; but was no match for the four elite guardsman who wanted nothing else more then to kill a spy near their leader. They hacked away mercilessly even after it was obvious the man was dead.

That day the army of the Valenii Juliani as it was called was busy; painting Chi-Ro’ onto their shields just like the Iustians did many years before. It was the symbol of the saviour holy and considered to bring considerable luck to all who did so.

=== Early Morning, Iustianopolis-Palymra Highway, five miles east of Iustianopolis; Octobris ===
While the main army prepared itself to depart Iustianopolis for the Persian occupied city of Palryra, a detachment consisting of Cohors I, II and III of Legio I Corsica Fidelis amounting to 1750 legionaries, 4500 Bedouin cavalry and 300 Seleukid Prodromoi had been ordered ahead of the army to make contact with the Persian advanced posts. It was expected that the Persians would have put out a screen of cavalry between the two important cities of Iustianopolis and Palmyra. There was little between the cities expect for a highway, there were some farms but the land was not as fertile in this region; Palmyra being an important oasis course for it’s water supply

Legate Aristocles Pamphilos watched the riders in the distance before looking over to one of the few remaining Iustian Tribune’s attached to his legion. “Who are those riders out there in the distance?” Aristocles asked.

“They could be Bedouins...or Persians horse archers.” He stated quietly so as not to alarm the legionaries preparing their meals.
“Send a rider to Florianus in Iustianopolis,” Aristocles ordered. “Tell him the Persians are coming and I intend to hold them off as long as possible.”

“But Legate, their just a couple of riders.” The Tribune replied.

“Persian horse archers do not aimlessly ride around in the desert. They’re scouts you fool now go inform the Florianus that the enemy is upon us.” Granius shouted raising his hand as if to slap the junior officer but stopping last minute. He looked over at the rest of the Cohors I, II and III of Legio I Corsica Fidelis. “Order the men to halt and begin construction of the marching camp around the village.”

As the day passed the men of Cohors I, II and III of Legio I Corsica Fidelis busily set themselves to constructing a fortified camp. They couldn’t continue up the highway unmolested and threaten Iustianopolis and Florianus’ army which would surely now be on its way to relieve them. They not only had their own lives in their hands but the lives of their comrades. Many hours passed before the Roman scouts returned.
“Forty thousand Persians coming for us...”

“We have 1760 legionaries from cohorts one, two and three combined, plus around 3000 Bedouins.”

“Were outnumbered good and true” Tribune Agrippa exclaimed. “We must leave now.”
Legate Aristocles Pamphilos, Centurion Evaristus Heraclius and Centurion Sophronius Livius stood looking over a sandpit where they had drawn a map of the highway, their fortified camp, and the Bedouin camp nearby.

“We can’t hold the highway.” Aristocles stated. “They will simply deploy a few thousand archers and shoot us all down if we attempt to do so. We will sit in the camp. Here is the outer ditch and palisade. We line the walls and use our javelins and slings to keep the Persians back. When their infantry comes to the walls, we will fall back to a second ditch and repeat the process. By the time our second position is overrun the surviving men will retreat to a central redoubt in the middle of the camp around my command tent.

The two Centurions nodded. “Nothing else to do.” The elder of the two centurions said.

As the Persian army drew nearer and the Romans fortified their camp in preparation for an attack a column of Seleucid Prodromoi arrived from the direction of the Persian army. The Seleucid Captain saluted Legate Pamphilos. “Legate. We’ve just had a skirmish with the Persians. They are in strong numbers we are retreating to Iustianopolis. I suggest you and any mounted men you have come with us.”
“Seventeen hundred of my men are infantry!” Aristocles shouted at the Seleukid cavalry commander. “Stay here and help us defend the camp with the Bedouins.”

“Too many Persians!” The Seleukid commander replied. “You were one of us once Legate Pamphilos. Seleukia can’t afford throw away men on suicide missions.”

“Captain I need your cavalry.” Aristocles said. “I just need to hold you in reserve for a counter attack when they hit the palisade.”

“Sorry Legate, I don’t take orders from Romans, especially when everyone is expected to die.” The Seleucid Captain said before kicking his horse and moving away from the Roman camp. The cavalry followed him north in the direction of Iustianopolis.

“Sir!” Centurion Hercalius shouted racing up to the Legate.

“What now! Aristocles stated as he looked at a dust cloud to the west of their position.
“It’s the Bedouins, they are deserting us.” Centurion Evaristus Hercalius stated to his Legate as they stood by the stakes looking onto the horizon was dust clouds were already forming. “Three thousand five hundred bloody men. I’ll order a detachment to chase after them force them back into our camp!”

“We can’t stop them, they are on horseback, Centurion. They would have done little to defend the parapet anyway.” Aristocles Pamphilos replied. “Ten years I spent in the Seleucid army before joining Florianus before the last Persian war and in ten years I never saw those good for nothing Bedouins do anything unless it was in their own interest. No Evaristus, we are better off without them. Florianus will relieve us. We just have to hold out.”

Centurion Hercalius breathed heavily and gritted his teeth as he watched the dust clouds. “Well no choice now, we will be surrounded soon...” He said as the sound of thousand upon sounds of men marching could be heard in the distance it was unnerving. But the veterans and recruits of the three cohorts of Legio I Corsica Fidelis kept amazing quite.

“Steady legionaries.” Centurion Sophronius Livius shouted out to the men manning the palisade. He looked over at several Libritors manning one of the Carroballistae. “Forget about picking our targets. You firing as many of those damn bolts into the mass of Persians as you can.” He ordered.
At the same time standing in front of the detachment’s three Onagers’ Legate Aristocles Pamphilos raised his hand preparing to give the order to fire, in his other hand he firmly gripped onto his the pommel of his sword.
The first waves of Persian Spearman now slowly advanced towards the Roman camp, spreading out to surround the Romans while getting closer. They halted and formed up for a charge, beating their spears against their shields in the Persian fashion.

“Centurions!” Legate Pamphilos shouted across the camp. “Commence firing Carroballistae.” Then he looked over at the thirty Libritors standing by the three Onager. “Fire those damn rocks now!” He hissed at their commander. With the order given the detachments ten Carroballistae and three Onagers began firing as fast as their men could reload their bolts and rocks. Often they would miss the advancing Persian spearmen, but when a bolt did hit its mark it pinned a Persian to the earth or when the rocks landed in the right spot it left several Persians flattened.

Undeterred by some light artillery fire the Persian spearman kept coming forward. “Light pila! Pick your targets!” Centurion Heraclius ordered as they came within range. Across the surrounded marching camp, every Roman in the line threw his light pila at the closet Persian target.

“Men from the second cohort get to the stock piles and resupply the men from the first and third cohorts!” The Centurions shouted across the camp. The second cohort was of course made up of recruits; while the first were crack veterans and the third cohort were also veterans. The recruits now picked up pila left in piles and handed them to veterans who’d continued to throw them at the approaching Persian spearmen.

“They are retreating!” Came shouts from the legionaries, as the first way of Persian spearmen began to fall back under the stress of fire from the Roman soldiers.

Centurion Evaristus Heraclius walked up to the Legate and smiled. “They are falling back, Sir.”

“There is at least six hundred of the bastards laying dead and wounded around the camp!” Centurion Sophronius Livius exclaimed from his section of the palisade.

“They are testing our strength Centurion Heraclius. Spearmen are cheap to the Persians plenty more levies where they came from. The next assault will be more serious. Send out volunteers to collect as many pila as possible.”

“Understood, Sir!” Evaristus said before running off to the wall to order the Tirones; men who hadn’t completed their six months of initial training to go out and collect any pila they could find whose tips hadn’t completely bent and could be used again.

=== Persian Headquarters ===

“Order more men forward. Use the light infantry levies, no sense loosing heavy spearmen or horseman against these camp walls. The Romans do not have enough legionaries to man those walls.” General Shahram; leader of the Persian Army of Syria said. “Those Iustians and Seleucids must die. They have wronged me for the last time.”

Augustus Tiberius Varro stood tall and proud besides the Persian General; his army might have been destroyed but he was not going to act inferior to this eastern general. “The soldiers in the camp are not eastern Roman troops; General Shahram. Their uniforms don’t have the adaptations of the Iustian legions and their standard is unfamiliar... no wait... It’s a bear. It’s Florianus!”

“Impossible General Varro.” Shahram replied. “The Legate Florianus Julianus is in Hispania.”

“No, Sir. My spies tell me that Emperor Calidus Raeus Vitellius is dead. Florianus must have come east. I suggest we hold back we don’t know if he has more soldiers.” Tiberius Varro said, having learnt enough from Florianus to know he would not come out this far with so few troops.

“Silence!” General Shahram cried out. “You do not know anything of the east, you are a child not even thirty! Captains continue your attacks!” The Persian General ordered disregarding Tiberius Varro’s advice.

=== Back at the Fortified Camp ===

Several more of these attacks occurred as Persian levy spearmen came forward towards the camp, received a hail of javelin, slings and artillery and then melted back down the highway to the cover of their light cavalry. The legionaries began to grow confident but then the expected Persian archery finally came. From a distance thousands of Persian archers began to open fire on the marching camp.

“Cover!” Centurion Sophronius Livius and several of the other Centurions offered as arrow shafts came flying down from above. “Get your shields and keep them high!” He ordered as legionaries rushed over to their shields and placed them above their heads.

“We’ve lost several dozen men.” Evaristus reported to the Legate as the three cohorts continued to stand up to the Persian arrow fire with little to respond with.

“No time to worry about arrows, spearman are approaching the northern wall of the camp.” Legate Aristocles Pamphilos shouted as he pointed his sword at the new attack. “Reserves follow me!” He ordered before he broke forward into a run to defend the wall.

Persian spearmen now reached the northern section of the camp which had been the lightest defended. Many Persian spearmen jabbed their spears at the Romans behind their wall, while others attempted to climb over into the camp. The Roman legionaries responded by either throwing their javelins at point blank range or using them as spears to stab down at the Persians.

Legate Aristocles Pamphilos and the reserves crashed into the Persians that had managed to come over the wall, using the tried and true method of shield and gladius pushing the Persians back out of the camp. The Legate was wounded and thrown to the ground by a pair of Persians, Centurion Heraclius came to the Legate’s rescue and managed to drag him back to the centre of the camp.

With the Tribunes useless; Centurion Heraclius now took command of the three cohorts. Fresh attacks now came as the Persians fired arrows and threw spearmen forward simultaneously with many of the arrows falling on their own men.
“Fall back to the second line!” Aristocles ordered as he was held up by one of his legionaries, blood dropping down from his leg where he’d been stabbed by a Persian spear. In groups across the palisade the legionaries began falling back to the second defensive line within the camp which consisted of a hastily dug ditch.

Centurion Sophronius Livius stood on the ditch watching the Persians in the distance. They must have withstood five or six assaults by the Persians, excluding the constant arrow fire. He let himself think about his flock of sheep back on Corsica, he’d been a shepherd before enlisting in the legions several years before, now he was at the end of the world fighting Persians. “Legionaries, shields up, prepare to repel attackers!” He ordered as a fresh wave of Persians entered the camp and approached the ditch.
Legate Aristocles Pamphilos squinted looking at one of the Persian officers in the distance. The man was dressed in the uniform of a Roman Proconsular Legate; it was Augustus Tiberius Varro.

=== Late Afternoon ===

The remaining fourteen hundred legionaries had fallen back to the redoubt at the centre of the legionary camp. Over three hundred dead and wounded lay across the camp. “This is it Centurions.” Legate Pamphilos said as he watched the Persians make their final deployments for a final attack on the camp.

Centurion Evaristus Heraclius smiled as he the Persians prepared their final attack. “General looks like we have one.”
Legate Aristocles Pamphilos sighed. “No I think we are dead, Centurion.” He replied holding his Spartha firmly. “I think we have all coped rather well with the curse of Florianus and his Soterist god. Oh well, soon I will know if there is one god or ten!” He said with a smile.

“General look west,” Evaristus said.

The Romano-Seleucid Army of the East had finally arrived, led by the same Seleucid Prodromoi which had abandoned them the day before. Legate Pamphilos cursed his former country men as he watched them arrive to relieve his camp after leaving him for dead earlier that day. “Order the men from third cohort to advance and link up with the relief force.” He ordered to a nearby Tribune.

The Persian Army of Syria halted in its track at the sight of the relief force. There was no way they could fight both the men in the fortified camp and the thirty or forty thousand Romans and Seleucids who’d turned up. The Persian Satrap and General Augustus Tiberius Varro decided to fight another day and ordered a full retreat to Palmyra. Aristocles limped out towards Carus Florianus Julianus who approached him mounted on one of his Spanish horses. The Legate gave a full report of the siege of his marching camp.

“Good work here today Legate Pamphilos,” Florianus said looking over the battle he’d missed. “You’re holding action has saved many lives and possibly the army of the east. I will pursue this Persian force and that traitor Tiberius Varro now. You’re men have a day to rest before they must rejoin the army.”

Aristocles nodded. “Thank You, Sir!” He replied with a sharp salute by slapping his first against his shoulder. He had nothing to save. He was alive, and most of his men were alive. Today was just the first day in what was expected to be a very long war.
=== Outside Palmyra, Novembris ===

One week after the skirmish west of Iustianopolis; the Romano-Seleucid Army of the East had marched out to Palmyra on the heels of the inferior sized Persian army. Several dozen Roman and Seleucid officers stood on a hill looking over the city of Palmyra. “Damn it, the city has good walls.” Florianus stated as he observed the fortified city.

“We will have to starve them out.” Legate Aristocles Pamphilos said to all the officers. “We don’t have the manpower to waste on frontal assaults against those fortifications. Winter is coming and they will be worse for wear trapped in that city without fresh supplies.”
The commander of the Seleucid contingent; General Zosimos Nikomachos nodded. “They’ll starve quickly and be forced to give us battle. Thirty thousand men in there; no there is no way the city has provisions to feed them. They might try their luck and slip away during the night.”
“Fine.” Florianus stated realizing the logic of the two men. “I’ll ring my four legions around the city, since there is not enough wood out here for those kind of fortifications, we will set up legionary camps at intervals and surround the city with a ditch and sand rampart. I’ll keep the Equites Floriana, the slingers, the archers and the Praetorian guard in reserve. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” General Zosimos Niomachos said on behalf of the Seleucids. “I will deploy my army to the east of the city blocking the road to Persia in case there is a breakout attempt or relief force. I will buy you time to bring your legions around to fight either.”

=== Inside Palmyra ===

While the Roman and Seleucid officers discussed their siege plans; General Shahram of the Persian Army of Syria looked out from the walls at the soldiers ringing around his city. “No retreat. We stand here and fight to the last man; I will kill everyman who tries to come over this wall.

Tooraj, one of Shahram’s Captains who accompanied Shahram’s daughter to the walls; Afari, spoke up. “I have interrogated the prisoners from the attack on the camp. Varro was right it is the army of Florianus Julianus. The prisoners were Corsicans and Spaniards.”

Afari chuckled softly. “Maybe we can send that Augustus Tiberius Varro to the Romans outside the walls. Feed some meet to the lions they might leave.”

“Our main army will come before the winter is over, if it does not. So be it. We all die for the King of Kings.” Shahram replied his eyes filled with rage as he sat there, his army caged like dogs by the Romans and Seleucids outside the city walls.

Written By: Carus Florianus Julianus
Edited By: Ferus Juventas
137 AD

I read this when it came out but its been bugging me

Well written! but...

"Unfortunately his lieutenants Ramirus Flavius and Tiberius Maxus are still alive. Both of which are partially my fault. I did nothing to stop Ramirus’ pardon and I took Maxus into my protection in Hispania. At the time I was not aware of their crimes here in the east.”

*sniffs in indignation*

Crimes? Maxus didn't commit any crimes unless you count him following his Legate to the east. Once in the east, he committed no crimes there, he trained an army and commanded on the battlefield.

*finishes grumbling*

He means you fought against the Iustians.