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=== After the battle at Baria; Maius 137 AD ===

Romulus Tiberius Maxus sighed in pained frustration as he walked through a tent filled with the wounded and dying men of II Septem. These men had obeyed his every command and now they lay there, dying in a foreign land. He tried to tell himself that these were only a very small minority and that the vast majority had come out largely untouched but it was a bitter thought in the face of so much suffering.

Too many men had died under and by his command over the years. People told him that it was all relative, that he had been embroiled in great conflicts and so was bound to lose many men but it still stung him. Those same people just didn’t understand; losing ONE man was too many. Still, he kept those thoughts to himself, he was a soldier and it was his duty to care for the living, not mourn the dead. Of course men were going to die under him it was just his job to see that he killed more than he lost. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Of course, he let none of this show on his face as he walked from soldier to soldier; people did not call him stone face for nothing. He knelt down next to a young soldier and sighed inwardly as the man made a pitiful attempt to salute him. “No need for that, Kaeso, save your strength man. Here, drink this.” He helped the wounded soldier drink from a water skin and glanced down at his middle. Kaeso would have no need to save his strength, he saw with a touch of sadness, the wound he had received would prove fatal before too long, of that there was no doubt.

“Thank you General.” The young man rasped, “Have you... seen Colias, Sir?”

When you’ve raised a Legion from ground up, you learned the men’s names and got to know many of them well and in this case, Maxus knew who he was talking about; the two were inseparable. Had been inseparable, he corrected himself. “Yes, Kaeso, his wounds were minor, he’ll probably come by to visit you soon.” The man nodded again, closing his eyes and Maxus moved on. All through the tent were similar cases and Maxus made himself visit every one of them, praising the men on what they had achieved that day, using their names, trying to convince them that their sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.

When he was finished, he left the tent, blinking in the sudden light and surprised to see so many men, alive and active around him as they worked to keep the Legion functioning. The rest of the day was spent walking among his legionaries, stopping at ever group to offer them something, a clasp of the shoulder, a nod or a word of praise. Maxus knew that such things were essential in keeping up the men’s moral and the praise was certainly deserved.

=== March to Carthago Nova ===

Maxus was commanding the rear guard and despite the fact that they were marching through allied territory, he had his legion marching as though he expected an attack, with ordered columns and light cavalry behind and to the sides screening. It had taken days of hard marching but the army had finally arrived at Carthago Nova. The city was in shock and Maxus had no intention of sticking around to see what trouble might occur.

A shout rose from the front of the column, “Riders approaching, it’s the Tribune!” Maxus did not have to wait long before Tribune Fabius and then men he had taken with him reigned in beside him to make his report.

“I’ve done as you asked, sir, the ships will be ready to sail within a few days.” Fabius pronounced, getting straight to the point as always. Maxus nodded and listened to the rest of the man’s report. An army needed supplies and Maxus had to make sure his men had everything they needed to be an effective fighting force. The supplies would be loaded onto the ships that night and Fabius had left a group of men behind to oversee the process.

“Good.” He nodded when the Tribune finished. “We’ll make camp here.” He kept his curses to himself. Another sea voyage! He really needed to find himself somewhere where he wasn’t forced to endure that cursed motion so often.


=== Carthago Nova; Junius ===

Following the battle, the army had marched to Carthgo Nova and had made camp outside the city. Most of the Senior Officers were staying in the city but Maxus preferred to be with his men so soon after their first battle. Just as the sun was going down, a runner approached him and saluted smartly. “Sir, Propraetorian Valens Julianus would like to speak with you.” He smiled, obviously pleased with being trusted with such an important message. “He is staying at the Palatium Tacitan Disii and asks for you to meet him there.”

How convenient, just the man he wanted to see! Maxus eyed the boy appraisingly; his head tilted slightly to his right and after a moment, nodded. “What is your name boy?” He asked, not unkindly.

“Donatus, sir.” The boy replied excitedly.

“Well Donatus, I have another message for you to deliver, go to the Eastern Gate and tell Tribune Artorius that I will see him after I have finished speaking with the ProPraetor.” Maxus watched as the boy ran off to deliver his message with all the eagerness of youth.

With that Maxus set off to the stable and collected Falco before riding to the city with his escort. The city was quivering with tension, the Friesgoths staying indoors, afraid, and the legionaries roamed the streets looking for sport. Whenever Maxus came across such a group they all stopped what they were doing and saluted him, pretending that they were on some sort of patrol.

=== Palatium Tacitan Disii, Carthago Nova ===

Valens stepped out onto the balcony of the Palatium Tacitan Disii, it overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. It was calm and peaceful, unexpected for this time of year. While most of the soldiers were either billeted in camp outside the city, senior officers as were expected to stay with the army commander at the lodging of his choice. Valens had chosen the Palatium Tacitan Disii, once the proud home of his families rivals in Hispania, it had been captured by the Friesgoths when they had moved into Hispania, now it had been recaptured by Valens’ army.

A guard held the door open and Tiberius Maxus entered. His gaze swept the room, taking it in, before he walked out onto the balcony to join the Propraetorian Legate.

"Good morning Tiberius." Valens said with a light smile. "There is nothing better than revenge. Three years ago the Tacitan Disii sat in this palace and planned the defection of the city of Carthago Nova to the forces of Raeus Vitellius. Now look, the city belongs to the Valenii Juliani... I mean Rome."

Maxus didn't smile at the slip, he rarely did. "And a good morning to you too, Valens. As for revenge, I wouldn't know. The last I heard, the only people I wish vengeance on were still alive. It is good that you sent a messenger, I was about to come and see you myself. Was there anything you needed of me?"

"Not really, I hear you are preparing to head south to Mogador." Valens stated. "I was surprised; I thought you would want to spend some time training and rebuilding your numbers before racing off south."

Maxus sighed but his face held no expression. "In an ideal world, perhaps that would be best, Valens. As it is, I cannot leave it any longer. Every day I leave them alone means that it will be harder to take back. II Septem suffered very few casualties and so it is ready for another battle. I shall also collect more men when I return to Septem to swell the ranks. However, this is the matter I wished to speak to you about. II Septem alone will not be enough to defeat the combined armies of the Maure and the Berbers, I need more men. I request permission to take Legio IX Classica Hispana with me. They have experience fighting this particular enemy that might prove useful."

Valens thought for a moment. “I wonder how you and Legate Lucius Asinius Catonius of Legio IX Classica Hispana will get along if I send him with you to Mogador. He is one of my brother’s old advisors, very stubborn, does not work well with orders.”

Maxus nodded thoughtfully. He had worked with the man leading up to the battle and had encountered him a few times since. "I think I can handle him. I have dealt with stubborn commanders before." This was certainly true, in his time as Proconsular Legate in the east; he needed to earn the respect of many veteran commanders who had questioned him because of his age.

Valens frowned. "My brother seems to trust you, you are my age so I can't fault you on being too young. Although naturally I'm reluctant to hand over a legion to you. But if you promise you will leave Catonius in command of his legion and take his advice, I will hand them over to you for the expedition south."

Maxus nodded, he did not need the man to trust him, he just needed his permission for more men. "Naturally, one is always protective of the legions under their command. I will leave Asinius in command of his legion and his advice will be useful. Thank you Valens."

Valens walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked out to the sea once again. "Last time we took the city we landed at the docks, formed up and marched straight into the city... back then the walls were under disrepair. I do not know if Servius Statius had them repaired them while he was Prefect of Mogador."

Maxus stayed where he was and gave Valens a considering look, unconsciously tilting his head to his right as always. "In my correspondence to the Prefect, he never mentioned repairing them so hopefully they have remained that way. If not..." he shrugged.

"Correspondence with Statius? Have you heard from him since the fall of Mogador? I thought he was dead." Valens stated somewhat confused.

Maxus shook his head. He felt regret and a little sadness that the man had been killed but, of course, he didn't let any of that show. "I haven't heard from him since uprising. I fear that he is dead. Still, you never know."

"If he did survive, spare no expense and bringing in back." Valens said. The Statius brothers were from Equestris and had grown up with the Valenii Juliani brothers. They were close and with the death of Servius Statius' older brother in Rome, news that Servius was dead too was hard to take. "Any expense."

Maxus examined Valens again. The man obviously felt strongly for the man or else he would not make such an order. He nodded slowly. "If he lives, I will find him and I will do what I can for him. Will that be all, Valens?"

Valens nodded. "I'll write out orders for Catonius once you leave. Not much advice I can give you. If you are hard pressed and far from supplies, Prefect Marcellus Julianus is in the Canaris Insula."

Maxus inclined his head, "Thank you Valens. Let us hope it does not come to that." He headed towards the door but paused and turned back. "Don't get yourself killed while I'm away, Valens, I would count it a shame. Until next time."

=== A week later, Septem ===

Tiberius Maxus strode down the gangplank, for once, making no effort to hide his desire to be back on solid ground. He walked the entire length of the pier with care, adjusting his body to walking on a stationary plane once more. He muttered under his breath as his sight swam, trying to adjust to the lack of motion and his face was so hard that people pushed each other to get out of his way.

Around him soldiers looked ahead with faces suspiciously blank. One man made a sound in the back of his throat but when Maxus turned his flat gaze on the unfortunate soul, he tried to cover it by coughing.

A small gathering of politicians, bureaucrats and soldiers had gathered at the entrance of the city to welcome him and depending on their standing, they saluted or bowed their heads.

“Welcome back sir, there are several matters that require your attention.” No rest for the weary he thought wryly as the men walked back to his palace with him, instructing him on what they had done and what they had not been able to do in his absence.

His businesses were doing well, both the iron and the stone industries he had acquired had benefited greatly from the building of the wall and the demand for weapons he had created. Both of his companies had undergone significant growth and had started employing more people. Trade in the city was flourishing in comparison to before he took control, and that would get even better once he had subdued Mogador.

The soldiers he had left in charge reported that the thousand men he had left behind for a little extra training were now ready to face battle and could now join the rest of II Septem. Maxus rattled off various orders and instructions and the group departed in different directions, each with a list of jobs to do. Maxus finally reached his palace and went straight to his rooms. Someone had already prepared a hot bath for him and he sank into it gratefully, luxuriating in the steaming water. There was much to do but for now he was going to take a rest of his own.

He planned to stay in Septem for a week or so. In that time the men would have a chance to relax and see their families again which was important for their moral. During that time the ships would be loaded with supplies for his campaign in the south. Two legions on the march went through a huge amount of grain and wagons would need fixing, the list ran on and on. He forced those thoughts out of his mind as he scrubbed his hair clean of salt, anxious to get any reminder of the sea away from him for just a few moments. When the water lost its heat he climbed out of the tub and changed into some fresh clothes and, refreshed, went to his study to launch his assault on the mountain of paperwork that would no doubt be waiting for him.

Over the next few days Tiberius Maxus pushed himself to the limit to ensure that his army would be able to leave as soon as possible. Men were sent out to discreetly scout enemy territory and a request for supplies was sent to Prefect Marcellus Julianus in the Canaris Insula, though any supplies would arrive well after his intended battle. A group of stone workers including architects and planners were also gathered to help with building any defences that they might need. Exactly two weeks after arriving in Septem, the army continued on its way to take Mogador.

=== Legio I Hispania Command Tent ===

The first Hispanic legion was camped around the town of Valentia, it had just won it’s first victory, spirits in the legion were as soldiers after being allowed time off, were celebrating there victory with a great deal of fervour. The Legion in some cohorts had suffered severe casualties with nearly two thirds of its fighting strength gone. Tullius Fortunas Julianus and Camp Prefect Hortensius were discussing the numbers.

“So Hortensius, whats the butchers bill?” Fortunas said, rubbing his forehead. He never realised the after effects of a battle were so hard to take. With the battle for Valentia over Fortunas was trying to size up what strength he had so that when he received his orders he was ready to go.

“Sir, so far we have three thousand four hundred and eight six effectives which is still pretty impressive considering that we thought against veteran gothic soldiers. The bulk of those casualties coming from the third and fourth cohorts.” Hortensius replied.

“What about our cavalry losses,” Fortunas asked hoping for a decent reply.

“Not so good we are down to half our strength and Tribune Falcin is also a casualty.” Hortensius stopped making sure he was heard.

“What! How did that happen?” Fortunas was severely frustrated that he was not informed.

“He took a spear right through his heart. He had no chance sir.” Hortensius lowered his head and shook it gently. He and all soldiers knew the risks, but for a man like Falcin to die so young with so much promise was a great loss; he was popular amongst the cavalry units and was seriously mourned. “Sir what are we going to do to recoup the losses?”

“That issue is already in hand, I have summoned Frontinus and Tribune Avarnus. You will see what I plan on doing.” Fortunas raised an eyebrow and smiled. About half an hour later, Tribune Avarnus and Frontinus sat looking nervous as to why the legate had summoned them both to his tent. Fortunas summoned Frontinus into his quarters. Frontinus walked in looking nervous, although he had no reason as he had joined following Fortunas’ call to arms. Fortunas had always been a good judge of moods and noticed the look of tension in Frontinus’ face.

“Frontinus, my brother, how are you?” Fortunas said subtedly.

“I am well Fortunas, but I am wondering why you have summoned me.” Frontinus said tentatively.

“Frontinus, my friend you and your Ielevocates served with distinction at Valentia and I would not have won the battle as quickly if you weren’t there.” Fortunas paused. “How many men do you have?”

“One thousand three hundred and ninety two, exactly.” Frontinus said, trying to get to the point. Fortunas looked up at Hortensius.

“Frontinus, I would like you and your Ielevocates to join me and my legion and become fully fledged legionnaires. You will obtain the full advantages that a legionary receives you will see the empire and ultimately you will show how strong Hispania is.”

Frontinus, taken aback by the request, paused and picking his words carefully, he spoke. “That is indeed a tremendous offer but I cannot speak for the entire group. Many will not want to join the army, most joined you because you were going to rid us of the Freigoths and you have done, but for some you will have to let them go.” Frontinus paused. “I will join you and will be able to persuade others to join you also but not all.”

Fortunas after hearing this lowered his head slightly hoping for full co operation. He could not bring himself to force Frontinus after many of his man giving there lives and continuing to serve the way they have. “Well Frontinus I cannot force you to join me but I need an answer very soon and I hope you will make what I conceive to be the right position.” Fortunas nodded and Frontinus left. Very soon after a very young Tribune Avarnus entered the room and stood to attention. Staring straight ahead without flinching. Fortunas looked at the Tribune then looked at Hortensius and nodded.

“Tribune Avarnus stand at ease,” Hortensius ordered. Avarnus relaxed slightly and waited. “The Legate and I due to careful deliberation and the fortuitous circumstances of your superior Senior Tribune Tacitus Julianus going AWOL have a reward and an exciting opportunity for you. The Legate has decided to grant you after your continual improvement and management abilities you are hereby awarded this lorel wreath for gallantry in battle and hereby promoted to the rank of Senior Tribune.” Hortensius paused to allow Fortunas to speak.

“As a test of your new found position and a real test of your organisation skills, you are to prepare the legion for its withdrawel and prepare for the march to Mediolanum. Where we will rest the legion and I will leave the legion in the command of you and Hortensius. How does that strike you?”

Avarnus was lost for words unable to speak but the smile on his face was indescribable. “I accept with all my heart.”

Fortunas dismissed him, he felt that Avarnus was an excellent choice both militarily and politically as all Senior Tribunes were always a Legates closet ally or greatest enemy and he felt that Avarnus was no match for him so in the long term could become his greatest ally in time and with a little grooming. Within two days of the meetings Frontinus was able to pledge the allegiance of approximately a thousand Ielevocates, bringing his fighting strength to four thousand four hundred and eighty six. Fortunas decided he would have to make up the rest when arriving in Mediolanum. The legion departed Hispania heading for Mediolanum in good spirits, attempting to arrive before the winter season.


=== Off the coast of Mauretania Tingitana ===

Maxus and his senior officers stood crammed into the largest cabin aboard Maxus’ ship, pouring over a table laden with maps. “Well, what does everyone think?” He asked the men. He had a pretty good idea about what they should do but he might have missed something. Besides, he had promised Valens that he would let Asinius advise him.

Tribune Fabius spoke up first. “How about we land on that island sir?” he suggested, pointing to the small island directly off the coast from the city of Mogador. “We could fortify it and use that as a base from which to launch our attacks from. Their light cavalry wouldn’t be able to get at us there.”

Maxus nodded. “True, Artorius, their cavalry, and indeed their men would be hard pressed to attack our supply lines there and they would find it very difficult to harass us. However, look at these ships. We lack a proper fleet and should our ships come up against those Berber pirate ships, we wouldn’t stand much of a chance. Once we are on that island, we give our enemy the opportunity to trap us. All they need to do is surround it and stop ships reaching the island to drop off supplies and preventing us from escaping. If that happens, we’re stuck there with eight thousand mouths to feed and by the time a decent fleet of ships could be brought to rescue us, we would be long dead.” He eyed the men around him and said in a simple tone that held not a trace of lecturing in it, “Always have more than one route of escape.”

Legate Asinius pointed straight at a map of Mogador. “Why not land at the docks and march straight inside? That’s what we did last time and it worked fine! Why change it if it works?”

Maxus shook his head, “What happened in the past doesn’t necessarily predict the future, Legate. It was a good idea then but by now the defences will have been fixed up and they’ll be expecting it. What happens if we land our men on the docks only to have them bar the gates and fire the piers?”

Tribune Artorius nodded, “Then we need to land somewhere else. What did you have in mind, General?”

The young commander placed his finger on the map showing the coast. “Here,” he said, indicating the town of Safi. “It’s two day’s march from Mogador which gives us options. When we land, we’ll hear a report on the enemy forces. From this spot we’ll have the option to take our time as well as the option of attacking quickly should there be a weakness in their defence. It places us in a position where we can take the initiative.”

The all the officers except Asinius, who grumbled and muttered, nodded and they went on into the night, discussing what else needed doing.

===A few days later, Safi; Sextilis ===

Tiberius Maxus only had two thirds of his forces disembark from the ships when the army arrived at the rough looking port. The first time Mogador had been taken, it had been with a force of six thousand men and Maxus wanted the enemy to believe that he had come to reclaim it with even fewer than that. The enemies he had encountered over the years believed Romans to be arrogant in their pursuit of conquest and Maxus wasn’t about to tell them otherwise.

Inevitably, there would be men that would run to tell the enemy that an army of Romans had landed. Maxus couldn’t prevent this, so he would manipulate it. The men who ran off would unknowingly be feeding his opponent misinformation, misinformation that was consistent with their views of Romans. They would hear that an army consisting of between five and six thousand men had landed in Safi and had spent a whole day celebrating their victory

Upon his arrival, Maxus had been briefed by the scouts he had sent out to gather intelligence. They reported the enemy’s army to be encamped near Mogador, Maure light infantry and Berber cavalry. According to their reports, their army consisted of about five thousand light infantry, mainly skirmishers and between three and four thousand Berber cavalry. They were outnumbered, but not by much and their enemy lacked the organisation and the discipline of the Roman Legionaries.

For his plan to work, timing was everything and early on the third morning after arriving at Safi, while it was still dark, the last third of his army snuck off the ships and joined the rest as they departed, heading south along the coast.

=== The second day after the Romans landed, the allied camp of Maure and Berbers near Mogador ===

Chief Sahi scowled at the men before him. “How many?” They were related to one of the commanders under him but he wasn’t sure he should trust them entirely.

“Somewhere between five and six thousand, they’ve taken over the city.”

Sahi nodded, it all made sense and he turned towards the rest of the men in the tent. It had once been the command tent belonging to an occupying Roman force and it had been captured when they had defeated their forces a few months ago. They had done it then, and they would do it again! “We have to move the army tomorrow morning. We’ll harry them all the way down the coast and crush their spirit!”

“No,” another spoke, “We outnumber them, let’s attack them head on and drive these accused invaders back into the sea!” he shouted. Many in the tent cheered and slapped the table bearing their drinks. Many tribes had come together to create this allied army of Berbers and Maure and everyone still fought over who should have the supreme command.

“Let us ride quickly and launch a surprise assault!” still another one suggested excitedly. “The Romans do not expect us to attack them; they think that we wouldn’t dare come too close to their infantry!”

“Either way, we need to move, does everyone agree that we leave tomorrow?” Sahi asked.

Since he had been relatively polite about it, they all agreed and shouted insults at their absent foes.



=== The Roman Army, South of Safi ===

“Typical, just typical!” Legate Asinius Catonius muttered under his breath. “I defeat those bloody Berbers and those damned Maure and as soon as I leave to help in another war; that useless Prefect loses everything I had gained! Now I have to go and do it all over again!” he huffed.

Tiberius Maxus chose to ignore the mutters coming from the man riding beside him and chose instead to examine his surroundings. He rode near the front of the column, as always accompanied by the Equites Maxi. He had known some men over the years who had thought it a good idea to ride up at the very font. Most were dead now.

“I still say that we shouldn’t bother with all this fancy maneuvering, let’s just charge Mogador and have done with it!” The Legate complained and the men around them hissed.

Maxus sighed inwardly. Back when he had served in the Eastern Roman Empire, he had been a Proconsular Legate, second only to Augustus Tiberius Varro and Daratius Antonius Terpus. Now that he was in the west, that title was no longer valid and officially, in the eyes of Rome, he was just a Tribune and that left the lines of command a little cloudy. Still, he had been given command here so there should be no doubts as to who called the shots. Maxus didn’t mind Asinius giving advice or saying his piece in the slightest, he welcomed it, but the man would have to watch how he worded it in front of his men.

It was a full day’s march before Maxus reached the area his scouts had found for them and he called for a halt and ordered the camp set up. However, this was not going to be a standard Roman camp, it couldn’t be if his plan was to succeed. The tents were set up in much the same way except old and worn materials were used to construct the southern tents. Those would probably be destroyed. The usual palisade and ditches around the perimeter of the camp were also altered so as to give the camp a more palatable appearance to attackers.

From what Maxus’ scouts reported, the enemy forces were close, close enough to launch an attack.

After the camp was set up Maxus grabbed a practice sword and ran himself through a few warm up drills with some of his guards before he was interrupted by a cough behind him. “I hope you know how to use that thing,” was all Asinius said as he picked up a practice blade. Maxus’ men stepped back at his gesture and the two men began circling each other. “Let’s see what you’re made of boy!” the Legate growled as he launched his attack.

The man might have been good in his day but he must have been about sixty now and Maxus sidestepped him and rapped him on the thigh. The Legate grunted in surprise and approached more cautiously this time but Maxus danced backwards, parrying blows and fending off a flurry of feints, jabs and cuts. The old man wasn’t very quick, and nor was he as strong as Maxus but he had seen plenty of fighting and his attacks were quite clever. Maxus delivered counter attacks here and there and eventually took advantage of a poorly disguised feint to begin his own attack. Asinius might have been good for his age but Tiberius Maxus was better and the older Legate frowned in concentration as the attacks grew in speed and intensity. The assault was relentless, with Asinius having no time to make counter attacks and before long a blow made it through his defences to strike him in the middle.

Rubbing his stomach Asinius scowled, but muttered grudgingly, “You’re good.” He walked away, smiling at Maxus’ guards, but Maxus merely motioned for someone else to pick up the practice sword Asinius dropped. Practice makes perfect, he thought to himself.

=== That Night, the Roman camp ===

That night, Maxus laid his trap. His scouts were keeping an eye on the enemy and they were a short march to the south, a disorganised rabble, the scouts labelled them but it looked as though they were preparing themselves for something. Maxus hoped so or his men would be losing sleep for nothing.

Slowly, under cover of darkness and plenty of noise from the camp, he moved the majority of his men from the camps, leaving two thousand of his best legionaries in the camps to create the illusion of it being manned. These men made a great deal of noise and the fires all over the camp gave it the look of holding about five thousand men. The camp looked relatively undefended and there were only a few sentries at the entrance to the camp keeping watch. All in all it was the very picture of a camp belonging to an arrogant invader, one who believed that no one would possibly be mad enough to attack him in his own camp. Or it looked as if the commander was complacent and unskilled.

The rest of his army were hidden to the east and west of the camp and were lying ready to ambush the enemy. After a while, the noises faded from the camp and to anyone watching, it would look as though it had finally gone to sleep. In actual fact, the two thousand men in the camp were alert and ready to fall back to the northern side of the camp once the signal was given.

A constant stream of scouts and runners kept Maxus informed of the enemy movements and he shifted his men to account for the direction from which they were coming so as to remain ideally placed for the ambush. The enemy was clearly readying itself for a ‘surprise’ attack on the Roman camp, probably at dawn. Maxus almost smiled- it would be a surprise alright.

=== That Same Night, the allied army ===

The Romans had finally stopped drinking sometime in the early hours in the morning and Sahi couldn’t wait to attack. The Roman dogs would be caught off guard and their vaunted legionaries would have to fight in their small clothes against the tribes’ forces. The Maure and the Berbers outnumbered them almost two to one it was believed and soon their heads would decorate the walls of Mogador.

The fighting men of his own tribe were mounted around him, equally eager to charge but he held them back. There was no use in attacking before dawn, they simply wouldn’t be able to see their targets and could just as easily kill their own men or the men belonging to other tribes. That wouldn’t be such a bad idea though; he thought as he looked at the other Berber tribes mounted a while away from his own.

The tribal leaders had finally agreed on a rough plan during the time it had taken to move their forces. As soon as there was enough light, the Maure tribes, mainly consisting of skirmishers and other light infantry, would surge through Roman camp from south to north and catch them off guard, killing as many as they could before falling back. Then the Berbers could have their fun and kill any Romans that pursued or tried to flee.

It was a good plan and Sahi grinned as he watched from his tribe as first of the Maure moved forward. The sky was beginning to lighten, dawn was near.

=== The Battle ===

Without any orders being given, the Maure light infantry suddenly roared and charged towards the Roman camp from the south, all four thousand of them. They didn’t run as one single line but rather a number of separate tribes, competing with each other over who could reach the north side of the camp the fastest and return with more Roman heads.

The sentries on the gates sounded horns but they were hardly needed with the noise from the charging Maure who pushed past the messy defences easily. The Romans in the camp didn’t attempt to fight at all but ran in the opposite direction, fleeing in the face of the Maure and the tribesmen pursed, smelling blood.

Tribune Fabius ran with his men from II Septem, shouting at them to flee and his men took up the cry “Run! Flee for your lives!” It was a good thing that their backs were turned on the Maure for if they hadn’t, they would have seen many legionaries grinning and some trying not to laugh in anticipation.

When the Romans reached the far northern side they turned and formed a line against the attackers. Tribune Fabius stood a few ranks back in the centre and watched grimly as the Maure howled in triumph, no doubt seeing that they outnumbered the Romans two to one. They threw their spears and the Roman legionaries held up their shields to protect each other from the hail of javelins. The large Roman shields locked together and provided a screen against the missile fire and before the Maure could launch another volley, their shouts were drowned out by a huge roar that came from both the east and the west.

Over four thousand more legionaries suddenly poured into the camp and engaged the Maure on their flanks and at the same time, the initial two thousand rushed forward to encircle the horrified enemy. The tribesmen were now caught in the exact scenario they had wanted to avoid, outnumbered and surrounded by heavy infantry.

Tribune Artorius was leading the men who were attack from the west and he shouted encouragement at his men as they pressed their attack, mercilessly slaughtering the Maure who were fast falling into disarray. “Send them to Hades men! II Septem!” He cried, “II Septem and victory!” The legion took up the chant and Legate Asinius, not about to be outdone rose a cry of his own, surprisingly loud for a man of his age .

“Forward Legio IX Classica Hispana! Push them back!”

Maxus watched calmly as his battle hardened legionaries butchered the poorly equip and armoured Maure. The men advanced in solid lines, thrusting their gladi forward and pushing with their shields. The tribesmen were hopelessly outmatched and they knew it. Before long they were routing, trying to escape to the south to the cover of the Berber cavalry.

This was what Maxus had been waiting for and the young General gave the command in a voice that could have belonged to the Emperor himself. Almost two thousand cavalry suddenly rushed in, slashing in a frenzy at the fleeing Maure. At this point many of the Maure had simply had enough. They threw down their weapons, unwilling to face their certain death and pleaded for mercy. A few units moved forward and swiftly collected their weapons before placing them under guard while the rest of the army surged after the Maure who had chosen to continue running.

Maxus himself sat and watched as his army swept forward to seal the victory. Commanders who rushed forward in a battle fury to fight the enemy from the field were foolish and he wasn’t a fool. It was a General’s job to direct a battle, not to fight it personally.

The pursuit finally brought the pursuing Romans into contact with the Berber light cavalry who were sitting astride their horses, stunned at seeing so few Maure return from the camp followed by so many Romans.

Over seven thousand Romans slammed into the milling Berbers and before long, they too were fleeing. Maxus allowed his men to pursue for a while, breaking the Berbers up into tribes and harassing them to keep them from reuniting.

Once that had been achieved, however, he called them off. As always, his orders were relayed with satisfying efficiency and carried out by the elite officers he had brought with him from the east. What made a good legion a great one was its officers, namely it’s Centurions and its Optios. While he gave the orders, it was those men who saw them carried out, those who kept discipline and those who fought alongside the men during battles. Maxus had brought with him the best leaders the elite and veteran legions of the east could offer, and they were showing their worth.

It was too dangerous to allow his cavalry too far from the support of the infantry and he knew it. The Berbers were running now but once they realised that there were only a few Roman Cavalry chasing after them, they would no doubt turn on them and end up chasing THEM back the other way. Now was a time for consolidating their victory and picking up whatever the enemy had left behind.

They had made the best start possible, the enemy were in disarray and the way to Mogador was clear. A small smile was visible on Maxus’ face as the army celebrated.

=== Mogador; Septembris ===

Maxus stood atop a recently repaired section of the wall and gazed out to sea. Much had been accomplished in the two months since his first victory and the region was now under his control. The paltry few that escaped the massacre that night had belonged to a variety of tribes and had not been enough to form an effective defence of their land. The Berber tribes, who had suffered considerably fewer casualties, had turned on their former allies and had tried to take the lands traditionally held by the Maure.

In trying to do so, the Berbers had split apart and were once again fighting in a dozen tribal armies. After securing a defenceless Mogador, Maxus had rapidly deployed his forces to key positions and from there, he and his officers had continued the campaign to capture Southern Mauretania. The men of II Septem and IX Classica Hispana had fought several small battles but the only real threat was when four Berber tribes united once more in one last desperate attempt to hold onto the territory they had gained. Out of the one and a half thousand Berbers that had come together that day, only a handful had escaped and five hundred more slaves had been added to the collection when they had been surrounded by an entire legion. After that the remaining Berbers, less than a third of the number that had come to fight to Romans, fled south to their tribe lands, soundly defeated. Maxus’ army had taken some casualties as well but owing to a range of factors, their losses were far fewer than those of the tribes.

Cohors I Gades had been called to the south so that it could install itself as a garrison force and when it arrived in Quintilis, Maxus had appointed Tribune Fabius as its Prefect and as the man who would govern the newly taken province when the time came for the legions to leave.

That time came sooner than expected and certainly not at his choosing. “General,” one of his guards said, saluting, “there’s a messenger here for you, he says he’s from Rome. From the Emperor himself!”

Maxus gave no evidence that this surprised him other than a very slight widening of his eyes. The Emperor of Rome had sent a messenger all the way to Mogador to find him? That didn’t sound good, perhaps it was an assassin who had been sent to kill him, one that had decided that this was the only way to get past his guards?

“Let him up but...watch him closely, Hadrius.”

“Of course, sir.” came the sombre reply. Hadrius knew what a messenger from the Emperor could mean. It was the Emperor of Rome, the man they called Reconcilius who had ordered the men from IV Fortis executed in the arenas.

A short man wearing the uniform of an Imperial Messenger walked up the new stairway, escorted by men from the Equites Maxi. “Tribune Tiberius Maxus?” He nodded despite the hisses from his men, “I have a message from the new Emperor, Imperator Lucius Tacitus Vitellius.” He began to walk to Maxus with a sealed piece of parchment but one of the guards intercepted him and, after taking to parchment from his and examining it for anything sinister, he handed it to Maxus. It read simply:

"Romulus Tiberius Maxus,

Your presence is requested in Rome, as soon as possible. You will be expected at the imperial palace."

Maxus sighed and read the message again to be sure. It could be a trap but what choice did he have? If he refused then an assassin would certainly be sent. Anyway, perhaps this Emperor would be different?

“Hadrius, bring me Legate Asinius, Prefect Fabius and First Tribune Artorius.” Another sea voyage. By the Gods he hated the sea!


Written By: Tiberius Romulus Maxus and Tullius Fortunus Julianus
Edited By: Ferus Juventas
137 AD