A long line of defeated men marched under the careful watch of the Legionnaires, their hands bound before them. Their faces showed that their resolve had been well and truly crushed. Nevertheless, the Legionnaires kept their hands on their swords just in case anyone decided to try something.

Tiberius kept his face impassive, but inwardly was quite pleased. Their empire's population had grown significantly this day. If they’d known exactly how easy the enemy would be to subdue, he would have considered restructuring the initial assault entirely to focus on leaving the peasants alive.

Then again, perhaps that was just his foolish pride talking. Who’s to say that the higher-leveled adventurers wouldn’t have taken advantage of their restraint? No, it was better to be aggressive and crush the enemy.

As the line of men passed, one of Tiberius’s aides jotted down notes about their professions and levels. Such things wouldn’t be the sole determining factors of where these men were put to use. But if they were to expand their holdings, they'd need men to work the fields and ply their trades. More than just the people of Habersville and Stonewake.

Captives like this might not be as free to do so as many citizens, of course. But soldiers captured in battle had certain uses. Sometimes they could be ransomed or used as part of propaganda. More commonly they would be sold as salves if there was no better use.

Of course if they were under a negotiated surrender they might be integrated into society in maybe half a generation. Although calling these men soldiers was rather generous and there definitely wasn’t a negotiated surrender. And besides, in a state of emergency like this, Tiberius was more than willing to make some adjustments to the normal way of things. They needed people after all.

The Legatus turned back toward his officers and Primus Pilus. He hid a wince as he moved, his still-healing wounds reminding him of their tenderness. “So. You wish to launch a counteroffensive?”

Quintus nodded. “Yes, Legatus. The composition of the enemy’s army suggests that it represents the last dregs of their able-bodied men. If we march now, before they have time to scrounge up reinforcements, I doubt we will encounter more than a token resistance.”

Tiberius nodded. “I agree. The tactic is aggressive, but properly so. Which cohorts would you take?"

"I think the first and third should be sufficient. Let the rest march back with the prisoners, and then I would ask that you send the reserve cohorts from Habersville to relieve my men.”

“You shall have them.” Tiberius agreed easily. “I will also send the siege weapons with you. Put them to use and report back on their efficacy.”

Quintus saluted, and he thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile across his features. “Understood, sir.”

Tiberius turned to one of his officers. “Are there any other considerations to be made before we act?”

The man considered for a moment. “I don’t believe so. We’ll obviously send more scouts ahead to ensure our information remains accurate, but from the reports we have… the baron's seat of power should not be able to hold against even one cohort. But I see no reason to risk anything but overwhelming victory. Recruits are still years away."

The officer sent Quintus a pointed look as he finished speaking. The centurion just nodded. “Agreed. I will not take any undue risks."

"Very well. You may have your men." Tiberius nodded before pausing in consideration. “Bring the auxiliaries as well. While I’m pleased that they gained experience from this battle, they will need many more battles under their belts if they are to be worthy of their positions. However, do not hesitate to leave them behind if they will delay you.”

Quintus saluted. “Yes, Legatus.” He glanced at the sky. “I will allow the men a brief break to recover before we march. If all goes well, we should be able to siege the barony early tomorrow morning or afternoon."

Tiberius smiled.

"Good. I will accompany our forces back to Habersville. Expect me to return with the trebuchets."

With a wave of his hand, Tiberius dismissed the meeting. His officers made themselves scarce as they tended to all of the matters that needed handling—the prisoners, organizing scouts, taking stock of their dead and wounded, and so on.

Quintus remained where he was as the others left. From his expression, Tiberius could tell that he had a question on his mind. At his nod, the centurion spoke it aloud.

“I heard there was an attempt on your life. Are you all right?”

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Tiberius nodded. “I am still standing, am I not?”

“As am I. But that doesn’t mean I want to be.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll manage. A number of my injuries are admittedly still quite tender, but there is nothing life-threatening.”

Quintus nodded with some relief. “That is good to hear. Still…” He checked to make sure they were alone before his mouth quirked into a small smile. “You couldn’t keep up with a single young woman? Are you losing stamina in your old age?"

Tiberius stifled a laugh, turning back to the line of prisoners to hide his own smile.

***

Quintus delivered the battle orders to the centurions himself. Between the third cohort and the double strength of the first cohort, they should have more than enough men to handle this assault. He would probably even use the third cohort as more of a complementary force.

Once the other centurions were informed of the plan, he immediately sent long-range scouts to go survey the barony. Through a combination of smart rotations and a few fascinatingly specialized scouting skills, they’d be able to keep a near continuous flow of information as they approached their destination. Hopefully, that also meant avoiding any unpleasant surprises.

Quintus waved over a messenger. “Inform the auxiliaries that we’ll be moving out in half an hour. We make for the barony.”

The man saluted before darting off. The turnaround would be short, but if the centurions in charge of the new recruits were on top of things, it would be just enough time.

Of course, he was no fool. They’d be able to leave as late as forty-five minutes from now and keep with Quintus’s schedule. The auxiliaries were still very much a green unit and couldn’t compare with the veterans of the first and third cohorts, so he built in a bit of wiggle room. The time pressure would still be a good learning experience.

Quintus strode through the camp as his cohorts prepared to move, checking on the state of things as he did. Given that time had been of the essence for this ambush, the Legion hadn’t taken the time to set up a proper camp beforehand. That meant that there really wasn’t much to do with regards to packing things up.

Most men simply gathered their things and assembled into columns, some sneaking in a few bites of food or swigs from their canteens as they did. The whole scene exuded an air of casual haste, the men moving quickly and efficiently without even seeming to.

The auxiliaries, on the other hand…

Quintus knew when he’d found the auxiliaries’ section of the makeshift camp, and not just by their different armor. The men themselves simply held themselves differently. Half ran about like chickens with their heads cut off, tripping over themselves as they scrambled to prepare. The other half were still seated on whatever round rocks or grassy knolls they’d been able to find as they passed along flasks or wineskins with dubious contents.

Well, not all of the ones sitting were slackers at least. Many had started tending to their equipment, which Quintus would normally commend them for. Soldiers lived and died by their equipment, and maintaining it was almost as important as eating.

But it was important to know what sort of maintenance could be done and when. When one might receive orders to march, that was not the time to remove the entirety of one’s armor and begin oiling all of its leather straps meticulously, as he saw one young boy doing.

If he had just been replacing a single buckle or making repairs that were critical, it would make sense. But now he was going to have to don his armor before the foul-smelling ointment could dry and disperse its scent. But no matter. That was a lesson he’d learn soon enough—he and the ones marching beside him.

Those who had just starting sharpening weapons were able to easily abandon the task and fall in. Still, he did see men scurry about, sent by centurions to find the last members of their contubernium and centuries.

The sheer chaos of it all brought a deep frown to Quintus’s face. It was once thing for the auxiliaries to not be ready. It was almost expected, given that they were still in training. But the disorganization reflected poorly on the centurions that were running things. Those men had all come from the Legion.

These centurions would lead and train the new recruits until such time that reasonably effective leaders could be raised from the auxiliaries themselves. In fact, Quintus recognized most of them as men hed recommended for promotion and an increase in responsibilities. Evidently, he’d been off the mark in a few cases. He regretted putting his words behind some of these men. He would make sure that they knew that.

Quintus’s face twisted into a menacing grimace. Like a lion stalking a herd of lambs, Quintus marched toward the fumbling group of auxiliaries, his glare burning into them.

“Pluto’s twisted balls, what sorry excuse for arrow-slinging, weak-kneed goat-herders are you lot?” Quintus’s voice cut through the din of packing soldiers. “Hurry it up! Jupiter Optimus Maximus himself must be laughing his divine arse off watching you sorry lot shuffle around like old women at the marketplace!”

Quintus’s voice boomed louder than a war horn, slicing through the camp. He was almost certain he heard himself echo off distant hills. A good number of others turned to watch the scene, some in amusement and others fear.

“Auxiliaries, I swear by Mars’s bloody sword, if you miserable sacks of donkey dung do not fall in this instant, I’ll personally crucify each and every one of you upside-down along the Via Appia as a warning to every lazy bastard from here to Rome!”

A panicked frenzy erupted at the threat. The young man who had been oiling his armor shrieked, scrambling to put it back on. It clanked loudly as others scrambled into rigid lines, their shoulders bumping into each other and their bows tangling in their haste.

“By Juno’s sacred peacock, I have seen barbarians in the furthest reaches of Germania form ranks faster while hungover on fermented goat piss! You worthless offspring of a thousand drunken senators, move!”

Quintus fought hard to keep his expression appropriately displeased as the auxiliaries doubled or even tripled their pace. It had been a while since he’d worked with recruits. Sometimes, he forgot just how fun it was.