Arminius was
well aware of the fragile state of his country. For the first time since the
days of his country’s most ancient heroes the tribes were truly unified under
one ruler-Arminius. Unification of tribes that had warred against each other
for ages hadn’t been easy; Arminius knew this better than anyone. As the leader
of a coalition scarcely a day went by before he had to hear complaint, almost
all of which were about new instances of violence that revolved around ancient
feuds. Arminius cursed the shortsightedness of his countrymen. Did it really
matter that one tribe may have stolen some cattle a hundred years back? All of
the parties involved were now dead. Why did an unresolved murder thirty years
ago have to cause the deaths of over fifty people in a gruesome inter-tribe
brawl?
Arminius shook
his head, pissed that petty domestic issues ate up most of his time, and gave
him a lingering headache. “I shouldn’t
have to worry about this” he thought bitterly “foreign issues are pressing enough”. While the Romans this side of
the Rhine had been crushed Arminius knew that on the other side they were
amassing more legions. Having studied under them, Arminius was well aware how
long Rome could hold a grudge. He would have to strike them soon and hard. But
how…
From studying their
history, Arminius knew that the only conceivable chance he had to defeat the
empire was to rip out its heart; Rome. The capital city of the Romani had not
been taken in 400 years, but it had been taken. If Arminius had any chance of
seeing his dream of a unified Germany become a reality, and to have his wife
and child, unjustly stolen from him, returned then the Imperial City must fall.
But how to get there…. ? The Alps had been fortified so heavily that even if he
could bring Hannibal’s old war beasts back to life he would still not be in a
position to force passage. Nor could a foray from Gaul work out as the Romans,
suspecting such an incursion, had fortified the Rhine and moved six legions
into the country. Luckily for the Germans there was still one option left….
In their mad
dash to exit Germany as quickly as possible, the Romans had left behind much of
their sea craft: their triremes, galleys and troop transports. There was enough room to carry a small army;
perfect for what Arminius planned. He knew that a big portion of his army had
to stay in the homeland to both deter the Romans and to keep the piece among
the quarrelsome tribes. Arminius would
personally lead a detachment of 4-5,000 men on a journey around the Pillars of
Hercules to raid an unsuspecting Rome. There was the problem of patrols spotting
the ship which could prove irksome but not one that Arminius didn’t have a
solution to. His auxiliaries spoke Latin well enough; if he dressed them up as
Roman soldiers and had them carry Roman weapons he could avoid suspicion from the
patrols. Furthermore his pure Germanic troops could either pose as the rowers
or hide within the bowels of the ship. Once they were in the cities harbor they
could reveal themselves, and quickly run through the city and destroy key buildings; The Senate, the Forum and the emperor’s
palace (with the cursed old man Augustus inside of course! Even if the
resilient empire survived it would be in position to challenge Germany in the
near future, not with all of the rebellions, civil wars, economical collapse
and unrest that would follow.
Arminius flashed
a brilliant smile; in his mind he was simply too brilliant for words.
3 months later….
Shaka was king of his domain yes, but like
any absolute ruler he spent his time only thinking of how he could increase it,
not how he could enrich what he already had, wrote Henry Flynn in his
journal. Like Alexander in the days
before the birth of our lord, he thinks of nothing but of more worlds to
conquer, has no higher purpose other than the pure thrill of conquest, desires
to…
Francis
Farewell burst into his tent, interrupting the young Irishman’s thoughts.
Without preamble he said: “Shaka just
finished interrogating the refugees. Apparently it was the white man that
caused them to flee their lands.”
Startled, Flynn looked into his compatriots face, “What? I was not aware that we had any
colonies in the area?”
Farewell shook his head “No
we don’t, and I have no idea who these newcomers are. Not any nation of Europe
that I know of. They do not carry firearms, instead opting to use spears and
clubs in the same like our gracious hosts.”
Flynn caught
Farewell’s sarcasm and silently agreed. Neither of them had wanted to go on
this expedition but Shaka had not-so-politely insisted. The British trading
expedition had no choice but to accept; after all this was Shaka’s land, and if
he desired it, not one of the trade expeditions would make it back to England.
Still, he could not
deny that he was curious to find out the origins of the strange men of his
race, as he hadn’t heard of clubs being used in European warfare for….many
hundreds of years. Pikes had survived in combat to relatively recently, but
still they were an archaic weapon in Europe, and the only type of spear used in
warfare now was the lance, and even use of that was faltering. Farewell seemed
to have had the same thoughts and quipped up
“The villagers said
that they were chased down by men riding horses, and that the men covered
themselves in, as they so aptly put it, a rainbow of colors. “
Confused, Henry Flynn opened his mouth to reply, only for
one of Shaka’s messengers to burst in and speaking in his harsh English dialect
said
“The inkosi demands
that you and your men make ready to pack up. We leave soon”
Farewell gruffly replied back “Aye”
The messenger made no
effort to leave, and Flynn immediately understood the dilemma facing the man:
if Farewell’s men did not get packed up soon, then Shaka could interrupt that
as a sign that his messenger passed along the wrong message, which would be
fatal for the man standing in front of them. Flynn turned to him and spoke
reassuringly
“Tell the Inkosi that
we are packing up as you deliver this message. We will pack as soon as you
leave.”
The Messenger left, still looking nervous and Farewell
sighed. Shaking his head, he turned back to his old friend and said
“What queer folk these
savages are. “
Shaka was quite
surprised by the reports coming from the refugees- and the fact that they were
fleeing in his direction, when they
should be fleeing away from him. He had questioned Farewell extensively as to
the origins of these newcomers, but the British officer had been as genuinely
confused as he was. Farewell’s people disdained close quarters combat,
preferring instead to rely on their firearms in battle, only occasionally using
knives mounted on the end of their firearms or a long, cutting implement known
as a sword (speaking of which, reports
have indicated that the invaders had carried weapons similar to Farewell’s).
In eight years,
Shaka had far surpassed even his own dreams of conquest- but it wasn’t enough.
It would not be until his kingdom stretched from ocean to ocean. Until his
kingdom was truly powerful enough to withstand the white man.
Looking over his
assembled regiments, Shaka knew that his goal of seeing the great Eastern Ocean
would soon come to pass. All that stood in front of him were these foolish
invaders, who Farewell insisted weren’t his people. Shaka hoped, for his sake,
that he was telling the truth. If he wasn’t, then even his precious King Georgie wouldn’t have a hope of
saving him. Shaka would prove to his subjects that they bleed the same color as
everyone else.
Smiling at the
thought, Shaka turned to his general, Soshangane. “General, have the scouts returned yet?”
Soshangane shook his head, replying “The first squad has, the other two, no. “
Shaka frowned. These scouts were some of the kingdoms best;
they knew better than to keep their king waiting. Something must have gone
wrong….
Dismissing these
thoughts for the moment, Shaka asked his general “Very well. What did the first squad have to report about the terrain?”
“It is a forest my king, though not wholly a
dense one. The trees are fairly spread out in most of its sections, save a
couple of small sections which were uncommonly dense. Ayanda’s squad was sent
out to explore the largest dense forest, along with Bheki, while Msizi was sent
back to report on what they had found thus far. “
“Did they see any of
the White men who deign to fight like Zulus?”
“No, my king.”
“ Very well we keep
marching. We should be out of the forest by sunset”. At this he gave a look
to his underling that suggested that if they were not out of the forest by sunset, he would be the first to pay.
Soshangane gulped, but nodded and left. Shaka silently
wondered whether his generals had sufficient backbone to attempt to overthrow
him; the last one who would have ever expressed contempt of Shaka to his face
had left a little over a year ago, Mzilikazi, who was rumored to be
trying to build a kingdom of his own, to rival his old overlord Shaka. By all
accounts this man was just a mime of the great Zulu king, with few innovations
of his own.
Smiling, Shaka knew that their next meeting
would be far less friendly then even the last, and looked forward to it.
Arminius
cursed the gods that he had not foreseen such a disaster. He had misjudged the Roman navigators,
thinking them sniveling cowards while they were really devious snakes. The Romans, taking advantage of the German
leader’s perceptions and lack of geographical knowledge, lead them far past the
Pillars of Hercules, past the farthest reaches of the Roman merchants, ending
up even farther south than the brilliant Phoenicians had ever dared to sail. When they had gone far enough, the navigators
had deliberately rammed the ships into reefs.
Eventually,
the Germans had caught on to the navigator’s treachery, and had the Romans
boiled alive, a sacrifice to the German gods. Still the damage was done, and
they had landed in a strange land filled with strange, horrifying creatures;
more than a few of his men had been mauled by lions (which he recognized from
the decadent Roman amphitheaters) , dragged under the water by great lizards,
or else gored by elephants or the one-horned beast. Worse still, many of his
men had come down with the weird sickness that roamed this land, causing them
to bleed out from all openings. These
poor souls had to be left behind for the good of the many.
After a great
deal of time spent scouring the land (during which time they raided tribes of
men who looked as if they had been under the sun for too long), they had come
across a somewhat cool forest like the ones found in the homeland. Though the
types of trees were different it was still similar enough to remind the Germans
of home. Better still, some of the Germans who had once been fishermen, as well
as a few defected Germans who served in the Roman navy, were cutting down trees
with the intent of remaking their crashed
Now their temporary refuge was threatened, by
what was clearly an advancing enemy scout column. Arminius couldn’t let the
column get back to its leaders, and had ordered his men to hide in the surrounding
brush while he, alone, stood in the middle of the path, on his beautiful Nicean
horse (which had cost him a small fortune to get).
Not too
much later, the first Zulu scouts came into view, coming to an abrupt halt when they saw the
strange rider. Silence dominated the scenes for a few moments, before a man
holding a knobbed club; their leader, stepped forward and spoke in a harsh, incomprehensible,
native dialect. Arminius glared at him; did this fool really think that he
could be understood? Arminius himself knew better to waste his energy trying to
communicate with the native, but this man really seemed to be under the
impression that he could be understood.
Arminius
merely pointed his lance forward, to signify that they should return the way
they came. The native chieftain shook his head; apparently some signs of nonverbal
communication were universal, either that or this native had learned the phrase
from his countryman. Arminius repeated
his thrusting motion forward, more urgently telling them that they should
leave. The native bared his teeth, and apparently lost his patience, throwing
his knobkerrie about ten feet from the German warlord.
Arminius knew that his opposite merely
intended to intimidate him and not kill but it was the excuse that he had been
looking forward. Yelling to his men a hail of javelins and arrows rose into the
air, and blocked out the sun like this was Thermopylae. Then they descended en
masse upon the Zulus.
