Conquest and Glory
Chapter 10
The Legion had finally reached the rat’s city despite the many obstacles they had had to face, though it was more of a sprawling mess than a city, not like their cities. There were few mice that Justinius had trusted as much as Titus and he wished that his fallen friend were at his side now. The wooden walls, though not extremely high nor the epitome of sturdy, nonetheless stood over them imposingly. Rats could be heard shouting and running about within, while some who did not want to wait for their death prepared to meet the legion with a sorrowfully small assembly.
The legion readied their rams and ladders and made last minute adjustments to their armor. The mice shifted their weight to different paws, bounced from paw to paw, or otherwise revealed their restlessness or fear in various ways when their superiors weren’t looking. Justinius felt it too. Having fought and survived numerous battles, the fear of what may happen, the idea that he might not make it back, had began to erode, but after the loss of Titus that fear he might not live to see his family again had returned to the recesses of his mind.
The rats charged and Justinius and the legion moved as one to face them. The mice shouted their war cries and crashed into the rats and swept them away. Having reached the wall, the mice at once set about raising their ladders along its length or ramming the gate down. Stones rained down on them like leaves in an autumn wind, but the mice merely raised their shields in reply and continued their attempts to scale the wall and breach the gate.
The archers, protected by a wall of shields, returned the fire and brought down many rats. Those who were not slain ducked behind cover. This caused a lull in their missiles which the mice used without waste to reach the top of the wall. Leaping over, they set their blades on the rats and quickly took control of the wall. Within seconds, unhampered by any resistance, the gate was smashed and the legion flooded in. The archers took to the wall to have a better vantage point, while the rest of the legion began to enter every alley and street.
Their goal was simple: make it to the largest structure where the chief would be found, and either bring him to submission or kill him. Along the way they were to subdue any who opposed them. The women along with the elderly and children huddled in their homes while the legion pressed on.
Rats threw themselves at the legion at every inch, slowing their advance to a crawl. Their numbers were numerous, far greater than the size of the city would suggest. For every rat the legion cut down and every inch they took another rat, or three, attacked them. The rats knew the city well, and were the more deadly for it. The mice never faltered, but continued their advance, despite all the pushbacks, knowing it was for the good and glory of Rome.
Justinius slew a towering rat who had set his sights on him. With all his armor and weapons as well as without the rain, Justinius was more than a match for any of the rats. The ground was muddy mess in most places, which slowed progress even further, and refuse of all sorts littered the ground, making footing treacherous and causing a mouse next to him to slice his foot. The legionary cried out and was almost felled by a rat’s spear, but Justinius blocked it with his shield and slew the rat.
The street opened up giving the mice more room to maneuver, but also allowing more rats to gang up on them. About ten mice were already in the plaza beset on by three times that number of rats. Two of mice were cut down as Justinius and the few mice with him blustered their ranks. Together they pushed the rats back and, with more of the legion entering from different streets, they defeated the rats, the two last standing of which fled.
Justinius took a moment to look at his surroundings. They hadn’t come far, and their destination was closer to the back of the city than the middle, so they still had about half the city to traverse. He frowned—he would have enough mice to carry this out, but he wished there would be fewer casualties. The walls had been their weakest at the point of breach, so attack any of the other sides would have resulted in a prolonged fight to get into the city. But might they have had less casualties coming from closer to the chief’s hovel? He wasn’t sure, but he had already made the descision, so there was nothing to it but to press on.
“Forward,” he cried, not wanting to give the rats a chance to regroup. Runners found their way to Justinius to report on how the legion was faring in the other parts of the city.
“Sir,” said the first, “our group is reaching the northern side of the city. From there Maximus intends to head toward the final goal, so as to not leave any who could ambush us from behind.”
“Very good,” Justinius replied, letting the legionaries take the vanguard while he listened to the reports. “Tell him to continue and to meet me when we bring down the chief.”
“Yes sir,” said the mouse as he darted off.
Another came up. “Sir, the southern forces are encountering strong resistance and have taken many casualties. We are held up and unable to make progress. Our commanding officer has been injured and can no longer fight and is being removed from the city as we speak.”
“Octavius,” Justinius shouted.
The young mouse ran back from the front, which had already advanced two buildings. “Sir?”
“Go with him, and take command of the southern forces. Take any of the legion that can be spared and shatter the resistance there. Once that is done, finish securing the southern side of the city then set your sights on the chief—there we will finish this.”
“Sir!” Octavius said and ran off.
Several other mice came to him with updates over the course of the battle. Some had good news and some bore unfortunate news. The northern forces made swift progress and were now flooding through the north side of the city, and with Octavius at the helm, the southern forces were making decent advances. The center which was just to the right of Justinius was facing heavy attacks, but they were pressing on. Justinius received word that Titus’s replacement had also been slain, and a lower officer had to be found to take his place.
The day grew long and soon Justinius was nearing his goal. The northern forces had been stopped dead in their tracks while the southern forces had reach Justinius. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky as Justinius finally caught sight of the chief. Maximus and his mice had still yet to reach them, but with Octavius and those from the center who had also made it through the rats, Justinius felt certain they could overcome the final battle for the city. Once they had taken the city, only skirmishes would be left to root out the rest of the resistance, while forays in the coming days would be needed to crush all the warrens and nests in the surrounding lands.
The rat chieftain—no other title seemed fitting—appeared from inside his lavish hovel. He was clad in scraps of armor, ranging from pelts to leather to metal and even wood. He was tall, much larger than any of the rats they had faced so far, and it was clear from the glint in his eye that he far more cunning than most opponents Justinius had faced. In his claws a giant club was grasped, and each step he took could be heard even above the din of the battle. He leered at Justinius then stuck out his tongue and rolled is eyes.
With a harsh laugh, he pointed the club at Justinius. “Whose come to die today?” he said in a grating voice that thundered about the air.
“We have come to end the terror you wreak in our lands,” Justinius vowed, stepping forward to meet the challenge. “And we have come to bring our rule to these lands, as is our right!”
“We shall see,” the rat said, licking his teeth. “We shall see who is the more worthy ruler.” He yelled something in his barbaric language and threw himself on Justinius who rolled away. The nearby rats worked up a frenzy and jumped at the mice, fangs bared and weapons forgotten. Their bloodlust was nothing like had been seen so far and the mice were hard pressed to hold the rats off, let alone fight back. They squeaked in dismay as they were pushed farther and farther from Justinius and the chief.
Justinius turned his attention back to the chief. He had faith that they could hold their own against the rats. But Justinius knew that victory would be hard without the defeat of the chieftain, and in a one on one with him, despite his superior armor, weaponry, and knowledge of warfare, Justinius wasn’t sure he had the upper hand.
The club sang past Justinius’s ear as he dodged at the last second then thudded into the ground, sending mud in all directions. Justinius spun around to face the rat, who shouted an oath then swung again. His speed shocked Justinius who was having trouble avoiding his attacks. He knew he could wait for the rat to tire, but he wasn’t sure if he could last that long. He’d have to go on the offensive, with with having to dodge so much he wasn’t sure if he could. He bit his lip—to be outmatched by someone with absolutely no skill was, frankly, insulting.
He finally saw his chance. In his desire to kill the mouse, the rat swung too hastily, throwing himself off balance. Though he regained his balance quickly, it was all Justinius needed. He dived at the chief while he was recovering, then slashed before jumping back. The rat howled as Justinius’s sword grazed his chest. It was not a deep wound, but it had severed a decent amount of the makeshift armor.
Justinius ran around his opponent, being careful not to slip in the mud. And was about to remove the tyrant of his head, when he heard Titus’s voice calling from behind. He turned and narrowly avoided the spear that would have impaled him before he could have killed his opponent.
Growling in frustration, but not surprised that the rats would have used such underhanded means, he sliced the rat in two then sprang at the chief, hoping to end the battle. He knew he had heard Titus, and thanked his friend for saving his life.
The chief had a disappointed look on his face as Justinius turned back from his would be killer. And the chief’s face still had that disappointed look, now mixed with a stupid shock, as his head fell from his shoulders and squelched in the mud. Justinius sighed a sigh of relief and sat down on the headless body since there was no other suitable seat nearby.
The rats cried in dismay and their bloodlust drained from their eyes and they were swiftly defeated. Justinius ordered the remainder of the battle from his seat. Maximus had been surrounded and many of the mice around him had fallen as they made a valiant last stand against the rats. But Octavius had come to their rescue. Together he and Maximus had driven off the rats. In the course of the fighting, Maximus had been injured, but nothing life threatening, and Octavius had lost an ear. The mice swept through the city, killing those who still had fight left in them, and rounding up those who threw down their weapons. The city was theirs by the end of the day.
The following days were spent making preparations for the rats to come under Roman rule along with cleaning things up. The dead were buried and the injured tended. The Legion was reorganized, with survivors of centuries that had been decimated sent to others. Their losses had been many, but the legion still stood strong. Forays were sent out to root out any remaining strongholds the rats had in the area but Justinius remained behind, leaving it to Octavius and the other officers who could still fight.
Ten days after taking of the city, Justinius sat in the chief’s house—which had been cleaned and aired out—dictating a message to be sent to Rome, reporting his success and asking what should be done and who put in charge. Once their reply came and the new orders fulfilled, he would return home. A mouse came in, breathless. Justinius did not recognize him, nor was he in armor.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Justinius demanded, standing up to frown at the yellow mouse. “Stand up strait and smarten yourself up.”
“Sir,” he gasped between words, standing up, then doubling over, putting his paws on his knees and breathing hard. “Rome has fallen. Aquilla has turned against the Emperor Marcus, thrown him down, and set himself up as Emperor.”
The End for now . . . God bless
word count 2,246—total 16,862