Conquest and Glory
Chapter Eight
The legion marched hard and fast to get to the hills. For the first two hours the craggy hillsides loomed in the distance, never drawing any closer, then they rapidly grew until they towered over the legion, making them feel no bigger than specks of dust. There were many caves and crevasses masquerading as cave entrances among the crags, but Justinius could see no signs that any mice were here or had been here.
He looked behind and frowned. If the citizens had come this way he hadn’t seen any sign of them—not even any footprints. And there had been no bodies. Had the priestess lied to him? He faced the hills again. It would be folly to spread out—the chances of losing more of the legion were far to high.
The hills went on as far as they eye could see on either side until it hit forests. He thought he caught movement up near the top. Squinting, there definitely was something up there, but what it was he couldn’t know. It certainly wasn’t one of his mice, but it could be one of the citizens from the city. Upon seeing Justinius looking up the figure disappeared.
“Alright,” Justinius addressed the legion. “We are going up there. If we don’t find anything, we’ll assume all the citizens died in the assault and we’ll march upon the vermin city and take it as our glorious emperor commanded.” The legion shouted in obedience, and Justinian began the ascent at the forefront of the legion.
It took close to twenty minutes for Justinius to find a suitable way up, and once up on the small ledge of red stone, it was apparent that where he thought he saw the figure was even higher up. One more ascent and Justinius reached the top. Other hilltops went higher still, but he could see from this vantage point that there were many ravines and caves in the labyrinthine hills.
“Sir,” shouted young Octavius, “you’ll want to come over here.”
Justinius carefully picked his way over and looked down a cliffside that Octavius was peering over. There, at the bottom, was a dead rat.
“Must have fallen,” he said, looking in every direction and down every ravine. Was this rat alone or was he part of the force that attacked the city? Was he chasing the citizens with others or was he just a deserter trying to escape the rest of his brethren.
There was a clattering of rocks as they slid down the rocky slopes, and the legion looked as one at a rat who hurriedly trying to make himself inconspicuous. They all moved in on the vermin who tried to make a quick getaway.
“Don’t kill him,” Justinius quietly ordered. “Let him lead us to the others.”
The rat led them on a merry chase for several minutes, until he fell screaming off a cliffside. Justinius sighed in frustration. But then he picked up the sounds of battle in the distance. The legion hurried over and found two score rats advancing on about three times that number of mice in a cave below them. Behind the rats were the bodies of the last fighters the mice had had.
Shouting, Justinius led them down and fell upon the rats in the rear. Caught off guard, the rats fell swiftly one by one to the mice’s blades. Justinius wiped his sword on one of the fallen rats as there was no nearby grass.
One of the surviving mice approached him. “We thank you for saving us,” said the frail mouse. He was the oldest among the survivors. “We would like to repay you, but we haven’t anything to give, not even a meal for all you.”
“Are there any other survivors?” Justinius asked, motioning the old mouse to sit down and following suit.
“There are more of us back in the sanctuary but not many,” he said, breathing heavily.
“What happened?”
“They attacked us, and we were beginning to despair,” he said sorrowfully. “We had sent messengers to Rome but no one every returned.” He frowned. “Why would Rome be so late in sending us aid.”
“We were unaware of the situation,” Justinius admitted. “All we knew was that there was trouble on our border and we were to stamp it out. We didn’t know a city was under siege.”
“We said . . .” the mouse said confused. “But why would they not tell you what happened?”
“To my knowledge we haven’t received any messages, only rumors,” said Titus as he wiped his blade.
“Let us return to the camp and talk there,” the old mouse suggested. It took them about several minutes to return to the cave. There Justinius sat down and spoke with the mouse while Titus returned to the legion to have the rest of them make camp. Some would return here with Titus while the majority would remain ready to march.
The old mouse spoke with Justinius about the attack and their escape into the hills. It turned out that the priestess had been his granddaughter. They talked long into the day until the sun started to sink and the sky darkened. Finally the old mouse was done recounting all that had happened, including their struggles, and few victories.
“You have all been through a lot,” Justinius remarked once the mouse had finished speaking. “I and my mice will do what we can for you.”
“I thank you,” the old mouse said with much gratitude, clasping Justinius’s paw. “I feared that we would die here.”
“You won’t die while I’m here,” Justinius promised. “Does anyone here know where the rats came from?” He wanted to figure out just where this rat city was so he could subdue it. They needed to do that and soon.
“I do not,” he said, frowning, “but one of the younger mice does. He’s a good runner. We use him to send messages when we need to do so quickly. I’ll have him sent to you. But let us do that tomorrow, for the hour is late. Let us show you what hospitality we can.”
Justinius agreed, and he and Titus, upon his return, spent many hours discussing their plans and how best to bring the rats into line when they did come to the city. Justinius was growing restless. He wanted to be back home with his wife and children, and he could not shake the fears that something would happen in his absence. He was growing excited, their mission was coming to and end, and after that he hoped to get some well-earned rest.
The next morning a young mouse met him after he had washed his face and paws and eaten. “Sir,” he said saluting, “My name’s Quintus, sir. I was told you needed someone to show you were the rats are.” He was lean but well muscled, and his fur was all brown.
“Yes,” Justinius said. “At ease.” The mouse relaxed somewhat, but stayed tense. “I would like you to take me and one of my officers to see what we are up against, then return here. Though he trusted his scouts, he wanted to personally do the scouting and he didn’t want to wait around while they were gone.
“When would you like to depart?” Quintus asked.
“As soon as possible.”
“I can leave now,” Quintus said, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Once I find Titus we’ll go,” Justinius told him, and he went to get Titus.
After he had found Titus, the three of them sped off, unhindered by armor or cloaks, carrying only the bare necessities. They switched between running and walking in order to keep their breath. The land passed by them—hills, fields, forests, and finally hills once more, but not like those the cityfolk were hiding in. These had gentle slopes and were covered in grass.
Finally when the sun was high above them two days later, Quintus stopped at near the top of a high hill and stood still a moment. He was not out of breath, which Justinius gave him credit for—he’d make a good addition to the army. Titus was breathing heavily, and had lagged behind on several occasions, while Justinius had, for the most part, stayed with Quintus, though he too had to catch his breath. They had only stopped for brief rests and to catch a couple hours of sleep during the nights.
“The city is on the far side of this rise,” Quintus said, gesturing to the hill. Justinius felt the first droplets of water as rain started to drizzle.
“Let us hurry then, for it’s going to be a miserable run back.”
“Indeed,” said Titus as he pulled his tunic over his head.
The three mice crested the hill and lay on its top as they looked at the city that sprawled before them. It was still some distance away, but they could clearly see it. The dwellings that made up the majority of the city were of mud, wood, and stone, or some combination thereof. The layout of these buildings was of no particular order, as if no guiding hand had carefully overseen its growth and construction, unlike the perfect layouts of the Roman cities. There were some larger structures, but they were few, with nothing but mud and some debris surrounding them. A wall of logs and planks surrounded the city. Farmland in turn surrounded the walls, though it could not be compared to the farms of Rome, and there were pastures and rats milling about, either doing work or trying to find entertainment, while slaves, mostly mice, assisted in labor or followed masters.
“How do you know where this city came to be?” asked Justinius as they hid from the city.
“I was once a slave here,” Quintus admitted, “and managed to escape. The city they have brought to ruins was not even out of infancy when I arrived tired and hungry. I helped finish in the raising of the city and have lived there for the last few years. We should have known that, so close to the rats, we would be attacked like this sooner or later.”
“They are numerous,” Justinius said, peering again over the top of the hill, trying to estimate their numbers.
“Aye,” Quintus remarked. “But none know the number. You may have trouble subduing all of them and the surrounding warrens.”
“You may be right,” Titus agreed. “But an order is an order, and we must do it—I have faith in my mice.”
“I will gladly fight alongside you if it will avenge my home and friends,” Quintus vowed. “All my family were killed, and I have few friends left.”
“Your service is gladly accepted,” Justinius said. “Let us go, we have a long way home and the rain will make it longer. Then we have the return journey with the Legion in tow.”
“But first, let us think of our own skins,” Titus warned, drawing his sword. Justinius and Quintus turned to see five hulking rats sneaking up on them from behind. They two of them drew their weapons.
The End for now . . . God Bless,
word count 1,885—total 13,397