Heart of Hadrian's Wall
“Vercovicium is half a day's ride ahead, Magister Militum.”
The wall's westernmost fortress at Maia and its easternmost at Segedunum were managed by Comes Eturnus of Deva Victrix and Comes Lot of Eboracum, respectively. Managing a fortress meant deploying troops, stockpiling supplies, and patrolling the roads leading to it. They were barely holding the very corners of the wall, but even that would end in half a day.
“It's in better shape than I expected. I thought it'd be crumbling everywhere.”
“Haha. Even if the people guarding it are gone, walls that have stood for centuries don't vanish overnight. It's just like the Empire's...”
Comes Eturnus trailed off, but his meaning was clear. Even as the Empire crumbled in real time, it would take longer for all the pillars built up over the ages to come tumbling down.
“No barbarians from Maia until now, roads intact, everything's just... empty of people.”
“That's why everyone was baffled when the legions withdrew, Magister Militum. It wasn't some hopeless situation. The official reason was the emperor not paying wages, but... everyone knew it wasn't just that.”
He was repeating himself, but the legions' departure from Britannia defied common sense. If those bastards had even a shred of conscience, they wouldn't have abandoned the Britons living below this pristine wall and just up and left. No soldierly honor, that's why they propped up scum like Constantinus as emperor and waged civil wars. All it drew from me was a sigh.
In the end, their absence led to last year's horrific pillaging, leaving every fortress along the wall—except the ends—abandoned. The largest one got overrun by barbarians who hunkered down there. In cases like this, with unoccupied forts, could I really blame the barbarians for sneaking in to winter over? What a farce without precedent in this land.
“Cursing the departed won't bring them back. Best to drop it. More importantly, any intel on the barbarians holed up in Vercovicium?”
Maia and Segedunum were big forts, but the wall's largest was smack in the middle: Vercovicium. Big enough for 600 men in peacetime garrison, double that in emergencies. With a rear supply base handling the whole wall's logistics, calling it the wall's heart wasn't wrong. Expeditions north always passed through its north gate, so our ancestors had reasons for routing that way. Thus, while I'd leave smaller forts and watchtowers for now, Vercovicium had to be reclaimed. Sure, our side vacated it, but illegal alien barbarians without citizenship had two choices: leave or die.
“We call them the Novantae. They call themselves the Nowani—'the new people.' Immigrants from the west long ago. Now they're rooted here, fighting us for centuries.”
Highlands up north were Caledonian heartland; this area near the wall seemed settled by migrants.
“But when classifying barbarians, remember: they lack our Roman structure. They call themselves Novantae, but in truth, countless tribes each with their own chieftains pursue their own interests. No great king, so some who use the name ally with us, some fight us, and infighting's no big deal for them.”
“...Hmm.”
Summary: Northern barbarians. No king, myriad tribes. Some trade with Rome at the border, some raid. Probably some do both. Plus intertribal wars. Sounds just like the Malgal, Khitan, or Jurchen. Barbarians who can't ride horses... Wait, how did Goryeo and Joseon handle northern savages?
“Our scouts say a sizable Novantae band likely wintered in Vercovicium. But walls are walls—they won't yield easily. Especially after dominating Romano-Britons all last year.”
“I see. Thanks for the insight, Comes Eturnus.”
“Not at all, Magister Militum. Old age makes me ramble. Sorry if I droned on.”
“Nonsense.”
[Clatter-clatter]
[Snort!]
Maverick, quietly driving the chariot, nodded at Comes Eturnus's words. Sometimes I wondered if this beast really understood human speech.
[Snap!]
[Neigh!]
A lash for the ill-mannered beast, and I leaned back against the surging chariot, scrutinizing the wall. Plant a legion here, and it'd function as it had for centuries, blocking barbarians. Three years without legionaries? Roman engineering doesn't crumble that fast. Maybe this wall mirrored Romano-Britain's state perfectly.
Boiling down the tangled thoughts: Emperor Honorius abandoned Romano-Britain too soon. I can't read Ravenna's or Rome's minds, but whatever they calculated, they were wrong. This land isn't dead. Too vibrant, too intact.
If I prove it—revive Romano-Britain, usher in a new golden age—would Rome's emperor call us back? Would we go?
“Feels awkward. Besides.”
The river's been crossed—by Honorius first. No hahaha back to the old days. Not because of my ambitions, but Britons wouldn't want it. What about the barbarians? What do they want? Soon enough.
[Clatter-clatter—thud! Clatter]
[Clip-clop—clip-clop]
[Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!]
-----
[Boom——!]
“Fall in! Everyone, fall in!”
“I taught at ease on day one! If you don't get 'immobile,' say so now—I'll knock you out myself!”
“All at attention! Magister Militum approaches!”
A chill tension hung since dawn. Not from the barbarians in the proud Roman fortress of Vercovicium ahead. No, our sudden Roman army arrival terrified them, not Londinium and Eboracum's Romano-Briton legionaries.
From 8-man tent leaders to centurions, senior centurions—even Comes Lot commanding these 6,000—no one tolerated minor slips they'd ignore otherwise. All because today they greeted the approaching host and the colossal warrior atop the massive chariot.
[Gulp]
[Flutter-flutter]
Bodies frozen, but lungs breathed, throats swallowed. Swallows echoed in the silence. Every legionary fixated one way—a sight that must've chilled the barbarians in the Roman fort. Instinctively, they'd know: danger approached from the direction 6,000 legionaries stared.
And they were right.
[Clatter-clatter]
“Whoa—whoa!”
[Snort!]
“Halt, Maverick.”
[Neigh!]
The white stallion snorted roughly, its three teammates halting; the chariot wheels stilled. The giant, whip tied to the long handle, dismounted lightly—the chariot rose slightly from his weight's release.
“...”
“...”
Down, he seemed even larger. His colossal frame hit home anew. Approaching, he wasn't a man walking but a statue striding—like ancient heroes in squares or baths: Hercules, Aeneas, Achilles, Perseus, Theseus. Those were names from antiquity.
Today, this hero's name was Artorius.
[Thud-thud]
“Comes Lot. At last. I'm Artorius.”
Comes Lot, already off his mount, and Eboracum and Londinium's senior centurions saluted fist to chest in unison.
[Snap!]
“Magister Militum!”
Behind, 6,000 Romano-Briton legionaries gripped spears at their sides and saluted.
[Thud!]
“Magister Militum!”
“...Yes, good to see you. I am the Magister Militum.”
Stilicho would've been branded a traitor for such salutes. Too much for a commander—more like emperor's honors. Artorius was oblivious, but no one thought it excessive. He deserved it; who else in the Empire could stand before him?
Comes Lot nodded unconsciously.
“Welcome; well come.”
“Soldiers live and die by orders. Hardship's nothing. As you commanded, Magister Militum: 2,000 from Eboracum, 4,000 from Londinium—all assembled flawlessly.”
“Hahaha. Galbaginus spoke true—you're a born soldier, Comes Lot. Thanks for holding Eboracum and acknowledging me.”
Snow-white brows, deep laugh lines, yet sturdy build, ramrod straight. Older than Eturnus or Uterius? The veteran embodied seasoned prowess, steel-faced like a recruit—until his son's name twitched an eyebrow.
“When I first heard my lacking son joined your service, Magister Militum, I feared he'd burden you. Instead, thank you for taking him in, Dominus Artorius.”
“Galbaginus is my left arm and leg. No flattery—he's exceptional, Comes Lot.”
Artorius waved to sneaking Galbaginus behind, grinning beneath his plain helmet as he strode slowly. From on high, he took in the ranks. His gaze—like forged power—reached the rear. Swallowing 6,000's momentum, he nodded satisfied, turning toward Vercovicium; Comes Eturnus, Lot, and aides followed, exchanging glances.
“Huh. Taller than it looks.”
The fortress on the low hill loomed huge. A bit bigger, it'd rival Camulodunum. Artorius tilted his head, gauging, then clapped palms and nodded.
“First things first—let's smash the gate.”
Source: Hand-drawn. The black line marks the approximate position of Hadrian's Wall; red circles indicate, in order: Maia, Vercovicium, Segedunum fortresses! Numerous watchtowers and forts dot the spaces between.