Reborn In 3rd Century Rome with Future Industry

It had been five days since the Battle of the Gorge.

The winter frost had set in, hardening the mud around Fundus Ferratus, but as far as the magistrates knew, Lucius was an obedient patrician son preparing for his marriage.

In Civitas Aurelia, the narrative held firm: an Alemanni raiding party had crossed the Rhine, ambushed the Third Legion, and vanished back into the forests. The destruction was total, and the use of ’barbarian’ cavalry undeniable, that Governor Marcellus had not suspected the House of Cassius. The magistrates, terrified that a barbarian horde was loose in their province, had abandoned their crusade against the blast furnace to focus on fortifying the city walls.

Lucius’s empire had never been safer...

The destruction of the Roman cohorts had proven the power of Lucius’s machinery, but it had terrified him.

He had seen the fragility of his militia.

If Tribune Gaius had brought three thousand men instead of one, the clay bombs would not have been enough to break them. Lucius needed an army, not a guard force.

Lucius was seated in the dining triclinium with his father, Cassius, and his brother, Marcus.

Marcus had returned to the estate days after the siege, looking exhausted.

When Lucius learned that the boy had gone to the magistrate to sign a confession of treason, only to tear it up and beg for a priesthood to save their family, his fury had dissolved.

He had dragged Marcus out of the Temple of Jupiter by his tunic, bringing him home.

Lucius did not punish him. Instead, he forced Marcus to look at the ledger books, showing him the wealth the ’treason’ was generating.

The brother’s morality was beginning to crack under the weight of prosperity.

As they dined on roasted boar and dates, Cassius leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concern.

"So, Lucius," Cassius began, picking at his food. "I hear Valerius has instructed the *Custodes* to abandon the *scutum* shield and gladius formations. Is this true?"

Lucius nodded, taking a sip of watered wine. "It is, Father. The Roman shield-wall relies on the stamina of the infantry to outlast the enemy. If my men engage in a prolonged melee, they will die. Therefore, they must dictate the engagement before the enemy swings a sword."

Cassius found it difficult to grasp military concepts that deviated from the tactics of the Legions.

"But how will they defend themselves in an open field if they lack the shields?" Cassius pressed. "I saw the weapons Decimus is forging for them. They are long spears. But a spear is useless once an enemy breaks the front line."

Lucius had kept his father in the dark about the nature of his infantry tactics.

If Cassius knew he was training men to fight like a 17th-century pike-and-shot square the man would likely faint.

"The spears are designed to halt a cavalry charge or keep infantry at bay while the ballistas reload," Lucius lied. "They are not meant for assaults. As long as the men hold the line, they are impenetrable. But they are useless for marching against a fortified position."

Marcus, listening from across the table, frowned.

The boy recognized the tactical flaw in what his brother was saying, but he realized that Lucius was downplaying the lethality of the force. Marcus kept his mouth shut.

Cassius seemed relieved.

A defensive militia was easier to justify to the magistrates if the estate was inspected.

"I suppose that is sensible. So long as they can protect the blast furnace and the paper mill from bandits, I am satisfied. We have no need for posturing."

The patriarch wiped his mouth with a cloth, changing the subject. "And what of the war engines? The ballistas? Will Valerius be drilling them on the fields?"

"No," Lucius replied. "They are too heavy and cumbersome to be deployed on a battlefield. Their use is bolted to the palisades of the *Castra Umbra*. They are defensive weapons."

In reality, Lucius had ordered the carpenters to design horse-drawn carriages capable of transporting the ballistas across any terrain.

He was building the third-century equivalent of mobile field artillery. But if his father knew he was creating weapons capable of tearing down city gates, the patriarch would suffer a heart attack.

As the dinner concluded, the family dispersed to their duties.

Lucius made his way toward the master chambers, intending to review the drafts for an expansion to the paper mill.

Before he reached his study, he crossed paths with Isolda.

The princess was walking down the corridor. Since the night of the siege, she had immersed herself in the politics of the estate, demanding that Valerius translate the tactical reports of the *Custodes* for her.

"Lucius," Isolda said, stopping him in the hall. "I have reviewed the logistics of Hagen’s smuggling route. The Bear is skimming too much of the coal for his camps."

Lucius paused, impressed. He had given her access to the Treasury to test her acumen, and she had identified a discrepancy that Cassius had missed.

"Hagen’s men are risking their lives to bypass the Alemanni patrols," Lucius reasoned, leaning against the wall. "A tithe of the coal is acceptable to keep them loyal."

"It is acceptable today," Isolda countered. "But if you allow him to skim without consequence, he will believe he dictates the terms of the treaty. You must send a message. Cut the next shipment of steel by the amount of coal he stole.."

Lucius stared at his bride. "You are right," Lucius agreed. "Draft the order to Valerius. Tell him to reduce the *falx* shipments."

Isolda nodded, a gleam in her eye as she turned and walked toward the administrative wing to execute the command.

Out on the fields of the *Castra Umbra*, Valerius and Wulfric stood upon a platform, looking out over a sea of men.

Driven by the lure of silver and the promise of meritocracy, hundreds of men had flocked to the estate’s recruitment posts in the city. The army had swelled to eight hundred soldiers!

Wulfric roared a command in Latin, swinging a baton.

On the field below, four blocks of infantry moved.

They held spears tipped with twelve inches of steel.

At a second command, the front ranks dropped to one knee, bracing the butt of their spears in the mud, creating a wall of outward-facing steel points.

Behind them, the second and third ranks leveled their spears over the shoulders of the men in front.

It was a phalanx of steel.

Valerius had spent twenty years in the Roman legions, but he knew that any cohort attempting to charge this formation would be skewered.

"They hold the line," Wulfric grunted, wiping sweat from his beard. "But if the Alemanni flank them, the spears are too long to turn quickly in close combat."

"That is why they will never fight alone," Valerius replied, his face breaking into a grin.

He gestured to the flanks of the infantry squares.

Positioned at the edges of the formation were the ballista carts, manned by artillery crews.

If an enemy attempted to flank the spear-wall, the engines would unleash a volley of steel bolts, shattering the charge before it reached the infantry...

Valerius knew that a storm was gathering. Eventually, the Emperor’s spies would follow the trail of gold and steel back to Gaul.

But as he looked at the wall of spears and the siege engines rolling across the mud, Valerius felt a certainty.

When Rome came to burn Fundus Ferratus, they would be ready to march out and meet them in the field...

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