The second week of the campaign dawned under a heavy gray sky, with the chill of northern winds sweeping down from the hills.
Yet even as rain threatened to muddy the roads and slow lesser armies, the banners of Romanus pressed onward like an unstoppable tide.
General Elheat, seated atop his massive black charger, surveyed the latest arrivals with sharp, assessing eyes.
Three legions had now reached the forward staging grounds — their crimson banners snapping in the cold breeze, their armoured ranks gleaming dully in the gray light.
The Legate of the First Legion, Lucius Varro, dismounted before him and offered a crisp salute.
"General Elheat,"
Varro said.
"Our forces stand ready for your command."
Elheat returned the salute without ceremony.
"Good,"
he growled.
"You'll march with us — not behind. We aren't waiting for the Achaeians to dig in, and we can also eliminate those troublesome Francians who are influencing this war as well."
