4:50 PM

26th of January 1879

The Roman groaned as the stretcher he was lying on was lifted up from the ground. He spat out a few words in his own strange language and clutched at his side, which was wrapped in a hasty bandage and dark with blood. His armour had been stripped off and thrown away, leaving the warrior in just a pair of wool trousers.

"Oi, shut it, you". One of the men carrying him said, annoyed. He jostled his end of the stretcher, making the Roman give a pained whine

Joseph watched them carry the complaining Roman off, joining the throng of other British soldiers carrying the wounded legionary's up the hill towards the camp. There were all sorts of injuries among the medieval soldiers, from holes blown through them by bullets to shards of shrapnel buried in their flesh.

"The Romans who had managed to get away from the battle without injury were lead away by other British soldiers, the more apprehensive ones being helped along by shoves or the occasional crack on the back with a rifle butt. Their weapons and armour had been stripped from them and thrown into a huge pile, leaving them in red cloth skirts and leather sandals. Every one of the Romans were sullen faced, all frowns and downcast eyes. The natural look for a defeated army.

"Joe! Stop dawdling!" Davis called. The shout made Joseph turn to look over to his friend. The cockney was knelt over one of the slain Romans, looking thoroughly miffed

"Alright, stop your belly-aching". Joseph replied, hefting up the leather satchel back over his shoulder and resuming his walk towards his fellow soldier.

Kneeling down beside the soldier, he watched as Davis began to search the dead warrior. First, his long fingers combed through the belt fastened around the dead mans waist. Finding nothing and giving an annoyed sigh, he began to paw at the Romans steel armour. Sticking his hand through the arm hole, Davis rooted inside, brow furrowed in concentration. Joseph watched with bated breath.

'Suddenly, Davis' eyes lit up and he declared triumphantly. "Aha!"

With a grunt, he wrenched his hand out of the corpse's breastplate and held up his prize dramatically for Joseph to see. A small leather pouch, tied at the end with string.

Almost feverishly undoing the string, Davis tore open the pouch and gazed inside. His eyes shone like polished emeralds when he saw what it contained, He reached inside and produced from the pouch three coins. Two silver, one gold. Each one glimmered in the afternoon sun. They had the same sort of design as the coins back home, with writing (unintelligible as it was) around the rim and a picture engraved on either side.

They both shared one image, a cross with wings sticking out of it with a dragon in the background. However, the silvers had the profile of a woman on them. Quite a pretty bird too, with a tiara nestled in her styled and curly hair. The gold, meanwhile, had the head of a man etched into it. A strong face, with a narrow nose and a short beard and long hair. He also had a crown, an ornate thing that a king would probably wear. He probably was a king, the leader of these Romans.

"He kept his treasure close to his heart". He said with a chuckle.

"How much is that now?" Joseph asked, opening the satchel.

"Here". Davis dropped the coin purse into it before reaching into his own pockets. He produced from one a shining pendant and from the other a handful of bronze coins and two silver ones. He quickly deposited them into the bag.

Joseph looked down into the satchel with a huge smile, gazing at the treasure with wide eyes. "Blimey..."

"I nearly got in a fight for that necklace". Davis commented, sitting back into the grass to take a rest. "Faraday said he saw it first and tried to snatch it".

"You didn't punch him, did you?"

"Nah, I threatened to though. He's a runt, so he ran off with his tail between his legs".

A sigh of relief came from Joseph. There had already been a bit of a scuffle earlier between two blokes eyeing the same prize. It had only been broken up by the bellowing of a sergeant.

Looking around, Joseph saw that there were plenty of other soldiers were also taking the opportunity to see what their enemies had on them. It had only started as trophy hunting, picking up a dagger or a helmet to take home with them, to remember the day they beat an entire Roman army. However, that innocent intention had all but vanished when one of these trophy hunters had found gold and silver coins tucked away in the pockets of one of the slain Romans. Now, every man not already not assigned to guard the prisoners or carry the wounded were picking through the Roman dead, looking for treasure like a load of pirates. Not that Joseph himself could judge.

The sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the grass made Joseph turn his attention away from his gold hungry comrades to see Bert striding towards them. The big man knelt down beside them with a huff, but he was smiling through his beard.

"What did ya find, Bert?" Joseph asked eagerly.

"Oh, something special. I think you'll both like it". The Cornishman dipped his large hand into his pocket and then, slowly, drew from it a shining gemstone. The size of a pebble and red as fire it was, and Bert's face turned smug as he saw his mates dropped jaws.

"Bloody hell..." Davis muttered as he gazed at the gem. "Who had that?"

"An older one, great big bushy beard on him, like mine but a bit greyer. Probably the thing he's worked his whole life for". Bert answered. He dropped the garnet into the satchel, and the stone clacked against the coins. "I reckon that'll get us a good price, back home".

"You bet it will". A cackle left Davis' throat as he looked at their assembled prize. "Blimey, this is more money than I've seen me whole life!"

"They'll be even more yet". Joseph pointed out.

"Yeah, if we get there in time. Seems everyone's out looking". Bert said, before his tone turned grim. "God in Heaven, look..."

He pointed a meaty finger, and Joseph and Davis followed its direction.

Peter, the old Boer, was hunched over the body of one of the Romans. His gnarled hands were holding up the corpse's own. He stared hard at the golden ring fixed on one of the dead soldiers fingers and then licked his lips. He drew a large and wickedly sharp looking serrated knife and then promptly began to saw through the Romans ring finger.

"Christ!" Joseph muttered, turning away as soon as the first bit of blood squirted from the rapidly severing digit. Despite having just fought in a battle, and seeing hundreds of men killed or wounded, he still found such grisly sights off-putting. He had spent the whole time they'd been kneeling beside the Roman body trying to avoid looking at its face.

"Grim bastard..." Davis commented, giving a disgusted shake of his head. Bert just glared at the old man.

Once the finger was finally cut free from its hand with one last spray of gore, Peter slid the ring from it. He looked upon his prize for a moment, holding it up to the sun and watching how the light caught on its gold rim. It was only as he was doing this that he realised he was being watched. He met the three Englishmen's disgusted looks with his own grey eyes sparkling with amusement and he waved the ring at them mockingly.

"I tell you what, gents. If we weren't on the same side I'd blow his head off". Remarked Davis.

Bert spoke up. "Well, you just might be able to, if you give it time".

"What d'ya mean?" Joseph spluttered out.

At the two shocked looks he received, Bert hastily explained. "I just heard some rumours is all... That the Boers... well, they might kick something off soon".

"Oh bloody hell, first this lot-" Davis tapped the Roman again. "-And now the Dutchies wanna have a go? Is fighting just somethin' they do for fun round here?"

Unease stewed in Joseph's gut. Fighting Romans who only had swords and spears was one thing but the Boers had guns and knew how to use them. Against them, they would be fighting a proper shooting war. "Blokes say a lot of things. Don't make any of it true". He tried to argue.

Bert gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. "That may be so but these Afrikaaner lot... well, you know I've been stationed in these parts a bit longer than you two so I knows these folk decently enough. They're bitter, over that whole mess with the Transvaal two years back, and they're just waiting for an excuse to start something".

"Hmph, well if they wanna have a go, they're welcome to try. I just hope we're out of here by then, let some of them new boys with their pressed uniforms and spit-shined buttons do their bit". Davis declared before getting to his feet. "Come on, all this politics got me down. Let's go see if any more of these poor sods have anything else on 'em. I wanna be at least as rich as a king when I get back home!"

The Roman camp was utterly silent as Chelmsford and his retinue strode through it. The men captured here had been escorted away a short time ago, to be kept under watch in a small field a short distance from the British encampment. This had left the commanders of the victorious army free to inspect their enemies accommodations.

These accommodations proved to be as Chelmsford had expected they would be. Spartan and utilitarian in design, with minimal amounts of decoration, at least for the average legionary's it seemed. A quick peek into one of the brown cloth tents confirmed that its furnishings mostly consisted of a hammock and a single chest for its occupants.

"Rather snug, isn't it sir?" Crealock noted.

Chelmsford gave a nod. Compared to their own troops tents, the Roman's were comparatively quite cramped, fit for two or three men each. The manufacturers had obviously strived to spend as little money as possible when producing these.

Stepping out of the small tent, Chelmsford looked around the silent enemy camp to see where the rest of the officers were. Louis-Napoelon and Colonel Durnford, along with a host of other cavalrymen, were busy inspecting the horses captured from the enemy. Others were making a trek up to the camp of the Roman nobles, no doubt to see their rivals accommodations and compare them to their own.

Taking a moment to think on where to go next, the English lord eventually decided that discussing mares with Durnford wasn't particularly how he wanted to spend his afternoon. Therefore, he began to follow behind the other officers up the hill.

He reached the head of the group shortly and fell in beside Lieutenant-Colonel Harcourt Mortimer Bengough, a slim man with a bushy moustache dressed in the light blue and black uniform of an officer of the Native Contingent. He gave a nod to his commander.

"My lord". He greeted.

"Harcourt". Chelmsford replied. "Quite the sight, isn't it?" He gave a sweeping motion to the camp.

"Indeed, my lord. When I was put in command of my battalion, I must admit I did not expect this to be the result. Touring a Roman military camp in the middle of Zulu country..." Harcourt gave an astounded shake of his head.

Chelmsford chuckled. "Yes, I dare say this is not what Commissioner Barkly expected we'd find out here. Nonetheless, I have no doubt he shall come to see this as the blessing it truly is. We are the first witnesses to a most extraordinary event, Lieutenant-Colonel".

"I suppose that's one way to see it, my lord". Harcourt said, giving him a confused look.

"On the contrary". Chelmsford continued, unimpeded by his subordinates gaze. "I believe it is the only way to see it. Tell me, if these Romans had not made the mistake of attacking us, and we had instead done battle with the Zulu as we were supposed to... well, who would have cared in the months and years to follow? It would just be remembered as another little war in our scramble for Africa. Now though..."

Chelmsford grinned as he saw that every other discussion amongst the group had stopped and they now only paid mind to him. "Well, I do believe the story of a lost Roman Legion in the middle of the veldt is a somewhat more interesting tale than another backwards tribe, wouldn't you say gentlemen?"

His audience all gave nods, with Crealock speaking up. "I couldn't have said it better myself, my lord".

Harcourt himself did not speak. Taking this silence for agreement, Chelmsford continued on up the hill, into the deathly quiet encampment.

Walking through the lanes of tents showed the true dichotomy between the regular Roman soldier and their leaders. Huge pavilions of silk, cotton and wool lined the grounds, all of them combining to make a veritable rainbow of bright colours. Shining golds, deep rich greens, fiery reds, dark purples, vibrant blues. All of these accompanied by various symbols stitched onto banners which hung outside the tents. A staring blue eye, a stout centaur, a grazing lamb, a prowling cat and many more. No doubt the personal emblems of the lords who stayed in them.

A look inside confirmed that the tents interior matched its exterior in luxury. Many had floorboards covered in thick carpets, with exquisitely carved tables, chairs and desks. For entertainment, there were shelves filled to the brim with the books or if you weren't the studious sort, training dummy's to practise your sword play on. And, when you were all tired out by that, you could rest your head on beds that were huge and loaded with silk sheets and feathered mattresses and cushions.

Seeing all this sumptuousness brought to Chelmsford's mind his own lodging back at camp: a wagon, big enough for a bed, desk and small chest in which to hold his belongings. Now, as he looked upon these veritable silk manours, he couldn't help but wonder if he might requisition one of them for himself. Then again, sleeping in a dead man's tent...

These thoughts were quickly brushed from his mind by the sound of boots rapidly crunching their way through the dirt. Exiting the tent, Chelmsford saw a figure practically sprinting towards them.

It was only as he got closer that he saw that this running man was revealed to be Lieutenant Teignmouth Melvill, sweat slick on the young man's face and soaking his scarlet tunic. "My lord!" He called out, skidding to a halt in front of them.

"Steady yourself, Melvill!" Chelmsford urged. "An officer of Her Majesty's army should not run unless absolutely necessary".

"This is necessary, sir!" Melvill declared. "I was curious about that temple, sir, so I went to have a look and... well, I think you ought to have a look yourself, my lord".

Chelmsford looked at the young officer with narrowed eyes for a moment before giving a sigh. "Very well. Lead us there".

Melvill gave a quick nod and started up the hill once again, now with nearly the entirety of the high command in tow. Chelmsford did not walk with too much haste, wanting to show every man present the proper decorum with which a British officer must behave with. It earned him a few looks from their lieutenant guide, small glances that were laced with annoyance, Chelmsford could sense. Nonetheless, he did not quicken his pace.

Eventually, they reached the temple just as the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon. The marble construction loomed above, huge and grand, easily big enough to swallow a fully grown elephant and still have room for legions of men to squeeze by. No doubt it would not look out of place in Rome but here, in the wilds of South Africa, it stuck out like like a sore thumb amongst the relatively barren hills and plains.

It was only now that he was closer that Chelmsford could also see that the darkness of the temple's interior. Not just the type of darkness one would get from blowing out the last light in a room but pitch black, total and unblinking.

"Awfully dark isn't it? They should consider lighting a few candles". He muttered, only to see that the rest of them were as struck by the solid shadow as he was. All except Melvill.

"It's not dark because of that, my lord". He said, scooping up a stone from the ground. "Listen".

With that, he chucked the stone with some strength into the maw of the temple. It whistled through the air, disappearing into the dark. But then, the expected clack of it hitting the far wall did not come. Instead, all that came was silence. And then... ever so faintly, the sound of a stone hitting the ground.

Wondering for a moment if his ears had mistaken him, Chelmsford looked around to his fellow officers, who all appeared just as mystified. So, he turned to Melvill. "What is this?" He asked, trying to comprehend the thing in front of them.

"I think... this is where the Romans came from, my lord".

Chelmsford stared into the darkness, trying to discern anything within it. Finally, he turned back to Melvill. "I want a guard around this. Don't let anyone near it. It's much too late in the day to be dealing with something like this".

It was the best dinner that Joseph had eaten for weeks. As a reward for their winning of the battle against the Romans, the infantry were given a much more extensive meal than the stews they had been having the whole journey up here. Beef, cooked over the fire and cut into thick slices, with roasted carrots, potatoes and onions swimming in gravy.

They ate round the fire, Joseph, Davis and Bert, along with a few other men from their company. They didn't speak as they ate, simply savouring their food. Then, after scraping their bowls clean, they all sat or lounged comfortably in the dirt, rubbing their full bellies contently.

Joseph leaned back against his pack and ran a lazy hand through his blonde hair as he watched the men around him, illuminated by the light of the campfire. Most of the boys seemed to be dozing off right there in the grass. Bert gently puffed on his pipe as he looked up at the sea of stars above them.

Davis' caught his eyes and called to him over the fire. "Feeling full, mate?"

"Yep". Joseph answered, patting his stomach.

"Well, I hope not too much". The cockney said, reaching into the pocket of his tunic.

The young soldier sat up as his friend produced something wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. "What you got?" He asked, curious.

"Just for somethin' for pud". Davis grinned, unwrapping the parcel and producing from the crumpled paper a dark brown slab.

The others sat round the fire looked on what Davis held in his hands with curiosity, but Joseph recognised what it was immediately. "Bloody hell, that's chocolate!"

"It is indeed". The confectionary was held up for all to see.

Joseph looked at Davis, giddy and confused at the same time. "How'd you get it?"

"One of them Boers sold it to me. He's got a bit of a racket going on, can get you a lot of this sorta stuff. Cigars, whiskey, anythin' the top brass don't want us having in case we start to enjoy ourselves". Davis answered. "I paid him with a bit of silver from our... uh, "collection". You know, he bit it, to make sure it was real! Bloody cheek".

"You gonna give us a bit of that or not?" Joseph impatiently asked.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Here".

Davis broke pieces for all of them, three thick squares of chocolate each. When it was all distributed, he raised his piece to the sky. "How's about a toast boys? To a good day's work!"

"To a good day's work!" They all echoed and then dug in.

Whilst some, Bert included, gobbled their own shares down in a few seconds, Joseph opted to instead take a few small nibbles. It had been ages, years even, since he had last eaten chocolate. The sweet taste instantly brought back memories of it, his tenth birthday, seven years ago. His dad had saved up weeks worth of pay for it. He had come back stinking and tired, but it was all worth it when they had eaten those few squares of chocolate.

"So, Joe". Davis suddenly spoke, nibbling at his own piece. "How did you find yer first taste of battle, then?"

Joseph just shrugged. "Uh, yeah, yeah, it was... alright. I dunno. I... sort of expected to... hesitate for a bit, you know? When I was goin' to shoot. I didn't though, I just sort of pointed and pulled the trigger, didn't think about anything".

Bert opined in. "That can be a good thing, lad. Just the sort of thing the army wants".

"I-I know, it's just... a bit queer, d'you know what I mean?"

"Yeah". Davis ate his last bit of chocolate and licked the smears from his fingers. "Well, don't worry mate. It's just the thrill of the moment, you ain't some sort of loony. Besides, yer feelin' down about it now ain't ya? Better to let it all spill now, saves us all a bit of bother in the future. Alright, enough of all this barin' of the soul, Here, Bert, play us a tune with that pipe o' yours".

Joseph stewed his friends words in his mind as the soft sounds of the flute flittered through the air and danced among the sparks of the fire.

The celebrations were in full swing when Chelmsford decided to make his announcement. He had sat for most of the dinner, simply observing the men around as he liked to do. They sat in a large and airy white tent, every officer of the expeditionary force seated at the long table and enjoying the fruits of their earlier labours, these fruits namely being a four course dinner. Usually it would have been five courses for such an occasion but their supply lines were becoming a bit tight.

They had began with plates of bread and cheese and then moved onto a thick and creamy mushroom soup. Then, the main course had come, carried on a platter by two servants and earning a great cheer from the men. A whole suckling pig, its skin still crackling with from the fire, and sitting upon a bed of vegetables. And then, finally, for pudding came small platters of profiteroles, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with bright scarlet strawberries. Accompanying all of these had been various wines, from sweet and fruity reds to crisp and aromatic whites.

It was as they were enjoying dessert that Chelmsford stood to his feet, surveying the men sat at the long table before him. Then, he raised his wine glass and tapped against it three times with his fork, earning him the eyes of all present.

The servants paused in their pouring of drinks. Some of the officers froze with forkfuls of pastry and strawberry halfway to their mouth. Discussions on various topics of the everyday gentlemen, from grouse hunting to hound breeding petered out. Smoke curled to the ceiling from a dozen cigars and pipes. Crealock sat just off to his right, looking curious.

Chelmsford was at the very head of the table, stood before the table upon which were propped the poles carrying the colours of the 24th Regiment of Foot. Seeing that he had every man's attention, the lord began to speak.

"Gentlemen, I simply wish to say a few words".

At the revealing of his intentions, the men all visibly relaxed. No doubt they thought that after all the excitement of the day, any announcement would be one of bad news. With their worries assuaged, they all leaned forward intently.

"As many of you know, I joined this great army of ours at a young age, never knowing at the time what awaited me beyond the shores of our sceptred isle. I have seen a great many truly wonderous sights in a great many places, from the cold fields of Crimea to the steaming jungles of India. But none of those can compare to the magnificent spectacle I saw today".

At his words, the men all broke out into smiles and chuckles. Chelmsford himself couldn't help but grin as he continued.

"I'm sure, gentlemen, that none of us could have expected what was to come this day. The legion's of Rome, come alive once again. I am sure many of you, like myself, were educated extensively on their many conquests and victories. Indeed, our own dear Britain was once brought to heel beneath their sandaled feet. No doubt, to many, they must have very well seemed invincible. Whole armies simply turned and ran when they heard the sound of Roman marching. But, when we were faced with those same sounds this day, did we turn tail?"

A wave of "no's" swept over the table.

"Of course not! Our brave infantry stood firm and true in the face of the enemy, needing only t fire a few volleys to send the foe packing. Captain Smith's artillery shredded and blew them to kingdom come before their warriors could even come within spitting distance of our boys. And, to see them off, came the cavalry! Colonel Durnford and his faithful Basuto and the valiant lancers, among them brave Louis-Napoleon, proving himself more than worthy of his family name".

Durnford looked thoroughly surprised at his mentioning, whilst Napoleon simply smiled and nodded as he received a fair few slaps on the back.

"All of us worked as one to ensure total victory over our enemies, despite whatever differences we may possess. Gentlemen, all I can say is this: On behalf of Britain and it's ancient sons who's blood was shed by the legions of Rome, well done!"

The thunder of dozens of hands slapping the table filled his ears. Every man had smiles on their faces, even Durnford gave a small grin. Seeing their happiness at his words, Chelmsford decided to end his proclamation with one last flourish.

He turned to Balhaar, who stood patiently in the corner, awaiting a command. His dark eyes caught Chelmsford's own and the lord gave him a gesture of his hand. Immediately realising what was needing of him, the Indian servant gave a nod and produced from a small cabinet a tall green bottle, its top corked and its label white and gold. The sight of it elicited a cheer from every man who saw it. Over their jubilation, Chelmsford spoke.

"I know I can never truly express the gratitude your country owes you, gentlemen, but I hope this may appease you".

Balhaar moved up and down the table, filling each man's glass with the sparkling, golden champagne. Finally, he poured the last of the liquid into Chelmsford's own glass, which he raised. At once, everyone stood as well, holding their glasses eagerly.

"Gentlemen..." Chelmsford called out, raising his glass. "To the Regiment!"

"The Regiment!" Every voice echoed back to him.

Then, as one, they downed their drinks.

A shorter chapter this time, mainly consisting of the immediate aftermath of the battle from last chapter. Now, with this chapter I really wanted to address something that I find is sort of lacking in other pre-WW2 Gate stories. That is, as the title of the chapter might suggest, looting. Since Falmart is based off every standard high fantasy world (or at least Japan's idea of the standard high fantasy world) then I thought it natural that it would follow a trope that comes with a lot of fantasy works. That trope being that every bit of currency is made from either gold, silver or bronze. Obviously, things such as that would be invaluable to British soldiers, the majority of whom come from either poor industrial backgrounds or poor agricultural backgrounds. The finding of things like gold and gems (the standard loot from a downed enemy in fantasy RPG's) would no doubt send all of them into a looting frenzy.

My little rant aside, let's get on with reviews:

J. 1919: I'm happy that you're happy.

Perseus12: Colt is certainly in no position to be making demands, and he would obviously like to return to Italica. Of course, he is infinitely more valuable as a hostage as well, not only for information but also for bargaining for any possible treaty as well. As for allies in Falmart, well there are groups such as the Haryo Tribe and historical enemies like the Northern Horsemen who have grudges against Sadera and could possibly be up for an alliance. We shall see.

UN Peacekeeper: Indeed it shall, although we may need to translate the lyrics to Falmartian for the locals.

ATP: Perhaps. I'll have to look a bit more into things like the navy guns.

FrederickvonSchadel: Careful, you might just drown in all that tea. What an agonising and glorious way to go...

daggercloak000: Yes, culture shock will invariably be a thing, what else would you expect from plonking a man from what is ostensibly ancient Rome/medieval Europe into the middle of Imperial South Africa in the late 19th Century. Also, glad you like it.

Knight of Steam: Thank you very much! I tried very much to make sure that the battle was as you described, gritty, to try to show how brutal things like cannon and musket fire could be, especially against such unsuspecting opponents as the Saderans. And yes, Colt is definitely one of the main characters I most like to write for.

Anyway, the next chapter should be about the same length as this one, maybe a bit longer. We shall return to the perspective of Colt and see how he's taking being a prisoner of war as well as see how the British plan to deal with the Gate and the revelation that there is a much larger army out there. Until then, stay safe.