They Speak of Alexander

He knew what was at stake, the lives of every man, woman, and child in this city. He raised his sword, and the others followed suit.

The legion grew closer, the ground shaking with the thunder of their march. The Greeks held their ground, their hearts pounding in their chests.

The Romans had come for blood, but the Greeks were ready to give them a battle they would never forget. The heirs of Alexander, might see the aftermath of this battle.

In his glinting armor with a multitude of scratches, the father and son Antigonos II and Gyros ride their horses towards the front of the lines where Prince Euenios is. Bylazora itself has supplied another thousand men for the defense effort.

Antigonos II a regal old man with a round pudgy face who lived a life of indolence and stress, his body clearly not made for battle but for diplomacy, the biggest regret he had as he failed to keep the realm his father passed to him safe or even whole.

The Roman legion was a monstrous beast, its soldiers like a never-ending river of iron and discipline. Their standards fluttered in the wind, the eagles on them seemingly looking down at the city with hunger in their eyes.

Euenios turned to face his makeshift army, his voice carrying over the ramparts. "Men of Bylazora, Greeks and Macedonians, we fight today for our very existence! For our land, our pride, and our future! They come to conquer, but we stand united to defend! Remember the valor of our ancestors, the might of our forefathers! Let us show these Romans the true mettle of the descendants of Alexander the Great!"

There was a few shouts here and there but no one is really exited for the battle. Most of the levies are peasants, the mercenaries just lost 600 of their number in the last battle and are not eager to face Romans again.

The Macedonian regulars did cheer a little, but the response was lackluster, making Prince Euenios visibly cringe as he looked around him.

Prince Gyros on horseback alongside King Antigonos II approach him, making him tense his shoulders. What will his brother tell him now, what about his father? All the responses in his mind were extinguished as King Antigonos II speaks first.

"Maybe what you're saying is right, we need to make a colony elsewhere, and regain strength there. I will support you with 400 men, and 8 Biremes." He sighs, stroking his pudgy cheeks.

Gyros doesn't say anything but grunts, his horse trotting off somewhere else. King Antigonos II continues speaking.

"I will remain here to hold the city as long as possible, I will not leave you or our people to face this alone. But I fear, with the might of Rome, this may be our last stand. If we fall, you must ensure that our line does not die out. Go to Egypt or the Seleucids, find an alliance, and come back for vengeance!".

Euenios nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of his father's words. He knew that if they lost, their fate would be grim, but he also knew that running was not an option. He looked into his father's eyes, feeling the weight of his expectations.

The legion was almost upon them, their centurions bellowing orders, the sound of metal scraping against metal as swords and shields were readied. The Romans are wearing blue and green, with light armor, oval shields, and short spears.

They look like hunters, but these are the same hunters that pushed the Macedonians this far, the same hunters that conquered all of Italia, the same hunters that formed a great maritime republic after Carthage.

While Macedon in comparison seems like an ailing power, clinging to the legacy of Alexander the Great…

The Romans begin prodding the walls, exchanging arrows and javelins with the defenders on the wall. Atop the wall, is pure chaos, men standing fine at one moment, on the ground with their guns sliced open by a javelin the next.

Despite the difference in altitude, the Romans manage to hit more of the men atop the walls than the untrained Greeks and Macedonians can hit on the ground. Looking at this entire situation frustrates Euenios.

The stench of fear mingled with sweat and iron filled the air. The defenders of Bylazora knew they were outmatched, but they had been promised more reinforcements from the south.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in a bloody glow, the Romans retreated to a safe distance, setting up camp for the night. The siege engines groaned to a halt, and the cacophony of battle gave way to the grim silence of anticipation.

Euenios looked around at the exhausted faces of his men. They had held the line, but at a cost. The dead and wounded lay scattered, a grim reminder of the battle they had just endured.

The mercenaries that just arrived stay the night up, watching the Romans and cleaning up the bloodied and dead as the defenders who've been here for months, skirmishing with the Romans daily, take their rest.

For three months, the City has been resisting a siege from the Romans, and the food is beginning to get rationed, the few children born at this time are born thin and skinny, the hope of Bylazora is fading.

Euenios knew that if they could just hold out a little longer, help would arrive. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the hope grew dimmer. The Romans had brought in their heavy siege engines, and the walls of Bylazora were beginning to show their age.

The defenders worked tirelessly to repair the damage, but the Romans were relentless, bombarding them day and night. The once proud city looked like a battered old woman, scarred by the hands of time and war.

The tension was palpable as the leaders of the city gathered in the grand hall, their faces etched with worry and fatigue. The maps spread out before them were marked with the known movements of the Roman forces, their known tactics, their known supplies, and their known numbers.

Euenios stood at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the room, looking for a glimmer of hope. His father, King Antigonos II, sat to his right, his own eyes heavy with the burden of his decision.