The legion arrived at dawn on the ninth day after the vanguard probe.
Legatus Gaius Valerius Maximus brought the full weight of Legio XIV Gemina — eight thousand heavy infantry in ordered columns, four thousand auxiliaries on the wings, siege train rumbling behind with onagers, ballistae, and battering rams. The banners snapped in the cold morning wind. The eagle of the legion gleamed gold. Trumpets sounded the advance.
From the eastern rampart of Seigmer's Hold, Seigmer watched the distant line of scarlet and iron creep across the valley floor.
He turned to Ingvar.
"They will not probe again. They will come to break us."
Ingvar nodded. "The men are ready, lord."
Seigmer looked down at the layered defenses he had prepared.
The outer ditch ran in a shallow arc across the most likely approach — six feet deep, eight feet wide, bottom lined with fire-hardened stakes angled outward in star-shaped patterns. Behind it rose a low earthen parapet revetted with wicker and timber. Fire bays had been cut every twenty paces for the light crossbows. Heavy crossbows waited on the ramparts for long-range precision shots. Six traction trebuchets stood ready on elevated platforms behind the walls, loaded with stones and clay grenades. The four bronze cannons squatted on the ramparts, loaded with canister.
Two hundred and fifty disciplined men held the forward line — the new way. Behind them, on the inner parade ground, stood Reik Hans and the remaining nine hundred and fifty traditional Suebi warriors — axes and spears ready, shields painted with boars. Stirrups on every horse allowed the small Suebi cavalry contingent to couch lances and charge with devastating stability.
Hans had not left. He had watched. And now he waited.
Seigmer met his father's eyes across the distance.
Hans raised his axe once — a single, deliberate gesture.
We are here. Use us.
Seigmer nodded once.
The legion halted at five hundred paces.
Valerius Maximus rode forward under a white flag.
Seigmer met him at the outer ditch — alone except for Ingvar and Eadric.
Valerius looked down from his horse.
"Surrender now and I will grant you terms. Refuse, and this place will be ashes by nightfall."
Seigmer met his gaze without blinking.
"You may try."
Valerius wheeled his horse and rode back.
The legion advanced.
The trebuchets spoke first.
Six arms snapped forward in unison. Stones and clay grenades arced high, crashing into the Roman columns. One grenade burst among the archers, spraying iron scraps and flame. Men screamed. Formation wavered.
Then the cannons roared.
Four simultaneous blasts of canister tore into the advancing testudo. Nails, shards, pebbles shredded shields and armor. The front ranks disintegrated. Men were hurled backward, bodies torn apart.
Crossbow volleys followed — light crossbows firing rapidly from the trenches, heavy crossbows sniping officers from the walls. Centurions dropped with quarrels through eye-slits or throats.
The Romans tried to fill the ditch with fascines and captured shields. The first wave waded in — and triggered the buried powder pots.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Explosions erupted along the trench line. Clay pots burst with thunder, sending iron scraps and flame upward into the packed ranks. Legionaries were blown apart, limbs torn free, armor rent open. The ditch became a slaughter pit — men trapped, burning, blinded, unable to climb out under the withering crossbow fire from above.
The testudo collapsed completely.
Valerius ordered the second wave — ladders and rams brought forward under auxiliary archer cover.
Seigmer signaled the inner reserves.
Two hundred and fifty disciplined men held the line — but now Reik Hans stepped forward with the remaining nine hundred and fifty.
The old Reik raised his axe.
"Suebi! For the Hold! For the Reborn! For the tribe!"
The nine hundred and fifty roared and surged forward from the sally ports. Stirrups allowed the small cavalry contingent to couch lances and charge with devastating force, slamming into the Roman flank.
The Roman second wave broke against the combined defense.
Ladders splintered under axe blows. Rams were swarmed and burned. Legionaries who reached the top of the wall were met by crossbow bolts at point-blank range and thrown back into the ditch. The stirruped Suebi horsemen rode along the edge of the trench, lances punching down into trapped Romans.
Valerius committed the reserves — another cohort thrown into the breach.
The Suebi line bent but did not break.
The cannons fired again — canister sweeping the packed Romans in the ditch.
The legion wavered.
Valerius sounded the retreat.
The Romans pulled back — leaving one thousand eight hundred and forty dead and wounded in the ditches and before the walls.
Seigmer's losses: twenty-eight dead, sixty-seven wounded (mostly minor cuts, bruises, and a few arrow wounds). The new tactics and fortifications had worked better than even he had hoped.
As the Roman horns sounded withdrawal, the entire Suebi force — two hundred and fifty of the new way and nine hundred and fifty of the old — raised their weapons in a single, unified salute.
And then — quietly, reverently — they began to chant his name.
"Seigmer. Seigmer. Seigmer."
The sound rolled across the trenches, low at first, then rising.
Hans stood beside his son on the parapet, axe resting on his shoulder, watching the retreating legion.
He spoke quietly, for Seigmer alone.
"You gave us this day."
Seigmer looked at his father.
"We gave it to ourselves."
Hans nodded once — a rare, deep gesture of respect.
"Then let us keep it."
Seigmer turned to the chanting men.
The war in his name had just become the war of a united people.
And the ditches had drunk deep.