Me an' the lads were about ready to settle down for a winter's hard training when the boss came by, telling us all to grab our spears and follow him, 'cos some poncey Roman git had paid him to join the Roman army for the season, again. We all slammed down our weights, spilling the beer everywhere, and grumbled, but he shot us one o' them looks, like he does, so we shut up and saddled up, and packed the beer on some mules.
Well, lemme tell ya, we had a great time! The boss is always right, we shouldda remembered that. This Roman ponce, called hisself the Patrician Minimax, I think, had a bunch of Franks, and some militia I wouldn't turn over with the toe of me boot, and a few likely lads from the Alans and the Heruls, and all of us, and he lead us south to Trevere-, Treviro- ... bugger, some big flash city down south, and we looted it flat!! That's where I got that there marble pisser over there, and the nice carpet Aunty Gundobad keeps for guests. We had some good time, lemme tell ya - gold enough to swim in, and more wimmen that I could count.
Anyways, after a while enjoying them delights o' civilisation, the boss knocked us sober for a bit, and announced that the Emperor Pussilanimus was bringing an army to kick us out, so Minimax was calling us to the battle field. We was more concerned about running out of beer, but we managed to get a coupla big tuns of it on some donkeys, and rode off to join up ... it was about time for a decent scrap, anyways, we thought.
Well, bugger me, this Roman army was the dumbest lookin' thing I ever seen. They had the usual dumb-ass legions, standing and waiting to get knocked over in the middle, and a whole bunch o' them Pally-tines besides them, all mixed up with some poncy skirmishers. Then there were some horsemen off to the left, all wrapped up in chainmail like they'd fallen face first into the armour bin. Funniest of all, there was a whooole buncha camels, weird looking things with guys wearing sheets wrapped around their heads. Drogo turned to me and sez "I'm buggered if I can see how they fight, all wrapped up like that, but them camels sure smells funny .. ol Nelly here hates them".
Well, we grabs the beer from the donkeys, and sits and starts drinkin', watchin' them camels, while the boss is tawkin to Minimax. After a while, he comes back, looking cheerier than ever, and tells us that we've got the easiest bit of the battle. The Franks is goin' in the centre, the Heruls beside them are goin' to chew over the legions, and the Alans are gonna play footsies besides them, and the militia are gonna be stuck in that village where they cant do no damage to noone. We're gonna be chopping up them camels, he sez, but we're gonna let the footboys shoot 'em up first, cos' he's bin told theme camels are real good targets.
Drogo complains, tho', and sez "But we wanted to have a real fight - how bout we stomp the legions instead o' them Heruls?" The boss just gives him a look, and he turns away and drinks some more beer. Then, damned if I know, Drogo's riding Nellie out in front of them camels, still with a mug in 'is 'and, and 'e stops and drops 'is trousers, waggling 'is bum at them. We all laughed and laughed ... poor ol' Drogo was pissed again.
Well, we started off merry enough, sitting an' drinking while the archers scampered ahead o'us. We just trotted along slow-like, beside the Franks, cos - as the boss said - if we went too fast, we'd have Franks behind us, and then we'd be buggered for sure. Anyways, over on the left, some Roman light cavalry was playing tag with the Alans, and beating them too, by all accounts, but Minimax had snuck a column of javelinmen (the only decent Romans I seen in the whole army, but they was from Spain, so I s'pose that's why), up and onto that there hill, beside the legions. The Romans had ta pull all his archers away from the legions, just to slow up these javelinmen, so the Heruls got ta charge into them without even being shot up first - some beggars have all the luck, I sez.
Meanwhile, we watched our archers scamper ahead, while the camels just stood and looked at them. I asked the boss what they was playing at, and he sed "Well, either someone has bribed them .. or they are still stiff with fear from seeing Drogo wave his bum at them", and everyone laughed again ('cept poor ol Drogo, who was being sick offa the south end o' Nellie).
Them archers really got stuck into the camels tho, choppin' them up real good. I was stunned - the gimpy little runts usually prance about and shoot a bit, runnin' away as soon as someone sez boo! Not this time, they downed their bows and pulled out their daggers, and got tore in - someone musta promised them a share o' the beer, I reckon.
While they was havin' fun, we heard a big roar over on the left - the Franks 'ad charged into all them Palatines, and wuz gettin' nowhere, as usual, but them Heruls had done us all proud - they rode straight over the top of the Roman cavalry, flash armour or no flash armour, then turned around and started mowing down the line of legions, end to end.
We started callin' to the boss to sound the charge, cos if we didnt 'urry, we'd miss out on all the decent scraps. We rushed forrard, but the camels was dissolving away before we even got near - a few o the boys got tore into some o' the Palatines, and dished them good, but that was all, the rest o' the Romans bunked off, screamin' in terror. We had ta settle for lootin' the baggage again. Yes, Frito, that's where I met yer Mum - rescued her from some hairy brute of a Jute, and brought 'er 'ome. I hear that that Roman guy, Pussilanimus, 'ad a 'ole bunch o cavalry that he sent to march around us, and steal the beer, but we never saw 'ide nor 'air o' them.