In a Palmyran merchant house the people have taken well to standardized forms.
The splatter of ink would make Alexandrian librarians jealous. Papyrus floods the streets as more and more people use the senatorial forms. A living library of complaints and information. Governance is easier and more efficient brining more good will from the populace.
There are no wasted forms as merchants don't like repeat purchases. If you have to pay for the same form again you tend not to ruin it.
Yes there are practical jokers but they are the minority in this great trade nexus of the east. Caravan owners love how fast and easy trade is. Revenue is on the up and up.
The only problem is papyrus.
Papyrus is possibly the worst writing surface known to man. You can't fold it for one which already sucks. It is also brittle and very difficult to write on. The layered strips of plant fiber are uneven and can cause ink bleeding.
As one petitioner put it.
I petition we use any other writing surface for these forms not papyrus never papyrus. I don't use 120 words. I use as little as possible and cover mistakes because it is impossible to erase mistakes. Find something not papyrus.
A comedy goes about in the street about how a merchant curses papyrus as his arch enemy. It ends with the man dueling papyrus getting injured and being forced to use papyrus to file a paid day of work for injury.
The merchants themselves just hire one man to file out forms for all of them which is less time intensive for the trading caravans moving through Palmyra. Like sands through an oasis halt in the water drinking its nectar. When the sun comes high and the oasis stops giving the sand returns to the desert.
Paperwork is like honey to these men but it is starting to turn. Not to fine mead but adultered honey with green for and the tell tale signs of rot.
The merchants have given there grievances to the highest ruling council of Palmyra a senate of the east.
Palmyra's Senate is not made of aristocratic men of old blood. They aren't even called a senate. Palmyra governed with a Boule, caravan masters who cared for logistics and tariffs rather than Homer and glory.
In Palmyra's Main Street pedestrians are flanked by two great rows of columns. The colonnade runs across the entire road. When caravans traverse this road they are pleasantly surprised by a lack of desert heat. The colonnade supports porticoes, great stone lines shielding passersbys from the sun. Behind the collonade are stalls and other market buildings for men to sell their wares. It can support monuments on top. The road itself was paved and had drains on the sides.
The Boule or Bouletatian of Palmyra is responsible for these magnificent public works.
"The Egyptians bleed us dry. Their papyrus cartels sell it like silk or spice. Ever since the damned senate made these forms they are a gift and a chain."
The Boule nods along the forms have helped trade but papyrus is brittle in this heat. Contracts and agreements based on data isn't working when the data dies in a week.
One of my partners can no longer honor his agreements. His contract was reliant upon the yield numbers of far of fields. Now he has to wait for a new report just cause the old ones turned to dust. Yells one merchant irate at the inconsistency of information.
A older member of the boule scoffs.
"Back in my day we didn't need fancy papyrus we had handshakes." His rant comes from years of experience. Though it doesn't recognize how helpful these forms are.
Some of the Boule scoff others nod. It the forms cost more than they are worth why keep them.
"The Egyptians bleed us" yells a archon.
"We can deal with some loss. It is inconsistent this form revolution. Inconsistent losses are part of business. What I hate is constant loss to price gouging merchants from Egypt." The archon or Lord for western speakers sits down as the semi circle of stone and merchants murmurs.
He's right we can't let those Egyptians corner us.
I issue my own forms these days internally. The loss of paper is hard but price gouging is worse.
I say we use parchment good ol sheep hide.
Ok genius yes let's. Oh wait no then we'd have to kill every sheep from here to the Euphrates.
The old man rises.
"If you guppies want forms fine how about we stop whining and find out how to save papyrus or how to break a monopoly."
The boule talks once more their semi circle of rule tries to find solutions to the papyrus problem.
"We use strips of wood."
"To heavy."
"Wax tables."
"Again to heavy"
"Stone, wait no I already know to heady right."
"Why can't we just have wax holds."
The boule lights up at that. It fixes the storage problem. So long as they don't use them for travel it works great. Best part it is easier than carving into stone.
The boule agrees time to implement one way to save money.
Away from the marble forum of the boule and its desert caravan masters Dacia has its own paper revolution.
"I told you idiots keep it brief!! I I see one more letter congratulating me on being the son of Agrippa I will crucify you!!!"
Hairan has a high stress job. Being the son of Odenathus is hard enough. Being made defacto governor of Dacia is much harder.
The forms help coordinate against Carpi and gothic raids. But the wet and cold climates make it pretty damn hard to send messages on papyrus.
"I told you we have precious little papyrus already with the Roman's and my fellow Palmyrans using it." Screams Hairan to his officers.
"Sir we have alternatives. The parchment and tablets supplements worked." Says one officer trying to placate his terrifying leader.
I already know that but for quick messages we need papyrus forms. For goverment we need papyrus. But more and more people using the damn stuff makes it rarer so we can't waste it." Hairan looks at his officers men who fought with his father against the Sassanids.
Please just make sure no one wastes papyrus until some one gets me a better alternative we stay to the same measures.
A cry of yes sir resounds thought the tent. Dacia holds so long as the papyrus flows.
A runner comes in panting. He is disheveled and the tell tale signs of battle anoint all his clothes.
"General Hairan the Carpi they found out the fifth have left they are coming in force. Their army in 8000 strong." They sent a message.
Hairan takes it from the couriers hand.
Roman your days are numbered we come to…
Hairan Throws away the letter before finishing.
"I already know where they are, right courier.
"Yes sir we have their location."
"Good no need to waste time. Mobilize the troops of the second and fourth sectors."
"Have twenty men and 80 horse from the other sectors rendevue with us. two days time we shall have them surrounded." Hairan finishes already preparing to march out.
A young Carpi warrior marches with the rest into Dacia. Already a few have died to camp disease and the elements. How ever the boy is confident all will end well. The leader said they wouldn't face resistance only fear and bribes.
Some of the older warriors told the young lad the best raids are the ones without bloodshed.
He wasn't a coward per se but he wasn't as eager for battle as his friends.
Speaking of friends.
Hey Cotipos don't you think it is odd we haven't seen any settlements. We saw farms but no homes that isn't normal I don't care what the boss says.
Trust the plan Tarbus and remember we don't bring attention to ourselves.
Tarbus isn't convinced. When things are quiet that is when things go wrong.
Tarbus looks at their boss in the front swearing and blustering. The man is clearly confused and possibly lost.
He thinks to himself. If I survive this I'm sticking to raiding other damned clans not these damned Romans.
Hey what is that.
It looks like men.
Finaly time for some action.
Catipos holds Tarbos back.
"Don't move to quick we wait for others to die."
Tarbos looks at his cowardly friend. The man kept him alive through many raids but the end may be nigh.
A command flows through the Carpi shields up prepare for battle.
The Carpi prepare their own shield wall loose uncoordinated but ready. They prepare for the usual Roman tactic. Infantry advance and cavalry flanking maneuvers.
Hairan never thought he would lead an army in this manner.
He has Roman vets and regulars forming a good front line. His own forces light infantry flanking the enemy. But most surprising of all Hairan has Dacians behind the Carpi. The perfect envelopment.
"I have never lead such men, but men such as these do not need to be lead all they need is a target."
The Roman vets march out first their spatha glinting in the evening mist.
The spatha, the Roman sword of the third century. Each about 30 inches in length they are perfect for the chaos of the third century.
Flexible for warriors and individuals they can slash, stab and keep and enemy at bay.
Preparing to flank the Carpi on both sides are Palmyran soldiers. Lightly armored but experienced men used to tough fights. They are armed with spatha and lance. With them are the famous heavy cavalry of Palmyra.
Both ready to act together as the horns of this army. The Romans are the vast but the Palmyrans will ensure the enemy cannot out flank the Romans.
The last army is the Dacian volunteer core. Inspired by the senates integration act the Dacians prepare their falx once more.
Hairan says Romans forward.
As one the Roman contingent marches to face the Carpi. Surprising everyone they don't make a single noise.
"Boss why aren't those damned Romans making any noises." Asks one Carpi captain worried about his men.
"Do not worry they are outnumbered look how thin their ranks are."
It is true the Roman front line is very thin only six men deep and no reserve forces in sight.
Yet the Romans are marching in the back five ranks seem to have no swords. That isn't apparent to the Carpi just yet. If they did see it they wouldn't be scared an enemy without swords is harmless.
For now the Carpi hoot and holler they scream and dance trying to intimidate the Roman force.
Legate Cato has fought for many many generals some foolish some brilliant. But he has never met one who could make up such a plan.
The back five ranks have six spears long ones hidden.
The rear men hold the butt of the spear while the fifth rank men hold the tip. The three men in between hold the middle. The men in the front rank have large shields hiding these long spears. The spears are like giant bundles of sticks held in plane by five pairs of arms.
"I swear if we die I'm haunting that Palmyran son of a bitch."
Others soldiers mutter in agreement. The whole plan relies on quick deployment of the spears
"Shut it just get ready to drop and pick up the red painted spear first. Then the blue then the green, black and unpainted in that order." Snaps Cato.
A man in the front rank grunts in exertion.
"Sir this shield it is dear Luna it is heavy. It is the heaviest thing I have ever carried."
"Just keep marching we only have 30 paces left." Says Cato trying to be encouraging to a soldier with a genuine grievance.
The shied in question is not really a shield, in fact some of these were doors requstitioned from locals. Each is 4.5 feet high two feet wide.
Most are made of hardwood three layers deep. Others are doors ripped of hinges and reinforced with bronze and steel. One guy has a bunch of smaller shields nailed together. The unluckiest bastard has a giant metal shield. The only reason he is carrying it is cause he is the best heavy lifter the legion has.
"Sir why do I have to carry the metal one." asks the man. Clearly exhausted.
Cato honestly has no idea why a metal shield is being used on the front while everyone else has practical wooden shields.
"Don't worry Julius you can't die think about it you have a giant metal shield your gonna be alright." Cato says trying to encourage the man who is clearly facing exhaustion from carrying the damn thing.
The legate at the back looks at the papyrus forms, 200 large shields from every town, fort, forge and carpenter in the area. No excess, no scarcity just a perfect number of shields thanks to the command economy.
"sir we have never perfectly armed and armored this many men. 1200 sets of armor, spears, and 200 perfect shields. Logistics has never been easier."
"Yes yes its very impessive, now focus up legate I need this next part to be executed to perfection." Orders Hairan.
"Sir if i may the sprear plan will work but expect mistakes. The plan to have the spears painted so each of the ranks might work. But mistakes are made in battle."
The man who spoke up was none other than Septimius Zabdas. The general who loyally served Odenathus against the Sassanids.
You worry to much all the spears are the same length and weight even if they don't follow your precious color coded order.
"Dont get smart with me Zabadas, if they mess this up they wont be stabbing Carpi they will be scrambling to get spears while the Carpi whittle away those borrowed shields." Snaps Hairan.
Ha, so you think this plan won't go even the smallest bit wrong. What, you want a perfect rainbow phalanx for the gawking masses back home to read about. Jokes Zabadas.
The plan itself is remarkable. The romans halt 10 paces from the enemy rest the giant shields on the ground. The men in the back five ranks drop the spears bundled in their arms like firewood. The rear rank gets unpainted, the fifth black, the fourth blue, the third green, and the red is the second rank.
On paper it will be the most brilliant pike formation of the third century. The barbarians see a pike formation come out of nowhere and lose the day.
"My plan is perfect even if the shields are ugly historians will utter my name for millenia." Says Hairan the feeling of destiny upon his shoulders.
The carpi watch as the Romans drop their shields a resounding thud resounds though the valley.
"Remember Tarbos don't be the first to charge and fake an injury we get paid either way." Says Catipos.
"You have to be kidding me you seriously think that will work." mutters Catipos
In front of them is the poor bastard who had to carry a giant metal shield because it was the fastest thing that could be made. He is tired but all he had to do is hold the line.
The Carpi prepare to charge when from behind the shield long pikes rise from the roman lines. Each a different color but all 12 feet long.
"What the hell is that!"
"Are we supposed to charge that"
In front of the carpi a giant spiked beast shows its maw. Five long pikes protrude beyond the shields. The shields themselves act as the impenitrable hide of the Nemean lion.
The entire valley is quiet no one is foolish enough to charge a giant pike line. The Romans cant advance either, because the shields are to heavy. The Dacian hills sing with birds and winds flowing through the forrests. It is so silent you can hear your own breath.
The first thing the Romans hear and some of the Carpi.
"Those asses those absolute asses they lifted the wrong damn spears." Screams Hairan as his plan works even if it isn't as pretty as he wanted.
Back at the officers tent Zabados is laughing his lungs out. The other officers try to hide smirks but fail.
"Sir the plan is working each man has a pike, the Carpi are scared. All we need to do is let the Rustic band..."
"No shut it, don't placate me Optio, my plan was going to be sung about for milennia. Now it looks like a painter dropped his shelf on some angry porcupines." Snaps Hairan angry his perfect plan didn't go as planned.
"Sir with all due respect just signal the men in the hills already." says a roman officer old an tired but whose experience in Dacia is priceless.
"Fine, Graccus signal five. "
The roman camp vibrates with roman horns the signal for the rustic band to come down from the hills.
Back with the Carpi no one has begun the battle just yet. The stalemate is broken by one resounding note.
"What the hell who ..." The man doesn't finish his sentence as a member of the famous Rustic Syrian band the peasants Odenathus trained to fight the Persians pierces the mans throat.
All along the left and right flanks the Carpi are torn apart by the ambush.
Help!!
Please I want to go home.
Mom mom!!!
I can't feel my legs!!
Cotipos looks to Tarbus about to tell the man to run.
Instead he sees a spear coming out the man's neck.
"No no."
Cotipos kills the Syrian but it is to late.
"Damn it no please don't leave me your mother can't lose you come one were supposed to come home." Cotipos is crying he doesn't care his friend is dying.
Tarbus has no fancy last words all that comes out is a spray of blood as the man coughs one final time.
Cotipos is ordered to get up and fight. He looks up and there is the boss the man who lead them here in the first place.
"Sir my friend is dead let me mourn him." Cotipos looks sullen and there isn't any light from his eyes.
"Damn it we need to get out of here help your fellow.."
The boss gets stabbed by a Roman pike.
"Huh there is a god." Catipos looks at his sword Tarbus. Your coming home and carries the man on his back as he runs away with the rest of the army.
Whether or not he makes it historians will never know. All they will speak of is the genius of Hairan and the perfection of Roman bureaucracy.