From nowhere, Gordas’s lasso ripped his shield to the side and I skewered his neck with my gladius.
But there is a reason why the Roman Empire ruled most of the known world. The disciplined legionaries regrouped. I grabbed the centurion’s shield to face the four Roman soldiers bearing down on me in a neatly dressed line, moving along the top of the rampart. Gordas stood with only his sword, extremely confident. Thankfully Hostilius pushed him aside and fell in next to me with his looted shield. Marcus and Vibius followed suit.
To trained legionaries, it must have appeared laughable. Four barbarians trying to wield unfamiliar weapons. But they were unaware of the fact that we had honed our skills for years, training daily, as close as brothers.
We stood, waiting for them. The first rank approached confidently, ready to dispatch the barbarian rabble. Hostilius gave the command and we ran forward when our adversaries were but five paces away. We angled our shields downward at the moment of impact, lifting the bottom edges of the legionaries’ shields. At the same moment, we went down on one knee and stabbed for the feet. When I felt the impact and heard a scream, I propelled my shield upward with tremendous force and thrust into the abdomen with my sword, piercing mail. Gordas and the Huns supported us from behind, but we were fighting a losing battle. The well-armoured and trained legionaries would wear us down, eventually.
That is until I heard a panicked scream in Latin from down in the Roman camp. “Save yourselves, the Scythians are among us.”
The fog was burning away and I saw hundreds of Roxolani riding through the Roman camp, shooting at legionaries from the saddle, or simply bowling over the one or two who tried to make a stand.
During the confusion of the attack, after we had eliminated the Roman artillery, five hundred of the Roxolani warriors, commanded by Bradakos, headed for the river on our right flank that anchored the Roman fortifications. The mounted Roxolani waded upstream along the far bank of the river, approaching the Roman camp from the rear. Their advance, under cover of the fog and the noise of battle, went unnoticed by the distracted Romans.
By that time, the Roman commanders had figured that the warning from the peasants was a ruse. They sent the men back to their original stations in order to drive the barbarians from the wall. Unopposed, Bradakos and his men attacked from the rear, crushing the Roman resistance.
The Huns and Roxolani slew many Romans, but some escaped to the forest, where pursuit on horseback was unwise, if not impossible.
Chapter 22 – Passage
The thick white fog was only a memory, burned away by a blazing hot sun.
Miraculously the two local oldsters survived. I gave the order for them to be rewarded with gold. The Huns would send them on their way, accompanied by their sons.
Marcus and Vibius returned to camp while my barbarian friends were stripping the corpses of anything of value, whooping with joy when they found some or other trinket.
I was dead tired and wished for nothing more than to take a swim in the icy water of the river, originating high up in the Carpathians.
Arriving at the river, I noticed that it was not as clear as I expected it to be, due to the Roxolani horses churning up the mud upstream. Nonetheless, I stripped my armour and dived into the cool water, remaining under the surface for as long as I could hold my breath.
The battle and planning had sapped my strength but I was also mentally exhausted. Not long before I had been a Roman legionary, now I was fighting on the side of the barbarians, killing Romans. Was I a traitor to Rome? Did the fact that the emperor wished me dead and tried to murder my family justify my actions?
The water slowly ran clearer as the murk drifted downstream, along with my troubles. I realised then that whatever I thought, did not matter. My destiny lay in the hands of Arash. The god would decide.
I dived down again and remained submerged in the cool water until I was forced to surface, gasping for air. I felt clean and invigorated.
The feeling lasted less than ten heartbeats. An acrid smell carried on the breeze blowing down the narrow valley. I turned my gaze north to where black smoke spiralled to the heavens.
It was obvious, the wooden Roman fort at Rucar had been set to the torch.
Bradakos had forbidden his warriors to burn Roman forts. I was sure that the legion stationed in Transsilvania would have been informed of our presence in the Rucar-Bran area, but there was no need to give away our exact location.
There could be only one explanation. Tarbus.
I was not the only one who had noticed the smoke.
On my arrival, I found that my friends had already joined the king in his tent. “For one trained in way of Dao, take very long to smell fire”, Cai chastised me.
Bradakos was livid. “I think that Tarbus has taken the Carpiani through the pass into Transsilvania”, he growled. “And let me tell you, I pray to the gods that he has, because if I find him, there will be blood.”
Gordas appeared in the doorway of the tent. He gestured with his head to where the fort was burning. “My scouts have arrived with reports but I wish to see with my own eyes.”
“So would I”, said Hostilius, who was echoing all our thoughts.
The small fort, or rather what remained of it, was cleverly built in an area that provided natural elevation. It was little more than an earthen wall topped with a twelve feet high wooden palisade. On the inside, a wooden walkway allowed the garrison to defend the walls.
I tried to make sense of the gruesome scene when Marcus interrupted. He pointed to twenty men, still wearing their full legionary garb, impaled on stakes. “They must have sought sanctuary inside the fort, but the Carpiani caught them in the open.”
I thought them all dead, but one man uttered a low moan. Gordas mercifully silenced him with an arrow.
Marcus continued, pointing at the charred remains of legionaries nailed to the outside of the palisade. “They either surrendered when the fort was set alight, or maybe the Carpiani gained access?”
Hostilius hissed: “There is no honour in this. Word will get out. It always does. Rome will have revenge, it is their way, even if it takes them a hundred years.”
“The fire would have taken the spirits of the Roman warriors to Tengri.” Gordas pointed to the corpses still elevated on the stakes. “We should give their bodies to the fire god as well. They died a terrible death in this life so they will get a place of honour in the next.”
Gordas dismounted, took an axe from his saddle and chopped down the first of the stakes. I assisted Bradakos with the gory job of moving the corpses to the intact part of the fort which would soon go up in flames. Hostilius, Marcus, Vibius and Cai all lended a hand.
It was dusk when the last of the logs in the palisade collapsed onto the bodies, sending a shower of smoke and orange sparks up into the heavens.
Gordas nodded with satisfaction. “It is a sign. The gods have accepted the spirits of the Roman warriors. They are in the presence of Tengri, purified by the fire.” He turned his horse and headed back to camp. We all followed in silence.
I could not help but feel partly responsible for the gruesome torture endured by the unfortunate legionaries. Strangely, the act of labouring with the corpses followed by the burning of the bodies served as a kind of atonement. Just maybe Gordas was right and the fire purified us as well?
None of us were in the mood for company. I retired to my tent, cleaned my weapons and armour, then wolfed down some dried deer meat before I collapsed on the furs.
Before dawn I was disturbed from a deep, dreamless sleep by the noise of warriors stirring to strike camp.
Cai rose early to prepare a thick porridge of millet and wheat. We stood around the fire, each having been handed a bowl and a spoon.
“What happens now?” enquired Vibius.
“I believe we will cross the mountains to gain access to the rich lands of Transsilvania”, Marcus replied. “But the decision lies with the Roxolani king.”
“What about the Carpi
ani?” Vibius asked.
Hostilius said: “Those bloody idiots will probably do something stupid. Tarbus’s greed will get them all killed soon enough. If it were up to me, I would leave them be to get on with it.”
“You know Bradakos well, Domitius. What will he do?”
“Bradakos will consult with us. Of that I am sure”, I replied, taking a long swig of hot salted mare’s milk.
I rolled my tent into a neat bundle and tied it to my packhorse, together with my sleeping furs, spare clothing and cooking utensils. I was adjusting the straps to make sure that the weight was evenly distributed, when a bodyguard of the king appeared.
“The king invites Lord Eochar and his companions to ride with him at the head of the army”, he announced.
An invitation from a king is in actual fact an order so we followed the guard as soon as we had readied the horses.
Marcus and I rode alongside Bradakos with Hostilius, Vibius and Cai following in the second rank. We trailed behind a contingent of fifty bodyguards. These elite warriors were tasked to protect the king in case of an ambush, although it was highly unlikely, as many groups of mounted scouts left earlier to ensure there were no surprises along the way.
According to the itinerary, we would have to travel twenty miles along a winding road, built by the Romans to follow the natural contours of the hills and valleys.
We passed the charred remains of the fort at Rucar, where the road turned east, snaking up a steep incline which forced us to slow the pace.
Bradakos gave me a sideways glance. “Tell me what you would do when we reach Transsilvania, if you in were in charge”, he said, “and how you think the legions will respond.”
I had studied the Roman itinerary during our travels north, and debated it many a time with my Roman friends.
“We believe that the legions will have a few objectives. Emperor Traianus conquered Dacia to get hold of the gold mines. Firstly, they will protect the emperor’s coin. Secondly, they will retain a strong presence in the larger cities.”
Hostilius, who had been listening, nosed his horse in between Bradakos’s and mine. “Not that Rome cares about the citizens, they wish to protect the trading stations and homes of the wealthy merchants, who just happen to be senators. If the rich and powerful become discontent, they will connive to stab the Arab in the back. Quite literally.”
“Thirdly”, Marcus continued, “they will do their best to trap us. They know we will eventually leave, so they are not that concerned about our presence in general. What the emperor desires is a victory of some kind. Something that he can take and turn into a triumph, a celebration of his military astuteness. Something that will make his name great.”
“My friends are correct”, I said.
“Tarbus has gone off to raid the gold mines. The legions will guard the major walled cities like Apulum. What remains for us? Do we chase around the countryside and loot grain and chickens from peasants?”
“No, my friend.” I lifted the Roman itinerarium. “We have other ideas.”
I gestured to the hills surrounding us. “The highlands of Transsilvania has very few plains, it is much like what you see around you: A network of fertile river valleys surrounded by densely forested hills. Many roads and pathways connect the areas. It will be a difficult task for the legions to trap us, if not impossible. Even the great Hadrianus found it difficult to pin down the Daci when he conquered these lands, all those years ago.”
Just then, Gordas arrived with five of his warriors in tow. “Eochar, let us see whether my horse can still outrun Simsek.”
Bradakos said: “We will talk again around the fire tonight. Show the Hun what a Roxolani prince can do.”
I grinned and kicked the Hun horse with my heels. Gordas knew what was coming and he was ready. He also rode a magnificent horse, the best the Hun breed had to offer. We raced past the Roxolani nobles, riding side by side for what seemed like miles, none able to overtake the other.
As if by agreement, we pulled on the reins, slowing down our horses to a walk.
“You ride like a Hun, Eochar”, he said.
“And you like a Roxolani”, I replied.
Chapter 23 – Apulum (June 245 AD)
It was later the same afternoon. We descended along a river valley which terminated in a narrow natural gateway. The passage between the hills was sixty paces wide, making it an ideal site for the Romans to delay our large army.
A scout came to report to Bradakos. “The land is empty lord, apart from riders who watched us from far away. They disappeared on our approach. At the other side of the stone gates lies a rich, fertile plain with a river and enough grazing for the horses.”
The king dismissed the scout with a wave of his hand. “Let us make camp and rest.” He turned to me. “You and your companions will dine with me tonight, Prince Eochar.”
Before long we were seated around a raging fire next to the tent of the king. The abundance of ancient forests yielded wood of the best quality.
Hostilius tore a mouthful of juicy meat from a joint of mutton. He spoke while chewing. “Bloody best meat I had in weeks. Must be the coals they used to spit it over. The quality of the wood makes a huge difference.”
He wiped the fatty juices from his beard with the back of his hand. “Those riders the scouts kept seeing on the horizon were probably exploratores. Auxiliaries. Huntsmen recruited by the Romans. They will keep their eyes on us so the legions will know where we are.”
“Then we need to show them what they expect to see”, I said.
Cai added. “Lucius of Da Qin speak true. Men see what expect to see. Wise general use against enemy.”
Marcus used his palm to smooth a section of the sand next to the fire. He picked up a stick, drawing his dagger to sharpen one end.
He drew a crude circle in the soil. “This represents Transsilvania, circled by the Carpathian Mountains”, he said, “and we are more or less here.” He indicated a spot at the edge of the circle, toward the bottom on the right, and marked it with a cross.
Marcus drew another cross, at the top of the circle, to the left. “This is Apulum, the capital of Transsilvania, larger than any of the cities along the Danube. Legio XIII Gemina is based here, along with the military command. Apulum protects the access to the passes that lead to the major gold mines in the mountains to the north-west.”
He used the stick to make two indents in the sand, either side of Apulum.
“We will make them believe that we are heading for the gold mines. Rather, we will raid the iron mine to the south at Deva and the salt mine to the north of the capital, close to Potaissa.”
Bradakos nodded. “Iron of quality is scarce in Scythia, as is salt. These commodities are nearly as valuable as gold.”
“What about Tarbus?” asked Hostilius.
“Tarbus has chosen his path, Centurion. It has naught to do with us”, Bradakos said.
“I disagree”, I said, which drew a frown from Bradakos, followed by a scowl. Although we were all friends, to disagree with the king was still not acceptable.
“Let Tarbus follow his path, yes, but let us allow him to help us.”
Bradakos slapped my back. “Tell us,” he said.
So I did.
It turned out to be a fine evening. We made plans, then celebrated our progress with a feast. At last we had arrived, and all that remained was to pick the ripe fruit from the lands of Transsilvania. Or so we thought.
Our plan was simple. The Roxolani would advance at speed to the capital. Hot on the heels of Tarbus and the Carpiani horde. The army would camp close to Apulum where at least a couple of cohorts of the XIII Gemina would defend the fortress.
The legions would be distracted, as the Carpiani would have moved past Apulum to gain access to the passes that lead to the gold mines, further to the west. The Roxolani under Elmanos would harass the garrison and launch half-hearted attacks on the walls of the city. It would only be a diversion, of course.
We rode lik
e only the Scythians and the Huns could, covering the one hundred and thirty miles in two days. We even outpaced the exploratores, some of them falling into the hands of the barbarians. Others simply abandoned their horses and melted into the forests.
Due to the speed of our advance, the Romans were not forewarned. On the afternoon of the second day, we camped within sight of the walls of Apulum on the eastern bank of the Mures River. To the east, our campsite was bordered by a series of low forested hills, which was why the site had been chosen.
Later, after we had set up camp and the light was fading, I found Hostilius standing on the bank of the river, staring intently at the Roman legionary fortress, less than a mile distant. The last rays of the sun, about to dip behind the Western Carpathians, silhouetted the Romans watching from the rampart.
“Still feels like I should be on those walls, Domitius”, he sighed. “I gave them twenty bloody years of my life. What do I get in return?”
I knew it wasn’t a question, so I let him speak. “Let me tell you. A kick in the arse, that’s what.”
He turned to me then, and growled, his anger rising: “I want blood as payment.” He pointed to the low hill. “Not the blood of those Roman farm boys over there, Domitius, but the blood of Priscus and the Arab.”
“There will be many of those boys standing between us and the men you want to get your hands on”, I said.
“That’s too bad for them then, eh?” He smiled, the anger suddenly gone. “Fortuna can be a bitch, Domitius.”
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