Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  “Good thing wear yellow silk. Arrow go in here.” He placed his finger where his neck met his shoulder. “Small thread of many silk layer trap iron head.” He held up the bloodstained silk undergarment I habitually wore in a fight. “Silk not infect wound like linen”, he continued.

  Hostilius scowled. “Spare us the wonders of Serica, Cai.”

  “The cohorts of Decius almost kicked our arses, Domitius, but Bradakos arrived just in time. When the Romans realised there were five thousand horse warriors attacking from the rear, they ran for their lives. Half escaped into the forests, half didn’t. We burned their corpses three days ago. They fought well and deserved a proper burial.”

  “Two hundred Huns went to Tengri”, Gordas added. He nodded his head slowly in recognition of Hostilius’s words. “Next time we will fight them from the saddle. Then we will see.”

  “We owe you our lives, Bradakos”, I said, surprised at the croaking hoarseness of my voice.

  Bradakos nodded and said: “Rest now, Eochar. We will feast our victory as soon as you are back on your feet.”

  I spent the next three days confined to my furs. Cai refused my requests to leave the tent. He repeatedly forced potions down my throat and dressed my wound twice a day, applying herb pastes and honey.

  Vibius, Marcus and Bradakos visited regularly and relayed the happenings, which I pieced together afterwards.

  * * *

  While I was leading the raid on the iron mine, Marcus was doing the same to the north. He led a thousand Roxolani in a raid on the salt mine at Potaissa. The raid was successful and the warriors returned with spare horses loaded with the scarce commodity. The cohorts of the V Macedonica stationed at the fort of Potaissa did not offer battle, but remained within the safety of the walls.

  On their return to the Roxolani camp near Apulum, they found that we had failed to return from our raid on the iron mine at Deva. Bradakos did not tarry, but sent out scouts immediately.

  They returned with news of two legions travelling north, via the Mures River valley, heading for Apulum. There, Bradakos and his eight thousand Roxolani, with Marcus’s assistance, ambushed the Romans. They cleverly annihilated the exploratores and caught the legions in a broad section of the valley. The horse warriors surprised the Roman army while they were spread out on the march. Although they did not inflict heavy casualties, Decius and his men retreated to the fort at Apulum in disorganised mobs.

  Having removed the threat, the Roxolani found the three cohorts besieging the mine. On the advice of Marcus, they waited until the legions commenced their attack before falling on the rear of the Romans, who had left none to guard the ditch.

  With enemies on both sides, and greatly outnumbered, the cohorts scattered before the Scythians.

  * * *

  On the morning of the fourth day after I had regained consciousness, frustration overcame me. A scowling Cai allowed me to walk around outside. “Should rest one day more. Tonight wound bleed again.”

  Fortunately, Cai’s prediction did not materialise. After the sun set we arrived at the tent of the king to attend a feast in celebration of our recent victory. Rather than the raucous barbarian celebration I expected, it resembled an intimate family gathering.

  Cai and I joined Marcus, Vibius, Hostilius and Gordas in the king’s tent. Pezhman, now serving as a warrior and scout of the Roxolani, was still in awe of Bradakos and preferred to spend time with his barbarian friends.

  I invited him, but he declined: “I am at long last accepted by the horse warriors, Prince Eochar. Should I dine with the king, they will push me to the side. They will be jealous.”

  The Roxolani looted the baggage train of Legate Quintus Decius, with the best pickings ending up on the king’s table.

  We dined on succulent cuts of beef, aromatic mutton laced with spices, and exotic fruit, all washed down with the best red I have had in months.

  “There is an issue that I wish to discuss”, Bradakos said once we had our fill.

  “The legions of Decius will surely be blocking our route home, to the north. We have surprised the legions once. We will not be so fortunate next time.”

  Arash whispered in my ear. “Then we must leave at first light”, I said.

  “I agree”, Hostilius said, slapping his thigh with his open hand. “We should attack immediately.”

  I smiled. “No centurion, we will ride south and strike into the heart of Moesia.”

  “We were told that Decius was appointed as imperial legate of the Danubian legions some time ago. He would therefore be stationed at Viminacium. The VII Claudia mans the forts along the southern bank of the Danube between their home base of Viminacium and Ratiara further east, which is a stretch of more than a hundred and thirty miles.”

  Marcus grinned then. “You are truly a crafty bastard”, he said. “Decius must have collected most of the VII Claudia before crossing the river at Drobetae with the help of the Danubian fleet.”

  I nodded, unrolling the Roman itinerarium. “He would then have moved north through the Iron Gates, Ad Medium and the Porta Orientalis pass.” I pressed my finger on the document. “Here at Tibiscum, he turned east and moved along the Bistra River Valley until he reached Ulpia Traiana, which is less than a day’s ride south of us.”

  Hostilius added: “And the Danubian limes will be poorly garrisoned, because most of the legions have been sent against the Goths. What was left was taken by Decius.”

  I savoured the last mouthful of the red. “We follow the same route as Decius, only we will move faster. When we reach the Danube we will move east and join my brother-in-law.”

  Bradakos smiled. “It is decided. I agree.” He slapped my back, causing me to flinch in pain.

  The king did not apologize. “The wound will make you stronger, brother”, he said.

  “There is one last thing, Bradakos”, I said. “Draw your blade.”

  My mentor and friend looked confused for a moment, then his expression turned serious.

  “It is not necessary, Eochar.”

  “It is”, I said.

  He drew his magnificent blade, which once belonged to my uncle Apsikal, and placed it on his lap.

  Hostilius, Gordas and I had discussed this and as one we stood. We kneeled in front of Bradakos, simultaneously placing our hands on the sword.

  “A gift of a life demands the pledge of a life. Eochar of the Roxolani makes this pledge freely, witnessed by the god of war and fire.”

  Gordas and Hostilius followed suit.

  Chapter 27 – The Iron Gates (July 245 AD)

  “Why do they call it the ‘Iron Gates’?” Vibius asked.

  Marcus had the answer. “Iron is scarce on the Sea of Grass, but plentiful in Transsilvania. For many generations the Scythians, Thracians and other tribes traded with the Dacians for iron. Even Rome bought iron from here. Most of the metal was brought via this route into Scythia, hence the name the ‘Iron Gates’.”

  Bradakos sneered: “Until Traianus decided he wanted the iron for himself. From then, Rome cut off our supply of iron.” He smiled, “But two thousand iron ingots is a fine gesture of reparation.”

  We had been on the road for four days, our spare horses heavily laden with iron and salt, which slowed our progress.

  An advance scout returned, reining in next to the king. “There is a Roman town up ahead, lord. The people have fled, lord. It is the same as everywhere else.”

  It came as no surprise that the townspeople and garrisons of the small forts had fled before the advance of the Scythians. A single century was no match for eight thousand horse warriors.

  Marcus and Vibius joined the scouts to investigate. My wound still troubled me so I remained with the vanguard of the army.

  In any event, we soon arrived at the deserted town. The Romans had cleared much of the forest, which allowed the army sufficient space to set up camp next to the river. We had hardly settled in when Vibius and Marcus returned.

  “Better come with us”, Marcus said
, wearing a serious expression.

  Bradakos, Cai and I mounted, with Marcus and Vibius leading the way. We travelled for nearly three miles on a decent road, rounding a forested hill. We rode south, turned east, then north again.

  I was concerned that some wayward warriors had committed unimaginable atrocities, but was surprised when a now grinning Marcus led us to a Roman building surrounded by lush fig orchards.

  Recognition dawned on me. I turned to Bradakos. “Allow us to show you some Roman hospitality”, I said, and dismounted next to the imposing stone and brick structure.

  Before long, we were all relaxing in the warm water of the Roman baths, fed by the natural hot springs flowing from the rock. The walls of the complex were richly decorated with mosaics depicting Hercules. An inscription explained that in days of old, a weary Hercules bathed in the water of the springs.

  For Bradakos it was a new experience. He wondered at the artwork and workmanship of the Roman builders. “So, this is what you call civilisation?” he asked.

  “Yes”, I said.

  “It is truly as if the gods had built it”, he said. “I fear that these things”, he gestured to all that surrounded us, “will make a hard warrior as soft as a merchant.”

  “It will, brother. It surely will”, I said and immersed myself in the warm water.

  * * *

  We arrived on the northern bank of the Great River two days later.

  Gordas and Bradakos were staring at the southern bank, more than half a mile distant.

  “There used to be a bridge here”, Marcus said, and pointed to stone pillars dotting the surface of the river in a straight line.

  Gordas shook his head. “It is not possible. How are men able to build in water?”

  “The legions cut a channel upriver and redirected the water further downstream. The bridge was nearly a mile long, fifty feet wide and the road surface sixty feet above the water.”

  Gordas smirked. “If what you say is true, Roman, where is it then?”

  I interjected. “Gordas, the Romans burned their own bridge a hundred years ago to keep out the likes of the Roxolani and the Urugundi.”

  He grinned like a wolf. “The Urugundi do not need a bridge to cross the Mother River. All we need is winter, then Tengri gives us a bridge.”

  He was right, of course.

  For days we travelled east, following the northern bank of the Danube while staying out of sight of the Roman sentries on the southern bank. The horde raided the vulnerable local villages and even resorted to trading with the Romanised folk in the larger settlements protected by higher walls. War is never a barrier for men to profit.

  Bradakos sent out groups of scouts, but they all told the same tale: The limes to the east was deserted. Only the larger towns with high walls were garrisoned.

  It took the best part of a moon to plunder our way east, across the Dacian countryside.

  Eventually we arrived at the Rabon River. We camped on the western bank, close to where its waters flowed into the Danube.

  Here the islands and sandbanks, combined with the slow current, created an ideal location for barbarians like us to cross the river.

  The Romans had wisely built a fort on the southern bank of the Great River. This fort, integrated into the Danubian limes, was called Augustae. It was built to monitor this section of the river, which is fordable during late summer when the water level is low.

  Bradakos called a council.

  “Our saddlebags are bulging with gold. We have taken herds of sheep and goats. The spare horses struggle under a heavy burden of iron and salt.” He took a swig of looted wine. “But, while we are unopposed, why should we return home?”

  “The army of Decius would surely have followed us south through the Iron Gates. They are either somewhere west of us, or they might have crossed the Danube into Moesia”, Marcus said. “Philip the Arab will not sit idly by while we ravage the Empire. If he does not mobilise the legions, he will lose the confidence of the legates, which will not end well for him.”

  “Whatever we decide”, I said, “will be a disaster if we forfeit the plunder. I say we send the loot home in wagons that we can, er… procure in Dacia, east of the Rabon. If we are unable to move fast, we are vulnerable.”

  Hostilius nodded. “Our speed is a great strength. Send the loot home, it will make us strong again.”

  Vibius interjected. “I agree. Out of curiosity, has anyone received news of Tarbus and the Carpiani?”

  Bradakos sighed. “The path of the Roxolani has separated from that of the Carpiani. I am not concerned with the actions of Tarbus.”

  It took a moon for the army to gather enough wagons along with the inevitable additional loot.

  A thousand Roxolani and two hundred of Gordas’s warriors accompanied the heavily laden wagons and livestock that travelled north and east, towards the heartland of the tribe.

  Bradakos, Hostilius and I watched as the last of the wagons struggled across the Rabon. “I have sent scouts across the Danube, and they have returned. The limes south of the river is in disarray and weakly garrisoned. We will be able to breach with ease.”

  “Do you recall the centurion at the iron mine, Domitius?” Hostilius asked.

  I nodded. “Whatever happened to him and his men?”

  “We left them at the mine”, he answered.

  He noticed my enquiring stare. “Alive”, he added.

  “Anyway”, he continued, “I shared an amphora or two of wine with him. Told me interesting things. He said that the Arab has raised taxes throughout the Empire. Half the gold will be used to pay the Persians. The other half of the gold he is spending to upgrade Trimontium, where he was born. Even changed the name to Philippopolis. He has ordered the building of arenas, theatres, aquaducts and the like. Apparently he’s erecting statues of himself and Priscus all over the place.” He reflected for a moment. “Pity he and his brother are as ugly as shit. The statues have probably ruined the whole bloody place.”

  “Nonetheless, Philippopolis is overflowing with gold and the walls are not done yet. Maybe we should pay them a visit?”

  I speculated. “The area is probably crawling with legionaries.”

  “You see, Domitius, that’s just the thing. Apparently there are no legions in the vicinity of the city. Or that’s what I was told.”

  “Chances are we’ll ride from here to the gates of Philippopolis without laying eyes on a legionary.”

  He was very wrong, of course, but not in the way that anyone could have expected.

  Chapter 28 – IV Italica

  Two days later the mobile, albeit less numerous Scythian army, crossed the Danube unchallenged, entering the Roman province of Moesia Inferior.

  We rode at the head of an army of seven thousand horse warriors. Five hundred of Gordas’s Urugundi remained, the rest were Roxolani.

  Unlike when we were in Dacia, we did not need an itinerarium. Marcus, Hostilius, Vibius and I had travelled through Moesia a few years earlier when we camped outside of Philippopolis with the barbarian foederati during Gordian III’s eastern campaign.

  “We need to make our way east”, Hostilius said. “A major road connects Oescus on the Danube with Philippopolis in Thracia. This road runs straight from north to south. It’s as if Fortuna is levelling the way.” This, of course, would soon prove not be the case.

  In any event, we travelled east, based on the sound advice of the Primus Pilus. The warriors did not raid, other than to put an arrow into a wayward sheep or a lost goat. We rode with a purpose. Revenge. We would plunder the favourite city of the man who had betrayed us. Although the emperor was not within our grasp, we would destroy that which was dear to him, and gain much gold in the process.

  That was what we thought until a confused looking scout arrived on a lathered horse.

  He reined in and inclined his head, addressing the king. “Lord, there are men on the road.”

  Bradakos scowled. “Are they merchants? Maybe soldiers?”

&n
bsp; “Lord, I do not know. Many men are on the road. Thousands. They are dressed like Roman warriors, lord.”

  Bradakos turned to us. “Primus Pilus Hostilius, it seems your information was wrong.”

  “Lord”, the scout started again, “it must be Roman warriors, lord, but it is not the legion.”

  The king, now clearly irritated, dismissed the scout with a wave of his hand.

  “What do you make of this, Eochar?” he said.

  “Let us see with our own eyes”, I said.

  My companions and I joined the king and we rode to see for ourselves. We formed the vanguard with the guards of the king trailing close behind. It was open country filled with fields and orchards. We did not fear an ambush.

  Soon our path intersected the main road to Philippopolis.

  The scout was still with us. “They are on this road, lord. We will see them before we reach the third stone on the side of the road.”

  I gathered from the scout’s words that the strange men were close.

  We cantered down the road until we noticed a group of men approaching in the distance.

  We reined in five hundred paces from the mob, coming to a complete stop on the crest of a low hill.

  “They are dressed as legionaries”, Hostilius said, “but they do not march as legionaries.”

  He looked left, right and behind him. “Smells like a bloody trap, but I can see for miles. Don’t understand it.”

  I turned to Bradakos. “Allow us to go speak with them.”

  He nodded. Hostilius, Marcus and Gordas followed me.

  I said to Gordas. “You will scare them, my friend. I will call you if I wish to scare them.”

  Gordas turned his horse and placed an arrow on the string. “It is only three hundred paces, Eochar. Just raise your arm and they die.”

  Remembering Gordas’s boast, we stopped three hundred paces from where Bradakos and his guards were waiting.

  The mob of men had also come to a stop. They were legionaries without a doubt, yet they did not march in ranks, nor did they display standards.

  A group of three men detached from the mob and slowly made their way down the road in our direction.