Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  “Has he told his tale?” the king asked.

  “Thiaper is halfway between the world of man and the realm of the gods, my friend. His words make no sense. He is travelling in a comfortable wagon with Kniva’s entourage. Cai is with him all the time. More, we cannot do.”

  Bradakos pointed to activity on the southern bank of the river. “It seems our friend Tarbus has arrived.”

  A lone horsemen detached from the advance group of Carpiani and started across the river. “Seems like Tarbus has a message for us”, I said.

  Before long the scout made his way to where we were waiting. The king’s guards barred his way, but Bradakos waved them away.

  The scout dismounted and approached on foot. He went down on both knees and bowed low.

  “Lord, king Tarbus sends his best wishes. The king thanks great king Bradakos and his brave warriors for keeping the Romans at bay. He says that the Romans are still far away and that he does not require any further assistance, lord. The Carpiani will start the crossing soon.”

  Bradakos nodded. “Go now. Tell your king that the Goths and the Roxolani will continue their journey. He should send us a message if he is in need of our warriors.”

  The king turned his horse, the guards falling in behind him.

  Gordas and the Urugundi scouted far and wide. Until we crossed the limes and the adjoining Alutus River, we were still on Roman soil.

  We travelled east through countryside that had been raided by the Roxolani months before. The horse warriors had left their mark on the land. We passed half-burnt farmhouses and followed the Roman roads through once prosperous little towns and settlements, now deserted.

  Once or twice we encountered brave souls who had returned to their dwellings. Unsurprisingly they fled at our approach. Bradakos issued an order for these people to be left to their own devices. Not all the warriors agreed, but they knew that ignoring the king’s commands would be at their peril.

  The Limes Transalutanus was deserted, as we expected it to be. It took us half a day to create a breach in the fortifications before we could start to cross the river.

  Again, there was no sign of the Carpiani. We only received word when our outriders made contact with their advance scouts. Our scouts were told that all was well and that the Romans were still pursuing the Carpiani, but falling further behind.

  The constant care Thiaper received from Cai was finally paying off. He was healing, but his left leg still carried an angry wound. Although he was still delirious, his condition was much improved.

  On the fifth evening after we had entered the tribal lands of the Roxolani, we were summoned to a gathering in the tent of king Ostrogotha the Patient.

  It would be a feast meant for generals and kings. Hostilius, Marcus and I were invited. Cai nursed Thiaper, and Vibius was more than content to join the Roxolani. I was sure that he had his eye on a lithe female warrior, which he vehemently denied.

  “We are just friends, Eochar. Why can’t a man and a woman be friends?”

  It was all nonsense of course, as I noticed the way he looked at her.

  Just after sunset we arrived at the tent of the king of the Greuthungi Goths. Even though we were early, we were ushered into the presence of the king.

  Ostrogotha sat on a low stool on the far side of the tent. It was late autumn and the weather was chilly. He wore a long-sleeved tunic of undyed wool. His sword and dagger were attached to a magnificent red leather belt edged with fine silver wire. Around his broad shoulders hung a soft fur cloak made of the pelts of wolves.

  Over the years, I have met many kings and rulers. It is not an easy task to create the appearance of regality without sacrificing the warrior aura. Ostrogotha succeeded in this regard. He truly was a kingly warrior.

  “You and your companions are welcome to enjoy my hospitality this night, Prince Eochar”, he said, while slaves showed us where to sit.

  We sat down on the soft furs. Slaves brought wooden platters heaped with freshly roasted beef and wildfowl. I was offered a horn of ale, but I declined, gesturing to the pitcher undoubtedly filled with looted wine.

  Kniva and Bradakos arrived moments later.

  The Roxolani king was accompanied by Gordas and Elmanos. Strangely Guntharic, the Greuthungi general, accompanied my brother-in-law.

  The king stood and raised his ale-horn. “Tonight, we feast. The gods have blessed our campaign.”

  He drank deeply from the horn, wiping the foam from his blonde beard with the back of his hand. “Before we get drunk, friends”, he said, “I have another announcement to make.”

  “Rise Kniva, son of Ostrogotha.”

  Kniva stood proudly.

  Ostrogotha continued: “Kniva, iudex of the mighty Thervingi, will from this day on be as my son.”

  All present cheered.

  “From this day on, the enemy of the Thervingi will be the enemy of the Greuthungi. Your allies will be my allies. This I swear before all, as Teiwaz is my witness.”

  My brother-in-law grinned proudly as his father-in-law continued to heap praise upon him.

  That night a power was created that soon would shake the very foundations of Rome. In time, my brother-in-law’s name would echo through the ages. Sadly greatness always comes at a cost.

  When Ostrogotha was done speaking, he gestured in the direction of the entrance. The royal bard walked in and bowed low to all present.

  The man was well-groomed, and intelligence shone from his eyes. He weaved a tale of Goths and Scythians fighting side by side. He sang about warriors who, through their bravery and cunning, defeated the evil that is Rome. Our deeds were greatly exaggerated. I was depicted as the favourite of the god of war and fire, the messenger of Arash. Before long, the tunes would be sung by the common folk, and our reputation would spread across the land.

  It was a fitting conclusion to a successful campaign. The wine flowed freely late into the evening as we shared stories, sang songs and forged relationships.

  Come morning, the armies of the Goths and Roxolani readied to each go their own way. The Roxolani would travel due north to the winter camp of the king. The Thervingi and the Greuthungi would travel together until they reached Kniva’s lands. From there Ostrogotha would still have a few days in the saddle before he reached his home.

  Gordas sought me out. “Eochar, your people need to see you. The common folk have all heard of your deeds, but they desire to lay their eyes upon the messenger of Arash, beloved of the god of war and fire. Bradakos would greatly appreciate it if you would visit, even if only for a day or two.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Gordas, you sound like Bradakos. Did he put you up to it?”

  He waved away my remark. “Spend two days with us, my friend, then we will escort you to the lands of the Goths. You might even be there before they arrive. We will ride like the wind.” He grinned like a boy at the prospect.

  I was desperate to see my family, but I knew Gordas was right. I could visit with the Roxolani and still be home before the encumbered army of the Goths.

  “I will speak to my friends first, Gordas”, I said.

  I found Hostilius just outside the camp of the IV Italica. “King Ostrogotha has given the men sanctuary. They will remain in the lands of the Greuthungi for now.”

  He walked closer to me until his face was but half an arm’s length away from mine. Hostilius looked me in the eye, and I must confess that I felt intimidated. But his reason was all but that. “Lucius, these men will not forget what you have done for them. I… I will not forget either. When Rome spurned their loyalty, you returned their honour. They are whole again.”

  I wanted to ask him about a visit to the Roxolani, but I discarded the thought. I placed my hand on his armoured shoulder. “Hostilius, you are like a brother to me.”

  Chapter 35 – Nomad camp

  Cai did not blink an eye when I suggested a brief visit to the Roxolani camp. His lack of surprise immediately made me suspicious.

  “Did you foresee this?” I
asked.

  “No. Gordas say he go convince you. Say it easy. See he right.”

  Cai pointed towards the wagons of the Goths. “I stay with Thiaper in wagon. He talk soon.”

  It turned out that Marcus, Vibius and Hostilius were already informed. All arranged by Gordas. I felt mildly cheated, and went to confront Gordas who was nowhere to be found, of course.

  I ended up joining Bradakos’s entourage, planning to complain about my Hun friend.

  “Eochar, my heart feels good that you have made time for your mother’s people. They see your visits as good omens. It means a lot to the Roxolani.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, my friend”, I heard myself say, Gordas suddenly forgotten.

  The Roxolani had sent their loot home before they crossed the Danube, nearly four moons earlier. Therefore there was no reason to tarry, allowing us to give free rein to the horses.

  After two days of hard riding, we entered the Scythian winter camp. The loot had long since arrived, with some already distributed to the families of the warriors, in accordance with the instructions of the king.

  The nomads gathered outside their tents and wagons. They cheered the arrival of the king, their sons, daughters, husbands and wives.

  The following evening, Bradakos laid on a great feast for the people. Numerous sheep were spitted over open fires, and the warriors were welcomed back as all-conquering heroes.

  I spent time walking amongst the warriors, reliving the battles fought while on campaign, and toasting their deeds of bravery.

  It was truly a fine evening.

  I went to bed content with my decision to visit with my mother’s people, and looking forward to be reunited with my wife and daughter. I made up my mind to tell Bradakos that we would depart the next day. Little did I know what would come to pass.

  Hostilius woke me. “Domitius, better come quickly.”

  It was bitterly cold. I pulled on my deerskin boots and donned my sheepskin overcoat.

  We were ushered into the tent of the king and found Bradakos in conversation with a warrior. The man, whose back was turned to us, was on his knees in front of the king.

  From his clothing he was easily identifiable as a Carpiani. The man turned around and we came face to face with Dardanos.

  He inclined his head. “Greetings, lord”, he said.

  I nodded, realising that it was not a courtesy visit. My first thought was that the incident with Thiaper and the enaree had come home to roost. Of course I was wrong.

  “Tell him”, the king said, and motioned with his hand for Dardanos to continue. “And for the sake of the gods, get up, man.”

  Dardanos awkwardly came to his feet. “Lord Eochar”, he said, “the Carpiani horde has been trapped by the Romans. King Tarbus begs for the assistance of the Roxolani.”

  “Tell us all”, I said.

  “It was four days ago, lord. Our army crossed the border fortifications of Dacia. The king received reports that the legions did not cross into the tribal lands. We all heard that the Romans had ceased their pursuit. We were happy that the danger had passed.” A servant handed him a cup of watered wine and he gratefully accepted, drinking thirstily.

  He wiped his beard with his hand. “But the Romans were clever, lord. They sent an army of horsemen to ambush us. Not Romans sir, but African and Germani horsemen, lord. We fought back and were able to find refuge within a hillfort used by the old people of this land. Many Carpiani have gone to the sky-father, lord, but there are at least two thousand men left. We have blocked the access by felling trees. The enemy horsemen cannot attack us, but we will run out of food soon. There are only three thousand of the enemy. If you send three thousand warriors, lord, we will easily crush them.”

  As an afterthought he added. “We are all saddened by the news of the death of lord Thiaper, lord. Now this has happened.” He hung his head. “The gods have surely deserted us.”

  “Wait outside, Dardanos. I will discuss this with Lord Eochar”, Bradakos said.

  Dardanos bowed low and was escorted outside by a guard.

  Hostilius was first to speak. “He wasn’t lying. I can smell lies.”

  I wanted to speak but the Primus Pilus held up his hand.

  “Something feels out of place. Why would Tarbus ask for your help, Bradakos? He despises you. And the whole story with Thiaper? Remember Tarbus’s meeting with Decius. It’s all connected somehow, I tell you. If you want my advice, just look the other way and leave that conniving snake at the mercy of the bloody Romans.”

  “You are right about Tarbus, Centurion. He is a snake and I am not concerned about him. What does concern me, however, is the fate of two thousand Carpiani warriors. They will run out of food. Eventually they will have to surrender. The Romans will enslave them all. That I cannot allow.”

  He thought for a moment and continued. “There is no time to recall the Goths. The Roxolani will have to aid the Carpiani.”

  Unbeknown to us, Kniva and the Thervingi horde were already on their way.

  “I will summon the warriors. We ride tomorrow”, he said.

  “Allow me to gather the Huns”, I added.

  Bradakos placed his hand on my shoulder. “You have done enough, Eochar. More than enough. Go to your wife and your family. The Roxolani will chase the Roman auxiliaries away and win the gratitude of the Carpiani. It might even solve the issue we have with Tarbus. This is not your fight, nor will I involve Gordas.”

  There was no arguing with the king. Later that same day, Hostilius, Marcus and I watched as Bradakos rode from camp, accompanied by three thousand of his best horse archers. Soon after we departed for the lands of the Goths, excited to return home. Gordas and fifty of his men volunteered to escort us while still in Roxolani territory.

  We only had a watch of daylight left and did not travel far before the light started to fade. There was no need to risk injury to the horses and we set up camp for the night. We lit fires inside the tents, as was the norm during winter. A howling wind announced the onset of a bout of even colder weather and we huddled inside the tents, drank mead and added fresh meat and roots to boiling water. Before long we were wolfing down the delicious broth.

  Marcus poured another helping of broth into his bowl and pulled his wolf pelt cloak tighter around his shoulders.

  Our Hun horses were tethered downwind from the tent to afford them some shelter. These creatures were hardy, able to withstand the harsh conditions on the Sea of Grass.

  Then, from nowhere, horses started neighing in panic, followed by a commotion outside. I grabbed my strung bow and three arrows. Just then Gordas poked his head into the tent.

  “No need to come outside Eochar. Good news is, Tengri has given us twelve wolf pelts.” I heard a yelp coming from the darkness. “Thirteen wolf pelts”, he corrected himself.

  With the wolves taken care of, we settled down again.

  Hostilius summarised it well. “We have had a successful campaign. Our brothers in the IV Italica have a temporary home. Our saddlebags are filled with gold.”

  I nodded to show my agreement with Hostilius’s words.

  “Then tell me, why do I feel uneasy?” he said.

  I shrugged. “It happens at the end of a campaign”, I said, trying to explain away my own anxiety.

  Sleep did not come easily and I prayed to Arash to give me a vision of the future.

  That night, the god of war and fire chose to keep me in the dark.

  Chapter 36 – Lone rider

  The storm cleared overnight, leaving bright blue skies.

  The first real cold of winter put a spring in the step of my Hun friend. “Tengri favours us with good weather”, he said, and strapped a couple of solidly frozen wolfskins onto his packhorse.

  “I will have a cloak made for you, Eochar. It will be ready when you return.”

  “I may not come this way for many moons, my friend”, I said.

  Before long we were on our way, cantering north and east at an easy pace. It was the s
econd watch of the morning. We crested a low hill, allowing us a panoramic view of the unending grassland beyond.

  Gordas reined in his horse, the rest of his men following suit.

  He walked his horse towards me, pointing his finger in the direction of the wide expanse of grass. “A man is approaching. He is riding like the wind of the plains.”

  I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun. In the distance I noticed a speck, a small dust cloud in its wake.

  It was not the nature of the Huns to be patient. “Let us ride and see why this stranger is in such a hurry”, he said, and kicked his horse into a gallop.

  We cantered down the gentle slope in the direction of the lone rider who turned his horse towards us when he noticed our approach.

  My heart jumped in my throat when I recognized the loose-flowing robes of the horseman fluttering as he galloped into view.

  Cai was drenched in sweat, his face a mask of stone. “Thiaper talk. It not good”, he said

  My friend from Serica told his story.

  Thiaper’s wounds had healed. Shortly after the burning sickness left him, he returned to the world of man and told his tale to Cai.

  * * *

  Thiaper fought the champion of Decius. He was losing badly. The expert Roman swordsman cut him up piece by piece.

  Tarbus and Decius watched, the Carpiani king as unconcerned as the gloating Roman.

  When it seemed that Thiaper’s fate was sealed, Tarbus leaned in to where my friend was bleeding his lifeblood away into the dust.

  With a smirk Tarbus informed him of his plans, sure that Thiaper would take it with him into the afterlife. “This is the price the gods demand for your treachery, Thiaper. You will die today. You, who favour the Roxolani above your own people. The Carpiani has gained the favour of Rome. Your friends Bradakos and Eochar will die at the hands of Philip the Arab. I have been paid well to make the arrangements.”

  Shortly after, the Roman stumbled and Fortuna granted Thiaper the victory.

  * * *

  Dardanos earlier told us what had transpired after the fight

  Hostilius put it to words. “Bloody bastard! Now it all fits. Philip the Arab plans to fall onto an unsuspecting Bradakos. He wins a great victory, then rushes back to Rome, all covered in glory. Having beaten the Scythians, his critics will be silenced, and his popularity will soar. He will demand a triumph and claim some or other elaborate official title like ‘Carpicus Maximus’ or something of the sort.”