Antioch Burns

by Daniel Ottalini

  Antiochia Deflagaro

  (Antioch Burns)

  Daniel Ottalini

  Heart Ally Books

  Camano Island, Washington

  Antioch Burns

  Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Ottalini.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contact the author at: danielottalini.com

  Published by:

  Heart Ally Books

  26910 92nd Ave NW C5-406, Stanwood, WA 98292

  Published on Camano Island, WA, USA

  www.heartallybooks.com

  ISBN-13 (epub): 978-0-9853740-9-9

  Dear Reader,

  The following text is a narrative account of the events occurring during the siege of Antiochia by the Mongol Invasion Force in the 1854th year of the Christian Lord. This is one of the few confirmed documents on file about the fall of Antioch. All attempts have been made to verify the facts of this report. Until further witnesses come forward or more evidence is discovered, I fear that this is the most we will ever know about the fateful events surrounding one of the bloodiest periods in Rome’s history.

  Signed,

  Dannelus Ottalinia

  Senior Transcriber & Historian Emeritus

  Byzantium College of Warfare

  August 1, 1862

  For Eduarda,

  Because these characters are as much your family as mine.

  And for Asheville, North Carolina,

  it is highly probable this novella would not have been finished without your calmness and serenity. You’re the best fix for writer’s block I’ve found so far.

  Day One: The Merchant’s Tale

  The countryside flew by at a prodigious rate, the horses of the auxilia scouting unit eating up the leagues of rolling hills and farmland. The double score of men rode two abreast, sunlight shining off their scale armor. The detachment of horsemen sent up a thin cloud of dust from the dirt road as they crested a low rise, their leader reining in his steed. Decanus Marius Quinctius Regillus reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a map. He traced their route with his gloved finger.

  “According to the merchant’s report, he saw the burning villas down this way. He also said there was a lot of Easterner cavalry. Probably one of those damnable tribal disputes lighting up again,” Regillus quipped to his auxilia. “But still, orders are orders. Let’s check it out. Eyes open, sing out if you see anything.”

  Out here on the eastern border of the Imperial Roman Empire, the massed cavalry forces of the Mongolian Khannates were the main threat, and the Romans had been forced to develop their forces in kind. The boys originally drafted from the cities and towns were no match for the veteran steppe riders. Most of these boys had not survived the first Roman-Mongolian War. Those that did were tough, wily, and exceptionally tricky to lead. But once you gained their trust and fellowship, the bond was unbreakable.

  Regillus was different. The youngest son of Senator Quinctius Janus Regillus was nobly born, more the scholar than soldier. The fact that he had survived the two years of brutal, no-holds-barred warfare spoke to his skill and tenacity. That he rose in rank to lead an auxilia detachment, the ground based eyes and ears of the Roman Army, spoke to his intelligence. That he had done so without ‘buying in’ to a higher rank, as many of his peers had, revealed his character. Regardless of his background, his men respected him for those two reasons. He would not throw their lives away needlessly, and he was smart enough to not pretend to know everything. Many soldiers could not count themselves so lucky in their leadership.

  Regillus guided his men off the dirt roadway, to better mask their dust cloud as they approached the supposed scene of the attack. They rode through the field, trampling the high crops with impunity. Finally, the horsemen crested a short rise, and the officer reined his men in.

  “In the name of Jupiter Magnus…” Regillus’ jaw dropped, gaping at the sight laid out before him. Further down the valley, a massive tent city filled several huge tracts of farmland. The dome shaped huts of the Mongols had grown like mushrooms overnight. Banners flapped in the wind, too many to count. The rich smell of manure, horses, and trampled crops registered with the officer as he motioned to his men to dismount. The cavalrymen spread out to form a loose perimeter, their folding repeaters locked into place, wire stocks nestled into shoulders, fingers on the trigger. They scanned the fields of rippling crops and occasional rocky hills with nervous eyes. They too had seen the substantial enemy army encamped in the valley in the distance.

  Regillus’ second in command, Limes Vegiutus, walked up beside his commander, pushing vegetation out of his way.

  “Sir? What should we do?”

  “Hopefully they have yet to see our dust cloud, but I would not count on it.” He told his junior officer. “Looks like that merchant was right.”

  He pushed his way though the crops and back onto the road. He could track the motion of his men through the wheat as they moved to the edge of the cover. Just beyond the field lay the Via Thapsacus, the main trade route leading northeast towards Mongolian territory.

  Removing his helm, Regillus caught sight of the slightly blurry black and white photograph of his family nestled amongst the interior webbing of his helmet. He paused, said a quick prayer to his gods, then handed the shining galea to one of his men, before crouching low and running across the road. He found shelter besides a few scraggly roadside bushes to get a better view of the land. Beckoning to his junior officer, he crouched down in the soil. Vegiutus joined him after copying his experienced commander’s movements. Lifting the binoculars to his face, he spoke in a low, rapid voice; Vegiutus scribbled down his observations.

  “At least 60,000 men probably. Appears to be two thirds horse archers, but they’ve got some infantry guarding those covered wagons. I would wager ten good denarii that it holds some type of artillery train.” He scanned the position, looking for the pickets. He cursed as he noticed the camp beginning to stir. Some type of chief was waving his hands and pointing to their position.

  “They’ve spotted our dust cloud. We’re in trouble. Run back to the horses and get that report onto a messenger pigeon. Antiochia must know about this and mobilize their forces. I don’t see how any of the border defenses could hold them back, but surely some word must have gotten out.” He mused, brain in overdrive as he analyzed the situation.

  “Sir?” Vegiutus asked, nervously licking his dry lips. He looked a bit pale in the hot sun, the prospect of soldiering far less exciting when faced with a real, live enemy.

  “You’re still here?” Regillus said sternly. Vegiutus scurried back across the road. What did I do to get stuck with the general’s cousin? Poor kid can barely stomach the sight of these barbarians, and we’re a good two miles or so away.

  He made his way back to the horses, jogging now, the sweat from the hot day trickling down his back and sides. He twirled his finger in a loop, silently directing his men. His auxilia quickly mounted up, and they wheeled around, galloping back through the field and onto the road.

  “We must put some distance on them, then pull back on the horses. We don’t want them to go lame.” He shouted at Vegiutus, who nodded and signaled the rest of the men. The column raced along the roads. Their dust cloud formed a long, wavering tail behind them. Regillus could care less who spotted them now. Speed was of the essence. How had they gotten past the border forts? What about the other border cities?

  “How do you
think they did it, sir?” Vegiutus shouted to him. He looked scared. He’s probably never actually seen a real easterner before, Regillus realized.

  “They must have figured out how to bypass the forts or neutralize them somehow!” he called back. They were approaching the first of many small settlements that speckled the valleys northeast of the city. He stopped his horse, his men sawing abruptly at their reins. A scene of devastation met their arrival.

  “This can only mean one thing,” he told his green-faced junior officer, “the easterners have gotten behind us and are already loose. We must make it to Antioch and warn the city.”

  “But sir, we sent ahead the messe-“

  Regillus made a chopping motion in the air with his hand, interrupting his younger companion.

  “And we know that Mongols are crack shots with those horsebows of theirs. Plus they’re fast riders and eagle eyed. If there are raiders about, I give that bird only one chance in five it will reach Antioch.”

  His words hung over the scouting party. Regillus checked his girdle and gear, before latching his helm back onto his head.

  “Whatever you do, ride fast, ride hard, and do not stop for any reason.” His men nodded, faces grim with the realization that the only definite way to warn their city was to make it there alive.

  They galloped through the burning town. Dead villagers lay sprawled about. Men, women, children, all had been put to the sword or bow. Those bastards, Regillus swore. His knuckles gripped his steed’s reins tightly, and he felt his throat tighten. Regardless of how many years he had been in the army, seeing death made his blood boil and his heart weep. Although he would have been ashamed to admit it, he was a sensitive soul. First his brother, then his father, and most recently the army had tried to beat it out of him, but every time, his compassionate heart was able to wait out the opposition.

  Unfortunately in times like this, it made him question his decisions. Perhaps we could have intercepted these raiders if we hadn’t scouted ahead? We could have at least stalled the raiders or even turned them away. A small voice inside his head twisted the guilt dagger deeper. Shaking his head fiercely, Regillus pushed the thought away. There was nothing they could do now.

  Vegiutus turned to puke over the side of his horse, the men behind him weaving away from the sick man’s revulsion. Looks like someone else has a similar problem.

  “We must make haste,” Regillus said coldly, pushing away all the emotion he felt. His men now took the southern road, riding southwest toward the safety of Antioch’s walls. The vast bulk of Mount Silpious rose to their left. As the tiny watchtowers at the summit came into sight, Regillus felt his spirits rise. Perhaps we can make it after all. Less than fifteen minutes until we are at the gates. Someone at the towers must have noticed the villages burning…

  Their mounts laboring now, the riders turned a blind corner at full speed, and found themselves amid a group of roughly thirty dismounted Mongolian raiders. Surprised at the sudden arrival of two score Roman cavalrymen in their midst, the Mongolians were uncharacteristically slow to react, staring dumbfounded at their sworn enemies.

  “Use your repeaters!” Regillus cried out, fumbling to pull his from its holster on his saddle. By the time he had it cocked and ready, his own men were blocking his view and they had already raced through the enemy warband.

  “Should we turn around and engage them, sir?” Vegiutus called to him.

  “No! We make for the city. They’ll be on our tails by now, but we have got speed and some distance on them,” Regillus replied hopefully. A cry from the back silenced that hope. Long black streaks began to fill the sky as the Mongolians attempted to bring down their Roman targets.

  “Shields on your backs!” Regillus ordered. “Make them work for it! Back ranks, return fire!” His order was passed back, and the men at the rear began using their repeaters to try and harry their pursuers’ advance.

  We can fight or we can flee, but we can’t do both. Regillus thought, worried. He rapidly judged that his force would not be able to make it to the city walls before the hardier steppe ponies of the Mongolians surpassed their tiring Roman quarter horse opponents. Another scream behind him, followed by a sickening thud, forced the issue. He would not have his men slaughtered without the opportunity to fight back. Eyes searching desperately, the auxilia crested yet another hill. There! The winding dirt road passed through a village with a walled inn. A friendly sign offered food and rest to the weary traveler.

  “Make for Janeria and that inn. We’ll light a signal fire. That should draw our cavalry forces,” he ordered in desperation. Spurring their horses into one last burst, the men thundered into the town. The townspeople saw the approaching Romans, then their pursuers. The peasants panicked, scattering like chickens before the auxilia riders. With moments to spare, the men rode into the walled compound, ducking under the low gate.

  Regillus dismounted and quickly rushed to the gate. Several of his men joined him as they covered the gate with their repeaters.

  “Get a signal fire lit! And see if this dirtball has a wireless or telegraph station!” he shouted at his second in command, who nodded hurriedly before shouldering his way into the inn, ignoring the protestations of the patrons in the yard.

  “Clear out of here before the Mongols burst in and slaughter us. Get inside the inn. We’ll try to hold them off,” Regillus ordered grimly. He could hear the sounds of fighting just over the fieldstone wall that bordered the inn’s carriage yard. He gritted his teeth. I must stay focused on the mission. Running out there to save people is an easy way to wind up dead. His brain warred with his heart.

  But I have to do something!

  Several of his men had now cranked out their legion scuta. The heavy cavalry shield had undergone a retrofit in recent years to make it more transportable, and now strapped to the arm. Once there, you had to wind a crank, and the shield would telescope out, each pie-shaped piece sliding out from the arm grip and around the central boss. Although heavy, awkward, and slow to open, the shield worked perfectly, and even Regillus had to admit the idea was superb.

  “Sir, we’ll cover you while you arm yourself,” one of his men said. It was only then that Regillus realized how very unprotected he was.

  “Very well. See if we can barricade the gate. If we can, get up on the walls. Let’s thin out these raiders.”

  The man nodded, and Regillus jogged back to his horse. He pulled his own scutum and popped out the crank. Once, twice, three times, and the shield was fully deployed. He locked the crank back into place. He then took his face guard and slid it into the small slot in his helmet. His face was fully protected now, with only a pair of eye and mouth slots unguarded. His world closed in as he strapped his masked galea into place. To an enemy, it was as though his opponent was a faceless, metal monster.

  Feeling more protected, he holstered his hand-repeater and drew his spatha, the Roman replacement for the gladius feeling heavy in his hand. His fingers flexed around the leather-bound grip, and his thumb tested the sharp, curved slashing edge of the weapon.

  Satisfied with his equipment, he returned to the gate, now blocked by an overturned produce cart. Several of his men were shoving barrels, fence posts, and any other odds and ends they could get their hands on against the barricade. The majority of his men had now found, or in some cases, created, firing platforms that allowed them to see over the walls.

  “Don’t waste your fire, men. Only shoot at visible targets. We don’t know how long we’ll have to hold out,” he ordered his nervous men. He had been with his men, the 2nd Auxiliary Cavalry detachment, nicknamed the Eagle Eyes, for two years now and had grown to identify their moods, and what he felt concerned him.

  His men were preparing to die.

  Frowning, Regillus looked for a centralized position to view the situation, and spotted it by the gateway. One of his men had placed some boards between two barrels, and was shooting his repeater from the sturdy wall top.

  Regillus clambered up onto th
e boards. Ulysses Iona steadied him with a calloused hand, nodded a greeting to him, then spoke.

  “Sir, we want to know. How are you going to get us out of this one?”

  Such a blunt question would have insulted many other commanders, but it did not bother the officer. He had long learned that it was best to listen to, and address, the cause of his soldiers’ concerns.

  “Fight like one of Pluto’s hellhounds in a corner,” he replied.

  Ulysses gave a short smile.

  “You would say tha-” His words cut off with a sharp tung as a arrow buried itself into his head, stabbing right through his steel helmet. Regillus cursed and ducked out of the way. Gods damn their accuracy. He didn’t bother to check Ulysses, knowing he was already dead from such a pinpoint shot.

  “Take cover and adjust your position after each shot!” he shouted out. Nervously, he peaked over the wall again. The streets were mostly empty now, and the sounds of slaughter and death filled the town. Bodies lay in the streets where they had been hacked down. The sound of horse’s hooves reached his ears, and he turned at just the right moment. Another arrow sliced by his face, so close he could feel the vanes guiding the bolt. There!

  He spotted the shooter, crouched down behind a low wall. He shot on reflex, the twang of his repeater followed by the low whine of the arrow as it shot through the air. His target disappeared from view. Ducking back behind cover, Regillus tugged the mechanism working the next bolt into position. The small lever went snick-snick-snick as it was cocked back. He was down to four shots before he would have to reload. There were more clips in his saddlebags, but the decanus didn’t have time to abandon his position.

  Peeking his head up over the wall lip, he spied movement at the end of the street. More Mongols, gathering in force, their horses weaving in and out of cover.

  “Watch the east end of the road!” he called to the other men on the wall.