Vegiutus came back out into the courtyard.
“Sir! The only wire station is on the other side of town. There’s no way we can get to it. But I had an idea.” Surly looking inn employees were dragging mattresses into the courtyard, along with stacks of firewood.
“I think this fire should be able to generate enough smoke for Antioch to see. And… Uh…the innkeeper was not amenable to our needs…,” he said unapologetically. A skinny man with combed over hair stalked angrily out the inn door, marching over to where Regillus crouched next to the wall.
“Are you the commander of this idiot? Here is the bill for all of my material that you are burning.” He thrust a paper slip up at Regillus, a determined look in his eye.
“Seriously? Now? How about I pretend like I didn’t see this until after the Mongols kill you.” He tore up the piece of paper. The man’s face had gone white. “Now get back inside while we risk our lives to protect you.” He turned his eyes back to the wall and the street beyond it.
Behind him, the low crackling sound and the smell of burning linens and wood reached his senses. Please, someone, see our signal! he pleaded with his gods.
“Sir! Here they come!” A detachment of Mongols was riding down the street, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs. They appeared rag-tag, some sporting vests and breeches, while others wore fur cloaks and pointed steel helmets. Their vaguely Asiatic features had become mixed with those of their Persian subjects, and some men displayed the long, thick black beard so common amongst many Persian families, whilst others favored the short and pencil thin mustaches of their conquerors.
Bolts lanced out from the Roman defenders, scything down several of the riders. In return, the Mongols scattered, many firing back with their horsebows. The Romans kept up a smattering of return fire, preserving as much ammunition as possible at the orders of their leader. The remainder disappeared down the side streets. An hour went by, then two. The Mongols continued to probe their defenses, a few men here, a few there. A sudden rush along a wall to try and draw out the defenders, crossing blade and shot with the Romans. The pinprick attacks kept the Romans on their toes, drawing the battle out long into the twilight.
“Where are they?” Regillus murmured aloud during a momentary pause in the fighting.
“The Mongols or our reinforcements, sir?” replied Vegiutus. He adjusted his scale armor, tightening one of the buckles on his shoulder as he spoke. Sweat had dried in dirty yellow streaks on his face.
“Either. I don’t think we’ve seen a Mongol for at least a half hour or so.”
“Perhaps that is good, sir? We’ll be alive to report in.”
“We'll have to wait until night to leave the cover here. I want to make sure the civilians are safe before we pull out.”
Vegiutus sighed, but made no other point of argument.
I can practically hear your thoughts, Vegiutus. I know you think the civilians are a waste of time, especially the innkeeper. But we’re sworn to protect the citizens of this nation, regardless of how…obnoxious…they are. Regillus turned back, watching as the lengthening evening shadows stretched down the dirt streets. He left the barricade and walked into the inn. His goal of evacuating or hiding the civilians had several key requirements, and he hoped the inn would provide the necessities.
The stone facade stretched out to either side, forming a stable with large wooden doors to the right, and a kitchen entrance to the left, including several outdoor firepits. A swinging signpost projected from the wall, the painted wood advertising the services offered. Below the sign, a narrow slit of light peeked out from the inn’s main entry. Regillus pulled off his helmet, strapping it to his belt as he pushed open the door. It would not do to terrify the people I am supposed to guard.
Blinking, Regillus paused at the threshold of the common room. The room was brightly lit from two swinging chandeliers and several wall lamps backed by mirrors. About a dozen patrons sat around the room. A family with small children crowded a small circle table, while a group of gaudily dressed merchants played cards at another. Two young serving maids, no more than fifteen, whispered in a corner, while the innkeeper stood with arms crossed behind the bar, glowering at him. Two other patrons sat at the bar, drinking their small glasses of liquor in solitude. All examined the officer as he entered the room.
Sighing, Regillus approached the counter. You wouldn’t think there is a war outside.
“What can I do for you, soldier boy?” The man sneered at him.
“You can tell me if you have a basement or enough horses for everyone here to escape on,” Regillus said flatly. His tone caught the innkeeper off-guard, and the man’s face froze for a second before the sneer disappeared.
“No basement, and the only horses here are my personal one, the engineer’s donkey, and your own.”
Both plans gone, just like that.
“Then it appears my men will be staying a bit longer.”
The innkeeper’s face morphed into a strange combination of annoyance and relief. Probably wants us gone, but with the Mongols around, wants us to stay. Why can’t they just be happy that we’re here to protect them? He wondered.
“My men will need sleeping arrangements in here for the night. I’ll have to rotate them, half on, half off, until we’re sure the Mongols have retreated.”
He spoke to all the patrons in the room as well. “If anyone here has experience in the army, we could sure use the help. My men are spread pretty thin.” The father of the small family stood slowly, shaking off his wife’s hand.
“I mustered out of the reserves a few years ago. Legio Aegytpus IX. I’d be glad to lend a hand. Legionnaire Second Rank Optanus Faristes. I have my own sword, but I admit that I’m not the best shooter.” He shrugged. Regillus strode over and shook the man’s hand.
“I'll take anyone we can get. Any other takers?” He looked around.
One of the men at the bar threw back his drink. The glass rang on the counter as he set it down and turned to the young officer.
“I think I’ve got something that may help. It’s out in my wagon,” he said in a slurred voice. His bushy beard trickled drops of liquid as he rose to his feet. He lurched by Regillus and Faristes, motioning for them to follow. Nose wrinkling at the smell wafting from the man, Regillus nevertheless followed him out through a side door into the stables. We need every sword holder we can get. The man was already digging through the back of his wagon, pushing through boxes and haphazardly stacked piles of machinery. Finally, he pulled a long, rectangular box from the wagon.
“Come here and help me lift this thing,” he ordered.
The two younger men grabbed opposite sides of the box. It was surprisingly heavy, and the men grunted as they carried it out into the courtyard.
“Set it down, set it down! You boys are just too slow!” He nagged them. Ignoring the man’s protestations, Faristes and Regillus carefully placed the box down in the center of the courtyard. The bearded stranger pushed them out of the way, prying open the lid and setting to work assembling various pieces of metal machinery. Regillus left the man to his work.
“You think whatever it is will actually be helpful?” Faristes asked.
“Not sure. But in the meantime, let's get you equipped.” Regillus went over to where the Romans had laid out their dead. He said a small prayer and began removing armor from the deceased.
“Sir!” one of his men called to him. “Mongols on the street, coming this way! They’ve got some sort of battering ram!” Cursing, Regillus left Faristes to his own devices. He slammed his helmet back onto his head as he ran, fumbling with his repeater.
“Stall them as best you can! Everyone else, to the gate!” Regillus called. His shouts awakened the resting members of his detachment. They scrambled to join him, leaving their blankets and camp rolls along the edge of the walls. Regillus gathered his small party before the barricaded entryway.
“If they break in, try to hold them here. If we can keep our formation, we hav
e a chance of victory.” Faristes joined them. Regillus nodded to him. “Legion Second Rank Faristes will be joining us for the battle, as will our mysterious engineer friend over there. Let’s try and keep the horsemen off him, perhaps his contraption will win us the battle.” Shouts and screams could now be heard over the walls. The Roman defenders were methodically shooting, ducking, reloading, and firing again over the walls. Regillus could practically see the short bolts stabbing through whatever protection the lightly armored Mongolians had to offer.
The barricade shivered as the first blow from the battering ram slammed into it. Debris scattered everywhere.
“Ready men, use your repeaters. That gate is a choke point! Target and kill them all. If they get too close, switch to your spatha. And remember, stay in formation!” Regillus ordered. The infantry formations might be awkward for them, but it could save our lives. He hoped.
The battering ram struck again. The wagon nearly tipped backwards this time, leaning forward again only at the last second. The sounds of battle spread along the perimeter, as the Mongols stretched the defenders thin.
“Got it!” the old man cried out behind them. At that moment the barricade collapsed inward as the attackers pushed in. Splinters and debris shot outwards, banging off of helmets and shields.
“Whatever it is, use it!” Regillus cried out as he leveled his repeater. “Fire!” he shouted. The repeater bolts shot out, chopping down Mongolians as they picked their way through the barricade remains. The Romans kept up a constant fire, but the Mongolians finally managed to force their way in, using the cover of night and the dead bodies of their compatriots as cover. Chanting war cries, the Mongolians charged over the open ground.
“Swords!” Regillus called as he tossed aside his repeater and drew his spatha. A sizzling sound came from behind them, then the world lit up. Harsh white light blinded the attackers as something incredibly brilliant shot into the air. The Mongolians paused, covering their eyes and crying out in pain.
“Quickly! While they are distracted!” Regillus yelled, charging into the disoriented barbarians. He hacked and chopped, his sword ignoring the quilted cloth armor of the barbarians. Behind him, his pitifully small party of men joined him, spreading panic and chaos among the attackers. Slow to react, the Mongolians were cut down where they stood. Only a few turned to run, but they too were unable to escape. The one-sided charge turned the tide. Along the wall, the sounds of battle diminished as different posts reported their attackers fleeing into the night.
“Roma!” Regillus screamed in celebration as his men recovered the gate. Around him, his men cheered him.
“Reg-il-lus. REG-IL-LUS!”
Regillus soaked in the praise for a minute or two, before motioning his men to calm down.
“Let's get this barricade back together men. I don’t think Antioch will be able to ignore that.” He left his men to rebuild the barricade, and walked back over to the strange old man who had helped engineer such an abrupt turn of fate.
“Thank you. You truly saved us back there.” The man shook his head and proffered a canteen.
“Victory drink?” he mumbled. Regillus grasped the canteen and took a swill of the liquid. Harsh and strong, it burned his throat and filled his belly with fire. He gasped.
“My own special brew.” The man smiled at him. “Engineer Crius Monventus. Formerly of the Western Air Fleet, before that, the Central and Southern Air Fleets. Now, I’m just looking for a chance to join the Eastern Air Fleet.”
Regillus introduced himself as well. The men shook hands.
“Why don’t you stay on with us for a while? I know that the IV Syrian could definitely use a man of your talents.” Monventus shrugged.
“Might as well. It certainly beats starving.”
“What was that back there? That light was brighter than the sun!”
“A phosphorous flare. Perhaps you’ve heard of my other recent invention, the igniculum?” Regillus shook his head. “Well, it contains a special chemical that can burn extremely bright and hot for a short period of time. I turned it into a projectile for some of our legions. But it is too dangerous to carry around a lot of it, and in my…disagreement with the Western Air Fleet’s leadership, I was only able to take this small amount.” He gestured to the crate at his feet.
“So, do you think that light has gotten Antioch’s attention?”
“Young man, if it didn’t, I’d think that every guard in Antioch is blind.”
Sure enough, the next morning, a relief column of heavy cataphractii rode into Janeria, drawn by the mysterious light in the sky. While impressed with the valiant defense of Regillus’ auxilia unit, they were even more impressed by the creation of Engineer Monventus. Wasting no time at all, the exhausted unit and its civilian charges were hustled back to Antioch.
“How bad is it, sir?” Regillus asked the commanding officer of the cataphract detachment.
“Bad. We’ve no word from any of the river defenses, and only brief communication with some of the river cities. It looks like the Mongolians took them all within a few days of each other, and managed to sabotage the wireless and wired transmitters somehow. It’s a miracle your message reached us. We thought you were dead.”
The heavily armored knight paused for a moment.
“Of course, we may all be dead in the next few days.”
Day Two: The Siege Begins
“That imbecile of a governor can take his fancy orders and shove them where the sun does not shine,” growled Legate General Orestus Lucretus Flavian as he prowled the command tent of the IV Syrian. Around him, the assembled officers of the IV Syrian stood ramrod straight, their backs stiff at attention.
“It is all his fault anyways, siphoning the money meant for our defenses into his private bank accounts. I should have three times as many men, and twice as many cavalry,” he complained bitterly. There was a silent pause, as his officers steadfastly avoided any overt sign of agreement. The general was untouchable, but they were not. Anyone could be a spy of the governor, and this stranger was, as yet, an unknown quantity.
“At least we have gained a newly competent officer.” His voice returned to its normal volume as he gestured to his new Praefectus Alae.
Marius Quinctius Regillus had spent few moments reveling in his advancement to Praefectus Alae, or Prefect of a Cavalry Alae, roughly 500 men. Unfortunately, his current advancement was likely to be short lived. The governor of Antioch had ordered the IV Syrian to mobilize and strike at the Mongol army while it encamped north of the city. While the order made strategic sense, striking an enemy before they could invest the city entirely, it was tactically dumb, thought Regillus. Even he knew that attempting to assault a primarily mobile horde army with slow moving legion assault forces was a bad idea.
Leaning over the command table map in the center of the tent, the legate pointed out positions to his subordinates, giving precise, clipped orders. The elderly man was rather frail looking, even with the good forty pounds of armor he wore. His grey hair clung wisp-like to his head, giving him the vague appearance of a tonsured monk, albeit one with a stern visage and a crooked nose.
“Air Commander Kretarus, will you be able to provide us with any air cover before the allied fleet and promised reinforcements arrive?” asked the general. The compact and muscular air fleet officer slowly stood and bent over the table. He sneered at the outlined positions of the Mongolian camp, shown as small huts clustered between the river and the road.
“Even with just my two airships, the airwing can provide cover along the river. The Mongolians have never figured out a way to hit our airships. My great-uncle defeated them the first time they invaded Mesopotamia, and it appears they need a reminder lesson,” he stated, his pompous voice trying to turn a good political phrase. Mostly, it fell on flat ears. More likely, your great-uncle spent half his time gibbering inside the command deck of an airship as it dropped canisters of Greek fire onto the mindless mobs of retreating horsemen, Regillus thought cynicall
y. He was familiar with Kretarus’ family, having been forced to rub elbows with them at several senatorial parties during his youth. Puffed up men with lots of medals on their uniforms, half of them created by their allies in the senate.
He watched the general’s non-response to the air-commander’s comment, and thought that, perhaps, the general felt the same. The older officer nodded once at Kretarus’ comments, then returned to the map. His wrinkled finger tapped the major road entering Antioch from the north.
Praefectus, I will be placing your men on the right flank as we advance up the road here.” The general positioned a small lead cavalry figure on to the map, next to several small legionnaire figurines. “You will be the heart of the covering force on the right flank. Your cataphractii will be supported by most of our light cavalry and a detachment of the garrison legion. Your duties are mostly to support our forces and prevent the Mongols from sweeping us against the river. Tribune Phrysis will have command of the flank, with you being second-in command. You two are the best light cavalry commanders I have. I will need you to keep the Mongolians off our backs.”
Regillus looked around the room to locate his superior. Tribune Phyrsis gave a short wave with his hand. The slightly older man had his long, dark hair tied in a ponytail. His helmet was nestled under one arm as his green eyes examined Regillus with a brief, intense look. Having evidently passed inspection, the tribune returned his focus to the command table. Regillus bent over the table to examine their position.
The metal surface of the table formed into a spine of mountains that ran south to north along the right part of the table. A long, narrow, flat road ran alongside the mountains, passing through the city of Antioch. Regillus marveled for a moment at seeing the city in miniature, with its fortified bastions and long wall span, as well as its intricate and beautiful bridges spanning the Orestes River.
“All right, gentlemen. We will need to keep this legion intact, and at fighting strength if we are to maintain the siege defensive works. Our attack will be more of a demonstration. I have no desire to match one legion against even part of a Mongol horde.”
Antioch Burns Page 2