Antioch Burns

by Daniel Ottalini

  Horns trilled across the battlefield, urging the easterners forward.

  “Morindoo!!!” screamed the Mongolians as they reached the embankment. Regillus shivered slightly, recalling the battle cry from the previous day’s battle. Steeling himself, Regillus turned his back on the advancing enemy, facing his men.

  “Ready plumbatae!” The heavy lead and steel darts appeared in gauntleted hands. The chanting Mongolians began picking their way up the treacherous slope. Heavy artillery fire from the ramparts could do little to stall their attack.

  “Loose!” The heavy darts lanced downhill, striking right through the thin reed shields of the attackers. In an instant, the rubble was coated with blood and bodies, as enemy troops trampled over their injured and dead comrades in their push to gain the breach.

  “Ready! Volley throw…. Release!” Another sheet of missiles hammered the attackers. Again and again the Mongolians pushed their way up the slope, and into the teeth of the Roman defense. The dust covered slope was caked in gore, but still the Mongolians fought on.

  “Sir! The men have exhausted their plumbatae. Half the men are using rocks as missiles,” reported a wounded messenger, his arm swathed in dirty bandages. Regillus nodded grimly.

  “Has there been any report from the citadel? Have our forces retreated?”

  “No report yet, sir. Shall I send a runner?”

  “Yes, right away, then check the telegraph station. We must withdraw to the safety of the citadel soon, before we are overwhelmed.” The man turned without a salute and raced for his horse. Regillus turned back to the battle. The volume of fire from the breach defenders was intermittent now, with only a spattering of iron darts and rocks striking the wave of attackers. The wall defenders continued to fight on as well, although they were exhausted from winding and loading the heavy artillery with skeleton crews.

  A crackling blast and accompanying puff of grey smoke told Regillus that the rest of the Mongol siege force was not simply waiting for the breach to be cleared. A thundering impact a few seconds later shook a nearby stretch of wall. Those damn things have turned what would have been a months-long siege into a day long one!

  “Legionnaires! Prepare to receive enemy!” Regillus ordered. Along the embankment, legionnaires locked shields and braced themselves for the initial strike. The first Mongolians were maybe a dozen feet away now. Regillus drew his hand repeater and shot the closest, a bushy-bearded man waving his scimitar in the air. The short quarrel threw the man back onto his allies, where he disappeared into the crowd.

  In quick succession, Regillus dispatched two other barbarians. In the end, he didn’t even have to aim, with his enemy packed so tightly together. The range rapidly closed and the officer was forced to discard his repeater in favor of his spatha. He swept out the long sword, cousin to the famous gladius of history, parrying a whirlwind assault by one of the first Mongolians over the wall. He slammed his shield into his attacker, then quickly stabbed his sword through the man’s exposed leg. The man collapsed, and a second slice cut off a startled cry.

  Regillus pulled back into formation as the Roman line struggled to hold back the assault. The Mongolians attacked without any thought for their own protection, willingly sacrificing two or three men to pull down a legionary. Siege craze, Regillus thought, they have taken such a beating storming the breach they will stop at nothing to take it, and Antioch.

  A sputtering sound drew his attention, and he nearly lost his head because of it. Ducking behind his shield at the last second, a barbarian’s sword stuck in the toughened wood and steel. Stabbing blindly, he heard a cry and felt his opponent fall away from him. Regillus jerked his eyes upwards, in time to see the return of the skimmers. They crested low over the breach, dropping their explosives right onto the enemy forces on the other side. A wave of heat blew back over defenders and attackers alike. The Romans cheered as each of the remaining skimmers followed the first over the stony breach to deposit their small explosives into the packed Mongolians, dealing horrendous damage. Although his vision was blocked by the press of bodies, Regillus could easily imagine the sheer carnage unfolding just beyond the breach.

  He ordered his few reserves forward, hoping to take advantage of the sudden attack of the skimmers. For a while, they took back the entire improvised wall, recovering their wounded and dispatching enemy stragglers. His men even had time to get in hasty drinks from a salvaged water bucket. While they rested, Regillus paced the trench wall, checking on his men and giving a continuous stream of orders. The praefectus had one more ace up his sleeve, but he was hoping to save it until they had to retreat.

  Where is that messenger?

  It took a while, but the Mongolian forces soon resumed their push against the wall. With little defensive fire slowing them, they flowed up the slope and threw themselves at the defenders with renewed vigor. For their part, the legionnaires held in spite of such odds. Better armed and armored, they sliced through their lightly equipped opponents, until walls of corpses impeded their movement. Step by step, the Romans gave way, as the sheer press of Mongolians forced them to fall back. Regillus watched Etruscas go down, three Mongolians running him through with their spears. Crying out in anger, the general vented his anger by nearly decapitating the nearest enemy. The powerful stroke left him overextended, and it was only Roman discipline that saved him, as his line partner stepped in to block his open side from enemy reprisals.

  “Hold the line, Men of Antioch! Defend your city!” Regillus urged his men onward, cutting down a Mongolian chieftain. The man’s leather jerkin was no match for the razor sharp tip of Regillus’ spatha. A cheer arose from his right, as the Mongolians finally forced their way through the Roman line, splitting the defenders in two. We’re dead. Regillus turned to order his signaler to blow Fighting Retreat, when another horn sounded, behind their lines.

  Scrambling clear of the press of bodies, he clambered up onto the rear lip of the embankment. The sight brought tears of joy to his eyes.

  We are saved. Thank the gods.

  Trotting down the street came rank after rank of heavily armored cavalry – cataphractarii, by their armor and gear. As they neared the battle, they picked up speed, crashing into the few Mongolians who had managed to force the defenders apart. They surged up the rocky slope, their heavily armored mounts trampling enemy underfoot.

  “Legate General! You are still alive!” came a shout over the tumult of battle. A figure wearing a beautifully exquisite set of steel armor, inlaid with gems and gold, rode up before him. He flipped up his full-face mask, itself delicately wrought from precious metal as well.

  “Councilman Ioannes! My lord, where did you get these men? All our cavalry was slaughtered outside the walls!” Regillus asked, unable to keep the amazement from his voice. Already, the pressure on his lines was abating, as the defenders surged forward, their morale restored by the sudden turn of events.

  “They are my own bucerelli, and here we are. A little late perhaps, but I hope you can forgive me for that. I wanted to ensure their talents were not wasted on wall duty,” he replied smugly. Regillus cracked a shallow smile at the merchant’s tight fisted attitude even during a siege.

  “You’re forgiven… for now.”

  The attack of the bucerelli had shocked the eager attackers. Caught right at the moment of their triumph, they had fallen back, stampeding over each other in a frantic attempt to escape the unstoppable bucerelli. It was now that Regillus gave the signal, waving the laborem, the Laurel standard, in a tight circle. In response, the men still manning the wall on both sides of the breach revealed their last trick. Large clay pots of Greek fire were pushed off the walls right onto the heads of the retreating Mongolians. They splashed down, splattering the densely packed men. The flames were unstoppable, and amongst the densely packed Mongolians, it was sheer murder.

  Soon the entire breach was ablaze. Having planned for this, Regillus quickly evacuated his men, as well as the forces upon the wall. The engineers spiked their weapon
s and fell back, joining the legionnaires and Ioannes’ bucerelli on the long march west towards the citadel.

  “Why do we not continue to defend the breach?” asked the merchant councilmember, riding his charger alongside the plodding legionnaires through the cobblestone streets. Regillus shook his head.

  “There was no point. Without reinforcements, we simply could not continue to hold the breach. Any forces we would divert there would be unable to deal with any other attacks anywhere along the wall. And we would have to keep a large presence at the breach, even to deter the Mongols from striking.” He motioned to his men behind him.

  “Of my starting 2,000 men, I’ve got less than five hundred remaining ready and able to fight. Another hundred wounded. Most of the wounded were trampled under foot or killed before we could pull them from the fight. And that battle lasted less than an hour. Almost 75% casualties in an hour.” Regillus stated the facts coldly. Ioannes recoiled slightly.

  “I guess I was lucky. I only lost a few back there. We should have taken more casualties charging through that debris field, but it seems providence guides us.” Ioannes made the sign of the cross over his armor. Regillus was surprised at the gesture. The councilmember was Christian, a rare event considering the preference given to followers of the Old Gods in positions of power throughout the empire. It spoke of Ioannes’ own prowess that he had risen so high in spite of his adherence to a minor, if persistent, religion.

  “I am sure it does,” Regillus replied demurely. A messenger cantered up. The weary man saluted, handing down a folded slip of paper. Regillus paused, the stream of men flowing around him like a river around a boulder. Ioannes reined in as well, pausing to hear the report.

  “The Mongols have taken the garrison fort. The last transmission from the commander was logged an hour ago. Citadel observers report Mongol forces have breached the main northern gate of the Tiberian Wall as well. They also report that Mongol outriders have encircled Antioch to the south. Refugees have been sited streaming back towards the walls. Those barbarians are slaughtering any they can catch.” Regillus spat in disgust. “What type of army indiscriminately slaughters civilians?”

  Ioannes shook his head and shrugged.

  “An eastern army of heretical non-believers?” he asked, pausing for a moment. “Excluding present members of our western army of heretical non-believers.”

  “Do you not care one bit for those people outside the walls?”

  “How can I care, general, when I am more concerned about the enemy horde rampaging its way through our walls? Now I backed you in the audience chamber because you were decisive, but you have to maintain your focus.” The Greek merchant stared down at the younger man, his eyes glittering coldly. “Those people who fled the city made their choice. They knew the risks. Think about it in terms of assets and resources. We have limited assets here, and we must protect the resources we can. We cannot protect resources not under our control.”

  Regillus frowned. I am not some money grubbing merchant, ignoring the death of hundreds, if not thousands, of civilians. And yet, a part of him agreed with the merchant. Those people had abandoned the city, their place of safety and security. They knew the risks.

  The last of the legionnaires stumbled past, with some of the most wounded men being carried on stretchers. Regillus decided to table the issue.

  “Let’s get going. We don’t want to be caught outside the citadel when the Mongols finally decide to stop sacking the city.”

  Even with their head start, it was still close in the end. The last garrison legionnaires trickled over the Orestes River Bridge, seeking the safety of the citadel, along with a veritable flood of civilians who had remained in the city. Regillus kept the gates open as long as possible, until the first Mongolian horsemen appeared down the long Via Juliana, the major east-west roadway that cut through the city. With a slow nod of his head, the thick steel gates were rolled shut, and the massive portcullis dropped into place. Interlocking bars slid across the doors, gears clanking slowly, stopping with a heavy thud.

  Ioannes stood in the last rays of the evening sunlight, the tall towers shading the courtyard in a gloomy twilight.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we wait. And pray that help gets here in time.”

  Day Eleven: Desperation

  A day on the water, the sunlight dazzling his eyes as it reflected off the water. Portia sat opposite him, delicate hand gripping the side of the small rowboat they had rented for the day. His own hands gripped the oars, smoothed by countless suitors before him. The river was popular. Chaperones could observe, from the stability of the shore, using the rented binoculars, while the man and woman had a few moments to communicate in privacy.

  This was the day he would do it. He would ask her to become his wife. He had barely spoken, when she said yes. It was given with such finality, such emphasis, as though she had been waiting for him to ask for weeks or months.

  It was only later that he found out she had wanted to marry him since the first time they had bumped into each other at the forum. Such an unladylike thing to decide, without knowing a bit of his background or family history.

  Of course, he had not told her about his family either, not until after she had said yes. Regillus had run far and hard from his family, and he wanted to be sure his future wife was after him, and not his family money or connections. He could almost hear his father chiding him angrily for throwing away a chance to make a political connection, but Regillus could care less about the man’s opinions.

  Back to the boat now, Portia throwing herself at him, embracing him in a most improper manner. The chaperones on the shore clucked in disapproval, but he ignored them, overwhelmed by the scent of her hair, the feel of her skin on his face, the soft touch of her kisses, surrounded by the most joyful words he had heard before or since.

  “Of course. Of course, of course I will marry you.”

  A tapping at the door shattered his dream.

  “Legate General? Sir, are you awake? Your presence is requested in the command room.” The muffled voice came from the hallway.

  Regillus groaned as he pulled his aching body out from under the covers.

  “Give me a moment.”

  He threw some cold water onto his face, staring into the mirror at the dark circles and red-rimmed eyes peering back at him. What is this, the tenth day? Twelfth? He pulled on his lorica, dented but clean, over a new undershirt, one of the luxuries of being a legate general. He finished armoring up, attaching greaves, leg guards, his belt and hand repeater holster, and finally his sword belt and scabbard.

  He opened the door. A small party of legionnaires waited apprehensively. Their officer stepped forward, his youthful face serious with responsibility as he greeted the senior commander.

  “Sir, Underofficer Illios. The war council requests your presence immediately. Messages have come in and the Mongols are mobilizing.” He lowered his voice. “They say it is reinforcements. The Air fleet is bringing reinforcements!” The man, boy really, for his title, dropped his guard somewhat at the idea of rescue.

  “Very well. Take me to them.”

  A few short minutes later, they arrived in the same audience chamber that had seen Regillus facing down the provincial governor. Now the chamber had been fully over taken by the legions as a centralized command point. A Mobile Command Table dominated the center of the room, showing a perfect overhead view of the Antioch defensive citadel and surrounding territory. Officers positioned small figurines on the table, adjusted them as new information came in from scouts and observers.

  Regillus approached the table.

  “Give me an update,” he ordered. One of the new group of cohort commanders stepped forward and saluted. Tribune Wessox had been but a senior file leader less than two weeks ago, but now commanded fully one eighth of the remaining strength of the Syrian IV. From ten men to four hundred under his command, that is quite a leap in responsibility.

  “Sir,” Wessox started, “We began
receiving transmissions just over two hours ago from a relief fleet led by General Constantine Tiberius Appius. They are approaching Antioch from the north, with an estimated time of arrival to be tomorrow afternoon or evening.” He handed over a folded sheaf of papers. “These are the exact messages. Several of them are tagged for your eyes only, so I sealed them for you, sir.”

  Regillus thanked the officer and sat down on one of the many stools that surrounded the command table. He flicked his fingers through the sheaf of paper, reading each message slowly and carefully. A fast reader by nature, Regillus had long since learned the benefit of slowing down when trying to read important dispatches. Costly experience in a previous posting had taught him to read twice, act once, rather than make bone-headed mistakes.

  A half-hour elapsed. Regillus began to notice that the hall was filling up with more legionnaires and civilians than normal. No one interrupted him, save a single servant offering him a mug of hot, strong tea. Regillus gratefully accepted, the hot liquid fueling his body. It was then he noticed the larger population present.

  Of course, no soldier could resist spreading the word of the rescue fleet once they learnt about it. The room continued to fill, as the Antiochians, his people, waited for the official announcement.

  Regillus finished reading the last of the wireless message. An upwelling of emotion threatened to force tears from his eyes. He closed them tightly for a moment, drinking deeply from his tea rather than show his emotions. The general stood, walked to the dais at the head of the room. The soft leather of his boots whispered on the cool marble as he ascended up the steps, until he could turn and face the crowd that quietly gathered in his wake. Nervous now, he took a moment to calm his pounding heart.