“I have news. A great and mighty air fleet led by the Emperor himself has been sent to Antioch. It shall arrive tomorrow night, if the gods of wind and air are kind.” Before he had finished, a great cheer erupted, men and women leaping and embracing in an outpouring of all the emotions hidden deep since the beginning of the siege. Regillus motioned them down with his hands, waiting for the tumult to subside. His voice cracked as he spoke the next words.
“Although they will be coming here to Antioch, they are not here to take the fight back to the Mongols. They… they are here to evacuate the city. All civilians and legionnaires will be evacuated. The city will not be saved. Antioch is to be abandoned to the Mongols.”
The emotions of the crowd turned from jubilation to anger.
“I never believed I would see the day when Rome runs away.”
“Those barbarians killed my family, and now we are going to let them get away with it?”
“If they are not going to help, then I say we do not need them. We can hold off the Mongols on our own!”
Mastering his own emotions, Regillus finally shouted over the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Be reasonable here. It will take a massive mobilization effort to defeat the Mongols, and we would not be spared any additional soldiers. Antioch is, frankly, unprepared for a siege. It is only by sheer luck that we have held out this long. By fate, the city should have fallen twice over. Do not despair! This is not the end of Antioch. You are Antioch.” He pointed at an especially vocal woman in the audience.
“As long as you survive, Antioch survives. And you. And you, also. While one of you breathes, Antioch survives. Like the ancient Trojans fleeing Troy, while one of us survives, the dream, the knowledge, the majesty that is our city survives. And I, Marius Quinctius Regillus, scion of my family, heir to the fortune of the Quinctius trading house, swear that I will do all in my power to return Antioch to its former glory.” The crowd had fallen silent. Regillus took a deep breath.
“So take this opportunity to prepare yourself. You may bring no luggage or possessions with you aboard the airships, as we must use every spare foot for people. I will be sending out legionnaires to group you into embarkation teams, with assigned postings to specific airships. So spread the word, listen to my men, and remember the rules. May the gods watch over you.” Regillus could feel his legs turn to jelly, but somehow forced himself to remain standing while the crowd dispersed.
Ioannes approached, once more garbed in the silks and cloth of a merchant, rather than his armor. A terse smile appeared on his face, although his hooded eyes were full of worry.
“Well done, legate general. That was a masterful speech. If I did not know better, I would say you were a master politician.” Regillus shook his head, taking a seat on the top step of the dais.
“Perhaps just learned from the best, then?” Ioannes continued. “Nevermind that, we still must hold out for another night. And I have come from the eastern ramparts. Something is happening. I took the liberty of mounting up my bucerelli and your reserve forces.”
“Show me.” Ioannes motioned him towards the command table. Regillus strode over, the merchant jogging slightly to keep up. Several other officers gathered around the table at Regillus’ gesturing. Ioannes pointed to a section of the river where it wound close to the eastern ramparts.
“It is the natural point for them to attack.” Stated Engineer Monventus from across the table. “Narrow enough to actually cross with minimal effort, and with plenty of buildings still standing to cover their approach.” Ioannes nodded in agreement.
“Some of the men on the walls have heard wagons moving and the sound of pickaxes.”
“We will have to rotate the men more frequently tonight. With just another day till the fleet arrives, we can push through. Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve?” Regillus asked. The other man placed a grimy finger on his cheek, thinking hard.
“I may be able to come up with something, but…”
“Don’t plan on it?”
“Exactly. I presume you do not need me for a while?”
Regillus shook his head, waving the man off. Here’s hoping he can come up with something to save us yet again.
Hours later, Regillus stood atop the ramparts, feeling the last warm rays of the sunlight on his back. Along the wall, dozens of legionnaires stood at their posts, staring out into the half ruined city on the other side of the river. Massive towers punctuated the walls every five hundred feet or so, topped with ballistae and heavy repeaters. These death-dealers would occasionally fire into the smoke-scorched ruins, firing at the smallest sign of movement. The wall section commander was giving Regillus a brief situation overview.
“No reports yet, sir. The Mongols continue to shift men and manpower, but we do not know where they are going. They keep muddling around that construct opposite the main gate, but…” The officer paused, unsure about voicing his concerns to his commander.
“Go ahead man, speak. I appreciate your assessment.” Regillus spoke gruffly, still getting used to how the junior ranks viewed him, or rather, his position.
“It’s like they are waiting for something. And we cannot see what they do each night, but the sounds of squealing are worse than a thousand wagon wheels in Roma Central. They are moving something, but it is small enough that we cannot see it, or locate where they went during the daylight. But it is also heavy enough that the wheels are under a lot of weight.”
Regillus was impressed with the man’s knowledge.
“How do you know all this?”
“I was a cargo master before I joined the legions. Wheels squeal when going fast or carrying something heavy.”
“That must mean cannons then. Only slow and heavy thing a Mongolian army is likely to have,” Regillus quipped as he thought aloud. The other officer nodded.
“Thank you for your assessment, underofficer…”
“Centurion Tiberian Lupercenus. Originally Civic Legion, now permanently part of the Syrian IV.” The underofficer saluted and Regillus moved off down the ramparts, moving towards the gatehouse further south of the tower. He had just turned, where the wall went to the southwest following the river, when the opposite bank lit up. He stood, stupefied at the incredible barrage of light and sound.
Cannons.
The Mongolians must have spent the last several nights maneuvering cannons into position, aiming and targeting the cylindrical towers that studded the battlements, then camouflaging them amongst the ruins. But they still can’t charge over open water…
That problem was solved when, with a second massive roar of masonry and explosions, one of the towers to the north toppled into the river, along with a large section of the adjoining wall. Lit by the cannon fire, Regillus could see men and machines thrown from the ramparts as the wall collapsed.
As the smoke cleared, the cannons ceased firing. A deafening quiet descended the battlefield. Regillus reassured the men around him, who were beginning to panic.
“Remain at your posts!” Regillus ordered. “Make them fight for every step! Keep a steady eye, men! The Mongols will test us soon enough. Centurion, I need a demi-cohort here to accompany me to the breach,” he demanded. The shell-shocked centurion nodded without speaking as half of his manpower was pulled away.
Regillus raced back to the central compound. The advantage of being besieged on such a small island was more apparent when having to move from one place to another. Several messengers accosted him along the way, requesting instructions and directions.
“Stay at your posts and prepare to repel an enemy assault.” He repeated to each panicked courier, attempting to calm the jittery soldiers.
Inside, Regillus’ own body was in upheaval. Shock, surprise, and fear warred with each other to dominate him. Taking advantage of their disorganization, Regillus fought through his own feelings to demonstrate his calm, consistent demeanor. He only slipped once, when an aide from the main gate commander asked for orders a remarkable fourth time. Los
ing himself, Regillus screamed at the man.
“If your tribune does not seem to understand those orders, legionnaire, then by the gods’ I will come down there, take command, and send him outside the walls with just a knife. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” With that, the messenger fled, his cape streaming behind him.
“Legate General, where would you like me to position my bucerelli?” Ioannes asked. He had been woken from sleep, and was only looking more functional after having downed a large, steaming mug of tea.
“At the breach, along with our central reserve. The fallen tower here,” Regllius tapped the newly updated three-dimensional map. “Drive back the Mongolian forces and make them bleed,” Regillus growled. The entire siege was balanced on the edge of a sharp gladius, and Regillus knew that every minute he wasted giving orders was one that allowed the Mongolians more time to organize their assault.
Ioannes saluted.
“Save me a space on one of those airships,” he quipped. Regillus gave a short chuckle.
“Let’s make sure we both get a space. Alive.”
The young legate general clasped his fist to his chest. “May Mercury grant you his speed, and your Christ watch over you.”
Ioannes made the motion of a cross on his chest, then turned in a flash of cloak. His personal bodyguards formed up around him as he swept out of the room. Regillus turned to his other advisors, their faces grim.
“How far away is the relief fleet, Hypatos Junic?”
“About four to six hours away, my general. That of course, depends on wind, cloud cover, their ability to navigate…”
“So you’re saying plan for six, prepare for eight or more?”
The former governor’s aide shrugged slightly, eyes rereading the last reports in an attempt to glean additional details. A brief pause, then his dark eyes met Regillus’.
“Sir, I’m saying plan for twelve hours. We must hope they make better time.” The words were heavy in the air, the other advisors staring down at the table, as though examining the information would yield different results. Regillus forged ahead.
“I see. And all civilian populations have been secured at the airfield?”
“As many as we could fit, sir. The rest are here in the palace.”
Regillus strode to the large open windows that looked north, out over the Orestes River. A small, sheltered harbor protected by large towers and a thick metal portcullis, raised via pistons and winches, framed the view. Moonlight shone down, reflecting off the river. Unnatural motion on the river drew his eye. He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the river. At first, he saw only the moonlight and waves.
“Sir?” an officer asked, curious. Regillus ignored him.
There!
“Centurion Eruminus. Get a messenger to the northern river towers immediately. Tell them to prepare for an assault.”
“Sir? But the Mongols are all focused on the wall breach.”
“Boats, man! The Mongolians have a second assault planned. While our attention is at the breach, they’ll sneak in our back door.”
Regillus handed his binoculars to the centurion.
“Keep an eye on them from here. I will take the civilian reserve and the city watch to assist in the defense.”
“My lord, I could send for a cohort or two from the reserve…”
“No! All of our legionnaires are needed at the breach. That must hold until the air fleet arrives. Civilians can better defend from the wall defenses anyways. Keep me appraised.” The centurion saluted numbly, before turning back to watch the wave of Mongolian boats float down the river.
Regillus motioned to his small bodyguard unit, the excubitors, elite soldiers closely connected to the famous Praetorian Guard in Rome. They practically oozed lethality as they navigated their way through the packed corridors, weaving their way between the small knots of refugees taking shelter from the Mongolian attack.
“Make way for the legate general! Make way!” His signifer excubitor ordered. The governor had been provided with ten for his rank, yet only four had remained behind when the coward fled the city. These men had offered their loyalty to Regillus, as de facto leader of the city. A clear passage allowed Regillus to speed up, and they soon arrived in a small courtyard. His excurbitors formed up behind him, their top rated equipment and armor shinning in the moonlight. By contrast, the men in the courtyard were a motley assortment armed with scavenged weapons of every type.
With the fall of the city, the civic legion had been folded into the remnants of the Syrian IV. Their counterparts, the city watch, were equally depleted, many of their rank being dual members of both legion and watch. A wounded legionnaire made his way forward.
“General sir! Decanus Putriskus reporting for duty!” The man’s words slurred slightly, and he adjusted the bandage wrapped tightly around his head. “My…charges…are ready, if you are facing a pack of schoolboys. Now against the Mongols… well, they’ll do about as well as you expect, sir.” He turned around to face the roughly hundred citizen reservists.
“Alright you lot, straighten up and form ranks. Show some respect for the general here and look sharp!” The civilians shambled their way into lines. Regillus knew he would have to keep his orders simple. He spied volunteers with the look of street toughs, grey haired mustered out legionnaires, and young men, barely more than boys, all deemed ‘fit’ for service. How can these men hold out against trained, vicious killers? How can I ask this of them?
“Because if you do not, sir, we all will die anyways,” the closest excurbitor, Lamous Tuosokes, whispered to him. Regillus realized he must have spoken aloud. He gave a quick nod.
“Men, the time is dire. The Mongolians have breached the citadel walls and are even now crossing the moat. But they are devious and have decided to strike from the rear as well! You are the last line between your families and the enemy. Will you follow me?”
In response, Regillus received a deafening cheer of assent.
With no time to waste, Regillus led them to the north wall. Dividing his force in two, he positioned his least able bodied men atop the ramparts, alongside the scant handful of Syrians manning the artillery. At the water gate, Regillus positioned his demi-cohort, mostly made up of the retired legionnaires and youngest men. Some part of him hoped that the portcullis and wall defenses would stop the Mongols, but Regillus refused to hold out much optimism. So far, the easterners had surprised and outwitted him at every turn. This time, he would not be fooled so easily.
Quickly, he ordered his men to build a barrier. Barrels, bags of flour, anything the men could get their hands on went into this barricade along the riverfront. Facing north, the entrance to the small harbor funneled right between the two towers, the dock able to fit only two or three small riverboats at a time. The river continued to flow under the citadel through a series of gated channels, disappearing from view under the stone streets. The harbor was empty now, the only riverboat having left days ago.
The artillery pieces on the ramparts opened up on the Mongols. Regillus could hear the clacking of the heavy repeater crossbows as they loaded each foot-long bolt and launched it across the water.
“Sir!” Decanus Putriskus shouted down at him from the wall. “The Mongols have some type of fireboat!” Vulcan’s ashes, there is probably gunpowder on those fireboats…
“Sink the fireboats! Do it now! All fire on them!”
The whine of the artillery fire increased on the wall top. Craning his head over the barricade, Regillus was able to spot at least three fireboats floating down the river towards the harbor. Two had only small fires on them, but the third was awash in flame. Rocks and missiles from the walls lashed angrily out at them, large splashes betraying close misses. Crash! One of the boats seemed to founder, a lucky strike hitting the rudder and holing it at the water line. Cheers echoed down from the wall top. Even holed in such a way, I remember someone telling me how long it takes wooden boats to sink…
“Only two more…,” someone close to him was saying w
hen the third boat exploded. As he had predicted, the boat was packed full of gunpowder. The fireball was blinding as the boat disappeared in a blaze of yellow and orange. The blast wave shattered windows and tossed parts of the barricade up into the air.
Regillus leaned heavily against a barrel to ride out the explosion. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to shake off the searing afterimage of the erupting fireboat.
There is another boat, Regillus recalled. He craned his head around, but could not see the last fireship. Where had it gone?
“Status report! Where are the other ships?” Regillus shouted up at the wall. The decanus’ head reappeared in a moment.
“Sir! Both fireships are gone! The explosion must have blown them to pieces!” Putriskus crowed. “The rest are pulling off and beaching themselves on the river bank. Looks like they’ll try and join up with their barbarian comrades in the city.”
A feeling of relief swept over the reserve cohorts. Men smiled and clapped each other on the shoulders in solidarity. Meanwhile, Regillus was debating his next move when a messenger cantered up on horseback. The animal whinnied nervously, no doubt still smelling the sulfurous aftereffects of the explosion. But the man’s face was a huge half moon smile.
“Sir! The air fleet has arrived. They are landing as we speak!”
“How is this possible? We would have seen them from the north…”
“They came from the west, sir, to avoid the Mongols and their new weapons.”
For a moment, Regillus could do nothing but gape. The news spread quickly amongst the men. Relief was here! They were saved! Regillus knelt and placed a gauntleted fist on the ground, giving thanks to the gods for seeing to their rescue.
Day Twelve: Evacuation
“Mongolian forces have taken the breach. Mongolian forces have taken the-” Centurion Wessox looked up from the transmitter, his hand paused over the message pad.
“Sir, the message ended…”
“That came from tower twelve?” At Wessox’ nod, Regillus sighed. It was the closest tower and thus the site of the temporary frontline headquarters established by the defenders at the breach. The telegraph station kept citadel and breach in constant contact.
Antioch Burns Page 7