Armenia Capta

by William Kelso

  Tensely Fergus watched, as the assault party, having expended their javelins, began to beat a hasty retreat towards the forest, dragging the screaming sentry with them. Now was the moment when he would spring his ambush but, as the seconds ticked by, no one emerged from the cave. A minute passed and still nothing. Then, with a whirling noise a pebble smacked into a nearby tree. It was followed by several more.

  “Slingers,” Crispus growled. “Looks like they are not coming out Sir.”

  “Shit,” Fergus hissed. “Order the Syrians to start shooting back at anything that moves.” His plan to lure the insurgents out into the open had failed. He had screwed up the attack and lost the element of surprise. Fuck.

  Close by, another deadly pebble went whining past and straight into a tree. In reply from different points in the forest arrows suddenly went flying directly into the cave mouth. But from where he was crouching, Fergus could not see any targets. The Armenians were keeping themselves hidden within the darkness. From the corner of his eye, Fergus saw Hiempsal hastening towards him through the trees with two of his men dragging the Armenian sentry along. The prisoner was still yelling and struggling. Hiempsal’s face was flush with excitement.

  “Shut him up,” Fergus cried out in angry voice and in reply, the Numidians flung the sentry onto the ground beside Fergus and stamped on his head. Then swiftly Hiempsal pressed one knee down on the man’s back, grasped hold of his hair, jerked his head backwards and said something in his own language, whilst placing a knife up against the sentry’s exposed throat. The result was instantaneous and the screaming stopped abruptly.

  “What do you want to do Sir?” Crispus asked as another pebble smacked into a tree and moments later an arrow went whirring into the cave.

  Hastily Fergus glanced up at the sky. He could besiege the cave mouth and wait until the insurgents ran out of food or water, but it was risky and it would take far too long. He had no idea what kind of supplies they might have inside the cave. Staked out around the cave mouth made him vulnerable to attack from other insurgent groups, who might be in the area. But there was a more urgent matter that had to be dealt with first.

  “Ask him if there is another way out of the cave and tell him that if I find out he is lying, I will have him crucified,” Fergus said as he turned to stare at the prisoner, who was trying desperately not to cut himself on Hiempsal’s knife. At his side, one of the Armenian scouts repeated the question in his language, slapping the prisoner in his face when he seemed not to be paying close enough attention. In reply, the prisoner cried out something in Armenian and shook his head vigorously.

  “He says there is only one way in and out,” the scout said.

  “How deep is the cave, how far does it go into the rock? How many men are inside?” Fergus said sharply, his eyes fixed on the squirming man.

  “Deep enough to give cover from arrows and spears,” the Armenian scout translated the prisoner’s words, “He says there are maybe sixty or seventy men inside. Another group left this morning to gather supplies. He says that they should be back before it goes dark.”

  Fergus exhaled slowly as he studied the prisoner.

  “Take him to the rear,” Fergus snapped. “Blindfold him and bind his hands and legs but keep him alive. He may still prove useful.”

  As Hiempsal and his men began to drag the prisoner away through the trees, another pebble thudded into a branch. Fergus took a deep breath and raised his fingers to scratch his unshaven cheeks.

  “Do you believe what he says Sir?” Crispus said as he gazed at the cave entrance some forty paces away.

  “He knows what will happen to him if he lies to us,” Fergus growled, as he too, turned to stare at the cave through the trees and undergrowth.

  “We could smoke them out Sir,” Crispus said, gesturing at the cave. “The men on the flanks could set a fire in front of the cave entrance. The smoke would force them out into the open.”

  “Yes, that worked well for us in Britannia,” Fergus said sourly. “But it will take too long and there is no wind. Besides the smoke will alert that foraging party that something is wrong. The longer we stay here the more of a target we are going to become.” Fergus groaned as he made up his mind. He should have done this when they still had the element of surprise. Now the job was going to be harder, much harder. His desire to minimise his casualties had made him choose the wrong approach.

  “Bring up the legionaries,” Fergus said turning to Crispus. “I will lead them into the cave and clear it out by hand. The legionaries have the right equipment for this job and they are trained in hand to hand combat. I know what they can do. But before we go in, it will be worth trying to see if we can get the enemy to surrender.”

  Crispus was silent for a moment, as he stared at the cave. Then turning to Fergus, he lowered his gaze, nodded and slithered away through the undergrowth.

  Tensely Fergus crouched on the forest floor and stared at the cave mouth and the brave Armenian guide, who was edging along the rock-face towards the entrance. Behind Fergus, kneeling on one knee, their large infantry shields resting against their bodies, the thirty heavily armoured legionaries were drawn up in two columns. The silent men looked grim, as they clutched their spears and awaited the order to advance. A few of the men were armed with burning torches.

  Out in the clearing nothing moved and all was silent. Then in a loud voice, the Armenian scout cried out something in his own language and, as he fell silent, Fergus took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the large legionary shield which he’d borrowed from one of the men. The shield’s grip seemed to bring back so many memories. At the cave entrance, nothing moved. No reply came and as the seconds turned into minutes and the silence continued, Fergus turned to Crispus.

  “They are not going to surrender,” he said harshly. “Order the Syrians to cover us as we move up. They are to cease shooting once we are in the cave. And once we are inside, order the Numidians to close in behind us. If it all goes tits up, then we shall need them to finish the job. No prisoners, they had their chance to surrender. Crispus,” Fergus paused as he turned to stare at the cave, “if something happens to me, give this letter to my wife.” And with that, Fergus quickly thrust a papyrus scroll into his standard bearer’s hands.

  Then turning to the legionaries kneeling behind him, Fergus cried out, “we go in wedge formation. I shall lead. Do not break formation. Watch out for slingers. Once we are inside that cave, kill everything that you meet. No mercy, no prisoners, no one comes out alive except for us. Are you with me?”

  “We are with you Sir,” one of the legionary squad leaders cried out.

  Grimly Fergus peered at the cave entrance and then, as the first arrows began to zip through the air and vanish into the darkness, he placed his splendid, plumed centurion’s helmet on his head; fastened the chin straps and then raised his fist in the air and rose to his feet lifting the large legionary shield up in front of him.

  “Wedge formation, form up, form up on me,” Fergus yelled and behind him the legionaries rose to their feet and hastened into a tightly-packed V formation, their shields overlapping with their comrades. “Follow me,” Fergus roared, as across the clearing, the arrows whined into the cave.

  And like a strange armoured beast, the wedge with Fergus at its very point, slowly moved out from the cover of the forest and into the clearing. Tensely, bent low and holding up his shield in front of him, Fergus headed straight towards the cave, keeping a sharp eye out for movement. At first nothing moved and the only noise came from the shuffle of the legionaries’ iron-studded boots on the stony ground. Then with a sudden clatter, a pebble smacked straight into his shield, falling harmlessly to the ground. It was followed by another that hit his shield and bounced away. Then a third stone whizzed past his head missing his helmet by inches.

  “Stay in formation, stick together,” Fergus roared, as he sensed the growing tension amongst the men behind him.

  Another pebble smacked into the ground in front of hi
m, bouncing up and striking his armoured greaves that protected his legs. Fergus bit his lip. His whole concentration was on the cave mouth now just ten yards away. In his right hand, he was grasping a flaming torch and the smoke was filling his nostrils and making his eyes run. Ahead he could still see no sign of the insurgents. With a loud bang, a pebble struck his shield making him wince. Then another stone struck the shield of the man behind him to his left. And a third struck one of the shields further down the wedge. Grimly Fergus kept moving forwards. When he was just a few yards from the dark, jagged hole, he flung his flaming torch into the cave and drew Corbulo’s gladius from its sheath. And as he did so, the rest of the men holding, their burning torches did the same illuminating the cave in a faint reddish flickering light. In the gloom Fergus suddenly caught sight of bodies lying scattered across the rocky, uneven floor and beyond them a group of grim, hard faces peered straight back at him.

  “Charge,” Fergus roared, as he caught a glimpse of the insurgents and, with a roar the legionaries surged forwards and flung their spears at the enemy. And at the same moment, the Armenians came rushing towards him. Fergus leapt forwards just as an Armenian axe thudded into his shield. Savagely he punched his sword straight into a man’s face and was rewarded by a sickening high-pitched scream. Around him, the cave was suddenly filled with screaming, yelling men as the Armenians swarmed around the tight wedge, hacking and stabbing at it with everything they had got. A hard blow struck Fergus’s shoulder armour, making him cry out. In the flickering fire light, he could barely see more than a few yards. But it was enough. Furiously he smacked his shield boss into a man’s face and stabbed at another opponent. Behind him the tight V shaped wedge had become blurred, as the heavily armoured and well-trained legionaries began to drive their unarmoured opponents back into the cave.

  Nearly tripping over a corpse, Fergus leapt forwards and, as he did so, something heavy smashed into his shield, sending painful tremors up his arm. Ahead of him in the darkness someone was roaring, a deep defiant voice filled with the hatred and malice of a man who knew he was going to die. Grimly, Fergus edged forwards and was rewarded by a devastating blow to his shield that sent him staggering backwards and crying out in shock and pain. From the gloom a huge man appeared, at least two heads taller than Fergus and in his hand, he was clutching a massive, spiked club. Raising it above his head, he was about to bring it down on Fergus’s helmet, when he was impaled by two Numidian javelins; the force of their impact sending the giant staggering backwards into the darkness. With a savage cry Fergus leapt forwards, kicking a burning torch that was lying on the ground deeper into the cave and, as he did so he caught sight of the giant. The man was on his knees groaning, his strength fading fast as he tried to pull the javelins from his body. Ruthlessly Fergus kicked the man in the head with his heavy, iron-studded army boots and as the man tumbled over backwards, Fergus lunged and stabbed him in the neck.

  Around him Fergus was suddenly conscious of more and more Numidian voices, shouting and yelling and, as he staggered backwards a hand suddenly steadied him and pushed him forwards. In the glow of the burning torches more and more of his Numidians appeared, finishing off the fallen insurgents with their javelins and short swords. As if awakening from a dream, Fergus realised that the fight was already over.

  Suddenly feeling the jarring pain in his shoulder, Fergus staggered out of the cave and into the daylight. The clearing was filled with Numidians running towards the cave and, from inside the cavern the horrific screams of the wounded and dying dominated everything. His chest heaving and his breath coming in gasps, Fergus dropped his shield, crouched in the grass and turned to stare at the cave entrance. The noise was beginning to subside and the movement of his men was slowing. Dimly he was aware of Crispus running towards him.

  “Sir, are you all right?” the standard bearer cried out in an anxious voice.

  “I am fine,” Fergus growled. “Have the men bring the enemy corpses out into the clearing and make sure that there are no insurgents hiding out at the back of the cave. Burn their bodies and tend to our wounded. We shall take our dead with us.”

  “Sir,” Crispus said, as he hastily crouched beside Fergus, examining him with an urgent and anxious expression.

  “I am fine, I took a blow to my shoulder, that’s all,” Fergus said in an irritable voice. “Now get moving.”

  “Sir,” Crispus said, stubbornly refusing to move. “The prisoner has been talking. He claims that he knows where Zhirayr is hiding. He says he can tell us how to find him.”

  Fergus closed his eyes and reopened them. Then silently he turned to stare at Crispus.

  “Zhirayr, the leader of these fucking insurgents,” he exclaimed.

  “That’s right Sir,” Crispus replied with a keen nod. “The man with a thousand denarii reward on his head. Think about how pleased Quietus will be if we were the ones to capture the rebel leader. Such an exploit will bring us fame Sir. Fame that is likely to be reported in the despatches that are sent back to Rome. You said you wanted to make the Seventh Numidian Cavalry Ala the finest in the army. Well here is our chance to prove ourselves to the world.”

  Slowly Fergus turned to stare at the cave entrance. The screams were subsiding and amongst the throng of Numidians moving in and out of the cave, he caught sight of some of his legionaries crouching on the ground, their faces and weapons soaked and stained in enemy blood.

  “Keep the prisoner alive Crispus,” Fergus snapped as he heaved himself up onto his feet and turned towards the cave entrance. “And carry out my orders. I will speak with the prisoner later when we have sorted out this mess.”

  “Very well Sir,” Crispus replied. “And here Sir; you will be needing this back,” he said, as he thrust a papyrus scroll at Fergus.

  Chapter Twenty-Four – Across the Roof of the World

  The fire crackled and spat, its embers glowing and dying in the warm night air. Around the camp fire Fergus, Crispus, Hiempsal and two of the Armenian scouts were sitting cross-legged on the ground, finishing off their evening meal in silence. Beyond them, spread out across the abandoned and ruined mountain village, the men of battle group “Fergus,” as the men had started to call themselves, were clustered around their little fires preparing for the night. And in the darkness, the soft whinny, stamp and snort of the corralled horses, mixed with the low murmur of voices and the crackle of the camp fires. A day had passed since the capture of the prisoner and the successful assault on the cave. Stoically Fergus raised his mug of cold mountain water to his lips and turned to stare into the darkness, in the direction of where the eight corpses had been laid out on the stony ground. They were dead because he’d fucked up, he thought sourly. He should have used his legionaries to attack the cave straight away, whilst they still had the element of surprise. Four legionaries had been killed in the assault on the cave, two more had succumbed to their wounds shortly afterwards and two Numidians had been killed by mistake by their own side, during the initial chaos inside the cave. And in addition to the dead, he had fifteen wounded, some badly and others unable to stand up. Fergus lowered his eyes and stared into the flames. It was not good enough to just want an optimal outcome. Reality often took a different path. He had been weak. He had tried to minimise his casualties and had ended up making matters worse. From now on all that mattered was getting the job done. A commander could not allow the fear of casualties to clog his mind. Men would die, it was the nature of war.

  “We need to discuss what the prisoner has told us,” Fergus said, as he turned to look up at the men sitting around the camp fire. “I want you all to speak your mind. Tell me what you think. Don’t hold anything back.”

  “Do you believe him Sir?” Crispus replied as he reached up to wipe his mouth with his hand.

  “I do,” Fergus said with a little nod. “And our Armenian friends here tell me they know the village which the prisoner mentions, and where the prisoner says Zhirayr is hiding.”

  “The village lies on the other s
ide of the mountains,” one of the Armenian scouts said quietly, picking at a tooth, “It is a ten-day ride from here at least. The place is high up in the mountains just below the permanent snow. If Zhirayr is hiding out there, then he has chosen a good location. The place is hard to approach, the mountain slopes are steep and there is little cover. If we approach from the main path coming from the valley we shall be spotted hours before we reach the village.”

  “I agree that capturing Zhirayr is a worthy objective Sir,” Crispus said quickly, “but we are also running low on supplies and we have wounded men who need attention; medical attention which we cannot provide up here. Maybe we should consider returning to HQ, report the news and then set out again to capture the insurgent leader.”

  “That sounds like a sensible thing to do,” Fergus replied with a thoughtful look. “But it is the wrong decision. It will take up time and if Zhirayr has already moved on by then, we shall have lost our one chance to take him. And as soon as news gets out that we know where the fucker is hiding, every unit in Task Force Red will be converging on that village. No, we cannot squander this opportunity. I want that man dead or alive and the Seventh Cavalry are going to get that reward. You are right Crispus, this is our chance to make the Seventh Cavalry famous.”

  Turning to the scouts, Fergus tapped his finger thoughtfully against his forehead. “You said if we approach from the valley,” he said, “are you suggesting that there is another way in which to attack the village?”