Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  Hostilius nodded and quickly returned with an armful of firewood.

  My facial expression must have given me away. With a frown, Segelinde turned to me. “If you are going to mock me rather than help me, find something better to do.”

  Hostilius scowled and everyone stared at me with disapproval.

  I returned his scowl and went to find Cai.

  He was ready with advice. “Good general know when defeated. Best withdraw from battle when outnumbered.”

  Cai was cleaning and packing my weapons and armour.

  He answered my quizzical look: “When clouds gather, soon rain fall. When messenger arrive wounded, soon we leave.”

  Chapter 3 – The Patient One

  Ulfilas regained consciousness before the sun rose the next morning, just like Cai had predicted.

  I had fallen asleep next to Aritê.

  Adelgunde came to call me. When I entered the hall, Segelinde was assisting the messenger to sip some ale. His appearance was still ashen, but his condition had improved markedly.

  He inclined his head to Segelinde and me. “I thank you for keeping me alive.”

  Segelinde nodded in acknowledgement.

  Ulfilas told his tale.

  “The iudex was on his way to visit his northern lords. Two hundred of us, his oathsworn, accompanied him. We were on our way to Lord Adosinda, whose lands border those of the Venedi.” He spat out the word ‘Venedi’.

  “Not five miles from the stronghold of Lord Adosinda we were ambushed by a large warband. Half of the oathsworn were killed. The rest of us, who survived, fought to save the life of the iudex. We fought as we retreated, eventually reaching the abode of the lord. The Venedi surrounded the fort with many hundreds of warriors.”

  He drank again to wet his throat. “I evaded the Venedi when night fell and stole two of their horses.” A smile touched his lips as he recalled the small act of vengeance.

  He shook his head slowly. “Teiwaz guided me as I rode through the forest slowly and carefully, but at first light, Lok played his tricks. I stumbled upon a clearing occupied by three Fennians.”

  “What are Fennians?” Marcus asked in his broken Goth.

  “Fennians are the closest a man can come to being an animal, without actually being one”, Ulfilas replied with disgust.

  “At first I thought that I had stumbled upon wolves feasting on a kill, but in the dim light one creature rose on its hind legs. Without hesitating I jerked the reins to avoid them, but one cast his axe before I was sheltered by the trees.” He gestured towards his wound. “If I had not moved, the axe would have split my skull.”

  “I rode for three days and three nights, only resting when the horses could no more.”

  He met my gaze. “Lord Eochar, the iudex requests that you visit him.”

  His message confused me, but Segelinde came to the rescue. “You have honoured your oath, Ulfilas son of Helyas. Rest now, you will be rewarded.”

  “Thank you, Princess”, he said and laid back down, exhausted by the exertion.

  She took me by the arm and led me away to my companions. She spoke in Latin. “I fear for my brother. He is in trouble, but he will not openly ask for help. It would show weakness. There are many Goth lords who wait in the shadows, ready to seize power.”

  “Roudolphos will surely help”, I said, “but there are only a thousand under his command.”

  “Is it not possible to ask his father-in-law, Ostrogotha the Patient, for assistance?” Marcus asked.

  Segelinde said: “Let me speak with Kniva’s wife.”

  While we waited for Segelinde, Hostilius asked: “Do you know why they call him ‘The Patient’?

  Cai added: “Patience is good virtue. He must be wise and benevolent king.”

  Segelinde soon returned. “She agrees with our plan, but said that her father is not an easy man to deal with.”

  “Is he not known for his patience? How difficult can it be to go speak to a patient king?” Hostilius said, then added: “Why do they call him that?”

  “Primus Pilus, I was told a tale that when he was but ten summers old, a warrior, a Goth champion, offended him. In which way, I do not know. Ostrogotha did not seek vengeance, knowing that he was no match for the older champion. Yet he did not forget, neither did he forgive.”

  “Ten years went by and Ostrogotha became a man. Only then did he challenge the champion to single combat. He inflicted terrible wounds on the warrior, but did not kill him. He patiently waited and guarded the body for a full day, allowing the man to die in agony. That is how he was given his nickname.”

  Hostilius mumbled: “Bloody misleading.”

  I immediately headed for the camp of the Heruli.

  I found Roudolphos sitting outside his tent. A few wild fowl were grilling over a slow fire while he shared ale with his comrades. He smiled when he saw me approach and raised his ale horn.

  “What message does Teiwaz have for the Master of the Runes?”

  I smiled. “I carry an urgent message from the war god, indeed.”

  The big Erilaz of the Heruli motioned for me to take a seat vacated by an underling.

  I explained all. “I suggest we ride north, to the border of the lands of the Greuthungi. I will then ride to Ostrogotha, to request his assistance.”

  He waved away my suggestion with a grin. “Ostrogotha is a difficult bastard, but fortunately for us, I know the bastard well. The warriors of the Heruli have fought for him many times.”

  He took a long swig from his horn and wiped his dripping beard with the back of his hand. “I will ride with you. But be warned, he is not one who gives without receiving. He will want something in return.”

  I spent the evening with Segelinde and my father-in-law, Hildebald.

  “The Heruli chieftain is right, Eochar. I suggest you pledge Kniva’s future assistance to the Greuthungi. You will need to make haste. I do believe Kniva is in much danger.”

  I spent a fitful night worrying about what I was getting myself into. The ways of the Goths were largely unknown to me, but I had no choice. Arash had taken the reins.

  Cai agreed to stay at home with Segelinde and Aritê. I left the following morning with Hostilius, Marcus, Vibius and the thousand strong warband of Heruli.

  It took three days to reach the borderlands of the Greuthungi. Roudolphos and ten of his oathsworn rode with me to find the king. On the second day we were intercepted by a Greuthungi patrol. They recognized the Heruli leader and we were escorted to the stronghold of Ostrogotha.

  The Greuthungi dwelled north and west of the Dark Sea, on the Sea of Grass. Unlike the Scythians, they lived mostly in one place.

  We approached the hillfort through a wide, flat river valley. Many hundreds of sunken floor dwellings lined the western bank. Sheep, horses and cattle grazed in small groups, watched over by wide-eyed herdboys. The track meandered through the settlement and rose towards the stronghold on the hill. The flat crest of the hill was unfortified, but the rocky landscape made the hill inaccessible to horsemen, except for where the track passed through the gated fissure. Roudolphos rode forward to gain us entrance, while I studied the defences. It would be difficult for men on foot to scale the rocky cliffs, but impossible for horsemen. On the Sea of Grass, the danger came from horsemen. The Goths had chosen well.

  Roudolphos and I were escorted into the stronghold. The Heruli’s oathsworn remained in the company of the guards. It was clear that the Greuthungi knew the mercenary well.

  The path rose gently and led to a flat piece of ground occupied by three wooden halls. I assumed that the large hall belonged to the king, but I was mistaken. We rounded the corner to the smallest of the three. In front of the hall, at least fifteen warriors were engaged in training with the sword. One of the men was older than the rest, his beard streaked with strands of grey.

  The king was of medium height, yet so broad in the shoulders that it gave him an awkward appearance. His shoulders and neck were heavily muscled, which spoke of c
ountless hours of sparring with a heavy blade. Despite his age, he appeared no less fit or lacking in ability. In fact, he bested the younger sparring partner, a tall, muscular warrior at least ten years his junior.

  King Ostrogotha clasped the arm of the warrior, signalling the end of the training. He removed his simple, yet well-made, iron helmet. Blonde braided hair fell to his shoulders.

  He sheathed his longsword. A magnificent weapon. Where the Thervingi favoured the spear, I had heard that the Greuthungi were fond of the double-edged longsword.

  Flanked by his oathsworn, the king strolled towards us. Both Roudolphos and I went down on one knee, inclining our heads as a sign of respect.

  “Prince Eochar of the Roxolani, is it not?” he asked.

  We remained as we were, as he had not given us permission to rise.

  “Yes, lord”, I replied.

  “I hear that Bradakos of the Roxolani is fond of you, the Heruli revere you, Octar of the Urugundi fears you, but Philip Caesar wishes you dead?”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “My son-in-law desires my assistance and you have come to ask me for it?”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “Come”, he said, walking back to the training area. He discreetly nodded to a guard who returned my sword. As I was not wearing a helmet, he threw his to a guard. He drew his sword.

  I was not ignorant enough to draw my jian. It is not allowed to draw your sword in the presence of a king without permission. I did not even allow my hand to rest on the hilt.

  “Draw”, he said and raised his sword in a two handed grip above his left shoulder. He stepped in, striking an immensely powerful vertical blow from left to right.

  My sword was free in a flash. I lunged forward and to the right, lowering the position of my body. I held my jian above my head, the tip pointing backwards with the blade angled towards the ground. His blade slid off the flat of my sword, not finding any opposition, unbalancing him. As his sword cleared mine, I stepped forward again, rising to my full height. I was perfectly positioned to dispatch him, as my sword was drawn back and his body was open to a strike.

  I returned to a simple guard position.

  Ostrogotha sheathed his longsword and narrowed his eyes. “They call you ‘Eochar the Merciless’, yet you did not strike”, he said.

  I grinned, “And they call you “Ostrogotha the Patient”, lord, yet you struck with the speed of a viper.”

  Roudolphos interjected: “Hygelac, the greatest champion of the Heruli, did not last a hundred heartbeats against Eochar. The magic of Hygelac was strong, yet it helped him naught. Prince Eochar walks with Teiwaz, of that I am sure.”

  Ostrogotha nodded. He gestured for the Heruli to follow him. “Come, walk with me, Prince Eochar. You and the Heruli will share a horn of ale with me while we talk.”

  He led us into the hall where a roaring fire was blazing in the hearth. An abundance of soft furs were scattered around the fire and he motioned for us to sit. He sat down on a low bench and a servant girl brought us horns filled to the brim.

  In the veins of the king flowed the royal blood of the Amalings, the descendants of Teiwaz. He was supremely confident and not one to mince his words or waste his breath on small talk.

  “Prince Eochar, I will not leave the husband of my daughter to die at the hands of the northern savages. A thousand of my horse warriors will join the Heruli. I cannot spare you more, as we are engaged in brutal conflict with the Alani to the east. In return, I will accept your pledge of assistance on behalf of the Thervingi Goths.”

  “I make that pledge on behalf of Kniva, lord”, I replied.

  “I require your personal pledge as well, Prince Eochar. You are here with me, not Kniva.”

  Ostrogotha was not only a fearsome warrior and leader of men. He possessed cunning. I could not withhold my pledge, for the sake of my wife’s family.

  I could feel the hands of Arash tightening on the reins.

  Resigned to my fate, I said: “I give you my pledge of assistance.”

  Ostrogotha visibly relaxed and he smiled for the first time since I have met him. “Our new alliance calls for a celebration. We will feast tonight.”

  Chapter 4 – Venedi

  On the morn of the second day following the feast, Roudolphos and I departed from the stronghold of the Amaling king with one thousand mounted Goths at our back.

  It was clear that the Greuthungi had benefited from centuries of subduing and fighting the Scythian and Sarmatian tribes. For one, they were excellent horsemen, unlike the Thervingi. The men were generally taller and leaner with some clearly displaying their Scythian heritage in their facial features. I am sure some of the men were purebred Alans, although I could not be certain.

  Ostrogotha entrusted his men to a general named Guntharic, subject to my command.

  We spent two full days on the road. Early in the morning on the third day, we sent a messenger ahead to warn the Heruli of our imminent arrival later in the day. The warband of the Greuthungi rode into the Heruli camp during the third watch, with Roudolphos, Guntharic and I at the head of the column.

  As arranged by Roudolphos, the Heruli warriors were ready to ride. At dusk, I called a halt. We made camp, and my companions and I joined Roudolphos and Guntharic around a blazing fire. While a deer was slow roasting over a spit, we drank ale and made plans.

  The Heruli pointed west and north. “There lie the lands of Adosinda, The Goth. We will cross into his lands just after the sun rises tomorrow. Thirty Roman miles from here we will find his stronghold.”

  “Do you have men who know this area?” I asked.

  The Erilaz grinned. “I have sent them already. They are wolf warriors, shape-shifters with strong magic. They wear skins and keep to the shadows.”

  He drank deeply from his horn. “The scouts will meet us tomorrow, ten miles from the fort. We will know the numbers of the enemy.”

  “Tell me about the Venedi and the Fenni”, I said.

  Guntharic was the one who replied. “The Venedi are known for their kindness towards travellers. When they feel that they have been wronged, they will strike back with a vengeance.” He looked at me and Roudolphos in turn, implying that somehow the barbarians had been wronged.

  He drank and continued. “The Venedi are a numerous and hardy race divided into a multitude of tribes ruled by minor kings. Some have taken to the ways of the Scythians and breed horses, but most live in the forests along the banks of rivers.”

  “It is not advisable to do battle with them in the woods. They are swift and know their way around the forests. They carry short javelins and oversized shields. Some tribes carry primitive wooden bows with short arrows.”

  My comrades had a good grasp of the language and Hostilius sighed a sigh of relief. “At least the arrows can’t hurt us. I hate arrows.”

  Guntharic grinned. “Do not be put at ease, Roman. They smear the wooden arrows with an evil potion. It is said that they have acquired the recipe from the Scythians.”

  I frowned, but my companions stared at him blankly.

  “I know of this”, I said. “It is called Scythicon. Many generations ago, a tribe far to the north and east, the Irycai, is said to have been given the recipe by Tapio, the spirit of the forest. Because of its potency, the secret is only known to the royalty and the most senior of shamans among my people.”

  “In the culture of the Scythians, a man may only use this against an enemy if he has been wronged in an evil way. The king has to give his permission.”

  Hostilius asked me outright. “You are a prince. Do you know how it is made?”

  I nodded. “I am oathbound not to share the method, but I will enlighten you. It is a blend of snake venom, human blood, dung and rotten flesh.”

  He pressed on. “What happens when one is injured by such an arrow?”

  I continued: “You start shivering within heartbeats. Then you vomit bile while the blood that seeps from the wound turns black and frothy. Not unlike this ale.” Hostiliu
s swallowed, a slow scowl of disgust appearing on his face. I added: “If that doesn’t kill you, the green rot that sets in will.”

  Guntharic added: “The warriors of the Venedi are most vulnerable when they are caught in the open, or surprised. They are familiar with the forest, so they will try to lure us into the dense trees or ambush us in a wooded area.”

  “And the Fenni?” I asked.

  “They live in the wild, as savage and base as animals. Furs are worn as clothing and they have no home apart from crude shelters woven from branches. Their main weapon is the battle-axe which they use in war and on the hunt. I have witnessed an axe kill a warrior at a range of forty paces. Some carry enormous wooden hunting bows, as tall as a man. The arrows are tipped with bone, not iron, but they are heavy and kill easily.”

  I looked towards Roudolphos for advice, as he was familiar with the area. “Do we have to travel through a forested area where there is danger of an ambush?”

  He nodded, smiling evilly, and I shared my plan.

  We left early the following morning. Before the sun rose over the hills, we had forded the shallow river that marked the boundary of the lands of Adosinda.

  Hostilius rode at my side at the head of a column of five hundred Heruli. The landscape was shrubby, as was to be expected of this area where the Sea of Grass slowly gave way to the dense northern forests. Visibility was good on both sides of the track and we rode at a slow canter without fear of an ambush.

  There was no sign of the returning Heruli scouts.

  We spotted dense trees in the distance two thirds of a watch later, having placed at least twenty miles between us and the overnight camp.

  All the warriors in the column wore full armour and their shields were held at the ready. Hostilius and I had brought our Roman issue legionary scuta. The large rectangular shields would serve us well.

  As arranged, we increased our pace as we entered the shadows cast by the huge oaks.

  The road straightened after we had travelled a quarter of a mile into the forest. In the distance I recognized the Heruli scouts.

  Their heads were prominently displayed on the hafts of spears rammed into the centre of the roadway.