Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  I slapped the Hun on the shoulder. “It is good to see you too, Gordas. By the way, my daughter sends her love.”

  Interestingly, Gordas viewed Aritê not as a child but as a princess, albeit a smaller version. He was visibly moved and suddenly turned serious. “Tell the princess that Gordas of the Huns is forever her servant.”

  I knew better than to make fun of his statement. “I will do as you ask.”

  With the Huns at my side, I rode to greet my friend.

  Passing the reins to a Hun warrior, I dismounted at a respectful distance.

  The king sat atop a magnificent straw-coloured stallion with a black mane, dwarfing my Hun horse, Simsek.

  Bradakos’s armour was of excellent quality, devoid of decorations or anything of an ornate nature. The King must have seen forty summers, yet it was clear that he was formidable. Once he had been the champion of the Roxolani. Bulging muscles were clearly visible where the thick scale armour did not conceal it. This was not a man who had succumbed to the temptations of an easy life. He was a warrior to the core.

  I went down on one knee and inclined my head in respect.

  “Rise, Prince Eochar of the Roxolani”, he said, smoothly dismounting as only a Scythian can. He clasped my arm. As always, I was amazed by the subtle message of power conveyed by his grip. Although he did not squeeze my arm, his grip was made of iron.

  Then he embraced me, sending a clear message to his underlings that I was a man who carried his favour.

  “I can feel in your grip that you have not grown soft”, he said and slapped my shoulder.

  With Gordas forming the vanguard, I rode in the company of the king, his noblemen following behind, allowing us to converse in private.

  “I see that you could not resist bringing Gordas along”, I said.

  “It is ever a good thing to remind the Goths to whom we are allied to, just in case they start getting ideas beyond their station”, he replied.

  “Kniva the Goth has given me much, but in here”, I hit my chest with my fist, “I am still a Roxolani.”

  Bradakos grunted his approval.

  “Will you fight against Rome?” he asked.

  I explained how it came to be that I gave a pledge to Ostrogotha the Patient. I told Bradakos how events have played out thereafter.

  “The Venedi and the Fenni are lethal within the confines of the forests and swamps. You did well to draw them into the open”, he said, fascinated by my tale.

  Despite his rough demeanour, he was a thinker. “Would you fight against me, against your own people, if the Greuthungi king demands it of you?”

  I couldn’t help but smile, as his words reflected thoughts I had wrestled with.

  For a second time that day I placed my hand on my chest and grinned. “I am a Scythian in there”, then I tapped my finger against my temple, “but, I am a Roman up here.”

  He nodded and returned my grin, understanding the unspoken words.

  “Now, let us ride with haste”, he said, “I cannot wait to see my granddaughter.”

  We made our way back to the Thervingi stronghold, finding that the Carpiani had arrived during our absence.

  I became acquainted with their king, Tarbus, three years earlier under less than ideal circumstances. The IV Italica, the legion we were affiliated to, entrapped a large warband of the Carpiani using scarce white Spanish horses as bait. I subsequently visited with the king, accompanied by my Carpiani friend, Thiaper, to negotiate a foedus agreement between the barbarians and Rome.

  While the kings greeted I kept a respectful distance. To my surprise, Tarbus motioned for me to join them. I approached, then went down on one knee and inclined my head.

  “You did not afford me the same level of respect last time we met, Prince Eochar?” he asked with an amused expression adorning his scarred face.

  “A Roman officer kneels only to his emperor”, I replied.

  “So what are you these days? If not a Roman, are you a Scythian? A Goth maybe?” He smiled a mocking smile.

  I had pondered on the same question for many moons so I was ready with an answer. I rose, not willing to play the humble underling for long. “My only allegiance is to Arash, the god of war and fire.”

  I delivered the words with a measured chill and I could see that it had unsettled him. He knew I was among friends, men who owed me their lives many times over. Men who would not lift a hand against me if I challenged him.

  A sudden, uncomfortable silence descended. Tarbus’s eyes darted from left to right and he smiled a thin smile. “It is good to see you, Prince Eochar.”

  “Thank you, Lord Tarbus”, I replied. I walked away.

  I arranged for Bradakos and his retinue to stay over at my home. The Carpiani have been allied to the Thervingi for years so we left Kniva and Tarbus to continue their discussions in private. We would feast together on our return from the Greuthungi.

  “What was that all about?” Bradakos asked when we were out of earshot.

  I sighed. “Bradakos, since my father was murdered, it feels as if something inside me has died with him. I will show respect where it is due, but I will not tolerate a man of the likes of Tarbus to humiliate me. As a prince of the Scythians, I was within my rights to challenge him.”

  My mentor grinned. “I have never been too fond of Tarbus. He is inclined to pettiness.” My friend chuckled. “He almost wet his pants when you rose and spoke of Arash.”

  “You may not realise it Eochar, but you truly have the gift to put the fear of the gods into people. They say that they see a glimpse of the wrath of Arash. Even Gordas has told me this. Not many men frighten Gordas.”

  I waved it away. “You imagine it, I am a reasonable man”, was my honest reply.

  “You know they call you ‘Eochar the Merciless’?” he added.

  I scowled.

  The arrival of the Roxolani delegation at my house had a festive feel about it.

  Segelinde had prepared for days. Even the normally dour Hostilius was drawn into the arrangements by Adelgunde.

  Aritê could barely contain her excitement at the arrival of the Roxolani. My daughter immediately ran to her eternal servant, Gordas, hugging him as he dismounted. Then she approached Bradakos, holding out her arms so he could lift her onto the horse.

  “Your horse is much bigger than Papa’s horse, Grandpa Brakos. Is it because you are a king?”

  Bradakos was fond of the little girl. “I have a larger horse so I can ride with Princess Aritê”, he explained, making a vital error.

  Although he clearly had the gift, he did not yet have experience with children. “So let’s go for a ride now”, she yelled excitedly.

  It ended up with Grandpa Brakos riding around the compound at least five times before Aritê became bored with the activity.

  That night we feasted.

  It was unlike the normal drunken celebrations of the barbarians. To me, the feast had all the elements of a family reunion, only without the conflict.

  That evening, when we entered the hall, we were all equals. There were no kings, no tribunes and no princes, only friends enjoying each other’s company.

  We were a close-knit group who had all shared hardship over time. Bradakos, Gordas, Elmanos, Cai, Hostilius, Marcus, Vibius, Felix and even Pezhman joined us around the table. Adelgunde still felt out of place and volunteered to look after Aritê. We missed Kniva’s presence, as he was also one of our inner circle, but he had to attend to his duties by entertaining the Carpiani delegation.

  When all were seated, I noticed an open place set with a plate as well as a mug filled with red wine. I tried to figure out who was yet to arrive. Segelinde stood then, which would have been a major breach of etiquette in a Roman family. Yet, among the Scythians, where women are the equal of men, it was normal.

  “There is one who is not with us tonight. He is the one who gave his life so that I may live. He is the one who traded his life for the life of Aritê. Tonight he is feasting in the Warrior Hall of Teiwaz,
with the heroes of old.”

  Felix rose. “He saved me as well, he did.” The old soldier raised his cup above his head, “this is for you, Nik, the last of the great Romans”, and finished his wine in one long swallow.

  We all followed suit, then I emptied Nik’s cup in the fire as an offering to Arash.

  By then I was nearly unable to speak. To my surprise, Bradakos and Hostilius’s eyes were also moist, which made me feel less embarrassed.

  I cleared the emotion from my throat with a deep swallow of red. “I will never forget my father’s sacrifice, nor will I forget the evil men who did him harm. I will have my vengeance. When? It is for Arash to decide.”

  From the corner of my eye I could not help but notice the approving nods of Bradakos, Gordas and Hostilius. These men were not plagued by the weakness of a forgiving nature.

  Despite the sombre start to the evening, we were soon laughing, drinking and retelling the tales of our shared adventures.

  We drank an acceptable red with a deep purple colour, which according to Segelinde, had “found its way” into the cellar of her brother. No doubt, spoils from a raid into Roman lands.

  Servants brought wooden trays stacked with boar, deer and wild fowl, all grilled over open flames. Hostilius soon made it known that he was the sole “sponsor” of the meat, having taken a liking to hunting.

  He nudged me with his elbow. “You know, Domitius, hunting boar is not that different from standing in the front ranks. You don’t have a shield, but you still get to kill the pig.” He continued to laugh loudly at his own attempt at humour. The Primus Pilus was no doubt gruff, but I have come to accept and love his rough and ready way.

  It dawned on me then that those around the table were my real family. People for whom I would sacrifice my life if it were required. I did not doubt that they would do the same for me.

  I slept fitfully that night, plagued by dreams filled with violence and angst, my visions obscured by the murk of the netherworld. Waking in a cold sweat, I could not remember the dreams nor interpret their meaning. When I look back at how events unfolded, I tell myself that I should have known better and realised that Arash had sent me a warning.

  We departed early the next morning. Too early for men who feasted and drank late into the night.

  Cai and Vibius remained behind, but Marcus, Hostilius and I joined Kniva’s delegation.

  Hostilius rode with Gordas, having an animated argument over which was the better weapon to hunt boar with. Spear or arrow.

  Many thoughts occupied my mind and I reined in to afford myself some time to think.

  Marcus soon fell in next to me. “You know Lucius, I always imagined that the barbarians attacked the lands of Rome on a whim. I now realise how wrong I was. This chieftain, Ostrogotha, seems like a clever one.”

  “He is very clever, Marcus. And he is a warrior, a hard bastard. Believe you me, he will have a plan, probably a good one. The challenge faced by these chieftain kings is to get other barbarian leaders to obey their commands. In this case Kniva, his son-in-law, is in his debt. The Carpiani king is, for all practical purposes, a vassal of the Thervingi and Greuthungi.”

  “So why did he deem it necessary to get you to pledge your assistance?” he asked.

  “He knows that I have some influence over the Roxolani. Ostrogotha has, no doubt, heard of my reputation as a messenger of Arash and Teiwaz. Should I fight at his side, the morale of the warriors will be high.”

  I grinned: “Disregarding the commands of a chieftain of another tribe is one thing, but to make light of the will of the god of war and fire? Well… that is another thing altogether, eh?”

  Marcus asked: “So does Mars, or Arash as you call him, really speak to you?”

  I was saved from answering by an almighty roar of thunder emanating from the near-purple clouds moving in from the north and west.

  Marcus stared at me, suddenly also a believer. “Did he speak to you now? In the thunder?”

  I grinned. “Yes, he is telling me it is going to rain.”

  Marcus scowled. The scowl disappeared in an instant and he held up both hands, palms open towards me, sensing my reluctance to discuss the subject. “I understand Lucius, and I apologize. What happens between you and the god is none of my business.”

  Hostilius and Gordas approached at a trot, then fell in beside us.

  The Primus Pilus proudly produced a hooded cloak from his saddlebag. “This is made from the pelt of a seal. One can ride with this in the rain all day, yet never feel the damp on your skin.”

  Gordas inspected the leather, clearly impressed. “What is a seal?” he asked.

  “In the cold seas to the north, lives a creature that resembles a dog without legs. Rather than legs, the gods gave it fins, like a fish.”

  Gordas was clearly not convinced. “A trading man once tried to sell me armour made from the skin of a dragon.” He pointed to a scalp, one of many adorning his saddle, and smiled his wolflike smile.

  Hostilius scowled while draping the cloak around his armoured shoulders. He looked less sure of himself, yet still rebuffed the Hun. “It is no tall tale, Gordas.”

  The Hun snorted indignantly and pulled his furs tighter as the first large raindrops fell. Then the heavens opened.

  Chapter 10 – The Crow (Mar 245 AD)

  The storm raged around us. Purple-black clouds made it seem as if evening had descended, although it was not yet noon. The heavy rain made it difficult to see more than twenty paces ahead.

  There was no shelter to be had, leaving us with no option but to keep our heads down and ride on.

  Veins of lightning illuminated the sky and the dirt track soon resembled a small stream. We were forced to travel parallel to the road to lessen the chances of the horses slipping in the mud.

  Within a watch the violent spring storm passed, leaving us all soaked to the bone. Except Hostilius, of course, whose clothes were drier than a camel’s arse. To his credit, he did not harp on the fact, but his half-smirk clearly said ‘I told you so’.

  The gods were kind enough to favour us with summery weather for the remainder of the journey.

  In the early afternoon on the fifth day after leaving the Thervingi settlement, we were fifteen miles from the stronghold of Ostrogotha, king of the Greuthungi Goths.

  Gordas rode at my side. Without turning his head he said in a low voice: “Men have been watching us from the hills for a while.” He sniffed the air. “ They smell like Goths.”

  I was not convinced that he was blessed with such an acute sense of smell, but I nodded as I had also become aware of the activity.

  “Be ready, Gordas, but I am sure that they are the scouts of King Ostrogotha”, I speculated.

  For a change, it turned out that I was right. We travelled another ten miles in the direction of the Greuthungi settlement when we noticed the dust stirred up by a small band of approaching horsemen.

  Anticipating the arrival of the Greuthungi king, his peers, Kniva, Bradakos and Tarbus, rode to the front of our delegation.

  Ostrogotha led the group of horsemen, which I assumed to be his oathsworn.

  His mount immediately drew my attention, a magnificent pure black stallion. Not as large as the Roxolani horses, but still an impressive specimen. Like Bradakos, his armour and weapons were workman-like. He wore no helmet, an indication of peaceful intent.

  Both parties came to a halt when they were twenty paces apart. Ostrogotha was the first to act, dismounting gracefully, followed by his hearth warriors. The visiting kings dismounted heartbeats later, as did the rest of us. It was considered an insult to be in an elevated position in relation to the king.

  He walked up to Kniva, embraced him, and spoke loudly for all to hear. “Welcome, son. It gladdens me to see you well.” He briefly clasped arms with Tarbus, the vassal king, then he turned to face Bradakos.

  Bradakos was half a head taller than Ostrogotha, but not quite as broad in the shoulders.

  The Greuthungi king extended
his arm and Bradakos clasped it in a sign of friendship. “Your reputation precedes you, King Bradakos of the Roxolani. Welcome to the lands of the Greuthungi.”

  Bradakos nodded, acknowledging his words.

  The Goth’s gaze drifted over our entourage and lingered on me for half a heartbeat. He inclined his head, ever so slightly, in recognition of my presence. I imagined a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

  He spoke to the kings. “Let us not remain here with parched throats. Come, join me in my hall.”

  The entourages followed forty paces behind, affording the kings an opportunity to converse in private.

  The hillfort of the Greuthungi was close by and soon we walked our horses through the natural gap which provided the only access to the summit of the hill. The top of the hill was flat, surrounded by rocky cliffs inaccessible to horsemen. In times of danger, the townsfolk and warriors living in the sprawling settlement would seek refuge within the natural fortifications. They would bring enough food and livestock to endure a short siege. Ample water was available from a spring on the summit. The enemies of the Greuthungi were the horse warriors of the Sea of Grass. Not the type of men who possessed the patience for a protracted siege.

  I took time, as was my habit, to study the defences. I tried to identify weaknesses and thought on how I would attack this position, as well as the manner in which I would defend it.

  Before he entered the hall, Bradakos walked over to me.

  “The kings will now gather in the hall of Ostrogotha. We have suggested that, as is the custom, we will all be accompanied by the war leader of the tribe. I have asked Elmanos to join me.” I felt relieved that I would not have to partake, but slightly insulted as well, for obvious reasons.

  He smiled. “We all agreed that there is no doubt that Arash speaks through you. When you take the field, all know the outcome of the battle. Kniva shared with us what you had done in the lands of the Sasanians.” He lowered his voice. “Although Tarbus has not acknowledged it, Thiaper has told me how you had humiliated the Carpiani. Ostrogotha specifically asked that you join us.” He thought for a moment, then added: “If he had not, either Kniva or I would have insisted.”