Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  I moaned while Vibius grinded his teeth, beset by spasms.

  Vibius continued: “They cut out the eyes and tongues of all the officers. Then they killed them, using their horses to pull off one limb at a time. I can still hear their screams in my head.”

  Another soldier entered the room. “Prefect, there are thousands upon thousands of Scythians outside the wall. They are not attacking, but moving north towards Izbasesti.”

  By now the plump prefect was white as a newly bleached tunic.

  Vibius finished off: “The last thing our tribune told us before we got separated, was to get a message to Urlueni. He said to say that all was lost. They are too many too resist. He said to call for the legions. It is a full-scale invasion.”

  The prefect was convinced. “We will leave immediately. Our duty is to alert the legions. We will not fail Rome.” I could not help but wonder whether his first loyalty, in this case, was to himself.

  Within less than a third of a watch, the garrison of Urlueni was marching west at pace.

  To his credit, the patrician prefect was last to leave. As he passed us by on his magnificent gelding, he paused: “Will you be travelling with us?” he asked although he already knew the answer.

  “We will make our last stand right here, sir”, Vibius said and drew his gladius.

  “Go with Fortuna”, he said, “I salute you, you are truly sons of Mars”, and spurred his horse to catch up with the infantry marching away at double pace.

  When the last legionary disappeared into the distance, we removed the bandages and discarded the boar intestines. Then we washed the stinking pig’s blood off in the horses’ drinking trough. Having neatened up, we walked the three hundred paces to the limes to open the twin gates.

  The Scythian invasion had begun.

  Chapter 15 – Roman feast

  A smiling Gordas was the first to ride through the gates, leading Simsek. Hostilius rode alongside, leading Vibius’s mount.

  We were waiting for them, greeting them as they entered.

  The hulking Hun smiled broadly. “My friend, the children of our children will tell of this. For generations the name of Gordas will resound across the Sea of Grass. They will tell of Eochar the favourite of Arash, Vibius the speaker of tongues and Hostilius the hunter.”

  Vibius and Hostilius grinned. Praise from Gordas was rare.

  “Gordas, the Roman auxiliary cavalry stationed at the nearest forts will come to investigate. We need to be ready”, I interjected.

  “Do not be concerned”, he said. Within heartbeats the Huns split into two groups of half a thousand each. They galloped north and south respectively. The Roman auxiliaries would be annihilated.

  The sun was low in the sky when the last of the Scythians rode through the gate.

  Bradakos and Elmanos were with me, watching the army enter into Dacia. “We have to destroy the gates”, I said.

  Bradakos nodded. “See to it, Elmanos.”

  Elmanos inclined his head. Before long the warriors were removing the stakes from the palisade. They used the wood to build a bonfire within the gate complex which would have made the god of fire proud.

  While the flames raged to the heavens we dined in style. Roman style.

  Marcus, Hostilius and I sat with Bradakos and Gordas. Tarbus presented some or other excuse, while Cai insisted on meditating in private. A dead tired Vibius declined and was probably already asleep. We felt safe since the army camped all around the fort. A thousand Urugundi, five thousand Carpiani and eight thousand Roxolani.

  The Roman auxiliary officers had departed in a hurry, leaving behind pantries stocked with food, and cellars filled with wine.

  The cook of the rotund prefect had prepared most of the dinner before the bad news arrived. Wisely he chose to depart with his master’s contingent.

  From the store we removed haunches of cold smoked pork. I even found a small amphora of the scarce and expensive garum made from mackerel.

  On the table were bowls filled with roasted chick peas, dates, pomegranates, pears and apples.

  Freshly baked white bread was heaped on a special server next to a bowl filled with wine for the purpose of dipping. It was accompanied by seeded grapes, olives and soft cheese.

  On a separate platter, a variety of fruit tartlets were stacked, made with plums, pears and figs. Next to it, a bowl of honey.

  We greedily swallowed down the food with gulps of excellent wine. The Roman prefect may not have been a military man, but when it came to food, he was a connoisseur.

  Earlier, while Elmanos was firing the gates, Marcus and I took the opportunity to search the office of the commanding officer. He had left the office untouched when he departed in haste, as it was not a requirement for survival. There we found what we were looking for. A scroll, marked as Itinerarium Dacia Traiana, a detailed diagram of the roads and towns in the province. It showed distances between towns and additional detail such as ‘river shallow and crossable’ or ‘steep, treacherous ground’. To us, it was priceless.

  Before my friends became too intoxicated I unrolled the scroll and weighted it down with amphorae of wine.

  Hostilius, as an ex-Primus Pilus of a legion, was familiar with an itinerary. “It is better than finding a hoard of gold.”

  Gordas stared at him in utter disbelief.

  The Hun who, as usual, consumed wine at a faster rate than the rest of us, leaned over the table, supporting himself on his open palms pressed flat on the table.

  “I have seen the magic markings of the Heruli. These strange markings are similar.”

  He swallowed another mouthful. “This is strong magic? Do you have to chant these spells during battle?”

  “These markings are better than magic, Gordas, it tells me where to find loot in the land of Dacia. It shows me how many days it will take to reach towns and warns me of dangers on the road.”

  “Ha! I knew it. It is magic then”, he said, sitting back down. “I will spread the word among the warriors that Eochar has found the Roman magic that will give us victory.”

  I decided to rather change the subject as soon as possible before Gordas suggested a sacrifice in order to thank the gods for their gift of magic.

  “Bradakos, you have done well to persuade Tarbus to relent on his idea of a frontal attack on the limes. I have never thought of you as a diplomat.”

  He scowled. “Why do you think Tarbus is not here tonight?”

  I shrugged.

  “I told him that if he goes ahead with the attack, the Roxolani and the Huns would attack him in turn.”

  Gordas interjected. “You treated him well, king Bradakos, although it was not necessary. The Roxolani are stronger. Also, the Huns support the Roxolani.”

  Gordas was ever the practical type. I noticed Hostilius nodding in response to Gordas’s view.

  Bradakos continued, having said enough on the topic of Tarbus. “We need to move quickly. Now that we have breached the eastern limes, the legions will mobilise.”

  “There are two Roman legions in Transsilvania. The V Macedonica at Potaissa and the XIII Gemina at Apulum. Some cohorts might have been sent to counter the Gothic invasion in Moesia.”

  Gordas asked: “How do you know?”

  I motioned to the scroll, still spread open on the table. “The markings told me.”

  He smirked, convinced he was right about the magic.

  Bradakos silenced Gordas with a look. “Eochar, we need to get into Transsilvania. These lands around us are poor, but the land beyond the forest and the mountain is a rich and prosperous land.”

  Hostilius, Marcus and I studied the document.

  “I believe it is best to head north, crossing the mountains through the Bran Pass”, Hostilius said.

  “It is the closest, but it is well defended by forts”, Marcus added. He bent over the scroll and smiled. “They are wooden forts, though.”

  Bradakos was now in the lands of the Romans, an enemy he knew little of. He looked at me, a Roman, for
approval, and I nodded.

  “It is decided. Tomorrow we ride north”, he said, and refilled his cup.

  Chapter 16 – Paduroaia

  On the morrow the Scythians were slow to rise. Most of the warriors had passed out the previous evening, not being able to control their consumption of looted wine.

  A third of a watch after sunrise the hungover army slowly took to the Roman road. Bradakos was all but satisfied. “We are in the lands of the Romans, the most feared warriors in the known world. What do we do? Drink ourselves into a stupor!”

  I raised my open hand. “Peace, Bradakos. What did you expect? That they would only each have two cups, go to bed early and rise at first light?”

  The king scowled, ignoring my comment. “How far to the pass that gives access to Transsilvania?”

  I had studied the itinerary. “Eighty miles, if we follow the Roman road. Though there are many auxiliary forts along the way. It could take us many days to destroy them. Only a fool would leave an enemy at his back.”

  I watched as bands of Urugundi rode off in all directions. There would be no chance of us being surprised.

  On the day, the Roxolani would form the vanguard of the army. I rode alongside Bradakos and Gordas with my companions following close behind.

  We had barely travelled five miles north when a Hun scout on a lathered horse galloped to report to the Hun commander.

  The warrior smiled broadly. “There is no one at the fort, lord. The Romans have left everything behind that they could not carry with them. There is much loot.”

  The Roman fort at Izbasesti was deserted. Bradakos called a reluctant halt to allow the warriors to strip the place of anything of value left behind by the fleeing garrison. Gordas cantered away to attend to a special task I had given him.

  Before long, a scowling Bradakos was issuing orders to his commanders in order to get everyone moving again. Gordas trotted up to us with seven Huns riding at his back. They escorted three clearly terrified locals.

  The little party came to a halt fifty paces from us. They exchanged words and the peasants nodded their heads vigorously. Two were escorted down the column, while Gordas approached with a single villager in tow.

  The Hun commander reined in beside me. “Greetings, Eochar. I have been fortunate enough to find three local men who have volunteered to be our guides.”

  I spotted a freshly taken scalp adorning his saddle. “And that?”

  Gordas grinned. “He did not wish to volunteer.”

  Marcus arrived just then. “Lucius, the army will soon be advancing north, the king wishes for us to join him.”

  I turned to face our newly acquired guide. “Do you understand the language of the Scythians?”

  “Yes, lord”, he said. “Tell me about the road to the pass through the mountains which gives access to the land beyond the forests. How do we travel to get there?”

  He pointed north. “We follow this Roman road, lord, while we keep the Cotmeana River on our left.” His eyes kept flicking to Gordas, who wore a mildly smug expression. The guide swallowed nervously and continued. “We travel north as far as a man can walk for a day, great lord. Then at the Roman fort, the one we call Sapata, we turn north and east.” Again he glanced at Gordas, who stared back at him devoid of emotion.

  “Once we turn to the east, lord, it is but a single day’s travel until we reach the Arges River. There is a bridge there, lord. And a great fort there lord, across the river, filled with the fierce warriors of the legions, lord.”

  Hostilius studied the itinerary while the scout was babbling. “It matches the directions on this”, he said, and replaced the scroll in a pouch attached to his saddle.

  I nodded to the guide. Gordas nodded his approval and the man visibly relaxed.

  “Vibius, please escort this man to the vanguard”, I said, pointing to the guide. “We will join you shortly.”

  I scowled at the Hun. “Gordas, stop scaring our guide. He can hardly speak. What did you tell him?”

  Gordas grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “These filthy dirt-eaters are unreliable, Eochar. I merely told him that I will get a second opinion from the other two local guides. If their story differs from his, all of them will lose a finger on the first transgression, scalps on the second.”

  “You will do no such thing, Gordas”, I said and smiled, “but I promise not to tell the guide.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes.

  Bradakos was happy to be on the move again. “Eochar, why have the Romans withdrawn from the fort?” he asked.

  The same thoughts were milling around in my mind, therefore I had an answer at the ready. “Bradakos, the limes has been built to keep barbarians from trickling across the border. More importantly for Rome, they wish to tax trade goods. Roman limites were never intended to stop a full-scale invasion, but only to delay it, to give the legions time to respond. It is of no use to them to sacrifice the garrisons.”

  I added, “Also, the limites are very useful to trap an invading army once they have entered.”

  Bradakos nodded. Marcus added his bit. “They will surely try do delay us near the pass through the mountains. It will allow the legions in Transsilvania time to mobilise.”

  We wished to travel fast, yet it was important to ensure that we would not be trapped by the legions. At five mile intervals, Bradakos tasked warriors to fill a portion of the ditch using the earthen rampart. Our barbarians used the tools left behind by the fleeing auxiliaries.

  Hostilius was requested to oversee this, as he had the most experience with earthworks.

  We had travelled less than ten miles when the king called a rest. Hostilius left us to oversee the destruction of a section of the rampart.

  The vegetation was cleared fifty paces on each side of the road. Beyond the cleared area was the thickest, darkest forest I have ever seen. The day was unusually hot and humid so we took to the shade of the trees. Interestingly, our guide sat on his horse in the baking sun, twenty paces away, refusing to approach the treeline.

  Gordas was about to draw his sword when the poor man went down on his knees, begging to be allowed to stay clear of the forest. Cai intervened on his behalf. “Leave be, Gordas. Man truly filled with fear. We need guide.”

  The Huns respected martial prowess above anything and Gordas had witnessed what the small easterner was capable of. He nodded and rode off to join his warband.

  Ignoring the altercation, I lay down on the cool, leaf covered ground, closed my eyes and stretched out. Moments later, I heard Pezhman’s voice.

  “Primus Pilus Hostilius asks that you join him on the wall, lord. He asks for the guide as well.”

  We followed Pezhman to where a horde of barbarians were congregated in front of the fortifications. In their midst, dismounted, stood a scowling Hostilius.

  “We can’t fill the ditch, Domitius.”

  “Why is that Primus Pilus?”

  He motioned for me to follow him. I dismounted, passed the reins to a warrior and we ascended the rampart to the wooden walkway at the top.

  Strangely, there was no outer ditch.

  The local guide was still with me, like a shadow. I assumed he felt less at risk trailing behind the lord, than left to the devices of the mob at the bottom of the ramp.

  “I can’t believe it, Domitius. Why would there be no ditch? I’ve never seen this before.”

  Hostilius turned to the scout. “Why no ditch?” he barked in Latin.

  “Great general, ditch is not needed in this place.” He pointed to where the dark trees grew at the edge of the forest. “We call it the ‘Screaming Woods’, lord general. The Paduroaia in there, the old hag of the forest.” He clutched the amulet he wore around his neck to ward off the evil. “Many people not believe. They go in. Never come back.” He pointed again to somewhere yonder. “There ‘Mad Forest’. Over there, ‘Heinous Forest’. That one called ‘Awful…”

  Hostilius stopped him mid-sentence. “We bloody well get the idea. That’s enough” />
  “Yes general, sorry...”

  Hostilius silenced him with a wave of his hand.

  “This will take longer, Domitius. To create a breach, we will have to carry the soil further, since there is no ditch to fill.”

  I rode to inform Bradakos, with the guide following close behind.

  The legions had cleared sections of the forest to allow access to the river. The warriors were watering their horses and I patiently waited next to Simsek and my spare horse until it was my turn.

  As soon as the horses had their fill, I rode back to where the warriors were labouring on the wall. I brought along a full waterskin for my friend.

  He nodded his thanks and drank deeply from the skin with the ice cold water. “As hot as Hades out here, Domitius”, he said and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Let’s go find some shade, Primus Pilus”, I said. “Or are you afraid of the old woman of the forest?”

  “Last old woman I was afraid of was my grandma. She was as mean as a bloody viper. Loved her to bits, though”, he grinned.

  I found it difficult to imagine Hostilius as a child. Sometimes, saying nothing is also a reply.

  I mounted, with Hostillius falling in beside me. We trotted towards the brooding mogshade of the trees.

  Simsek’s ears pricked up as we walked our way into the gloom. I grabbed my strung bow from the saddle and three arrows from the quiver. To my right, I heard Hostilius draw his gladius.

  The hairs on the back of my neck raised and I felt a tingle down my spine. I was sure someone was watching us, but apart from moving shadows where the sun pierced the canopy, I could see no one.

  I guided my horse forward to where the shivelights illuminated a slight clearing. An old woman, dressed in black rags, was picking mushrooms, her back bent with age.

  She croaked, still going about her business: “You come to seek my advice, Scythian?”

  A strange feeling of nausea rose from my stomach. I exchanged glances with an ashen Hostilius, who appeared decidedly uncomfortable, clutching his amulet.