Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  * * *

  Once darkness descended, we left the camp and moved into the treeline, in single file, led by a scout. At my back rode Cai, Hostilius, Gordas and close to a thousand Huns.

  We walked our horses through near blackness for the best part of a double watch, in our full armour. Not that we expected to give battle, but ever tried riding through a forest at night?

  The rider and horse to your front, passing through the trees, bend the branches. When they are clear, the branch whips back with a vengeance. The armour helps, as does inclining your head and turning it to the side, which protects the eyes.

  Eventually we arrived at the deserted plain where we would spend the night. I was unscathed, save for a small gash on the bridge of my nose, which could have been my eye, were it not for Fortuna.

  We ate dried meat and hard cheese, spoke little, lit no fires and slept next to our horses.

  Cai woke me, kicking my foot. “Best rise, Lucius of Da Qin. Day wait for no one.”

  We rode at a canter for the first mile or two, and crossed a stream the locals call the Sebes. We turned east, back into the Mures River Valley.

  Gordas was riding alongside me, grinning in anticipation. I nodded and grinned back.

  The Hun balled his fist and waved it about, above his head, howling. Soon, a thousand Huns were thundering down the valley at breakneck speed. The need for stealth had passed.

  The valley was five miles wide so I harboured no concerns that we could be trapped on our return. We kept the river and distant hills to our right.

  The Primus Pilus possessed an uncanny sense of direction, which was probably the product of traversing unknown enemy territory countless times. It was near the middle of the day when Hostilius reined in and pointed to a milestone in the Roman road. “We have travelled thirty miles, Domitius, now we turn south.” He pointed to the distant hills, while studying the itinerarium. “The mine is that way.”

  As we neared the area we knew to be the location of the mine, I noticed thin tendrils of smoke rising from the forested hills.

  Cai, who rode beside me, noticed my inquisitive glance. “In Serica, peasants make charcoal. Chop down ancient trees, make much wood.” He motioned with his hands to indicate a huge pile. “Pile wood, then cover with clay and soil. Burn for week. Sell to mine for iron furnace.” He pointed to the woods. “Peasants here do same.”

  Before long the location of the mine was undisputable. Thick black smoke emanated from a hilly area two miles distant. I ordered a halt and gathered my friends. We rode to investigate, dismounting close to the crest of a hill which overlooked the mine. Fortunately there was enough cover in the form of shrubs, allowing us to lie down on our stomachs and study the area below.

  Again, it was Cai who enlightened us. “Slaves mine iron with pick and axe from hole in ground, over there. Make big pile.”

  He motioned with his head towards the right from where the smoke was rising. “Clay furnaces. Mix charcoal and ore equally, throw in furnace. Blow in air with pipes to make fire hot. After long time, draw out iron ingot at bottom.”

  He pointed to another area where slaves were feverishly using huge hammers on pieces of glowing iron. “Hammer to get rid of impurities. Make cleaner iron”, he whispered.

  “Cai, we are not here to learn how to make iron. We are here to take the iron”, Hostilius interjected. “Knowledge better weapon than sword”, was Cai’s only retort.

  Gordas said: “There are at least two centuries of legionaries guarding the slaves. Another two centuries man the palisade at the entrance.” He motioned with his head toward the sheer cliffs created by the mining all around. “No one is getting in that way.”

  “So, what’s your clever plan Domitius?” Hostilius asked when we were walking back to our horses.

  “We charge the palisade and overwhelm them with sheer numbers”, I said.

  It didn’t sound clever, but it appealed to Gordas.

  “Great plan, Eochar. Best you had in some time“, he said and slapped my back. That’s Huns for you.

  Chapter 24 – Strigoi

  Although well-guarded, the mine was a soft target.

  The assault was all but spectacular. The barbarians charged the wooden palisade, releasing hundreds of arrows as they approached. The legionaries had little choice but to hide behind their shields. When the Huns were alongside the wall, they simply stood on the backs of their horses, which by the way, every Hun could do with his eyes closed, grabbed the top of the logs and hauled themselves onto the rampart. Within heartbeats the barbarians had secured the wall and the gates were open.

  Hostilius, Cai and I did not participate in the assault, but the Hun commander relished it.

  The gates to the compound opened from the inside. Gordas was first to exit. He had sustained a bloody nose in the fight, and consequently blood was dripping down his chin. He walked over to me to collect his horse which I was holding for him.

  He smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth, a result of his nosebleed. “The Romans fought well. The centurion knows how to use his shield”, he said and gestured to his injured face.

  I started to speak, but the Hun held up his hand. “I know what you will ask, Eochar. Yes, we have bound the ones who are not with Tengri. They fought bravely and will be spared.” He shook his head. “You truly are a strange one.”

  I entered the gate and took in the scene.

  Down in the pit, the Huns were rounding up the hundreds of slaves. To the one side, the legionaries had formed a testudo formation and the Huns were picking them off one by one as gaps appeared between the shields.

  Hostilius scowled, dismounted, and approached the one-sided battle with Gordas walking at his side. The Hun motioned to his warriors to cease their assault.

  Hostillius yelled. “Who commands? Show yourself centurion”, using his parade ground Primus Pilus voice. A Roman reluctantly stepped forward from the men, who had by then grounded their shields.

  He addressed Hostilius: “Who are you, Roman traitor?”

  I was watching intently now, as I knew that the words of the centurion would not sit well with my friend.

  “I am Primus Pilus Hostilius Proculus, IV Italica. Loyal to the murdered emperor, Gordian III.”

  His hand went to his sword. “Do you support the usurper and murderer, Phillip the Arab?” he growled.

  The centurion realised that Hostilius was no imposter. Gone was the defiant attitude. He came to attention, saluted, and stared straight ahead, not making eye contact.

  “I take orders, Primus Pilus”, he said.

  “Good then. I give orders. Tell your men to lay down their weapons and armour. Then march to the slave barracks. Choose wisely, and you might live.”

  Before long the legionaries, now stripped to their tunics, were frog-marched to the slave barracks and the door barred from the outside.

  I turned my attention to the slaves. “Gordas, have your men escort them to the gate and release them.”

  We had no use for slaves, as it was important for the army to remain mobile.

  Gordas walked towards the slaves, unaware of his terrifying appearance exacerbated by the dried blood that stained his mouth. They recoiled at his approach, causing the Hun to snarl and appear even more vicious. His hand went to his sword.

  I heard terrified voices speaking in local Latin rise above the murmurs. “It is the Strigoi, come to drink our blood” and “look, he has feasted on the blood of the Romans already.”

  To be fair, Gordas did resemble the undead monster from the local tales, even without his bloody mouth.

  I intervened. “Come, you are free to go”, I said. “Follow me to the gate.”

  They flowed around a scowling Gordas like water avoids a boulder in a stream. Soon they were running away from the palisade, to freedom. Unbeknown to me, this act of kindness probably saved our lives.

  It took some time to load the hundreds of iron ingots onto the spare horses. The ingots weighed around thirty-five pounds each, w
hich allowed a horse to carry two. The challenging part was to secure the load properly.

  Within less than a watch since we had first arrived, we exited the main gate, heading back to the camp of the Roxolani.

  We had travelled less than half a mile when slaves came running down the hillsides of the narrow valley that allowed access to the mine.

  I rode up to an old slave. “Who is out there, slave?” I asked.

  “Great horse lord, please have mercy. The forest is crawling with Roman legionaries. They have killed many, but we were too slow to run away from the Strigoi. The Romans did not see us.”

  “Back to the mine”, I yelled, realising an ambush was upon us. We turned our horses and galloped back to the safety of the palisade, while hundreds of legionaries, in tight ranks, streamed down the slopes of the hill. More were exiting the forest.

  I cursed myself under my breath. My eagerness to gain loot, coupled with my hubris, had lulled me into the belief that the Romans were fooled. My scouts should have reconnoitred the forest and our road home.

  We closed the gate and barred it from the inside. Half of the Huns lined the palisade, each holding a strung bow with a full quiver slung over the shoulder. The warriors defending the palisade had reluctantly taken up legionary shields, placing it at their feet in case of need.

  My emotions must have been written on my face. Cai placed his hand on my shoulder. “Lucius of Da Qin. Wise man of Serica once said ‘mistake not exist, only lesson’. Put from mind. Learn.” He tapped his index finger against his temple.

  Hostilius interjected. “Looks to be two cohorts. It’s not the emblem of the XIII Gemina or the V Macedonica, Domitius.” He squinted. “Let me go get a prisoner.”

  We watched the cohorts form up four hundred paces from the palisade while Hostilius went about his business. He eventually reappeared with the captured centurion in tow.

  “Tell the tribune”, Hostilius instructed the man.

  “Tribune”, he said and saluted. “Word is that General Quintus Decius was sent from Sirmium to rid us of the barbarians.” He looked around nervously, his gaze alternating between Gordas and myself.

  “Tell me about Decius”, I said

  “Don’t know much about him, sir. Other than… never mind sir, just army talk.”

  I scowled.

  “They call him the arse-licker of the emperor, sir”, he said and swallowed nervously.

  I nodded. I have heard the name before. Like me, Gaius Quintus Decius hailed from Sirmium. My father, Nik, had mentioned his name from time to time. A firm supporter of Philip the Arab. Clever, devious and heartless. He was not to be underestimated.

  “Which legions are under his command?”

  “Not sure, sir, but some say the VII Claudia and … ”, he suddenly went quiet.

  “And?” Hostilius barked. “Speak up, man.”

  The centurion swallowed, fearing the ire of Hostilius. “And the IV Italica, sir.”

  Chapter 25 – Decius

  “At least”, Hostilius sighed and motioned with his head towards the assembled cohorts, “it is not the IV Italica drawn up against us.”

  Hostilius knew the ways of the legions. “They won’t attack today. For now, they are just intimidating us, playing with our minds.”

  I must have frowned. “Look Domitius, no waterskins. Only bloody idiots go into a battle without water. I’d wager they aren’t idiots, eh?”

  He tapped his ear with his finger. “Listen. Hear the faint noises? They are digging a trench across the valley floor where it is narrowest, I estimate only sixty paces across. Even the Urugundi won’t break a line thirty men deep. They will leave a piece intact, maybe ten paces, but that won’t help us ‘cause that’s where they will build a gate of sorts.”

  I nodded, accepting the truth of his words.

  “What do you advise?” I asked.

  “Get some sleep”, he said. “I will arrange for Gordas to rotate the men on the walls in four shift cycles. Then I will join you.” As I walked off he added: “And pray the war god gives you a plan.”

  * * *

  The stalemate lasted three days.

  Late afternoon on the third day Cai called me to the wall. Hostilius and Gordas were waiting for us.

  The Primus Pilus pointed to the distant valley entrance. “They were waiting on reinforcements. Judging by the standards, I guess it’s another cohort. They will attack soon. Mark my words.”

  Early the following morning I woke to a familiar sound. A Roman buccina called the legionaries to assemble. They would attack with the rising sun behind them. Their commander was no fool.

  I had no grand plan, apart from one surprise. We had stacked the heavy iron ingots on the inside of the walkway and assigned warriors to the task of throwing them over the wall where the Romans would attack.

  Before long the cohorts were drawn up in battle formation. The frontage of the wall measured one hundred paces, which worked in our favour, as the Romans could only bring so many of their men to bear.

  The cohorts advanced. I noticed legionaries carrying crude ladders that they would use to scale the twelve foot palisade.

  I passed the word along the line. “Concentrate your arrows on the men carrying the ladders. They will find it difficult to use their shields.”

  At two hundred and fifty paces the buccina announced the testudo formation. As one the rear ranks raised their shields to protect against missiles from above. Even though I harboured ill feelings towards the emperor, the legions never failed to impress with their discipline.

  The Huns released well-aimed arrows with very little success. The Roman advance continued as they shuffled closer and closer to the palisade. Every few heartbeats a cry emanated from the enemy ranks when an arrow flew true.

  But their advance was inexorable.

  Hostilius said to Gordas: “The first four ranks will throw their pila when they are twenty paces from the palisade. Warn the warriors. As soon as the Romans expose themselves, loose as many arrows into their ranks as possible, then duck!” He added: “Do not use the shields. The spears will render them useless. Save the shields for when they scale the wall.”

  When the command came, the Huns were ready. At least a hundred legionaries fell to the barbarian arrows. Only a handful of Gordas’s warriors were too slow to evade the Roman spears.

  The legionaries moved forward and the first of the heavy ladders crashed against the palisade.

  When fighting from horseback, the Huns knew no equal. The warriors were well-armed and armoured, but the armour was designed to repel arrows, not sword strikes. The Romans, to the contrary, were trained for close quarter combat. They were ideally equipped for the task at hand.

  I afforded a peek down the line and took in the snarling Huns. Their tattooed and scarred faces gleamed with sweat, the muscles rippling on their arms.

  It would be close. The animal-like veracity of the Huns pitched against the discipline of the men in red.

  A ladder was raised right in front of us. I had to take a small step back when it thudded against the top of the wooden palisade. A legionary shield appeared at the top of the ladder. I tried to strike overhand, at his head, but the glancing blow slid off his helmet. A gladius snaked out from behind the shield and I blocked the strike with my own scutum.

  Hostilius broke the stalemate. He grabbed an iron ingot and rammed it overhead into the shield of the unfortunate soldier. The Roman’s shield shattered and he fell over backwards, the ingot clearing the ladder of men all the way down.

  The Primus Pilus grabbed another ingot while I covered his body with my shield, and hurled it into the men massing beneath the wall. “This is your payment for murdering the emperor. Bloody bastards!” he shouted in his centurion’s voice.

  As Hostilius bellowed, I noticed the legionaries pause for a moment in time. The confidence carried in the voice of a commanding officer can be a powerful thing.

  All along the wall, ingots were thrown into the ranks down below, with
a devastating effect. No Roman shield can protect against a thirty-five pound ingot lofted from a twelve foot wall.

  Efficiently the Roman dead and wounded were dragged to the rear of the line. Fresh ranks of legionaries moved to the front, seamlessly continuing the assault.

  Along the palisade, attackers were gaining a foothold. The Huns fought back ferociously, but the shields and armour of the legionaries were superior, their short stabbing swords ideal for this manner of warfare.

  The Romans had another surprise in store. Another shield appeared at the top of the ladder as the buccina issued a command. The legionary ascending the ladder paused. A volley of auxiliary arrows struck the defenders on the wall. Many of them toppled backwards, allowing more Romans onto the rampart.

  I managed to dispatch the legionary on the ladder with a thrust of my gladius. Hostilius turned to me, wide-eyed. I was convinced that he had been wounded, as I had never seen him react that way. He yelled something to Cai and Gordas, which I was unable to discern above the din of the battle.

  Then I felt a dampness where my neck met my shoulder. My arm went numb, the blade dropping from my grip. Centurions shouted, buccinas issued commands, Huns howled and the earth started to vibrate. My vision blurred and I had the sense that I was floating, suddenly unconcerned. Cai caught me before I could plunge to my death.

  Chapter 26 – Pledge

  The world slowly shifted back into focus. Marcus’s smiling face gave me the reassurance that I was still on this side of the River Styx.

  He turned his head towards the entrance. “He’s awake”, he shouted. Within heartbeats Gordas, Hostilius and Bradakos all bunched into the tent.

  I noticed Cai sitting cross-legged on the other side of my bed. He held a small cup in his hand and I knew what was coming. “Drink this, Lucius of Da Qin”, he ordered. I swallowed the thick, vile liquid. “Good. Powdered sea-horse mixed with blood of goat. Get better quick.” I was ready to vomit.

  Cai grinned. “Only joke. Herb mixed with honey.”