Transsilvanian

by Hector Miller

  I turned cold on the inside as I recalled the words of the old woman in the woods. The words of warning which I had discarded as the ramblings of a peasant. “Beware the one who begs assistance, trust not the one who makes the peace.”

  I ignored the message from the gods and now my friend and mentor was in mortal danger while I was many miles away.

  Cai drank from his waterskin. “Kniva on his way. Ten thousand men on horses. Ostrogotha also come with elite warriors. Maybe two thousand more. But they slow. Not ride like Huns.”

  Gordas listened intently. “We ride to warn the king?”

  I nodded.

  “It will be quicker if it is only you and I”, he said.

  “We will each take three spare horses. The best we have. We will ride so fast that the steppe wind, the buran, will not catch us.”

  I turned to my friends. “Find Kniva, then ride to the Roxolani camp. The Huns will guide you. Follow the trail of the Roxolani army and pray to the gods we find them in time.”

  Gordas shouted instructions to his men, who brought six horses, three for each of us. I tied the rope holding the horses to the horn on my saddle, and kicked Simsek into a gallop. Gordas was alongside, grinning. “Today we will see if you can hold your own against a Hun.” He leaned forward, his head close to his horse’s mane. Gordas whispered, and the horse, sensing the urgency, accelerated. I also leaned forward, as I had learned all those years ago, and told Simsek that we ride to save the king. We all but flew.

  The sun was setting when we arrived at the Roxolani tented village. We rode directly to where the Huns made their camp.

  Gordas shouted commands to his warriors and they rushed to see to our needs.

  “We take fresh horses”, he said, “and five hundred of the men. But first we rest.” I started to complain, and he held up his hand. “If you fall off the horse, you will be no help to Bradakos. I will send two of my best warriors ahead on the fastest horses we have.”

  While the Huns prepared to go to war, Gordas and I lay down on the comfortable furs in his tent. We did not bother to remove our armour, yet we fell asleep almost immediately.

  Simsek thundered down a long, sloping hill. The sound of his hooves like a smith pounding the impurities from a virgin piece of iron. Underneath my legs I felt his flanks moving like bellows, forcing air into his lungs. I stroked his muscular neck, whispering words of encouragement. Then I glanced ahead.

  Arrayed in the distance were thousands of horsemen deployed in a line that stretched into eternity. Their red cloaks fluttered in the breeze and I knew they were Romans. I glanced to the left, then to the right, but of the army I had expected to see, there was no sign. My eyes moved to the right. Again, there was no one. Then the pounding of the hooves increased in intensity and I glanced over my shoulder. I saw an enormous black stallion powering from behind.

  The eyes of the god shone bright and blue, his silver bow strung, an arrow nocked. He met my gaze. He wore a full-faced conical helmet of silver with a plume of black horsehair. I could not see his face, but his eyes were smiling, relishing the prospect of imminent battle.

  I turned my eyes to the front once more, but the enemy had vanished.

  In the distance I saw a city surrounded by immense walls. The likes of which I had never laid eyes on.

  I woke with a start.

  Gordas was shaking my leg in an effort to wake me.

  “Time to go, the warriors are ready”, he said.

  I stood and walked from the tent without saying a word. Deep down I was reeling, still unbalanced by the vision of the god of war and fire.

  It was not yet light, but the promise of a bright day could be seen on the eastern horizon.

  I jumped onto the magnificent horse which Gordas had arranged for me and took the rope with the two spare horses attached.

  My Urugundi friend and I set a gruelling pace, even measured by the standard of the Huns. Our horses devoured the miles, and we stopped only to rest and water them, changing mounts at the gallop.

  It would take the Roxolani three days to reach the Carpiani. We were a day behind. I prayed to Fortuna to delay the passage of the Scythians. Only with the intervention of the gods would we be able to reach them in time.

  We rode late into the evening, until horses collapsed from fatigue. We camped without erecting tents or lighting fires, sleeping next to our mounts, wrapped in furs.

  Come morning, we departed long before the sun showed itself. We rode like men possessed.

  By midday on the second day after leaving camp, Gordas appeared next to me.

  “Eochar, we are but a watch away from where we expect the Carpiani to be.”

  I nodded, urging on my horse.

  A third of a watch passed when we met up with the two Hun scouts, riding towards us. We did not rein in, but allowed them to give their report while we thundered on.

  “There is a great battle up ahead, lord. The Roxolani warriors are surrounded by thousands of Roman riders. They are outnumbered three to one. Tarbus’s men have not joined the fight yet, lord. They are watching from the earthen rampart. We do not understand, lord.”

  “Beware the one who makes the peace”, I muttered to myself, drawing a questioning glance from Gordas.

  “Tarbus, the snake, has accepted a payment of peace”, I said.

  Gordas shook his head. “Surely that cannot be, he has taken the oath of blood?”

  Soon we could hear the unmistakeable sounds of battle emanating from the valley just beyond the next gentle hill.

  The time for stealth had passed. We crested the hill and took in the scene. The Scythians were surrounded, desperately trying to break free from the ever-tightening noose of Roman horsemen. On the hill overlooking the valley, I saw the Carpiani watch from the age-old earthen walls.

  Without hesitation we powered on, Gordas reading my mind. “We will form a wedge and strike deep into their formation. Just mayhap we can save our friends.”

  With a signal of Gordas’s hand, the five hundred Huns arranged themselves into an arrow formation, with Gordas and myself at the tip. I reached for my strung bow, taking three arrows in my draw hand. The Romans were fully embroiled in the fight. It took all their skill and attention to hem the Scythians in for the slaughter. They did not notice our approach until it was too late.

  At a hundred paces from the rear of the Roman line, I released my arrows in rapid succession with a near-flat trajectory. All the Huns along the outer edge of the formation did the same, concentrating their arrows along a frontage of thirty paces, the width of the formation. The warriors at the centre of the wedge released overhead, the projectiles striking the Romans from above.

  I emptied a full quiver, the Roman formation crumbling as the armour-piercing arrows penetrated the chain mail of the auxiliaries. The last of my arrows I released at point blank range. Next would be close quarter work. I gripped my Sasanian mace in my right hand, my left hand finding the shaft of my battle-axe.

  A burly warrior turned his horse to face me and the spike of my axe struck the side of his helmet mid-turn. Stunned, he slipped off his horse and disappeared under the hooves. More of the enemy turned to come to grips with the new threat. A young auxiliary pulled back his spear to strike but a lasso snatched him from his horse, his screams fading away as we advanced. A broad-headed spear snaked from behind a shield. I deflected it with my heavy mace, the spearpoint scraping along the scales of my armour. I drew back my mace and repeatedly hammered at the spearman, who hid behind his crumbling shield, trying to absorb the blows. A piece of his helmet appeared, and with the next blow a flange ripped it open, taking him out of the fight. Another spear came at me but Gordas’s axe severed the iron head. The haft struck my armour harmlessly while Gordas sent him on his way.

  A black-bearded giant in leather armour came at me with a longsword. He swung overhead, a mighty blow. I had no shield, so I dropped my axe and grabbed the other end of my iron-shafted mace. His mighty blow was blocked by the shaft, but it
numbed my hands. Grinning he drew back again, and I parried in the same way. The mace fell from my hands. He drew back to finish me off but tumbled forward, a Roxolani spear imbedded between his shoulderblades.

  We turned our horses and fought our way to freedom, the surviving Roxolani following in our wake.

  The auxiliaries turned in pursuit, but soon realised their folly as they fell to the arrows of the nomads. The buccina signalled and the Romans wisely abandoned the chase.

  I reined in on an open stretch of ground, at least five miles away from the enemy. Gordas’s signifier signalled the halt. Soon the Huns and Roxolani were milling about on their horses.

  Half of the Roxolani who rode from camp three days before had perished in the ambush. I feverishly tried to locate Bradakos, but ended up face to face with Elmanos.

  His expression was one that told of despair.

  “Where is the king, Elmanos?” I asked, fearing the answer.

  He hung his head. “The king fell, Lord Eochar. I do not believe that he is dead, though. I saw him being dragged away, to the rear.”

  “I tried to save him, lord, but there were just too many.” Then I noticed the blood dripping down his leg and onto the grass.

  “Lie down, Elmanos, I will see to your wound.”

  “It is not that bad”, he began, but I was angry and frustrated. “Do as I say, Elmanos, son of Masas”, I growled.

  He knew better than to gainsay me and allowed me to examine the spear-gash in his upper thigh. I poured vinegar and honey on the wound and bound it with linen. “Do not blame yourself, Elmanos”, I said.

  “I had been forewarned by the gods, but I ignored them due to my hubris”, I added, and felt a stab of guilt at hearing the truth from my own tongue.

  Gordas appeared from the mill of men. “We have lost one in five”, he said. “But they have left this world with honour. They saved the lives of many and will be accepted into the presence of the war god.”

  I nodded in agreement with his words. “The king has been taken, Gordas.”

  The Hun replied: “My friend, to die in battle while facing the enemy is a great honour. To fight and die bravely when the odds are insurmountable is truly a gift from the gods.” He cast his eyes downward. “A brave warrior such as Bradakos of the Roxolani deserves better than to die a slave.”

  For once, I was the voice of reason. “Let us camp for the night and look after the wounded. Tomorrow we will devise a plan.”

  I assisted in treating the wounds of the warriors. I am no healer, but Cai had taught me the basics over the years. Exhausted and dispirited I lay down on the furs, too tired to remove my armour. I blamed myself for discarding the advice of the old crone.

  What did the vision mean that I had received from Arash the night before?

  Chapter 37 – Parley

  I woke feeling disheartened.

  Gordas and Elmanos came to see me. They were both in a bad way.

  “Only two hundred of my men are fit to ride today. Maybe twenty more if I count the wounded who are still able draw a bow”, Gordas said.

  “Half of my men who survived cannot fight, although they are willing. A thousand warriors are able to fight, although most carry injuries”, Elmanos added.

  We tried, but could not come up with a viable plan.

  “What of the Goths?” I asked.

  “I sent out scouts this morning, but they are yet to return. The Goth army is huge, it will move slowly. They do not know of the plight of the king.”

  “We cannot wait for the Goths. The king will either be dead or long gone when they eventually arrive”, I replied.

  We were not the kind of men who were content to sit and wait. “Let us gather the fit warriors and ride to the fort. Mayhap Arash will provide a solution.”

  Gordas, Elmanos and I rode at the head of the twelve hundred warriors. It would have been arrogant to call it an army. It was a warband.

  We encountered Roman auxiliary scouts who simply retreated at our advance.

  Cresting the familiar hill, we overlooked the battleground of the day before. Our dead had been left where they had fallen.

  In front of the hillfort a mounted army was arrayed for battle. On the right flank were the Carpiani warriors, at least three thousand. On the left, a thousand Roman auxiliaries. Of the huge army we clashed with the previous day, there was no sign.

  “Let us go hear what the snake has to say”, I said, reining in half a mile from the enemy.

  Gordas spat with contempt. “I will put my lasso around his neck and drag him behind my horse until he has been flayed alive.”

  I sighed, for once sharing the Hun’s view. “Let us first see what he has to say. Remember, he holds the king.”

  We advanced with our arms extended to the side, palms facing upwards. Halfway between the armies we came to a halt. I noticed a contingent separate from the Roman auxiliaries, riding towards the Carpiani. There we could see them exchange words, until reluctantly, seven men trotted their horses in our direction. It was a breach of the customs of parley, as we were outnumbered.

  Gordas growled like the savage beast he was. “Tarbus will try to kill us. See, he is accompanied by Romans only.”

  “He might”, I conceded.

  “If he does, leave the snake to me”, was his only retort.

  More than three hundred paces separated us from both armies, too far for a Carpiani arrow to find its mark.

  Gordas sat on his horse, grinning. Elmanos wore much the same expression. “What have you been up to?” I asked.

  The Urugundi was the one to answer. “Yes, we have talked”, he said, affirming my suspicion.

  Elmanos enlightened me. “We have spoken to the warriors. Today is as good a day to die as any, lord. In fact, it is better than most.” I looked at him quizzically.

  “We all know that the god speaks to you, lord. If we fight bravely and die, we will be allowed into the feast-tent of Arash. The god will welcome you and accept us because we are your companions.”

  Suddenly I understood the dream. Arash wished for me to fight, even against overwhelming odds. I felt strangely calm, at peace with my destiny. At least Hostilius, Marcus, Vibius and Cai would be spared. They would return to the Thervingi and care for my family, of that I was sure.

  Gordas whispered, reverently. “Our tale will survive, Eochar. Our names will be spoken around the cooking fires on the Sea of Grass for generations to come.”

  The individuals in the enemy parley group became recognizable as they approached. I immediately noticed Tarbus, magnificently fitted out in his gilded scale armour.

  My eyes left the Carpiani king to study the Romans. The tribune leading them was Adherbal the Numidian.

  Tarbus came to a halt. A distance less than the length of a horse separated us. The rest of his party flanked him, but they were at least three paces behind.

  The Carpiani king smiled the way I imagined a viper would at an unfortunate rat.

  “It seems that we are fighting on opposite sides, prince Eochar. I have negotiated a peace on behalf of the Carpiani and the Goths. The emperor was here in person.” He triumphantly held up a scroll.

  Anger welled up inside me at the mention of the name of Philip the Arab, but I displayed a face of stone.

  “Where is the king?” I asked.

  The moment I spoke, I noticed recognition dawn in the eyes of the Numidian tribune. A smile touched his lips for an instant but he said naught.

  “I expected that you would have worked it out for yourself by now”, he mocked. “But allow me to enlighten you. The emperor requires a victory to cement his position and silence his critics. I have given him that, as well as proof in that regard. Bradakos is the proof that he will take to Rome.” He waved his arm to the side. “And these Roxolani corpses are the price of that victory.”

  “The Goths will rip you apart, traitor”, Gordas growled.

  Tarbus answered me instead. “Keep your Hun dog on a leash.”

  He smiled. �
�But I will answer anyway, as I am a benevolent king.”

  “The Goths will do no such thing. All they know is that we were surrounded and that the Roxolani failed to drive away the Romans. I was forced to make peace, yes, but I secured a payment in gold. A fortune. This gold I will pass on to the Goths, in full.”

  I grasped at a straw. “Tarbus, we are both from the Royal line of the Scythians. According to custom I now challenge you to combat, with the crown of the Carpiani as the prize.”

  The Carpiani king doubled over, laughing out loud. “You must surely think me a fool. I reject your challenge, on the grounds that I cannot fight a dead man. Why do you think I tell you all these things without a care? You will bleed your lifeblood away into this dust today, Roman mongrel.”

  He lifted his hand and the call of a buccina echoed across the plain.

  From behind the crests of the hills overlooking our position, thousands upon thousands of horsemen appeared.

  Tarbus again gestured towards the warriors surrounding us. “Behold your demise”, he sneered. “You were so worried about the king, you rode into the trap, like a child would. You are nothing but an idiot, god-messenger.”

  I breathed deeply, ready to meet my destiny. Tribune Adherbal’s eyes kept flicking to the hills nervously, which confused me.

  “They are not our men”, the Numidian hissed in Latin.

  Tarbus turned white as a newly bleached tunic and looked from side to side at the horde descending the distant hills.

  The Carpiani pointed his finger at me and snarled. “Kill him, Moor.”

  No one moved. “Do it yourself, barbarian”, Adherbal said, inclining his head to me. “Greetings, tribune Domitius.”

  I acknowledged his words with a smile and a slight nod.

  Around us the horde of Goths came to a halt, and a group of men on horseback advanced in our direction. I soon recognized the grinning face of Kniva, with a martial-looking Ostrogotha riding at his side. Hostilius was half-dragging a man behind him, the prisoner’s hands tied to the end of a lasso.