He wiped the juices from his mouth with his sleeve and swallowed the meat down with ale. “So, maybe twenty thousand in total. Why do you ask?”
“I would like to know whether the Ostrogoths will outnumber us”, I answered.
Sigizan chuckled. “It matters little who outnumbers who, Ragnar. We will still meet them in battle, even if they outnumber us two to one.”
Then he added: “What does matter are the hearts of the warriors. Many times, the Great Khan won battles against overwhelming odds. Why? Because his warriors believed him to be invincible.” Then he grinned like a wolf. “And, even more importantly, the warriors of the enemy knew in their hearts that Attila had never lost a battle, so even when they had the upper hand, they were waiting for the battle to turn against them.”
He hit his fist against his armoured chest. “The real battlefield is in here, Ragnar”, and he pointed to the dark plains surrounding us, “not out there.”
“So how does one fight this battle?” I pushed him.
Sigizan gestured to the meat grilling over the coals, then held aloft his ale-horn. “This, Ragnar, is a good start. It is not easy to be downhearted with a stomach filled with meat and a mind fortified with ale.” “And”, he added, “Abdarakos has never lost a battle. The men know this.”
* * *
We were thirty Roman miles from the joining of the Vah and the Little Danube. With the infantry and the oxcarts holding us back, it turned out to be a two day journey.
The march proved to be uneventful. Even though we were moving through the territory of our allies, the peasant farmers still fled to the hills as soon as they laid eyes on the approaching column. Sigizan explained it to me: “Ragnar, to a peasant, any warrior poses a danger. Men on the march are not easy to control. Among any large group of men there will be some who will have no qualms to slit the throat of a peasant to gain coin. Only the ones too old to walk will remain and pray to their gods to protect them.”
Early on the second afternoon we reached our destination where the Little Danube River flowed into the Vah. The Scirii and Heruli made their camp north of the Little Danube and south of the Vah in the natural wedge between the rivers.
The men of the Suebi were camped north of the Vah around a small settlement known as Guta. The armies of the Gepids and the Rugii were yet to arrive.
While the warriors were setting up camp, Abdarakos and Edeko of the Scirii went in search of Hunimund, king of the Suebi. I joined their entourage. The Little Danube deposits much sand and soil into the Vah at that point, so fording the shallow sandbank proved to be easy.
We were soon escorted into the presence of the Suebian king. I had never met Hunimund and somehow I formed a picture in my own mind of a hulking Germani warrior clad in furs, brandishing a massive axe.
I nearly gasped when I first laid eyes on him. Hunimund was a doddering oldster. The problems attributed to the Suebi king were not limited to his age, as it soon became apparent that he was also objectionable and dour. Once Abdarakos and Edeko had skilfully placated the complaining old man, we crossed the river and returned to camp.
I waited until I was alone with Abdarakos before I spoke. “Grandfather, is Hunimund going to be a problem?”
“He already is”, he said, and grinned at his own jest. “You summarise the situation well, Ragnar”, he said. “The question is not whether he is a problem or not, but if he will cause a problem when we bring Theodemir of the Goths to battle. We will have to wait and see.”
Sigizan and Boarex were waiting for me when I arrived at the tent. Sigi presented me with a well-crafted horn bow. “Abdarakos gave the coin for the purchase”, he said. “Let us go to test it.”
Boarex nailed a cracked shield to a tree which we used for target practise. What followed was worrying at best. I still possessed the feel for releasing arrows from the back of a horse, but my aim was wildly inaccurate. I ended up releasing twenty arrows at the target with five striking near the centre, the remainder missing by far, leaving us unable to even retrieve the arrows which landed somewhere in the thick shrubs next to the river.
“Maybe you must consider carrying two additional quivers”, Sigizan suggested. “The more arrows you loose, the better your chances at hitting someone.”
Frustrated, I rode at the target and from thirty paces away, I hurled my axe, which struck the shield dead centre and split it in two, causing it to drop from the tree.
Sigizan raised his eyebrows. “You can only kill one man by throwing an axe.”
I scowled and turned my horse for another pass while Sigi fixed the target. Predictably, I surrendered another arrow to the underbrush.
Chapter 31 – Kings (July 469)
The Rugii arrived the following day. King Flaccitheus and his men had travelled along the southern bank of the Little Danube and therefore our camps were separated by the river.
At the same time, the Gepids joined Hunimund and his Suebi north of the Vah.
Hunimund, who had styled himself as the leader of the alliance, summoned all the kings to a council of war.
As was expected, each war leader was accompanied by a small entourage and Abdarakos included me in his. I arrived at my grandfather’s tent and was shown inside by a guard. Mourdagos, who was the erilar of the Western Heruli, waited inside the tent, looking resplendent in his polished scale armour and gilded plumed helmet. Abdarakos, who was similarly attired, studied me for a moment, his face contorting in a scowl. “Come”, he said and waved me over, “people would think me a peasant should my grandson wear an old tunic to the meeting of the kings.”
He gestured to where a magnificent set of workman-like iron scale armour was draped over a wooden support. He grinned. “It used to be mine, Ragnar, but I outgrew it”, he said, and patted his armoured stomach. He clicked his fingers and a slave jumped forward to help me don the armour, which included a padded felt undergarment, iron vambraces, greaves and a plumed iron helmet with a reinforced nose-guard.
All fit as if it were made for me.
Mourdagos stared at me and shook his head. “By all the gods alive, you look exactly like your grandfather did a hundred years ago.”
Abdarakos ignored the stab and took a step back to assess my appearance. “Good, I was saving it for you”, he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
We mounted and again forded the shallow part of the river to reach the camp of the Suebi.
Since our last meeting with Hunimund, he had taken residence in the longhouse of the local Suebi chieftain, who was most likely summarily expelled in order to accommodate the aged king.
We arrived last and were ushered into the hall. All the other kings were already seated when Abdarakos and Mourdagos were shown to their respective chairs. The Suebi had made chairs for all the leaders of the tribes, but it was clear that Hunimund’s was slightly larger than the rest, with a higher seating position. The retinues of the kings took their seats on the scattered furs surrounding the chairs.
The murmuring subsided and Hunimund, being the ruler of the lands we were encamped in, spoke first.
One by one, he greeted the men seated before him.
Mourdagos of the Boat Heruli, lord of the seas, the one whose warriors strike fear into the hearts of pirates and landsmen alike.
Abdarakos, erilar of the Moravian Heruli, keeper of the Amber Road.
Edekon, the king of the Scirii, the feared heavy infantry of the Great Khan.
Flaccitheus of the Rugi, menace to the Goths.
Thraustila, great king of the mighty Gepids, the men of Transylvania.
Beuca and Babai, kings of the Sarmatians, the warriors of the armoured horse.
He greatly exaggerated their fame and achievements, and plied them with praise. Then slaves crept forward and presented each king with a finely crafted golden ring.
When Hunimund of the Suebi spoke the words, there was no sign of the doddering oldster. His voice carried power and menace. “The rings are a symbol of our unity, our struggle against the one n
ation who wishes to bring us under its heel. It is a symbol of our struggle for freedom. First from the sons of Attila who wished to enslave us, and now from the traitors who abandoned us in our hour of need.”
Slaves handed each king a horn of mead, and as Hunimund accepted his, he raised it in the air. “And it is a symbol of our victory to come. We will once and for all do away with the despicable Goths. None will be left alive.”
All raised their horns in response and drank to the imminent victory of the alliance.
But the Suebi king was not done and he said: “There is more, my lords. I have sent word to the emperor of the East Romans.” The revelation caused a deathly silence to descend upon the meeting, all eager to hear more. He held a scroll aloft, displaying the intricate seal of Leo the Thracian. “The might of the Empire of the East is marching west as I speak, to fall upon the rear of the oathbreakers. Even the emperor is sick and tired of their duplicitous nature!”
An almighty cheer resounded to the heavens as the kings drank to their inevitable victory.
I glanced at Abdarakos, who met my gaze, and I noticed the concern in his eyes.
“And”, Hunimund continued, “I have sent word to the West Romans. They are occupied with their struggle against the Vandals, but they support our cause and a small force is marching to our aid.”
Again, the men assembled, cheered. Again, I met the stare of Abdarakos, and it was all but comforting.
Then Hunimund stood from his high throne, assisted to his feet by a hearth warrior. “The honour of the Suebi has been tainted by Theodemir. He attacked and murdered my men when they were abed. Allow me the honour to direct the fight so the Suebi may gain the revenge they have been craving for long.”
* * *
Much later, back in the camp of the Heruli, I sat with Mourdagos and my grandsire.
“It is foolish to place the command of the army in the hands of that old man”, stated Mourdagos. “You, Abdarakos, should be the one to lead us, or”, he said and took another swallow from his ale-horn, “the king of the Gepids, Thraustila, takes after his father Ardaric, I hear, and he knows his business.”
Abdarakos sighed. “I agree, but the old man planned it well. First he heaped compliments on the kings, then he fed them mead and handed out gifts.” The erilar shook his head in resignation. “I fear that it is too late to change. With the old man in command, we need to be careful, or we might just meet our demise on the plains of Pannonia.”
“Should we not wait for the Romans to fall upon the rear of the Goths?” I asked.
Abdarakos shook his head. “No, Ragnar, the Romans will never engage before we have defeated the Goths in battle. The Empire wishes to see us tear ourselves to pieces. Barbarian against barbarian. Then, when we have broken the Goths and paid for it in blood, they will kill the rest and claim a great victory for the emperor, which they will record in their journals.”
I nodded. After what I had heard from Trokondas, the words of Abdarakos rang true.
“So what will we do?” I asked.
“We will fight with honour and do as we are told”, he said. “But I will not allow Hunimund to throw away the lives of the Heruli to mend his tainted pride.”
Chapter 32 – Danube
On the morrow, while the Scirii and the Heruli crossed to the southern bank of the Little Danube, the Suebi, Gepids and Sarmatians forded the more substantial Vah. By the end of the day, after struggling across the rivers, the entire army made camp on the plain south of the Little Danube.
We did not follow the course of the River Vah when we marched the next morning. We were only a day’s march north of the Danube where enough water would be available for the horses and the warriors.
“Do you think that they will be waiting for us on the other side of the Danube?” I asked Sigizan who rode beside me.
He snorted. “You concern yourself with things that may never come to pass, Ragnar. We will see if they are there when we arrive.”
My concerns turned out to be unfounded, as there was no sign of the Goths on the southern bank when we eventually reached the mighty Danube.
Crossing the Danube proved to be a challenge. For men on horseback it was not difficult, but the infantry who wore heavy armour could not merely wade through, as the water was deeper than the height of a man in some places. Men built rafts, or waded over the sandbanks and floated their heavy armour by tying it to waterskins inflated with air. We did not have the capability to take wagons across, apart from a select few which belonged to the kings of course. The wagons were disassembled by slaves, taken across the mighty river by boat, and re-assembled on the other side. Nobility has its advantages.
In any event, it took two days, but eventually the whole army crossed the river and all, apart from the unfortunate few who had drowned, were camped on the southern bank. I found it difficult to understand why the Ostrogoths allowed us to ford the river unmolested. Were they not aware of our presence? Did they fear us? Had they perhaps engaged with the East Roman army? What I did not realise was that Theodemir, the king of the Goths, was very much aware of our crossing. In actual fact, he wanted us to cross the river.
Come evening, I shared the cooking fire with Sigizan and Boarex.
“I have read in the scrolls of the Romans that, in times of old, the iron legions constructed a camp every evening that they spent in the lands of the enemy. The entire camp was surrounded by an earthen rampart topped with a wooden palisade and ringed by a deep ditch”, I said. “Why do we not do the same? Surely we could be attacked while we are abed”, I added.
Boarex issued a gruff laugh. “For one, we do not carry the iron tools of the Romans of old”, he said and took a swig from his ale-horn. “But even if Hunimund’s men had the tools available he would not even think of tasking the warriors with building a camp”, Boarex answered and stuffed a large piece of meat into his mouth.
“Why is that?” I continued.
While Boarex was struggling with the particularly tough piece of meat, Sigizan answered on his behalf.
“Ragnar, if Hunimund, the war leader, commanded the men to build a camp this evening, tomorrow morning a third of the army would have disappeared.” He made a circular gesture above his head with the joint of mutton he was holding. “These men are not the men of the legions of old, Ragnar. These men are free warriors, not farmers who are in the pay of a master. To them, digging in the dirt is an affront to their gods. These men are here not because they have to be here, but because it is what their honour demands of them.” He took a swallow from his horn. “And there will be much loot to be had.”
While Sigizan explained it to me, Boarex had finally lost the battle with his mouthful of meat and spat out a large piece of gristle.
“The Roman armies of today are mostly men from north of the Danube, Ragnar. They are horsemen. When the people of the Sea of Grass invaded across the mighty river many generations ago, it forever changed the way the Romans fought. A short sword and a rectangular shield does not keep one alive for long against a mounted Scythian wielding a bow, a war-axe and a lasso.”
Boarex continued: “Many of our people fight in their armies and like Sigi said, nowadays they are horsemen and their armies are mobile.”
“And the Goths? How do they fight?” I asked.
Boarex answered. “The Ostrogoths fought in the armies of Attila, so many took to the horse in those days. But all in all, they prefer fighting on foot. Large shields, pikes and swords. But don’t underestimate them, Ragnar. They are large, powerful men, vicious and cruel. Fighting is in their blood. War is a part of who they are.”
He drank some more and what he said, confused me even more. “But most of all, Ragnar, their king, Theodemir, is a man who knows his business. He learned his trade at the hands of your grandsire, after all.”
I went to sleep with many nagging concerns. We were marching to fight a host of vicious men, led by a scheming king seeking revenge and our war leader was an oldster. Again I thought of the words
spoken by Mourdagos. I was caught up in the river of destiny and there was naught I could do to change it.
We woke to pelting rain pouring from a dark and ominous sky. Boarex let me borrow his spare sealskin cloak, which at least kept my back and shoulders dry, but the rest was soon soaked through to the skin.
Sigizan nudged his horse closer to mine and leaned over to shout into my ear, trying to be heard over the sounds of the storm.
“We will march east, following the southern bank of the Danube. Hunimund has sent out men to ravage the land in all directions. We will raze their farms and their towns along the way while we head for Aquincum, a major settlement sixty miles to the east. Outriders are scouring the lands to locate the army of Theodemir.”
Apart from Sigizan’s briefing, we rode in miserable silence for most of the day. The only fortunate thing was that the roadway was Roman and rather than struggling through slippery mud, we rode on the stone road which shed the rain like a waterfowl.
By early afternoon the storm had blown past and patches of blue sky and sunshine replaced the dark clouds. The heavy rain during the morning had impaired our progress and as a result the army travelled only ten miles. Down the column, horns gave the signal for the army to rest, which afforded us time to store our raingear and water the horses at the nearby river. Sigizan poured us each a swallow of mead to help dispel the cold.
Before long we were on our way again. We had not even travelled a mile, when again, the horns signalled a halt. Sigizan rode up the column to establish the reason for the delay.
“Mark my words”, Boarex said, “our scouts have found the army of the Goths. Why else would we halt?”
The big man was soon proved right when Sigizan returned. “Our scouts found the Goths”, he said, which caused Boarex to smirk. “Told you so, didn’t I?” he said.
Sigizan ignored him and continued: “Three miles east the road turns south, away from the river to avoid a swampy area where a small tributary, the Bolia, spills into the Danube. A mile inland the road passes over a ford in the tributary. There the Goths are waiting for us.”
Stranger from Another Land Page 15
