Stranger from Another Land

by Hector Miller

  In my mind the battle with the Goths was still days away and my stomach churned at the news that the enemy was so close. “Will we meet them in battle today?” I asked.

  Sigizan was quick to answer. “No, Ragnar. If they are still there tomorrow, we will give battle. Only if they attack us today will there be a battle.”

  I let out my breath slowly, trying not to seem too relieved. “Pity”, I replied.

  Boarex gestured to me. “Better tie him down, Sigi, else he will slip out tonight and attack the Goths all on his own. There might not be any left for us to kill tomorrow.”

  Chapter 33 – Bolia

  The plain west of the Bolia River, South of the Danube, Pannonia – July 469 AD

  (Present day Northern Hungary, west of the Concó River mouth, near the town of Csém)

  Early the next morning while it was still dark, the Germani army, under the command of Hunimund, lined up for battle on the plain west of the Bolia River. The cavalry, of which I was a part, was positioned on the far right flank.

  The Germani army was arrayed in a deep formation with a narrow frontage, to match the deep ranks of the Goth horde. I was aware that Abdarakos had cautioned against it, but his advice had been disregarded by Hunimund who believed that the strategy of the Goths would be to attack en masse and pierce our centre or our left.

  I thought of the words of Hunimund the previous day. “We must be strong in the centre and on the left, Abdarakos. It is where they will try to break us. The Suebi and the Gepids will fight on the left flank and the Rugii in the centre. There we will shatter the attack of the Goths”, he had said. I had noticed the familiar anger rise within my grandfather when he turned on his heel, with me in tow. “Ragnar”, he growled, “maybe I have made a mistake. Maybe I should have taken the risk and demanded to have control of this army.”

  * * *

  The horse that Abdarakos had gifted me was a large gelding, very different to the smaller yet powerful Hunnic horses belonging to Boarex and Sigizan.

  I craned my neck to be able to see past the sea of men obscuring my view.

  Sigizan had seen nearly thirty-six summers, but he was a Hun, and in the blink of an eye, he stood on his saddle, his horse as motionless as a rock.

  “The Danube is three miles that way”, he said and pointed to his left. “Our frontage is half a mile wide, and the Goths match it. A bend in the Bolia River guards their right flank. The banks are wooded, I cannot see past it.”

  “The cavalry of the Goths seems to outnumber ours, but they have less infantry”, he said.

  The Hun turned his gaze to the Germani army and continued. “Next to the cavalry, on the left, are the warriors of the Scirii, whose long spears will protect them if the Goth horses get past us. On their far side are the men of the Heruli. In the centre are the Rugii and the Gepids. The left flank, facing the deep ranks of the enemy, is where the Suebi will make their stand.”

  Sigizan dropped back in his saddle. “It is strange how the Goths bunch up against the river. Something is afoot. Theodemir is no fool.”

  He glanced to his right where the two thousand Sarmatian heavy cavalry were lined up in neat ranks, their long, thick spears grounded for the moment. Sigizan gestured with his chin towards the men and horses encased in chain and scale. “They will keep the enemy from outflanking us. The armoured horsemen are devastating if they are used correctly.”

  I said little because the knot in my stomach was becoming worse, rendering me unable to speak.

  Sigi placed his hand on my arm and whispered loud enough for Boarex to hear: “Stay close to me and Boarex today. This is your first taste of a battle, Ragnar. There is no need to be a hero. All you need is to survive and to learn.” On my right Boarex grunted his agreement and added his piece of advice. “When the arrows descend, incline your head ever so slightly. It keeps the arrows from the face. Not a pretty sight, an arrow in the mouth or eye”, he said. I needed no convincing and again nodded.

  Before they could impart more of their knowledge, the Suebi horn sounded, signalling the advance.

  At first the Germani army crept forward, but then they gained speed, approaching the enemy at a slow rhythmic jog. I was not close to the front rank, but the moment the two hordes clashed, was unmistakeable. A roar akin to faraway thunder resounded across the plain, making the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

  The cavalry remained stationary while our Gepid commander watched the enemy horsemen like a hawk. I heard the thunder of hooves and, above the heads of the men in front of me, I noticed a dust cloud rise. But rather than attack us, the Goth horsemen rode south, leaving their infantry’s flank unprotected.

  It was a difficult choice to make. Should the commander allow the enemy horse to circle our position, the Goths could fall upon the Germani rear. On the other hand, if he seized the opportunity and attacked the enemy’s unprotected rear, he could effectively crush their resistance.

  In the heat of the moment, he ignored the diversion and signalled for our cavalry to circle around the left flank of the Goths. The heavy cavalry of the Sarmatians retreated to fend off a possible attack from the west or the south.

  “I do not like this”, Sigizan shouted, and took four arrows in his draw-hand. “Theodemir is a clever one”, he added and shrugged.

  We raced past the line of battle, circling the left flank of the Goths, to fall upon the rear of their ranks.

  I reached for the quiver tied to my saddle and took three arrows in my right hand. I passed the reins to my hand holding the arrows and removed my strung bow from its case with my left.

  But to my surprise, the column of horsemen veered to the right, away from the rear of the enemy, and came to an abrupt halt. In confusion I looked at Sigizan, who pointed towards a deep ditch cut into the soil. I noticed that the ditch joined with the Bolia River in the distance.

  The Hun explained: “The Goths have dug a ditch to anchor their left flank. This is something they have learned from the Romans. See, it joins with the river and it is flooded. No horse can get to the other side. We have been fooled.”

  The horde of horsemen milled around, awaiting the decision of the commander. Then we heard the horns signal that the rear of the Germani army was under attack.

  We rode to the aid of our men at full gallop, only to find the enemy horsemen in retreat, fleeing into the distance. The Goth cavalry had launched an attack upon the outnumbered Sarmatians, then turned to flee, outpacing the heavy cavalry. The Sarmatians had all but spent their warhorses on fending off the attacks and pursuing the Goth horsemen. Many had dismounted to loot the corpses of the Goths who had underestimated the swiftness of the armoured horses.

  I knew little of the practical side of warfare but I experienced a growing feeling of impending doom. When it came down to strategy and cunning, Hunimund was not the equal of Theodemir the Goth.

  The sound of thousands of men cheering brought me back from the gloom.

  Boarex pointed to our left flank to where the ranks of the Suebi infantry were surging forward, pushing back the Goths. “Looks as if the Suebi are having more success than us”, he said and scowled.

  Soon we could hear the cheering as the Rugii and the Gepids celebrated their imminent victory while the Goth centre retreated before their advance.

  On our right flank, the Scirii and the Heruli were still engaged in a terrible duel with the Goth infantry, none able to gain advantage over the over.

  The result of the success we had experienced on the left flank and the middle was that the Germani line was no longer straight. The left flank had advanced three hundred paces and the middle more than two hundred. Nearly two thirds of the warriors in the Germani army were fighting with their backs to the wooded banks of the Bolia River which originally anchored the right flank of the enemy.

  Then an enemy horn sounded. The sound chilled me to the bone. It was not the normal sound of the horn, it was shriller, with a higher pitch that carried an eerie quality.

  At the signal, t
he woods on the bank of the Bolia River came to life as thousands of Goths burst from cover to fall upon the rear of the Suebi and the Gepids. At the same time the earth began to tremble as the Gothic cavalry bore down on us from the west.

  Sigizan grabbed the reins of my horse. “Stay close, Ragnar. We are not done for yet”, he said.

  Within heartbeats, the Gepid commander restored order and the Germani cavalry spread out along a line to meet the charge of the Goths head-on. One of every four of the Sarmatian horses were sufficiently revived to join the charge. This, the Goths did not foresee.

  Sigizan, Boarex and I rode to the left of the line, adjacent to the Sarmatians. At first we advanced slowly, keeping the line intact, but as we neared the charging Goths, we increased our speed to a gallop. When two hundred paces separated us from the Goth line, Boarex and Sigizan dropped their reins and released their war arrows in quick succession. In the Goth line men and horses went down in a tumble of limbs. My arrows, in contrast, passed harmlessly over the heads of the approaching cavalry.

  We kicked our horses until we rode at break-neck speed shrinking the gap between the lines to mere heartbeats. I took my axe from the saddle, gripped the haft with both hands, and steered my horse with my knees. I stole a glimpse at Sigizan who had stored his bow, a coiled lasso in his right hand and a small Hunnic axe in his left.

  My eyes met the Goth who had chosen me as his opponent and my heart sank. He was a big man, wearing the armour of the Romans, brandishing a heavy spear with a broad triangular blade. He lay low in the saddle, the haft tucked tightly under his arm and the whetted blade of the head pointing at my chest.

  He was most probably my better in every way. Every way but one. My horsemanship was taught to me by the Huns. And there were no better horsemen than the Huns.

  I turned my horse ever so slightly to show that I would pass him on his left, but in the way I displayed it, I knew he would think it a feint. When I was ten paces from him, I turned the horse to the left and he thought that I had committed, but at the last heartbeat before I passed him, I veered to my right and I knew that I had him. I deflected his clumsy strike, raised the axe and struck his helmeted forehead with the butt of the blade. There was not much power behind the strike, but with the combined speed of the horses, the blow could have come from the hammer of Donor.

  The helmet crumpled under the force and I felt the shudder ripple through my shoulders. The Goth fell from the saddle, dead before he hit the ground. I was caught up in the moment and turned my head to confirm the kill, which was the mistake of a novice.

  When I looked back to the front, the next warrior was upon me with a sword blade on its way to my head. But a lasso snaked from the left and plucked the Goth from the saddle, his screams silenced by the hooves.

  Then we were through.

  The battlefield was littered with corpses from both forces. But where the Sarmatians rode, it was slaughter. None of the enemy had made it through their line. Their heavy, armoured horses were all but impervious and their long, thick, two-handed spears cut through the armour of the Goths with ease. But their horses were spent. They were withdrawing from the field, the Goths too cautious to stop them.

  Both cavalry forces turned their horses, and the orderly lines soon disintegrated into a melee.

  I remember little of the fighting that followed. I parried strikes, landed my fair share of blows, while the two Huns, veterans of countless battles, stuck to my side.

  But in the chaos, I became separated from my minders. Soon my horse was spent and I was bleeding from minor wounds where my armour had been torn or punctured. I was still trading blows with a warrior when my horse collapsed from under me. With my last reserve of energy I jumped clear, a feat that would have made a Hun proud. A heartbeat later a Goth horse bowled me over and I tumbled into the dust.

  Chapter 34 - Theodemir

  I did not lose consciousness, although I lay with my eyes closed, hovering on the edge of the abyss, my cramped hands clutching my axe in a vice-like grip.

  Hours passed, or maybe mere heartbeats. I do not know.

  I opened my eyes when I felt something or someone pull on the haft of my axe. I squinted into the light when a boot was placed on my chest for leverage. I found some strength and pulled back. The man stumbled and fell, providing me the opportunity to regain my feet. The warrior facing me was a Hun. He grinned and drew his dagger.

  Maybe it was fear, maybe self-preservation, or maybe it was the intervention of the gods, but the words flowed from my lips in the tongue of the Hun.

  “I am the son of Ellac, heir to the Great Khan of the Sea of Grass. I am the grandson of Abdarakos, erilar of the Heruli.”

  My words stunned the Hun. The blade dropped from his hand and he stared at me in wonder. I looked around to where hundreds of Goths were looting the dead. All eyes were on us, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

  The Hun regained his composure and said: “Give me the axe, boy.”

  I hesitated for a heartbeat, and he added: “I will take you to Lord Theodemir. He will decide your fate. If you lie, your death will be slow.”

  The men closest to us heard my words and I realised that any who harmed me would be at risk to face the wrath of the Goth lord. I passed my axe to the Hun, hilt first, and we left the field of the dead in search of the king.

  * * *

  The Hun warrior escorted me to the tent of the king.

  He spoke in whispers to one of the guards who shortly after entered the tent. Moments later the guard re-appeared. He dismissed the Hun warrior and searched my clothing for concealed weapons before escorting me inside.

  On the inside the tent was richly decorated. Thick woollen carpets covered the floor and every item of convenience was made of silver or gold. Theodemir was seated on a high chair, flanked by two very intimidating warriors. He appeared to be a few years younger than Abdarakos.

  The guard who had led me through the door kicked my legs from behind and I went down on both knees.

  Contrasting the decorations of the tent, Theodemir appeared to be a warrior rather than a pampered highborn.

  He regarded me for long, then turned to his guards. “Leave us”, he said. “Make sure no one overhears. I wish not to be disturbed.”

  Without hesitation the three guards marched from the tent to give effect to their king’s commands.

  When all had departed, he said: “Come closer, boy.”

  I stood and approached him, stopping two paces away.

  He sighed. “I can see that you are of the blood of Abdarakos”, he said.

  “Give me the day of your birth”, he commanded.

  “I was born weeks before the tribes shattered the yoke of the Hun”, I replied.

  “Have they told you how your mother died?” he asked, and stood from his chair.

  “No, lord”, I replied.

  He poured two horns of ale and handed me one.

  “Ildiko killed herself after Ellac died in battle. It is the way of the Heruli. It is the old way.” He turned his back to hide his face, and his voice acquired a hoarse edge.

  “I knew your mother”, he continued. “I wished to be wed to her, but she was promised to the Great Khan”, he laughed at the memory. It was a cold, bitter laugh devoid of emotion.

  “I see your mother in you too, boy. And so much more…” His voice trailed off.

  My throat was parched, but I was in shock and stood with the untouched horn of ale, as if I were a dimwit.

  “Drink, Ragnaris”, he said.

  I was surprised that he knew my name and spilled the ale all over the carpets.

  “Yes, I know of you”, he said. “More than you think.”

  Then he turned to face me and there was a coldness in his voice.

  “Any kingdom that is divided will eventually fall. When Attila died, his sons tore each other apart and the tribes did the rest. My second son, Theoderic, is no warrior, but it has been prophesied that my son will become the father of a great nation.
I cannot have my sons tear each other apart after my death.”

  I had no idea why he was discussing the succession of the kingdom with me, but I nodded, confirming that I had heard his words.

  He again walked towards me and came to a halt a pace away. He gently placed a hand on my shoulder. “It is the only way, forgive me”, he said.

  “Guards”, he called in a booming voice.

  “Lord”, I interrupted him.

  He nodded, waiting for my question.

  “Was my grandsire slain in the battle?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Abdarakos is no fool, Ragnaris. He escaped with a great number of the Heruli and Scirii. The Suebi and the Gepids were not as fortunate.”

  “Thank you, lord”, I said, and inclined my head.

  “Take my young guest to a tent. He is to be guarded night and day”, commanded the king.

  As I left the tent I could not help but hear the words Theodemir whispered to his remaining guard. “Do it tomorrow, early, after I have gone. His kin is long gone and will not come to his aid.”

  In my heart I knew the meaning of the words. I would not live to see the sunrise.

  Chapter 35 – Blood of the Khan

  Sleep did not come easy, even though I was battered and dead tired.

  The approach of the morning and the time of my imminent demise did wonders to dispel the exhaustion. My mind raced and I fashioned many plans of escape although none seemed viable.

  From the moving shadows cast on the sides of the tent I knew that the Goth guards were present and alert. Farther off, I heard the laughter of men around the fires. Eventually silence descended over the Ostrogoth camp as the victorious warriors succumbed to sleep after the raucous celebrations.

  Then I prayed to Tengri, the father, the sky-god. I did not ask him to change my destiny. I pleaded for him to give me peace, for me to accept my fate.

  I thought of the words of Mourdagos and the river in the moonlight.