Chapter 16
Morning, August 8th 636, South of the Sea of Galilee, Palestinia Province, Byzantium
The morning started off nice enough. There was a bit of cloud cover keeping the fury of the August sun at bay. As they marched further and further south toward the rendezvous point, the cloud cover lifted, and the sun glared down upon them in full fury. To makes matters worse, that awful south wind started back up, bringing the heat of Arabia straight to Athos and the rest of the men marching south. Nikas came back from further forward and began riding alongside Constan.
Constan looked up at Nikas riding on his horse and asked, “Sir, what news?”
Nikas smiled and replied, “We have an easy day ahead of us. We are to continue marching south. When we reach the Jordan River, we will follow it until we come upon the spot where the Yarmouk River flows into the Jordan. That spot lies only ten miles from here, an easy half day’s march. Upon our arrival, the entire army will then form up, much like the Imperial Tagmata did when we met them on the road to Tyre, and await the arrival of the Palestinia Tourma. They were supposed to be around ten thousand strong which would have swelled the army to fifty thousand souls. Instead, the Jerusalem Tourma stayed in Jerusalem to defend the holiest of cities against the Bewitched Cannibals. As a result, the remaining men of the Palestinia Tourma will number only around five thousand. Upon their arrival, we will put on the show that we have been training for while on the march. Once our bit of theater is over, we will make camp for the night, then, tomorrow march south to relieve Jerusalem.”
Constan smiled, “Sounds good, sir. I think we should march these sluggards all the way to Jerusalem tonight, but I suppose we ought to give them a rest before we defeat the bewitched cannibals. Unfortunately, this lot isn’t as tough as we were when we were their age. Otherwise, I’d say let’s march on through, send the bewitched cannibals back to hell, and then finish off Persia before we let them rest.” Nikas chuckled in response and rode up to the next Kontoubernion in front of Constan’s and began relaying the plan of the day to the other Dekanoses.
Damon glanced back at Constan and asked, “Trying to volunteer us to march our arses right off today, Constan?”
Constan smiled and winked in response, “One day you will understand the games we must play to keep the officers from marching the lot of you to your deaths!”
Athos looked around him. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, but the heat weighed on them. Athos felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. After a while, they began running down into his eyes. He wiped at them with his arm, but that only brought him temporary relief.
They marched on as the sun reached its zenith and began descending toward the horizon. The land had transformed from a lush landscape filled with farms and palm trees to a land that was not quite a desert but a lot more arid than the lands around the Sea of Galilee. As they drew close to their destination, the land started to grow greener again. The occasional palm tree casts its shadow on the road giving the men a momentary respite from the sun as they passed its shade. Athos felt something land on his neck. He swatted at it and missed. The creature, a large fly, flew off in front of him. Athos muttered a curse and kept marching.
A few minutes later he felt two sets of legs. One walking on his left arm and another again crawling up his neck. With his right arm, he swatted at the fly on his left arm. He scored a hit. The remains of the fly left a reddish-purple residue on his left arm. The other fly on his neck flew off somewhere. Athos looked up and saw dozens of flies above them. That is odd, he thought. Athos nudged Baltazar and pointed up at the ever-growing swarm of flies above them. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”
Baltazar responded, “No, certainly odd.”
They finally arrived at the spot where the Yarmouk River met the Jordan. As each Tourma arrived, the Kentarchias were directed to their spots in the grand formation. The 5th Parthica ended up at the right center of the army. Once they were in place, the equipment wagons came up and stopped in front of the Kentarchias. The slaves began passing out everyone’s armor, spears, and shields. Athos and Baltazar received theirs.
“This makes a hot day so much the worse,” complained Ilias.
Nikas chose that moment to ride up. “Put a cork in it. General Vahan wants a good show for the Palestinia Tourma so that he can enjoy them kissing his arse all night.”
As they finished putting on their armor, Athos noticed darkness on the southern horizon. “Is that a sandstorm?”
Constan squinted at the southern horizon for several moments, “Aye.”
Baltazar cursed. “Just our accursed luck, we get to bake and then get scoured.”
Nikas bellowed, “Ok you lazy sluggards, the General wants us to practice a few times before the Palestinia Tourma arrive.” Athos looked to his left and his right to get a feel for where they were. The army faced south with the right wing anchored on a series of hills that ran north to south. The left flank of the army was anchored on the shores of the Jordan River. A lush green band of vegetation followed the curving shores of the Jordan River as it met the horizon in the distance. Athos, along with Baltazar and the rest of the men of Dekanos Constan’s Kontoubernion, lined up in the front rank of the 2nd Kentarchia.
Nikas stood about ten feet in front of them mounted on his steed. He turned and looked back at them. “God help me, you lot are the best this Kentarchia has to offer. You are the most visible members of my unit. Don’t fuck this up!”
Constan chuckled. “Sir, if they do fuck this up, they can look forward to having my boot so far up their arse they won’t be able to tell the difference between their tongue and my toes!”
Nikas’ face broke into a broad grin. “It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to see that. Now I almost wish someone would fuck this up!” Athos swallowed hard and prayed he didn’t screw up.
General Vahan and the command group placed themselves two hundred feet in front of the army. The army was arrayed with the Syrian Thema on the left against the Jordan River. The Imperial Tagmata lined to the right of the Syrian Thema filling the gap between the Syrian Thema and the hill. The light cavalry that came with the Imperial Tagmata was arrayed on either side of the infantry, and the Toxatoi archers were positioned to the rear of the infantry. The Kataphractoi was located on the hills to the right of the army, which gave them a great view of the army and an outstanding position from which to charge.
General Vahan moved his hand just a bit, and a Cornu played a single note, the signal. In perfect unison, thirty-nine thousand men banged their Spathas into their shields three times. The sound was nothing short of deafening. At that moment each man in the army felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment in the discipline they had to perform as one. Nikas beamed with pride and observed, “Not since the time of the Caesars had a Roman Army such as this existed. Emperor Heraclius has brought us back from the edge of darkness and created an army with the discipline, fortitude, and equipment to face down any threat.”
Athos and the rest of the men stood baking in the sun for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, only a few hours had passed. As they waited a point of darkness appeared on the southern horizon. Over the course of another hour the point grew into a blob the size of a man’s fist. The blob continued to grow until it filled the entire southern horizon. It roiled and boiled before them as flashes of lightning revealed the menace, sandstorm.
Nikas rode over to the command group to see what was happening. The army was fully exposed to the fury of the approaching storm. Nikas conferred with the group for several moments and then rode back and signaled Constan to join him thirty feet in front of the 2nd Kentarchia.
They started speaking in hushed tones, but Athos’ hearing was very keen. “Our fucking commander is an amateur. He has refused to listen to reason and let us seek shelter before this storm hits.”
Constan grimaced in response to the news. “Is he trying to get us all killed? Has the pox rotted his brains?”
Nikas nodded, “S
omething has clearly rotted the fool’s brains. Tell the men to tie a piece of cloth over their nose and mouth. When the storm hits, we will initiate the testudo formation. The interlocked shields should provide us some protection from the fury of the storm.”
“Aye sir, a good idea. Hopefully, it will be enough to keep us alive.”
Chapter 17
Afternoon, August 8th 636 Yarmouk Valley, Palestinia Province, Byzantium
The Sandstorm
The fury of the wind beat against their shields. Minute by relentless minute the storm continued to push against the shield wall. Athos looked over at Baltazar. His friend had squeezed his eyes shut to keep the sand out of them. His arms quivered with the effort it took to hold the shield against the howling wind. Above him the soldier in the second row, Athos did not know his name, struggled to hold his shield aloft. Sweat trickled down his face and was whisked away by the wind.
Despite the shield wall the sand still found avenues to assail them. The man behind Athos would drop his shield an inch or so during gusts of wind. The tiny opening afforded the sand an opportunity to flow downward and hit Athos’ neck. Every time this happened his neck burned with the impact of the grains hurled against it.
This assault continued for twenty minutes. As the minutes slowly passed, arms went from quivering with strain, to numb, and finally to feeling like lead. It was easier for the men in the first rank to use their body weight and hold their shields in place. The men of the second, third, and later ranks had to hold their shields aloft against the wind. In the twenty-first minute of the storm, a shield was ripped from the failing grasp of an older Skutatoi by an unexpected gust of wind.
This breach let the full fury of the storm into the shield wall. Athos grimaced as the assault on his back intensified. As he strained to keep his shield in place, his nose picked up a smell that seemed out of place, especially in the middle of a sand storm. Whatever that stink is must be strong to survive this wind.
The odor was faint at first but grew stronger and stronger as the seconds passed. Baltazar turned to Athos, “Jesus have mercy upon us, what a horrible stench. It is as if Satan has opened up the ground and allowed the stink from the foulest pit of hell to assail our nostrils. What could possibly smell so bad?”
Athos sifted through his memories of various smells trying to come up with a match. Before he could decide on an answer, Constan, who was to his immediate right, yelled over the fury of the storm to be heard, “It smells like flesh that has been rotting in the sun for a week.”
Out of nowhere, something landed on the shield being held over Athos’ head. The Skutatoi behind him could no longer support the shield with the added weight and the back end tipped toward the opening created by the missing shield. Athos looked back to see if he could catch a glimpse of what landed on the shield. As it slid into view, Athos’ blood went cold. His eyes locked with that of a gray skinned being as the thing landed on its chest amongst a tangle of legs between the second and third rank.
It was dressed in the tattered remains of clothing, perhaps belonging to a male sheep herder. The being immediately cried out seemingly in glee. He then sank his teeth into the nearest calf, belonging to the Skutatoi to Athos’ immediate rear. The unfortunate Skutatoi fell to the ground screaming in pain. He tried to draw his Spatha to stab the creature, but in the press of bodies, there was no room. One of the Skutatoi yelled out, “A Bewitched Cannibal!”
The soldier behind the Bewitched Cannibal let his shield be grabbed by the storm and drew his Spatha. He plunged the blade directly into the back of the cannibal. The blade pierced between the shoulder blades of the man and burst from its chest. The hungry one didn’t even seem to notice the sword piercing its body as it feasted on the bleeding Skutatoi’s leg. The Skutatoi’s struggling grew weaker.
The Bewitched Cannibal, true to its name, got a good grip and sank its teeth again into the leg. This time the gray skinned apparition ripped away a piece of flesh. Athos gasped in horror as the crazed being’s eyes once again locked with his. Blood ran down its chin as it began to chew on its horrific morsel. Athos could see bits of flesh stuck in the hellspawn’s teeth stained red with the blood of his comrade in arms.
Athos felt an impact on the shield he was holding. He heard another Bewitched Cannibal cry out in frustration as it began to bang against the shield to try and get at him. He peered over his shield for a moment to see what he faced. The thing didn’t even look human, he thought. It was wearing a brown leather apron that hung around its neck. The string that used to hold it taut against the cannibal’s waist had snapped. The apron flapped loosely as the creature smashed into Athos’ shield again. A blacksmith.
Athos continued to hold the shield with his left arm and drew his ax from the holster on his back. He then stood up and buried the ax in the Bewitched Cannibal’s head. Without a sound, the former blacksmith, simply fell to the ground and stopped moving. He looked to his left and saw two more of the Bewitched Cannibals, crazed with hunger, launch themselves onto the shield wall. They landed in the second rank. They fell to the ground just like the first cannibal and began feasting on the plentiful supply of legs around them.
Athos uttered a prayer, “God, please carry me through this day so that I may gaze upon Athea once more.” Finishing, he glanced behind to see what was happening. The Bewitched Cannibal that had been stabbed in the back squirmed trying to free itself from the blade. Athos saw this and wondered, How does it still have the strength to fight the blade? It should be dead! The Skutatoi plucked his blade from the Bewitched Cannibal’s back. This was a mistake. Freed from the blade restraining it, the demon spawn immediately lunged at the Skutatoi it had already bitten twice.
Hungry teeth sank into the soft skin of the man’s neck and ripped away a section of flesh. His jugular vein ruptured pouring his life blood into the thirsty ground. Athos witnessing everything yelled, “These aren’t Bewitched Cannibals! They are hell spawn!”
Athos, noticing the indecision of the Skutatoi with the Spatha, yelled out, “Use your ax!” The man that had stabbed it with his Spatha nodded in acknowledgment, sheathed his Spatha, and pulled his ax out. He brought the ax down into the hell spawn’s neck. The blade of the ax bit deeply into putrid flesh, but he only succeeded in enraging the hell spawn further.
Suddenly the Skutatoi that had been bitten lunged for the man wielding the ax. He toppled the poor man over and ripped out his throat with his teeth. Blood spurted from his throat like a fountain. A Skutatoi screamed, “Teodor has risen from the dead!”
Teodor continued to rip at the throat as the man screamed. When his Adam's apple was pierced, his screams fell silent, but he continued to squirm and gurgle. The Skutatoi to his left drew his ax and grabbed Teodor’s helm. Pulling the head back, he buried his ax into the opening between the side and the nose guard. Teodor immediately fell to the ground and ceased moving. The Skutatoi to the right of the hell spawn feasting on the meat of its victim’s throat drew his ax and buried it in the back of the beast’s head. It too ceased to move.
The storm began to let up. As the first rank of the 2nd Kentarchia stood, their eyes beheld the most horrific sight that they had ever seen. Before them was a mass of thousands of hell spawn propelling themselves toward them as fast as their legs could carry them. Within seconds dozens of the beasts smashed into their ranks.
Athos slipped his ax back in the holster on his back. He then drew his Spatha and swung at the creature that was charging directly at him. He struck it soundly in the neck and removed the head. The head flew off to the left and struck the cannibal that was attacking Baltazar. A purplish looking sludge erupted from the neck of the hell spawn as it fell to the ground.
Simultaneously, Baltazar shoved his Spatha through the chest of the hell spawn in front of him. It grabbed hold of Baltazar and pulled itself toward him despite the Spatha being embedded in its chest. The crazed cannibal’s teeth made clicking sounds as it continually tried to bite at Baltazar. Zosimos, immediately t
o Baltazar’s left, swung his Spatha and buried it in the head of the creature.
The dead cannibal fell to the ground with Baltazar’s Spatha still embedded in its chest. Baltazar lost his grip on the weapon. As Zosimos yanked his Spatha out of the hell spawn’s head, another threw itself at him and sunk its teeth into his exposed inner arm. Zosimos cried out in pain and brought his fist down on the cannibal’s head. He tried desperately to pull the hell spawn off of his arm to no avail. Simultaneously, Baltazar drew his ax and buried it into the top of the hell spawn’s head attached to Zosimos’ arm. The crazed cannibal immediately went limp and fell to the ground dragging Zosimos with it.
In those same seconds that Athos, Zosimos, and Baltazar killed the three hell spawns in front of them the rest 2nd Kentarchia began fighting back. The few crazed cannibals that had used the final gusts of the sand storm to propel themselves into the top of the shield wall, or their unholy magics. Were subdued, but not before inflicting a horrific cost on the Skutatoi around them. Many were turned into hell spawn themselves that were all the more difficult to subdue because of their armor.
The sounds of swords and shields impacting metal helms and breastplates could now be heard. As the first casualties of the 2nd Kentarchia were in turn put to rest, the sun pierced the wall of sand and showed Athos the magnitude of what was going on. All along the front line of the Syrian Thema, the creatures were attacking.
Athos looked out at the churning mass. He saw creatures with grievous injuries running as if nothing were wrong. They all wore clothing, most stained with the blood of the person wearing it. All of the exposed wounds Athos saw should be bleeding profusely, but none were. The smell of these hell spawn was also overpowering. The young Skutatoi wanted to claw his nose off his face. Anything to stop the smell! He thought about what had happened to the Skutatoi that had been bitten and then yelled out, “These aren’t cannibals or hell spawn, they are the dead come back to life!”
Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 21
