Baltazar blocked a damned reaching for him with his shield and then brought his Spatha down onto its head ending its unholy existence. Before another one could fill the space he just created, he stole a glance at the bearded berserker screaming in rage as he brought the end to a constant stream of the damned. As he did so one of the damned grabbed the bearded man’s arm and bit down hard. This caused the bearded man to scream.
Baltazar muttered, “Son of a whore, our rescuer is going to turn into another attacker.”
Baltazar then got entangled with another attacking creature. It grabbed his arm as he tried to bring his Spatha down onto its head. He then smashed the boss of his shield into its face causing it to take a step back. As it did so, he was able to yank his arm free of its grasp and bring his Spatha down onto its head killing it.
An odd thing then happened. No damned filled the hole to be the next in line to try and turn Baltazar into a meal. Baltazar glanced left and then glanced right up and down the line. The damned had stopped pressing their attack.
Baltazar yelled, “Take a step forward until you re-engage the enemy. Halt whenever one of us pauses to fight. Begin!”
The group took one step forward and still the damned didn’t turn and fight. They seemed to be more interested in the bearded berserker bellowing and cursing loudly as he and his companions on the top of the hill slew scores of them.
“I saw that man get bit several minutes ago. Why doesn’t he turn?” Baltazar asked.
Lael responded, “I know not, but he is saving our lives.”
Baltazar and his men were able to emerge from the water completely. Once they did so, they reached the horde of the damned still intent on getting at the huge bellowing warrior.
Baltazar yelled, “At them, while the bastards are distracted!”
The men used Spatha and ax to stab at the back of the damned’s skulls in front of them. In the first minute, they were able to fell dozens of the creatures. The bellowing berserker and the slingers continued to slay them in droves. Their quick work with the slings acting like a scythe sweeping across many stalks of wheat simultaneously. Jaco’s cavalry remounted their horses and were able to ride out from behind the shield wall. Their bow strings wet from the water, they instead drew their Spathas and joined the guardsmen as they hacked at creatures on the edge of the dwindling horde.
About ten minutes and hundreds of slain damned later, Baltazar’s force came face to face with the bearded berserker. The man was covered in purple ichor and gore. He was also bitten in several locations. His red blood oozed out of at least a half a dozen bite marks and mixed with the purple all around him. As he slew the last of the damned, he seemed to be disorientated. Seeing Baltazar, he raised his gladius, screamed, and charged.
Baltazar brought his shield up to block the blow. Despite the small size of the gladius, the man’s brute strength caused Baltazar to take a step back as his shield absorbed the brute force of the man’s mighty strike. The colossal blow caused his shield arm to instantly go numb.
The two figures at the top of the hill ran down yelling, “Legion, stop!”
Dazed, Legion stopped attacking, sank to his knees, screamed something unintelligible, dropped his gladius, and began smashing the bodies of the damned with his bare hands. A beautiful female with swarthy skin and raven black hair worked to calm him as her companion quietly watched. After about a minute or so Legion seemed to calm and then he started crying.
Baltazar walked up to the trio and introduced himself, “Greetings. I’m Dekanos Baltazar of the 5th Parthica. We are very thankful for the timely rescue. From where do you hail?”
The female glanced back at the male in the Legionnaire’s armor which had fallen out of use in Syria about one hundred and fifty years prior. The man took several steps forward until he was face to face with Baltazar and introduced himself, “Well met. I’m Dekanos Nasir of the Arabia Province Border Limitanei.”
Baltazar replied, “You’re a long way from home Dekanos. What brings you to Palestinia Province?”
Nasir gestured at the woman, “I was in command of a border post when her people came through. They were fleeing from these things which showed up later that evening and wiped out my unit. Fortuna smiled upon us that night, and we were able to survive. We’ve been searching for other elements of the army ever since to warn them of this invasion. We always seemed to be one step behind the hungry ones.” He then gestured at the man, who was still on his knees sobbing, “During our journey, we found that man in the ruins of Jerusalem. He has suffered a blow to the head. All he can tell us is that his name is Legion.”
Baltazar smiled, “Well we are certainly glad you happened to come by when you did.” He points at Legion, “Legion was bitten several times. Why does he not turn?”
Nasir shrugs his shoulders, “I know not. I’ve watched him get bit several times before. Every time we encounter these things he goes into a rage and slays them by the score.”
Legion, calmed now, stands and ignores Baltazar and his men. The lady moved to stand beside Nasir. She takes his hand in hers, and they share a glance. She then looks at Baltazar, smiles, and says in heavily accented Latin, “Hello, I’m Maarika. Where were you going when we ran across you?
Baltazar replied, “Well met, Maarika. We were escorting a group of wagons back to the battlefield at Yarmouk.”
Nasir said, “We came upon that scene yesterday. Chilling to see so many Romans slain. Scores of the damned were feasting on their putrid flesh.”
Baltazar nodded, “Aye, we lost the entire Syrian Thema at Yarmouk save less than a hundred survivors from the 5th Parthica and 8th Mesopotamian. Many Imperial Tagmata also fell there. They retreated north toward Antioch leaving us provincials to our fate.” He spat on the ground and then added, “Thrice cursed cowards!”
Nasir asked, “Did you hope to rescue some survivors? We found none there, so I see no need for you to press on.”
“No, we are going back to retrieve arms and armor. We are trying to rebuild the 5th Parthica. Though we have an arsenal at Damascus, it cannot produce weapons and armor fast enough to equip our new recruits. Also, we hope to create our own version of the Imperial Kataphractoi. Our armory doesn’t have the skill to manufacture the heavy plate armor and the horse barding, so we need to gather all we can at Yarmouk.” Baltazar replied.
Nasir nodded, “Makes sense. Is it true what they say about the Kataphractoi? That none can stand against them?”
Baltazar nodded, “Aye. I watched them charge into the damned twice. Without even using their weapons the armored horses slew scores of them just from smashing into them. It was magnificent! Add in the ones slain by their lances, Spathas, and bows, and they seemed to be virtual fortifications on horseback.”
“I’ve heard as much, but I’ve spent my entire time in Arabia Province manning a border post on the ass end of nowhere. I’ve never gotten to witness them in action,” Nasir replied.
Maarika smacked Nasir in the arm to indicate her displeasure and said, “That ass end of nowhere was my home.”
Ignoring her, Nasir asked Baltazar, “Obviously your wagons, without their drivers and mounts, don’t seem to be going anywhere. What are your plans?”
“We are going to move a half mile north up the road to get away from this stink and camp. My wagon drivers along with their mounts fled up the road in that direction at the beginning of the battle. Hopefully, they’ll come back tonight. If they do, we’ll continue pressing on towards Yarmouk.”
Nasir said, “Sounds good. Would you like three more to join your effort? Legion here is useless in a formation, but he kills the hungry ones by the dozen and seems to be immune to their bites. Maarika, though she lacks the armor and training to fight in the shield wall formation we witnessed you using, is an excellent slinger.”
Maarika snorted and replied, “Aye, good enough to save your arse on multiple occasions.”
Baltazar grinned, “We’d love to have you.”
The survivors
headed north up the road. After about twenty minutes of walking, they picked a spot for their campsite. Baltazar had the men set up chopping down several palm trees to build a fire. He hoped the light would attract the wagon drivers back to them. They were able to complete the work without any interruption. The green wood smoked a lot, but eventually, the group was able to get a nice blaze going. Baltazar hoped that the huge fire wouldn’t cause any more attacks from the damned that night. With the wagon drivers separated from them, he felt he had no choice but to light the fire.
Throughout the night, the drivers and their teams slowly trickled into the camp. Despite the large fire no additional damned were attracted to them. By dawn, the next day ten drivers and their teams had returned. The remaining ten teams, eighteen guardsmen, seven riders, and three newcomers set off south down the Jerusalem road continuing their journey to Yarmouk.
Chapter 30
Morning, August 19th 636 Damascus, Syria Province, Byzantium
A Day in the Life
“Good morning sir!” Saul said happily in a loud voice.
With a groan, Constan sat up in bed, rubbed his blurry eyes and asked, “What time is it?”
“It’s six am, the time you requested to be awoken,” Saul said, again far too loudly.
“Can ye whisper? My head is killing me.”
“Sir, your head wouldn’t be killing you if you’d stop making it your mission to empty the villa’s wine cellar each night.”
“Has someone appointed ye to be me mum when I wasn’t looking?”
“It’s my job to ensure all your needs are met so that you can satisfy the needs of the Empire on the battlefield.”
Constan rolled his eyes at Saul’s patriotic explanation for his nagging, “Leave so I can get dressed already.”
“I can assist you with that,” Saul replied.
“I’ve been bloody well dressing me’self for forty-three years. I don’t need ye help to do it. Now get out!”
“As you wish, sir,” Saul said glumly.
As Saul walked out, Constan added in a loud voice, “Try being me mum again and you’ll be finding someone else’s arse to wipe!” He then winced at the sound of his own voice.
Oh me head. Perhaps the bastard has a point. He reached over and poured himself a goblet full of wine and drank deeply, “Ahhh that’s better.” he said out loud. He then proceeded to put on his uniform. He searched around for his Spatha muttering, “Where in the nine hells did I leave me blasted sword?”
Constan found it beneath a heap of vomit covered clothing that was his uniform from yesterday. He picked it up, found his scabbard and the attached belt, and cinched it to his waist. He tossed some water onto his face and then looked at a polished piece of bronze to make sure he was decently presentable. As he walked out of the room, he almost tripped over Saul, who was standing just outside the door.
“Pardon me, sir,” Saul said.
“What’s me schedule look like today?”
“You have a meeting with Governor Maurice at eight this morning. You then have a meeting at ten scheduled with the manager of the Armory. At twelve you are meeting with the Kentarches. Finally, at one you are meeting with the gentlemen the Governor appointed to work with you on improving Damascus’ defenses.”
“Nothing after that?”
“No sir, you have plenty of time to drink yourself back into a stupor for the rest of the evening,” Saul said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Constan ignored Saul’s sarcasm, grabbed himself a loaf of bread from the kitchen, and left the villa. His feet carried him like they did every morning since he became a Tourmarches, over to the training ground. He watched as the men were lined up in formation and began their marching drills. The four Kentarchias of guardsmen executed the transition from one formation to the next skillfully. The two Kentarchias of newcomers attempted to do the same but looked ragged and disjointed.
As the sun broke the horizon, Constan left the fort and walked to the armory. Not wanting to disturb anyone, he was careful to avoid the manager. From a position in the shadows, he observed for a time. His men were being worked hard to keep the forges hot. He smiled, These poor buggers are going to get strong as oxen inside a week at this rate.
The constant sound of pounding filled the air. It was coming from the blacksmiths as they beat molten iron, using their hammers, into weapons. The sounds of weapons being produced for use against the damned made his head ache, Better bloody well move along before me head explodes.
Constan left the armory and turned onto Straight Street heading for the Governor’s palace. As he walked something seemed out of place. He paused, pondered for several moments and then it came to him, no men. The city was alive with people going about their business and performing the tasks needed, but the absence of men drew a stark contrast to the city he had remembered before they left for Yarmouk. Many of the same tasks were being performed but by women instead. He filed this information into the back of his mind. Perhaps he could devise some way to use it to advantage later?
Constan finished his walk to the Governor’s palace and knocked on the stout oaken door. The door was guarded by two of the Governor’s guards. They looked smart in their polished kits.
Within moments the square speaking hole opened up, and he was observed by the slave, “State your-.” The statement wasn’t finished as the slave realized who he was. Instead, Constan could hear the bar on the door being lifted and the door opening.
“Thanks, Titus,” Constan said.
“You’re welcome, sir. If you proceed into the courtyard, they’ll get you situated where you need to go.”
“Aye, I know the drill,” Constan said.
It’s the same one he’s had every morning. Show up for his eight o’clock briefing to the Governor on how the training of the new Skutatoi is progressing and be made to wait while the Governor continues to consume vast quantities of food to break his fast. Assuming he ever fasts, the fat bastard probably eats in his sleep. Constan thought to himself silently as he walked into the courtyard.
He sat down on what had become his favorite bench in the Governor’s courtyard. Without asking, a servant appeared and handed him a goblet full of wine. Constan sipped on the wine as he enjoyed the sound of the bubbling fountain. He took a deep breath and savored the tinge of humidity in the air that is so rare in Syria. The soothing sounds of the fountain began to dull his senses when he heard the faintest shift of a plant behind him.
Surprised, Constan whirled around while drawing his Spatha. One of the Governor’s servants, a female, was pruning a bush. She looked up at the sound of his steel, ringing from being drawn from its scabbard and screamed.
“Sorry, ye startled me,” Constan said with a sheepish look on his face.
“You gave me quite a fright,” The servant replied.
“The Governor will see you now.” Felix, the Governor’s assistant, said into Constan’s left ear.
The sudden noise so close at hand when he was focused on the bush trimmer in front of him caused him to flinch. Felix laughed at Constan’s reaction. Constan sheathed his Spatha and walked briskly up a flight of nearby stairs. Emerging onto the second floor, he made his way to the Governor’s office.
The stout oak door that led to his office was flanked by two of the Governor’s guards. As Constan approached the door, he admired the plate mail the two guards were wearing, If we had been outfitted like that at Yarmouk we would’ve won the battle. Those bastards would have broken their teeth on armor such as that. Without being prompted Constan surrendered his Spatha and dagger to the guards. They wordlessly took the two weapons from him and set them into a box next to the left guard’s feet.
Constan walked into the Governor’s office. He saw that the Governor was sitting outside on his balcony overlooking the forum, he was still eating. Constan walked out onto the balcony and saluted the Governor. As the Governor’s mouth was full of pastry and he indicated with his hand for Constan to sit.
The Gove
rnor smacked his lips and chewed on his dessert. Finally finishing, he smiled at Constan, there were several bits of food still stuck in his teeth, “Good morning, Tourmarches. How goes the training?”
“The guardsmen are making excellent progress with their maneuvers and weapons training. I believe they will be ready to man the walls in a few days’ time.”
Governor Maurice smiled, “Excellent news, and the draftees?”
“Their progress has been slower, especially since they spend half their day working in the armory. The nature of the work, however, seems to be building up their strength and endurance much quicker than the guardsmen have done.” Constan answered.
The Governor frowned, “How long before they will be able to man the walls beside the guardsmen?”
“At least two to three weeks at this rate.”
“When will the guardsmen be fit to march beyond the walls to conduct missions?”
Constan pondered the question for several moments and answered, “I believe the 2nd Kentarchia will be ready for that in maybe two weeks. The 3rd and 4th in about three weeks and the 1st Kentarchia perhaps three weeks to a month.”
“Why does the progress of the 1st Kentarchia lag the others?”
“It’s their officer, Zahid. The lazy bastard refuses to lead by example, and he doesn’t know much about being in the military. Along with his brother, Farid, they are the original commanders of the guardsmen, so I am reluctant to replace them with some of my men. I fear this may damage the morale of the guardsmen.”
The Governor smiled, pleased, “That is rather an astute observation, Tourmarches. I’m surprised you didn’t rise above the rank of Dekanos. I know what you mean though, those two worthless bastards have been a thorn in my side for years. If not for their connections in Constantinople I would have had heated rods shoved up their arses years ago.”
Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 43
