Antioch Burns (2 page)

“Make for Janeria and that inn. We’ll light a signal fire. That should draw our cavalry forces,” he ordered in desperation. Spurring their horses into one last burst, the men thundered into the town. The townspeople saw the approaching Romans, then their pursuers. The peasants panicked, scattering like chickens before the
auxilia
riders. With moments to spare, the men rode into the walled compound, ducking under the low gate.

Regillus dismounted and quickly rushed to the gate. Several of his men joined him as they covered the gate with their
repeaters
.

“Get a signal fire lit! And see if this dirtball has a wireless or telegraph station!” he shouted at his second in command, who nodded hurriedly before shouldering his way into the inn, ignoring the protestations of the patrons in the yard.

“Clear out of here before the Mongols burst in and slaughter us. Get inside the inn. We’ll try to hold them off,” Regillus ordered grimly. He could hear the sounds of fighting just over the fieldstone wall that bordered the inn’s carriage yard. He gritted his teeth.
I must stay focused on the mission. Running out there to save people is an easy way to wind up dead.
His brain warred with his heart.

But I have to do something!

Several of his men had now cranked out their legion
scuta
. The heavy cavalry shield had undergone a retrofit in recent years to make it more transportable, and now strapped to the arm. Once there, you had to wind a crank, and the shield would telescope out, each pie-shaped piece sliding out from the arm grip and around the central boss. Although heavy, awkward, and slow to open, the shield worked perfectly, and even Regillus had to admit the idea was superb.

“Sir, we’ll cover you while you arm yourself,” one of his men said. It was only then that Regillus realized how very unprotected he was.

“Very well. See if we can barricade the gate. If we can, get up on the walls. Let’s thin out these raiders.”

The man nodded, and Regillus jogged back to his horse. He pulled his own
scutum
and popped out the crank. Once, twice, three times, and the shield was fully deployed. He locked the crank back into place. He then took his face guard and slid it into the small slot in his helmet. His face was fully protected now, with only a pair of eye and mouth slots unguarded. His world closed in as he strapped his masked
galea
into place. To an enemy, it was as though his opponent was a faceless, metal monster.

Feeling more protected, he holstered his hand-repeater and drew his
spatha
,
the Roman replacement for the
gladius
feeling heavy in his hand. His fingers flexed around the leather-bound grip, and his thumb tested the sharp, curved slashing edge of the weapon.

Satisfied with his equipment, he returned to the gate, now blocked by an overturned produce cart. Several of his men were shoving barrels, fence posts, and any other odds and ends they could get their hands on against the barricade. The majority of his men had now found, or in some cases, created, firing platforms that allowed them to see over the walls.

“Don’t waste your fire, men. Only shoot at visible targets. We don’t know how long we’ll have to hold out,” he ordered his nervous men. He had been with his men, the 2
^nd
Auxiliary Cavalry detachment, nicknamed the Eagle Eyes, for two years now and had grown to identify their moods, and what he felt concerned him.

His men were preparing to die.

Frowning, Regillus looked for a centralized position to view the situation, and spotted it by the gateway. One of his men had placed some boards between two barrels, and was shooting his repeater from the sturdy wall top.

Regillus clambered up onto the boards. Ulysses Iona steadied him with a calloused hand, nodded a greeting to him, then spoke.

“Sir, we want to know. How are you going to get us out of this one?”

Such a blunt question would have insulted many other commanders, but it did not bother the officer. He had long learned that it was best to listen to, and address, the cause of his soldiers’ concerns.

“Fight like one of Pluto’s hellhounds in a corner,” he replied.

Ulysses gave a short smile.

“You would say tha-” His words cut off with a sharp
tung
as a arrow buried itself into his head, stabbing right through his steel helmet. Regillus cursed and ducked out of the way.
Gods damn their accuracy
. He didn’t bother to check Ulysses, knowing he was already dead from such a pinpoint shot.

“Take cover and adjust your position after each shot!” he shouted out. Nervously, he peaked over the wall again. The streets were mostly empty now, and the sounds of slaughter and death filled the town. Bodies lay in the streets where they had been hacked down. The sound of horse’s hooves reached his ears, and he turned at just the right moment. Another arrow sliced by his face, so close he could feel the vanes guiding the bolt.
There!

He spotted the shooter, crouched down behind a low wall. He shot on reflex, the
twang
of his repeater followed by the low whine of the arrow as it shot through the air. His target disappeared from view. Ducking back behind cover, Regillus tugged the mechanism working the next bolt into position. The small lever went
snick-snick-snick
as it was cocked back. He was down to four shots before he would have to reload. There were more clips in his saddlebags, but the
decanus
didn’t have time to abandon his position.

Peeking his head up over the wall lip, he spied movement at the end of the street. More Mongols, gathering in force, their horses weaving in and out of cover.

“Watch the east end of the road!” he called to the other men on the wall.

Vegiutus came back out into the courtyard.

“Sir! The only wire station is on the other side of town. There’s no way we can get to it. But I had an idea.” Surly looking inn employees were dragging mattresses into the courtyard, along with stacks of firewood.

“I think this fire should be able to generate enough smoke for Antioch to see. And… Uh…the innkeeper was not amenable to our needs…,” he said unapologetically. A skinny man with combed over hair stalked angrily out the inn door, marching over to where Regillus crouched next to the wall.

“Are you the commander of this idiot? Here is the bill for all of my material that you are burning.” He thrust a paper slip up at Regillus, a determined look in his eye.

“Seriously? Now? How about I pretend like I didn’t see this until after the Mongols kill you.” He tore up the piece of paper. The man’s face had gone white. “Now get back inside while we risk our lives to protect you.” He turned his eyes back to the wall and the street beyond it.

Behind him, the low crackling sound and the smell of burning linens and wood reached his senses.
Please, someone, see our signal!
he pleaded with his gods.

“Sir! Here they come!” A detachment of Mongols was riding down the street, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs. They appeared rag-tag, some sporting vests and breeches, while others wore fur cloaks and pointed steel helmets. Their vaguely Asiatic features had become mixed with those of their Persian subjects, and some men displayed the long, thick black beard so common amongst many Persian families, whilst others favored the short and pencil thin mustaches of their conquerors.

Bolts lanced out from the Roman defenders, scything down several of the riders. In return, the Mongols scattered, many firing back with their horsebows. The Romans kept up a smattering of return fire, preserving as much ammunition as possible at the orders of their leader. The remainder disappeared down the side streets. An hour went by, then two. The Mongols continued to probe their defenses, a few men here, a few there. A sudden rush along a wall to try and draw out the defenders, crossing blade and shot with the Romans. The pinprick attacks kept the Romans on their toes, drawing the battle out long into the twilight.

“Where are they?” Regillus murmured aloud during a momentary pause in the fighting.

“The Mongols or our reinforcements, sir?” replied Vegiutus. He adjusted his scale armor, tightening one of the buckles on his shoulder as he spoke. Sweat had dried in dirty yellow streaks on his face.

“Either. I don’t think we’ve seen a Mongol for at least a half hour or so.”

“Perhaps that is good, sir? We’ll be alive to report in.”

“We'll have to wait until night to leave the cover here. I want to make sure the civilians are safe before we pull out.”

Vegiutus sighed, but made no other point of argument.

I can practically hear your thoughts, Vegiutus. I know you think the civilians are a waste of time, especially the innkeeper. But we’re sworn to protect the citizens of this nation, regardless of how…obnoxious…they are.
Regillus turned back, watching as the lengthening evening shadows stretched down the dirt streets. He left the barricade and walked into the inn. His goal of evacuating or hiding the civilians had several key requirements, and he hoped the inn would provide the necessities.

The stone facade stretched out to either side, forming a stable with large wooden doors to the right, and a kitchen entrance to the left, including several outdoor firepits. A swinging signpost projected from the wall, the painted wood advertising the services offered. Below the sign, a narrow slit of light peeked out from the inn’s main entry. Regillus pulled off his helmet, strapping it to his belt as he pushed open the door.
It would not do to terrify the people I am supposed to guard
.

Blinking, Regillus paused at the threshold of the common room. The room was brightly lit from two swinging chandeliers and several wall lamps backed by mirrors. About a dozen patrons sat around the room. A family with small children crowded a small circle table, while a group of gaudily dressed merchants played cards at another. Two young serving maids, no more than fifteen, whispered in a corner, while the innkeeper stood with arms crossed behind the bar, glowering at him. Two other patrons sat at the bar, drinking their small glasses of liquor in solitude. All examined the officer as he entered the room.

Sighing, Regillus approached the counter.
You wouldn’t think there is a war outside
.

“What can I do for you, soldier boy?” The man sneered at him.

“You can tell me if you have a basement or enough horses for everyone here to escape on,” Regillus said flatly. His tone caught the innkeeper off-guard, and the man’s face froze for a second before the sneer disappeared.

“No basement, and the only horses here are my personal one, the engineer’s donkey, and your own.”

Both plans gone, just like that.

“Then it appears my men will be staying a bit longer.”

The innkeeper’s face morphed into a strange combination of annoyance and relief.
Probably wants us gone, but with the Mongols around, wants us to stay. Why can’t they just be happy that we’re here to protect them
? He wondered.

“My men will need sleeping arrangements in here for the night. I’ll have to rotate them, half on, half off, until we’re sure the Mongols have retreated.” 

He spoke to all the patrons in the room as well. 
“If anyone here has experience in the army, we could sure use the help. My men are spread pretty thin.” The father of the small family stood slowly, shaking off his wife’s hand.

“I mustered out of the reserves a few years ago. Legio
Aegytpus
IX. I’d be glad to lend a hand. Legionnaire Second Rank Optanus Faristes. I have my own sword, but I admit that I’m not the best shooter.” He shrugged. Regillus strode over and shook the man’s hand.

“I'll take anyone we can get. Any other takers?” He looked around.

One of the men at the bar threw back his drink. The glass rang on the counter as he set it down and turned to the young officer.

“I think I’ve got something that may help. It’s out in my wagon,” he said in a slurred voice. His bushy beard trickled drops of liquid as he rose to his feet. He lurched by Regillus and Faristes, motioning for them to follow. Nose wrinkling at the smell wafting from the man, Regillus nevertheless followed him out through a side door into the stables.
We need every sword holder we can get.
The man was already digging through the back of his wagon, pushing through boxes and haphazardly stacked piles of machinery. Finally, he pulled a long, rectangular box from the wagon.

“Come here and help me lift this thing,” he ordered.

The two younger men grabbed opposite sides of the box. It was surprisingly heavy, and the men grunted as they carried it out into the courtyard.

“Set it down, set it down! You boys are just too slow!” He nagged them. Ignoring the man’s protestations, Faristes and Regillus carefully placed the box down in the center of the courtyard. The bearded stranger pushed them out of the way, prying open the lid and setting to work assembling various pieces of metal machinery. Regillus left the man to his work.

“You think whatever it is will actually be helpful?” Faristes asked.

“Not sure. But in the meantime, let's get you equipped.” Regillus went over to where the Romans had laid out their dead. He said a small prayer and began removing armor from the deceased.

“Sir!” one of his men called to him. “Mongols on the street, coming this way! They’ve got some sort of battering ram!” Cursing, Regillus left Faristes to his own devices. He slammed his helmet back onto his head as he ran, fumbling with his repeater.

“Stall them as best you can! Everyone else, to the gate!” Regillus called. His shouts awakened the resting members of his detachment. They scrambled to join him, leaving their blankets and camp rolls along the edge of the walls. Regillus gathered his small party before the barricaded entryway.

“If they break in, try to hold them here. If we can keep our formation, we have a chance of victory.” Faristes joined them. Regillus nodded to him. “Legion Second Rank Faristes will be joining us for the battle, as will our mysterious engineer friend over there. Let’s try and keep the horsemen off him, perhaps his contraption will win us the battle.” Shouts and screams could now be heard over the walls. The Roman defenders were methodically shooting, ducking, reloading, and firing again over the walls. Regillus could practically see the short bolts stabbing through whatever protection the lightly armored Mongolians had to offer.