Antioch Burns

Daniel Ottalini

Heart Ally Books

Camano Island, Washington

Antioch Burns

Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Ottalini.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contact the author at: danielottalini.com

Published by:

Heart Ally Books

26910 92nd Ave NW C5-406, Stanwood, WA 98292

Published on Camano Island, WA, USA

www.heartallybooks.com

ISBN-13 (epub): 978-0-9853740-9-9

Dear Reader,

The following text is a narrative account of the events occurring during the siege of Antiochia by the Mongol Invasion Force in the 1854
^th
year of the Christian Lord. This is one of the few confirmed documents on file about the fall of Antioch. All attempts have been made to verify the facts of this report. Until further witnesses come forward or more evidence is discovered, I fear that this is the most we will ever know about the fateful events surrounding one of the bloodiest periods in Rome’s history.

Signed,

Dannelus Ottalinia

Senior Transcriber & Historian Emeritus

Byzantium College of Warfare

August 1, 1862

For Eduarda,

Because these characters are as much your family as mine.

And for Asheville, North Carolina,

it is highly probable this novella would not have been finished without your calmness and serenity. You’re the best fix for writer’s block I’ve found so far.

The countryside flew by
at a prodigious rate, the horses of the
auxilia
scouting unit eating up the leagues of rolling hills and farmland. The double score of men rode two abreast, sunlight shining off their scale armor. The detachment of horsemen sent up a thin cloud of dust from the dirt road as they crested a low rise, their leader reining in his steed.
Decanus
Marius Quinctius Regillus reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a map. He traced their route with his gloved finger.

“According to the merchant’s report, he saw the burning villas down this way. He also said there was a lot of Easterner cavalry. Probably one of those damnable tribal disputes lighting up again,” Regillus quipped to his
auxilia
. “But still, orders are orders. Let’s check it out. Eyes open, sing out if you see anything.”

Out here on the eastern border of the Imperial Roman Empire, the massed cavalry forces of the Mongolian Khannates were the main threat, and the Romans had been forced to develop their forces in kind. The boys originally drafted from the cities and towns were no match for the veteran steppe riders. Most of these boys had not survived the first Roman-Mongolian War. Those that did were tough, wily, and exceptionally tricky to lead. But once you gained their trust and fellowship, the bond was unbreakable.

Regillus was different. The youngest son of Senator Quinctius Janus Regillus was nobly born, more the scholar than soldier. The fact that he had survived the two years of brutal, no-holds-barred warfare spoke to his skill and tenacity. That he rose in rank to lead an
auxilia
detachment, the ground based eyes and ears of the Roman Army, spoke to his intelligence. That he had done so without ‘buying in’ to a higher rank, as many of his peers had, revealed his character. Regardless of his background, his men respected him for those two reasons. He would not throw their lives away needlessly, and he was smart enough to not pretend to know everything. Many soldiers could not count themselves so lucky in their leadership.

Regillus guided his men off the dirt roadway, to better mask their dust cloud as they approached the supposed scene of the attack. They rode through the field, trampling the high crops with impunity. Finally, the horsemen crested a short rise, and the officer reined his men in.

“In the name of Jupiter Magnus…” Regillus’ jaw dropped, gaping at the sight laid out before him. Further down the valley, a massive tent city filled several huge tracts of farmland. The dome shaped huts of the Mongols had grown like mushrooms overnight. Banners flapped in the wind, too many to count. The rich smell of manure, horses, and trampled crops registered with the officer as he motioned to his men to dismount. The cavalrymen spread out to form a loose perimeter, their folding
repeaters
locked into place, wire stocks nestled into shoulders, fingers on the trigger. They scanned the fields of rippling crops and occasional rocky hills with nervous eyes. They too had seen the substantial enemy army encamped in the valley in the distance.

Regillus’ second in command, Limes Vegiutus, walked up beside his commander, pushing vegetation out of his way.

“Sir? What should we do?”

“Hopefully they have yet to see our dust cloud, but I would not count on it.” He told his junior officer. “Looks like that merchant was right.”

He pushed his way though the crops and back onto the road. He could track the motion of his men through the wheat as they moved to the edge of the cover. Just beyond the field lay the Via Thapsacus, the main trade route leading northeast towards Mongolian territory.

Removing his helm, Regillus caught sight of the slightly blurry black and white photograph of his family nestled amongst the interior webbing of his helmet. He paused, said a quick prayer to his gods, then handed the shining
galea
to one of his men, before crouching low and running across the road. He found shelter besides a few scraggly roadside bushes to get a better view of the land. Beckoning to his junior officer, he crouched down in the soil. Vegiutus joined him after copying his experienced commander’s movements. Lifting the binoculars to his face, he spoke in a low, rapid voice; Vegiutus scribbled down his observations.

“At least 60,000 men probably. Appears to be two thirds horse archers, but they’ve got some infantry guarding those covered wagons. I would wager ten good
denarii
that it holds some type of artillery train.” He scanned the position, looking for the pickets. He cursed as he noticed the camp beginning to stir. Some type of chief was waving his hands and pointing to their position.

“They’ve spotted our dust cloud. We’re in trouble. Run back to the horses and get that report onto a messenger pigeon. Antiochia must know about this and mobilize their forces. I don’t see how any of the border defenses could hold them back, but surely some word must have gotten out.” He mused, brain in overdrive as he analyzed the situation.

“Sir?” Vegiutus asked, nervously licking his dry lips. He looked a bit pale in the hot sun, the prospect of soldiering far less exciting when faced with a real, live enemy.

“You’re still here?” Regillus said sternly. Vegiutus scurried back across the road.
What did I do to get stuck with the general’s cousin? Poor kid can barely stomach the sight of these barbarians, and we’re a good two miles or so away.

He made his way back to the horses, jogging now, the sweat from the hot day trickling down his back and sides. He twirled his finger in a loop, silently directing his men. His
auxilia
quickly mounted up, and they wheeled around, galloping back through the field and onto the road.

“We must put some distance on them, then pull back on the horses. We don’t want them to go lame.” He shouted at Vegiutus, who nodded and signaled the rest of the men. The column raced along the roads. Their dust cloud formed a long, wavering tail behind them. Regillus could care less who spotted them now. Speed was of the essence.
How had they gotten past the border forts? What about the other border cities?

“How do you think they did it, sir?” Vegiutus shouted to him. He looked scared.
He’s probably never actually seen a real easterner before
, Regillus realized.

“They must have figured out how to bypass the forts or neutralize them somehow!” he called back. They were approaching the first of many small settlements that speckled the valleys northeast of the city. He stopped his horse, his men sawing abruptly at their reins. A scene of devastation met their arrival.

“This can only mean one thing,” he told his green-faced junior officer, “the easterners have gotten behind us and are already loose. We must make it to Antioch and warn the city.”

“But sir, we sent ahead the messe-“

Regillus made a chopping motion in the air with his hand, interrupting his younger companion.

“And we know that Mongols are crack shots with those horsebows of theirs. Plus they’re fast riders and eagle eyed. If there are raiders about, I give that bird only one chance in five it will reach Antioch.”

His words hung over the scouting party. Regillus checked his girdle and gear, before latching his helm back onto his head.

“Whatever you do, ride fast, ride hard, and do not stop for any reason.” His men nodded, faces grim with the realization that the only definite way to warn their city was to make it there alive.

They galloped through the burning town. Dead villagers lay sprawled about. Men, women, children, all had been put to the sword or bow.
Those bastards,
Regillus swore. His knuckles gripped his steed’s reins tightly, and he felt his throat tighten. Regardless of how many years he had been in the army, seeing death made his blood boil and his heart weep. Although he would have been ashamed to admit it, he was a sensitive soul. First his brother, then his father, and most recently the army had tried to beat it out of him, but every time, his compassionate heart was able to wait out the opposition.

Unfortunately in times like this, it made him question his decisions.
Perhaps we could have intercepted these raiders if we hadn’t scouted ahead? We could have at least stalled the raiders or even turned them away.
A small voice inside his head twisted the guilt dagger deeper. Shaking his head fiercely, Regillus pushed the thought away. There was nothing they could do now.

Vegiutus turned to puke over the side of his horse, the men behind him weaving away from the sick man’s revulsion.
Looks like someone else has a similar problem
.

“We must make haste,” Regillus said coldly, pushing away all the emotion he felt. His men now took the southern road, riding southwest toward the safety of Antioch’s walls. The vast bulk of Mount Silpious rose to their left. As the tiny watchtowers at the summit came into sight, Regillus felt his spirits rise.
Perhaps we can make it after all. Less than fifteen minutes until we are at the gates. Someone at the towers must have noticed the villages burning…

Their mounts laboring now, the riders turned a blind corner at full speed, and found themselves amid a group of roughly thirty dismounted Mongolian raiders. Surprised at the sudden arrival of two score Roman cavalrymen in their midst, the Mongolians were uncharacteristically slow to react, staring dumbfounded at their sworn enemies.

“Use your
repeaters
!” Regillus cried out, fumbling to pull his from its holster on his saddle. By the time he had it cocked and ready, his own men were blocking his view and they had already raced through the enemy warband.

“Should we turn around and engage them, sir?” Vegiutus called to him.

“No! We make for the city. They’ll be on our tails by now, but we have got speed and some distance on them,” Regillus replied hopefully. A cry from the back silenced that hope. Long black streaks began to fill the sky as the Mongolians attempted to bring down their Roman targets.

“Shields on your backs!” Regillus ordered. “Make them work for it! Back ranks, return fire!” His order was passed back, and the men at the rear began using their repeaters to try and harry their pursuers’ advance.

We can fight or we can flee, but we can’t do both.
Regillus thought, worried. He rapidly judged that his force would not be able to make it to the city walls before the hardier steppe ponies of the Mongolians surpassed their tiring Roman quarter horse opponents. Another scream behind him, followed by a sickening thud, forced the issue. He would not have his men slaughtered without the opportunity to fight back. Eyes searching desperately, the
auxilia
crested yet another hill.
There!
The winding dirt road passed through a village with a walled inn. A friendly sign offered food and rest to the weary traveler.