Antioch Burns (9 page)

A day on the water,
the sunlight dazzling his eyes as it reflected off the water. Portia sat opposite him, delicate hand gripping the side of the small rowboat they had rented for the day. His own hands gripped the oars, smoothed by countless suitors before him. The river was popular. Chaperones could observe, from the stability of the shore, using the rented binoculars, while the man and woman had a few moments to communicate in privacy.

This was the day he would do it. He would ask her to become his wife. He had barely spoken, when she said yes. It was given with such finality, such emphasis, as though she had been waiting for him to ask for weeks or months.

It was only later that he found out she had wanted to marry him since the first time they had bumped into each other at the forum. Such an unladylike thing to decide, without knowing a bit of his background or family history.

Of course, he had not told her about his family either, not until after she had said yes. Regillus had run far and hard from his family, and he wanted to be sure his future wife was after him, and not his family money or connections. He could almost hear his father chiding him angrily for throwing away a chance to make a
political
connection, but Regillus could care less about the man’s opinions.

Back to the boat now, Portia throwing herself at him, embracing him in a most improper manner. The chaperones on the shore clucked in disapproval, but he ignored them, overwhelmed by the scent of her hair, the feel of her skin on his face, the soft touch of her kisses, surrounded by the most joyful words he had heard before or since.

“Of course. Of course, of course I will marry you.”

A tapping at the door shattered his dream.

“Legate General? Sir, are you awake? Your presence is requested in the command room.” The muffled voice came from the hallway.

Regillus groaned as he pulled his aching body out from under the covers.

“Give me a moment.”

He threw some cold water onto his face, staring into the mirror at the dark circles and red-rimmed eyes peering back at him.
What is this, the tenth day? Twelfth?
He pulled on his
lorica
, dented but clean, over a new undershirt, one of the luxuries of being a legate general. He finished armoring up, attaching greaves, leg guards, his belt and hand repeater holster, and finally his sword belt and scabbard.

He opened the door. A small party of legionnaires waited apprehensively. Their officer stepped forward, his youthful face serious with responsibility as he greeted the senior commander.

“Sir, Underofficer Illios. The war council requests your presence immediately. Messages have come in and the Mongols are mobilizing.” He lowered his voice. “They say it is reinforcements. The Air fleet is bringing reinforcements!” The man, boy really, for his title, dropped his guard somewhat at the idea of rescue.

“Very well. Take me to them.”

A few short minutes later, they arrived in the same audience chamber that had seen Regillus facing down the provincial governor. Now the chamber had been fully over taken by the legions as a centralized command point. A Mobile Command Table dominated the center of the room, showing a perfect overhead view of the Antioch defensive citadel and surrounding territory. Officers positioned small figurines on the table, adjusted them as new information came in from scouts and observers.

Regillus approached the table.

“Give me an update,” he ordered. One of the new group of
cohort
commanders stepped forward and saluted. Tribune Wessox had been but a senior file leader less than two weeks ago, but now commanded fully one eighth of the remaining strength of the Syrian IV.
From ten men to four hundred under his command, that is quite a leap in responsibility.

“Sir,” Wessox started, “We began receiving transmissions just over two hours ago from a relief fleet led by General Constantine Tiberius Appius. They are approaching Antioch from the north, with an estimated time of arrival to be tomorrow afternoon or evening.” He handed over a folded sheaf of papers. “These are the exact messages. Several of them are tagged for your eyes only, so I sealed them for you, sir.”

Regillus thanked the officer and sat down on one of the many stools that surrounded the command table. He flicked his fingers through the sheaf of paper, reading each message slowly and carefully. A fast reader by nature, Regillus had long since learned the benefit of slowing down when trying to read important dispatches. Costly experience in a previous posting had taught him to read twice, act once, rather than make bone-headed mistakes.

A half-hour elapsed. Regillus began to notice that the hall was filling up with more legionnaires and civilians than normal. No one interrupted him, save a single servant offering him a mug of hot, strong tea. Regillus gratefully accepted, the hot liquid fueling his body. It was then he noticed the larger population present.

Of course, no soldier could resist spreading the word of the rescue fleet once they learnt about it.
The room continued to fill, as the Antiochians,
his
people, waited for the official announcement.

Regillus finished reading the last of the wireless message. An upwelling of emotion threatened to force tears from his eyes. He closed them tightly for a moment, drinking deeply from his tea rather than show his emotions. The general stood, walked to the dais at the head of the room. The soft leather of his boots whispered on the cool marble as he ascended up the steps, until he could turn and face the crowd that quietly gathered in his wake. Nervous now, he took a moment to calm his pounding heart.

“I have news. A great and mighty air fleet led by the Emperor himself has been sent to Antioch. It shall arrive tomorrow night, if the gods of wind and air are kind.” Before he had finished, a great cheer erupted, men and women leaping and embracing in an outpouring of all the emotions hidden deep since the beginning of the siege. Regillus motioned them down with his hands, waiting for the tumult to subside. His voice cracked as he spoke the next words.

“Although they will be coming here to Antioch, they are not here to take the fight back to the Mongols. They… they are here to evacuate the city. All civilians and legionnaires will be evacuated. The city will not be saved. Antioch is to be abandoned to the Mongols.”

The emotions of the crowd turned from jubilation to anger.

“I never believed I would see the day when Rome runs away.”

“Those barbarians killed my family, and now we are going to let them get away with it?”

“If they are not going to help, then I say we do not need them. We can hold off the Mongols on our own!”

Mastering his own emotions, Regillus finally shouted over the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Be reasonable here. It will take a massive mobilization effort to defeat the Mongols, and we would not be spared any additional soldiers. Antioch is, frankly, unprepared for a siege. It is only by sheer
luck
that we have held out this long. By fate, the city should have fallen twice over. Do not despair! This is not the end of Antioch. You are Antioch.” He pointed at an especially vocal woman in the audience.

“As long as you survive, Antioch survives. And you. And you, also. While one of you breathes, Antioch survives. Like the ancient Trojans fleeing Troy, while one of us survives, the dream, the knowledge, the majesty that is our city survives. And I, Marius Quinctius Regillus, scion of my family, heir to the fortune of the Quinctius trading house, swear that I will do all in my power to return Antioch to its former glory.” The crowd had fallen silent. Regillus took a deep breath.

“So take this opportunity to prepare yourself. You may bring no luggage or possessions with you aboard the airships, as we must use every spare foot for people. I will be sending out legionnaires to group you into embarkation teams, with assigned postings to specific airships. So spread the word, listen to my men, and remember the rules. May the gods watch over you.” Regillus could feel his legs turn to jelly, but somehow forced himself to remain standing while the crowd dispersed.

Ioannes approached, once more garbed in the silks and cloth of a merchant, rather than his armor. A terse smile appeared on his face, although his hooded eyes were full of worry.

“Well done, legate general. That was a masterful speech. If I did not know better, I would say you were a master politician.” Regillus shook his head, taking a seat on the top step of the dais.

“Perhaps just learned from the best, then?” Ioannes continued. “Nevermind that, we still must hold out for another night. And I have come from the eastern ramparts. Something is happening. I took the liberty of mounting up my
bucerelli
and your reserve forces.”

“Show me.” Ioannes motioned him towards the command table. Regillus strode over, the merchant jogging slightly to keep up. Several other officers gathered around the table at Regillus’ gesturing. Ioannes pointed to a section of the river where it wound close to the eastern ramparts.

“It is the natural point for them to attack.” Stated Engineer Monventus from across the table. “Narrow enough to actually cross with minimal effort, and with plenty of buildings still standing to cover their approach.” Ioannes nodded in agreement.

“Some of the men on the walls have heard wagons moving and the sound of pickaxes.”

“We will have to rotate the men more frequently tonight. With just another day till the fleet arrives, we can push through. Do you have any other tricks up your sleeve?” Regillus asked. The other man placed a grimy finger on his cheek, thinking hard.

“I may be able to come up with something, but…”

“Don’t plan on it?”

“Exactly. I presume you do not need me for a while?”

Regillus shook his head, waving the man off.
Here’s hoping he can come up with something to save us yet again.

Hours later, Regillus stood atop the ramparts, feeling the last warm rays of the sunlight on his back. Along the wall, dozens of legionnaires stood at their posts, staring out into the half ruined city on the other side of the river. Massive towers punctuated the walls every five hundred feet or so, topped with ballistae and heavy
repeaters
. These death-dealers would occasionally fire into the smoke-scorched ruins, firing at the smallest sign of movement. The wall section commander was giving Regillus a brief situation overview.

“No reports yet, sir. The Mongols continue to shift men and manpower, but we do not know where they are going. They keep muddling around that construct opposite the main gate, but…” The officer paused, unsure about voicing his concerns to his commander.

“Go ahead man, speak. I appreciate your assessment.” Regillus spoke gruffly, still getting used to how the junior ranks viewed him, or rather, his position.

“It’s like they are waiting for something. And we cannot see what they do each night, but the sounds of squealing are worse than a thousand wagon wheels in Roma Central. They are moving something, but it is small enough that we cannot see it, or locate where they went during the daylight. But it is also heavy enough that the wheels are under a lot of weight.”

Regillus was impressed with the man’s knowledge.

“How do you know all this?”

“I was a cargo master before I joined the legions. Wheels squeal when going fast or carrying something heavy.”

“That must mean cannons then. Only slow and heavy thing a Mongolian army is likely to have,” Regillus quipped as he thought aloud. The other officer nodded.

“Thank you for your assessment, underofficer…”

“Centurion Tiberian Lupercenus. Originally Civic Legion, now permanently part of the Syrian IV.” The underofficer saluted and Regillus moved off down the ramparts, moving towards the gatehouse further south of the tower. He had just turned, where the wall went to the southwest following the river, when the opposite bank lit up. He stood, stupefied at the incredible barrage of light and sound.

Cannons
.

The Mongolians must have spent the last several nights maneuvering cannons into position, aiming and targeting the cylindrical towers that studded the battlements, then camouflaging them amongst the ruins.
But they still can’t charge over open water…

That problem was solved when, with a second massive roar of masonry and explosions, one of the towers to the north toppled into the river, along with a large section of the adjoining wall. Lit by the cannon fire, Regillus could see men and machines thrown from the ramparts as the wall collapsed.

As the smoke cleared, the cannons ceased firing. A deafening quiet descended the battlefield. Regillus reassured the men around him, who were beginning to panic.

“Remain at your posts!” Regillus ordered. “Make them fight for every step! Keep a steady eye, men! The Mongols will test us soon enough. Centurion, I need a
demi-cohort
here to accompany me to the breach,” he demanded. The shell-shocked centurion nodded without speaking as half of his manpower was pulled away.

Regillus raced back to the central compound. The advantage of being besieged on such a small island was more apparent when having to move from one place to another. Several messengers accosted him along the way, requesting instructions and directions.

“Stay at your posts and prepare to repel an enemy assault.” He repeated to each panicked courier, attempting to calm the jittery soldiers.

Inside, Regillus’ own body was in upheaval. Shock, surprise, and fear warred with each other to dominate him. Taking advantage of their disorganization, Regillus fought through his own feelings to demonstrate his calm, consistent demeanor. He only slipped once, when an aide from the main gate commander asked for orders a remarkable fourth time. Losing himself, Regillus screamed at the man.

“If your tribune does not seem to understand those orders, legionnaire, then by the gods’ I will come down there, take command, and send him outside the walls with just a knife. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” With that, the messenger fled, his cape streaming behind him.