“I am sure it does,” Regillus replied demurely. A messenger cantered up. The weary man saluted, handing down a folded slip of paper. Regillus paused, the stream of men flowing around him like a river around a boulder. Ioannes reined in as well, pausing to hear the report.
“The Mongols have taken the garrison fort. The last transmission from the commander was logged an hour ago. Citadel observers report Mongol forces have breached the main northern gate of the Tiberian Wall as well. They also report that Mongol outriders have encircled Antioch to the south. Refugees have been sited streaming back towards the walls. Those barbarians are slaughtering any they can catch.” Regillus spat in disgust. “What type of army indiscriminately slaughters civilians?”
Ioannes shook his head and shrugged.
“An eastern army of heretical non-believers?” he asked, pausing for a moment. “Excluding present members of our western army of heretical non-believers.”
“Do you not care one bit for those people outside the walls?”
“How can I care, general, when I am more concerned about the enemy horde rampaging its way through our walls? Now I backed you in the audience chamber because you were decisive, but you have to maintain your focus.” The Greek merchant stared down at the younger man, his eyes glittering coldly. “Those people who fled the city made their choice. They knew the risks. Think about it in terms of assets and resources. We have limited assets here, and we must protect the resources we can. We cannot protect resources not under our control.”
Regillus frowned. I am not some money grubbing merchant, ignoring the death of hundreds, if not thousands, of civilians. And yet, a part of him agreed with the merchant. Those people had abandoned the city, their place of safety and security. They knew the risks.
The last of the legionnaires stumbled past, with some of the most wounded men being carried on stretchers. Regillus decided to table the issue.
“Let’s get going. We don’t want to be caught outside the citadel when the Mongols finally decide to stop sacking the city.”
Even with their head start, it was still close in the end. The last garrison legionnaires trickled over the Orestes River Bridge, seeking the safety of the citadel, along with a veritable flood of civilians who had remained in the city. Regillus kept the gates open as long as possible, until the first Mongolian horsemen appeared down the long Via Juliana, the major east-west roadway that cut through the city. With a slow nod of his head, the thick steel gates were rolled shut, and the massive portcullis dropped into place. Interlocking bars slid across the doors, gears clanking slowly, stopping with a heavy thud.
Ioannes stood in the last rays of the evening sunlight, the tall towers shading the courtyard in a gloomy twilight.
“Now what?”
“Now we wait. And pray that help gets here in time.”
Day Eleven: Desperation
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.