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.