Casca 7: The Damned (12 page)

The horse was one of the tough, ugly, foul tempered Hun war ponies, a hooked nose beast that could live on gravel for a week. Casca still had a bruise the size of a dinner plate on his right thigh where the bastard had tried to make a eunuch of him.

If things went right, he would be on the walls of Orleans in the morning. It was his job to give the defenders their orders. Those in the city were waiting for him. Three days earlier, Visigoths, dressed in the same manner as he was now, joined in with an assault band of Huns going against the walls. They shot several arrows over the walls with the message that on this morning at first light, Casca would be coming to them. They were to have the gate ready to open at a moment's notice. They had signaled their assent at the hour when Venus appears in the night sky by lighting three fires on their parapets. They let the fires burn for five minutes, then extinguished them. They would be ready.

A troop of Roman cavalry arrived to provide Casca with an escort through their lines. If any of their men saw him in this dress, he would have his ass filled with missiles of many designs before he could protest.

Once through their outposts, he was on his own. He kicked his beast into a reluctant trot and headed into a grove of trees. He had about a four hour ride before he would be able to see the walls of Orleans.

At
dawn when the Huns made their regular morning attack, he had to be there. He rode hunched over through the trees and brush, keeping his head down to avoid the whipping branches that tried to stab his eyes out. Once he was out of the trees, the going was easier and he had a clear run to Orleans.

He swore that his horse was intentionally running at a stiff legged gait just to fracture his spine and ruin his butt. Casca was positive that because he had spent so many weeks in the saddle that he could clinch the cheeks of his ass together and be able to crack walnuts. Gods! How he hated horses!

The acrid smell of wood smoke from a thousand campfires reached him before he even came within eyeshot of the city. When he did see it, he was on the edge of the cleared area, which had once been farmland, leading all the way to the walls.

He eased the pony into a walk, not wanting to attract any attention. He passed a couple of patrols and waved at them in a comradely fashion, not stopping. The day was beginning to break as he came to a small knoll and pulled up.
From there the gates of the city were clearly seen; there was little more than a mile to go.

The light of the new sun was turning the skies red over the fields. The sounds of the Hunnish encampment reached out to him ... that peculiar distant murmur of thousands of men being formed up into ranks.

Over to the west he could make out several large devices. Obviously siege machines had been built during the siege and were nearly ready to be put into operation. A mixed detachment of Huns and Gepid cavalry formed up right below him. That was good. He looked the enemy warriors over. They weren't in too good a condition and neither were their animals. Attila had to take the city soon or his men would begin to starve. It was too bad they couldn't eat the gold and silver in their wagons.

He did recall a time when he had seen a man ordered to dine on such a meal. It had been at the court of the Sassinid King Shapur II, who had ordered a thief's mouth filled with molten gold. The idea of it made his teeth ache.

Horns were sounding; skin topped drums picked up the beat. It would be soon. Taking his shield from the straps where it hung on the other side of the pony, he put it on his left arm. The shield would be his key to getting inside the gates.

On the outside of the shield was the emblem of a gold eagle flying. When that was spotted, the gates would open for just enough time to let him enter. If he was too slow or the Huns too close, he knew they would be shut in his face.

The Huns and Gepids moved forward, staying just out of bow range. He did the same, careful to draw no attention to himself. To his left he saw about five hundred men. They looked like Alans carrying scaling ladders toward the walls. Casca moved in among the horsemen mingling with the mass as they started to ride at the walls, drawing their bows back.

Casca kicked his horse to the front of them,
then broke away heading straight for the gates, his shield raised high showing the emblem of the gold eagle. It also gave him a little protection in case someone on the wall hadn't gotten the word and tried to nail him. Several did let loose shafts; they were not near to hitting him but it made it look good.

It was easier than he had thought it would be. He pulled the slip knot on his pack, grabbed it and hit the ground running, letting his horse go back to its original owners with his curses. He had to dismount because the gate he was using was too small for
a horse to get through. The door swung open and he was inside before the Huns outside had a chance to figure out what had happened.

Immediately he was taken to the headquarters of the
praetor inditarium
, where he had his staff gathered, waiting for Casca's report and orders. The praetor, Commitus, was showing the effects of the siege. Fifty was too old for all this. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in weeks. The tension left him with a semi-permanent nervous tic at the corner of his mouth.

Casca saluted as Commitus rose to greet him and receive what he hoped would be more than a message
– a salvation. Casca sat at the head of the table where he could see the faces of all the officers present and made his report.

They listened without interruption until he informed them of the situation and what role they were to play. The last part didn't sit very well with them, but Casca left them few alternatives in the matter. It was a case of do as they were ordered in the coming battle and maybe get killed, or not do it and be killed for certain.

There was no way they had a chance to win unless they obeyed. That argument stopped their objections. They were to be ready to move at an instant's notice with all the manpower they had, including any civilians that hadn't already been pressed into service.

Casca changed back into his Roman uniform and armor, complete with his badges of rank, and went to the walls to observe the enemy.

The Huns weren't seriously attacking. They were just keeping those inside nervous and doing a damned fine job of it. When the siege machines were ready, the main assault would come. Once they reached the walls with the battering rams and three story mobile troop platforms from which they would be able to attack the walls by just running over a ramp it would mean the death of the city.

From what Aetius had learned from the prisoners, the machines would be ready in just two more days. Therefore, the conclusion of the siege had to be reached before they could be used.

Standing on the walls, he saw a strong party of Huns escorting two men. They came under flag of truce to parley. Commitus joined Casca on the wall. He gave the order for his men to stop their fire and let the party approach.

They halted just out of bow range. Their leader called out to those on the walls: "I am Ongesh, servant to Attila. I bring you the master's words, heed them and live. If you this day open your gates to us, he will spare your lives and your city. What good is the wealth of your city if you are dead? Submit and live. There are no other choices. My master makes this offer only once to show his mercy. He wishes to avoid further bloodshed. You have fought well and bravely. There will be no dishonor in surrendering to our forges which outnumber you by at least ten to one." He paused for effect. "You have until the sun reaches its zenith to make your reply. After that, there will be no further communication." He pointed back to the rear where one of the siege machines was being pulled up by captives, straining to haul the several tons of the battering
ram as their backs were laid open by Hun overseers.

"There will be more machines tomorrow, enough to bre
ach your walls with ease. These are the words of Attila. Think over what I have said. Your hours are numbered."

When they rode away, Casca noticed the figure of a slightly built man in the rear of the party looking as if the armor he was wearing wasn't natural to him. He had a look to him that was definitely not Germanic or Hun
nish.

Commitus joined Casca. "What do you think of the offer?"

Casca grinned evilly. "You think the Huns will honor his pledge if you surrender to him? I think not and to prevent the world from knowing he lied, I'll give you odds that the only one in that party that spoke our tongue was the leader. Anyway, in order to keep the world from finding out he's a liar, he will have to kill everyone here and he will. Don't even think about surrendering or I'll kill you myself before the first Hun enters the gates."

Commitus was not a complete coward, but the manner in which his guest spoke left no doubt in his mind that if he made any attempt to parley, he would most certainly die. There was no profit in that and Commitus was a practical man. The odds were better with the centurion's offer; at least that way he had a chance to live.

Casca didn't trust the praetor. He moved to a spot on the wall where he could protect his back from Commitus in case he got the idea that it would be better to eliminate him and make a separate deal with Attila. On his way he picked up a pilum from a weapons rack. There was nothing to do except wait until midday when they would return for their answer.

The other soldiers on the wall kept their distance from him. He had a look to him that said it was better to leave this one alone.

As promised, the Huns returned to get their answer. The same man, Ongesh, led them. The Huns stood still in their saddles as Ongesh called out to the walls. "What is it to be? Life or death? I await your answer."

Casca gave him his answer in a manner which would insure there would be no further parley.
Raising up to stand on the crenelated parapet, he took a deep breath, drew back, and then, with all the strength of his body, hurled the weighted pilum up in a long arcing throw. The spear entered the rib cage of Ongesh's horse, nearly hitting Attila's minister in the leg. The horse went down screaming, blood frothing from its nostrils. It was lung shot. Ongesh threw himself from the saddle to avoid being rolled on. He stumbled to his feet in a rage.

Casca called down to him: "You look better that way. Toads should not ride
horseback and from the look of your legs, you could probably hop faster than your horse could run."

Ongesh nearly had a stroke; blood rushed to his head, nearly making him fall back down. He screamed in rage; he wanted to get his hands on the Roman on the wall who dared break a truce and mock him. Naturally, Ongesh didn't recall the times he had messengers killed for just bringing bad news, but that was an entirely different matter.

One of his riders rode to him, dismounted, and gave Ongesh his horse. He swung up in the saddle, leaving the warrior whose horse he had taken to hang onto the tail of another's animal, and run back to their lines with awkward bandy-legged leaps as he hung onto the tail.

Ongesh stopped when he was sure he was out of range. That had been the longest spear cast he had ever seen. He could hear the man on the wall laughing at him. "Go ahead, laugh now," he screamed. "On the morrow, I will have your head for this. You will die, all of you, and your women will carry the seed of our warriors in their bellies. Your children shall be slaves for as long as they live and used as such. All males will be castrated. You will pay for this. I swear it upon the head of my father."
Raising up in his saddle, he pointed his finger at Casca. "And you, I will take myself. You will beg for the mercy of death." Whipping his horse around, he rode back to inform Attila of the city's response to his offer.

Ch'ing was sulking in his tent. Attila would not listen. His advisers and war chiefs had convinced him to go into Gaul. Ch'ing Li had time and again advised against such an action. He did not want to have to fight on more than one front. It was not the time to conduct another major campaign.

They had been in the field for too long. Their men needed rest, time to recuperate and train replacements. If they waited until the next spring, they would be able to take Italy. It would give them time to negotiate treaties with the Visigoths and the Franks, which would provide them with a passive buffer to the west. If they husbanded their strength at this time, they would have the power to conduct the war in Italy and keep the Eastern Empire out of it by making alliances with the White Huns in Kushan and even the Persians. Just the threat of such an alliance would prevent the Eastern Emperor, Marcian, from being able to lend any effective support to the Western Empire. Fools!

History had proven that Constantinople would always put their interests before that of Rome. Savages! They would not listen and learn. Attila was determined to have everything at once. He agreed they did not have the resources to attack Rome this season, but there was always Gaul.

Ch'ing Li knew the price would be great. He had no doubt they could take the city, but they would have to pay for it later. Sighing regretfully, he sent for his masseur to rub away the tensions of the day. There was one saving factor to the whole operation. If things went as he knew they would, the next time they took the field the influence of the warlords and shamans would be greatly reduced. He would gently remind Attila that it was he who had advised him to wait.

Undressing, he lay on his bed of silken cushions. Putting his head on his arm, he waited for the strong hands of the masseur. Wine was brought to him by a slave girl of China. She sat by his side and sang the songs of his homelands in a high lilting birdlike voice. He had paid a small fortune for her, but to have one of his own
kind, even a slave girl, was a great luxury. At least he could talk to one who understood the graces of life. Yes, she was expensive, but he deserved it. Just because one lived in the field with savages didn't mean that one had to act like them.

Attila was receiving Ongesh's report. His chieftain was frothing at the mouth at the insult shown him by the Roman on the wall. He was just about to make a reply when his tent flap opened to admit one of his warriors, a Sabiri who threw himself on the carpeted floor, face down, hands outstretched in front of him.

Attila snapped his fingers for the man to make his report.

"Master of the World, I have just returned from a patrol and have seen a large formation of Romans on the march, heading in our direction."

Attila then proceeded to question the man about the numbers and their equipment and disposition. He was pleased that the Sabiri had seen no more than three legions of infantry and perhaps two cohorts of cavalry, along with some auxiliaries, slingers and some archers.

Attila immediately had several large patrols sent out to confirm the Sabiri's report. He dismissed the man, permitting him to crawl backward out of his presence,
then told Ongesh to keep personal contact with the patrols as they returned and present him with the analysis of the situation.

In less than an hour Ongesh returned with a warrior of the Kutrigur who had been picked up by one of his patrols. Ongesh was in good humor as he kicked the man forward to fall on his face. "Tell the Master what you have seen and where you have been," he commanded.

The Kurtigur put his hands over his face in terror at being in the presence of Attila. Ongesh booted him in the side to get his tongue started.

The warrior's voice trembled as he blurted out his story. "Lord of
Lords, I have just escaped from the Romans only this morning before dawn. I was held in their main camp for three days."

Attila leaped to his feet. "You have been in their camp? How many? Were there any Visigoths with them or Franks? Who commands them?" His questions tumbled over themselves.

The report of the earlier scout was confirmed, but Attila wanted to know more. He leaned down to the man, grabbing him by the single long lock of hair hanging from the side of his shaved head. "What of the Germans and who commands?" he repeated.

"Lord, there were Visigoths and others there when I was taken captive. But last night, from where I was held with the other prisoners, we could hear a great argument going on between the Roman general and the chieftains of the Germans. The Visigoths left along with all the other German leaders.
swearing great oaths, they mounted and rode away, taking all their men with them. The Roman general was very angry. He cursed after them calling them women and cowards, that they would be forever dishonored among all the tribes and nations of the world."

Attila thought sucking his lower lip, his eyes dark. His face began to flush. "Who is the Roman general? I will not ask you again."

The terrified man buried his face in the carpet. "Lord, I heard him called Aetius."

Attila grinned with pleasure, this was even better. Not only had the Germans and the Romans fought but Aetius was commanding. That would make his victory that much sweeter. He still owed the Roman a debt that was long overdue.

Attila grilled the Kurtigur repeatedly, making sure of what he had seen and heard. Had there been any signs of any other tribesmen rallying to the Roman standard?

The man swore by the sacred sword that there had been no others with the Roman.

Attila grinned, laughing as he told Ongesh, "We have them. Three legions means they have thrown in their reserves. Defeat them and there will be nothing to stop us."

He had been concerned about the Visigoths and others allying themselves with the Romans, for that would have been the only source of enough cavalry to have presented any real threat to him. It was well; in one stroke he would break the Roman's back in Gaul, leaving the gateway to Italy undefended. He would have Rome.

Scouts reported back to him in a constant stream, giving him the direction and the rate of their march. Things were starting to move fast; he could be on them before nightfall. Orleans could wait. The city wasn't going anywhere.

He ordered Ongesh to call his warlords to him. Ongesh bowed his head in acknowledgment as he left to do his master's bidding.

Attila prepared himself for battle, calling for his sword and armor to be brought to him. He was fully dressed for war when the first of his commanders arrived. Then came the others; nearly all the great ones were there. His sons Herna, the youngest and Arnak, his heir and tough old Lauderrieks of the Gepidae. His kinsmen, Emnetzur and Ultzindar. Behind them were Elminger and Eskam, the shaman, standing beside Oebar of the Hundred Eyes. The last to enter was Donatus, the Roman deserter who commanded the siege machines and troop of foreign mercenaries from the Roman provinces.