The Land of the Eagles (2)
Garin's proposal passed by a vote of 3 to 4.
I had abstained, but I didn't think it was a bad idea to have the barbarian auxiliaries lend us a hand.
To meet with the barbarian chieftains and the soldiers at each of the Border Fortresses, two centurions and six decurions mounted up and rode out from Sian.
It was a dangerous mission—they could easily be captured by the barbarians who were already attacking us en route—but they stepped forward without hesitation.
I saw off my brave comrades and prepared for the civilian evacuation with Rober. There were no guarantees of safety even if they left, but it was still better than staying in Sian.
I formally ordered the civilian representatives—merchants, artisans, and a few whores—to evacuate Sian. They were stunned, asking if there would be an escort all the way to safety.
Of course, I wasn't sending them off without protection.
I told them I'd assign an entire centuria.
At that, one fat merchant scowled and protested.
"Centurion, sir. Just one centuria? Thousands of us are evacuating. Can they really protect us all? We're the ones who risk our lives on the front lines of the border, working for the Empire. We deserve proper consideration and protection for that."
He had a point, logically speaking.
But you bastard—every last soldier is precious right now. You think I want to skimp on the escort for civilians that include Rica?
I swallowed my anger with effort. In the end, they were pitiful folk.
Losing their homes and livelihoods overnight, with no assurance even of their lives. Anyone would want solid protection when all they could salvage was the shirts on their backs.
I took a deep breath and explained calmly.
"I'm sorry. Our situation isn't good. I know it's a soldier's duty to provide as much escort as you need.
But we're short on men right now. If I give you more, Sian won't hold out a single day. Defending Sian is the same as guarding your backs. Please understand—for everyone's sake."
"But—"
"Enough."
An old artisan cut off the merchant. He was the blacksmith who'd repaired the soldiers' gear, a veteran who'd shared life and death with the troops, so he understood what I meant.
"All right, you heard the centurion. Pack your things and look after your families."
The artisan spoke on the merchant's behalf to the crowd. Only then did the malcontents disperse with resigned shrugs.
I bowed my head to the artisan.
"Elder, I'm sorry."
"What do you have to be sorry for? It's the generals who fight poorly and the incompetent imperial government. I pray you stay safe."
He clapped my shoulder.
"You too, Elder."
"Thanks. See you alive."
As the old blacksmith vanished into his forge, I called over one of my decurions. Martel, a friend I'd fought beside for two years now—we were quite close.
Martel saluted.
"You called, sir?"
"As you know, a unit will soon be formed to escort the civilians. I'm sending you with them."
"I'd rather stay here."
"That's why I'm asking you."
"Is there a reason I have to go?"
I nodded weakly.
"I've got a woman I need to protect. A poor girl who lives just looking at me. Rica—you know her, since you've delivered my letters twice."
"Didn't know you two were still together."
A bitter smile crossed my face.
Soldiers living on the edge of death would suddenly embrace a woman in a moment of passion, then distance themselves once the feeling faded, never seeing her again.
He must've thought my feelings for Rica were just that transient.
"She's the woman I cherish. More than my own life."
"Understood. And?"
"I'm asking you to look after her. Until she reaches safety."
He straightened his expression.
"You should do that yourself, sir. I'll stay."
"Don't be a fool. You know what I mean to the men who remain—only you would say something like that."
Martel fell silent at my words.
"I'm begging you, as a comrade. As a brother who can entrust his family."
"...All right."
He answered reluctantly.
I embraced him and patted his back lightly.
I wanted to see Rica's face one last time, but I couldn't. If I saw her crying, I'd weaken too much.
I pushed thoughts of Rica aside with effort.
The last wagons loaded with belongings rolled out of Sian. I stood hooded, staring blankly at the backs of the women following the caravan. My lovely little bird, Rica, must be among them.
I kept my eyes on the column until it vanished beyond the horizon. Then I sensed someone beside me.
It was Rober.
"Sent off your family?"
"Sent off my lover."
"You've steeled yourself to die, then."
"A bit. And you, sir?"
Rober chuckled dryly.
"With fine comrades like you lot, how could I fear death? Just regretful. If I'd known Cassius was such a splendid young pup of a legion commander, I'd have tried harder to get along with him. That's what crosses my mind."
"Then fight all the harder for their honor."
"Well said."
Rober placed a hand on my shoulder.
After seeing off the civilians and descending from the ramparts, one decurion who'd returned from two nearby Border Fortresses was waiting. On his way delivering Rober's orders, he'd spotted the barbarians' warhorses.
"How many exactly?"
Rober asked, his face worried.
"Over a hundred, looked like. They'd pitched camp near Bardim's Cemetery."
"Not far from here."
Bardim's Cemetery was a communal graveyard named for Centurion Bardim, who'd died two years prior.
While everyone else hunkered down in the Border Fortresses waiting for the barbarians to withdraw, Bardim had fought valiantly to protect the evacuating civilians.
You could say it was a desperate last stand with no retreat from a border outpost, but his bravery was remembered by everyone in Sian.
The battle had taken place in a small riverside basin fifteen kilometers northeast of Sian. The cemetery lay there.
"If it's just a vanguard, hitting them first wouldn't be bad."
One decurion suggested. Not wrong, but we couldn't choose that option.
With our forces so thin, if that attack force got wiped out—which it might—Sian would collapse instantly. We couldn't risk it for minor gains.
Rober dismissed it outright, as expected.
"No. Too dangerous. Tighten security from now on. Keep the gates locked at all times."
I agreed with Rober's order. It was the safest play for now.
I walked the walls, checking on our troops' morale.
Fortunately, despite the dire straits, the men still looked steady. Probably thanks to the miraculous breakout success at the end—it had boosted their confidence.
I tossed jokes their way, encouraged them, eased the tension.
As night fell, a strange song echoed from beyond the walls. A popular barbarian tune mocking the Empire.
"Carus, oh Carus. The legion is invincible, they say. Blind in the woods, cut down by blades, yet still invincible. Even as white bones, as dust, the proud eagle endures, its pride intact. Carus, oh Carus. But where did your soldiers go?"
The listening soldiers scowled. Carus was the commander from the Empire's golden age, infamous for an unprecedented rout. That mighty army of the era—supposedly able to face 50,000 barbarians with one legion—had lost 20,000 men buried in the forest.
That crushing defeat lived on in song even centuries later, mocking us still.
"Filthy bastards."
Rikius's hand trembled on his sword hilt.
I patted his shoulder to calm him and called for torches. Once my figure was clear in the firelight, I bellowed at the barbarians.
"Carus was a fool. Incompetent. So? The Empire has endured a thousand years anyway. It will for a thousand more. But you vermin? Think you'll last ten years? A hundred?
Dog bones gain the value of noble dragon bone after a millennium's age. Laughable vermin like you mocking the Empire? Not even worth engaging."
"Nonsense!"
A rasping shout echoed from the dark.
"Why? Did I lie?"
"Your millennium ends tomorrow. We'll see if you spout mayfly talk then."
"Bring it. Wash your necks first."
The barbarians hooted derisively, but our men burst into roaring laughter.
I warned them not to slack on watch. If luck soured, we might fight at dawn. I stared into the darkness, then turned from the palisade.
Morning revealed the surroundings in stark clarity. No trace of the previous night's commotion—just a few campfire pits.
I gave a wry smile.
"They were testing us."
Rober sighed.
They'd provoked us to gauge our reaction. If we just hunkered down, it proved our weakness. The barbarians were clever despite themselves. A night assault would've been preferable.
Their cunning left us uneasy; we ate breakfast in silence. This wasn't good.
We needed to shift the mood.
As I dipped my spoon in the soup, lost in thought, a decurion burst into the mess hall beaming.
"Rober, sir! Soldiers from the Border Fortresses have arrived!"
"Oh!"
Rober and I lit up, jumping to our feet. Any reinforcements were welcome.
We rushed to the gates. Scattered defenders from the Border Fortresses stood there, each clutching their unit standards.
"Hey, Ershiang!"
"Ain!"
I spotted a welcome face and waved.
The gates opened, and they shouted, "The Empire's eagles return to the legion!" We welcomed our proud comrades with open arms.
With the fortress troops inside, our numbers swelled from around four hundred to eight hundred.
Still nowhere near enough to hold the fort, but twice the men felt like a huge relief.
We assigned the newcomers to positions, distributed remaining supplies. Everyone exchanged cheerful blessings—until a sentry on the ramparts spotted a "new force" approaching.
Their garb was barbarian.
Their banner, one we'd seen before.
"Thunder Tribe."
Rubiot clenched his fist.
The leader up front was familiar: Ronad, Heigirt's son.
His face was as impassive as when he'd come as envoy. What savagery hid beneath that numb skin?
Soon, he reined in his horse.
(To be continued)