The Black Raven (4)
The nomads were fast movers. Catching up to them wasn't easy. I dispatched the barbarian cavalry to pursue them once more.
But the Sartia Great Plains were far vaster than I'd anticipated, dragging the operation out longer than expected.
Snowfall grew heavier the farther north we pushed.
After another full day of marching, I called a halt to the legion's advance.
The task of hunting down the enemy now fell entirely to the barbarian cavalry.
As we set up camp and awaited good news from the riders who'd galloped north, a letter arrived from the south.
Wondering what it might say, I tore open the seal the moment I entered my tent.
Shapur's sent another envoy?
I frowned.
King Shapur of Ersia never sent envoys for pleasant reasons. This one was almost certainly a protest over my last reply.
Or perhaps he had some new grievance.
Either way, it demanded urgent attention. If he caught wind that the emperor and I—Praetorian Prefect—were absent from the capital, Ersia might try something foolish.
Should I end the war here?
I closed my eyes, weighing it.
But no, I couldn't.
Victory was within reach. Pulling back now, leaving these ragtag barbarians alive, would be like rekindling an ember we'd just snuffed out.
Besides, the survivors—those who'd lost family—would burn with vengeance. Leave them be, and we'd face even fiercer attacks later. No, we had to finish this.
I was still gripping the letter when Rikius entered the tent.
"Sir."
"What is it?"
"A group of barbarians is approaching under a white flag."
"Enemies?"
"Yes."
"Then kill them. No need to report something like that."
Rikius hesitated at my curt reply.
"Well..."
"?"
"The ones coming toward us are all women. And the leader up front looks like a princess."
"A princess."
I stood.
"In that case, I suppose I can watch as we take her head."
I strode out of the tent. At the palisade encircling the camp, I spotted the distant band of barbarians. Now I understood why Rikius had reported it.
A beautiful princess, huh. How convenient.
Sword at my side, I advanced toward them. My Praetorians hurried to flank me, forming a wall of men.
As I drew near, the princess stroked her horse and leaped down gracefully.
"I am Brinhilte, eldest daughter of the Sartia royal house."
She dipped into a slight curtsy.
I scanned her from head to toe.
Her hair gleamed like molten gold, framing a round yet slender face. Eyes vast and blue as a lake, a straight nose, lips small and redder than mountain berries, revealing perfect white teeth.
Taller than most imperial men, but it only heightened her allure.
She wore a full mink-fur coat edged in gold, which suited her well enough.
I finished my appraisal and spoke.
"I seem to recall settling all matters with your king on the battlefield. What brings a princess all the way out here? No need to come to me—my soldiers would have found you soon enough. Pointless effort."
I kept my face stone-cold, ignoring her beauty.
At my icy tone, Brinhilte spoke cautiously.
"I came to beg mercy for my tribe."
"Mercy?"
"Yes. Grant us that, and we'll do anything."
She bowed her head deeply, her fine cleavage on full display.
Honey trap.
But she and the Sartia misjudged me badly.
Some men might fold for a beauty like this, but not me.
I wasn't fool enough to trade my soldiers' blood and sweat for one woman.
I snorted.
"Brinhilte, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think you're worth trading for tens of thousands of lives?"
"Of course not."
She bowed again.
"Then why should I listen to you?"
"If you show us mercy, the Sartia will become the empire's faithful hounds."
"Hounds. House dogs, you mean?"
"Yes."
I clicked my tongue.
"The Sartia are too dangerous for that—a vicious mastiff that bared its teeth even against tens of thousands. Why keep a beast that might turn on its master? Not convincing."
Brinhilte dropped to her knees.
"We'll offer our future too. Every royal bloodline, and all the imperial citizens you've captured—we'll surrender them all."
"All your bloodline and the imperials?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. And our new king will go to the capital to swear loyalty to His Majesty in person."
Brinhilte was desperate.
I listened in silence.
Hand over the bloodline, new king swears fealty.
Sweet words.
But I wanted certainties, not promises.
My cloak billowing, I told her:
"You didn't come empty-handed. But hear this: I have no intention of sparing rebels against the empire. Not the Sartia, not the Bandi, not the Goti—no exceptions."
"Please reconsider. If you want me as your concubine, I'll do that."
Tears welling, she tried to approach. My guards blocked her; she clutched at their boots, kowtowing repeatedly.
"It's pointless. Wars don't end with words. The moment your king chose defiance, your doom was sealed."
"Sir."
I turned away coldly.
"Escort the princess back. Out of respect for an envoy, we'll let her go—for now. You barbarians don't know honor, but we civilized folk do. Leave."
Hands clasped behind my back, I walked toward the palisade.
Brinhilte wailed after me, refusing to budge.
A beauty's pleas carried weight, but duty outweighed them for me.
I ignored her.
The next day, Usiper returned from the north with tens of thousands in tow. Many were imperials kidnapped by barbarians, but most were Sartia, Goti, and Bandi tribesfolk.
I eyed them coldly and gave the order.
"Traitors to the empire share the same fate. Bury all the barbarians."
"P-please, spare us!"
From children to mothers clutching infants, they begged and clung to me. But nothing's more futile in war than humanity.
Spare the kids, and they'd grow up seeking revenge, blades in hand.
Better to eradicate them root and stem.
Half-measures were worse than none. That was my consistent stance in this campaign: wipe out every last man, woman, and child.
"Strip them all!"
The soldiers tore off their clothes. Plunder piled high—valuables, garments forming mountains. The barbarians shivered naked.
"Shove them in!"
With loot secured, officers barked commands.
Soldiers herded the lined-up barbarians into pre-dug pits.
"Sp-spare us!"
"What are these barbarians babbling?"
Those thrashing to avoid the pits got booted in by hobnailed sandals.
Some mothers thrust infants out from the pit's edge, desperate to save them—but we showed no mercy. Babies and children alike tumbled in.
A few officers pleaded with me at the sight.
"Sir, can't we spare the children and infants? Raised in imperial homes..."
I shook my head.
"I'm sparing them on purpose. Defy the empire, and no exceptions—not infants, not children. We make an example: total annihilation breeds fear and terror in barbarians. Spare the young ones, and the lesson halves."
I glanced at the shivering horde in the pit, then signaled. Soldiers shoveled snow onto them.
"Aaaagh!"
The women screamed as the freezing flakes hit. The troops shoveled faster, invigorated by the cries.
Even if luck lets a few survive the pit, the cold will finish them.
Just like their fathers, husbands, brothers before.
As the barbarians shrieked, the rescued imperials rushed me, kneeling.
"Sir, show them mercy!"
"What?"
I was caught off-guard as the imperials begged for their kidnappers. Weren't they supposed to hate them?
But their story made sense.
Unlike border tribes, nomads had no separate "slaves." They raided for population. Most kidnapped imperials had married barbarians, bearing their children. The ones in the pit now were such cases.
I furrowed my brow.
Tricky.
Rikius spoke as I pondered.
"Sir, how about this?"
"Got a good idea?"
"Barbarians are allies or foes based on loyalty. If they swear to the empire, they're no longer targets for extermination. Why not accept those who'll follow the imperials and naturalize in the province as 'imperials'?"
"Accept those who swear to become imperials."
I raised a hand to halt the pit. Shouts paused as shovels stilled.
What to do?
Slaughter them all, and the barbarians get a true lesson.
But they were also imperial families.
It complicated things.
Kill them. Or spare them.
The crowd swallowed hard as I scowled.
Then Rubiot stepped forward.
"Sir, a word."
"Speak."
"Saving them just because they're imperial families isn't right. How about this: spare only the families of rescued imperials who enlist in the legion?"
Hm. Not bad.
Border legions were depleted from this campaign. Funds aside, volunteers were scarce to refill ranks.
Forcing enlistment with family as hostages? Practical.
Besides,
As legionnaires' kin, they can't return to barbarians. Soldiers will accept overturning orders on those grounds.
After careful thought, I spoke.
"Fine. Mercy it is—but only for families of imperials who enlist. No one else."
"Thank you."
The imperials bowed.
I smirked at the recruiting centurions pulling out enlistment forms.
Imperials signed frantically, hauling screaming kin from the pit and dressing them. No deaths in that brief time—body heat from the crush had kept them alive.
I watched soldiers extract barbarians one by one, then headed to my tent.
But an unexpected guest waited inside.
"You?"
I stared in surprise.