Chapter 61: Return to the Mainland (3)
I chose a misty morning to set the fleet sail. As we departed from Londinium's harbor, the mayor and governor who had come to see us off lit the stacked firewood. The dark red flames seemed to bid farewell to us leaving Briton behind.
I stared silently at the blaze before turning my gaze to the continent.
Libitus, which the empire had ruled for long ages.
An imperial territory governed for as few as four hundred years, or as many as six hundred.
It was no mere province but land no different from the empire's heartland. And now, Heigirt's cavalry was ravaging it.
The very land where I had sent Rica to safety.
I wanted to lead the army at once and drive Heigirt out, but realistically, I lacked the capacity.
A numerically inferior force. An enemy general like a monster of unknown prowess. I'm no fool blind to the slim odds of victory.
As an imperial general, I couldn't gamble the legion's survival—or the empire's lifeblood—on reckless folly.
I bit my lip, striving to keep my cool.
"Maintain formation in the fleet!"
The imperial navy officer adjusted the spacing between ships.
I descended from the rocking rail to the deck.
"Will the Danes attack Belanga as promised?"
Rikius asked, his face etched with worry. He fretted over relying on promises from faithless barbarians.
But I trusted the Dane king's greed. Having lost so much already, he needed achievements to make up for it. Raiding Belanga would be no great feat for him.
"They will. He's a greedy barbarian, after all."
I left Rikius in command on deck and retreated to my cabin.
By dusk, our fleet reached Big, a small fishing village on the southwest of the strait. With no proper harbor—just a poor hamlet scraping by on fish oil—docking and disembarking the troops took considerable time.
I was the first off the ship, bringing Erenia with me. As a striking blonde barbarian who would draw eyes in the empire, I hooded her deeply.
Erenia clung close behind me as we walked the pier.
"Disembarkation will take until dawn."
"Hurry it as much as you can. We can't have Heigirt catching on."
"Yes, sir."
I put Cogol in charge of the landing and sent cavalry squads to scout the village perimeter. I doubted Heigirt anticipated our landing, but he might have acted on reports of the fleet's voyage.
Until the cavalry returned, a faint anxiety gnawed at me.
As my expression shifted ever so slightly, Erenia whispered in my ear.
"Do even you get anxious?"
"How'd you know?"
"You can't survive court without sharp eyes."
"Then I'll have to watch myself."
I forced my face to harden.
An hour later, the cavalry returned. No barbarian forces in the vicinity, fortunately.
That was welcome news indeed.
Confirming no enemies, I ordered camp set around the village. The troops, worn from the long voyage, needed real rest before we could march hard tomorrow.
Landing success—but the real trouble starts now. Crossing Libitus, enemy territory in all but name, demands caution, wisdom, and luck. We're prepared, but the unease is real.
I'd been bold before the men, but the foe was Heigirt.
Nothing would go smoothly.
Still, this is better than arriving empty-handed. The Danes will shake Belanga, and rumors of Briton's legions landing are already spreading. If Heigirt diverts attention there, we'll find an opening to strike.
I'd bank on that possibility.
The next day, I had the legion standard-bearer raise the eagle and we advanced boldly.
Instead of skirting the coast to avoid the enemy, we chose to pierce straight through barbarian-held Libitus. Delaying would only build Heigirt's momentum.
We marched the national highway bisecting the occupied zone with daring resolve.
"It's complete ruin."
Riding at the column's head, I surveyed the landscape. Were these barbarians not barbarians? Everywhere they passed lay wasteland. Fine homes and farms reduced to charred rubble.
Not incomprehensible, of course. Heigirt needed land to give his people, so terrorizing settlers into flight and claiming the fields made sense.
Snatching slaves along the way was a tidy bonus, no doubt.
Passing a ruined village, my eyes caught a half-burned barn—and a woman's corpse nailed to the wall like a trophy.
Heigirt.
I clenched my fist. On the frontier, we and the barbarians had always waged such brutal wars. Killing, looting, trampling, ravaging. No mercy anywhere.
But to see this in the empire's heartlands...
I closed my eyes.
The woman had died with eyes wide in agony, arms nailed, violated by the barbarians to her last breath. White and red fluids streaking her thighs bore silent witness to the horror.
I'll remember this.
I turned my horse away.
Atrocities lined the highway villages for all to see.
Viewing the carnage, my hatred for the barbarians burned fiercer.
We marched south for two days amid the wreckage of villages and farms.
Then came word of a large barbarian force—a day's march away—on the move. They'd spotted us and were advancing straight on.
A detachment reacting to the Belanga raid? Or preparing for Briton's legions? Either way, not positioned with us in mind.
I sent more scouts for details.
Enemy strength: about eight thousand.
Superior to us, but not overwhelmingly so—victory uncertain.
Engage or bypass with forced march? I pondered briefly.
But imagining Heigirt in command made it simple: strike his subordinates hard while he's absent.
Decision made, I summoned my officers and declared battle. They accepted gladly.
Barbarian chieftains chafed at our numerical disadvantage but trusted my record of crushing superior foes and pledged their arms.
I positioned legion infantry in a wooded basin, barbarian cavalry outside. It looked like trapping ourselves in a narrowing gourd with no exit—but my gambit to offset their numbers.
As we finished preparations, the barbarians arrived at the basin's mouth.
"Imperial rat pups more cowardly than girls."
"Think hiding in your hole will save you?"
They hurled insults at our coiled defense.
But the troops held firm, veterans and green alike. No other army matched the iron discipline under my command. None broke ranks without orders.
I endured their taunts in silence.
Soon, one barbarian rode forward slowly.
His face was familiar.
Ronad.
I recalled the brash young pup I'd met long ago. As envoy, he'd impressed, but in battle? Unremarkable.
Then again, normal for his age.
His father and brother were such monsters, he seemed lesser by comparison.
Anyway, I welcomed seeing him.
Heigirt or Brikin would dry my mouth, but this was a foe I'd smashed before—confidence came easy.
I rode forward.
"Hey. Aren't you that cocky kid from Sian? Good to see you."
"You... you bastard."
Flames sparked in Ronad's bulging eyes.
"This 'you' and 'bastard' business is rude. I'm Bellgorod's governor, higher rank than your father. Mind your manners."
"Rank be damned. The order you served ends now. By our great father's hand."
"Is that so? Pity you'll lose your head here before witnessing his great triumphs."
"Shut your mouth."
Ronad's face flushed crimson. Recalling past humiliations, he hurled his helmet to the ground.
No growth from defeat—instead, regression?
I gave a wry smile.
People are hard to fathom. One trial can shatter potential greatness into mediocrity.
"If you die here, your brother and father will rejoice. One less burden to worry over."
Ronad gnashed his teeth.
"I'll make this your grave today."
He withdrew slowly.
I'd enraged him, but I held no illusions the battle would go exactly as planned.
"Infantry to combat readiness. Stand by."
"Infantry combat standby!"
The legion standard-bearer rode the front line, eagle aloft, shouting.
Tension hung taut, like a bowstring. One slip, and collision.
I feigned calm, rubbing my hands.
"Archers forward!"
Ronad bellowed.
Some of their forward barbarians dismounted, nocking arrows and advancing. Textbook: soften defenses with arrows, then cavalry thrust.
But arrows meant little to imperial legionaries.
He knew that much, surely.
I eyed their lines, pondering.
"Loose!"
A swarm of arrows arced skyward, then plunged like eagle talons.
Thunk. Thud. Thunk-thunk.
Arrows studded raised shields, but against full-body scuta, the damage was negligible.
Futile effort, I thought.
But I revised that swiftly.
Advancing the archers?
He'd gauged wind and range with the volley, then boldly pushed them forward. A gamble to pin our shields—overhead for direct fire, forward for indirect—leaving us huddled, awaiting the barrage's end.
Then strike the huddled mass?
Losses could mount.
Clever play for assaulting a basin. Heigirt's son, even diminished.
I readied our archers.
"Archers, prepare to fire!"
"Archers, fire preparation!"
Officers echoed.
I watched our men nock arrows, glaring at theirs. Cannon fodder—ten volleys to wipe them. The issue: their follow-up play.
I dropped my hand.
"Fire!"
Our arrows blackened the sky, swarming their advancing archers. They raised oval shields, but our salvo overwhelmed.
Dozens of barbarians screamed, tumbling.
I shifted gaze to their main force, held back.
Cavalry charge: thirty seconds at best. But wide formation can't flood in. Decisive impact on first clash.
They knew it too.
Sweat slicked my palms. Ronad was green, but his army: Heigirt's elite.
That made this high-stakes.
"Our king demands it! Cleanse these imperial dregs and claim this world for our own!"
Ronad galloped before his lines, roaring. Barbarians roared back, weapons high.
Here they come.
I bellowed at my men.
"Hold your ground! Eyes front!"
No sooner said, Ronad's host thundered forth, earth shaking. Their archers loosed again.
We must hold.
I stared at the solid wall of legion backs, swallowing dry.
(To be continued next episode)