The Lion of Antica (1)
Our victory in the rocky valley had netted us unexpected spoils, including the 14th prince.
I led the soldiers back to Antica in triumph. They seemed satisfied with the win under my command, striding with squared shoulders.
We marched into the city behind the golden eagle standard.
But the moment of joy ended there.
No sooner had we returned to the governor's office than the provincial law officer reported dire news.
"Has some special dispatch arrived from the front?"
"There's a letter from Commander Carssus."
"From Commander Carssus?"
I unrolled the parchment he handed me. As I scanned the contents, my eyes widened sharply.
Sangara has fallen.
"What nonsense is this."
I crumpled the parchment in my fist. Sangara had fallen? Unbelievable. The Eastern Army hadn't been caught off guard—it was a prepared siege at a fortress, yet they'd lost in that short time. Absurd.
I closed my eyes and smoothed out the parchment again.
If Sangara had crumbled, the surrounding fortresses were surely in peril too. Obvious as day.
Commander Carssus vowed to do his utmost, but with the key fortress lost, successful defense was a slim hope.
In this case, the Ersian army will reach Antica in a week at most.
I bit my lip.
Thinking it over, the Ersians had a trump card: catapults with vastly extended range. If they could pound the walls from beyond our range, early capitulation wasn't impossible.
I set the parchment aside and looked at the provincial law officer.
"Law Officer Claudius."
"Yes, Excellency."
"How many blacksmiths can we mobilize in the city right now?"
"By authority, about a hundred."
"Secure over a thousand more with the city council, mayor, and local notables' cooperation."
"Understood. But what for?"
"Have them build catapults and shape stones."
"Shape stones for the catapults?"
"Exactly."
"Very well."
Claudius left to relay my orders, though puzzled.
But this wasn't enough.
I left the office and sought out Rikius.
"You called, sir?"
"Assemble the soldiers immediately. Gather every last man from the garrison left in Antica."
Rikius read the gravity in my face and saluted crisply across his chest in reply.
I swept out the city gates, cloak billowing. Antica hadn't faced attack in ages, so siege preparations were lacking. The walls were solid, but some parts neglected entirely.
Like the moat encircling the city.
Untended for years, it was crumbling and silted in places, useless as an obstacle.
I inspected the moat and ordered hasty repairs. When Rikius arrived with troops, I had them dig out the infill and shore collapses with wooden planks.
While moat work progressed, I scouted Antica's surroundings, assessing terrain. The city was ringed by barren wasteland of sand and gravel, suited to the dry climate.
North and west sprawled vast sand marshes, poor for attackers.
South sloped gently toward the city, a slight disadvantage for assailants. As attacker, I'd focus on the east.
Having circled the area, I concluded Antica's defenses were viable—more than I'd thought.
But only with sufficient troops.
Antica's walls stretched an impressive 20 kilometers. Defending that length needed at least 20,000 men.
Without the Eastern Army retreating here, even sturdy walls and over a hundred towers were worthless.
I pressed defenses while praying Carssus rallied maximum forces for retreat to Antica.
Three days later, ragged, exhausted soldiers appeared from the east, fleeing as if pursued. I flung open the gates to rush them in.
"Where's Commander Carssus? Where's the main force?"
I demanded of the stragglers.
They answered with grim faces.
"The commander and main legions are trapped at Tirus Fortress."
"What? If border defense fails, standard doctrine is inland fallback."
I couldn't hide my shock. Tirus lay just left of Sangara.
Main force isolated there meant the Eastern Army's defense plan had collapsed entirely.
A centurion in a battered helmet spoke up.
"The enemy assault was fiercer than expected. The commander tried withdrawing the main legions west, but the foe outflanked us and seized the Belfuga bridge—our retreat route."
"Impossible. Even cavalry can't cross sand deserts for three days straight?"
Men maybe, but horses needed massive water. For a large army, unthinkable. Routine maneuver, sure—but combat-ready? No way.
The centurion gave a wry smile.
"We thought so too, but they did. Likely nomads snuck supplies—water and fodder—inside our borders beforehand."
My throat burned.
This meant defending Antica alone, without the Eastern Army main force.
"How did you get past Belfuga?"
"We were the bridge guards. Burned it before they crossed the river and barely escaped."
Just a few hundred stragglers as reinforcements.
I covered my face with both hands.
"Understood. Rest now—you've suffered enough. Praetorians! Give these men food and fresh clothes."
"Yes, sir."
As the stragglers followed the guards, Rikius approached.
"Excellency, this is an impossible fight. Better abandon the city, fall back temporarily, and link with reinforcements from the capital."
"Can't do that. Antica's the Eastern Empire's heart. Word of its fall would demoralize the holding Eastern Army. We hold as long as we can."
"But troops are too few."
"I know. For now, summon the mayor, council, and all notables to my office."
"Yes, sir."
I sighed deeply.
An hour later, I laid out the raw truth to the assembled city leaders. Shock rippled through them.
"Is all this true?"
"Yes. Eastern Army failed to retreat; we defend alone. But hold firm, and the capital and Emperor will send relief—guaranteed."
"Impossible."
I slipped hope amid the grim news. But they ignored unseen salvation. I soothed as best I could, begging cooperation.
"That's why I need your full support."
"But we've already given blacksmiths for catapults and stones. What more?"
I clenched my ringed fist.
"The citizens. Mobilize the province's citizens."
"Pardon? But the citizens..."
"Can't force free men?"
"Y-yes."
The council chair rubbed his neck.
"But if the city falls, freedom ends too."
"Time to consider?"
the mayor ventured cautiously.
I nodded; they filed out, pained expressions clear.
I guessed their reluctance.
If the Empire couldn't guarantee their wealth and lives, why risk defying Shapur? A despot, sure—but no immediate confiscations under him.
Still, without their aid, we couldn't hold a day.
I hoped they'd commit to defense.
After deliberations, I issued a proclamation mobilizing Antica's citizens for defense.
All able-bodied citizens of Antica shall report for duty to defend our city.
Citizens decried it as outrageous. To imperial citizens, war was for conscript legions—someone else's problem.
I shattered that norm. Legion commanders or governors couldn't, but I was the Emperor's proxy with full authority and Praetorian Prefect.
The proclamation aimed to scrape together defenders, willing or not.
Citizens resisted in deed: draftees severed thumbs to feign disability, others wounded feet to limp convincingly.
Thus useless as soldiers, exempt from draft.
I scowled at the mass draft evasion erupting overnight.
These aren't citizens.
In the Empire's founding, citizens seized rights from nobles and kings—via armed citizen militias marching to war.
Now shirking imperial defense duty?
"Boo!"
Speeches from the plaza drew only jeers. War wasn't their burden.
I'd hoped notables' aid would suffice; delusion.
Defying custom, enduring scorn, I scraped barely 100 more citizen-soldiers.
How to defend Antica like this?
No time to train new conscripts—and scant numbers anyway. Even veterans wavered at the antics; city defense was hopeless.
Yet I couldn't quit.
Feeling darkness close in, I demanded notables send slaves to the legions.
They grudgingly complied but declared it their last aid.
I extracted 5,000 slaves on promise.
Armed with hasty spears, I lined them along the walls. Defenses remained makeshift amid shortages.
Better than nothing.
I had catapult crews test-fire, calibrating max range and impact points.
Amid frantic preparations, a capital courier arrived.
I grasped at him like a rotten lifeline.
"Praetorian Prefect Ain salutes the golden eagle."
I saluted briefly across my chest.
"You look worn, Excellency."
The courier—now Praetorian battalion commander Yukitus—returned salute.
"Mountains of worries. Antica's defenseless now."
"What? Eastern Army annihilated?"
"Not quite, but close. Main force bottled at Tirus."
"Merciful gods."
"No time for chat, given the straits. What message from His Majesty?"
"Yes. He's reviewed your report, hastily mustering aid—even barbarian auxiliaries. Earliest dispatch: two weeks."
"Two weeks—formation's likely done. Arrival's the issue."
I clasped hands. Even mustered, moving tens of thousands over 1,000 kilometers took a month minimum.
Things might end before then—but I couldn't blame the Emperor. Marius acted swiftly on our reports.
This mess stemmed from Eastern Army underrating the Ersian invasion and Shapur's meticulous flanking prep.
I briefed the courier and sent him back.
(To be continued next episode)