Blood of Zeus
Chapter 3, part 3 - Eclipse
Karus sighed as the heavy wooden boat hauled itself through the brilliant azure blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Under a burning sky, the troopships were leaving for Iberia, though it would take them 2 weeks of non-stop sailing to reach Saguntum. It was an extremely tight deadline, but then the effort going into the campaign was incredible. Flavius hoped this would be enough to keep Karus alive.
It had been nearly 8 months since Karus had arrived in Messana, and in that time Flavius had experienced a friendship as strong as any he could ever remember. Karus and his wife Agrippina spent most days having lunch with him and letting the children play with his nephew, a little boy of their age. Karus sometimes had to stay at the barracks to keep his lochos well trained and up to standards, but luckily he normally had time for this later in the day.
It had been obvious to Flavius, but a few months ago Agrippina had finally admitted what was becoming increasingly obvious with every passing day; she was with child. However, their happy little existence continued as, so it seemed to Flavius, it must have always done. It was as if life before they had arrived was so unfulfilling it was not deserving of his memories. They talked of Karus’ exploits in the army, their childhoods in Italy, Africa and Sicily, of the children both born and unborn - of the future for them all. Flavius skirted around the uncomfortable truth that he had no heir to run the family business and no wife, and the other two sensed this, but delicately ignored it whilst trying to show that they were sympathetic. He got the message, and somehow comfortably knew that he was with people he would never forget.
And before any of them could accept it, Karus’ deployment had arrived. As Flavius walked through the thronging crowds of locals in the docks back to his bakery, he remembered seeing Agrippina hugging Karus and crying as she whimpered and sobbed. Flavius remembered his face falling, and seeing Karus hold her close, looking over his shoulder to where Flavius was standing. His eyes were mournful but his expression was determined. He would be strong for her - no, for the three of them, for Flavius was as close to them as any bond of family could be.
Now that brave man was sailing for the horizon - a safe horizon, hoped Flavius. He returned to his little bakery to find Agrippina waiting there with an official looking guard from the barracks, one of the Agema. Agrippina greeted Flavius as optimistically as she could, though still clearly tormented by the fact that she would not see her husband for months, if ever again: no, he pushed such morbid thoughts from his head. The guard nodded and left, his mission to escort Agrippina through the rough end of Messana done.
Over the next two weeks they talked about the baby - what his name would be, whether it would be a he or a she, whether it would look like her or Karus. Flavius was touched beyond words when she said that one of the baby’s names would be Flavius, in honour of the kindness he had shown them - “We could never have imagined these last months as anything other than a boring hell sat waiting in the barracks…”
Their little routine continued fairly normally until some days later when Agrippina did not arrive at Flavius’ house in the morning. He made the journey to the barracks and the guards recognised him - after a quick search for weapons, he was shown to her chamber.
“Agrippina?” Flavius called out. He saw no-one there. He walked forward slowly, moving towards the second chamber.
“Agrippina?”
He turned the corner and saw a figure standing over a large bed, head bowed. A folded chiton lay on one half of the bed, the other was disturbed and had been used recently. He realised that this must have been Karus and Agrippina’s bed, and that she had kept this half pristine, waiting for him to return and warm her in these ever-colder November nights - warm her, hold her… love her.
She stood motionless, staring at the smooth side of the bed. Flavius walked over slowly, cautious of her emotion. He realised with a sudden spasm of realisation that the fortnight had passed - this morning, while the city continued with it’s usual hectic life and moved around them, Karus would be landing in Iberia and marching upriver to assault Saguntum. She slowly looked up and he saw tears welling in the corner of her eyes. So much for the imperturbability of Roman women, thought Flavius.
“Relax.” He told her. “He’s a strong man. He’ll survive, just you wait and see.” She smiled and sighed. “I only wish I could believe you, Flavius. I wish I could.” She turned and stared out the window. Flavius was sure that a woman who had such a close, passionate bond with her husband - the fruits of which bulged in Agrippina’s ever expanding stomach - she must be tethered to him by thin strands of eternity. When they had become close, they had woven a web of intricacy: of feeling and hope around themselves, threads finer than any silk. Men may break these bonds or let them die of ignorance, but she felt them linking Karus’ heart to her soul. Karus walked over and tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder. His tone was reassuring as he spoke.
“Agrippina…”
She cried out and collapsed backwards, her legs giving way. She began to breath heavily, writhing in pain. Flavius tired to help her, but only after a few seconds had she calmed down enough to speak. He grabbed her cheeks to stop her head shaking. “Is it the child?” The guard from outside had also rushed in by now, and he asked if he should fetch a midwife. Agrippina shook her head, tears flying off and darkening the pure white line sheets on the bed. Flavius looked into her eyes and tried to calm her down.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and let her hands rest on Flavius’. “It’s him.” She inhaled deeply before speaking again.
“It’s Karus. He’s hurt - I felt it like a knife at my back. He’s hurt, I know it.” She sobbed and her eyes rolled upwards in longing for that tall, muscled African who she loved as much as anything, as much as the delicate seed growing in her belly.
She cried out again and Flavius asked her again “Has something happened? Has he been hurt again?” She shook her head and gasped, before groaning. Flavius heard a dripping sound and looked down. Agrippina’s chiton clung to her around her crotch, and the waters dripped onto the wooden floorboard. Flavius knew what this meant…
“GUARD!”
The man was there in an instant.
“Change of plan - we’ll be needing that midwife!” The man nodded before Flavius had finished speaking and was already on his way out, to the tent of the officer’s wives.
Flavius reassured Agrippina, patting her on the cheek as he propped her up on the bed more comfortably with cushions. He looked up as he held her, almost as if he could see out of the city and over the seas to look Karus himself in the face.
He prayed that his friend was alright as Agrippina convulsed, her nails digging into her arm…
*****
A young boy in the back of the landing craft, a new recruit, vomited noisily with the tossing and rolling of the lumbering boat as it crossed the last few feet of Mediterranean waters to give the Syracusians their first foothold in Iberia. The weeks of sea voyage had been hard on these men, land-lubbers the lot of them, firmly believing that the sea was full of Poseidon and his demons that ate men -any fools who wished to traverse it could do what they liked, but were still fools.
As one of the older men, a veteran, clapped the boy on the back and gave him a rag to wipe the stinging bile from his mouth, Karus received a nod from the helmsman of the small boat. He stood up, his helmet tilted back over his head, and grasped his spear. He thrust it into the heavens, and the hundred men on the boat mimicked him, shouting out to raise their spirit’s a little and prepare them for battle in the cool morning breeze.
“1 STADIA TILL WE HIT THE BEACH!”
The men cheered again, then fell silent before the commander they trusted more than any other.
“Remember the drill! This is where your training will pay off! Stick with your contubernium and try not to alert every bloody Iberian that we’re here! Use your dagger before your xiphos get to your meeting points before dawn. Your squadron-leaders know the objectives…” The men in question all nodded at this, distinguished from the rest of the infantry by the black crests on their hoplite helmets.
Karus looked over his shoulder.
“100 feet!”
He turned and nodded grimly to his men.
“I know this is only the start of many battles for years to come, but if you don’t f uck up completely, we should all make it to the city without a single one of us missing.”
“Where we’ve been given the honour of being one of the units to spearhead the assault on the city…”
Karus’ head snapped to the side and his eyes fell upon one of his squadron-leaders: Macro, an arrogant man who everyone could tell would soon be on a charge cleaning latrines by the look in their lochagos’ eyes. In fact, he probably would have been refused this command if it weren’t for his impressive swordsmanship. Karus drew his sword and pointed the elegant tapering blade at Macro, eager to exercise a sharper form of discipline than his soldiers were imagining.
“The important word in that sentence, squadron leader, is honour. Maybe you’ll learn a little about it when your contubernium has the privilege of leading our lochos into the fray…”
The men’s eyes widened as they realised that there was no room for error. The ship’s flat bottom grazed a sandbar just off shore and Karus picked up his ornately decorated Corinthian helmet. He spoke one last time.
“Here we go. Get out of the craft and spread out as soon as possible - if they’re preparing an ambush I don’t want to lose the entire lochos to a single volley of arrows! Make sure you think, and fight well with your comrades!”
He looked at Macro.
“Fight ‘honourably’, Macro…”
The men pulled their hard bronze helmets over their face and were instantly shielded from reality; metal-faced demons. Karus knew that his men would fight as well as any on Zeus’ good earth. As the helmsman ran forward to lower the ramp at the bow that would let the sword-toting hoplites off the landing craft, Karus held his sword aloft and shouted the Syracusian battle cry as other commanders did so along the wide stretch of bow-stave beach.
“In the name of the President; for my home, my woman, and for THE BLOOD OF ZEUS!”
The men cheered and ran forward in a great rustling of metal armour, shields ready for any assault. They jumped down into the ankle deep water and began to run up the sand… completely unhindered. It was something of an anticlimax, but there were no Saguntines lying in wait. At least, if there were, they didn’t know what in Hades they were doing. Karus was almost disappointed, but no man had the chance to stop and wait. Their orders were clear, and men funnelled up through gaps in the dunes, spreading out into their 10-man contubernia as the city of Saguntum appeared further upriver at the head of an enormous mountain.
Normally the men fought as a lochos, but this way they would hopefully not be so obvious to the defenders of Saguntum as several square blocks of mass infantry formations marching steadily up the valley road. It would be tough, of that Karus had no doubt as he led the senior squadron along the riverbank. There had been reconnaissance - enough to tell them that there would be plenty of defenders, that the walls were stone but gates wooden, but little more. Did they know the Syracusians were coming? Had they been preparing for it? It would be hard enough getting over the walls in the first place - certain units had been selected to try and capture the gatehouses whilst the settlement was still asleep and unaware of it‘s approaching invaders. Karus almost felt nervous, then brushed the weakness aside. That job had fallen to his eastern gate - he would not let the rest of the 1st Army, the Pannonians, down.
Within minutes the whole lochos had reformed further up the valley, in the cover of a leafy wood near the city. No-one stirred behind the walls and no watchmen appeared to raise a hue and cry. Karus looked back down the valley and saw it teeming with Greek infantry lumbering up the gentle slope laden with their armour and weapons. Behind them, more ships arrived on the beach, bringing portable siege artillery in case Karus and the other spearhead units failed to capture the walls. Within minutes, the Saguntines would surely notice the mass of warships and Greek warriors. He had but minutes if he was to succeed.
He checked his men - not one lost, and not one reported contact with locals. He then waved his sword and silently ushered them to follow him. None spoke as they ran up to the walls - there was always a chance they had not yet been seen. Other men mimicked them on either side, using specially prepared grappling hooks to get onto the ramparts of the wooden walls. Stakes were pulled up to leave a clear path to the walls and Karus threw the heavy iron hook over the wall. He tested the weight and it held firm. Karus turned to Macro and held the rope out before him.
“Since you care so much about being the first into action Macro, you can have the honour of being the first over the walls.” The sarcasm in ‘honour’ was clear, but Macro dared not strike his officer - at least, not while such an offence carried the death penalty. As he placed a hand on the rope, a bell rang out.
He froze, hanging on the rope. Karus smacked him in the back with the flat of his sword, and Macro quickly scuttled up the rope as more bells began to ring out over the city. They had been spotted.
“MOVE YOU WHORESONS, MOVE, UP THE ROPES NOW!”
Men began to quickly follow Macro’s lead and ascend the other ropes. Karus followed his men over the precipice. As he regained his footing, something dark and sleek whistled past his face and buried itself in the ramparts. As the arrow quivered from the energy of the shot, Karus drew a throwing knife and unleashed it on his enemy. The Iberian gasped, clutching his neck as blood spurted from his severed arteries. Even as he fell, Karus’ sword hoplites were spreading out in both directions, mechanically dispatching the poorly armed militiamen on the walls.
Even as Karus’ men opened the gate to the approaching hordes of heavy infantry, it was clear that the city had awoken. The sound of heavy footfalls and marching boots came from one corner of the city, and citizens were already in a frenzy, screaming at the top of their lungs and fleeing from the enemy soldiers on the walls.
Karus led his unit off the walls as soon as they were firmly in Greek hands, and received orders from Clisthenes. His squadron-leaders were waiting for him when he returned, giving his horse to an aide with a nod of thanks. As the men waited, he shook his head disparagingly.
“Bad news… the Strategos himself has ordered me to take the enemy guardhouse…” He pointed across the deserted streets in the direction of the enemy troops. “… no matter what the resistance.” Before any could protest, he threatened them accusingly with the point of his sword, looking every man in the eye.
“No buts, men. If any man wants to leave the army and forget about his contubernium, I’ll accept his resignation…
…after we’ve captured that bloody guardhouse.”
It drew a little smirk from the men but was better than nothing. Karus formed the unit up around him, the organised block of men easily forming ranks as their training took hold. They marched with swords drawn.
They marched for so long that Karus was wondering whether they would ever reach the enemy… but he was rudely awakened as the lochos rounded a corner. They ran into a group of javelin-toting skirmishers, and Karus reacted instinctively.
“Shields up!”
His men were one step ahead. The front rank crouched and held the shields over their chests, whilst the men behind used those in front to cover their lower body as they braced their aspis shields for any impacts. The enemy were quick to unleash their missiles, but despite the ferocity of their attack, the drill and training in Sicily had paid off. Karus held his shining blade aloft as one man was struck in between the eyes pitched forward dead before he could scream, his place taken instantly by the man behind.
“HOPLITAI… at the pace, ADVANCE!”
The men responded with a loud shout of acknowledgement and moved forward one step at a time, their defensive formation intact. A man’s shield splintered under the pressure of multiple javelins and he ran for the rear of the formation as he was replaced. An opportune Iberian flung out an arm, sending a javelin flying that pinned the man to the ground.
Every step the Greeks took was accompanied by a leonine roar, echoed by the ringing metal helmets.
The fire stopped, and as Karus peered over his shield, he saw enemy spearmen heading their way.
“Formation…repel infantry!”
The men echoed the command as loud as they could, locking shields and holding their swords to poke through the gaps and create a wall of steel and wood to the Saguntines. The enemy charged, breaking formation as they felt the heat of battle begin. Karus’ men all swiped upwards in a vicious windmill stroke as the enemy hit them, splitting many jaws and smashing skulls. The enemy faltered, stumbling over the lifeless front rank. Karus himself stepped into the fray, and the men followed him, charging over the first corpses they had created to send blood and gore flying over the stumbling enemy ranks.
The badly armoured defenders fell quickly and retreated further into the city. As Karus pursued them, he saw a large stone building ahead with heavy Thorakitai infantry pouring out of it. The guardhouse!
His mood got the better of him for once. He ran forward and knew no official orders were needed. The sooner this whole mess was over, the sooner he could see Agrippina again… and the child…
“CHAAAARGE!”
The group broke formation and charged down the street, weapons glinting boldly in the sunlight as they threw themselves upon the enemy. The battle became a mêlée.
For what seemed like hours the lochos fought off as many enemies as they could, gaining an inch at a time as they fought suicidal to stem the flow of enemies from the guardhouse. Or they would have, had all the defenders not already sortied; capturing the guardhouse was useless, save for a little bit of positive symbolism on behalf of the Greeks.
No, there was no point in capturing it. But they would fight on regardless, knowing that the Strategos would destroy anyone whom he thought a coward. They couldn’t have escaped if they’d wanted to: little groups of men hacked savagely at their well-armoured, disciplined opponents with their lethal, wickedly sharp xiphos swords.
Eventually, Karus’ troops took a deep breath and realised that they were alone. The enemy were busy engaging other Syracusians, and it was only a matter of time before the city fell!
They cheered and hugged each other, slapping each other on the back and resting, sipping from their canteens. Karus allowed the men a moment’s rest, but then realised that Clisthenes would soon be here, and they still weren’t in the guardhouse…
He felt something ominous shouting at him in his mind, but ignored it. “Don’t get comfortable, you lazy louts! The guardhouse is over-f ucking-there, and we’re not in it! Move!”
His words fell on deaf ears as he realised how many of his men were dead. The men who had been celebrating were already beginning to tend to the wounds of the dying, and tend to the corpses of the dead. He counted 20 dead and 15 wounded out of his unit of 100. The street fell silent for the first time since the attack had begun that morning.
“Macro…” Karus knelt down and grabbed his shoulder, watching as this beefy lump of emotionless Italian muscle wept like a mother over the body of a dead boy next to him. The squadron-leader had seen his fair share of dead comrades, but Karus knew this must be different. This was the Greek military - they might rip into a lad and take the piss at every moment (especially the Italians), but for what it was worth Karus knew that most of them took a bedmate from amongst the ranks at one time or another. The officers didn’t complain. More women for them, and fewer tents needed on campaign.
Macro looked at his officer and shook his head, back arched like a little child cradling a cut finger.
“Sir…” His voice trembled and quivered in agony, his metal mask of invincibility lying useless by his side. As Karus looked up into his eyes, he saw a shadowy figure edge over the lip of a rooftop above. He realised…
No time to think.
He couldn’t do anything. He called out, but knew that only the gods could save them. Grabbing his shield, Karus sheltered beneath it as a hailstorm of arrows punched downwards through the air, mercilessly seeking out flesh. The initial volley bounced off his shield, but few of his men were so lucky. Most had to rely on their armour - and most had taken off their helmets. Now those who had kept them on felt the metal’s reassuring resistance, felt arrows splinter and recoil from greaves, lamellar armour, and even shields for the fastest among them.
Lamellar armour is an extremely intelligent composite armour, light yet strong due to thin layers of bronze and linen. It was rumoured to withstand a spear thrust and certainly an arrowhead, but these arrows were being fired downward, at point-blank range. Most simply hit the head or the arms, some killing instantly. The ferocity of the blast meant that those receiving it were nearly silent, their groans and swearing overpowered by the whistling arrows.
One arrowhead managed to punch through his thick shield and bury itself in Karus’ forearm: he grunted and looked around, hoping that their armour would save them. Never had the phrase ‘Made by the lowest bidder.’ been so rigorously and memorably rammed home.
They had to get to the shelter of the guardhouse. This battle just didn’t want to lay down and die. He didn’t have to tell the men. They were already scuttling away like crabs, hoping that their thick shells would protect them from the predators above.
Karus turned to make sure that none were left behind.
“MACRO…”
He shook the man’s body, but the 3 arrows protruding from his chest were 3 inescapable truths - the man was dead. Karus felt a bitter shame that he had not pulled his men through it… He would resign from the army. He could not do this any more. He would live out life with Agrippina and it would be peaceful, so peaceful…
Another arrow struck him in the foot, shattering the little toe on his left foot.
“S hit!” Can’t stay here.
He crawled over to where his men were hiding. Catching his breath, he counted all his remaining men on both hands, the remainder dead or dying as the archers pummelled any remaining breath from them. Even as Karus smashed his fist into his thigh and cursed again, a division of Cretan archers, supported by heavy infantry mercenaries from the Bosporus, came into view.
They fired on the skirmishers, who quickly fled. Their commander halted his men and strolled over to Karus. The man looked almost nonchalant as he extended a hand. Karus kept his steely gaze on the man and extended his hand… pushing the man back to collapse in a heap. As his soldiers protested in a flurry of angry Peloponnesian Greek, he tromped over to the guardhouse, his feet carving great troughs in the sand.
He sighed. Would this ever end?
He opened the door and took a step. Smack. An ironclad fist smashed into his sternum, and he stumbled backwards, staring at the preposterous feathered stick in his chest, grating against his ribs. A warm stain began to spread across his chest and drip from under his armour. He laughed feebly.
“You bastards… you, you… shot me.”
He cackled again, and very slowly and deliberately drew his sword. Syracusians were running forward as they saw what was happening, but the men in the dark stood ready to draw, arrows nocked.
He looked them all in the eye, then raised his sword.
“THE BLOOD OF ZEU-”
Smack.
An arrow. He gasped and staggered forward, clutching his elbow.
Another. And again.
He fell backwards, and a final missile sent him flying out the door, throwing him in the air.
*****
Agrippina screamed again and Flavius shuddered. Childbirth was tough, but this was like a battle.
A wrinkled old woman robed in fine linen had appeared and was tending to Agrippina, making sure that the baby survived. Blood stained the sheets as Agrippina clasped at Flavius’ hand. He thrust a piece of wood into her mouth and she bit down on it, sobbing as the pain coursed through her.
“Nearly there, pet.”
The midwife softly spoke to Agrippina, soothing her as she approached the end. Agrippina gave a final banshee’s wail and then gasped, nearly fainting as with a slick sound the midwife caught the child. The life-cord was cut and tied closed as the alien little thing, white as chalk yet covered in bloody slime, began to cry and holler immediately. The midwife smiled and examined the baby’s limbs.
“You’ve got yourself a healthy little boy here, Agrippina.”
Agrippina nodded slowly, her hair straggled about her face as she beckoned for the child, her eyes wide and focused in it constantly. The room, loud and rife with pain for hours and hours, was now a source of tranquillity, a fount of new life.
Flavius stroked her head to comfort her. “He’ll make you happy - I just know it.” She smiled. “Of course he will. He’ll make his fath…” She stopped and her eyes became fixed on some imaginary point in space. Flavius trembled as she said “Something’s wrong, Flavius.”
She looked deep into his eyes, and Flavius felt his soul touched as if an Oracle itself sat before him.
“Something’s wrong with Karus…”
*****
Karus looked round the door into the small room. Agrippina was staring out to sea, leaning on the windowsill for support as she recovered from her painful childbirth she had undergone only 3 days ago. Her eyes strained towards Iberia in the far distance, and Karus realised that this woman, with crow’s feet at her eyes but a young woman’s heart was hardened veteran who had been through this before. She would survive… unlike some, he suspected.
Even as he moved, she knew he was there.
“They sent the message in this morning.”
A scroll lay open on a small table. She exhaled with a sigh that spoke of eternal longing.
“Unfortunately, it is my duty to inform you that Lochagos Karus Sabrata was killed in action 3 days ago. He led his men by example and was doing his duty to Syracuse, to me his strategos, and to you as he was shot. He died a warrior’s death, and I apologise sincerely for your loss.”
She spoke the words with an icy venom laced into her voice. Her eyes continued to stare towards the distant corpse of her husband.
“Loss… what does he know of ‘my loss’? Did he bear Karus a child, a strong boy whom he could be proud of, or die with him ‘doing his duty’?” Her voice rose from a mutter to tortured anguish.
“Did he know about me, you, our whole life… he has lost nothing! He knows nothing of our loss, he has lost nothing for us!”
Bitter resignation.
“He has destroyed us…”
“No.”
Flavius had been sanding behind her as she spoke, and he watched his arms as they encircled her shrunken belly and squeezed gently and affectionately. Her head moved back slowly onto his shoulder and she exhaled with the knowledge the moment, softly holding his arm in her beautiful yet wrinkled hand.
She turned to face him.
“I can’t live without him, Flavius.”
“We already are.”
They kissed softly, not out of youthful desire but somehow of the knowledge that… this was what the Fates had chosen for them. And they wanted it. It wasn’t love.
But it was beautiful.
Re: Blood of Zeus, 'A Syracusian Saga' [RS1.5c]
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