Raptor (58 page)

Early one morning, our barge rounded a point of land and the boatmen stabbed their poles into the river bottom to bring us to a halt, and Oppas wordlessly pointed. On our right was the naval base of Taurunum, almost identical to Mursa, except that its piers and docks were empty of boats and people. Beyond that, the Danuvius was broadened to nearly twice its former width by the river Savus, flowing into it from the right. And beyond that confluence of waters, dim in the distance and the morning mist, was the city of Singidunum.

A triangular foreland sloped upward from the riverside to a vast plateau that ended inland where it dropped off at a dizzyingly high cliff. The entire foreland was an ideally defensible fortress, protected by that cliff face on one side, by the river on the other two sides. From this distance, I could not make out many details—presumably the city’s residential outskirts occupied the sloping ground—but I could see that a formidable wall enclosed the whole plateau top, where obviously was the city proper. I looked for smoke rising there, but could espy none, and listened for sounds of battle, but could hear none. Well, if the Sarmatae were occupying the city, as reported, they would hardly be burning it down around themselves. But if the Ostrogoths were besieging the city, as reported, they were certainly not being very energetic or noisy about it.

“You may take me to shore now,” I said to Oppas. “But I do not care to have to swim across either the Danuvius or the Savus.”

“Vái! You want me to set you on the very riverfront of Singidunum? I absolutely refuse to get that close!”

“Very well. Then have your men pole us some way up the Savus. Take me as far from the city as you consider prudent, and I will disembark there.”

The boatmen grumbled and cursed even more angrily than ever, at having really to exert themselves for the first time on this voyage, but they did as Oppas sullenly commanded. Meanwhile, I saddled and bridled Velox, and loaded my packs of belongings on him, and belted on my sword and slung ready my bow and quiver of new arrows. When we came to a conveniently shelving bank of the Savus, some two or three Roman miles upstream of that cliff face behind Singidunum, the barge slid close inshore and Oppas let its side ramp flop into the shallow water. I led Velox down it, myself walking backward to keep the men at my front, and cheerfully called to them:

“Thags izei, my fellow travelers. There is still a quantity remaining of the provisions that I paid for, but I leave all those dainties for your delectation, in gratitude for your unstinting services.”

They all snarled at me, Oppas yanked the ramp up into place, the men jerked their restraining poles from the mud, and the barge drifted back down the Savus, the way it had come, toward the Danuvius again. I waited until I could be sure that none of the men would attempt a parting gesture of flinging some kind of missile at me, then I led Velox up the bank and into the forest. When we came to a footpath that paralleled the river, I mounted to the saddle, tucked the toes of my boots under my foot-rope and—ready for war or whatever else offered—I let the eager Velox uncramp his muscles and legs in a joyous stretch-out canter toward Singidunum.

Before I got there, however, I came upon an arresting sight. Velox carried me to the top of a wooded ridge, and there the wood abruptly ended, so I reined the horse to a halt, for I was looking down into a bowl of land in which something curious was going on. In the bowl there were only a few scattered clumps of trees, and otherwise the ground was covered only with grass and low brush, so I had a clear view of what was occurring about three stadia below me. In each of two copses, not three hundred paces apart, a group of men had taken cover, each briskly shooting arrows at the other group. I could not judge how many men were involved all together, but there were about a score of horses, all in quilted war armor, tethered on the protected side of each clump of trees.

I backed Velox a little away from the ridge’s skyline, to stay out of sight while I watched. But I wanted to do more than watch. These had to be Ostrogoths fighting Sarmatae, and of course I belonged on the side of the Ostrogoths—only which was which? I could see no standards anywhere, the horses and their quiltings were indistinguishable, and the men themselves were invisible within the copses. It was likewise impossible for me to tell whether one or the other side was winning, whether anybody on either side was being struck by any of the showering arrows. Those simply continued to fly ceaselessly back and forth, passing each other in midair, with no diminution in their number or frequency—because none of the bowmen would soon run out of arrows; he had only, to pick up and use the spent ones from the other side. After some while, I began to feel that I was watching an evenly matched, interminable, childish and pointless game.

But at last the men on one side seemed to tire of the inconclusive exchange of arrows, and came charging out of their cover with drawn swords. Of the score or so of them, two were stopped by arrows already flying, and they fell on the ground and writhed. The men in the other clump of trees did not emerge to meet their assailants, sword to sword, nor did they continue shooting arrows. Instead, they erupted from the
back
of their copse, leapt onto their horses and fled in the opposite direction from the attack.

So now I could tell which were the Ostrogoths and which the Sarmatae. I might have guessed just from the fact that the one group declined to engage in a sword fight. Those charging with swords had to be wielding the formidable “coiling snake” Gothic swords, before which the bravest foes have been known to quail. But also I could see that the men fleeing on horseback were wearing corselets of the scale armor made of horse-hoof parings, once described to me by old Wyrd as the invention of the Sarmatae warriors. Those, then, were
my
enemies, too. Since the Ostrogoth attackers seemed content only to dash into the suddenly evacuated copse—presumably to dispatch any wounded Sarmatae still there—and made no attempt to pursue the runaways, I decided I would do that for them.

I kicked Velox into a gallop down the slope of the ridge at a tangent that would intercept the Sarmatae before they could cross the bowl of clear ground and disappear among the surrounding woods. As our courses converged, the men turned to look in surprise at me—a lone horseman, unarmored, of indiscernible identity. Their looks of surprise turned to looks of chagrin, bafflement and terror when I began to loose arrows at them while I was still riding at a gallop.

As I have said, I was not nearly so adept at that rapid shooting as Wyrd had been, or as unerringly accurate. Most of my arrows flew astray, but I dropped two of the Sarmatae from their saddles before the rest of them recovered from their astonishment, dispersed from their bunched grouping and scattered in different directions. Even then, I managed to bring down one more, with an arrow in his back. None of the Sarmatae so much as tried to loose an arrow at me, and I had known they would not. Except for the Huns, whose bandy legs must give them a more than humanly firm grip on their horses, no warrior ever could shoot an arrow from a moving horse and hope to hit a mark. I should say, no warrior but a Hun or
myself,
firmly anchored on my mount by my foot-rope contrivance. And, as Wyrd had remarked, none but a Hunnish bow, like the one I had inherited from him, could propel an arrow at long range with force enough to penetrate the Sarmatian scale armor.

The fleeing men could have stopped, dismounted and
then
have been able to discharge any number of arrows at me, with a good chance of hitting me—and killing me, unarmored as I was. But I saw why they did not when I turned in my saddle and looked back. Four of the Ostrogoths had gone to get their own horses and now were riding headlong toward me, each of them carrying a long contus lance. These men did not wear the scale armor, but stout leather corselets from which depended quilted leather skirts. Their legs were encased in padded white cloth leggings, strapped with thongs that crisscrossed upward from their low boots. Their helmets were not conical, like those of the Sarmatae, but much resembled the Romans’, only with broader cheek lappets and with a flat piece of metal projecting downward from the forehead rim to protect the nose. All that one could see of an Ostrogoth warrior’s face was his fierce blue eyes and wavy yellow beard. I halted Velox and waited for the men to ride up to me.

One of them gestured to the other three, and those went to plunge their lance points into the Sarmatae I had unhorsed, to make sure they were dead. The other halted near me and couched his lance in its saddle socket so he could salute me. He did that by raising his right arm, but holding the hand open and stiffly extended, not clenched into a fist in the Roman manner. I took him to be the officer commanding this troop, for his helmet was much wrought with decorative figures and he wore at each shoulder of his corselet a richly jeweled fibula in the form of a rampant lion. I returned the same salute and he studied me keenly for some moments.

He was a formidable figure, masked by his helmet and beard, bulking huge in his armor and sitting tall upon his quilted horse. I felt quite diminutive and vulnerable under his gaze, rather as I imagine small forest creatures must have felt when, far from the safety of their dens and with no covert nearby in which to shelter, they realized they were being eyed by my raptorial juika-bloth. But then the warrior shed his fearsome aspect, for he gave a laugh and said:

“At first we thought you were a wandering Hun, and a Hun gone mad, attacking alone and without armor. But then we saw the rope that enables you to employ the bow while riding, and do it as deftly as any Hun. Once upon a time, I scoffed at that rope of yours. I will not do so again.”

“Thiuda!” I exclaimed.

“Waíla-gamotjands! Welcome, Thorn, to war. I invited you to join us, and you did, and you have acquitted yourself most handsomely from the moment of arrival.”

“So must you have done,” I said, “since you seem already to have risen to a position of command. Also your beard has become admirably luxuriant since I last saw you.”

“Akh, we must both have much to tell one another. Come. Ride with me to the city, and we will talk as we go.”

His three men fell in behind us, at a respectful distance. And, because we proceeded only at a leisurely walk, the other Ostrogoths also soon caught up to us. Some of them led the captured horses of dead Sarmatae, but some of the Ostrogoths rode draped limply over their saddles, either dead or badly wounded, and others had to be held upright on their mounts by companions riding beside them.

Thiuda asked me, “Have you been all this while in Vindobona? If so, then Thornareikhs must have found beguiling hospitality there.”

“Ja, he did, thags izvis,” I said, smiling. “I mean that. Thags
izvis.
He could not have found so much without your having prepared the way for him. But I should prefer to hear of your own adventures. Did you find your father? Is he with you in this campaign?”

“I did find him, ja. But no, he is not. I am happy that I got to see him when I did, for he was ill of a fever, and shortly died.”

“Vái, Thiuda. I am sorry.”

“So am I. He would much rather have died in combat.”

“Is that why you are out on patrol—seeking combat—and not among those besieging Singidunum?”

“Ne. The patrolling is part of the siege. You see, there are only six thousand of us, and King Babai has nine thousand Sarmatae within the city’s walls. Also, we had to ride hither too rapidly to fetch anything but what we could carry. Since we brought no siege engines and towers and rams with which to storm Singidunum, the best we could do was encircle it and keep Babai and his men from getting out. Also, to keep them from enjoying their occupancy in tranquillity, at random intervals we rain in arrows and sling-stones and fireballs. Also we make these sweeps of the countryside to prevent any reinforcements from coming to join Babai—or coming to attack us from behind. At present, we can do no more.”

“Bithus contra Bacchium,” I said. That was another fashionable phrase that I had acquired from my upper-class acquaintances in Vindobona. It refers to two famous gladiators of olden days, who were of exactly equal age and strength and skill, so that neither of them ever bested the other. Thiuda might have been vexed by my smart remark, but he had to concur in the sentiment.

“Ja,” he grunted. “And we could be at this frustrating standstill for a hellishly long time. Or worse, we might not. We are ill supplied even with food and other necessities, while the Sarmatae possess ample horrea and granaries. Unless we can survive until our supply trains from the south manage to get here, we may have to withdraw. Meanwhile, our turmae take turns at squatting under the city walls and ranging roundabout on horseback. And you know how I chafe at inaction. So I try to ride out with every turma that goes afield. As you saw, we do occasionally find some action.”

“I got only a brief glimpse of Singidunum from the river,” I said. “But it appears well-nigh impregnable. How did the Sarmatae ever take it?”

“By surprise,” he said sourly. “It was manned by only a skeleton garrison of Roman troops. Still, even those few—with the help of the inhabitants—should have been able to hold a city so strongly situated and fortified. The garrison’s legatus has to have been either an inept clod or an outright traitor. His name is Camundus, and that is no Roman name, so he is of
some
outlander lineage—possibly even Sarmatian. He may have been long and secretly in league with King Babai. Anyway, whether fool or turncoat, if Camundus is still alive in there, I intend to slay him along with Babai.”

I privately thought that Thiuda was talking somewhat presumptuously, as if he alone were responsible for this whole Ostrogothic campaign against the Sarmatae. But I said nothing of that, and, prodded by questions from him, regaled Thiuda with some account of my doings in Vindobona—only Thornareikhs’s doings, of course, not Veleda’s. Finally our little troop came to the outskirts of Singidunum, at the base of the ground’s upward slope from the riverside, and, with a nearer view of the city now, I could better appreciate the difficulties the Ostrogoths faced in the besieging of it.