The Damned Read online

  Commitus was not a complete coward, but the manner in which his guest spoke left no doubt in his mind that if he made any attempt to parley, he would most certainly die. There was no profit in that and Commitus was a practical man. The odds were better with the centurion's offer; at least that way he had a chance to live.

  Casca didn't trust the praetor. He moved to a spot on the wall where he could protect his back from Commitus in case he got the idea that it would be better to eliminate him and make a separate deal with Attila. On his way he picked up a pilum from a weapons rack. There was nothing to do except wait until midday when they would return for their answer.

  The other soldiers on the wall kept their distance from him. He had a look to him that said it was better to leave this one alone.

  As promised, the Huns returned to get their answer. The same man, Ongesh, led them. The Huns stood still in their saddles as Ongesh called out to the walls. "What is it to be? Life or death? I await your answer."

  Casca gave him his answer in a manner which would insure there would be no further parley. Raising up to stand on the crenelated parapet, he took a deep breath, drew back, and then, with all the strength of his body, hurled the weighted pilum up in a long arcing throw. The spear entered the rib cage of Ongesh's horse, nearly hitting Attila's minister in the leg. The horse went down screaming, blood frothing from its nostrils. It was lung shot. Ongesh threw himself from the saddle to avoid being rolled on. He stumbled to his feet in a rage.

  Casca called down to him: "You look better that way. Toads should not ride horseback and from the look of your legs, you could probably hop faster than your horse could run."

  Ongesh nearly had a stroke; blood rushed to his head, nearly making him fall back down. He screamed in rage; he wanted to get his hands on the Roman on the wall who dared break a truce and mock him. Naturally, Ongesh didn't recall the times he had messengers killed for just bringing bad news, but that was an entirely different matter.

  One of his riders rode to him, dismounted, and gave Ongesh his horse. He swung up in the saddle, leaving the warrior whose horse he had taken to hang onto the tail of another's animal, and run back to their lines with awkward bandy-legged leaps as he hung onto the tail.

  Ongesh stopped when he was sure he was out of range. That had been the longest spear cast he had ever seen. He could hear the man on the wall laughing at him. "Go ahead, laugh now," he screamed. "On the morrow, I will have your head for this. You will die, all of you, and your women will carry the seed of our warriors in their bellies. Your children shall be slaves for as long as they live and used as such. All males will be castrated. You will pay for this. I swear it upon the head of my father." Raising up in his saddle, he pointed his finger at Casca. "And you, I will take myself. You will beg for the mercy of death." Whipping his horse around, he rode back to inform Attila of the city's response to his offer.

  Ch'ing was sulking in his tent. Attila would not listen. His advisers and war chiefs had convinced him to go into Gaul. Ch'ing Li had time and again advised against such an action. He did not want to have to fight on more than one front. It was not the time to conduct another major campaign.

  They had been in the field for too long. Their men needed rest, time to recuperate and train replacements. If they waited until the next spring, they would be able to take Italy. It would give them time to negotiate treaties with the Visigoths and the Franks, which would provide them with a passive buffer to the west. If they husbanded their strength at this time, they would have the power to conduct the war in Italy and keep the Eastern Empire out of it by making alliances with the White Huns in Kushan and even the Persians. Just the threat of such an alliance would prevent the Eastern Emperor, Marcian, from being able to lend any effective support to the Western Empire. Fools!

  History had proven that Constantinople would always put their interests before that of Rome. Savages! They would not listen and learn. Attila was determined to have everything at once. He agreed they did not have the resources to attack Rome this season, but there was always Gaul.

  Ch'ing Li knew the price would be great. He had no doubt they could take the city, but they would have to pay for it later. Sighing regretfully, he sent for his masseur to rub away the tensions of the day. There was one saving factor to the whole operation. If things went as he knew they would, the next time they took the field the influence of the warlords and shamans would be greatly reduced. He would gently remind Attila that it was he who had advised him to wait.

  Undressing, he lay on his bed of silken cushions. Putting his head on his arm, he waited for the strong hands of the masseur. Wine was brought to him by a slave girl of China. She sat by his side and sang the songs of his homelands in a high lilting birdlike voice. He had paid a small fortune for her, but to have one of his own kind, even a slave girl, was a great luxury. At least he could talk to one who understood the graces of life. Yes, she was expensive, but he deserved it. Just because one lived in the field with savages didn't mean that one had to act like them.

  Attila was receiving Ongesh's report. His chieftain was frothing at the mouth at the insult shown him by the Roman on the wall. He was just about to make a reply when his tent flap opened to admit one of his warriors, a Sabiri who threw himself on the carpeted floor, face down, hands outstretched in front of him.

  Attila snapped his fingers for the man to make his report.

  "Master of the World, I have just returned from a patrol and have seen a large formation of Romans on the march, heading in our direction."

  Attila then proceeded to question the man about the numbers and their equipment and disposition. He was pleased that the Sabiri had seen no more than three legions of infantry and perhaps two cohorts of cavalry, along with some auxiliaries, slingers and some archers.

  Attila immediately had several large patrols sent out to confirm the Sabiri's report. He dismissed the man, permitting him to crawl backward out of his presence, then told Ongesh to keep personal contact with the patrols as they returned and present him with the analysis of the situation.

  In less than an hour Ongesh returned with a warrior of the Kutrigur who had been picked up by one of his patrols. Ongesh was in good humor as he kicked the man forward to fall on his face. "Tell the Master what you have seen and where you have been," he commanded.

  The Kurtigur put his hands over his face in terror at being in the presence of Attila. Ongesh booted him in the side to get his tongue started.

  The warrior's voice trembled as he blurted out his story. "Lord of Lords, I have just escaped from the Romans only this morning before dawn. I was held in their main camp for three days."

  Attila leaped to his feet. "You have been in their camp? How many? Were there any Visigoths with them or Franks? Who commands them?" His questions tumbled over themselves.

  The report of the earlier scout was confirmed, but Attila wanted to know more. He leaned down to the man, grabbing him by the single long lock of hair hanging from the side of his shaved head. "What of the Germans and who commands?" he repeated.

  "Lord, there were Visigoths and others there when I was taken captive. But last night, from where I was held with the other prisoners, we could hear a great argument going on between the Roman general and the chieftains of the Germans. The Visigoths left along with all the other German leaders. swearing great oaths, they mounted and rode away, taking all their men with them. The Roman general was very angry. He cursed after them calling them women and cowards, that they would be forever dishonored among all the tribes and nations of the world."

  Attila thought sucking his lower lip, his eyes dark. His face began to flush. "Who is the Roman general? I will not ask you again."

  The terrified man buried his face in the carpet. "Lord, I heard him called Aetius."

  Attila grinned with pleasure, this was even better. Not only had the Germans and the Romans fought but Aetius was commanding. That would make his victory that much sweeter. He still owed the Roman a debt that was long overdue.<
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  Attila grilled the Kurtigur repeatedly, making sure of what he had seen and heard. Had there been any signs of any other tribesmen rallying to the Roman standard?

  The man swore by the sacred sword that there had been no others with the Roman.

  Attila grinned, laughing as he told Ongesh, "We have them. Three legions means they have thrown in their reserves. Defeat them and there will be nothing to stop us."

  He had been concerned about the Visigoths and others allying themselves with the Romans, for that would have been the only source of enough cavalry to have presented any real threat to him. It was well; in one stroke he would break the Roman's back in Gaul, leaving the gateway to Italy undefended. He would have Rome.

  Scouts reported back to him in a constant stream, giving him the direction and the rate of their march. Things were starting to move fast; he could be on them before nightfall. Orleans could wait. The city wasn't going anywhere.

  He ordered Ongesh to call his warlords to him. Ongesh bowed his head in acknowledgment as he left to do his master's bidding.

  Attila prepared himself for battle, calling for his sword and armor to be brought to him. He was fully dressed for war when the first of his commanders arrived. Then came the others; nearly all the great ones were there. His sons Herna, the youngest and Arnak, his heir and tough old Lauderrieks of the Gepidae. His kinsmen, Emnetzur and Ultzindar. Behind them were Elminger and Eskam, the shaman, standing beside Oebar of the Hundred Eyes. The last to enter was Donatus, the Roman deserter who commanded the siege machines and troop of foreign mercenaries from the Roman provinces.

  Ch'ing was aroused from a half slumber by his slave girl and barely managed to make it to the meeting before Donatus arrived. He was irritated at being notified so late. It was just another example of the insults he had to endure, one more injury he would have to pay back when the time came.

  Attila strode back and forth. He was eager to ride. This damned siege had gone on for too long. Here was something he could deal with in terms he understood. Calling for a map, he pointed to the spot where they would meet the Romans. According to his scouts, the Romans should reach the place known as Lacus Mauriacus in the next couple of hours. He would be there to greet them. Attila nearly burst with eagerness; three full legions and their cohorts of cavalry nearly forty thousand men!

  Runners were sent to spread the word to mount and fall into formation. Ch'ing was not consulted on anything. It would have done no good anyway. He could see Attila had made up his mind. Therefore, he kept his own counsel. Full of foreboding, he returned to his quarters to prepare for the ride. He could have stayed behind but Attila might need him if anything went wrong.

  It would give them more confidence if sacrifices were made and honor shown to their heathen gods. Aetius could ill afford to alienate any of his men at this point. They had to have full confidence in their coming victory. To ensure this, he had paid good gold to have the shamans read fair portents of the coming battle in the twisted intestines of sheep and the cracked shoulder bone of a white ox. Once this was done, he did notice that an edginess among the Germanic federati seemed to ease off a bit. They were more relaxed. A man who was going to face death needed to know that the gods were on their side.

  There was nothing for him to do now but wait. He let the men rest in ranks with one rank always standing to in full readiness. Waiting was always the worst of it; however, if things went as planned, it should not be much longer, and already the sun was casting midday shadows.

  Attila's outriders came back to him at regular intervals. He wanted a constant stream of intelligence about the terrain ahead. So far they had reported seeing nothing but dry woods and fields where no cattle grazed. The land was quiet.

  Attila and his force were making good steady time, moving at an alternating rate of trot and walk. He would not have his horses worn out when they came to grips with Aetius.

  He was still five miles from the Catalonian plains and Lacus Mauriacus when the first scout reported back to him that Romans were at the field and in ranks. The master of the Huns was pleased, but at the back of his mind, he still heard the warnings of Ch'ing Li. Ch'ing had been right too many times. He had his force draw up into squadrons. They would now advance at a walk.

  He sent out still more fast riders to scour the countryside for any sign of Burgundians or Franks. The heat of the summer sun was enough to force sweat from pores, dry the mouth and start white streaks of lather forming on the shoulders and flanks of the war horses. The air was still. The dust that the horses stirred up formed into thin hazy clouds of sparkling motes swirling around the horde.

  The command went out for all to prepare themselves. Bows were removed from shoulders, strings checked, swords loosened in scabbards, spears taken from their wicker carriers and laid across the bows of saddles. With the command went a familiar tingle of anticipation, the building of the urge to kill.

  Riders returned from scouting more frequently. They had been far to the rear of the Roman force. The Roman was alone. Attila nodded his head in dark pleasure. It would not be much longer and he would have Aetius. From his skull, he would fashion a drinking cup of silver and gold, lay rubies in the eye sockets and have the teeth replaced with sapphires.

  Ch'ing stayed in the rear of the Hunnish forces. He would move up when the battle began. He knew that at this time, Attila would most likely not listen to him, but he wanted to be close if anything went wrong. Then he might be able to save the day and restore his position when all others failed.

  Ch'ing had a bad feeling about everything taking place. There was too much coincidence to suit him and he knew that Aetius was a shrewd commander, a thinker who understood the Hun mind. It was not like Aetius to commit the last of his forces at this place and time. But he would see.... If there was any blame this day, it would not fall on his shoulders.

  He moved his horse and his bodyguard up into the gap between two groups of warriors where he would have more protection. He rinsed his mouth from a silver flask filled with spring water to cut the dust and longed again for the silken pavilions of China.

  To the rear of Ch'ing, Casca and his small force of three thousand men moved after the Huns. He had to make up time and ordered his men to dismount and run alongside their horses. There were two men to a horse, one hanging onto the saddle, one to the tail. This way he hoped to be able to reach the battlefield in time with his horses still fresh enough to do some good.

  The men, he knew, would be all right if he could let them have a half hour or so to catch their breath, but between running and riding, both men and horses should be in pretty fair condition when they got there. He had learned this technique of long riding from the Huns.

  He had to gauge the time perfectly. If he went too fast, the Huns would spot him and turn on his small force and destroy them. If he was too slow, he would be of no use when the battle began. His force was small, but often a few men at the right place and time could mean the difference between victory and death. He had to be on time.

  He was concerned about the dust cloud that his force threw up and hoped that, as usual, the Huns were not looking back. Their eyes were always to the front when going into battle.

  He gave the order for his men to mount and swung up in his saddle, staying to the front. Before leaving Orleans he had selected a hundred tough looking regular army men to serve as his herders. They kept to the rear, making sure that none dropped behind or tried to desert. After they killed three stragglers, the rest got the idea.

  Attila looked across the field where the Romans were lined up in what was obviously a defensive position. The stakes in the front could give him a few problems, but he knew that he had the numbers to win. The forest behind the Romans would slow him down a bit, but if he just took his time, he would be able merely to stand off and let his archers pick the Romans off one at a time.

  Ch'ing had moved to the shade of a small grove of elm trees. He dismounted and had a blanket and cushions spread for him to rest on. H
e also had a good view of the battlefield. One of his guards served him wine of Syria in a paper thin lacquer cup decorated with graceful scenes of waterfalls and swans. He watched the Hun force draw up, the hooves of their nasty looking horses stamping the earth in impatience.

  The men were as wild looking as ever. More of them had armor now than when he had joined, but it was a wild mixture whatever suited the individual's fancy. Skins of sables rested on the collars of shirts that nearly rotted away on their owners' backs. Swords with jeweled handles nestled in scabbards of filthy goatskin. The Germanic tribesmen that served with them were little if any better. The Gepidae were especially loathsome with their fair hair and large, uncouth, ugly bodies. They were nearly the equal of the Hun in their lust for plunder and slaughter, and the weaker the victim the better. They and the Huns were perfect soul mates in the act of ravaging. He had seen them once take a monastery and then whip the priests with strips of rawhide, forcing them to fight each other for the amusement of their captors.

  A movement of men on the right side of the field caught his eye and brought him back to the present. It appeared as if Attila might be getting ready to make his opening move.

  Aetius was as ready as he could be. Everything that could be done was. Now it was up to Attila. The movement of the Huns spreading themselves out across the field said it was nearly time for him to light the brush they had piled up in front of one section of the stakes. The brush was dry and had been liberally soaked with oil.

  But he would have to wait until the Huns began their attack in earnest. He walked the lines of his soldiers, giving words of praise and encouragement, letting himself be seen by all.