The Damned Read online

  The Romans and Germans were too exhausted to advance any farther. The tribesmen's long ride to the rescue had nearly worn out their horses and the fierce battle had drained both them and their animals of most of what strength remained in their arms. They were willing to call a halt to the fight for the time being and give both men and horses time to regain their strength and treat their wounds.

  Casca saw the smoke before he heard the sounds of battle. He formed his men up into two columns with a force of five hundred set into two ranks at his front, forming a T.

  A group of several Huns broke out of the trees, running in a panic. They didn't see Casca and his men until they were already face to face. In the lead was one of Attila's Gepidae leaders, Lauderrieks. Casca met him head on with a steady hand. He hurled his short throwing spear straight into the Gepid chieftain's chest. The blow punched a hole in the breastplate of embossed iron, knocking him from his saddle to lie dead on the ground, mouth open, eyes staring at nothing. Casca's horse trampled on his face as they advanced against the rest of the escaping Huns.

  The Huns wanted no part of any more fighting at this point and most of them managed to escape to race off in different directions. Casca's men wanted to track them down, but he refused them. He couldn't take a chance on having his force broken into separate wandering groups he couldn't control. He might still be needed at the real battle taking place in front of them. Though the fact that Huns were fleeing the field was a good sign, it didn't mean that it was over or even that Aetius had won. Things could turn around faster than a pimp could sell his sister.

  When he reached the field, there was less than an hour of daylight left in the sky. His men joined the forces of Aetius and were made welcome. They were absorbed into the ranks, filling out the places of those who had fallen on the field. They were put with the rest of the army into positions surrounding the Huns in the circle of their wagons.

  Aetius clasped Casca by the shoulder, hugging him in delight. "By glory of God, I am glad to see you, my friend. For a time I didn't think you had made it." Casca filled him in on the events that had taken place at Orleans.

  Aetius was elated at the news. "Good, good, my friend, then we have done well this day. Rome shall live for a while longer."

  Casca followed him to his tent which had been moved closer to where the Huns were now barricaded, stating, "It was good to see the tables turned in our favor for once. The Huns have had their way for far too long."

  As the sun set, Casca rested beside Aetius, sitting on a field chair outside the tent. The sounds of the aftermath of battle reached them from a dozen directions the groans of wounded men who were being treated by physicians and the sounds of graves being dug for those who had fallen.

  Casca pointed out a glow coming from the Hun position where campfires were being lit inside the circle. He roared with laughter when Aetius told him of the trick he had used on Attila to get him mad enough to charge. Neither Casca nor Aetius could know that Attila was in a fit of depression and the fire they saw was from the burning of saddles of horses which Attila had heaped up in the center of his circle. Attila was determined that before he would let himself be taken prisoner, he would throw himself into the flames.

  The glow they watched that night was the burning of many of Attila's dreams. If they had made one more concerted attack that night, Attila would have died on his funeral pyre. But they and their men were too tired. The final battle would have to wait until dawn. Then they would see about putting an end to the ravages of the Huns once and for all.

  Strong sentries were kept on all posts that night and horsemen slept by their animals, ready to mount at a moment's notice. They wouldn't take any chances on being surprised. The Hun was wounded but he wasn't finished. Nearly twenty thousand were still left alive and that was a formidable force to contend with, as the Romans and their allies had only slightly more in their ranks. The battlefield of the Lacus Mauriacus was theirs but the victory was yet to be finalized.

  Ch'ing Li had to talk himself blue to get Attila out of his fit of self-pity. "Lord, you would not heed my words, but don't give up. We will still have our day. Now listen to me and this is how things shall be done. I will not let you fall."

  Without speaking, he listened to Ch'ing and finally began to perk up a bit. It was true; they had been fought to a stalemate here, but there were still huge numbers of men to call on if they could break free. Once they left Gaul behind, it would not take more than a few months for him to gather another large army from the hundreds of tribes in his domain.

  He listened eagerly to Ch'ing and even said to himself that he would not again go against the advice of his faithful counselor.

  Ch'ing Li spent most of the night with Attila. It wasn't until two hours before dawn that he came up with the solution to their problem. At this point, Attila was ready to try anything. He had never been in this condition before where he was the one surrounded, waiting for the enemy to attack at dawn. When Ch'ing Li explained his plan, Attila snapped at it, anything to get out of the confining rings of the wagons.

  The orders were given. They would have to leave their wagons and their supplies behind, but this was a desperate time.

  One hour before dawn, the Gepidae and the Germanic warriors formed into a single force. Attila gave them their orders. They were to assault straight through to the tent of Aetius. There they would kill the Roman general, leaving the Romans without their brain.

  The Germanics loyal to him were to be his spearhead and given the honor of leading the way in the breakout. At the signal given by Attila, they burst out of the rings of the wagons and rushed straight into the Roman ranks. The Romans were not found sleeping and quickly fell into formation to resist the attack. But in the confusion of the dark, they thought the entire Hun force was on them. The Romans and Visigoths on the south side of the encirclement came to their comrades' aid.

  When they did, the Huns, instead of backing up the Germans; left them on their own and headed south through the weakened lines of the Visigoths. Attila leading the way, Ch'ing Li close behind him, they broke through with little difficulty and rode away from the fields of Catalonia and Lacus Mauriacus.

  Their loyal allies were quickly cut off and surrounded by the superior Roman forces and butchered. But Attila was free and away. There was no way the Romans would be able to catch him. The seven thousand Germanics he had sacrificed meant nothing to him. The important thing was he had managed to save the heart of his forces and himself. The lives of a few oversized barbarians meant less than nothing.

  But to those dying, the name of Attila was cursed a thousand times before the last of the Gepidae fell, his mouth filled with blood.

  The Roman forces had reacted so quickly to the attack from the Gepidae that there had been no time for Aetius to give orders. He and Casca had to simply join into the melee and fight alongside each other in the dark until there were no more bodies to strike out against.

  The greatest disappointment was when they found the camp of the Huns empty and knew that Attila had fled. They were not yet through with the Hun. Aetius and Casca knew they would have to do it all over again. But their victory this day would give new heart to the Western Empire. The Hun could be beaten. This was the first time, and both men swore it would not be the last.

  As the sun rose, the bodies of both sides littered the field, broken and useless. The losses had been nearly equal so that it could not be called a great victory, but at least they held the place of battle and had forced the Hun to withdraw. The psychological benefits alone were worth the loss of life.... At least they were to the living.

  Casca walked over the field; the terrible aftermath of a desperately fought struggle was all too familiar. For a moment he wished for the quiet and forgetfulness of the marshes, but he knew he couldn't hide from the world forever. Sooner or later, no matter where he was, the world and its struggles would force themselves upon him

  He found a place to sit on a small grassy knoll covered with the high d
ry yellow grass of summer and sat thinking about what life was all about. He gave up trying to find an explanation that could justify the thousands of lives taken by fate in the last hours.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Attila sat upon the ridge overlooking the battlefield he had just left. His deep set eyes, black as chips of obsidian, showed no sign of the anger which was beating within him. He had lost. His first defeat – was it an auger of things to come? His horsemen and their allies were streaming past him heading back the way they had come. Those who were severely wounded or on foot were doomed. He knew their heads would lie before Aetius by the next dawn. The horsetail standards swung listlessly in the evening breeze.

  Whipping his horse around, he turned from the scene of his failure, unconcerned about the thousands of his warriors being put to the sword by the victors. That night, as the wind blew through the coals of a bronze brazier, he waited for the man he had summoned.

  Silent, he brooded over his loss. He had been sucked into a trap and had to recognize it. The one he was waiting for entered on his knees. Ch'ing knew when to play the part of a truly submissive and loyal servant. In his hands he carried the rice paper scrolls which had brought Attila one victory after another. Snapping his fingers, Attila called for wine of Persia to be brought. Ch'ing considered this a bad sign. Rarely had Attila ever taken much to drink other than the harsh fermented mare's milk that served his poorest tribesmen. Ch'ing hoped that this was not going to become a habit. Wine was not good for the heads of savages. They had no tolerance for civilized beverages; it made them crazier than they already were and much harder to deal with.

  "What went wrong, scholar?" The question was not spoken threateningly. He wiped a drop of wine from his thin beard. Again he asked, "What was my mistake, scholar? I know you warned me against coming to Gaul in the first place, but we should have won even with the Visigoths and Franks riding against us."

  Ch'ing nodded, affecting his most safe manner. He gracefully unrolled the scrolls and set them before Attila.

  "You lost because you would not listen except to your own desires." Ch'ing was careful to use tones which were not accusing, only statements of fact. He handled the scrolls lovingly; as always, he admired the artistry of the author and the graceful techniques used in the calligraphy of Sun T'su's The Art of War.

  Ch'ing looked through the scroll until he found the passages he wanted. He was always careful to have Attila feel that what was said came not from him but from the writings of a man dead a thousand years. In that manner, the anger of Attila could be deflected. He was merely the tool that interpreted the scroll.

  "Lord, you have made three errors. First, it is written and I have read this to you before, that one never takes the field for more than one season if it can be avoided. Second, never become involved with long sieges; it debilitates the men and exhausts the fields. Third, never give in to anger, for emotion is like the clouds of the moon. By that I mean that the mind, when clear, is the moon in full light. It can see all in startling clarity. But, when the mind is filled with anger, it becomes clouded and conceals the face of the moon and you are in darkness where you cannot see your way.

  "You have been in the field for three seasons without rest. The siege of Orleans went on too long. And lastly, when the Roman insulted you, you lost your temper and acted in haste on a field of battle that was not of your choosing. All these things you did against the teachings of Sun T'zu."

  Attila was nothing if not a realist. He knew Ch'ing Li was right. He had lost his temper when Aetius gave him the flask. He would remember the bearer of that obscene gift for a long time.

  He questioned Ch'ing further, "What about the trap and the manner in which we were lured away from the walls and the lie about the Visigoths and the Franks not being with the Romans?"

  Ch'ing thought about it for a moment. "Lord, the trap and the technique used in getting us to fall into it resembles one that is in the book of Sun T'zu, also. There is a story in my land of how a gift was given to another with the same unfortunate results. It is an old, old tale in my country. Perhaps we are dealing with someone who has read the same book we use."

  He stroked his mustache with manicured nails. "I believe I know who it is that has been giving advice to Aetius. All of this began when a rider entered the walls of the city yesterday. Then, when Ongesh and I went to deliver your ultimatum, we were received by a man with a scarred face. It was he who insulted Ongesh and broke the truce. Also, it was he who led the forces from the city which attacked us from our rear.

  "If that is so, then we will have to be careful in the future and hope this scar faced one does not gain too much power. The writings of Sun T'zu will serve all who heed them. I feel that we are not through with the scar faced Roman."

  The old legend from his homelands touched at Ch'ing Li's thoughts. Could it possibly be? The Roman did bear the marks the legends spoke of, both in his eyes and scars. But how could one live for such a time? The stories did say he had been touched by the gods. What if... ? His superstitious speculations were interrupted by Attila rising from his knees and heading for the entrance to his tent. He was stopped by a discreet cough from Ch'ing, who had been brought back to the present. "We have another problem, Master."

  "What is that, scholar?"

  "Lord, it is imperative that we keep your reputation for invincibility unblemished. We must put the blame for this defeat somewhere else. We have to give someone to the men or they might lose their faith in you."

  Attila thought that over. It made sense. "All right, I'll go along with that. But who?"

  Ch'ing concealed his smile. "I have already considered our needs, Lord. It must be one who is always in their minds and is close to you. One thing all armies have in common is complaints about their rations, and we have been on short supplies these last months. Also, he should be the one who advised you to undertake this campaign and even convinced the other chieftains to join with him in his arguments."

  Attila stopped his pacing. "You mean Ongesh?" Ch'ing nearly burst with pleasure. "Yes, Lord, it must be him."

  Attila shook his head. "But it is not Ongesh's fault you know that there was a shortage of food. You know the countryside had been gleaned down to nearly the last kernel of grain before we ever set foot here, and what they didn't harvest they burned. It was impossible for the land in such a condition to support such an army as mine for an extended period. Even with those problems you know that Orleans would have fallen in a few days. Should I hold Ongesh responsible for my mistakes?"

  Ch'ing agreed, "Just so, Lord, but his death would serve two purposes for you. It would give the men renewed faith in you and also be a salve to their pride. They will readily accept short rations as the reasons for their defeat. It is vital that this be done."

  Attila shook his head. "Ongesh has been with me from the beginning, always at my side when I needed him. He is like a brother to me."

  Ch'ing smirked behind his bland features. He recalled what had been the fate of Attila's own brother

  Ch'ing bobbed his head in agreement. "Just so, lord, it has to be one that the men know you have great love and respect for. To put the blame on someone of no importance or that you dislike would have no value. It must be someone you are fond of. That will prove to the men that not even your personal likes will deter from doing that which is just and proper. And if I may remind you, we did come here because of Ongesh. It must be him or perhaps one of your sons."

  Attila rose up at that. "No, I am not going to kill one of my sons. At least not yet anyway. So be it, scholar, we will talk again later. Leave me now and send in Bardov, the captain of my guard; if this thing is to be done, it must be handled quickly."

  Ch'ing bowed from his kneeling position. In obeisance he performed Kowtow, touching his head to the floor of the tent. This was one time he wouldn't mind obeying Attila's orders. Gloating, he rose, backed out of the tent, pleased with himself. He had just repaid one of the scores he had to settle, and with Ongesh out of the
way, the others ought to be even easier.

  Attila ate cold horsemeat, washing it down with kvass, chewing and swallowing slowly until he heard Bardov beg for permission to enter his presence. When it was given, he saluted to his master and awaited his orders. Attila told him to bring Ongesh to him, then leaned close to his man's ear and whispered. Bardov heard his master's voice. "I hear and obey, Lord."

  Attila finished his cold horsemeat by the time Bardov returned with Ongesh and had shown him inside, then left to take up his place, guarding the master's tent, satisfied that he had obeyed all his master's orders, even those whispered in his ear.

  Ongesh, his scarred, knotted, high cheek boned face attentive, stood expectantly in front of Attila, waiting for him to speak.

  Attila spat a piece of horse gristle from his teeth before talking. "Ongesh, what are you?"

  His chieftain responded, "I am the property of you, my Lord."

  Attila watched him carefully. "And is all that you have not mine?"

  Ongesh sensed that something not to his liking was taking place. He fell to the floor, touching his head to the carpet. "It is, Lord."

  Attila picked his, teeth with the point of a dagger. "Good, then we are in agreement. Old friend, I have need of your head. It must be shown to the tribes in order to restore their confidence in me. You are being permitted to serve me in the most important way I know. You shall take the blame for today's defeat by the Romans.”

  Ongesh swallowed bitter bile. "Is there no other way, Lord?"

  Attila shook his head in regret. "No, my old friend and comrade. It has been well thought over and decided. It must be done that the tribes retain their faith in me."

  Ongesh raised his eyes to look at Attila. He saw no hope in them. He took a deep breath. "Then I am honored that I shall be permitted to be of service to you once more. May I ask what will become of my sons and wives?"