The Damned Read online

  Casca picked through the things he had brought with him when he had first arrived years ago, the weaponry given him by Alaric, and made them up a couple of packs. There were more than enough arms to go around.

  In a corner of Lida's room, he found his helmet lying covered over by cobwebs and rusting. It took several hours of rubbing to remove most of the rust and restore it to a semblance of its former self.

  By the time they set foot outside the walls for the first steps of their journey, Casca was his old self and looked the part, though he was still leaner than he had been. His eyes had lost their hot glow and faded back to their normal blue gray.

  This time when they climbed the ridge, Casca didn't look back. The past was dead. He still had uncounted tomorrows to contend with.

  They made good time. The days were fair and the weather held no severe storms or early snow to hinder their steps. Of others they saw none, until they had traveled over a hundred miles and were near the river Maas. There they were ferried across by an old man who had stayed behind in the migrations because he was too old to make the march. He was glad to give them passage over the river in exchange for a haunch of venison. He was getting damned tired of eating fish and rodents.

  He told Rugisch that the tribe he wanted to find had left their lands and had gone in the wake of the Franks across the Rhine into Gaul. It was there he must go if he wished to see them.

  Rugisch was dejected by this news. If his kinsmen had crossed the Rhine, then they would not be likely to offer any help, if it meant a march of several hundred miles to do so. But still he had been instructed to deliver his father's message and would do so no matter what the difficulties or response.

  Gradually, as they neared the Rhine, they came upon increasing signs of human habitation. A farm, some plowed fields, cattle grazing; from these they obtained directions and went on their way. Casca had a few coins in his purse that he had saved along with his weapons. These served to keep them fed once they reached lands where they could buy food.

  Rugisch had some small bars of silver of his own, and between them they had no problem in getting the things they needed most, which consisted of two horses; a pair of over aged geldings. But they went much faster now that they would set foot on well used trails and eventually the roads of Rome.

  They passed through several well populated villages and then were over the Rhine and into Gaul proper. From there it was easy going. The new masters of Gaul seemed to Casca not much different than the previous masters there. The land looked the same and the fields were well tended, ready for harvest. It appeared the rough tribes of Germania had been gentled somewhat by easy living and fair weather.

  They were left alone and were not delayed on the roads by other than normal questioning looks from those they passed. Casca was surprised to see several patrols of Roman cavalry on the roads. When he had last been through here, all was controlled by Visigoths or Franks. Now he saw in the faces of the legionnaires about an equal number of Italian and Germanic faces. Alaric was long dead. The Empire had returned, a bit feebler, but still master in name if not in fact.

  At Lugdenesis they found the Suevii and their leader, one Svatova, an uncle by blood on Rugisch's mother's side, serving with the federati, assigned to the local garrison under the command of a praetor.

  They entered the wall of the city and found quarters among the cousins of his tribe in their barracks. His uncle provided the light cavalry for the region, who were respected allies of the Romans who were very short of horsemen themselves, and had to rely on their new associates to provide them.

  They welcomed Rugisch as a kinsman and Casca because he was with him. Casca stayed to himself. He still felt awkward with so many people around him and left Rugisch to meet his uncle alone.

  When Rugisch returned, it was as expected. His uncle could do them no good. He had a contract with the Romans and it couldn't be broken at this time. Yes, he knew the Huns were on the march and many cities had fallen to them. But there was nothing he could do about it. They were not his lands anymore. Where he was now was what concerned him, and the Huns would never get this far.... There was too much between them for him to be concerned about the savages of the steppes. He had problems enough now with countering raiding bands of outlaws or renegade tribesmen who preyed on unwary travelers or convoys of food destined for the Roman garrisons.

  He offered Rugisch a position in his cavalry and said there would be a place for his strange friend if he wanted it. Rugisch turned down the offer on his part but relayed the rest of the message to Casca who said he would think about it for a time before giving his response.

  Casca thought about it for some time, then decided to pass on the offer. Rugisch asked him if he would prefer to stay with him for a time and return with him to meet his father, who should be on the other side of the Tsai River.

  For Casca one place was as good as another. He could feel the storms of war gathering, so what difference did it make where he was. There would always be work for one such as he.

  The Empire had been in a state of confusion ever since Alaric had sacked the city. It had been unable to regain its full power. Much of the spirit of the Roman citizens was broken as a result.

  His young companion was well educated on the events of the times and what was taking place where. His father had sent him to schools in Rome and Constantinople to learn the ways of those he would have to deal with in the future. He kept up a running dialogue, bringing Casca up to date on all that had transpired since he had crossed the Rhine and gone to Helsfjord.

  Honorius had died and his nephew, Theodosius, was for a time master of both the Western and Eastern Empires. However, Galla Placidia, the sister of Honorius, had her son Valentinian lay claim as the legitimate heir of Honorius and appealed to Theodosius in Constantinople to acknowledge their claim.

  Theodosius was reluctant to give up his claim to the Western throne, but he had troubles enough in the East without having to deal with intrigues elsewhere.

  Since the death of Honorius, the court at Ravenna was anxious to keep their independence from Constantinople and elected one of their number as the new Emperor of the West. Theodosius decided to honor Placidia's claim when she showed him she had the support of Bonifatius, the Roman commander in North Africa. Bonifatius had it in his power to stop most of the grain shipments to Italy and a good portion of the produce also went to feed the throngs of the Eastern Empire. This in itself could cause more trouble than Italy was worth, for the East would have to pay for the misery that starvation and pestilence would bring.

  He granted Placidia's demands. Valentinian was proclaimed Emperor of the West. Theodosius then sent troops to take back power from Johannes the Usurper. Ravenna was taken through trickery with little trouble and Johannes had his head removed from his body as an example to all who lay claim to the royal purple without the consent of the East.

  The matter in Rome had to be settled quickly for there were new evidences of the expansionist designs of the Huns. This was no time for Rome to fight against herself. Rome had to rely on hiring many barbarians to defend her, even to using Huns themselves as light cavalry, and its problems with the Church were nearly as bad as the political situation, with different factions fighting among themselves, each crying out that others were false in their beliefs concerning the divine nature of God and his relationship with Jesus.

  But now the greatest danger was not in the provinces that had been lost, but in the new threat from the East.

  There were intrigues upon intrigues. Gaiseric the Vandal had decided that the new alliance between the Suevii and Visigoths of Spain and Gaul were a threat to his African Empire. So he made overtures to the King of the Huns, trying to persuade him to attack his enemies on the continent, hoping he would be in a position to pick up the pieces after both sides had exhausted themselves in battle.

  The Emperor Valentinian had problems at home with his sister, Honoria. He had arranged for her to marry a prominent senator but she, as the
way of women, decided not to follow his wishes. And just to piss him off, Honoria offered her hand in marriage to Attila.

  This, of course, was not meant seriously. But Attila used the offer as a pretext to make demands on Valentinian, demanding that he be sent his bride, and as her dowry half of the Western Empire.

  Casca took all this in with a deepening sense of irony. For all of the blood and passion, it didn't make much difference. Things were always the same: someone was always trying to screw up someone else.

  As it turned out, they didn't have to travel all the way to the Tsai River; instead, they met the first elements of Rugisch's tribe heading west between the Danube and Aquincum.

  Rugisch called to the first outriders and identified himself. He and Casca were immediately taken to his father, who was at the head of their tribe. To the rear, in a line that stretched for miles, a nation was on the move. Everything they owned was packed on the backs of horses or being hauled in large, two and four wheeled wagons.

  Rugisch's tribe wasn't the only one on the move. There were Goths, Vandals, Romans and the people of a dozen races refugees from the hordes that were sweeping all before them. The Huns had broken out and were heading west.

  Rugisch's father, Torgau, greeted his son emotionally from horseback, gripping his boy's right arm with his own withered right hand. He was barely able to keep his dignity in front of his warriors.

  He was a rough looking old pirate. One eye, the left, was gone; a scar creased his brow to his cheek on the left side. He wore a good tunic of blue linen and carried a copy of a Roman shield of the oblong style on his back. He was about the same height as Casca but thicker in the body and chest. He was an old warhorse, but from the looks of him, one who could still put up a hell of a fight if pushed, and he was being pushed.

  That they had fought hard was evidenced by the number of wounded they carried with them in their wagons. They also had a number of Hunnish prisoners. All the captives were nobles of either the Huns or one of their allied tribes. They were kept alive so that Torgau could eventually exchange them for members of his own tribe who had fallen into the hands of the Huns.

  While Rugisch and his father talked, Casca rode back to get a look at the prisoners. The last time he had seen Huns was on the borders of China where they were known as the Hsiung nu. That had been years ago.

  From a distance, they appeared to be the same, but on closer examination, he saw that many of them had features of the West mixed with the flat faces and high prominent cheekbones of the steppes. There had been much intermingling of bloodlines since last he had fought against them; several even had eyes the same color as his.

  But, if they had some of the blood of the West in their veins, it had not diluted their primal savagery; in that they were the same. Among the prisoners were several who had no blood of the East in them. They were the allies of the Huns and rode with them willingly for the sake of plunder or revenge.

  Under his gaze, they were impassive as they stumbled along on feet that weren't used to walking. The guards kept them chained together and under constant watch. Any who looked as though he were even thinking of giving them trouble was immediately impaled on the point of a spear.

  When Casca returned to Rugisch, he and his father had pulled off to the side letting the column pass them as they talked. He welcomed Casca with even more interest and a degree of affection since Rugisch had told him of Casca's saving his life. There had been two other sons, but they had lost their lives in battle on the banks of the Tsai trying to prevent a crossing by Huns.

  Casca stayed with the column for another three days before deciding to head out on his own. He still wasn't used to having so many people around him. There were just too many; he couldn't sleep with the noise of riders and wagons going by. Besides, he wasn't sure if Rugisch and his father could deal with the Huns if they caught up to them. He didn't feel like getting involved in a losing battle right at the start. They were good warriors with plenty of courage normally, but they had had the crap kicked out of them and were still too demoralized to be an effective force. It would be some time before they regained their confidence.

  After informing Rugisch of his decision to take off, he was given a message by his father to take to the Roman commander of Gaul. Perhaps now they would give them aid, for if the Hun was not stopped soon, they would reach the sea.

  Turning his horse back the way he had come, he left the slow moving line of refugees behind him. It felt good to be alone again.

  The return trip gave him time to think about the Huns. They were not acting in the same manner as when he had fought them before. Their basic battle tactics hadn't changed much, but now they were using pressure in a different manner than they had in the Far East. Now they would threaten here and then strike somewhere else, leaving enough men behind to tie up forces that could have been used against them at their real target. From what he had learned from Torgau about the new Hunnish methodology, someone was giving them some pretty damned sophisticated advice and they were taking it. They no longer blindly charged, simply trying to smash an opponent under the hooves of their war horses.

  Sometimes they still used the old trick of faking a retreat to suck their prey in until he was over extended, then turn when the pursuer had exhausted himself, break them up into small units and dispatch them one at a time at their leisure. Now they timed things carefully. The rate of march of their enemies and place of battle were nearly always of their choice.

  They would hit an enemy column and whiplash it by striking at the head, forcing the rear to rush to give assistance, then withdraw. Once the enemy column was stretched out again, they would repeat the attack, this time hitting the rear elements, forcing the leading units of the column to rush back to the rear. After this had been done a few times, the enemy was so tired, demoralized, and exhausted they were easy to deal with.

  At Vindonissa, he was stopped by a patrol of mounted federati, Frankish cavalry patrolling the river banks of the Upper Rhine to the Alps.

  They had heard the Huns were moving but thought he was overreacting to the threat. If the bowlegged little bastards ever did show their pushed in faces on their side of the river, they, the greatest warriors in the world, would teach them what it meant to fight real men.

  Casca had heard that kind of crap more than once and knew there was no sense in trying to tell them any different. They would just have to learn the hard way.

  He rode with them for a piece, then went on his own once more. He did find out who was commanding the Roman forces in the west – Flavius Aetius. That was who he would try to see. Perhaps he would listen from what the Franks had told him. Aetius was a good leader who had fought the Huns before.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aetius had long been the man most familiar with Huns of any leader in Rome. More than once he had been sent to live with them as part of a hostage exchange. He had known Attila when they were both young men and taken some pleasure in always being able to get the better of him in every deal they had made, whether it was trading horses or gambling. He had always taken an air of superiority around him as he felt he represented the culture of Roman civilization.

  Attila had to work hard to control his temper when Aetius used to needle him about taking up the marathon run for his tribe. He had even put him down in their wrestling matches using the tricks taught him by his Greek tutors. The only thing that Attila could do better was to ride and shoot at moving targets from horseback while at a full gallop. Aetius denigrated these accomplishments as being only natural for one who had the intelligence and smell of a horse.

  Attila swore in his heart that one day he would make the smug superior Roman eat his words, showing him once and for all who was the better.

  After Aetius had reached his maturity and gained rank in the legions, he had often gone to the Hun encampment to talk with old Kara-ton or Attila's uncle Ruga about hiring a few thousand of his warriors to fight for him as light cavalry and would always end up paying less than half
of what it would have taken to get Vandals or Goths to fight for him. Even then he would pay in gold which was less than pure.

  He knew the Hun better than anyone else did, and though he had been in and out of favor at the court several times and lost his office more than once, he was the one they always sent for when they needed the horsemen of the Huns to perform some chore that no one else would take.

  He understood their way of thinking and knew that it was both their strength and their weakness. The Huns could be beaten, but it wouldn't be easy.

  Aetius was pleased at how things had finally come his way. He was now the magister ultriusque militiae, the supreme commander of Roman forces since his predecessor, Felix, had been assassinated.

  He was the real power in the West now, but still he had to deal with the Senate and the Emperor. Because of the distance they kept from the field, they were constantly able to interfere with his plans. It was a temptation to let Attila take all of Italy and liquidate the smug officials. Then he would drive the Huns back and make himself Emperor. But that, he sighed, didn't look to be very likely. He was a soldier and couldn't let his country be overrun and put to the sword.

  And he had other things to do now. Attila was coming. They both knew that one day they would meet on the field of battle. There could be no other way, it was their fate.

  Casca was admitted to the presence of Flavius Aetius.

  The two men eyed each other. Casca liked the look of the Roman magister. He reminded him of some he had met when Rome had consistently produced great leaders. It was good to know there was at least one left.

  Aetius was around fifty but moved with quick, sure actions. His eyes were clear and he had an intensity to him that spoke of his years of command.

  Aetius listened to the message from Torgau. He had met the old man several times and knew that he was a solid thinker not given to flights of imagination; in fact, Torgau didn't have any imagination.