Daniel Ottalini - Antioch Burns

Regillus opened a speaking tube that led up to the main gate control.

“Prepare to drop portcullis and close gates.”

“There are still men fighting outsid-”

“Soldier, listen to me! I am Praefectus Alae Regillus, last commanding officer of the IV Syrian. Do as I say, or I will personally kill you before the Mongols. Do you understand?” Regillus shouted into the speakertube. There was silence from the other end, then a different voice came back.

“This is Watch Officer Hadrianus, please confirm your identity.”

Regillus paused in his reply, distracted by the death of the last few cataphractarii . Phyrsis was no longer visible. The sally had saved most of the defenders; everyone else was either dead or trapped beyond reach of the gates. Snapping his attention back to the speakertube, Regillus mustered every last amount of authority he could muster.

“Drop the portcullis, or we are all dead! You hear me? Do it now!” Regillus ordered the Watch Officer. The last Romans scrambled past the hastily assembled defensive line, Mongolian troops hot on their heels. With a clattering, two steel portcullises slid out of the ceiling, slamming into the ground on both sides of the charging nomads. The trapped Mongolians crashed against the barricade, screaming and shouting hatred at their opponents. From hidden murder holes came a cascade of boiling oil, which burned its way through armor, fabric, and skin. With the Mongol vanguard slaughtered, Regillus ordered his men back, shutting and barricading each set of doors behind them. As each heavy steel bar slammed down, Regillus felt slightly more secure.

Finally, the praefectus and his men emerged into the harsh morning sunlight of the entry courtyard. All around them lay wounded and dead soldiers. Many civilians and medical personnel ran here and there, trying to assist the causalities.

An officer ran out of the sally port of the guardhouse towards the bloodied rearguard survivors.

“You there! Watch Officer! Are you in charge of the gatehouse?”

“I’m not sure, Praefectus . As far as I know, no one is in charge.”

“You’re wrong, soldier. I am in charge. As the last ranking officer of the Syrian IV, I am putting this city under martial law.”

“You can’t do that, the city watch reports to the governor, not the IV.” The man began to argue with the praefectus. His patience gone, nerves frayed by the battle outside the gates, Regillus made a decision. He punched the Watch Officer in the stomach, then kneed him in the face as he doubled over.

The praefectus turned to the men behind him.

“You, you, and you. Secure the gatehouse. The city must be defended at all costs. They will answer to me, or to…” He looked over the mixed force of cataphractarii and legionnaires at his command. Other men in the courtyard from the IV were coming to join his detachment, drawn by the calmness and control he exhibited.

“You.” He pointed to one of the grizzled non-commissioned officers. Regillus looked questioningly at him.

“I am Decanus Amelio, sir.”

“Decanus Amelio, you will take charge of the gatehouse and surrounding defenses. Organize these defenders.” He gestured to the men in the courtyard. “And move along the wall to secure it from the Mongols. Our defenses need to be…” He searched for the right word to make his intentions clear. “Secured. With the help of the city watch and the remnants of the IV, we can save Antioch.”

Amelio saluted, taking the anointed men with him into the depths of the gatehouse.

Behind him, the injured Watch Officer was stirring on the ground. Marching angrily over to him, Regillus kicked the downed Watch Officer for good measure. He lectured the hapless man.

“The IV is in control. Not the governor. That man got most of the garrison slaughtered with his idiotic orders. You will obey my commands. Is that clear?” The man groaned, his head barely managing to nod.

“Help him up, keep him under guard.” Several other soldiers came forward, hoisting the garrison trooper to his feet.

“The rest of you, with me. It is time we paid the governor a visit. Get me a horse.”

While some of his underlings located a horse, Regillus felt the energy drain out of him. He dealt with a dozen minor matters, from the location of temporary hospitals and triage places, to the redistribution and command of the multitude of scratch companies assembled from the remains of the Syrian IV’s cohorts and cavalry detachments. The shaky defense began to solidify as a chain of leadership emerged from the ruins of the disastrous battle. New centurions were selected, underofficers chosen, and new conscripts assigned from the city garrison legion.

During a break in the activity, Regillus managed to scarf down two crusty rolls offered by a camp supporter. He was slumped on a bench, resting his feet for a moment, when a well-dressed messenger rode into the plaza, a handful of personal guards dressed in a similar manner pulling up behind him.

“I’m looking for the senior officer here! I bear a message from the governor.” Regillus cursed. He had hoped to be able to deal with the governor in person, not some minor functionary. Regillus forced himself to his feet.

“You’ve found him.”

“The governor has requested that I take command of the Syrian IV. You are relieved of your duties and are ordered to return to the barracks.” The man informed him haughtily. “With the death of the Legate General, it is up to Governor Leftaro to assign a new commander.”

“And you’re the new commander?” Regillus replied in his most bored voice.

“Yes, by the gods, I am. Doux Hasdrun Pillotai.” He gave a bow, doffing his feathered helmet with a flourish.

Regillus repressed a shudder. Every minor nobleman claimed he was a doux , or duke, but few could actually trace their pedigree back to the original Greek settlers of Alexander the Great’s ancient empire.

“There must be a problem then. We already have a commander.” A voice interrupted from a nearby doorway.

Senior Decanus Etruscas had managed to survive the battle as well, hobbling around on crutches with one of his knees swathed in bandages. His appearance made Pillotai grimace in disgust.

“Here, sir.”

He handed over a wet cloth. “You should wipe your face and clean off some before you go to the governor’s palace. You will want the governor to feel secure in the new leadership of the IV.”

Regillus took the cloth, wiping the grime from his hands. His mind was in overdrive, trying to catch up to Etruscas’ scheme.

“Of course, decanus. I can borrow this gentleman’s horse.” Pillotai looked affronted and spluttered in disagreement.

“What an excellent idea, your Legate Generalship. You should leave right away, sir. We will keep the doux company and ensure he is apprised of the situation.”

“Thank you so much, senior decanus. I should not be gone long. The governor should not need much convincing.” Regillus managed to put on a confidant smile.

“Of course not, sir. He should be grateful to have a veteran officer in charge. What would you have me do?”

“Keep things under control here. Repulse any Mongol attacks, but keep an eye on the civic legion as well. Spread them out among our men, and they should stay strong.” Etruscas nodded, gave a salute, then hobbled off. Several other soldiers in the courtyard helped Pillotai off his horse, their hands grasping swords or spears. Regillus mounted the piebald, and turned to watch a demi-cohort of men form behind him.

“We’re here to protect you from any bandits or robbers in the city, sir. You never can tell when civic order may break down on the way to the palace. Especially with the garrison legion on the walls and not in the streets,” their commanding officer informed him. Very impressive he can say that without cracking a smile, Regillus thought. It is obvious Etruscas had thought about the governor trying to seize control after such a battle, especially with the Legate General dead.