Of Destiny and Duty - A Galatian AAR

Hi all!

I've had a Multi-AAR (RTW and M2TW) going for some time in the EB subforum, and I thought I might post it here as well, since, well... (not everybody goes to the EB subforum.)

This story begins in the crumbling city of Constantinople. An determined Turkish army, led by Mehmed II, prepare to overrun it's walls. John and Godwin, the English Crusaders, fight desperately to fulfill their God-given duty, though they know the situation to be hopeless.

But in the midst of this trial, John stumbles upon an extraordinary find: a written history of the conquests of Pontus! What was their story?

In this Multi-AAR, you will follow both the first-hand account of the fall of the Byzantine Empire, and the written account of two Galatian men caught up in growth of a great ancient empire.

Also, feel FREE to comment and criticize! I would be happy to receive either.

Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

Of Destiny and Duty; A Galatian AAR

Chapter l - Shock

Constantinople, 1453 AD

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Flames flickered around me. I felt suspended in time, as a spectator to the events unfolding about me. Indeed, it was some time before I could bring to recollection where I was; why I was there.

“Get up, get up you fool!” cried Godwin, my friend of many years. “Come, John, before those ravaging murderers put out your eyes!”

It all came back to me in a moment’s time. I shook myself into consciousness. I felt so weak, so drained in mind and body. But now I started to remember.

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It seems like so long ago; just a few years, but it feels like decades. The Pope had called yet another crusade; the fate of Byzantium hung in the balance. Truth be told, however, this came as no surprise. The emperor in Constantinople reigned over a mere shell; a shadow of what had been. The old city had not the striking dominance that had once asserted control over the eastern half of the Mediterranean. Generations of corruption and greed had done their work; it was only a matter of time before the Turks, those heathens, came as God’s own instrument of punishment upon the unfaithful. Now we will feel His long-withheld wrath.

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Despite the hopelessness of the times, it was my duty to come to the defense of the old city, if for nothing else than the preservation of the memory of better days. So we came, Godwin and I, to fulfill our sacred duty to God and country.

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Yes, we came, and then our enemies, those Turks; they, too, had a mission. Their father’s fathers had fought over the Holy Land. Now they came, seeking vengeance for the blood spilt by our swords. They will not rest until Constantinople, shell that it was, kneels before them in servitude.

So we fought. We fought endless hours, countless days. It seemed that the struggle would never end. The old city had the greatest walls in all Christendom, and for all their efforts and courage in battle, the enemy could not secure them.

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Instead, they waited. They surrounded our city and waited with eager dreams of the pillage and loot that would follow. But occasionally they would bombard the city with their great cannons and scale the walls yet again to test us, to see if our resolve had weakened.

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And it was on such a day that I stood at the gate, ready to beat the enemy back yet again. I ran back and forth, admonishing the men to keep up the fight. And then, then it happened. I was thrown, as by the hand of the Almighty Himself, through the air. I felt that I had been lifted up and tossed as a child tosses a toy. And then everything became black, black as the night…

Chapter ll - Crusader's Duty

“Get up, get up you fool! Come, John, before those ravaging murderers put out your eyes!”

Yes, now I remembered it all. Godwin told me later that the Turks had shot one of their massive cannon at the gateway. Our men were so severely stricken with surprise that the enemy was able to gain the gateway. We had seen these great cannon smash at the walls, but never had the Turks fired it directly at us in such a way.

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Godwin helped me up, as I was in a dazed state from the blast, and helped me toward the secondary line of defense. There I lied down, and gathered my wits about me.

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The Turks charged into our line, but being as we were in the streets, far behind the walls, the enemy’s missiles could not reach us in support of the attack, and the fight slowed as battered troops from both sides drifted away from the action. The Turks were forced to abandon their hard-fought gains at the gateway, and returned to their positions surrounding the city.

I was taken to a large building in the inner city. There, I was taken care of. I had no serious injury, only need of rest. So after my release, I trudged back to the barracks on the northern end of the city, near the middle portion of the wall.

Godwin welcomed me back so joyfully that one would think we had been parted for a lifetime. Godwin and I had been fast friends since we had fought together in France under King Henry VI of England.

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He was a powerful lord in Scotland, and I a wealthy landowner in England. We had some trade dealings off and on, but we truly became acquainted during a campaign against Charles VII of France. As our hap was, we fought side by side, and came to know each other well.

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I recall though, that Godwin, proud Scot that he was, refused to have anything to do with me at first. Indeed, at times he was more a danger than a help to me on the battlefield. Sometimes he amused himself by jostling me about with that great sword of his. His favored weapon was a great two-handed sword, a sword he told me he had taken as loot in Europe. Godwin was certainly built to carry the massive blade.

Indeed, he was a large man, a man of stern, sharp features, in stark contrast to my frame, as I am strongly built, but a good deal shorter than he. Godwin took pleasure in knocking me about. Usually I bore his mockery well enough, but after a time, I felt I could stand it no longer.

So one day in camp, as he seemed set to push me by the hilt of his sword, I turned and stopped his hand. Of course, he could not pass over such an affront in the sight of the other men, so he struck a blow at me. Being smaller, I easily avoided his blows, but still he struck again and again. So I dove straight into Godwin’s legs, toppling him over. My stout build was perfect for wrestling, so I was not at all afraid to engage him. A grand scuffle ensued, and presently we grasped at each other’s throats and arms, trying to overpower the other while breaking his hold at the same time.

And at this effort we struggled, some said, for a good hour or two. Neither of us was willing to give up.

Then, to my great surprise and confusion, a great bellowing laugh escaped his lips. Indeed, I was quite confused at his demeanor. So we ceased the struggle for a moment; he laughed all the while.

Finally, Godwin looked me square in the eye, still beaming broadly, and exclaimed, “By Jove! Never have I met a man who could match me either with sword or in a hand-to-hand fight! Indeed, I have misjudged you, my friend. I should be glad to fight alongside a hardened fighter such as you any day! You have determination as well as courage, and for that I respect you, though you are an Englishman.”

From that time, we were fast friends, seeing each other through many a battle, facing our destinies together. We campaigned together in France, Ireland, and in the Holy Land. We swore to each other that we would both leave a battle alive, or die together.

So together, as always, we had set out for the defense of Constantinople, and this time it seemed that would indeed die together.

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Chapter lll - Patrol

It was months since that action at the gateway, when I came into possession of my great prize, my manuscript. It was so astonishing, how it came into my hands, but... I shall tell you of that later.

We had seen many more fights since then. I continued to survive, but what of that? I survived only to see men die around me; knowing that perhaps my time is not today, but maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. What hope was there against so many, and with no place to hide?

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Nevertheless, there was nothing to be gained by surrender. We would be killed anyway, or our eyes put out. All, that is, except the few of us who are important enough to fetch a good price in ransom. So we continued to fight, and to die, as was our duty. At least we are accorded an honorable death in battle, rather than death as slaves and cowards. However, I see now that I was destined to greater things than a violent end in the doomed defense of Constantinople. I shall tell you how it happened, how I met with this destiny.

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The Turks seemed to attack about once in each week. Soon we discovered that these attacks were more than probes to find out our strength. Indeed, the rogues would send spies into the city with each attack. They would enter with the other soldiers, hide out inside the city during the fight, and then masquerade as a citizen. These spies would sometimes scout our positions and then leave the city during the next attack. Other times, their tasks were even more nefarious. Some of them found out grain storages throughout the city, and burned them. Others attempted to poison our water wells. Most of these attempts had been thwarted, but those that succeeded caused significant damage.

Not only did the spies’ work cause a strain on us, but we were also forced to spread ourselves out, patrolling the streets and guarding important food stores. It was another drain on our already exhausted troops; a drain that we could not sustain for long.

Nonetheless, we had to be ever wary of these spies. On a given day, I was instructed to take a detachment of men-at-arms and patrol the perimeter of the city. It would be a long day.

Godwin offered to come with me. “A tiny man like you shouldn’t lead a patrol by himself,” he said with a mischievous grin. So, taking ten fresh men, we set out on our patrol, starting with the north end of the city. Alert as we were, we were not ready for the events of the coming hours.

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Chapter IV - Ambush!

We had been marching for hours. We covered the north, east, and south sides of the city; but an hour or two more, and we would be able to rest our aching joints. We had been on the march for hours, patrolling the streets adjacent the walls. Other detachments were tasked with canvassing the interior of the city.

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By now the men were complaining of aches and pains, wishing the task over. After all, we not only had to march through the city, but we had to investigate even the slightest movement that we saw. This took a prodigiously great deal of time and effort. All civilians (mostly women and children, as the men had been pressed into service) were ordered to stay in their homes, not to stir out for anything. So we knew that anyone prowling the streets was up to no good.

As we trudged through yet another street, I had the strangest feeling. I felt affixed by someone’s gaze, as though a pair of eyes was set on me, perhaps from a house along the street. I ordered a halt. After looking around, I saw nothing else, but decided to move down that street to investigate further.

We moved into the next street, heading toward the center of the city. Just as we were about to turn around, I heard a shrill, bone-chilling yell. Suddenly, about 15 men sprang from the rubble of what had been just another empty street.

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Each man knew his task. It would be every man for himself, each picking out an opponent and rushing towards him. The enemy had an advantage for the few moments that we stood stock-still, shocked at meeting so many of the enemy, and at the end of a long day.

One man had a crossbow ready to fire. He sent the bolt straight into the back of one of my men. He sank to his knees. No sooner had he fallen than a swift young Turkish boy plunged a knife into him.

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Another carried a javelin, which he launched toward me. I bent down behind my shield. I reeled as the javelin rammed into the shield and punctured it, stopping only a hand’s breadth from my face. I had no time to work the shaft out of my shield; I cast it aside.

One man came screaming towards me, his scimitar raised above his head and ready to strike. I ran him through with my trusty sword. For a moment my eyes fixed upon his. He had a shocked look on his face; shocked, yet confident of his reward for death in battle against the infidel. I almost envied him.

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But another man was right behind him. Everything seemed to slow down; each second seemed like hours. In a split second I realized I could not draw my sword out from the first man in time.

My mind whirled through a million thoughts all at once. Is this the end? Well, why not? It might as well be today, rather than tomorrow. I saw my own dear wife, my children, scenes from my childhood pass before my eyes. What a strange thing to think in the midst of battle, and so far away.

Then I saw my deliverance: a knife girded in the belt of the man I had run through. In a flash I grabbed it from his belt. At the same time I pushed him back onto the second man charging me. This gave me a few seconds to collect my self.

I dove onto the man and slid the knife into his throat. He became limp; his eyes took on a glassy effect and stared into the sky. I slowly came to my feet. Suddenly, I felt very warm; I glanced down.

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I noticed a dark red stain on my waistcoat; one of the men must have managed to thrust home. I shoved it out of my mind; it didn’t look serious and there would be time to deal with it later.

I looked round until I found Godwin. He was in fine shape, hefting his massive sword through the air. Three Turks surrounded him, almost as wolves surround a buck, watching for an opportunity to strike.

But they were kept at bay. One man lying still on the ground bore evidence that they had best not come too close to Godwin’s whirling blade.

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I retrieved my own sword and set out to Godwin’s assistance. I had taken only a few steps when I was bowled over; another Turk jumped me. My sword was thrown out of my hand, and I lay flat on my back. I saw the enemy’s knife plunge toward my chest. I reached out to stop him as the blade snaked toward me. I succeeded only in forcing his hand over a few inches; the knife ran into my left shoulder, missing my heart just by a few inches.

The Turk yanked out his dagger and prepared for another strike. I managed to free my right arm and smashed my fist into his jaw. He was partially knocked off me. I dove onto him and hit him again.

He regained his strength and swung hard with his knife. I jumped back, and the knife slashed my arm. He knocked me back onto the ground and prepared to strike the final blow. I hadn’t the strength to overcome his superior position.

But then he just sat still, and slumped over. I couldn’t understand; then I saw that one of my men had come to my rescue. He had dealt a severe blow to my opponent’s neck, killing him.

I shoved the dead man off and looked around again. I saw two more dead men at Godwin’s feet; he had finished them. One’s head was displaced a few feet from his body. I was never more glad to have Godwin with me than that day.

I looked around me. Seven of my men were dead along with the entire Turkish group. Then I looked at Godwin; he was kneeling over, not moving. I ran to see what was wrong. I could see that he was badly hurt. Then, behind me, I saw Godwin’s third assailant making a run for it. Filled with rage at the sight of my wounded companion, I chased after him. He ran into the ruins of an old monastery. I followed him in, and sent my men around the side to make sure he would not escape through the fallen portions of the building’s walls.

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I moved farther into the building. I could hear my target looking frantically for a place to hide or a way of escape. I kept walking.

Suddenly I heard a crash. The old floors of the building must have given way. They were especially weak from being hit by missiles from Turkish cannon and trebuchets. I ran toward the sound. Then the floor gave way to my weight as well. I tumbled into the lower level of the building. I found myself in a small room surrounded by a number of scrolls. I sat there for a moment, dazed.

The face of one of my men appeared above me. They had rushed into the building upon hearing the noise. They told me that the Turkish soldier had been crushed by rubble, which buried him when he fell.

My men sent for a rope to bring me out of my little prison. While I was down there, I lay down to catch my breath and looked around at the contents of the room. One scroll in particular caught my eye. It seemed older than the rest, and had been carefully stored in a large clay jar. It had apparently been knocked out when I fell.

It read, “Μοιρας και Καθηκοντος: Ανθρωποι και Χρονικα της Αρχης Ποντου.” I had received a little training in Greek; it seemed to read something akin to, “Of Destiny and Duty; the People and Times of the Pontic Empire.”

But I had to go; I needed to see how my good friend Godwin was faring. I needed to see to my men. Nevertheless, that old manuscript stayed in my mind; I wanted very much to look it over. Perhaps I would have time to study it. Perhaps, if I ever escaped from the living torment that was Constantinople. I thought, at least, that it might be a comfort to me in my final hours.

Chapter V - Memories

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Spring; a beautiful time of year. I was so glad to be back with my dear family. Truly it was like Heaven Itself to see them. It seemed like lifetimes since I had left my own dear home in England to join the Holy Crusade. I pray that I will not be tested to weather another such trial.

I want only to see my wife, my children. How they have grown since I saw them last! I feel that they do not know me. They act almost as though I am a stranger. Ah, but no matter; they are young, and I will have plenty of time with them now.

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I had thought that my business was so important. Money, money, always had to look out for the money! What madness! What a fool I was. Now I know that my own dear little ones and my wonderful wife are what is most important. And this only after nearly having been lost to them in that terrible place. In that awful city…”

I jolted upright in my cot. Blast. Another dream. Why am I tormented so, I wondered many times. To be so close to my family only to be ripped away from them… oh it was becoming too much. Always it took me some time to remember where I was; that I was still in Constantinople. Still waiting to die.

And then I remembered the fight; yes, the skirmish the day before with the Turks near the western wall. My aches and pains reminded me well. But we had carried the day, same as the day before.

Godwin was in bad shape; he had multiple wounds, some of which were quite deep. We carried him as carefully as we could to the center of the city, where a local surgeon examined his wounds. The surgeon announced that none of his wounds were mortal, but that if infection set in he would certainly die. Thus, Godwin must be able to rest and be left alone to heal. The surgeon gave Godwin an herbal solution to aid in the healing process.

Whilst I waited for news of my friend, the surgeon looked me over as well. My own wounds were not too serious, he told me that I must avoid excessive movement to keep the wound from opening. So I was laid up in a cot along with Godwin for at least a few weeks. I hoped I might at least be able to fight as a man when the final hour of the old city drew nigh; I hoped I would not die as an invalid, slaughtered in his cot.

However, there was nothing I could do to speed my recovery, so I laid down to rest.

But I could not rest. I thought of my men, fighting without me. How I longed to be with them! To help them, to strengthen them; to bolster their courage. But I could not.

If I could not engage myself with activity of muscle and limb, I thought, at least I could spend time in activity of mind. I thought again of that fascinating old manuscript, that history of Pontus. I sent some men out to the old monastery that had been the seen of the previous day’s fight, and had them bring the manuscript to me.

And so, with the document propped up in front of me, I began the slow, arduous task of translation.

The People and the Times of the Pontic Empire…

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Photo Credits:

1. http://www.deq.state.va.us

2. www.herstmonceux-castle.com

3. www.burningcross.net

Chapter VI
Μοιρας και Καθηκοντος; Ανθρωποι και Χρονικα της Αρχης Ποντου:

Galatia, 300 B.C.

Timothsenes was his name. He had gained great wealth and fame as a captain in Antigonus’ army. He had seen as much as any man in his day: wild Illyrians in Northern Greece, Scythian riders on the steppes, and fierce mountain tribesmen of the East. He had seen palaces in Persia, great fortresses in Macedon, and even the Great Pyramids in Egypt. He had fought for his people and his homeland, serving according to his duty and higher. He had seen rulers come and go, as they all do. But he stayed on, giving loyal service both to his commander and his subordinates. Although he could have risen to great power and influence, he chose to remain among the men with whom he had served for so many years.

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But time passed, and his age overcame him; he could no longer fight with his men. He settled down in Galatia with his wife, Aderyn. This was her home, and Timothsenes wanted most of all that she should be happy after years of living in an army camp, following him on campaign.

Galatia was now independent of its Hellenistic rulers; the land was too rough, the people to wild and independent to be subjected to any foreign people. After about 60 years of foreign rule, the province was changing to how things had been. It was once again a Gallic region, ruled by natives as their father’s fathers had ruled it.

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Timosthenes was permitted to settle in the land of the Tolistobgogii, a tribe of western Galatia, and was a respected man in the tribe. He was treated as an equal, because his wife was a native Galatian. They lived there happily, and had two sons, Kyros and Artan. They were aged only one year apart.

Timothsenes insisted that if they were to live in the land of her people, his older son, Kyros, must be brought up as a Greek. He was proud of his heritage and his people, and did not want this to be lost from his family.

Therefore, when Kyros was 12, Timothsenes took his son to Athens, where he himself had grown up. He was determined that his son be a Greek, and be brought up accordingly. And Timothsenes had enough money and influence to ensure that his son received the very best.

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Kyros was to be enrolled in a prominent academy in Athens for six years. He would be brought up under the best scholars the city had to offer, some of the brightest men of their day. Timothsenes was proud of his people and heritage, and he wanted to share that pride with his son.

So Kyros would receive all that men could give him, to prepare him for whatever destiny awaited. He was well suited to the work that lay ahead, for he was a quiet, studious boy.

His brother, Artan, was brought up as his Celtic ancestors. In contrast to his older brother, Artan was an energetic boy; sometimes too energetic. He was strong and fit, and an avid outdoorsman.

Would fate lead them on a road of greatness together, or would they not be content with their different lots in life and be torn apart? Only time could tell.

Picture Credits:

1. www.gamespot.com

2. www.webshots.com

3. www.photos.jibble.org

Just a little note: I only used a gamespot pic because my computer was disfunctional at the time. All the other shots are my own.

Chapter VII - Rivalry

Kyros was glad to be back with his family. He was now 18, and ready to take on the duties befitting a man. He was a well-learned young man; anyone could see that he was destined to be a great scholar.

After years of study, Kyros was on the way to becoming a top-notch administrator, as well as one of the prominent thinkers of his time. He also benefited from the unwavering support of his father.

Artan was a strong, brawny boy of 17. He hadn’t seen his brother in years. He was both glad to see his brother, and yet, something held him back. He always felt that Kyros was the favored of the two; that their father had always loved his Greek son rather than his Celtic son. It wasn’t the things that Timothsenes did, rather the things he didn’t do. His father always seemed so involved with Kyros; admonishing him to continue his studies, delighting in his triumphs, and even making the long trip to Greece several times in the year to visit Kyros.

Artan managed to deal with the disappointments. He loved his father, and realized that every man has his faults. Still, he was held back by a measure of jealousy deep within him.

To counteract the difficulties with his father, Artan sought consolation elsewhere. Being an active and energetic boy, he sometimes funneled his energies in the wrong directions. He became a bully in town, lording his strength over his fellows. This got him into trouble on many occasions. But Artan was a natural leader, and though he applied it perhaps in the wrong way, he began to take his place as a prominent man in his village.

With such different personalities and skills, the brothers had great potential. If they worked together, combining their abilities, they could rise to greatness. If they allowed their differences to come between them, it could cause the ruin of them both.
Artan was beginning to feel considerable irritation at his brother’s presence. It seemed that the whole village was enthralled with Kyros; he was on top of the world.

“I don’t see, brother, how all these books of yours can do you much good. They are not a man’s pursuits. I think you would sit around in the house as a woman does!”

“Ah, but you speak without knowledge, Artan. You scoff at what you cannot possess. There is a whole world out there of which you have no understanding!”

Artan responded, “I need no knowledge of the outside. I have what I need; I can hunt and fight as well as any man. Is that not the highest duty? To defend home and family? What would you do; throw your books at the enemy?” Artan scoffed.

“You may be successful in your lot,” Kyros shot back, “but you will never achieve anything greater. You can hunt; good for you. You can throw pointed sticks and swing a club. I will rise to power to command thousands like you. Who will bring honor and protection to the family then? Look at the great and famous men of our people. Did not they all possess great learning?”

“Bah! Look at you; your smooth clothes and pretty words. I can hardly stand the sight of you.” Artan was beginning to lose his temper.

“And I can hardly stand your smell,” said Kyros wryly.

“You swine! You’re so smug. You have had everything handed to you without effort. Father has tended you like a lamb; you’ve had need for nothing! And I have had to fight for what I have. So go back to your books! I can’t stand the sight of you a moment longer. I will tell you one thing: you will never rule over me!”

Artan stormed out of the hut like a wild man. His mind was reeling with anger and resentment.

Kyros sat down with a sigh. He had not realized that such frustration had built up in his brother’s heart. He would give him a chance to cool off, and talk to him later. He simply couldn’t be reasoned with now; he was so childish sometimes. Perhaps his father would know what to do.

Chapter VIII - Assault

Artan ran to his favorite spot in the woods, where he could be alone. He didn’t care if he saw Kyros again in a hundred years. The nerve of that scholar, to come barging in to his world and stealing favor in the village; how could he –

Artan stopped. His keen ears picked up sounds of movement. He climbed up a tree to get a better look. He could see a group of men stealing through the forest. A raiding party! He must warn the village!

He quickly got to the ground and flew toward the village. He heard a shout behind him; he’d been spotted. In a moment arrows began to fly past him; he ran faster. Soon he outdistanced his pursuers.

He finally reached the village. After catching his breath, he ran into the council chamber in the center of town.

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“They’re coming! The Trocmii are coming!”

The Trocmii, along with Artan’s tribe, the Tolistobogii, and the Tectosages, were the descendants of three Gallic tribes that migrated to Galatia many years before. The Tolistobogii and Trocmii had fallen out after territorial disputes, and were sworn enemies.

The village chieftain came out of the council chamber and had his trumpeters sound the alarm. There was not much time; the Trocmii had to be close. The chieftain gathered all the men nearby and marched out to meet them. There would be much blood spilt in the hours to come.

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The hastily assembled militia of the Tolistobogii took up positions in the trees. Artan was ahead of the rest, watching for the enemy and preparing to signal the others. Soon he spied a slight glare of light on armor; he could make out men’s shapes moving toward him. When they were within only a few feet, Artan let out a fierce war cry. His companions sprang out of the trees and steeled themselves for the grim work that was to follow.

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Kyros was also with the army. He rushed a surprised Trocmii soldier and slit his throat. Kyros’ training had not been solely academic; he had received a little training in the Athenian levies. He ran up to another man; this one seemed prepared. Kyros swung his dagger at him; the man dodged his strike and dealt him a blow to the face with a club. Kyros fell back, but managed to roll away from his assailant’s next blow. Scraping some dust from the ground, he flung it in the raider’s face, blinding him. He then finished him off quickly.

He moved on; he had no time to think, only to act. He ran into another enemy soldier and was knocked off his feet, and his dagger flew out of his hand. Before the Trocmii warrior could react, though, a spear pierced through his chest; it was Artan.

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Artan looked at his brother for a moment, smirking at his clumsiness. But there was no time to gloat; he moved on, seeking another foe. Already he had killed three.

Finally, the enemy had enough. The would-be raiders ran off to their homes.

“Look at the cowardly dogs,” Artan roared. “See how nimbly they run!”

Kyros sat down for a moment; he felt dazed. He had drilled in Athens for a while, but this was not what he expected. He hadn’t had time to think about what he was doing.

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He saw the surprised face of the first man he had killed, and the pained look on the face of the other. Suddenly he felt sick. He dashed behind a large tree and soon his stomach seemed to heave out his throat. He let it all out.

Artan came up behind him. “Too sweaty for you, was it?” He laughed. “Go home to your books; they’ll comfort you, perhaps.” Still, although he would never admit it, Artan was impressed by his brother’s willingness to do what needed to be done. Clumsy and bookish though he may be, Artan thought, he is certainly no coward.

So the day’s work was done, and the men trod off to their homes. Some took souvenirs from their recently deceased foes. All in all, it had been a decisive victory

Chapter IX - Retribution

Early the next morning, the village chieftain called all the men together.

“The Trocmii must pay for the attempt they made on our lives. Also, our losses must be avenged. I call on each man of fighting age to prepare himself for battle. This day may be fierce, but I guarantee you that it will be short after the crushing blow we dealt them yesterday!”

Artan was already fit and ready to fight. He was to lead a group of young men in the assault, and was eager to prove himself. He was also in high spirits after discovering that Kyros was to be a part of his group; he would test his brother’s abilities to the limits today.

Kyros, on the other hand, had spent a fitful night. He couldn’t stop thinking about those two men; two men that would not see their families again due to his own blade. And what would come of tomorrow?

So the two brothers joined the column of men bound for the Trocmii village. They still hadn’t really spoken since their argument, and they were both still upset by it. But there was no time for that now.

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The men marched silently, each man searching the trees for an ambushing party. There was none.

Then one of the men signaled the others to stop. He looked carefully ahead of him. He could see smoke! The men crept up closer.

It was a Trocmii scouting party, resting in a clearing. How foolish of them to start a fire! They would pay for their mistake. Artan took his men to the edge of the clearing. Each man picked a target. At Artan’s shout, they hurled their javelins into the enemy. They hardly made a sound; they just toppled over, dead.

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Artan and his men ran to investigate their victims, making sure they were dead. After this was done, they left the bodies for the crows and moved on.

It was a few hours later that the small army reached the Trocmii village. By this time, the men had been preparing themselves mentally for some time; they were ready for what had to be done. Some of them gloried in it. Others wished there was another way.

The village chieftain assigned each of his captains a target. Artan’s group was to burn the enemy warlord’s longhouse. It was the best-protected building in the village, being surrounded by a stockade of sharpened stakes, and was the key to victory.

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Artan considered the problem at hand. He smiled to himself. Let us see what that little scholar can do now, he thought.

“Kyros! Get over here,” Artan commanded with an authoritative tone. He was enjoying the opportunity to assert his rank over his brother.

“Yes, Artan?”

Artan growled. “SIR! You will give me the respect I demand as your superior!”

“Yes, sir.” Artan could see that his brother was chafing at the embarrassment, but Kyros was too wise to let his temper get the better of him.

“Your mission is to fire the chieftain’s longhouse. The rest of my men will occupy the chieftain’s guard. You must slip into the house and set it alight.”

“Can’t I at least have a few men, sir? That house is a strong defensive position! Why, I should need at least –“

Artan cut him short. “No! I need all my men to fight the Trocmii warlord’s bodyguard. You will accompany us inside, and then separate from the group and light the house.” Artan walked away before Kyros could protest further.

Kyros couldn’t believe his brother. How could he act so foolishly with so much at stake? No matter; he wouldn’t beg Artan for help. He would show his brother that what raw muscle could do well, muscles guided by quick wits could do better.

Finally, the village chief ordered his men forward with a shout. Artan’s group moved into town from the west. They met a few Trocmii warriors on their way in, but they were not prepared, having relied on their scouting parties to warn them in advance of impending danger. The Trocmii were cut down as they fled for their homes.

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However, by the time they reached the center of town, the alert had been sounded, and hardy Trocmii warriors were assembling in the street, armed to the teeth for battle.

Artan glanced at his brother. What on earth…?

Kyros was running in step with the other warriors, carrying a long spear in one hand and a torch in the other. What does he intend to do? Batter the longhouse stockade with that spindly stick?

Kyros’ heart was thumping with excitement. Would his plan work? He’d seen it done in Athens, and practiced some in the gymnasium, but certainly not in these conditions. He said a quick prayer to Nike and forged ahead. As the others charged into the mass of Trocmii warriors, Kyros held back and waited to make sure he wouldn’t be spotted.

Then his eyes fixed on his target: the stockade. He ran up to it, pitched his torch over the side, and then ran back.

Artan looked back. The fool! Does he think the fire will spread to the house? The worthless dog! I’ll see that he’s punished for such incompetence!

But then Kyros stopped. He turned around, facing the wall. He started to run. He gained speed, using every ounce of energy in his body to build up momentum. His spear was raised over his head.

Just before reaching the stockade wall, he dug the spear into the ground and vaulted into the air. Pushing down on the spear, Kyros propelled himself higher. Twisting his body, he just cleared the spikes on top of the wall. He tumbled to the ground and hit it with a bone-jarring thud.

Artan gutted the man facing him, then looked back. WHAT?! By Teutatis! Kyros is flying! How –

Kyros got up quickly and collected himself. He seized his torch and ran to the longhouse. He glanced at the warlord’s troops; they were busy at the gate to the building, paying no attention to Kyros moving in behind them.

Kyros hurled his torch onto the longhouse roof. The fire caught on the thatching and spread quickly. Soon the entire roof was engulfed in flames. He heard screams. Several women ran out of the house and into the courtyard, coughing from the smoke they had inhaled.

Kyros ran behind the house and hid in some bushes. He couldn’t vault back over the wall; he had to hope that he would be able to exit through the gate.

He didn’t have long to wait. Upon seeing the burning longhouse and their women stumbling out of the building, many of the warlord’s men lost heart. Some surrendered, others ran, and some fell on their own swords.

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The day was a complete triumph; the men of the house of Timothsenes were lauded as the bravest and best warriors of the tribe. After news of this victory spread through the countryside, they need not fear an attack for some time to come.

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Chapter X - The Suffering City

Constantinople, 1453 A.D.

My eyes were getting tired; I put away the scroll for a while. But it was quite a fascinating story. I wondered who had written it. Perhaps I would find out later in the story.

I looked over at Godwin. That old giant was strong as an ox. He was healing well, and would be able to walk around soon. I myself had been in the infirmary for two and one-half weeks, and would be able to leave soon enough.

I longed to be with my men, although as the days passed I saw more and more of them join me in the infirmary. They told me of others that had perished in combat. It made my heart sick to hear it, yet at the same time I was glad to know that they had finally found peace. What, I thought, is another few days of living? Of what moment is it whether I die today or tomorrow? My only wish was to die in combat as a man, not on my knees as a slave. I knew that Godwin wished the same.

I went out and walked through the city. Occasionally I heard a dull thud in the distance and then the sharp crash of a cannon ball hitting a building. The Turks fired into the city every now and then to pressure us and deprive us of rest.

Looking around the city, I was amazed at how it had changed since Godwin and I had arrived six months ago. It was so bare. It looked as lean and starved as the men who defended it.

I saw an old woman rummaging around desperately for anything that could possibly be contrived to be food. At the sight of me she ran back into her house. I decided it would be pointless to chide her for disobedience of the rules. What did it matter now? Sultan Mehmed II would have his way eventually, whether she left her house or not.

I moved farther in to the center of town. I was struck by a dreadful, reeking stench, and the most sobering sight of my life. Piles upon piles of bodies. There was apparently not time nor manpower to take care of them all.

I ran with the little strength I had back toward the infirmary. Such things were not to be seen The lives that had long left those bodies had had little enough dignity when they were alive. A person should at least have dignity after death.

I could not hold it back; I wept bitterly. For those poor souls, for myself and Godwin, for my family that would never see me again, I wept. God have mercy on us.

Having my fill of fresh air (such as it was), I went to visit with Godwin. I tried to shove those sights out of my mind, to block them from my memory.

“How are you feeling today, my friend?”

“Ahhh,” Godwin sighed, “I am decently well, all things considered. I simply chafe at this miserable inactivity, though. I feel that I grow fatter and more sluggardly by the day.”

I laughed. “Oh, Godwin, it will be many months of sitting down before your muscle loses its tone. You were incredible in that last fight with the Turks, you know.”

“Aye. I fear my success will only warrant greater punishment if they take me alive. By the looks of the men coming in, even the healthiest are lean and baggy-eyed. I think we cannot hold for long. I fear I may not be at your side when the end comes.”

“Worry not yourself, Godwin. You will be up soon.”

“Soon I may recover, but I think that our defenses will crumble sooner.”

“Indeed. Well, we shall see, shan’t we?”

“Aye, that we shall, John.”

I let Godwin go back to sleep, and wandered around the building. I walked around and visited other men I served with. They too were in low spirits. Months of fighting had taken its toll. The men were becoming too weary to fight on.

But Godwin’s words stuck in my mind. I feared that he was right; we couldn’t hold out for much longer. I was further convinced by the sobering graveyard in the center of town. The day of the city’s fall was not far off.

Having nothing to occupy my mind except the horrible scenes of that afternoon, I went back to my manuscript. It was a comfort to me to be taken to another world, a different time and place than the misery I lived daily.

And there you have the first ten chapters.

I'm currently writing XXV, so I'll post the rest tomorrow.