Driven by Vengeance: A Scythian Campaign Epic

CAMPUS SCYTHII--Late Summer, 270BC

The capital of the race of gods! Glorious city, was there one like it in all the world? This was where Kolaksay, father of the Scythian race, had taken his first steps on the soil of the earth--the humble shrine of menhirs near the town's centre stood over that very spot where his holy feet first landed as he leaped from the sky, with his three treasures. It was the holiest place of worship in the entire Scythian kingdom, the centre of its religion and the spiritual heart of its people. Houses filled the space from wall to wall, and beautiful gardens planted full with vegetables and root plants, and stables that held the horses that represented the race more than perhaps its own people had. Strong stood the palisade that had repelled all enemies since it was raised in time immemorial.

King Zipoetes was well aware of the weight of history and the mandate the gods had placed on his shoulders, on his people, on his warriors. The infertile plains and barren steppes were no place for a people descended from heaven. He had made it his life's mission to lead his people, numerous and courageous as they were, to new lands, warmer lands, richer lands brimming with gold, where every room had some item of precious significance in it. No more would the Scythian kingdom be a mere steppe confederation of treated with arrogance by all its neighbours, insulted and humiliated time and again in diplomacy, incapable of punishing offenders by force of arms, scattered and uncommanded as they were, them, who had defeated Darius I with their valour and their arrows when he had come against them with his innumerable horde!

The door to Zipoetes' private study opened, his seneschal Araxes stepping out from behind it, Araxes waited patiently, quietly, by the door until Zipoetes' nod brought him the remaining ten paces to stand before his king's table, piled high with leather and parchment sheets covered in the flowing Scythian script.

'My king Zipoetes--reports from the cities of the Sarmatians, Alans and Maeotians.' Araxes remained standing until Zipoetes motioned for him to take a seat opposite him in a sturdy cushioned chair that stood before his table.

'What news? Are the roads I ordered built completed? The walls of those cities? Have they been completed?' Zipoetes' wrinkled eyes shone brightly. After he had conquered those three rival steppe nations in his youth, Zipoetes had ordered massive road-building and development programmes to commence in his fortieth year. Now, ten years on, the steppes, wild, featureless, flat, finally had for itself a network of roads like those the nations on Scythia's borders had had. A first move to show them that what they could do, the Scythian nation could, too.

'My king, yes, the roads in Sarmatia and Maeotia are completed. As the for Alans, they report that the roads there are almost completed, but it will be two more months before they can join those to the roads in Sarmatia and Maeotia. However, the military roads you wanted built, those are completed. There is one from Tanais southwest towards the Bosphorus, one from Campus Sarmatae westwards to the lands of the Venedae, and one from Campus Alanni northwards towards the Saka. It would seem that all is in readiness for the armies you have prepared.' Araxes handed over the sheaves of parchmnt and thin leather that contained the news he had just related. Zipoetes took them and put them to a side on another pile of writings indistinguishable from any of the others. He was not one for reading long reports from Scythian bureaucrats who were more concerned now about parchment than charging and enemy in joyous battle.

'As for the walls, Zipoetes my king, they are not yet completed. But another month or two, and they will be. You did order, Zipoetes my king, that priority be given to the roads. But yes, a month or two, and you shall receive reports that they are completed.'

Zipoetes shook his head. 'No need. In a month or two I shall not be here. You will govern our homeland in my stead while I seek glory for the Scythian kingdom to the south. The king blew out his golden mustaches irritably. 'Two months. Well, no one's about to attack those cities in the next two months, the walls can wait. The time has come to move. Send the order to begin the port at the coast that we discussed some time back. Have diplomats sent out to sign trade agreements with the states to the south, west, east. We will grow richer and more powerful, the Allfather willing.

'Summon messengers! I will write letters that they must deliver to my sons governing the provinces. To Belnirari, governor of Maeotia and Sarmatia, to Partatua my son, governor of Alanna. Send out messengers also to find the free company from Tarok. Those mercenaries are in the vicinity of the city, I know, and I would have their commander see me. I wish to hire him and his horse archers for the coming war. And--' Zipoetes rummaged among his papers, picking up a rough leather sheet with a grunt of triumph accompanied by the precipitate rustle of that pile of papers cascading onto the floor. With an exasperated sigh Zipoetes handed out the sheet to Araxes.

'Have this copied and posted or announced in every town and village in the province.'

Araxes perused the decree, looked up at Zipoetes, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. 'By midautumn?'

Zipoetes nodded. 'No later. I've waited this long for revenge--no later, for I am old.'

Great story! When will you continue?

Did the Scythian have a fixed religious centre, a temple or so? I thought they were completely mobile.

~:cool: Interesting story.

Great work, can't wait to see it finished, the Scythian Campaign was an interesting one.

It's great! Well Done, can't wait for more.

I'm making it up as I go along :-P I'm sure they had their urban centres, such as they were, and therefore a religious institution in each. But no, we're not in reality talking about some Mecca where thousands of Scythians converge every year to worship Kolaksay, no. Second instalment coming up. :-P I've got enough in my dingy foolscap pad that I work on between lectures to supply another 6-7 instalments yet. Only thing that's stopping me is the work my poor fingers'll have to do.

CAMPUS SCYTHII--Midautumn

The muster field in the capital was packed with men. They had come in response to their king's call, sent out a month past, shouted in the streets and marketplaces, nailed onto the walls of the holds and chieftains' houses.

Zipoetes, king of the Scythians, Sarmatians, Alans and Maeotians, to his subjects, hail! May the Allfather rain his blessings upon you who read this. The kingdom is grown strong enough that Scythia may now, with the might of the gods behind us, punish the rebels and states that have for so long preyed on us and violated our borders with armies and demands of tribute. We are numerous as the stars in the sky; we are the people of the gods, called forth to great deeds! I do therefore decree that all able-bodied men should come to Campus Scythii with food, bow, four quivers of arrows, and what other weapons and armour he may afford to carry with him. Horsemen will bring their horses with them, if he should live within the boundaries of this province of Scythia, and wish to seek glory and riches for king, people, and gods, and a place in the songs of heroes to be sung through the ages.

Behold the army! They trotted out from their billets, stables, cantonments, out the southern gate of the city, along the road to the south, rank upon rank of men four or five abreast, long-haired and with fearsome looks. Everywhere flapped the orange Scythian banner, its great square emblazoned with the plough, bowl and poleaxe that legend had it their ancestor Kolaksay had snatched from heaven when he came down to earth to father his people.

At the very head of the column was Zipoetes, heavily armoured and with cloak flapping behind him, a highly visible orange cape emblazoned also with the three Scythian treasures. Behind him, another caped figure, the bannerman who carried the uniquely red-bordered Royal Standard that fearlessly. brazenly, marked out the king's position in the battle line, daring the enemy to face him in combat. Zipoetes and his bannerman were followed closely by a thousand well-armoured bodyguard cavalry, their lances glittering, swords by their side, their plate armour of iron and bronze glittering brightly, mirroring the sunlight that accompanied their travel.

More than three thousand horse archers followed after, the backbone of the Scythian armies that had conquered the vast steppes for the orange flag, wearing long pants and leather and furs, saddles bristling with quivers themselve bristling with arrows. Their stout ponies-standard steppe breeds-had tremendous stamina born of long time spent on the boundless emptiness of the steppe, and could sustain long sretches of time at a gallop that would exhaust many of the stronger breeds that the Scythians did ocasionally buy, from the Thracians, or the Parthians, famed horsebreeders themselves. Every horsearcher carried a dagger-a short sword, really-for the close combat that came if ever their enemy could catch them. But their main weapon, their composite bow, lay encased in their gorytos , their bowcases that also doubled up as a quiver in itself. The national weapon beyond doubt, the composite bow fo teh Scythians was small and portable, but capable of sending an arrow as far-or further-than any that an archer on foot could fire, even with his much larger weapon. The horsemen trotted forward unde three great banners, each marked with the name of one of the three battalions they had been assigned to.

The last of the combatants, two archer warbands of two thousand men each, brought up the rear of the graet column on foot, their bows unstrung but ready at a moment's notice, every archer with two quivers or more dangling from waist or slung on back. They carried short swords, like the horse archers-they were the poor of the Scythian society, unable to afford even a horse, that most common of commodities in the Scythian marketplace, but if anyone engaged them in combat, let them not forget they were every one of them experienced hunters in peacetime, as skilful with long knife as with bow, able to skin and gut an animal in minutes and capable of just the same with a human.

Finally, at the very end of the lones of riders and archers, came the camp followers and attendants, driing along the packhorses and carts that carried the supplies needed for the men for a month. Peasants conscripted to guard the Scythian camp when the army had left it for battle or otherwise, Zipoetes did not regard them as being much help in any battle.

At the head of the line, a mile away from its tail just clearing the gates of Campus Scythii, Zipoetes rose, deep in thought. His one worry was what he would face once he entered Thrace and made a beeline for Campus Getae, once they found out he was on their land. Right now, all he had to work with was the fact that Scythia had a bone to pick with Thrace for its intermittent raids across the Dniestr with peltasts and Greek militia horsemen with their javelins into Scythia, which given the scattered nature of resistance before Zipoetes had organised the kingdom into one prepared for war had been unstoppable until the arrival of winter, and that he had a serious shortage of intelligence about Thrace. Well, about every other state on his borders as well, really, except what his merchants reported him, which was more often rumour and hearsay than not.

Zipoetes stretched out a gauntleted arm, waved a bodyguard forward. 'Go to the rear and find me Liapos, my spymaster. Bring him to the front.'

The bodyguard saluted, and galloped quickly to the rear, returning nto long after with a man dressed in hooded cloak, a dagger by his side, mounted on a dark brown pony. 'Zipoetes. You called.' Unlike those who spent long times in the majesty of Zipoetes, most commoners called Zipoetes by his name as befitting a chieftain among them who was merely first among equals, as it was before Zipoetes had united first the Scythian tribes and then the steppe.

'Liapos. You have been to Thrace before. You must go there again, now, to Campus Getae, and find out how large their garrison is, and if need be, whether we may enter the city through the treachery of those within who may support us in return for rewards I will give them.'

Liapos unhesitantly replied, 'In that case I will require one of the army's supply carts, two other men, and a spare horse. Instead of crossing the Dniestr at night by raft like I normally do, I will pass over the bridge the Thracians built, pretending I am doing business in grain and horses in Campus Getae.'

'You shall have what you need, including gold, as long as you make it into the city alive, and leave it alive.' A pause. 'Do business with them, and buy as much of their food supply as you can, and bring it to me. That way they will starve faster.' Zipoetes dismissed Liapos, then turned back to his study of the south, where the bridge over the Dniestr lay, a week's march away, built by Thrace in times gone by when it had needed Thracian friendship to fend off Dacian invasions. Those were the days.

But no matter. Now they would learn how follish they were to erase their friendship and trade it for hostility, and still leave the bridge standing for their own convenience of invasion. Now a different invasion would pass over the bridge.

I'm using modern names for the rivers in the game, because I have not the resources to find out what the ancient names of those rivers were. Hope this is interesting. I warn you beforehand--no adrenaline-rush battle accounts will be forthcoming yet because I only fought my first battle in Turn 3, which is...a long way away. Lots of movement, character development, descriptions, but little else until perhaps the 10th instalment, when (sneak preview) Campus Getae fights a sally battle with reinforcements. Yeah.

Will you continue this or abandon because of Greek Cities campaign?