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Legends Never Die: Rebellion (ch. 96)
🕑 Added 2024-09-11 14:59:04 +0000 UTCMichael Lachanodrakon was not a fool.
In my experience, most of Constantinople’s high nobility maintained their position purely because their peers were every bit as foolish as they were. That wasn't the case for Michael. He was a military man first and foremost -- he had a taste for battle, and proved his mettle against both the Abbasids and his peers when Iconoclasm was first established at the tip of his sword.
I suspected he foresaw the trap that he was being led into by Irene from the very beginning. A man in his position, however weakened because of the actions of Tatzates, would have to be a blind to not know that the outcome of the debate was predetermined, and he was no more blind than he was a fool. Nor was he the kind of man to remain idle when he knew what was coming. Only his options were limited. His influence waning.
He had one choice, when it came right down to it. To bow his head and kiss Irene's ring, accepting the new order that she had established… Or he could go out fighting, spiting her to the last and giving his all to destroy her, or failing that, then to do as much damage as he could in the hopes another enemy would finish her off after he was gone.
With the kind of man he was? That decision was all but predetermined as well.
“There's been movement. He seems to be recruiting amongst the local Bulgarians -- the fact that he's Roman isn't as much of a detractor as we hoped,” Thorkell informed me as I gazed out at Kiev. My scattered army had joined together once more, settling in the city. From my vantage point, I could see the training of young men that were just old enough to be considered potential recruits. They were being drilled and their fitness tested.
It wasn't something I had given too much thought about, but this was an opportunity to develop a process of scouting and training recruits. Then teaching those prospects our ways so they may one day join my army in earnest once they proved themselves. The goal of claiming enough steel to forge their new weapons and armor seemed like it would be a fitting task.
I swallowed a sigh at the news, unsurprised but I had hoped to be wrong. “The conquest is still too new. Barely weeks old. To most, their conquerors are suddenly fighting amongst themselves, and that means a chance at freedom.” The result was another forgone conclusion. The Bulgarians were a warrior people.
“Didn't help that there are still remnants to rally around,” Thorkell agreed. “Rumor is that the Bulgarians are throwing their lot with a kid named Krum the Fearsome. Not really sure who he is as far as lineage, but apparently he has a taste for blood. Took part in his first raid at the age of twelve and it was a resounding success.” He elaborated, sounding decidedly amused in the way the story echoed my own. “But the point is that people are rallying around him, and Krum is throwing his lot in with Michael in exchange for independence or something.”
That was inconvenient, but still not unexpected. “They'll have the edge in numbers, but both will be keenly aware that they're still enemies even with a common foe.” They would work together to a mutual goal, but they wouldn't be… protective of each other as any damage done to the others meant fewer men that they would eventually have to fight. “Irene scattered five thousand men across Bulgaria to pacify it. Demios has four thousand men left, and I'm certain at least half will go to Michael.”
“And we're looking at another five or six thousand Bulgarians. Most are going to be greenhorns, but that's still a lot of cavalry,” Thorkell said, scratching at his cheek. In total, we were likely looking at a combined force of thirteen thousand men. That wasn't a number to scoff at. Assuming that I could count on Demios, our forces numbered between six to eight thousand. It mostly depended on how many men flocked to Michael's banner. “I don't suppose you can pull another Ravenfeast out of your arse, hm?”
That got a small chuckle out of me, my gaze lingering on some of the recruits. True Sight marked some of them gold, meaning that they had potential. Talent that would need to be cultivated.
My goals were more long term now and I had to keep that in mind. The boys that were too young to become warriors now would be old enough in a handful of years. It'd be better to start preparing the older ones now. Maybe the younger ones too, I thought idly. I intended to change many things once I became King of Denmark, and how we recruited warriors would be one of them.
“I might be able to,” I said, and Thorkell caught himself, having meant the words as a jest. “The Bulgarians are rallying to Krum because he promises combat, doesn't he?”
Thorkell nodded, “Aye, he does.” And that was more than a little enticing to the Bulgarians. Natural for people who wanted to avenge their defeat.
“If Michael was a different man, then he'd do the smart thing,” I said, my gaze shifting off to the direction of Constantinople. “He'd head straight for the capital. He wouldn't need to take it, either. He'd be able to use it as a rallying cry for any Iconoclasts left in the Empire, and I'm guessing there are many. Perhaps enough in Constantinople for them to open the gates for him, and with that, Irene's legitimacy would become smoke in the wind.”
It would let him build his strength and divide Irene's attention. My army was a threat to him, but he near doubled our number and the key to Ravenfeast was that we were able to starve our enemy beforehand.
“But he wont?” Thorkell questioned, cocking a scarred eyebrow.
“He's a clever man, but before that, he is a man of faith. A zealot. Krum will urge him to take action against me, and Michael will want to. He'll justify it as preventing us from striking at their siege, but the truth of the matter is that he hates me and wants me dead.” And because of that hate, he would attack. He'd press the offensive, convinced that it was the smarter decision.
To that, Thorkell clapped me on the shoulder, “You seem to inspire that a lot in your enemies.”
“I hope to. It makes them predictable,” I said with a sharp grin, my gaze going to a recruit with dark hair as he won a bout in the sparring ring. My gaze lingered for a moment before I turned away, taking a deep breath as I prepared myself for the battles to come.
…
The exiled Jarls were eager to earn my favor, and they did what they could to make the best first impression possible. As a result, I was spared from the worst of the simpering as most of them wanted to prove their worth before they asked anything of me. And what they wanted was easy enough to guess.
In any case, the result worked in my favor as the Jarls swiftly dedicated their men to my cause.
The following days were a blur of action. We set out from Kiev, drawing attention towards us by attacking the clusters of people setting out from their villages to join Krum and Michael's army. Which both goaded them into action and prevented their numbers from swelling any further.
Exactly as I expected them to, they both took the bait and shifted their forces to put them on a collision course with my army. During that time, my scouts got an accurate measure -- Damien only possessed a thousand men after the bulk of his forces joined the rebellion. As a result, he decided against leaving his fortress and left us to fight Michael and Krum alone.
Given how calculated the move felt to me, I doubted that it was a spur of the moment decision. He was likely acting on orders from Irene.
A problem for another day -- the one we faced now was an army fourteen thousand strong bearing down on my six thousand men. Of that fourteen thousand, two were Bulgarian cavalry, eight were Roman legionaries, and the rest were levies armed with farming implements. In comparison to my six thousand veterans. There was a small part of me that felt anxious at such a discrepancy in numbers, but my studies had given me plenty of inspiration for battles with these kinds of odds.
Once they gave chase, however, I was quick to retreat towards a battleground of my choosing. Krum and Michael, sensing weakness, continued to give chase and followed us with all haste. It was a familiar feeling to me, I reflected -- it was much the same when I was raiding in Francia. Astolfo had been only a half step behind me at the time, but back then, I barely had five hundred men in total. And now, I was going to do what I should have back then.
“Hoffer,” I spoke up, sitting on top of my horse as I gazed out at the battlefield of my choosing. My army was half a day behind with the rebels and Bulgarians right behind them. The battlefield was on the coast of the Black Sea near the start of some rolling hills covered in a dense forest. The positioning wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough for my aim of limiting how many men they could field. Between the sea and the hills, they wouldn’t be able to simply spread their line wide and overwhelm us.
Hoffer grunted, the hard march taking its toll on him.
“What is the weather tonight?” I asked, my gaze drifting up to the darkening skies. The stars hadn’t yet come out, but it wouldn’t be that much longer. More importantly, the moon was only a sliver of itself.
“Rain,” he answered after a moment. “And a thick fog at dusk,” he added, and I could tell that he already sensed my thoughts. Out of everyone's Blessing, Hoffers's was likely the most key to our victory in the coming battle. To truly emerge victorious, we needed to meet a handful of conditions, because it wasn't enough to simply win. As things stood, I wouldn't likely survive a pyrrhic victory, like the one I won on Crete. I needed to keep my army whole and strong.
Meaning that winning wasn't enough. It had to be a decisive victory.
“There won't be much moonlight then,” I mused, the plan solidifying. The field wasn't perfect, but the conditions made up for it. “Perfect for an ambush. I'll lead them to this spot under the pretense that we are retreating to a more favorable location -- we’ll use the rain as cover, then the fog to obscure our numbers. Then we push them into the sea. This must be a slaughter,” I said, rolling my shoulders.
“If you're going to act as bait, then who is taking command of the rest of the army?” Hoffer questioned as I urged my horse forward.
I knew the answer he wanted to hear, but I gave him the next best thing. “Your sister,” I replied without looking back. All the same, I heard the bark of laughter he let out. Her Blessing was perfect for this kind of battle. We just had to set the board for her.
The following day was a rush of movement with painful amounts of waiting. Michael continued to pursue us, only to pause when the heavy rain that Hoffer predicted washed over us. The dirt turned into a thick mud and it only lent credence to the image that I was crafting. The mud would have slowed my retreat, and with them so close, it would only be natural that I would prepare myself for a battle that had become inevitable.
During the night, Astrid, Thorkell, and Olek all took off to the hills. They marched a long way around to avoid notice, and I had no way of knowing when they got into position.
By the morning, a thick fog had rolled up from the sea. It was borderline impossible to see the Roman and Bulgarian army that arranged itself across from me on a drenched stretch of mud. Our own presence was only marked by thefires that we had managed to light.
And it was by one such fire that I stood, in the center of the field between our two armies. Another piece of the deception that I was building towards.
Misdirection. Through experience and texts, I learned that deception was a core part of war.
As well as knowing my enemy.
“Have you come to beg, pagan?” Michael greeted me, atop his own horse with a small guard, appearing through the thick fog. He was joined by a Bulgarian, along with his guards, so I assumed that he was Krum. He was a few years older than me, if I had to guess. In his twenties with a bushy dark beard and hair.
Based on his glare, I suspected that he may have hated me more than Michael did.
“I don't see why I would,” I replied, my tone even. Guarded. “I've faced greater odds and won. I have no reason to believe that today shall be any different. My gods have given their signs, and they say that the day shall belong to me,” I said, speaking in Greek. Next to Krum was a man that was translating my words in a low whisper.
“So I've heard. From you, and every other pagan and heathen,” Michael replied, his tone dismissive. “It didn't help them, and it shan't help you now. So, speak plainly -- what is it you desire? Because I have nothing for you but steel and death.”
He despised me. I saw it in his eyes. He looked like he had aged a decade in the time since I first saw him -- more wrinkles gathered around his eyes and mouth, his hair and beard more gray than not. Time had not been kind to him. And with just a glance, I could tell that he held me responsible for it. Perhaps not every misfortune, as he must know that Tatzates was behind a fair few of his problems, but he identified my arrival as the time everything started going wrong for him.
“If that was the case, then I'm curious why you would come here to speak at all.” I remarked idly, though I already had the measure of Michael. It was Krum that I was more curious about now. He watched me like he was debating which of my ribs to slip a blade between, his jaw clenched and a hand tight on the reins. His cavalry would be an issue, and you didn't earn a moniker like ‘the Fearsome’ without cause.
“To offer you a clean death. It's more than you deserve, pagan,” Michael growled in my direction. “You've thrown the Empire into disarray. You, and that harlot that grasps at her son's crown. Surely, you must be a punishment from God, but I can't imagine what sin we have committed for such a dire one.” It really was impressive how much he hated me.
In contrast, I barely thought of the man. He was no great enemy to me. I only took note of him because he was staunchly against me and Irene, and because he was marked in a quest to help Michalis. If it wasn't for that, I doubted I would have even looked in his direction.
I hummed, “I'll have to refuse your generous offer. Instead, I shall counter with this -- the losses I would sustain in defeating you would be inconvenient for me. I have no wish to accept more foreign blood into my army when I am uncertain they would return to Denmark with me.” I blustered, leaning forward. “I propose a dual. Ten of your best against me, alone. I win, you disperse. I lose, my people will leave your shores and return home immediately.”
Michael spat on the ground, “I'm no fool, boy. A pagan you are, but I acknowledge that you're a warrior blessed by the Devil himself.”
I frowned, “That's quite the decision to make by yourself. Should you not consult your ally?” I questioned, my gaze sliding to Krum. Then, in accented Bulgarian, I continued, “What say you, Krum the Fearsome? Will you allow this Roman to speak for you?”
Krum narrowed his eyes at me, “You speak the language of my people?”
“I learned it in preparation for the invasion. I dislike relying on translators. And people speak rather freely when in the company of those they think don't understand them,” I replied, keeping an eye on Michael to find that his anger was growing. He didn't speak Bulgarian, as far as I could tell.
Krum held my gaze for a moment before he glanced at Michael, as if to confirm that he didn't speak the language. And with a gesture, he silenced his translator that made to translate the words into Greek. “I hold no love for the Romans, but I hold even less for you. You came to these lands, my home, and you brought them to their knees. Something that these Romans have failed for generations to accomplish. For that you have my respect, but my blade yearns to find a home in your heart.”
I nodded, accepting that for what it was. “An offer, of sorts. I understand your ire. I would feel much the same if our positions were reversed. However, don't mistake my actions for malice. Regent Irene ordered me to conquer these lands, and as a mercenary, I am honorbound to obey. I don't consider you or your people to be my enemies.”
Krum held my gaze for a moment, “I think I would rather you did consider us enemies. At least then I would know your heart was in it,” he replied, a frown in his voice.
I swallowed a smile, “If I did, I would be far less inclined to help you.”
Michael was growing suspicious as we continued our conversation, openly glaring between us both. Krum didn't fail to notice that. “Your words reek of desperation and low cunning. You seek to divide us,” he observed.
“Of course,” I agreed readily. “No matter what deal we could strike here and now, you are honorbound to fight. Even if I could convince you to quit the battle, it would mean your death and dishonor as a coward.” He held my gaze, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. He had to fight. That was the cause that he rallied everyone around. “Merely by having this conversation, he will suspect you. In that, my goal has already been accomplished.”
Krum grunted unhappily, “Cunning bastard.” He cursed, knowing that I was right. For a century, there had been nothing but bad blood between the Romans and Bulgarians. Such history was not so easily forgotten, even in the face of a common enemy.
“After the battle, provided that you survive it, is when I think we could come to an arrangement. Details can be discussed then,” I said, inclining my head towards Krum before urging my horse to turn around.
Michael cursed at my back, but I felt Krum's gaze on me. “You don't speak like someone on the cusp of defeat,” he called out to me. In Bulgarian.
My plan worked like a charm, I thought with a satisfied smile. The result was obvious enough. Michael would suspect Krum, and Krum would suspect me and my confidence, and any caution or hesitance from that would inflame tensions between the Bulgarians and Romans. Both of them were expecting to be betrayed by the other and because of it, they would hesitate.
I allowed myself a chuckle as I continued on into the thick fog, vanishing from their sight. I enjoyed my time in the library. I enjoyed my time creating -- whether it be sculptures, toiling in a field, or crafting with iron and wood. But, I couldn't deny it
The battlefield is where I most felt like I belonged.
…
“It's like he can see the future or something,” Astrid muttered to herself as she looked down at the map of the terrain that had been sketched out in advance. She preferred using one of the models that Siegfried had made, but Astrid knew opportunities to have one of those prepared in advance was a luxury.
Closing her eyes, she felt herself leave her body and move to sky over the battlefield. Despite the thick fog, Astrid could still see the armies arranged upon the field that had been marked with the totems. The people glowed, as they did when it was night, allowing her to easily see the rift that opened up in the opposing army. The Romans and the Bulgarians had divided themselves, sticking to their own.
It was a view that she would never tire of, Astrid decided. It wasn't what she’d imagined when she was a young girl, determined to be a shieldmaiden. She’d imagined herself at the front of armies, wielding a sword. Much like Siegfried. But, she found that she had rapidly warmed up to being a tactician, as the Romans called it. A general. Siegfried led from the front, making snap decisions while he trusted the wider board to her.
She was well hidden near the top of the hill, a small guard around her and her runners. Beyond her was the bulk of the army, deathly quiet as they knew that their part in what was to come required the element of surprise. They would just have to hold and wait for the right moment.
“The battle is starting,” Astrid warned, gripping the table. There were only a handful of potential responses that the Bulgarians and Romans could give with their current circumstances. They didn't trust one another and both were actively scheming against the other because they thought the other was scheming against them. Whether or not they were didn't really matter.
As such, neither would trust the other to cover their back during the battle. The simplest answer to the problem was to have both forces commit at the same time.
Roman infantry and Bulgarian peasants marched forward, while the Bulgarian cavalry started to pull ahead. She saw them moving in her mind, like pieces across a board. It was daunting to see how outnumbered Siegfried was and there was a twisting in her guts, knowing that he was at the front and center of the thousand men he’d kept with him. Their few numbers hidden by the fog.
The effect on the ground was almost immediate. The wet earth was stirred into a thick mud that clung to the attacking army like paste. The formation quickly started to break down, slowing, and it was then that another crack started to show. It was the same crack that Siegfried's own army had.
Miscommunication. In Siegfried’s army, there were those that spoke Norse, Germanic, and now there were those that spoke Greek or Arabic. Siegfried managed to get around the issue because he understood how armies thought. The Romans and Bulgarians weren't so lucky -- not because they didn't know, but because both sides were inherently suspicious of each other.
The advance slowed, leaving the Bulgarian cavalry to pull even further ahead. It was then that Siegfried revealed his response to their cavalry.
Seemingly without warning, the galloping horses began to rear up, baying in pain. The riders were thrown off their horses, completely unaware of what just happened. The answer was hidden in the mud -- iron caltrops.
Siegfried feared cavalry. He spoke of the devastation their charges delivered, and he spent more than one evening in the library simply researching on how to deal with an enemy that had superior cavalry. The answer he found came in a few parts -- break their formation, slow their charge… and isolate them.
The caltrops injured the horses and induced a caution into the charge while also disrupting their formation. Many still continued on, heading straight for Siegfried's line where his men readied their pikes. The charge closed in before the second defense was revealed -- a fence that was pulled up at the last second. She saw the effects in her mind. Horses impaling themselves on the fence, toppling over, the following horses smashing into those in front of them with bone shattering force. The effect was devastating.
But not perfect. The charge was blunted and bloodied, but Siegfried’s line was still struck by it. The pikes helped, and it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, but even weakened the charge still hurt. Men were trampled, knocked over, or crushed as the charge forced its way into the line. They didn't get far, and most were soon pulled from their horses, but it was still a taste of what could have been.
Still, the worst case scenario didn't happen. Siegfried's line held strong as the Bulgarian cavalry was left routing, riding back to the Bulgarian army with far fewer numbers.
It was time. “Light the fire. Signal green,” Astrid commanded and her runners responded instantly. They each grabbed a torch with a soaked rag, igniting it, but instead of the orange and red of normal fire, the flames were colored green. The rags had been covered in copper salts, giving the fire they produced it'sodd hue.
It was the answer Astrid had settled on for commanding an army so divided by language -- to use a language that everyone could understand.
Olek and Thorkell both surged down the hill. The men were as silent as they could be -- no war cries or screaming. Both Thorkell and Olek had driven the point home beforehand - by remaining silent their approach would be dismissed as general noise coming from the army. The Romans and Bulgarians would only realize what was happening far too late. Thorkell was an important piece, one she moved on the board as his Blessing allowed him to adjust his path ever so slightly. The goal was an envelopment of the opposing army, making the most use of the fog.
The men on the ground wouldn't know how many they numbered. Only that they were seemingly surrounded. And there, pressure from all sides would cause more cracks to form.
Astrid watched in her mind’s eye as the plan worked almost perfectly. The Romans and Bulgarians hardly had time to react as the length of their army was struck with their exit cut off. The line was almost painfully thin in some places, but only she could see that. The sounds of battle reached her ears and she watched as the confusion settled in. Their enemies struggled to communicate, the two halves reacting independently, while the Bulgarian peasants started to panic.
“It's time for the archers. Blow the horn,” Astrid commanded, and again the runners took off. A minute later, a loud horn echoed out over the sounds of fighting. It was then that the next step of the plan was revealed.
From the sea, ships announced themselves with a volley of arrows from the waiting archers. Hundreds of them. All of them fresh faced boys and girls that had volunteered in Kiev. Siegfried preferred a small, elite number of archers, but in this case quantity was their ally.
The arrows sailed forth, striking into the clustered Romans and Bulgarians. The damage done was minimal, but they weren't there to inflict damage. They were there to inspire a response while they say safely on ships far from the shore. The reaction to their presence was exactly what they wanted -- a mixture of trying to defend the beach to prevent a landing and retreating from it.
The Bulgarian peasants were chaos throughout the army, reacting blindly and without discipline. There was some scattered fighting between the Romans and the Bulgarians, each accusing the other of betrayal. It wasn't much, but it still helped.
With that, the trap was set and Astrid let out a small disbelieving laugh as she saw their forces surround the much larger army. The mud made movement painful and sluggish, the breakdown in communication didn't help either, and the panic acted as a death knell.
“Siegfried… we'll need to add this to the Runestone,” Astrid muttered to herself, watching the slaughter happen.
It would take hours and hours, long enough that the fog dissipated entirely underneath the afternoon sun… but of the fourteen thousand men that had chosen to fight on the field of battle…
Less than a thousand would leave it.
