Reincarnated to the Past 31: Thracian Overture (6)

Reincarnated to the Past
Chapter 31: Thracian Overture (6)

-VB-

Upon a dreary day, I met Johaken and the Kettin Vanguard Regiment (my personal name for the warriors of the Lower River Kettin tribe) on the hill west of Istria. Decked out in his personal armor of fine, thin metal scales and a helmet made out of boar tusks, he looked rather intimidating. I, on the other hand, looked no more different than how I usually dressed when I went out hunting, maybe with a bit more padding thanks to the leather vest-jacket I had on.

So why was he gulping? His pupils were small, so he wasn’t looking at me but … further?

I looked over my shoulder.

All I saw was the city of Istria and the black farmlands and burnt surroundings. I supposed that it made for a pretty scary background.

“It’s good to have you here with me, Johaken,” I greeted my brother-in-law amicably once the man’s gaze turned back to me. “You and the rest of the tribe!”

“It’s good to put down the city-dwellers after what they tried,” he agreed after a pause with a fierce nod. “What their elite tried to do to my sister, your wife…” he glanced at the background once more before he hesitated. “But isn’t this a bit much?”

“What?” I looked over my shoulder again. I turned back to Johaken. “I see nothing wrong with this picture.”

“I… see,” he muttered. “Very well. As you have been given command by father and as you have given command of me, I now give you back the command of the tribe’s warriors,” he said loudly, getting the rest of the Kettin warriors to listen to me. “Lead us to victory in battle, brother.”

It was a symbolic gesture. “And I shall give you victory. This, I promise,” I played it up with a grin. “All leaders of the warriors, to me! We will discuss how we will go to secure our victory!”

The warriors held their weapons up in cheer before they dispersed into groups and started to set up camps for themselves. I watched them all for a moment while I waited for all of the leaders - squad leaders, clan leaders, and tribal leaders like Johaken - to gather. It was a motley group. Due to the nature of what a warrior was in this period of time, all warriors expressed themselves clearly but also valued proficiency above other concerns. Most of those whom I viewed as “pragmatic” warriors kept their decorations to the minimum. Others, who had ceremonial positions in the tribe and their clans, wore more elaborate decorations ranging from small accessories attached to their weapons to full-on headdresses and painted shields.

But their attire wasn’t what they were here for but their leadership.

I turned to look at them, satisfied with my observation of the burgeoning camp, and looked them over carefully. I took in their faces, body languages, and even a few nervous ticks a few showed.

Then I spoke.

“This city’s denizens sought to subjugate us, to reduce us down to no better than slaves,” I began. “I offered them cheap resolutions: a yearly tribute and affirmation of their wrongs. I did not demand that their leaders be executed. I did not demand that their lands closest to us be turned over. I did not demand that the daughters of their elites be forced to wed our men. I merely demanded a few slaves and gold such a giant city of people would have no doubt plenty of. They refused such cheap peace. They did not even counter-offer! They just simply refused.”

They listened to me attentively. Some looked confused by the actions of the Istrians while others looked outraged by the refusal.

“They wished to continue a war! So I burned their fields! They would starve in the coming siege while we would not! They will be weak!”

“I only ask that you all follow my directions… and to limit what looting that may happen once we make it through the walls.”

Disapproval. It was immediate.

“It is the right of the warriors!”

“We fight for glory, so why do you deny us this?!”

“You break the tradition of the tribe!”

“What right do you have?!”

“You would leave our enemy alive?”

“What is your reason for this?”

The last shout cut off the torrent of outraged demands, and many glanced to look at Johaken, the son of the current tribal chief.

I didn’t nod in thanks to my brother-in-law, but I did answer his question.

“I am a man who plans and builds for the future. Can anyone else disagree with my statement?”

No one did. Everyone here was a veteran of the latest fight against the Scythians, and they’d seen how my insistence on training the women had paid off. More than that, they still called me by my other title, “Wiseman.”

“I do not lightly ask you to not loot Istria. In fact, I certainly want you to go to the house of the rich and wealthy and loot everything they have!”

That got me some cheers.

“But I want you to not touch the house and families of the artisans and skilled workers, people who could be of use to the tribe,” I urged patiently, completely aware of the fact that convincing the leaders here - nevermind the rest of the warriors - would be hard. “We could bring the artisans and their families to our tribe, have them buy and eat our food, and enrich our tribe with what they create.”

“Then let us make these artisans into our slaves.”

I grimaced at the demand. While I also had demanded slaves out of the Istrians, I would have eventually released them after a year or two in my service to “pay off” the cost of their lodging, travel, and food. Of course, they would have been involved in making a house or helping someone who would make their house, which would be complete by the time they would be conveniently released. I had a whole plan!

But if I allowed the artisans to be kept in private slavery…

“How about we place the artisans and their families as a sort of tribal possession? Profit from their works would be equally divided among those who caught and brought them to the tribe. Of course, this would mean that you wouldn’t have to deal with lodging and feeding the slaves.”

The warriors seemed to like that idea.

We put it to a vote in the end, and the majority of the warrior leaders, including Johaken, agreed to do as I asked.

With that, we turned our attention back to Istria.

-VB-

Deneclae stared incredulously at his friend, who sat kneeling in front of him. Bound by ropes, his friend was now a traitor to the city who brought its doom.

“How could you betray me like this?”

“I was only doing what was best for the city and its people!”

“You lied to me.”

“It was the truth.”

“Your truth doomed us. Already eight hundred citizens and their families are dead because of you.”

“I only did what was best for the city. It’s how we grew so powerful so fast.”

“You… you did this to others as well?”

“How else could we grow?!”

“Why would they help us in our hour of need then, hmm?! Have you thought about that? Friends help, victims do not! You have made a victim of all who I thought were friends, and now look at us! We are weak! They would sooner stab us in the back than help us!”

His friend’s head dipped. “I only did what was for the best of the city…”

Deneclae coughed loudly as his chest heaved squeezed. His children rushed to his side.

He sat wheezing on his wooden throne, knowing completely well that he had maybe a moon’s cycle left in him at best. At worst, he would die right now.

“Son, how goes the siege…?” he asked.

His son stopped glaring at the man responsible for Istria’s fall - it was inevitable - and turned to him with bloodshot eyes. “They are relentless, father. They toss rotting carcasses of animals over the walls with tools of wood and rope.”

Catapults. It was a device he’d heard of before in warfare. The Greeks to the south and the Persians beyond the borders of the Phyrgians used them.

“They want us to die,” he couldn’t help himself.

“Let us surrender now before we lose anymore-” his daughter began but someone barged into the throne room, gasping for air. Deneclae looked to the soldier as he tried his best to push himself up. It was a citizen-soldier of the city. “What is it, citizen?” his daughter asked imperiously.

“T-The Gaettins are breaking down the gate! We can’t hold it for long!”

Deneclae grimaced.

Was this how their great city fell?

The arrogance of a man, the duty of a king, and the ruthlessness of its victims?

Deneclae gasped as his chest squeezed in pain.

NO NO…!

His right hand clenched at his chest but he forced his left hand to his son, who caught it.

“C...call… the horns… of surrender…!”

“Father!”

“Father!”

“Your Grace!”

Deneclae passed from the world, surrounded by his loving family but a ruined legacy.

He wondered if the gods would be laughing at him.